#but are very rarely seen around or talking to each other if there are others present- though I do personally imagine zenos going to him

[postracehair]

breaking zone

max verstappen x reader | 1.1k

max teaches you how to use his racing simulator.

cw: flirty fun, allusions to sexy fun, a lot of vague statements about the sim cause i don't know a damn thing

a/n: this came from a request! thank you, anon! sorry about the three pics of max up top instead of something aesthetic. i couldn't help it!

EDIT: found this in my drafts, too. wrote it aaaaages ago. have it for the no-race weekend.

--

Max is the one who suggests it.

"I don't want to break it," you protest. "You need that thing."

He rolls his eyes. "You won't," he says. "I just want to show you how it works."

You're on his couch, reading. He's just finished a stream and clearly has some energy from it -- which is why he's suggested, out of the blue, that you try his racing simulator.

There are some drawbacks to going along with his plan. First of all, you're very comfortable where you are. Second of all, you really just want him to lie down with you and watch a movie. He is a potent mix of adorable and devastatingly attractive in his low-slung sweatpants and Puma t-shirt. He's even wearing the glasses that rarely see the light of day.

Damn him.

"Alright," you groan. "Fine."

Max grins with his victory and tugs you off the couch and into his office.

"I'm not going to be good at it. Remember how the Playstation adventure went?"

You'd tried playing F1 2024 on Max's console. It became clear very quickly that you did not quite know how to get the hang of turning around the circuit without hitting other cars.

"Eh, you'd get better if you practiced," Max says. It's a combination of the somewhat undeserved unwavering confidence he has in you because he loves you, and the underestimation of a regular person trying to do his, in fact, very difficult job. But you let him think so.

"Sure, Max."

He turns on the monitors and boots up the sim system. It's maybe the most intimidating setup you've ever seen. Three huge screens curving in a half-circle around the seat, and another smaller one on top of the center screen. The wheel is like an oval dinner plate with so many buttons you almost laugh. You've seen it before, of course, but the idea that you're going to use that thing? Hilarious.

"You're going to sit here," Max says, patting the back of the chair. "Let's start with that."

He beckons you over and you gingerly slide down into the mock-seat. You misjudge how low it is by a few inches and plop down with a yelp.

"Jesus," you say. "This is so much lower then I thought it would be. There go my fantasies of having sex in your car."

"Your what?" Max sputters. His cheeks are red and you wink up at him. "I have other cars," he adds.

"I know," you laugh. "Teach me this, first."

Max sighs like the most put-upon man in the world and crouches down next to the chair so he's more eye level. His voice is right by your ear when he says, "Now, put your feet on the pedals. Do yo see them?"

You look under the screens and see what he's talking about. You stretch your legs and find yourself in a much tighter position than you expected, knees close to your chest and back at an angle.

"This is not comfortable," you grumble. "My abs already hurt."

"All the training isn't just for show, you know," Max teases.

"Yeah, yeah," you say. "You're strong and handsome and a WorldChampion. I know. Now tell me how to work this thing."

You gesture at the nightmare of a steering wheel.

"Okay," Max begins. "So, left to right, you have the radio button --"

Max does what he does best: explain. You already knew he was a good teacher, but to be on the receiving end of his knowledge about the thing he loves most and is brilliant at is kind of thrilling. Worth getting up the couch for, at least. He explains the buttons, the knobs, the clutch paddles. The tyre status, the DRS, the flag indicators.

You retain probably a quarter of it.

"And this is set up differently by each team?" you mutter. "Shit, how do you guys do this?"

He smirks. "Well, not everyone does it very well."

"Max."

"Time and training, liefje," he says. "If you had both of those, you could learn."

"Good thing I like listening to you explain it," you sigh. "It's hot."

Max clears his throat. "Flirting isn't going to get you out of trying it at least once."

"Fire it up, then," you goad him. "We'll see what it might get me after."

His hand darts out to squeeze your thigh, golden hairs on his wrist shining in the sunlit room, and then he stands. He fiddles with the program for a minute and then all three screens light up and you're basically in a Formula 1 car.

"This is Zandvoort," he says.

"Your track?"

"Mhm," he hums. "Figured you could start somewhere you know."

Know is a bit of an exaggeration -- you've been there with him more than once and even walked the track with him during race weekend.

"If you say so," you mutter. You look behind you and find him standing with his arms crossed, smirk firmly in place.

"Well, start it up, then."

As you predicted, the entire venture goes horribly. If this was a real car, they'd take away your license and ban you from setting foot on a racetrack ever again.

But this is your boyfriend's racing simulator. And he is a world champion as well as in love with you, so it's not as bad as that. He's patient -- more than you expected him to be, honestly -- and gentle with his instructions. He doesn't chastise you for things you don't know, instead coaching you to think about one thing at a time. As the laps go on you manage to achieve a low-level form of cohesion between your feet on the pedals and your steering.

It's fun. It's fun to have Max at your shoulder, his constant stream of commentary mingled with praise for your incredibly mediocre ability to follow his directions. It's fun to understand the thing he does all the time, the thing he is so good at, a little better. Sitting in the chair is a little like being inside his head.

You finish another lap almost in stitches from how hard you're laughing, Max's chuckles making it even worse.

"That certainly does not deserve a podium," you say, gasping. "God, get me out of this thing."

You pull your legs from the pedals, abdominal muscles aching, and Max maneuvers himself so it can grab your forearms and tug you up.

"I think you deserve a reward, anyway," Max says. You face him and find a neutral expression apart from a quirked eyebrow.

"Oh, yeah?" you muse. "What would that be?"

He tugs you a little closer. "I can think of some things."

Your noses brush. "Like what?" you ask, a little breathless. "Do you want to show me a lap?"

"No," he whispers, lips so close they brush yours as he talks. "I want to show you something else."

He grabs your hand and tugs to towards the bedroom. 

[somethingvicked]

The Memory of Her

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

Warnings: female reader, angst, feelings on inadequacy, mentions of Chrissy Cunningham's death and Vecna. No use of Y/N. Clueless boyfriend Eddie!

Eddie was late. Again.

Usually it didn’t bother you – at least not very much – that he was rarely on time, to anything. But today it was your date night and more importantly, your anniversary.

Well, sort of an anniversary – three months. And Eddie had insisted that you should celebrate it, big!

”It’s a half-half year,” he had told you excitedly. ”Of course we need to celebrate that. Every one of these days with you is worth celebrating!”

God, you loved him.

And you knew he loved you. But you weren’t certain he loved you most of all. More than her.

Her. Chrissy Cunningham. The queen of Hawkins High. The sweet cheerleader that had met her death in Eddie’s trailer that spring, merely months before graduation.

Back then you barely knew Eddie, even though you attended the same school. You knew of him, naturally. No one going to Hawkins High could miss Eddie Munson. But you hadn’t hung out. You didn’t think him and his friends deserved the bullying and harassment they got, however, and even though you weren’t a part of their gang you always made sure to be polite and nice to them and interfering whenever you could when Jason and his goons tormented them. Despite that you never had been a primary target for it, you hated bullying of all kind.

You had been shocked to hear that Chrissy had died in the Munson’s trailer and that Eddie was the main suspect. You couldn’t imagine Eddie hurting Chrissy – despite his loud rants and clear disdain for the jocks he had always been courteous to the cheerleaders, and every other girl, really.

You knew of his little side business – everyone knew of that too, and you figured Chrissy had gone to him to score drugs, even though you had never heard of her trying the stuff before. But that made more sense than Eddie kidnapping her and slaughtering her in his trailer – in his trailer!

Even if he had done it you doubted he would be stupid enough to just leave her there. No, something else was going on.

You hadn’t learned exactly what until you and Eddie started dating. After he had come out from the hospital, cleared of suspicion and charges by Chief Hopper; suddenly back from the dead.

You had witnessed the scars on Eddie’s body one time when he changed shirts and asked in horror what had caused them. That’s when he told you.

About the Upside Down. About Vecna. About what had happened to Chrissy, Fred and Patrick. What had almost happened to Max.

It was hard to believe at first, but those scars… they didn’t look like anything you had seen before. And Eddie took you to meet the others of his ’party’, letting them tell you of their experience. You saw the scar around Steve’s neck from one of the demobats’ tail. The scars on his stomach.

Nancy told you about what happened to Barb.

Jonathan told you what had happened to Will, with Will nodding.

Most of all, El showed you some of her powers.

Everything Eddie had told you was the truth. There had been a threat in Hawkins coming from another dimension and only a couple of people had known about it!

Even though Eddie had told you, you felt like you came up short. He rarely talked about it with you, even though you knew he had nightmares about it.

It felt like he didn’t want to talk about it with you, because you hadn’t been there yourself, witnessed it all by your own eyes.

Maybe you could have lived with that if he had gone to his friends whom had also been through it. But instead he went to her. Or more accurately, her grave.

That was how it all had begun. You and Eddie had run into each other at a flower shop. He was there to buy flowers to place on Chrissy’s grave.

You were there to buy flowers for your cousin, whom was recovering from an appendectomy.

You had noticed the flowers in Eddie’s hand – pink tulips - and joked with him that it didn’t seem his usual style.

He had snorted out a laugh but told you that they were for Chrissy, that it was the first time he was able to visit it, after he had gotten out of the hospital.

You had immediately felt bad for him, imagined how he must feel, Chrissy dying in his home and him being wrongly accused of killing her.

You hadn’t been able to help yourself, you had given him a hug and he had immediately clung to you, clearly in need of the comfort.

To show your support you had followed him to Chrissy’s grave, not wanting to let him go alone.

The fact that your relationship had started by you two visiting his former love interest’s grave... that said something.

You learned that Eddie and Chrissy had never been a couple. In fact, they had barely known each other more than you and he had, but the way he spoke about her. How he had made her laugh when she was clearly under so much stress, how she had felt safe enough to get into his van and ride to his home, despite just meeting him...

It was clear as day to you that Eddie had been in awe of her. And that they probably would have gotten together if Chrissy had lived.

It hurt. Already back then it hurt to think about that.

After that, you and Eddie had gone for a milkshake together and then it was suddenly just the two of you again, getting to know each other and having fun.

When he drove you home he had asked if you wanted to go out with him again. On a date.

Of course you said yes. Because you had fallen in love with him.

Still. You would lie if you said you were completely happy with your relationship. You weren’t.

Because when Eddie got you flowers, it was pink tulips. The same flowers he had bought that day in the flower shop – for Chrissy.

He had never said but you suspected they were her favorite flower.

You? You didn’t even like tulips. You loved flowers for their scent, not because of how they looked. Your favorites were lily of the valley and freesias.

Eddie didn’t know that though, because he had never asked.

You knew that the first time Eddie and Chrissy met where at the talent show in sixth grade, when Chrissy preformed her cheerleading routine and Eddie and his band played.

That Eddie had even invited Chrissy to come to the Hideout and watch Corroded Coffin, but she died before that could happen.

You might have been the first girlfriend to watch Eddie perform but you weren’t the first one he had wanted there.

You knew it was idiotic – being jealous of a dead girl, one that Eddie hadn’t even gotten to the stage of dating! But you were.

Chrissy was a like a constant wedge between you and Eddie. How could you measure up to her? How could anyone measure up to a memory? Especially a memory that Eddie did everything to keep alive instead of letting it rest in peace?

You weren’t her.

Also, small part of you – a vicious one – wanted  to just yell at Eddie that what he hung on to wasn’t even real. Him and Chrissy, it would have never worked out.

Chrissy was the girlfriend of Jason Carver, one of the jocks that made not only Eddie’s life, but all his friends life, hell.

Chrissy knew that. Everyone at Hawkins high knew that and yet she had never blinked an eye about it before she wanted to buy weed. And to tell the truth, she didn’t blink an eye about it then either, since she hadn’t mentioned Jason being a jerk to Eddie, or apologized for it.

Chrissy didn’t remember when she and Eddie first met, Eddie had to be the one reminding her about it.

She may have felt safe with Eddie, he may have eased her stress for a moment but if she hadn’t been in that state of mind – would that even had happened?

No. Good girls like Chrissy Cunningham didn’t mix with the likes of Eddie Munson – three times repeated senior, living at a trailer park, having long hair and playing in a rock band.

You were ashamed to admit thinking such bitter and cruel thoughts. But you knew it was true.

You were woken out of your thoughts when Eddie’s van finally drove up outside your house, him waving and smiling. You did your best to smile back, despite him being nearly twenty minutes late.

”I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie said, kissing your cheek and hugging you tightly. ”I... I just swung by the cemetery first and lost track of time. These are for you,” Eddie said, holding out a bouquet of flowers for you.

Pink tulips. 

It felt like someone had punched you in the gut with a sledgehammer, your breath wheezing out through your lips.

It was just too much. You couldn’t take it anymore.

”Eddie, I want to break up.”

Eddie’s head snapped up so fast you were certain you could hear the joints in his neck popping, his eyes wide at the same time as he dropped the flowers he held.

”W-what?”

”I want to break up,” you repeated, tears brimming in your eyes.

”But... but why?!” he whispered, still in shock, looking like you had slapped him.

”Because… I’m not the girl you want.”

”What are you talking about?! Of course you’re the girl...”

”No, Eddie, I’m not,” you interrupted him. ”I’m the girl that you settled for, now that the girl you want is gone. I will never measure up to Chrissy, will I? You and her, you didn’t get your love story, and yet you’d rather spend your time talking to a tomb stone than me. A memory. Who can live up to a memory, Eddie? You buy me her favorite flowers, without even knowing what mine is. I don’t even like tulips! She was the girl that couldn't recollect the first time you met and yet she’s the one making you late to your anniversary date with me. She's dead and yet you pick her. Over me, your girlfriend."

You shook your head, wiping your tears away. ”I love you but I deserve to be with someone that wants me and only me. No one else, be it a memory or a living person."

Eddie stood and listened to you, his mouth hanging open. When you backed up a step to walk away he grabbed on to your arm.

”And do I get a say in this?”

”What is there to say?”

”That I do want you! I love you, sweetheart! I... I can’t believe that I’ve made you feel like... I’m so sorry!”

Eddie burst out in tears, sinking to his knees and burying his face against your belly. ”Please, no... don’t leave me. I can’t lose you! Don’t you see?! Losing you would hurt a million times worse than seeing Chrissy die!”

Now it was your turn to drop your jaw, looking down at him, not understanding what you heard.

”What?!”

”Sweetheart...  I was never in love with Chrissy. I felt sorry for her when we met up for weed and wanted to try and ease her mind, cheer her up. I didn’t know then she was targeted by Vecna but it was obvious something was wrong. I was surprised when she agreed to ride in my van with me, going to the trailer park. I thought she would stick her pretty nose up and refuse to even set her foot in such a place. I was glad to see that despite her questionable taste in boyfriends and friends she seemed to have an open mind. But the only thing I thought about was that I hoped Jason wouldn’t find out and kick my ass for it, not how I was going to make her date me!”

Eddie looked up at you and rubbed his hands along your sides. “Sweetheart, the pink tulips… I don’t even know what Chrissy’s favorite flower was. I buy them for you because those were the flowers I picked out when you and I first met. They… they are like a lucky charm - they brought you to me."

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes. I didn’t know you didn’t like them. And… me going to her grave tonight… it’s… it wasn’t because I missed her. I still feel horrible about her dying, that I couldn’t do shit to prevent it. But… we barely knew each other. How can I miss someone that I barely knew? And that… that’s the point, baby.”

“What?” you whispered, your hands now going to his hair, stroking it.

“I feel so guilty that I’m so fucking happy all the time now. That the best thing to ever happen to me came to be because she died. How horrible does that sound?! I realize I don't think about her and what happened anymore – and it makes me feel like I’m some kind of sociopath. Because I can only think of you and what you mean to me. I talked to Wayne about it and he… he suggested I went to Chrissy’s grave and talked about it, like she was there, listening. Getting it all out, so I could… move on. With you.”

Now it was your turn to sink to your knees, your hands cupping Eddie’s face.

“R-really?” you whispered. “

Eddie nodded. “Yes. Shit, sweetheart, I didn’t know you were feeling like this… I’m a terrible boyfriend, making you think you were second best, that you could be anything other than the love of my goddamn life. There is no measurement, because you are my everything!”

You believed him. Finally you believed him, warmth welling up inside your chest, the tears running down your cheeks again but this time it was out of happiness.

“Please, don’t break up with me,” Eddie whispered and you shook your head.

“No. I’m sorry too, Eds.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Eddie kissed you, both of you still on your knees on the sidewalk before he pulled back, looking into your eyes.

“For future reference – what is your favorite flower?”

You were about to answer before you looked at the bouquet still lying on the sidewalk in its wrapping and smiled.

“You know what… I think… I think these are my new favorites after all.”

tag list: @ali-r3n @quinnyficsy @melodymunson @jenniquinn

please, like, comment and reblog!

