#but dear god i want to kiss this fic on its forehead and just hold it

[kodzukoi]

BASHING MY HEAD AGAINST THE WALL

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。what if you’re someone i just want around (i’m falling again)

synopsis. somewhere along the line, you started to hate suguru—that doesn’t mean you stopped loving him too

— word count. 9.5k (i am in misery)

— contents. post canon! au — fix it! (we all need a good fix it fic with suguru don't lie), this fic was started before recent manga chapters so the higher ups are still alive—just go with it ok :,), geto survives + lives free of kenjaku, exes to lovers, kind of redemption i suppose, mentions of blood, injuries, and weight loss (geto), mentions of canon character deaths (nanako, mimiko, nanami), mentions of wanting to raise children with geto and have a family, no gendered terms but reader has a personality and actual thoughts and feelings, references to the hunger games (you have movie night lol), BFF satoru (he is babie), there is a kiss y’all !! (scandalous i know :O)

— notes. i started this fic back in march and i had trouble with it and put it on pause for a while. i’m very glad i finished it in the end. i always like fix it! fics and this is self-indulgent and idk if ppl will read it bc it’s sfw but it’s ok if they don’t, i loved writing it. thank you koi for beta-reading this whole bad boy. mwah <333

the day suguru is declared a free man is actually the day he signs away his freedom for good. 

you say nothing, but you know it’s the truth. satoru fights tooth and nail to plead suguru’s case—you think it’s perhaps a little too desperate for it to be in the best interest of suguru and not himself. but satoru has suffered enough, and admittedly—although you deny it—a small part of you does not want to lose suguru twice. you watch as satoru argues that suguru has already died once—surely he can’t die again? and losing control of his body and mind is paying for his crimes enough, is it not? he argues that there are no ideals left for a man like geto suguru to chase after losing himself to every principle he had left. 

and then satoru wins. 

you expect it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. you watch numbly as suguru is assigned under your watch. you should be happy. you love suguru—you never stopped. but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s not a free man, and now he drags your freedom with his. you’ll never break away