Your likes are wonderful but reblogs expand my reading circle

[multiheadcanons]

💙 OH! BY THE WAY!

scout: sure, maybe it wasn’t a good idea you were proposing. you felt a little dumb even verbalizing it. but scout never said he was a genius. so he heard you out, and he thought about it for a moment, and then he gives you a light smile. “whatever you wanna do, i’ll back you up for it.”

soldier: soldier let you sit with him while he maintained his weapons. which is already a rare moment. and conversation was not his strong suit, but the silence was comfortable. as he finished, and begins to clean the space around him, he spared you a light smile. “thanks for hanging around. you’re good company.”

pyro: all you asked for was a lighter. what you didn’t expect is pyro to jump up and scurry off, pushing anyone out of the way that they needed to, and returning with the same fervor. they placed something weighted in your hand. as you turn your hand to look at it, you didn’t expect to find a carefully decorated refillable lighter, your name spelled in small letter beads with hearts surrounding it, and an impressive ombré of small rhinestones. almost nervously, they bump your forehead gently with theirs. it’s for you! keep it!

demo: you’d gone on a couple of dates with demo. few and far between, you were lucky enough to get a third date for lunch, much more lowkey than the others. and as you sat across from each other, musing and conversing and laughing, you notice he’s staring at you. with a chuckle, you ask if he’s got a staring problem. and he smiles in return. “i just really like you.”

heavy: heavy has been avoiding you for a while now. and you couldn’t conceal the irritation you felt when you would watch him exit rooms the second you walked in. and he wasn’t very pleased when you cornered him in the kitchen. but even as your brows furrowed, and your face flushed from rage, and you pressed your finger directly into his chest, digging into the meat, something in him continues to melt. “i really missed you.”

engineer: you’ve gotten close to the texan over the years, and you found quickly that he shows his affections through acts of service. as you sit at your desk, frowning at the paper in front of you, you hear a knock at your door and the turn of the knob. you knew who it was, so you didn’t turn to look. but as he asks you if there’s anything he can grab for you, you turn to look at him and ask why he feels the need to do these things for you. and he laughed. “darlin’, as long as you know me, you’re gonna want for nothin’.”

medic: it is a common occurrence that you find the doctor slumped at his desk at odd hours. and you know you couldn’t wake him. but you could always stare. you’ve never seen the man look so peaceful. as his eyes shot open, and sat up in his seat, and he grabbed his pen to continue, you gave the gentle recommendation that going to bed wouldn’t kill him. you weren’t surprised that he refused. but what he said after was amusing. the closest he can come to a compromise. “take me to bed if i can’t finish this.”

sniper: snipes never lets you join in on a job. but he even asked if you wanted to tag along this time. and as you sat in his nest, you couldn’t help but ask him why today, and why this job. you didn’t expect the groan to come from it as he pulled the trigger. “just don’t make me regret it. this is why.”

spy: you were having a really bad day. you were exhausted, irritated, you had a random pain in your stomach that you couldn’t place. you were incredibly unhappy, and unwilling to talk about it. and that’s okay, because as you open the door to your apartment, you see it’s been freshly cleaned. flowers on the table. “take a bath. dinner will be ready shortly.” you drop your things at the door and move towards the bathroom, where a bath is drawn and waiting. you were having a really bad day. and you didn’t have to talk about it if you didn’t want to. all he wants you to do is relax.

[fatedroses]

Two tanks without their emotional support healers.

[tragedykery]

trying to figure out character voices for my ocs and I think the one I have the clearest picture of rn is taituk. they speak…not quite stiffly maybe but definitely a tad formal. more connective words & full sentences than most people use when speaking. they’ve got the admirable habit of just letting silence fall until they’ve thought of the right thing to say, very little uhming or use of other filler words. they tend to be overly specific rather than vague—e.g., instead of saying something is rare or common, they might try to give a numeric indication of how rare or common it is. they talk quite slowly and quietly, but can make themself heard if so desired. absolutely hate shouting. they prefer to speak calmly, and if they’re in an emotional situation they will wait to compose themself until they know their voice will be level. because of this they can seem emotionless to the untrained eye, but they’re just good at hiding/repressing them lol

[pin-k-ink]

OFF THE RECORD ⋆✦⋆ gojo satoru

synopsis ➸ you know gojo too well to believe he’s here for a quick fuck. he’s here for a favor—one you have no intention of granting. too bad he’s never been good at taking no for an answer.

tags ➸ implied former student/teacher relationship, slight age gap, friends with benefits, possessive behavior, mild dom/sub themes, power play, manipulation, daddy kink, mild objectification, dirty talking, semi-public/public sex, mention of past sexual encounters, implied blackmail (it’s really not as bad as you think)

wc ➸ 10.9k

The steamy tendrils still clung to your skin as you stepped out of the shower, toweling off with a contented sigh. Mornings like this—quiet, peaceful routines before diving headfirst into the chaotic world of jujutsu—were increasingly rare these days. So you tried to savor each precious moment while it lasted.

With the towel secured around your body, you padded toward the bedroom to get dressed for yet another long day at headquarters. However, the second you stepped over the threshold, the hairs along your nape instantly prickled upright. A presence. An unmistakable shift in the air currents that could only mean—

"Well, good morning, gorgeous! Sleep well?"

You barely stifled the startled yelp as Gojo Satoru's cheerful baritone seemed to resonate from directly behind you. Whirling around, sure enough, there he was—all towering height, shredded muscle, and bright eyes glinting with clear amusement. How someone so powerful could also be so utterly shameless sometimes, you'd never know.

Doing your best to ignore the heat flooding your cheeks, you planted your hands on your hips in a stern facsimile of composure. "Satoru...what an unexpected surprise. Here I thought teachers were supposed to set good examples about respecting boundaries, not traipsing into former students' homes unannounced."

Rather than appear even remotely chagrined, Gojo simply chuckled and leaned back against your kitchen counter as if he owned the place. You watched in mild annoyance as his gaze slowly trailed up and down your towel-clad figure with undisguised appreciation.

"Hey now, no need for such icy formalities between us old friends," he chided, the barest hints of a smirk tugging at those infuriatingly full lips. "Besides, when have I ever cared about doing what's expected of me, hm? That's like...95% of my appeal, babe."

Rolling your eyes, you huffed out a resigned sigh and crossed the room to your closet, firmly squelching the instincts that urged you to yank the towel higher and more securely over your body. Gojo had seen—and thoroughly enjoyed—far more of you than this in the past. No sense getting flustered over his blazing regard now.

"Right, so does this impromptu visit have an actual purpose?" You shot him a pointed look over your shoulder as you fished out a crisp blouse and trousers to wear to HQ. "Or are you just being a pain as usual and raiding my fridge for a sugar fix again?"

You heard Gojo's low snort of amusement before his heavy footfalls sounded, clearly bringing him closer despite your protestations. "What can I say? Your kitchen is better stocked with sweets than most convenience stores. I can't help craving a little nibble now and then..."

The sultry undercurrent in his tone triggered a fresh blaze of heat along your nape. You could practically feel the smoldering weight of Gojo's stare boring into your ass as you bent to rifle through your bottom dresser drawer.

"But you're onto something with that other theory as well," he continued in a lower, more contemplative register. All traces of levity seemed to evaporate as his presence loomed larger behind you. "I did actually come to ask a favor of my very favorite former pupil. An important one that I wouldn't bother you about if the stakes weren't so high."

Curiosity and trepidation warred within your chest at the unexpected gravity clouding Gojo's usually buoyant candor. You instinctively straightened, clutching your clothes to your chest as you slowly turned to face him once more.

And just like that, the heated tension seemed to ratchet up several palpable notches as your eyes met and held in the claustrophobic space. Gojo's sculptured features had taken on a severe, intense edge—all sharp angles and tightly leashed power that instantly siphoned the breath from your lungs.

Suddenly, his earlier "playful" flirting and teasing manner seemed less like an act and more like a fragile facade barely containing his true tempestuous nature. You swallowed hard against the liquid lick of thrilling trepidation skating down your spine as Gojo maintained that weighty, piercing stare for several moments longer.

"...Is everything okay?" You finally managed in a hushed murmur, scarcely recognizing your own voice under the abrupt spell of Gojo's domineering energy. "What could possibly have you riled up enough to ditch the flippant act?"

Rather than immediately answering, Gojo closed the remaining distance between you with two long, purposeful strides. You had to crane your head back slightly to maintain eye contact as his powerful silhouette utterly consumed your space—the scalding brand of his body heat and crisp, masculine scent enveloping you from all sides.

"Believe me, kitten...if I came here for anything even remotely fun or pleasure-oriented, you wouldn't need to ask," he rumbled at last, voice pitched low enough to instill a full-body shiver along your nerves.

One of Gojo's large hands came up, and you froze as the rough pads of his knuckles grazed a feather-light caress along the line of your jaw. His thumb swiped over the seam of your lower lip in an utterly artless, possessive sweep—smoldering gaze following the motion with incendiary focus.

"I'd already have that smart mouth wrapped around my cock doing something far more useful than talking..."

Despite the crudity of his words, you couldn't quite stifle the punched-out whimper that slipped free at the graphic implication. Gojo's pupils blew fractionally wider in answer, tongue darting out to lave his lower lip as if tasting the charged undercurrents now rippling between you.

"Lucky for you, this is actually about business," he continued in that same resonant timbre that seemed to spark straight between your thighs each time his rich cadence washed over you. "The kind of serious business that even a lazy pervert like me can't afford...distractions for at the moment, got it?"

You managed a jerky nod, too disoriented by the heady spiral of desire cloying at your senses to do much else. Gojo's expression seemed to tighten further—a muscle feathering in his chiseled jaw as if steeling himself for whatever came next as he stepped back a bit.

"Itadori Yuji is scheduled for execution..." The blunt statement punched out like a missile deployment, brutally shredding the increasingly rapacious atmosphere between you. "And one way or another, I need that sentence postponed before it's too late."

You immediately shook your head, mouth set in a grim line. "Postponing Itadori Yuji's execution? That's not going to happen, Satoru."

His brows pinched slightly at your blunt refusal. "This is serious, kitten. That kid is instrumental to—"

"Don't you think I know how serious this is?" you cut him off, firming your voice into an authoritative tone. "I work directly under the higher-ups, remember? I'm well aware of the situation with Sukuna’s vessel and the potential ramifications of his continued existence."

Squaring your shoulders, you leveled Gojo with an unwavering stare. "My answer is final. Bringing this to the elders would be pointless at best, and could potentially jeopardize my position if they see it as insubordination. I'm not sacrificing everything I've worked for just because you showed up and gave me those stupid puppy dog eyes."

Rather than back down, Gojo simply regarded you with a contemplative tilt of his head—bright gaze assessing as if turning over your words from every possible angle. You could practically see the gears turning behind those piercing blue irises as he recalibrated his approach.

"Okay, let's table the business side of things for now," he said at last, tone losing some of its previous urgency. Straightening his body, Gojo prowled a step closer—effectively reclaiming the charged atmosphere from earlier. "Maybe you just need some...persuading to see reason."

You refused to be baited so easily, keeping your expression coolly neutral even as his scalding presence flooded your personal space once more. "I'm not some hormonal teenager letting her heart sway business decisions anymore, Satoru. Those games won't work."

Gojo hummed softly in response, head cocking as his lips curved into a slow, molten smirk. "We'll see about that..."

Without warning, his hands clamped down on your hips, thumbs digging in with delicious friction as he hauled you flush against the solid wall of his torso. You couldn't withhold the tiny gasp that punched free at the sudden, searing contact—every ridge and cording muscle of Gojo's powerful physique branding itself against your towel-clad frame.

"Does this position feel...familiar to you at all, gorgeous?" he murmured in a honeyed rasp right against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed a path along your jaw as he dipped to mouth steamy, lingering kisses down the fragrant column of your throat. "Maybe sparks a few memories of the last time you found yourself pinned underneath me...crying out for more the whole night through?"

A shudder rippled down your spine at the crude allusion to your long-ago graduation celebration with Gojo. You remembered that encounter vividly—every slick rasp of skin against skin, the sweltering tangle of limbs, the exquisite ache of being split open on his thick cock over and over until the entire room reeked of your joined passion.

Gojo merely chuckled at your flustered squirming, nosing aside the collar of your towel to lave a heated path along your collarbone. "Mmm...that's right. There were points that night where I had my cock buried so fuckin' deep in this perfect pussy of yours that you could taste it on the back of your tongue with every breath."

You bit back a shuddering whimper at the crude imagery, willpower rapidly crumbling beneath his carnal onslaught. Despite your best efforts, the memories he so skillfully stoked were stoking liquid tendrils of arousal thrumming to life between your thighs. Gojo's grin stretched wider as you unconsciously arched into his scorching frame.

"Always did love ruining you on my dick that first time," he rumbled with blatant gratification against your heated skin. "Watching those gorgeous eyes glaze over while I split you open again and again until you passed out..."

Abruptly, Gojo detached his mouth from the thundering pulse at your jugular with one final lingering sweep of his sinful tongue. Smirking down at your glazed, panting expression, he tucked an errant lock of hair behind your ear.

"But hey...while fun memories are nice, I'd rather make some new ones together after work," he said, suddenly all casual nonchalance once more as he meandered towards the door. "I'll pick you up from HQ when your shift is over and we can...discuss this Itadori thing some more in private. That sound good to you, babe?"

You blinked rapidly, trying to reassemble your scattered thoughts as the searing proximity of Gojo's presence withdrew—leaving you bereft and utterly unbalanced by the shift.

"Don't worry your pretty head over giving me an answer," Gojo called over his shoulder as he palmed the doorknob. "I already know you'll say yes when I remind you again how much that tight little pussy loves being split open on my—"

The door snapped shut with a hollow thud, cutting off the rest of his filthy promise. Though the last rakish wink he slanted your way before departing was more than enough to sear the implication deep into your psyche.

Sinking heavily back against the wall, you fought to regain your equilibrium—limbs quaking and breath escaping in ragged pants that did nothing to dissuade the rising tide of feverish arousal still gripping your core. Gojo had utterly unraveled you into a breathless, squirming mess from just a few suggestive caresses and searing endearments.

And despite your best efforts, you got the gnawing suspicion he'd made up his mind to thoroughly capitalize on—and ruthlessly extend—that molten state when you inevitably saw him again tonight.

The long hours crept by at an agonizing pace as you tried to focus on your duties at headquarters. But the memory of Gojo's heated presence that morning, his crude allusions to your long-ago passionate tryst, made it utterly impossible to concentrate.

You vividly recalled the way his powerful frame had caged you against the wall, face nuzzling along your flushed throat as that rich, smoky timbre painted filthy promises about thoroughly splitting you open again soon. Just the phantom whisper of Gojo's searing lips tracing your thundering pulse was enough to catalyze wild tremors of molten arousal deep in your core.

Each time you shifted in your seat or bent over the piles of paperwork, you could've sworn a delirious ache throbbed between your thighs—muscles fluttering with unbearable emptiness. Like they instinctively yearned to be stretched taut around the thick, punishing girth of Gojo's cock once more, just like that rapturous night of your graduation celebration.

The explicit images and flashes of sensation made concentrating an exercise in futility. Only your rigid adherence to professionalism and composure prevented you from squirming like an utter harlot right there in front of your subordinates.

By the time the evening hours finally rolled around, you felt strung as taut as a high wire—electrified nerves screaming for any sort of reprieve from Gojo's lingering psychic imprint. So you hastily packed your bags and paperwork, determined to slip out before he had a chance to accost you again.

However, the second you passed through the main entrance gates, a powerful hand shot out to clamp around your bicep in an authoritative grip. You barely contained the strangled gasp as Gojo's sheer masculine presence enveloped you, dragging you into the shadowed seclusion of a nearby alcove.

The cool stone bit into your back as he firmly levered your wrists overhead, utterly pinning you in place with his hulking silhouette. Gojo's piercing blue eyes glinted in the dim light, scorching a path down your disheveled figure with undisguised intent.

"Leaving so soon?" The deep, resonant timbre of his voice washed over you in smoky tendrils, already catalyzing a fresh blaze of arousal in your veins. "And here I was looking forward to picking up where we left off earlier..."

To emphasize his point, Gojo surged forward until every inch of his powerful frame molded against yours in a delicious, searing brand. You whimpered softly as his weight pinned you fully, feeling the unmistakable rigid line of his erection notching against your lower belly.

Gojo ducked his head with a low rumble of approval, searing lips and tongue mapping a scorching path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. You instinctively tilted your head aside to grant him better access, shuddering helplessly as he indulged in long, openmouthed draughts of your scent and flushed skin.

"F-Fuck...Satoru, not here!" The words emerged in a reedy, breathless whine against your better judgment as his wicked mouth found that sensitive bundle of nerves just below your ear. You writhed beneath the slow torment with increasing desperation. "Anyone could catch us...this is crazy!"

Rather than immediately address your token protests, Gojo merely chuckled—the warm puffs of his amusement ghosting deliciously along your tingling nerves as he mouthed a stinging graze against your racing pulse. One of his large, calloused palms slid down to engulf your hip in a possessive squeeze, already kneading and grinding you in a slow simmer of friction.

"You say that like you've never been desperate enough to beg me to fuck you right here in these hallways before..." The low, sensually-charged growl shivered your bones down to the marrow. Gojo finally pulled back enough to cage your dazed features fully within his piercing stare—lips curved in a lascivious smirk of fond reminiscence. "Multiple times, if I'm recalling correctly."

Heat flared through your cheeks as the graphic imagery took shape against your fraying resistance—lurid memories of breathless encounters where the thrill of potentially being caught by patrolling sentries only fueled the delirious flames higher. You swallowed hard against the thickness now cloying your throat, squirming in feeble denial.

Gojo's smirk deepened into something utterly sinful as he drank in your expression with clear relish. "Do you need me to refresh your memory about the last time you had me backed into a supply closet?" he rasped, leaning in until the blistering brand of his body seared you from chest to hip once more. "How hard you came when I finally pulled those thighs apart and licked straight through your soaked—"

"Enough!" you gasped out before he could fully unleash the damning words. You renewed your efforts at wriggling free in earnest, well aware your weakening restraint wouldn't last against Gojo's relentless carnal onslaught. "I-I...maybe we should actually go somewhere more appropriate first. Dinner, maybe?"

Despite your sudden meek suggestion, you couldn't quite mask the desperation laced through the plaintive request. Gojo's eyes seemed to glitter brighter at the shift in your demeanor, clearly scenting weakness in the offing as he allowed his grip to relax somewhat.

"Dinner first, huh?" He pursed those full lips into an exaggerated pout of contemplation before relenting with a dramatic sigh. "Well, I suppose that's only fair since I'm the one working up an appetite here..."

With one last blistering look that robbed you of breath entirely, Gojo stepped back and pivoted on his heel to swagger away down the narrow thoroughfare like a man supremely assured of victory. You could only sag back against the alcove wall, chest heaving with exertion as the towering remnants of arousal slowly ebbed.

However, there remained little doubt in your overwrought psyche that this temporary reprieve from your joining was little more than the universe's taunting cruelty. You'd awoken Gojo's darkest, most lascivious appetites earlier that morning.

And if the way he slanted one final look over his powerful shoulder—bright irises already blown wide and jaw clenching subtly around what had to be punishing levels of restraint—then the true feasting was only just about to begin in earnest. With your achingly empty body as the main course.

The opulent restaurant oozed sophistication from every polished surface and perfectly-starched linen. The sommelier's formal bow and crisp recitation of the evening's premier wine offerings seemed utterly wasted on the two of you.

You eyed Gojo over the rim of your glass, the dry Cabernet doing little to dull the lingering tension still thrumming between your joined frames. As always, he looked utterly nonplussed about the lavish indulgences surrounding you—crisp white dress shirt straining across his muscular torso and sharp jawline rasped by the beginnings of late evening stubble. Like a predator eternally at ease, regardless of situation.

Gojo's piercing gaze roamed over you with the same slow, assessing intensity one might reserve for an exquisite delicacy awaiting consumption. You tried not to squirm under that molten scrutiny, clearing your throat pointedly.

"I'm assuming there was some purpose behind corralling me into this place," you remarked in your best professional tone. "Beyond getting me liquored up for some inappropriate table exhibition, that is."

Rather than rebuff your dig, Gojo simply angled his head in a catlike tilt—lips curling into a devilish smirk that telegraphed his carnal interest crystal clear. Leaning further back in his chair, he allowed one broad palm to splay suggestively over the crisp linen covering his lap, fingertips drumming out an idle staccato.

"Well now, I certainly wouldn't say no to having those gorgeous lips wrapped around something else for a change." His deep timbre emerged laced with sin and smoky insinuation. "You always did look like an utter vision stuffed under these fancy tabletops sucking me off..."

Heat blossomed across your cheeks despite your best efforts at composure. You knocked back another bracing swallow of wine, struggling not to dwell on the searing flashes his words evoked—memories of delirious encounters where Gojo had hauled you under secluded tables to properly appreciate your skills with relentless, undisguised gratification.

Swallowing thickly, you gripped your fork with slightly more force than necessary."I'd ask if you're always this disgracefully crass and lascivious in public these days...but then I remembered who I'm talking to," you said dryly. "So in the interest of not causing a scene, why don't we get to the point of this little ambush?"

One brow arched infinitesimally as Gojo cocked his head further, clearly drinking in your prim and vaguely irritated state with evident relish. "You seem awfully anxious to rush right to business," he murmured, fingertips continuing their idle rhythm against the tablecloth. "Where's that simmering self-restraint and haughty composure I remember enjoying unraveling piece...by...delicious...piece so thoroughly back in the day?"

You opened your mouth to fire back a scathing retort, only for Gojo to cut you off with a low, lush rumble. "Unless you've simply decided being insatiably thirsty for this cock is more your speed these days..."

With that quiet taunt, his free hand disappeared beneath the pristine linen swathe in a heavy, meaningful descent. You swallowed convulsively as his fingertips slid along the unmistakable ridge of his thick cock straining against the unforgiving fabric of his slacks. Every knuckle undulated in a deliberate, stroking glide that tightened your throat like a vise around trapped breaths and unspoken pleas.

"Can practically already taste how soaked you're getting beneath those prim layers just from the thought alone..." Gojo continued in a molten rasp heavy with undisguised gratification. "Imagining that filthy little mouth stretched wide around my girth again, glazing yourself in my cum right here in front of god and all these polite company..."

A tiny, reedy sound slipped unbidden from your constricted chest despite your best efforts at locking it down. Gojo's lascivious smirk turned rapacious as he correctly scented the spike of liquid want now cloying the humid space between you.

"So what do you say, gorgeous?" He pitched his timbre slightly lower, allowing each gravelled syllable to curl around your senses with lashes of pure elemental sin. "Going to be a good little famished cocksleeve and give me a hand under the table before we get down to—"

You cut across his brazen soliloquy with a forceful rap of your fork against the tabletop. Pulling yourself together, you fixed Gojo with a severe glower that finally seemed to give him pause.

"If you can't conduct yourself with any semblance of decorum befitting your station, then I'm through entertaining these adolescent displays," you bit out in a hushed tone edged with adamant warning. "I'm not some wide-eyed underling fresh off the training fields anymore, Satoru. I have higher standing and responsibility than you seem to grasp."

Silence stretched between you for a weighted beat—Gojo's heated gaze flickering over you with renewed focus you couldn't quite decipher. When he finally spoke again, there was a note of uncharacteristic control underpinning his typically buoyant candor. Clearly, he'd grasped the need to change tactics once more.

"You're absolutely right," he said after a prolonged pause. "Part of me forgets just how much you've grown and ascended the ranks over the years." One side of his mouth curved higher in a lopsided ghost of his usual smirk. "Clearly earned the elders' respect and esteem far beyond that of a simple 'secretary' as I put it earlier."

Before you could retort, Gojo pressed onwards—hand sliding almost absently back into view to wrap around the stem of his wine flute. "Which is exactly why your assistance is pivotal to turning the tide regarding Yuji's current...perilous circumstances."

There was a grim finality in his words that snapped you back to the seriousness of the moment like a sobering slap to the face. You shifted fractionally taller in your seat, expression hardening as Gojo continued in low, adamant tones.

"Whether you're fully aware or care to admit it right now, that kid is destined to be pivotal for the upcoming events on the horizon," he rumbled with quiet conviction. "Leaving him to get executed off the books tomorrow morning would be tantamount to losing our most powerful asset before the real battles even begin."

Swirling his wine idly, Gojo paused to take an unhurried pull directly from the bottle before continuing. "Which is why I'm going to need to call in more than a few favors getting his sentence postponed tonight. Starting with you, of course..."

There was a new current of steely focus glinting in his gaze as it bored into you with ruthless intensity. For several protracted beats, you simply held each other's stares—gauging the lengths and motivations rumbling beneath the surface beyond petty physical exploits.

Finally, you pursed your lips and shook your head in a solemn negation. "I'm sorry, but I can't overstep protocol and abuse my influence with the elders like that," you stated, quietly adamant. "Not even for you, Satoru. The ramifications could unravel everything I've worked decades to attain if word got out I went rogue."

Rather than exploding in his usual flashes of arrogance or wounded pride, Gojo merely raked you with a glower of narrowed, simmering intent. His next words emerged more pointed and resonating than any innuendo or filthy endearment preceding it.

"Are you sure about that stance?" he intoned darkly. "Because if memory serves, there are a few distinct...indiscretions we've engaged in that could certainly be construed as 'unraveling' by the elders' view, wouldn't you agree?"

The waiter's polished footsteps faded as he departed to fetch their entrees, leaving you and Gojo in a weighted silence. You could practically taste the undercurrent of tension simmering in the air between you both.

Sipping his wine slowly, Gojo dragged his incandescent stare over your features with undisguised intensity. "I'm serious about this," he stated in a low, firm rumble that brooked no further evasion. "We're talking everything from inappropriate use of jujutsu techniques to conduct we both know crosses so many lines..."

He trailed off meaningfully, leaving the implications to hang heavy as his tongue slicked over his lower lip. You swallowed hard against the rising heat prickling across your cheeks and neck.

"Like that night in the east gardens behind the training halls," Gojo continued, voice dropping into a deeper, more intimate register that curled straight between your thighs. "Where I pinned you down in the grass and ate you out until you came all over my face. And then I fucked you so hard, you nearly passed out before we got caught."

Despite yourself, a tremulous shiver raked through your nerves as the visceral flashes assaulted your mind's eye—the frantic rasp of his calloused palms roaming and kneading, the slick motions of his tongue probing and savoring parts of you meant for far more intimate settings.

Gojo noticed your reaction with a dark chuckle, clearly satisfied he'd reeled you back in completely. "Or what about the time you wrapped those pretty lips around my cock in the maintenance closet and let me rail your throat until you choked on my load? How many rules was just that one encounter bending, hm?"

The directness of his words scorched through you with dizzying potency, making you flush and squirm. You parted your lips on a shaky exhale, determined to regain some semblance of control.

But Gojo smirked knowingly and pressed his verbal advantage in a low, filthy rumble. "Face it, I've got enough material on you ruining me with that greedy little mouth and pussy all over campus to get you defrocked hard." His hooded azure gaze practically seared into your core. "And yet you really wanna risk me airing all those dirty details to the elders? Leaving Itadori's fate to chance like that?"

Your mouth felt suddenly dry as you wrestled with the undeniable truth behind his taunting words. For several fraught beats, the frustration and righteous indignation warred with your embedded sense of duty to the cause. Finally, you released a shuddery breath and lifted your chin.

"I'll...see what I can do about swaying things in your favor," you muttered in a low, slightly strained tone. "No promises, but I'll try discussing options with the higher-ups."

Rather than seem appeased, Gojo's expression only hardened further—carved features settling into a granite mask of tenacious stubbornness and smoldering impatience. "'Not good enough, kitten," he rumbled, forearms tensing atop the table. "This mission is too fucking important for halfhearted measures. I need you to outright insist on a stay of execution being granted, got it? No more stammering 'I'll try' bullshit that lets them sidestep."

His unyielding stare pinned you with the intensity of a physical force, raising your hackles slightly despite your attempt at diplomacy. Still, looking into those blazing blue embers, you got the distinct impression that you'd sooner achieve moving a mountain with vocal commands than sway Gojo on this matter. That steely resolve would accept nothing less than complete victory in postponing Itadori's fate.

Just as you began resigning yourself to digging in for another round of heated back-and-forth across the fancy tablecloth, the arrival of the main courses mercifully broke the combative spell between you. Gojo seemed to settle back imperceptibly as the waiter swept in—that scorching intensity banking down to a more companionable smolder for the time being.

Still, you recognized the temporary reprieve for what it was as you tucked into your meal with far less gusto than anticipated. Despite his best efforts to gloss over the previous tension with idle banter and lighter conversational tones, it remained silently understood that the evening's main purpose still hung unresolved and delicate between you until matters were final.

So it was with an undercurrent of somber expectation that you finally settled the check and rose to follow Gojo from the opulent dining hall at evening's end. A subtle snap of his fingers triggered a curiously disorienting sensation of compression and vertigo—only to release you blinking in surprise mere heartbeats later, finding yourself suddenly standing in the familiar living quarters you called home.

"I'd say you're handling that little trick with far more aplomb these days," Gojo remarked with a lopsided grin, clearly drinking in your adjustment to his impromptu teleportation with amusement. "Remember when I first started zipping you around like that? Pretty sure you heaved your guts all over those ugly penny loafers you used to wear back in the day."

Huffing out a noise of semi-fond exasperation, you aimed a swat at his sculpted arm without malice. "Yes, well I suppose youth and naivety breed certain...overzealous behaviors, don't they?" you retorted before immediately sobering once more. "Like making reckless judgment calls that imperil an entire system..."

Gojo's expression remained impassive, giving no outward indication whether your choice of words struck any particular chord with him. However, you caught the faintest glimmer flickering behind those incandescent blue irises - the barest hint that perhaps you'd underestimated just how much gravitas your dissenting opinion potentially held with the higher-ups.

After all, you were Gojo Satoru's first and most distinguished pupil back when he initially ascended to teaching status, weren't you? Not only that, but your judicious control and prime mastery of your innate techniques embodied many of the fundamental philosophies and fighting styles the old guard so staunchly valued. On numerous occasions, your skills had been cited as quintessential examples to uphold for future generations...

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard as the weighty truth of your potential sway with leadership gradually bobbed to the surface of your consciousness like drift debris after a storm. This entire evening, Gojo might have simply been maneuvering to forcibly realign your perspective on leveraging the hidden influence you apparently wielded without ever fully grasping it.

To truly comprehend the magnitude of the gambit he intended to play using your standing as the key gambit.

Before you could properly parse that sobering epiphany, however, Gojo had already closed what little distance remained between your frames with purposeful strides. The blistering heat of his body all but blanketed yours as he leaned in with that familiar aura of prowling, casual intensity that always made your breath stall.

"So..." he murmured, voice pitching into a lower register that seemed to slither straight down your spine. "Does that mean you're gonna be a good girl and invite me inside so we can continue this intriguing conversation in more...comfortable accommodations?"

Gojo punctuated the brazen implication by cocking one arm against the doorframe, effectively caging you between the cool wood and the searing, masculine planes of his torso and hips. You were abruptly overwhelmed by the reality of his proximity - each subtly shifting ripple of sinew and musculature utterly inescapable from this range.

That distinctly virile, elemental musk that always set your senses clamoring was back in full force as well. You swallowed hard, nostrils flaring fractionally as the delirious essence of Gojo's body heat and clean, faintly spiced perspiration flooded your olfactory receptors. Despite your most ardent efforts, you felt your lids grow heavy and mouth part unconsciously as liquid frissons of pure, burgeoning temptation licked through your veins.

Just like that, with a few deftly aimed strokes, Gojo had reeled you back to the precipice of helpless surrender once more. Still, you summoned the dregs of your stern resolve and planted your palms squarely against his chest, levering back an inch to preserve some semblance of boundaries.

"Subtle as ever, I see," you managed in a tone you hoped came across more dryly exasperated than outright breathless. "I should've guessed the moment we arrived you'd be angling to make yourself at home uninvited."

One brow arched higher, though you didn't miss the slight crinkling at the corners of Gojo's stupidly pretty eyes betraying his hushed amusement. "Oof, someone has their defenses wound just a tad tightly if they think I require permission these days," he shot back with a wry rumble.

Before you could summon a retort, that leonine physique surged forward in a slow, sensual undulation—once again pinning you fully against the unyielding wooden slab with the scorching brand of his larger frame. Gojo's free hand drifted down to palm the generous curve of your hip with sinful insistence, hips canting forward until there could be no mistaking the ridge of his erection notching against your lower belly.

"Better question might be..." His voice dropped several delirious octaves into those sandpaper-rough timbres that seemed to sizzle straight through your nerve endings. "Why even bother pretending at token protests when we both know how this little dance is gonna end...?"

Those incandescent azure irises flickered down to where his fingertips were already stroking teasing swirls against the exposed strip of skin between your top and waistband, silently daring you to rebuff such an implicit capitulation.

"So why delay the inevitable any longer, gorgeous?" Gojo rumbled against your lips, voice dropping into that gravelly timbre designed to liquefy your restraint. "Let's get down to stripping off all these formalities once and for—"

"You haven't even kissed me yet today," you blurted out, cutting across his heated soliloquy.

Gojo's pale brows pinched infinitesimally as the words seemed to momentarily stall his single-minded determination. You could practically see the gears turning behind those hooded azure irises as he processed your statement—likely running back through every provocative encounter and instance of attempted seduction throughout the evening.

When his piercing stare finally snapped back to yours, there was the faintest glimmer of sheepish realization burning there. "...Huh. You're right," he remarked in a slightly lower, more subdued tone. "Here I've been working overtime to rile you up, and I haven't even had the balls to properly lay one on you yet."

You tried not to visibly preen under the gratifying acknowledgment, but couldn't quite suppress the tiny quirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Sensing a rare window of opportunity, you shifted your weight more fully against the solid contours of Gojo's frame, allowing your fingers to trail upwards in delicate spirals.

"Well?" You arched one brow in playful challenge, throat bobbing on a swallow as your digits mapped higher along the tendons of his powerful neck. "Are you going to actually follow through, or am I going to have to take the initiative here?"

For one heated beat, Gojo simply held your pointed stare in taut suspension—the atmosphere between you both seeming to atomize down into charged ionization particles awaiting the slightest catalyst to detonate. Then, his lips curved higher in a lopsided smirk you'd come to recognize as pure, unrepentant recklessness sublimating into physical form.

"You're going to have to come and get it, gorgeous," he rumbled, the raspy undercurrents sending delicious frissons shivering along your nerves. "Show me just how badly you've been starving for a real taste all evening."

His dexterous fingers slid up to cup the line of your jaw, thumb sweeping suggestively across your lower lip in a searing caress. You struggled not to whimper at the electrifying friction as Gojo leaned further into your personal space.

However, rather than ducking his head the final few scant inches to seal his mouth hungrily over yours, the insufferable tease merely arched backward—body undulating in a slow, sinuous retreat until he towered over you at his full impressive stature. The tip of his tongue darted out to lave his lower lip in clear relish, eyes glinting with wicked invitation as he silently dared you to make good on rising to his heated gauntlet.

A thrill of excitement and determination lanced through your chest as you instantly grasped the game afoot. With purposeful, unhurried movements, you allowed your palms to splay across the granite warmth of his abdomen before slowly, teasingly tracking higher in a worshiping glide. Every rippling corde and sinewy groove of his musculature became briefly profiled as you glided your touch upwards - mapping the scorching acreage in ardent appreciation.

Gojo watched your journey with blown pupils and ragged breaths, torso visibly expanding with each shuddering inhalation he dragged against his impressive restraint. You didn't miss the flex and bunching of his arms and shoulders as you passed over his pectorals, clearly fighting not to haul you bodily against him right then and simply crush your pliant frames back into mutual rapture.

But still, he remained steadfast and motionless—a living marble statue gloriously chiseled from pure virile perfection, awaiting your reverent indulgences with a banked smolder burning behind his hooded stare.

Finally, your fingertips dusted across the sharp angles of his jaw and cheekbones, body arching and straining upwards in your single-minded pursuit of that elusive, smug mouth you craved with mounting desperation. Try as you might to extend yourself onto the balls of your feet and go fully up on tiptoes, Gojo maintained a scant whisper of distance—always hovering just out of your reach with an expression of blatant masculine gratification at your squirming efforts.

A huff of breathy frustration nearly slipped free at the persistent denial, only to be silenced by the way Gojo instinctively dipped lower as if to grant your wish...only to arc back with a low, filthy chuckle that reverberated against your now-thundering pulse. It was as much a sensual dance of control and restraint as a taunt or test of wills at this juncture—simply savoring the delirious friction generated as your pliant, questing form sought to twine and pull him down into decadent oblivion, inch by maddening inch.

"Easy there, kitten..." he rasped in a low, smoky cadence designed to further short-circuit your resolve. "Why don't you try dropping to those pretty knees for me? Might give you better leverage and angles to play with in reaching those tempting lips that have been tormenting that insatiable appetite of yours..."

You answered with a full-body shudder and a needy keen spilling free from your very marrow—all thoughts of recalcitrance and willpower now thoroughly banished beneath the inescapable gravity well of Gojo's hypnotic presence and unholy temptations.

You whined out loud, an unguarded noise of pure pleading desire that seemed to momentarily crack through your usually reserved demeanor. "Satoru...please, wanna kiss you so badly."

The raw, plaintive tone of your entreaty hung in the air between you, heavy with naked yearning in a way that gave even Gojo pause. His brilliant eyes seemed to smolder brighter for an instant, no doubt dredging up fond recollections of past occasions where he'd so thoroughly unraveled your ironclad poise and reduced you to this state.

Rather than pounce on your vulnerability or tease further, however, Gojo's expression softened ever so slightly. One broad palm cradled the back of your skull as he ducked in closer, guiding your trembling frame until your brows nearly brushed.

"Since you asked so nicely..." he murmured, deep timbre emerging somewhere between a graveled purr and heated rumble.

You barely managed a shuddering inhalation before Gojo sealed his mouth over yours in a searing brand of possession. The initial clash of lips and tongue was something closer to an elemental force than a mere intimate exchange—not at all gentle, but rife with pent-up longing and ravenous need finally given free rein.

Your fingers instinctively knotted in the soft fabric of his shirt as Gojo laid an utterly thorough claim upon your senses. He swallowed each desperate little noise and whimper that punched free as if savoring the most delectable of delicacies. One thick forearm banded around your lower back to anchor you fully against his solid frame as he deepened the devouring cadence with relentless intensity.

A husky growl of clear approval and gratification rumbled against your slick, swollen mouth as Gojo momentarily allowed a scant parting for air. "Fuck...I'd almost forgotten how greedy and eager this talented little tongue can get," he grated with clear relish.

You could only pant and squirm fitfully in answer, thoughts scattered like dandelion seeds on a breeze. Gojo simply chuckled richly—the timbre vibrating straight through your very cells in a way that somehow untethered your feet from the ground entirely.

The next thing you clearly registered were his powerful arms banding beneath the backs of your thighs to haul you securely against his body in one smooth, easy motion. Your startled yelp melted into a tremulous sigh as the bunching plains of his torso and abdomen braced your arched spine in a sublime full-body embrace.

"Don't go passing out on me before the real fun starts," Gojo husked against the thundering pulse at your nape, even as his long strides carried you across the threshold of your apartment. "I've got plans for putting that gifted mouth to far better uses than just kissing..."

With your legs now locked around his narrow hips, you could feel every delicious ridge and twitch of his growing erection grinding against your dampening heat through the flimsy barriers separating you. A piteous whine slipped free as the swaying rhythm of his determined gait threatened to unravel you down to your very foundation.

"That's it, let me hear just how desperate I've got you aching to taste me properly again," Gojo growled against the whorl of your ear, each guttural rasp sparking fresh convulsions of need between your thighs. "Been waiting all fucking day to unwrap this gorgeous little prize and savor you inch...by...inch."

Gojo punctuated the lascivious promise by swiveling to carefully lay you out amidst the rumpled linens and cushions—each flickering shadow casting his chiseled features into harsh relief. No more levity or evasion glossed his expression, only the stark severity and zero-compromises focus of a predator fully engaged.

Rather than pounce on you immediately, however, Gojo seemed to pause and simply drink in the sight of your breathless, disheveled state with smoldering intent. His bright eyes roamed over every inch of your upturned features and the generous curves left tantalizingly displayed by your askew clothing.

"Goddamn..." he rumbled in a deep timbre thick with undisguised yearning. "Look at you splayed out for me, practically begging to get worked over already."

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away from the pure masculine intensity blazing in his stare. There was an undercurrent of restrained hunger there that made your pulse thunder—heady and distinctly feral even as Gojo slowly prowled over your prone body.

Rather than immediately claim you in a reckless flurry of lust, his calloused palms mapped your sides in a languid, purposeful glide all the way up to your rib cage. You arched instinctively into his maddening caresses, whimpering softly in anticipation.

"Easy there, baby..." Gojo murmured in a low rasp against the whorl of your ear. His nose trailed along the thrumming tendons of your neck, clearly savoring the scent of your desire. "You act like it's been months since this pretty pussy has been spread out and stuffed full. And after all the time I spent working you into this gorgeous, wrecked state..."

You squirmed fitfully beneath his unyielding weight, needy whines spilling past your parted lips as Gojo continued leisurely nuzzling and nipping along your jawline and throat. Despite the unhurried leisure of his attentions, you were rapidly spiraling into molten delirium between his hoarse endearments and the tantalizing friction where your bodies met.

"What, so impatient you can't even let me take a second to savor this?" Gojo husked out in a gravel-rough rasp that made you shiver. "I had to spend all damn day thinking about bending you over the second we were alone...so you'll excuse me if I take things slow now that I've got you all wound up and drenched for it."

Emphasizing his point, Gojo slotted one thick, muscular thigh between your parted legs, rocking forward in a slow grind that dragged the solid length of his cock against your molten entrance through the thin barrier separating you. You cried out sharply at the delicious friction, back bowing as frantic nails scoured tracks down his flexing shoulder blades in desperation.

"Yeah...that's it, squirm and moan for me like a good girl," Gojo growled in clear approval, tongue laving a wet path along the fragrant hollow of your throat. "Keep making those filthy sounds and just MAYBE I'll finally give you what you've been gagging for all night."

You could only whimper raggedly in compliance as his mouth moved lower, searing a path from collarbone to the generous swell of your breasts. His large hands cradled and kneaded the soft flesh with relish before tugging the stretchy fabric aside to bare one nipple to the calloused heat of his lips and tongue.

"That's right...let Daddy get his fill and reacquaint himself with every lush goddamn inch," Gojo growled around the rosy peak, sending lightning bolts of sensation zinging straight to your molten core. "Been thinking about sucking and biting these perfect tits all over again ever since you walked into that restaurant looking like a goddamn meal..."

Despite his crude admission, there was an undercurrent of clear reverence and tender devotion laced through his ragged cadences now. Gojo laved and nuzzled at your breasts with all the ardent indulgence of a penitent savoring their last meal before execution. His hooded azure gaze seemed to blaze brighter with each piteous keen and arch you offered up in answer to his lavishing.

Just as you felt yourself ascending the spiraling crescendo toward mindless bliss under his skilled attentions, Gojo abruptly detached from your saturated nipple with a low noise of harsh restraint. You whined plaintively, eyes glassy as your hands reflexively fisted in the front of his shirt—silently pleading for him to resume lapping away at the fiery deprivation swiftly devouring you inside out.

"Easy, baby..." he rasped through gritted teeth, clearly suppressing his own spiraling ardor through sheer force of iron will. "I didn't wait this long to absolutely wreck you just to blow it all on some half-assed foreplay."

Slanting his mouth over yours in another scorching, possessive claim, Gojo cradled your overwrought features between those rough, calloused palms with surprising tenderness.

His thumb smoothed along your cheekbone as the kiss gradually shifted into a slow, sensual undulation.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against the seam of your lips. "Let Daddy hear you ask for it nice and loud."

The command emerged as a gravelly whisper, though his blazing stare held an unmistakable glint of command. Still, the blatant carnal hunger etched into his expression made you feel positively giddy and invincible as your fingertips trailed along the corded lines of his powerful throat.

"I want you inside me, Sensei," you pleaded, voice pitching into a breathy whine. "Please, I need to feel you filling me up again."

Gojo groaned, clearly relishing the shameless admission and the way your thighs clenched reflexively around his hips. You could feel the rigid contours of his cock twitching eagerly against your slickened folds through the layers separating you.

"Fuck, the mouth on you," he rasped, nipping lightly at the underside of your jaw. "You know what it does to me when you call me that."

"Good," you purred, allowing your fingers to trail higher until they carded through the silky soft strands of his hair. "Now, are you going to stop stalling and show me how much better you are at playing teacher in bed?"

Your bold retort earned a snarl of pure male approval, though the sound quickly tapered into a groan as you deliberately canted your hips to drag the seeping damp of your panties against his throbbing erection. Gojo's fingers instinctively curled tighter around your neck, pinning you into place as he bucked and rolled his pelvis forward to reciprocate the delicious friction.

"Alright then, smartass..." he rasped, pupils blown nearly black with ravenous need as he stared down at your upturned, flushed face. "If that's how you wanna play it, I'm gonna make damn sure you're thoroughly re-educated on who exactly holds the reins here."

Without further ado, his hands drifted down to tug insistently at your waistband, practically shredding the flimsy fabric in his haste to free you from the rest of your clothing. You shivered at the way the cool evening air instantly pebbled across your newly exposed skin, though any instinctive modesty was quickly chased away by the hungry stare drinking in your naked form.

Gojo's expression shifted into a predatory leer, the sight sending another jolt of electric anticipation shooting through your already-jangling nerve endings. "That's better," he rumbled, broad palm skating a path up your inner thigh with unhurried reverence. "Nothing should be allowed to hide such a perfect view of my favorite fucking dessert."

You bit back a whimper at the possessive timbres lacing his gravel-rough voice, thighs twitching restlessly as Gojo's touch continued mapping higher. Finally, his questing fingertips slid into the sticky slick coating your swollen folds, dragging the copious evidence of your desire back to where your clit throbbed with need.

"Oh, look at that..." Gojo practically cooed, the filthy delight and awe laced through his voice sending a fresh rush of warmth spilling out against his dexterous ministrations. "Daddy's been neglecting his baby girl, and she's absolutely soaking wet already. How long has my gorgeous kitten been aching like this, hmm?"

The words emerged somewhere between a teasing croon and a gravelly growl, and you could only shudder and keen as Gojo continued rubbing maddening circles over your hypersensitive bud. The friction was already pushing you rapidly to the edge, and judging by the way Gojo's hooded gaze flickered up to watch your rapture, he could tell as much.

"Ah-ah...no cumming until you beg Daddy to fuck you properly," he rasped, even as his index and ring fingers dipped shallowly into your fluttering channel—teasing and stretching the seeping velvet heat in a way that made you sob out loud. "Don't make me have to punish you for being so naughty, kitten. You know I can keep you on the edge all night if I need to."

Your spine bowed and back arched as you writhed and thrashed beneath his touch, a litany of breathy whimpers and pleas falling from your kiss-swollen lips. "Please, please, Daddy, don't tease me," you begged shamelessly, the words nearly slurring together with raw need. "I'll be a good girl, I swear. Please, please just fuck me..."

Gojo's gaze sharpened with clear gratification as you entreated his mercy, and he finally eased off on the merciless friction between your thighs. Your lungs burned with the force of gulping down ragged lungfuls of air, but you were given scant reprieve before his hands gripped and lifted your thighs, effortlessly hauling you closer and spreading them wide.

"There's my good girl," he murmured, the raw timbre of his voice sending delicious frissons shivering across your fever-warm skin. "Such a sweet little angel when you finally submit."

With one more brief nip at the delicate flesh of your inner thigh, Gojo began working the fly of his trousers open, finally freeing his massive erection. He stroked and pumped his straining shaft a few times for good measure, eyes raking across your splayed, naked form with clear relish.

"Look at how pretty this tight little pussy is, dripping all over my fingers and cock just begging to get filled," he grunted, lining the bulbous crown against your quivering entrance and rubbing it back and forth through the sticky arousal saturating your folds.

A pitiful keen slipped past your parted lips at the taunting pressure, and you could feel a fresh gush of slickness welling up in response to his crass praise. Gojo smirked at the telltale reaction, one calloused palm sliding down to part the plush folds of your pussy even further.

"Goddamn, look how wet and greedy this is for me," he rumbled in a low tone thick with pure male satisfaction. "Bet you were fantasizing about having Daddy's cock stuffing this pretty cunt the whole time we were sitting there in that restaurant. Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your brain was barely capable of stringing together a coherent thought, much less a snarky comeback, but somehow the words slipped free despite the mindless delirium clouding your head. "Y-you were the one who wouldn't stop teasing," you moaned, squirming fitfully against the delicious pressure poised at your molten core. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to drag you into the bathroom and suck you off..."

The words dissolved into a keening cry as Gojo abruptly slammed into the hilt, filling you to the brim and beyond in one brutal, unyielding stroke. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and lower back as he immediately began pounding into your clenching walls, each powerful thrust punching the breath from your lungs.

"Is that so, sweetheart?" Gojo gritted out, hissing through clenched teeth as the clutching vice of your inner walls seemed to squeeze the very life from his engorged shaft. "You were just planning on being a dirty little tease the whole time we were at dinner? What a fucking minx..."

Gojo punctuated the statement by angling your hips upward to drill even deeper, each merciless thrust nudging the sensitive spot at the very end of your channel until the pressure sent stars exploding behind your eyelids. The only sounds that could emerge were a series of broken mewls and wordless whines, utterly incapable of doing anything but lay there and take the exquisite torment of his unrelenting, devastating pace.

"Yeah, that's it, let me feel just how desperately you've been needing this," he snarled, large hands gripping your waist as his pelvis hammered a merciless rhythm against your overstimulated sex. "Soak this fucking cock like a good little kitten. Don't hold back on me, baby. Show me how much you missed Daddy's cock and I might let you cum."

You could barely process the filth spilling free from his mouth at this point, each syllable dissolving into an electric buzz as his ruthless assault stoked the pressure mounting inside you. It was a familiar, heady rush of sensation—a coiling tension that seemed to grow tighter and more unbearable with every punishing roll of Gojo's hips against yours.

He was driving you toward a cliff's edge without pause or quarter, and the sheer force of his intensity was dizzying. Yet, despite the frantic, almost savage cadence, you could feel the subtle shift in his grip and angle as Gojo's gaze bored into your face. Even in the midst of his own delirium, the sheer focus and attentiveness in his stare was intoxicating.

"F-fuck, I'm so close," you gasped out, feeling your core spasming and clutching against the rigid pistoning length impaling you. You feebly reached out, desperate for any kind of anchor amidst the relentless tidal wave of sensation threatening to pull you under. "Satoru...please, want you to kiss me again."

Without missing a beat, Gojo's hands shifted, scooping you up until you were practically cradled in his lap. Your legs reflexively locked around his hips and midsection, ankles hooking together as his thrusts never paused. The new position left your torso arching up toward his chest, and Gojo quickly took advantage, slanting his mouth over yours with renewed hunger.

Each slide and curl of his tongue seemed perfectly in time with the driving roll of his hips, and the added closeness was swiftly becoming too much. You were hurtling toward the edge of the abyss, and this time, Gojo seemed intent on taking you down with him.

"My perfect girl, taking my cock like such a good little slut," he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair while the other braced your back, keeping your bodies fused together. "Been dreaming about this tight cunt for fucking days, and it's even better than I remember. Now be a good kitten and soak Daddy's cock for me."

You could feel yourself tumbling over the precipice even before Gojo's hand snaked down to thumb your clit, and the dual assault was all it took to send you reeling into blinding euphoria. Your climax hit like a freight train, ripping through you with an almost painful intensity that left your toes curling and vision blurring.

Gojo continued thrusting his full length in a rapid-fire tempo, hissing out a strangled groan as the spasms of your inner walls finally dragged him into the depths of oblivion alongside you. Your limbs felt like jelly, and you were grateful for his grip holding you steady as the waves of rapture subsided.

He didn't release you, though, not right away. Rather, Gojo simply held you in his arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and the slow rise and fall of his chest syncing with yours. The two of you remained silent for a long moment, simply breathing together as the room gradually stopped spinning around you.

Eventually, Gojo pulled back enough to cup your jaw and slant his mouth over yours in another gentle, exploratory kiss. It was nothing like the devouring claims and searing conquests that had preceded it, and the tenderness in the simple press of lips left you feeling utterly weightless.

When Gojo finally withdrew, the smirk curling his lips was positively self-satisfied. "I'd say that’s enough foreplay, wouldn't you, baby?"

You could only huff a soft laugh in response, shaking your head as the residual tremors of bliss faded. "You consider thatforeplay?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I too gentle?" he retorted, feigning a look of innocent confusion. "Maybe we should try round two, then. I'll give you a chance to demonstrate what you meant about sucking me off."

The words emerged in a low, silky murmur as his large hands gripped and squeezed the supple curves of your ass, eliciting a soft squeal from you. You smacked at his broad chest ineffectually, unable to fight the grin tugging at your own mouth.

"You're incorrigible."

"That's not a no," Gojo pointed out, his smug expression practically radiating his unrepentant satisfaction. "And if you keep acting all cute and sassy, I can't promise I'll be able to resist the urge to bend you over and remind you exactly who's in charge."

Your stomach fluttered at the casual, nonchalant admission. It was an undeniable thrill knowing just how badly Gojo craved this—craved you. The thought alone was enough to send a fresh wave of warmth flooding through your veins.

"Maybe I'm not opposed to the idea," you murmured, biting down on your lower lip as you glanced up through your lashes.

The look was clearly too much for Gojo's self-control. His eyes darkened with fresh desire, and his grip shifted to lift and turn you so that you were sprawled facedown across the rumpled cushions.

"Well, in that case," he growled, the heat and weight of his body blanketing yours as his hips pressed flush to the swell of your backside. "Let's see just how filthy this mouth is, shall we?"

The room seemed to exist in its own hushed, velvety cocoon of tranquility - a stark contrast to the ferocious passion that had consumed every inch mere moments ago. You lay draped languidly across Gojo's powerful frame with your cheek pillowed on the rises and valleys of his chest. The steady thrum of his heartbeat reverberated through your lashes in a soothing cadence.

One of your hands traced idle, featherlight patterns over the expanse of his toned abdomen - mapping the ridges and grooves so recently sheened and flexing under your ardent worshiping. Gojo remained equally at peace beneath your sprawled embrace, those brilliant azure irises at half-mast while he reclined with one arm crooked behind his head.

Despite the palpable aura of repletion surrounding you both, a new undercurrent began to gradually assert itself in the weighted stillness. You felt compelled to disturb the quietude to address what this entire evening had truly culminated towards - the deal quietly brokered between heated sheets and joined bodies.

"I'll contact the elders first thing," you murmured, the words seeming to slip free before your mind fully grasped their implication. "About postponing Itadori Yuji's case, like you wanted."

Gojo's chest expanded minutely on a slow inhale, but otherwise his statuesque form remained comfortably inert as your words hung in the air between you. After several beats, you felt the subtle weight of his stare alighting on your upturned features.

"Yeah?" His resonant timbre emerged in a low, stripped rasp - sounding as thoroughly unraveled as the rest of his carefully compartmentalized composure. "They'll actually listen to your stance on something so high-stakes?"

You allowed your own eyes to slip shut in a protracted blink, thoughts rapidly trying to align and process how to even begin verbalizing the sheer revelations that had bloomed open tonight about your place within the jujutsu hierarchy.

"I didn't fully grasp it at first," you admitted, voice coming out slightly roughened from earlier exertions. "But now I'm starting to understand the actual leverage my positioning and reputation has afforded without me even noticing."

Rather than respond directly, the only sound came from a protracted exhalation through Gojo's nose - seeming to signal his grasp of the situation finally mapping out as well. You hoped he also understood just how monumental a gambit he'd set into motion by hammering the truth home in his uniquely heated approach tonight. Not to induce guilt, per se...but perhaps a smidgeon more humility about the harrowing stakes being juggled.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Gojo abruptly shifted his weight until you were rolled over onto your back - his solid bulk carefully blanketing yours without pressure. When your gazes met and locked, you felt that simmering connection arc back into incandescence once more between your joined frames.

"You continue underestimating yourself," he murmured in a timbre now rendered warm gravel thanks to its gravelly softness. He cupped the side of your jaw, thumb tracing the bow of your lips in a barely-there caress that spoke to so much more than surface motions. "Which is exactly why I'm never going to stop knocking some sense into that stubborn head of yours..."

With that throaty declaration, Gojo dipped his chiseled features lower until your foreheads brushed - noses scanting along one another in an electrifying gossamer graze. The intimacy of the motion seemed to steal your very breath straight from your lungs as he carried on in a husked rasp.

"So thank you. For listening to reason and actually wielding your power for once when it really mattered..."

Unable to resist the unspoken pull between your joined gravities any longer, you surged up to seal Gojo's mouth in a slow, simmering clash of satin flesh and indulgent possession. All the unvoiced sentiments and roiling tides of turbulence hovered for a suspended eternity within that singular nexus point before gradually dispersing into peaceful becalm once more.

Eventually Gojo broke away with the barest hint of a crooked smile tugging at those stupidly perfect lips, clearly satisfied with your acquiescence for the time being. The two of you simply basked in silence for a while longer, relishing in this well-earned moment of bonded lassitude.

That is, until the first stirrings of Gojo's impish irreverence inevitably bubbled back up in the form of his rich baritone laced with none-too-subtle swagger:

"So...I take it this means I get to thoroughly ruin you again before breakfast? No more insufferable teasing about you not putting out until your higher-up buddies get their precious signatures?"

You scoffed out a long-suffering sound of semi-amused exasperation, already anticipating the thick cloud of smug virility about to descend. Sure enough, Gojo's chest puffed with unrepentant satisfaction as he slung one heavy arm around your waist and lightly squeezed.

"That's what I thought. Face it kitten, that pretty pussy has officially been drafted into service under my uncompromising authority until further notice..."

He punctuated the lewd declaration by slanting his mouth over yours in a deliriously thorough deluge of hunger and virility, effectively stealing your very breath for a second rapturous cycle before exhaustion could dare creep back in.

And as your joined frames spiraled back into the delirious vortex of blissful dissipation once more, you couldn't help hazarding one last, bemused thought: somehow, you got the distinct impression Gojo would be exercising his latest "authority" over you with particularly unrestrained enthusiasm this time around.

[mrsbarnesblog]

first choice

masterlist

requests are open

summary: being an incredibly reserved person, it took Rafe a long time to finally feel comfortable enough to let you see him break down

words count: 2.5k

warnings: hurt/comfort, crying, talk about feelings, Ward being a shitty father as always, insecurities

a/n: couldn't help myself but mention Wheezie as well because she deserves so much better💔

The first time you saw Rafe crying was not so long after you started dating. You went to Tanneyhill that day and were nearly knocked off your feet when Ward Cameron stormed out the front door. He was seething with anger and it seemed like he didn’t even register you standing there with wide eyes and a lost face expression. 

You slowly walked into the house, hearing the sound of Ward’s truck driving away, and slowly patted into the light and big kitchen. Your eyes instantly caught sight of your boyfriend, standing with his back facing you and his body hovering over the counter. His hands were firmly gripping onto the edge of the marble, and his head was lowered so you couldn’t take a look at his face behind his hair. When you heard muffled sniffs, your eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

“Rafe?” You almost whispered, talking one step closer to him. Rafe’s body instantly tensed, but he didn’t turn around. His shoulders and back seemed harder than rocks, and you swore his body was shaking from tension. 

You debated for a few seconds, considering what was best to do. Something obviously had happened between Rafe and Ward, and even though they always fought, you never saw Rafe crying. You quickly figured out that he didn’t like to be seen as "weak,” so he rarely showed any emotions, even to you, no matter how hard you tried to create a comfortable environment for him. That’s why you knew that there was no point in trying to make him talk.

When he sniffed again, not moving for an inch or acknowledging your presence, your heart clenched and not waiting anymore, you slowly went closer to him. 

When he felt your arms wrapping around his middle part with your chest firmly pressed against his back, his whole body stiffened at the unusual touch. Rafe had never had someone comforting him, and the whole thing with you constantly trying to go past his walls slightly terrified him. He desperately wanted to just give in, because Rafe knew that you would never hurt him, but something inside his head was still fighting against it.

You held him as close to you as possible, hoping to give him some sense of security. When Rafe’s body finally eased up a little, you turned your head to place kisses on his back while your hands moved up and down his stomach. 

You didn’t know how long you two were standing like this—close to each other and in complete silence. Rafe clearly didn’t want to talk about it and you knew better than to push him. It was a small step for both of you, but you knew that you would do anything to make him feel safe.

The second time it happened, you were in Rafe’s bed, too invested in your book, when he entered the room. Your gaze shifted to him and you instantly noticed that slightly distant look in his blue eyes, as well as his clenched jaw and rapid breathing. 

You were trying not to be very obvious by the way your instant reaction was to jump out of bed and ask what happened. Rafe was not this type of person and he needed gentle handling. So you went back to your book, only lifting your eyes every few seconds while he silently changed his clothes to something comfortable. 

“I want to cuddle.” You suddenly said, placing a bookmark in between the pages and putting your book on the bedside table. Rafe just looked at you and it felt like your eyes were having their own conversation. He knew that you knew that something had happened and were now just trying to make it seem like you were the one who needed affection, and he was thankful for you not trying to get the information out of him.

He nodded, and the next thing you knew, he was on top of you, arms wrapped around your body, face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers started to brush through his hair and he let out a deep sigh of relief.

The room was silent, except for your quiet breathing; that’s why your ears easily caught a soft sniff. Rafe moved his head back and forth, trying to be closer even if it was impossible, and it made you feel something wet touching your skin. You didn't say a word because you knew that it was not the right time yet. Instead, you left one hand in his hair to massage the scalp and moved another one to Rafe’s back, rubbing it up and down. You let your lips brush against his temple and he tightened his hold on your waist in return.

You didn't know what had happened and you hoped that he would tell you when he felt like it, so for now, you were just giving him the safe space that he desperately needed. It clearly worked, because as Rafe’s body became limp on top of yours and his breathing started to slow down, you guessed that he had fallen asleep. 

The next morning, you were standing in the kitchen and making breakfast when you felt two hands sneaking around your waist and turning you around. Before you could say anything, Rafe gave you a breath-taking kiss, which you knew was his way of saying "thank you."

At one of Friday’s evenings, you and Rafe’s family and a few closest friends were having a dinner in the restaurant to celebrate Ward’s important deal at work being finally successfully signed. You honestly didn’t listen to the conversation that everyone was having, looking down at your almost full plate, until Ward and Sarah started a little argument about him doing something that she didn’t like. 

“It also turns out that the most important thing for me is you, Sarah. That’s why I did it.” Your heart skipped a beat when your ears caught the end of the conversation, with your whole body freezing in your chair. He said it so easily, not even hesitating or considering the feelings of his other kids, who sat at that exact table. 

Rafe sat near you and your eyes instantly drifted to him, only t just a blank expression on his face. He looked at his father, then at Sarah, then back at Ward. The disappointment and hurt were written all over his features. It was so obvious for you, probably because you spent so much time trying to figure out him and his emotions, yet his father didn’t care. 

Nobody did, honestly, as everyone at the table just brushed that comment off and continued talking. Only Wheezie looked equally sad, with a frown and with her hands crossed over her chest. 

Rafe’s eyes drifted to his full plate as he became completely distant from the conversation, not even paying attention to your worried gaze. He just felt numb. 

It's not like he didn't know that Sarah was everyone’s priority; he just didn't need to hear another reminder of that. 

He hated the feeling of not being good enough. He tried to impress his father countless times, being loyal and jumping at every opportunity to do the dirty work, just to hear any kind of praise or approval. Yet Sarah has always been the best girl, the best daughter, and the best child. 

A quiet groan escaped his lips in desperation, as he felt that similar tightness in his chest and throat. 

It just fucking hurt. 

Your worried eyes didn’t leave him even for a second, and when you noticed in which state he was in, you moved closer so only he could hear what you were saying. 

“Do you want to leave, Ray?” He just nodded, taking your hand in his and making some lame excuse about needing to leave. 

Sitting in his truck a few minutes later, Rafe didn’t even look at you, staring at something through the window. You saw the way he was occasionally clenching his jaw and blinking rapidly—signs that he was trying not to break down in front of you. 

You bit your lip, thinking to yourself, before finally deciding that you couldn’t just look at your boyfriend being hurt. So, tossing your purse aside, you got up from your seat, moving quickly to straddle Rafe’s lap. He looked at you in shock, but still placed his hands on your waist, rubbing the soft fabric. 

“Hey, look at me. You don’t have to keep it to yourself. Your feelings are normal, baby.” You tried to reassure him, holding his face firmly in your hands. 

He furrowed. “It’s just— It’s just that—“ Rafe paused, looking down and trying to control his breathing. You didn’t know whether it was anger or sadness, but as his chest started rising faster, in the darkness of the car, you saw a tear rolling down his cheek. 

Then another, and another, and another. 

Rafe tried to physically distance himself from you, pulling your hands away from his face and throwing his head back with a frustrated groan as the palms of his hands pressed into his eyes. 

“That’s fucking’ pathetic.” He hissed.

“No, it’s not. Stop trying to hide from me and just talk. You know I’m the last person to ever judge you.” You soothed him by softly caressing the skin of his neck with your thumbs, and then took a hold of his face to make him look at you. “Talk to me. It’s just us and no one else.” 

Rafe’s blue eyes seemed even brighter with tears gleaming in them, even though it was dark outside and the only light that you had was a lamppost near the restaurant. He gave you a long look, probably fighting his own barriers inside of his head because of how hard it was for him to open up. You waited patiently, not looking away or rushing him and it must’ve worked.

“The shit that he says and does… It hurts me. No matter how much I try, how much effort I put into everything, or how often I do what he needs and wants, it’s never enough. I’m never fucking good enough for anyone or anything.” You took Rafe’s hand in yours, interlacing your fingers. He instantly focused on it, mindlessly playing with your ring and rubbing your skin. “And I don’t hate Sarah—fuck, I really don’t, ‘cause it’s not her damn fault, y’know? But it makes me so fucking mad and-and I just don’t know what to do or what’s wrong with me.” 

Angry tears continued to flow down Rafe’s cheeks freely, as he was not capable of trying to hide them and wipe them away quickly anymore. You looked at him softly, with your heart aching for your boyfriend and for the way this situation deeply affected him. 

“He does this to Wheezie too. She’s a child, Y/N, and I know how it messes up with her head.” Rafe sighed, throwing his head back and looking at the ceiling. “Sometimes... sometimes I feel like I fuck up everything in my life. I think that maybe it’s my fault for him to act like that. Maybe I do something wrong, I dunno.”

“I know that I can't give you what Ward was supposed to give you. That type of love, I mean. But you’re important to me, Rafe. I won't put you in second place because you're always my first choice.” You freed your hands, again placing them on his wet cheeks. Big blue eyes stared back at you with vulnerability and despair as hands on each of your thighs tightened, so you tried to let Rafe know how much he meant to you. “You are good enough, and don’t you dare think otherwise.” 

You leaned closer, hovering over Rafe’s body, just inches away from his face, before tenderly pulling him into a kiss. 

“You shouldn’t let Ward ruin your life and your relationships with your sisters, because it won’t benefit you in any way. Ward is the problem, not you, Ray, so no matter how hard you try, he won’t change his mind.” You kiss away his tears, still firmly holding his face in your hands. “I’m here for you. I love you, and I hate seeing you kill yourself over this.”

Rafe suddenly pulled you closer by your waist, hugging you with all the strength that he had. His body trembled against you while you soothingly scratched the back of his neck. 

“I love you too. ‘M sorry f’ being a mess.” 

“Don’t say that. Everything is okay, we are okay. I’m happy that you finally opened up to me a little bit, because I support you, okay?” He nodded and kissed your naked shoulder, trying to catch his breath. 

“Thank you.” 

A few minutes later, Rafe’s breathing calmed down and his hands were just slowly going up and down your back. Your legs were already sore from your position on his lap, but it was peaceful with just you two sitting in a comfortable silence, so you didn’t mind. You looked up at him as the idea came to your head. "What if we take Wheezie away from there and go out to eat or ride around?" 

Rafe placed a kiss on your forehead, thinking about your words. His and Wheezie’s relationships were weird, with Rafe feeling distant from his family and her just being a child who didn't know how to handle the situation. But he always had a soft spot for her and he hated thinking about his sister sitting there and being invisible to everybody. 

“Yeah, we can. She’d like that.” He mumbled, focusing on your lips that curled into a smile. 

“Great!” You pushed away from him, opening the door and casually sliding on the floor. Rafe looked at you curiously, silently grateful that you were absolutely normal about what happened just a few minutes ago in his car. His heart suddenly raced, and he could not resist the urge to grab you by the waist and pull you in for a kiss. 

Rafe connected your lips, then slightly tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your skin got covered in goosebumps as you smiled against his lips before pulling away. Rafe subconsciously followed your face, trying to get more. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing. So gorgeous. I love you so much, baby.”

“You already told me that… but I love you more!” You giggled, taking his hands away from your body. “Now I’ll go get Wheezie, and you remove my lipstick from your face.” You gave him a teasing smile before finally going back to the restaurant and leaving Rafe with a soft smirk on his lips. 

He thought that maybe opening up for you was working much better in his favor than he expected. 

[pwettybbybunny]

Sweetness Overload!! (HSR Men and Cute Stuff they do!)

Argenti has the most exquisite house (spaceship) garden, making you the prettiest flowers weekly, and jotting on a note, what each flowers symbolizes. He also often likes making you flower crowns or random flower art, and will tear up if you do the same.

Aventurine before you start dating liked making a whole show of constantly calling you wrong names every time making your frustrated with him, except when he tucks his coat around shoulders after he find you slumped in front of your computer during overtime, dead asleep, whispering a good night, and sweet affirmations, checking your breath and finally uttering an 'i love you' once he confirms you are asleep. I think after 173 total posts this is the first time i wrote aventurine not being depressed or traumatizing him more lol.

Blade makes sure everyone knows you are his. You two out in public? He will be all over you, arm around you shoulder or simply clutching you from behind, as you two walk, he likes holding you whenever. You are rarely seen out alone, in public, if ever. He likes being with you as much as he can. Good things barely exist in his life, so he's gonna hoard you all to himself.

Boothill remember everything you say or do, your likes and dislikes? Can list all in his sleep. Each and every order you place in your favorite restaurants? Saved in his cloud storage. Every single important date? Your birthday, your first kiss, the first time he met you, the first time you hold hands, your anniversary, everything.

Dan Heng is an amazing listener. Every trouble you got, just tell him all about it and let him kiss them away. He's an empath and will help you mentally deal with your struggles. After everything he has faced in and even before the shackling prison, the last thing want is for his lover to face anything remotely as same, so very protective too. Also, he loves your voice, love hearing you speaks, loves to fall asleep to it, and to wake to your pretty voice. His fav place to kiss you is your throat,

Dan Feng liked to doll up and gift shiny stuff to his little mate. Anytime he sees any pretty accessory or clothes, he will bring them home, almost a hoarding problem. Loved to see you in the stuff in brought you, or enjoy any of his gifts. The high elder's mate was very popular for the way they were dressed like a god/goddess head to toe with jewelers and the best garments in all the Xianzhou ships.

Dr Ratio other than the hundreds of your statues he made, he likes to learn about all your interests. Any subject you like, any conspiracy theory, any fictional book you are reading, any game/tv show lore, he wants to know it. There is knowledge in everything, and by knowing about your interests more, he would learn about more, and he desperately wants that.

Gallagher names all of his drinks after you. Something sweet? It's name after something he likes about you. Spicy? Something that makes you feisty. Bitter? Something you hate. The entire bar staff, especially Siobhan likes to tease you for it.

Gepard likes to draw for you, like a little child, 2 stick figures holding hand. Little picture of his dear family of 4 (you him and his sister), and stuff like that. Will cry if you put those drawings on the refrigerator or frame it, that's literally make his inner child so happy after the abuse he suffered in his childhood.

Jiaoqiu likes talking about you. Anyone and everyone who knows him or get to talk to him for more than 5 minutes, will know how amazing you are and how much he loves you.

Jing Yuan loves holding you. Just sit in his lap play your games on your phone and let him nap, his head resting on your shoulders, he can spend an eternity like this. He is his happiest when you're in physical contact with him, too much tome away from you and gets antsy and pouty like a kid, though he don't show that exteriorly, for the sake of his reputation, but for Yanqing it's quite obvious.

Luocha loves to take care of you. Feed you, help you groom, help you with any tasks, everything, nor is he the type to shy away from complimenting you, he is a merchant, he words are beautiful and filled with flattery almost like those anime butlers. You are his little prince/princess and he makes sure you know that with how special he makes you feel.

Moze will give the chocolate end of his ice cream cone. This man is very self sacrificing for his love. You are his top priority, and in his his you are worth more than him himself. His happiness in entirely based on yours.

Sampo like to make chocolates for you. Very random, I know, but each valentines day, he with the help of the moles, makes you homemade chocolate, even go as far as to craft the box for you. They are not the best nor the prettiest, but it comes from the bottom of his heart, also he surprisingly buys all the ingredients too rather than stealing them, so you better apprecite it.

Sunday loves to either sing or you to sleep, he would yap and yap, his voice so melodious, the lullaby he sings so calming and nostalgoc, taking you in his arms, and gently petting you. Other than his sister when she was a child, you are the only one blesses enough to hear this bird chirp.

Welt trying to use gen z or gen alpha slangs and failing (definitely tried using 'skibidi ' or 'rizz' unironically), trying to imitate the express trio's speach pattern, so he can be cool, and match up with you, despite his withering bones. Kiss the grandpa and appreciate his efforts.

I will write nasty Dottore smut to cleanse my sins of writing fluff soon! The next post will should be very big, so I hope I can complete before falling asleep.

[mariasont]

Need a bimbo assistant reader x hotch fic where the team is making fun of hotch for having no sense of humour until we say smth like "what are you talking about? Hotch is hilarious!" And everyone just turns to hotch like "wtf??" To which he immediately changes the subject. But surprise surprise he's only trying to be funny around us to be charming 😛

The Funny Thing About Him - A.H

a/n: obsessed with this request bc this is so canon, i just know mans is saving ever stupid pun he sees on his blackberry to tell bimbo reader lololo

but thank you so much for the request lovely!

masterlist

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, flirtiness galore, hotch being whipped and not knowing it yet, the team being a menace and lowkey bullying hotch, unintentional simping, bimbo!reader glazing hotch's sense of humor

wc: 1.9k

It was a rare thing for the team to spend time together outside of work, and even rarer to do so in a place like this. A dive bar that looked like it hadn't seen a deep clean since the Bush administration. But Garcia had insisted--no, demanded--that they all check out what she had referred to as her second office. 

So here you were, crammed into a tiny booth with the team, surrounded by mismatched furniture, sticky tabletops, and walls that had somehow absorbed the faint tang of stale beer as if it were part of their structural integrity. But after a round of drinks, then appetizers, then more drinks, it had become kind of charming in a deeply questionable way.

Everyone had seemed to have loosened up. Hotch, naturally, was the exception. Seated at the edge of the booth, he looked almost hilariously out of place, like someone had photoshopped him into the scene. His posture was straight as ever, his suit jacket neatly draped on the back of his chair, and fingers loosely curled around a glass of whiskey. 

He was listening, though, as he always did--dark eyes flicking to whoever was speaking, his small nods he only thing that gave him away.

You, however, were hyper-aware of Hotch for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with professionalism. The small booth had left you wedged between him and Garcia, and you couldn't decide if it was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it meant you were close enough to feel the heat radiating from him, smell the woodsy, expensive cologne he always wore, and notice the little ways his expression softened just a hair every time you caught him glancing your way.

On the other hand, well, all those things were very distracting. 

Like, very distracting.

Garcia was mid-story--something dramatic about a terrible date, an allergic reaction, and a wig--but you weren't really listening. You were trying, of course, but your mind seemed too busy cataloging the way your elbow accidentally brushed against Hotch's every time you shifted, or how your knees kept grazing under the table.

Each time, you'd mutter a quick, oops, sorry, and each time, you absolutely did not mean it.

You liked testing the boundaries with him, liked noticing his reactions. In fact, you liked being able to notice most things about him--the little details no one else seemed to catch.

Like how he had this funny way of pressing his lips together when he was reading something particularly dense, like he was silently judging whoever wrote it. Or how he always seemed to have a spare hair tie ready in his desk drawer because yours snapped at the worst possible moments--and somehow, he always had it ready right when you needed it, like he'd been waiting for you to ask. 

Or how, right now, he kept subtly hovering a hand behind your head every time you leaned back in laughter, like he was ready to stop you from accidentally smacking the back of your head against the hard wood of the booth.

It made you feel warm and fizzy, like you’d downed one too many sugary cocktails. Which, honestly, you might have.

"Hotch," Garcia suddenly blurted, dragging you out of your thoughts. "Back me up here--there's no way this is the worst first day you've ever heard of."

He blinked, seemingly caught off guard. "I... I suppose it's up there."

Morgan grinned and shook his head. "Hotch, your definition of worst first date is probably someone not knowing how to file their taxes. You’ve got zero imagination for this stuff."

You glanced at Hotch, who just shrugged, not even bothering to defend himself.

No imagination, Morgan had said, and for some reason, you couldn’t help but try to picture it--Hotch on a date.

At first, the idea felt completely out of place, like imagining a celebrity shopping for milk. But then, the image started to take shape: he’d show up early, wearing one of those perfectly tailored suits that made him look like he belonged on the cover of GQ. He’d pull out your chair, open every door, and probably order something practical--like steak or chicken. And even if the conversation started stiffly, he’d listen so intently, like every word you said mattered. By the end of the night, you’d be completely smitten.

Not that you’d thought about it or anything.

“I think you’re underselling him,” JJ said with a knowing smile, glancing at Hotch. “He might not have the most obvious imagination, but he has a way of surprising people.”

Emily snorted. “Yeah, right. Hotch probably schedules his surprises. Like, plan to laugh sometime between 8:00 and 8:15 PM.”

Morgan grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Hotch doesn’t laugh. He probably just stares at people mid-joke, makes them uncomfortable, and calls it a win.”

Hotch arched a brow. “I wasn’t aware my sense of humor was under scrutiny tonight.”

“Oh, come on,” Morgan said, his grin widening. “You’ve gotta admit, Hotch, you’re not exactly cracking jokes left and right. Your idea of funny is telling someone they’re late for work when they’re actually on time.”

“That was funny,” Hotch deadpanned.

The table erupted into laughter, and even Emily shook her head, biting back a grin. “You’re proving his point, you know.”

“What are you guys talking about? Hotch is hilarious.”

The table fell silent. Every single person turned to look at you like you’d just claimed the sky was green. Even Hotch stiffened beside you, his glass halfway to his lips.

Morgan’s head tilted, his grin fading into something more incredulous. “What did you just say?”

“Hotch?” Emily asked, her face the picture of astonishment. “Did you… did you bribe her to say that?”

“No!” you said quickly, holding up your hands like you were defending yourself. “I mean it! He’s, like, really funny!”

“Hotch?” Garcia repeated, looking at you like you’d sprouted a second head. “Our Hotch?”

“How can you guys not think he’s funny? I laugh at his jokes all the time.”

Hotch, who up until this point had been composed despite the teasing, suddenly looked… well, less composed. His lips parted like he was going to say something, but then he clamped them shut, the faintest tinge of pink creeping up his neck and settling across his cheeks.

Emily smirked, glancing between you and Hotch. “Okay, now I have to hear these so-called jokes you think are hilarious.”

You turned back to them, still looking baffled. “Well, I can’t just, like, repeat them! It’s all in the timing. Hotch just… he has a vibe. You wouldn’t get it.”

The team erupted into laughter, but you just sighed dramatically, crossing your arms and turning back to Hotch. “Seriously, Aaron, tell them.”

Hotch cleared his throat, setting his glass down a little too forcefully.

 “So, Garcia,” he said quickly, his voice normal but his ears tinged red, “about this terrible first date—”

Hotch shot you a quick, almost panicked glance, but you pretended not to notice. Either way, you popped the fry into your mouth and smiled at him like you hadn’t just completely upended his reputation in front of the entire team.

Eventually the bar had mostly emptied out, including your team, the once-loud chatter replaced by the occasional creak of chairs and muffled laughter from the remaining patrons. You stood by the door, fiddling with the zipper of your jacket as another rush of cold air blew in when someone left. The chill bit at your cheeks. It wasn't the warmest coat in the world, but it was adorable, which you felt was more important.

Before you could even complain, however, Hotch stepped forward, placing himself squarely between you and the wind.

"Did you have fun tonight?"

You beamed at him, fingers idly playing with the end of your scarf. You took a small step closer--partly to escape the wind, partly for reasons you didn't feel you needed to disclose.

"Always," you said, tilting your head to examine him closely. "Did you?"

He nodded. "I did."

You blinked up at him. "Really? Even with everyone giving you such a hard time? I mean, they were relentless tonight.”

“They can’t help themselves." He huffed out a soft laugh, his breath misting in the cold air. Then, with a dry edge, he added, “And to be fair, I think I handled it better than you handled the fries Garcia stole from your plate.”

You giggled, covering your mouth with one hand. “Hey! That was a crime! I had every right to be upset!”

Hotch chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“See?” you said, poking him in the arm. “You’re funny! You are! Why aren’t you like that around everyone else?”

Hotch glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “I think I just… read the room.”

Hotch’s vague answer left you with more questions than clarity, but you didn’t push him. The more you thought about it, the more certain you became—he was different with you.

Hotch didn’t crack jokes in the bullpen—not unless you were there. He didn’t tell silly stories during late-night case reviews—not unless it was just the two of you staying behind in the office, sorting through files. Like that time he told you about his college roommate, you’d laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, and he’d chuckled softly, shaking his head like he hadn’t expected you to find it so funny.

Or the way he’d once walked by your desk and dropped a note on it that said, if it gets any colder in here, we’ll be solving frostbite cases next. You still had it tucked away in your drawer.

The thought made you feel a bit warmer, like you’d just downed a champagne flute in one gulp. Your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out.

“You know, you’re the best boss ever. Have I told you that before?”

Hotch turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised. “What do you want?” 

“Nothing!” you said quickly, your grin widening. “I’m just being honest!”

Hotch raised an eyebrow. "I hope you remember that next time you're twenty minutes late to a meeting because there was a sale at Bloomingdale’s."

You gave him your sweetest, most innocent smile.

“Well, maybe if you came with me to the sale, you wouldn’t have to wait twenty minutes for me to show up.” You leaned a little closer, your voice dropping into a teasing sing-song. “And I bet you’d look so cute holding my shopping bags.”

Hotch rolled his eyes, his expression impossibly dry. “I think I’ll leave the shopping bag modeling to Reid. He’s probably got the legs for it.”

You burst into a fit of giggles, covering your mouth with your gloved hands. “Okay, now you’re just messing with me!”

He exhaled a small laugh, finally relenting. “Alright, let’s go before you freeze.”

Still laughing, you looped your arm back through his and gave it a little squeeze as the two of you walked through the door. 

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @crouchingapple @navia3000 @aaronlovesava @bakugocanstompme @pansexualhailstorm @averyhotchner @looking1016 @everythinglizzy @sky2nd @alexxavicry @spencerssatchel @candyd1es @storiesofsvu @pleasantgardenwitch @kodzukenmaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spennciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @jstcln @just-here-to-read13 @c-losur3 @wondergal2001 @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @estragos @khxna @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @justyourusualash @whimsicalpolitical @kcch-ns @cool-light32 @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @ssamorganhotchner @persephonestears @moonyxstars @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @imsonotweird @jungchloe @she-wont-miss @duchesz @may-machin99

join my taglist here!

[formulamar]

she's a ferrari

charles leclerc x yn!ferrari

fc: Addison Rae

summary: as a child, the great-grand daughter of Enzo Ferrari used to spend her weekends hanging around the paddock. but once she went off to university her appearances became rare. what happens when she starts working for Ferrari? and... one of the drivers steals her heart.

October 2023

rumorhasitf1

liked by cl16fan and 3,049 others

rumorhasitf1: 🚨RUMOR CONFIRMED 🚨

After not being seen at a F1 Grand Prix in three years Y/N Ferrari stuns at the 2023 Austin Grand Prix.

643 comments

ferrarifan3: OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GODD!!!!!!!!

ferrarifan0: LETS GOOOO

f1fan6: THE QUEEN IS BACKKKKKKK

-> mclarenfan8: wait i'm new fan. can someone explain who this is???

-> ferrarifan3: yn is Enzo Ferrari's great-grand daughter. she's attended races since she was maybe 5 or 6 years old and formed really close bonds w the drivers (mostly the Ferrari drivers ofc) its an ongoing joke that Fernando is her "f1 dad" because he was very protective of her and they have a close bond.

tifosi9: I NEVER DOUBTED U @/rumorhasitf1

liked by rumorhasitf1

f1fan05: amazing day for Fernando Alonso

ferrarifan7: she looks so grown up omggggg 🥲

twitter

🔒 ynferrari

liked by charles_leclerc, ynbff and 560 others

🔒ynferrari: austinnnnn had so much fun but not a good weekend for the fam :(

67 comments

fernandoalonso: Where was my invitation???

->🔒 ynferrari: this is literally your workplace…

ynbff: yn ur hotter than austin will ever be (I've never stepped foot in austin)

-> ynferrari: babe I appreaciate this but it is actually so hot here I am going to die

landonorris: @/ynbff was right

-> carlossainz55: Cabrón 😂

-> fernandoalonso: @/landonorris you want to have a chat?

-> ynferrari: NO NANDO HES JOKING

charles_leclerc: Hope you visit more often yn!

liked by ynferrari

-> danielricciardo: Ok... 🤔

🔒 ynferrari's story

twitter

ynferrari_updates

liked by cl16fan, 1644lvrrr and 409 others

ynferrari_updates: yn is in the paddock for the mexico gp!!!!! forza ferrari!!!

53 comments

ferrarifan3: ferrari princess is back!!!!

charlesfan83: SHE LOOKS SO GOOD

ln4s: omg i wanna see the rest of her outfit so bad

lordpercevalfan: THE PEARLS!!!!!

ferrarienthusiast38: it’s my dream to meet her 🥹

charlesleclerc16updates

charlesleclerc16updates: Charles responding to a question about Y/N during his post-race interview ❤

60 comments

cl16fan: HIS SMILE AWE

charlnor: "getting to know each other better" getting to know each other better. getting to know each other better. GETTING TO KNOW EACH OTHER BETTER! getting to know each other better?

-> f1fan6: bro is talking like they're going out or something

-> charlesfan2: this + the speculation on Twitter is making me start to believe they might be dating

lec4: can we talk about how is whole face lit up when he was asked about her because it makes me feel insane

-> ferrarifan7: I NOTICED THAT TOOOO

user: I don't get this. Y/N is just another nepo baby parading her status around the paddock who's last name happens to be Ferrari. How is she helping the team???

-> charlnor: yn is very passionate about motorsport and has been since she was little. a lot of the team members who have been working at Ferrari for years know her very well and have seen her grow up. she's also known for being a very kind person. and if you haven't noticed she does not "parade" anything around. she's a very private person most of what we know about her is info from fan interactions, team members or drivers. Ferrari is a family and its literally her LEGACY.

November 2023

🔒ynferrari's story

to be continued…

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

a/n: i’ve had this idea in my head forever 🤭🤭 reblog if you want part 2!!! + pls comment if you want to be on the taglist :)

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

The Return of Superman- Jaemin

(cw: f!reader called “mama”, children)

Jaemin liked his privacy. He liked knowing that only certain parts of his life were shown, certain parts he shared, he liked having the clear distinction or public and private. He, of course, enjoyed providing content for his fans and living a dream that millions of people could only dream of.

He got the best of both worlds. He got to date you for a good few years without getting caught, he'd spent two years of newlywed marital bliss with you with only so much as a statement from his company to let the world know that he was a married man. When he was asked about you, his wife, he merely smiled and expertly evaded answering. So how did he get himself here?

What had happened in his years of famous privacy to now allow a whole camera crew into his home to film him and his daughters-- who, no one had even seen since they were posted with obscured faces in a birth announcement post 3 years ago?!

It had definitely been his management that suggested he do the show, they planted the seed in his brain, but it was you who pushed him to do it! "Come on, my love, the fans will love it. You can do just one episode and then the girls won't be seen until their 30! Come on, it'll be fun," You'd convinced him. And Jaemin, well, he wasn't a strong man when his wife was whispering so sweetly in his ear and pressing even sweeter kisses against his cheeks.

So that's how he got into this mess, at least he would have you to help him out... right, he wouldn't. Damn this show!

-

"Would you stop rubbing your head against the pillow, please?! Appa just did your hair!" Jaemin yelled in exasperation, his eyes locked on the three year old who for some reason was rubbing her head across the pillows on his bed. Meanwhile, his hands were preoccupied with the identical girl standing on a stool right in front of him.

"Well, what an introduction to the Na family," a commentator laughs while they all watch Jaemin struggle to pull one of his daughter's hair into a bun while simultaneously also trying to sweet talk the other twin to stop being a menace. He was unsuccessful.

The scene cuts to show Jaemin sitting in front of a black backdrop smiling at the cameras as he introduces himself, "Hello, I'm Na Jaemin from NCT. I have twin daughters, Taera and Sora. They're both 3 years and 5 months old and the light of my life-- along with my wife, of course. Taera is the older of the two and struggles with listening, at least to me while Sora is the better listener of the two."

The producer behind the camera asks a question and Jaemin listens intently before answering, "honestly, of the two of us, I'm the parent that let's the girls get away with a lot. She plays the authoritarian role, which admittedly, I struggle with. The girls are just too cute to get mad at!" He takes a break to think over his answer, "I do think it will be a little difficult with it being just me and the girls. Usually my wife and I are each responsible for one of the girls, and we rarely go out just one of us with both of them. It will be very interesting to see how this plays out."

-

The scene cuts to a scene of the toddlers running around the living room, hair done in tiny buns on top of their head, looking messy, though no one can tell whether that's from their running around or their dad's lack of skill. Jaemin can be seen scrambling around the kitchen filling matching purple and pink water bottles with water and tossing snacks into the bags.

"I wonder what Jaemin is getting the girls ready for..." One of the commentators adds as the girls play tag with each other, giggling wildly.

There's nothing telling quite yet, both girls are wearing matching pastel pink shirts and pink sweat pants with white socks. Jaemin wrestles them into sweaters, then their backpacks, and finally their matching Crocs. He holds one twin on each hip, making his way to the car to load them into car seats.

"Wow! He's a professional! Look at the way he carries both of them at once!" A commentator exclaims in wonder.

"Wait a second, this song sounds familiar," Another commentator adds quickly. The panel quiets down, all eyes locked on the screen to watch the girls dance around in their car seats.

"Chew-chew-chew-chew chewing gum! Chew-chew-chew-chew," the girls chant, legs kicking out as they wiggle and dance in their chairs. They look so happy, smiles plastered on their faces and Jaemin, he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else right now. His face is set in a mild frown, listening to this repetitive song that he made when he was 16.

-

The scene changes, showing Jaemin helping one of the girls into a tutu while the other, who is already dressed, twirls around laughing as her skirt flares out. "Oh my! The girls are in ballet! How cute!" One of the producers coos.

Jaemin can be seen sitting in front of the black screen once more. "Oh yes, the girls are trying out ballet. We want to get them more involved in other activities and find some way to get their energy out. They're not very... good yet, but it is only their third lesson. I think Sora might be more of a ballerina in the future, and maybe Taera will be better at something more... energetic."

True to his word, the scene cuts to show a very focused Sora following her dance teacher's instructions. Her arms are posed in front of her while in the first position. She listens intently and copies the teacher's moves, she wiggles her feet out until they point outward and extends her arm.

"Good job, Sora. That's perfect!" The teacher praises softly. Sora giggles excitedly, a blush spreading across her small, chubby cheeks.

On the opposite end of the room, her twin is jumping and reaching for the small window that allows parents to look into the small studio. Jaemin is busy taking pictures of Sora among other adoring parents to send to you when he hears a familiar sound, even muffled he'd know that sound anywhere. He casts his eyes down and catches Taera with tears in her eyes and red cheeks with her arms reaching for the window.

Jaemin jumps into action quickly, moving his way through the small group of parents around the window and enters the small room with a look of concern on his face. Taera has never reacted like this before. He pulls Taera into a hug, calming her down until her tears have stopped. He sends an apologetic smile to the teacher and she sends him a small bat of her hand as if to say, 'it's fine.' Jaemin cups Taera's face, wiping away her remaining tears with the pads of his thumbs, "princess, what's wrong?"

She lets out a shuddery breath, her tiny chest trembling while she tries to breathe in a deep breath, "I want Mama to watch me too."

Jaemin feels his heart break, pouting sympathetically at his daughter, "I want her to be here too, princess, but she'll be back before you know it. Tomorrow we can wake up early and make breakfast for her when she gets back. How does that sound?"

"With berries?" Taera asks with wide eyes.

Jaemin laughs softly, booping the girl's nose, "yes, with berries. Now, go be a good big sister and dance with Sora. We can't leave her alone can we?"

"No," She smiles, turning to run to her sister's side before she comes bounding back to Jaemin. She presses a kiss to Jaemin's cheek, "love you, Appa. Stay with us?"

Like Jaemin said, he can never say no to them. Instead of joining the rest of the parents on the other side of the small window, he finds himself following along with the teacher's instructions behind the rest of the children in the class.

His daughter's turn to look at him with the biggest smiles he's ever seen. They're so excited that he's in class with him and even more so, doing the dances with them!

The commentators coo at the scene, gushing over Jaemin being such a good dad. He raises his arms, drops them, extends them forward, and situates his feet into the right positions to follow along with the teacher.

At the very end of the episode and his girls sit in front of the black backdrop. The girls raise their arms over their heads, forming the biggest hearts their little bodies will allow. In unison, all three Na's scream out, "we love you Mama!"

Jaemin leans forward, getting close to the camera with his arms wrapped around the twins to keep them from falling, "you're not allowed to leave me alone with these monsters ever again!"

The girls giggles persist as the episode fades away, a faint, "but Appa you said we're princesses."

"Yes, baby I did say that. You're like monster princesses, do you like that?"

The girls can be heard screaming a loud, "no!" in perfect harmony.

[rkvriki]

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ things that make their heart flutter

HI I KNOW I'M BARELY ACTIVE ON THE TIMELINE IM SO SORRY LMAO. something really intersting is coming very soon so keep an eye out hehe!!! make sure to leave feedback and reblog! my requests are closed and my talk box is always open so lets talk!

WARNINGS ! mentions of hoon feeling down; my inspiration to write this was very low so the las ones ended up being longer than the first three im so sorry :'); mentions of won being stressed; ni-ki not being proud of himself :(

word count: 1.5k

୨୧ LEE HEESEUNG !

– kissing him when he’s still half-asleep

the sun rays started shining through the curtains, hitting your eyes. you slowly opened them trying to adjust to the strong (late) morning light. it had been a long week and you needed to sleep as much as you could, giving your body the rest it needed. you stretched your body before turning to the side, seeing your boyfriend still asleep with his arms stretched by his head. you smiled softly at the sight before you, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. when you pulled back you watched as his eyes fluttered, still in between sleep and reality. heeseung opened his eyes, trying to look at you, but sleep was stronger than him and his eyes closed back again. you let out a quiet laugh and leaned down to kiss his pouty lips this time. the corners of his lips twitched upwards and his cheeks were getting warmer, making you chuckle at him before kissing his cheek and getting up to start your day.

୨୧ PARK JONGSEONG !

– looking at him from across the table

you and jay had been invited to a dinner with all of your friends. it was in a very fancy restaurant. high ceilings and big chandeliers. you were sat with your girlfriends while he sat with his friends, further from you. you hadn’t seen them in what felt like forever, work had been keeping all of you busy now that the year was ending. you were all engaged in a conversation, keeping up with everything going on with each other and spilling the latest gossip at work. you were so immersed in the conversation you kind of forgot jay was there too and this wasn’t just a casual dinner with your friends so you looked behind you and saw jay with his sleeves rolled up, laughing with his own friends. it was in moments like this you wondered how you had scored a man like this. too lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice jay looking back at you. when his eyes made contact with yours, you playfully winked at him, making him look away while blushing, making you laugh at his behaviour as you tuned back into the conversation.

୨୧ SIM JAEYUN !

– brushing his hair away

it was one of those peaceful days where both you and jake had a day off from work. jake had slept over at your house and you two spent the whole day basically doing nothing but enjoying each other company, which is something rare since lately he’s had a busy schedule because comeback is just around the corner. you had a whole movie marathon planned for the day and you were already on your fourth movie. the clock had just hit 7pm and you were starting to feel sleepy. jake was currently lying with his head on your lap as you were sat with your legs spread on the couch. you looked down at him, seeing him focused on the movie, his cheeks flushed from sleepiness. you smiled softly at the sight, your hand making its own way down to his cheek, caressing the soft skin. he looked up at you, smiling softly as he tried to rub the sleep off his eyes. his hair was falling on his eyes so your hand moved upwards to brush his hair away from his eyes. he closed his eyes at the touch as he felt his cheeks warm up and his heart flutter at the simple yet affectionate action.

୨୧ PARK SUNGHOON !

— running your hands through his hair as he speaks

today had been a long day for sunghoon. everything felt like it was going wrong. from the way his day started with him forgetting to bring his umbrella and getting soaked on his walk from work, him continuously making mistakes during dance practice to him spilling his drink he had ordered along with some food for lunch. his day was not bound to go well and he had already accepted his fate. he was so frustrated with himself. hoe could he keep making stupid mistakes during rehearsal? even though everyone kept reassuring him it was fine to have off days he just couldn’t be easy on himself. he just needed nothing but spend time with you and feel your confronting presence. sunghoon was currently lying down in your bed as you sat on the edge of it by his head. you were letting him ramble about his day. since the moment he stepped inside your house you knew something was up with him and if you didn’t insist on him he would just bottle all those feelings up. he was ranting about all his unpleasant events of the day as you looked down at him with a soft gaze. as he spoke he felt your hand starting to caress his hair until it was running smoothly through its strands, making him stutter his words. you laughed at him as he covered his face, hiding his blushing cheeks.

୨୧ KIM SUNOO !

– the way you stare at him when he speaks

sunoo is a very talkative person and he isn’t ashamed of it. he loves talking about the things he loves and sharing them with you. every time he is telling you about something that happened to him he will not miss any details. you obviously didn’t mind, you loved listening to him talk and you would do it for hours (as if you didn’t already). every time you didn’t see each other for a long time, like when he went on tour he would tell you everything that happened while he was abroad. it was happening today. sunoo had just come back from tour and you both missed each other more than anything so you took a day off to spend together. you both walked through the centre of the city, walking by the river as you watched all the people gathered there. you went shopping and stopped by a plush store and sunoo literally begged you to let him buy you one just because it resembled you. now, you were both taking a break in a cafe, eating every kind of pastry while drinking hot drinks as sunoo told you funny stories that happened during their concerts. you watched as he spoke with such a happy face, showing just how much he loved what he did. your head was propped in your hand as you stared at him lovingly. he stopped talking, hiding his blushing cheeks, scolding you for looking at him in such a manner. you just smiled and leaned forward to leave a peck on his lips.

୨୧ YANG JUNGWON !

– holding his hand when he’s stressed

being a leader is probably the hardest position to be in a group, especially when you’re a young one. now, jungwon loves being a leader, he loves to know that the members rely on and trust him like no one, but when he is expected to give speeches wherever they go, it gets him really anxious and even stressed. he’s done it multiple times and he almost always used to it, but sometimes, like today, he needs to talk to a bigger crowd in a bigger event. he’s been restless for the whole day, reading his script over and over again, trying to memorize it. you heard it so many times you could probably do the speech yourself without looking at the paper. he was sitting next to you on a couch backstage. his leg was bouncing up and down and he was sighing way too many times. you were getting worried he would get it all wrong just because of stupid nerves. you grabbed his hand, making him still in his movements. he looked at you and you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, making him smile and nod at you appreciating the comfort you were trying to bring him.

୨୧ NISHIMURA RI-KI !

– communicating without words

ni-ki loved performing more than anything in this world. it was what he did for a living and he couldn’t be more grateful for that. everyone, even without an artistic eye, could tell he was damn good at what he did, but somehow, he was never proud of his work. he would always point out flaws here and there that nobody noticed. he was too hard on himself and it made you sad that he couldn't see how good he does when he’s on stage. today was an important performance for him, he was going to have a solo dance project and he had been practicing so hard for it there was no way he would make a mistake. ni-ki had invited you to watch the recording and you gladly accepted. you watched him as he danced with the two backup dancers with such good chemistry. when the recording wrapped up he had to walk straight to an interview. he was walking past you and from the looks of it he wasn’t too happy with the result of things. he turned to look at you, seeing you nod proudly at him as you silently clapped and gave him a thumbs up with a grim, making him smile as looked down to the floor, visibly flustered and warmed up cheeks.

[lavenderspence]

To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other. 

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started. 

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds. 

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost. 

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain. 

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go. 

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair. 

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.  

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true. 

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list. 

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone. 

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment. 

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”  

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?” 

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him. 

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest. 

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home. 

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico. 

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to. 

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other. 

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped. 

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking. 

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes. 

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been. 

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside. 

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore. 

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud. 

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did. 

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you. 

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him. 

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her. 

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough. 

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier. 

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking. 

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt. 

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.” 

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more. 

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again. 

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say. 

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight. 

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight. 

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him. 

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive. 

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends. 

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in. 

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take? 

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared. 

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you. 

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote. 

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num. 

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same. 

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card. 

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again. 

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused. 

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different. 

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit. 

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy. 

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years. 

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt. 

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown. 

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place. 

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly. 

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one. 

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth. 

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness. 

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine. 

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both. 

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature. 

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt. 

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled. 

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him. 

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed. 

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that. 

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time. 

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out. 

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.  

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure. 

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn. 

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly. 

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over. 

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did. 

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see. 

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over. 

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out. 

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them. 

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms. 

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation. 

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now. 

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned. 

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth. 

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet. 

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face. 

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry. 

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined. 

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to. 

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him. 

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground. 

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment. 

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of. 

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes. 

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own. 

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much. 

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline. 

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head. 

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him. 

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you. 

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other. 

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand. 

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent. 

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in. 

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again. 

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice. 

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it. 

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto. 

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head. 

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering. 

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to. 

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became. 

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace. 

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it. 

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real. 

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple. 

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?” 

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you. 

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss. 

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time. 

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy. 

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process. 

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices. 

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived. 

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours. 

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go. 

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching. 

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together. 

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered. 

“I love you.” 

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[often-daydreaming]

Secrets

He wasn't spying or sneaking around or anything really. Well, not right now at least. Tim was only trying to look for Co-, Superboy. He was looking for Superboy for very heroic reasons that didn't involve a lunch date. It was a meeting. A really important meeting Superboy was running late for. That was his only intention for searching some of the more secluded parts of the Watchtower after Dick had mentioned seeing Conner helping out in one of the lower areas. Really, that was it, he truly didn't mean to witness what seemed to be a very private moment going on in one of the smaller garden areas that were rarely ever used.

However, as he saw the scene unfolding right in front of his eyes, he couldn't help but regard it with a little bit of curiosity.

Because Bart wasn't supposed to be up here. He'd been busy all day judging from some of the reports coming in but there he was, sitting on one of the benches and just watching the view of space with Phantom, the mysterious new hero that had recently appeared in Central a few months ago.

He was human or at the very least human adjacent with tech that was years ahead of everyone else on the planet and that was mostly guessing since he rarely used anything besides a few gadgets and his hoverboard that could easily break the sound barrier. Nobody knew if he had anything else or how advanced it all was since he refused to let anyone else touch his gear. Phantom even went out of his way to get patents to cover everything he used after too many people started annoying him about it.

B didn't like it. He didn't like the idea of one person having so many unknowns in their file but Bart had been the first to jump to Phantom's defence with the rest of his family and the Arrows joining in and quickly shutting down any sort of investigation.

Dinah had been ready to take a swing at Bruce over the issue and since then they'd gone out of their way to keep Phantom away from any and every member of the Bat family but here he was just talking with Bart who was quietly leaning against his side, his expression very, very different from normal. He didn't have his usual grin or an easy-going smile. Bart just... he looked so sleepy.

It was probably the first time Tim had seen it outside of the aftermath of an invasion or some major reality ending incident that left everyone completely drained but even then Bart always seemed to have a sort of bottomless energy like nothing could keep him down for long. But seeing him like this he just looked so relaxed, like he could fall asleep any second now.

Tim's racing thoughts were momentarily cut off when he watched on as Phantom pulled out a pocket watch of all things, the casing shimmering and the inside glowing a dark Lazarus green that almost had him rushing forward before he stopped himself, his finger hovering over one of the alarms as he continued to watch the pair.

He couldn't see what they were looking at from the way they were angled so he continued to watch on as Bart leaned more of his weight against Phantom's side looking like he was close to falling asleep.

They were chatting, mumbling in hushed words he couldn't place. He should know it though. Something inside him twitched at the alien like words they were sharing like an itch he couldn't scratch.

It sounded a bit otherworldly in nature maybe even a bit magical but still so soft with every small gesture Phantom and Bart made for each other. None of it was over the top but each movement was considerate of the other, eyes and hands lingered, their smiles growing just that bit sweeter the longer they talked and it intrigued Tim more and more the longer it went on and they got more comfortable.

With his hood pulled back and his mask off he could see a portion of Phantom's face and noticed the faint traces of worried lines on his forehead. He was prime adoption bait and a small part of Tim felt like he was being rude for spying on them like this, but another part which was huge and overpowering, desperately wanted to know everything they were hiding.

Phantom let out a sigh before he said something again, then Bart's shoulders shook the tiniest bit, a small laugh echoing across the garden before he finally took Phantom's hand interlocking their fingers together. Bart whispered something in whatever odd language they were using and Phantom responded with a low murmur. They stayed like that for a moment, conversing with soft voices that Tim couldn't hear anymore which was to be expected. Everyone knew B was recording everything up here in the Watchtower and with how far out of the way the two of them were it was clear nobody else was meant to overhear or even witness any of this at all.

Phantom released another long weary sigh and nodded at whatever Bart was whispering to him only a strong tug on his cape pulled him away before he could overhear anything else as Conner picked him off the ground and hurried down the hall away from the pair while quietly lecturing him about boundaries yet again.

It wasn't even his fault this time.

Add to it if you want but I just really like the idea of Danny and Bart surviving a messed up apocalyptic future together and meeting again in the past. Danny is playing up a Red Huntress/Hunter kind of role since he's putting a lot of miles between him and Amity Park and Bart is helping him hide since they know just about everything about each other after traveling around with Danny for so long when they were sorting out the whole messed up future/evil fusion problem. They handled it. It's not gonna happen anymore so they'd like to have an afternoon off every once in a while where Danny with some help from Clockwork can just block Bart's connection to the Speed Force and dampen both of their superhuman senses for a little bit so they can relax.

[yesimwriting]

Normalcy

A/n deadpool and wolverine drabble bc the movie was a little too good

Summary: Still reeling from the loss of your powers, you struggle to hold it together inside the TVA's void. Thankfully, you find an uncharacteristically peaceful distraction in your old friend Deadpool and in the wolverine variant who wants nothing to do with you.

Warnings/info: reader is a (former) avenger (bc i love the avengers <3), reader is described as having similar powers to wanda and having trained with her (bc i love wanda), implied beginning of an accidental love triangle if you squint ig, maybe too much lore for a drabble (?), me writing for characters for the first time so be nice 😭

----

The lines etched into your palms do not bend and twist to spell out secrets, there are no messages worth decoding pressed into your skin. Knowing this is not enough to stop you from staring at your hands like if you could just think about it hard enough...

"There you are, Peanut." The words are so warm you're briefly pulled out of your internal angst. You straighten, head lifting slightly and arms crossing in front of your chest. "Thought I lost you."

Wade continues forward until he's directly in front of you. He pauses, watching you with an unabashed openness that you'd only ever allow him to get away with. "Kidding," he tries, "I'd never lose you."

The familiarity of the casual affection eases you further, the corner of your mouth tugging itself upwards. "I was like 15 feet away from you."

"Sorry for caring." It's his go to comeback when it comes to defending the displays of affection you have the audacity to find overdramatic.

You blink, lips parting despite your lack of response. The world has felt a little slower these last few days, moving at a pace that leaves you with no choice but to reflect. Maybe it's the void.

"Hey," his voice feels a little flatter without his usual humor, "Are you okay?"

You let out a breath, shocked by this new low. Sure, you've known Wade for awhile and you've both seen each other through plenty of stages, but he's never felt the need to attempt a genuine pep talk for you. He's never struck you as the pep talk sort...for anyone. Do you really seem that off?

It's bad enough that your identity crisis has stolen the abilities that would have helped your trio pop out of the void with no real fanfare, you can't also make your insecurities everyone else's problem. "Yeah." The response doesn't feel convincing, but with Wade wearing the Deadpool mask, it's hard to be sure. "Just y'know...we're in a void and our reality might be ripped apart, so I've been better."

He's still watching you with a level of focus that's unnerving. You've gotten used to his familiarity, his lack of care for personal space or the social rules around watching people. "You're doing it again."

"Seducing you with my ability to have a heart to heart while looking this good in my suit?"

You sigh in an attempt to dismiss your slight smile. Happy or sad, superhero that once fought Thanos or regular person that can't regulate their emotions, Wade always treats you the same. "The staring thing. You said you'd stop."

"No, you said I'd stop." The correction is a return to what you're used to. He takes a step towards you, his proximity now forcing you to tilt your chin up slightly to look him in the eye. "I'd never promise to look at you less."

"Comforting."

He angles his chin downwards, making the limited distance feel more significant. "I thought so." For a moment, he's quiet in a way that doesn't feel very him. "Are you sure you're...good?" His hesitance is another reminder that this is far out of his element. "I know this is your first..." Wade's rarely careful, only ever treading lightly on the one subject you never want to bring. "Outing, since..."

"I lost my powers."

Wade goes quiet again. If this conversation is as inevitable as it seems, a part of you wishes it could have come up elsewhere. Maybe in your shared apartment, definitely without the mask so you could better interpret his reactions. It's not often you keep secrets from him, but the hollowness you feel knowing the part of yourself you've lost isn't something you can just share.

It's more than just about missing your party tricks, it's about losing a part of yourself. They were all that was left of your time with the Avengers, of what Wanda taught you before Westview.

He lets out a breath. "They're not lost." You raise your eyebrows slightly, giving him a look meant to caution him against sympathetic optimism. "We don't know that."

He seems so happy to be able to tell you that there's no proof that any and all magical abilities have been flushed out of your system, you don't have it in you to remind him that that's mainly because you have no one to ask. What's left of the Avengers and your government connections either barely understand what you were or are untrustworthy.

"Educated wish?"

His mask muffles a slight gasp. You press your lips together in an attempt to resist smiling. "The last one worked out great."

Your eyebrows pull together skeptically, a reminder that the two of you are still technically in the middle of the last educated wish he attempted to speak into existence. "Didn't Wolverine stab you multiple times--"

He cuts you off with a heavy sigh. "If I took getting stabbed personally, do you know where we'd be?"

In a reality where Wade holds grudges over those kinds of things, you wouldn't be anything to each other, except maybe enemies. You've never pulled a knife or sword or anything sharp on him, but when you first met he did startle you before you had a total grip on your abilities, which resulted in him getting thrown through a wall.

"I never stabbed you."

His hand finds your shoulder. You let him drag his thumb against against the fabric of your suit. "And that's how I know you really love me, Peanut."

You roll your eyes in an attempt to dislodge the warmth that settles in the pit of your stomach. The last thing Wade needs is encouragement. "I mean, I do go around stabbing everyone I like less than you."

He lets out a sound that feels like a scoff attempting to mask itself as a dry laugh. "There's the sense of humor that'd hurt me if I knew you less."

"Well--"

He squeezes your shoulder, "I know you." Okay. You'll let him have this one because maybe there's some truth to what he's saying. "I'm going to go check on the car, because a fucking Honda Odyssey would break down on us for no reason before we got to the fight."

"For no reason or because of the bitch fight you and Wolverine had in it?"

There's a beat of silence in which all you can do is try to imagine Wade's expression behind the mask. You'd like to think that he's smiling. "Oh, Pumpkin." He sighs as if you've stumbled onto saying something terribly naive. "It wasn't a bitch fight, it was awesome, and probably turned you on."

You deadpan a flat, "You caught me." He hasn't let go of your shoulder, and a part of you is oddly glad for it. "I'd offer you help with the car, but..."

You're self aware enough to acknowledge your strengths and weaknesses, car maintenance being the latter. Wade doesn't even let you get your oil changed by yourself anymore.

"I've met you." He squeezes your shoulder again, the gesture weirdly stabilizing. "Give me 15 minutes to actually look at the car and then I'm all yours."

Wade lets go of you, his arm falling to his side. "Aren't you always?"

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. "You're making me feel cheaper than my usual rate, Peanut."

You smile as he turns away. Things are always a little easier with Wade. It's more than just distraction, it's his way of making things feel a little lighter. You're not sure what to do with your 15 minutes of solitude to avoid falling back into self pity.

You originally broke away from the group of void trapped heroes under the premise of needing fresh air, but even here, with the expansive, sparsely wooded area at your disposal, the oxygen in your lungs still feels flat. If Wanda were around, you'd be able to ask if she felt the strangeness of this other plane of existence as well. At least then you'd know if your dislike of the void is only mental or an actual sign of life from your abilities.

You begin to walk forward, hoping to shed all thoughts of both your former self and the eeriness of this other world. There are other people you could talk to you. The others have been polite enough, or at the very least, passionate enough to be talked into facing Cassandra.

The trees you've been wandering through grow in their sparsity, the edge of the woods revealing a patch of grassland highlighted by a fire's warm glow. You squint past the tree line, attempting to make out the figure sitting in front of the flames. Wolverine.

Secluded from the group and staring at a campfire. Surprising. Though, you guess it's not fair to judge him too harshly, you left the group to brood as well.

He doesn't like you, doesn't know you well enough to dislike you, but it took him no time to find a way to get around that. Maybe it's your proximity to Wade. You've done your best to take his hostility as un-personally as possible. You've seen enough people you really care about go through the guilt ridden, fallen hero thing to know how deep that kind of hurt runs.

You've never known a Wolverine or Logan Howlett variant, so you have no way of knowing what he was like before. Sure, you've heard stories, but you're also overly aware of how the media can twist and turn those stories to fit their narrative. One day, a superhero is the world's greatest protector, and the next their the greatest menace. Maybe he was always a little dark, or maybe he wasn't.

"Don't just stand there." The gruffness of his voice startles you more than it should.

Heat crawls up your neck, a part of you more embarrassed than you should be. You weren't lurking, or at the very least, you weren't trying to.

You sigh as you abandon the safety of the tree line. "Sorry." He turns his head away from the fire. "I wasn't--I was just walking."

He's quiet for such a long moment you almost expect him to not respond at all. "Without your shadow?"

Wow, only a halfhearted dig at Wade. You must have caught him in a good mood. "Friend, and he's looking at the car. I'd be looking at the car with him, but I figured the odds for tomorrow are bad enough as is."

Another uneasy stretch of silence. "Yeah." There's not much, if anything, to take from the comment. "If you're here to convince me to go with you guys tomorrow--"

"I'm not." It's an honest answer. You had been walking around aimlessly and happened to stumble onto him. "I'm not into the pep talk thing." He scoffs, the sound lacking in genuine aggression. "What?"

He lifts his gaze from the fire, his eyes settling on some point past the horizon. "I thought you were an Avenger."

You're not sure what bugs you more, the fact that he's so sure he has you all figured out or the implication that the Avengers spend their days encouraging each other instead of actually doing things. What the Avengers are--or maybe were--is so much more than that.

You step forward, further separating you from the cluster of trees. "The Avengers are about a lot more than that."

His attention briefly shifts onto you before returning to the flames. If the silence is meant to be dismissive, it doesn't feel that way. There's a patience there that doesn't suit his usual brooding.

"Do you care if I sit?" The question is forced out before you can overthink it. "I promise no inspirational speeches or small talk."

After a beat, he dips his chin downwards in a nod so subtle you would have missed it if you had been watching him any less carefully. You're more relieved by his acceptance than you should be, your feet carrying you towards the campfire.

You sit at a polite distance, knees bent in front of you. His silence seems to push against the void's sluggishness. Maybe the issue has been you fighting this world's momentum.

"Why are you with him?" You're not sure if you're more shocked by the question or the break in silence. When all you can do is blink, he continues, "You seem--" He subtly clears his throat, as if struggling to admit this next part, "Nice, normal."

Oh. If you had been focused, you likely would have got what he meant without the clarification. "I know Wade's a lot--especially to you." You place a hand against your knee, thinking about that very specific safety you only feel with Wade. You don't have to try at being anything, or worry about earning your keep in any capacity. "But once you get to know him, he's a good friend."

You look away from the fire pit in time to see the skeptical look Logan throws in your direction. "I'm serious." His expression doesn't change. "He um--after I stopped being important to everyone else, he still liked me ." This isn't the conversation you wanted to stumble onto, especially not with someone who you barely know and actively dislikes you. "That sounds kind of dumb, but the point is, he's loyal."

He turns his head back towards the fire. "You always call him by his name." The observation is so stiff you'd consider it hesitant if it came from anyone else.

You've never thought much about Wade's name. Part of it is familiarity, and the rest of it is a force of habit. Even when you were with the Avengers, you preferred using actual names when off duty. It's easier to separate the mask from the person beneath it when you make an active effort to.

You shrug. "I'm not into off duty superhero names, Wolverine."

He falls silent again. You concentrate on the flames, the way they illuminate the world around you. "You can--" He cuts himself off, attention never wavering from the fire. "You can call me Logan, if you want."

An unsteady warmth roots itself in your chest. You didn't expect any sort of kinship between you and the wolverine Wade stole from some other timeline beyond him occasionally accepting your attempts at creating peace between him and Wade.

"Okay," you focus on keeping your tone measured, avoiding any emotions that might startle him, "Logan."

There's no tension in the quiet that follows. You let the minutes pass until you're certain that Wade's waiting for an interruption disguised as an attempt to help. "I should go, Wade's probably waiting for me."

You push yourself to stand. You let yourself glance at him one last time before turning towards the trees you emerged from.

[esspeon]

Jesus is my virtue

gojo is in no way a virgin, he’s done more things than he can count on two hands yet there’s something about the way you talk to him, there’s something about the way your words make him feel that he thinks he just might be one. Though, the position you’re currently finding yourselves in is anything but holy. Satoru watches you intently, his blue eyes stuck to the way your hand moves as you jerk him off slowly. “Look at you, pretty boy. You’re already such a mess, and I’ve barely touched you.” You say, a smirk on your lips. “I wonder what people would think if they saw you -the strongest- so vulnerable, hm?

“S-stop teasing m-me.” he stutters, pouting as he tries to move his hips, desperate for some kind of pleasure. You slap his thigh and he lets out a whimper. “Please, my love. Just do something.” It was rare to see Satoru so desperate and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the sight. “Be a good boy and be patient.” There it is, that sweet voice of yours speaking words that are like music to his ears. You feel his cock throb lightly in your hand and you smile, “You liked that, ‘toru?” “Very.” He nods. You hum, “hm, lemme take care of you then, just relax your pretty little head.”. While looking directly into his eyes, you take his tip into your mouth, licking it as you do so before taking the rest of it.

Gojo blushes at the sight. He can feel the back of your throat with his tip and the feeling is making him dizzy. You’re making Gojo fucking Satoru blush- if you had known calling him a good boy and sucking him off was all it took to have him at your mercy you would have done it much more sooner. “Ah- feels so good. Please don’t stop.” He practically begs through moans and you don’t, you make sure he knows just how much you’re enjoying this too.

And Judas is the demon I cling to

sukuna is everything you desire and more, it’s another type of pleasure when you’re with him. You don’t have to worry about anything, you just have to take it, you just have to take everything he gives you even if it sometimes sounds like too much. Especially when his cock is so big it barely fits but god, does it hit every spot that makes you feel good and more. He knows you like it when he’s rough, he knows you like the pain even if you keep telling him through your tears that you can’t, that it’s too much- that you’re too full. “Shh, you’ve taken me multiple times, you’re more than capable of taking me now. Aren’t you, darling? Don’t wanna disappoint me, do you?” He speaks, hand slightly tightening around your throat while his claws dig into your skin.

“N-no.. ‘kuna, please.” You cry, your hand wrapping around his tattooed wrist and looking at him through your wet lashes from how much you’d been crying - of pleasure of course. “Please what, doll? Use your big girl words.” Sukuna says, pushing his thick cock even deeper into your cunt and you gasp, feeling his tip press against the entrance of your cervix. “Fuck- please just f-fuck me.” You beg. “There you go, wasn’t so hard hm? I much prefer this to the non sense you were spouting earlier. Just had to be a good little slut and wait.”

Sukuna starts moving, going faster and faster, just taking in every little sound that leaves your lips as your eyes roll back from how intense this felt. This was by no means the first time you’ve fucked and yet it felt like the first time all over again. You hadn’t seen each other in a month and it seems like your cunt forgot just how big he was. There’s a smile plastered on his face because of how cock drunk you are. It’s a sight really, your face is flushed and your sweaty, your tongue lolls out of your mouth and your chin is covered in drool. You just looked so fucked out and he fucking loves that. “Looks like I’ve fucked you real good this time, hm?” He mocked through his groans, he missed your pretty face so much but he’d be dead before he ever admits that.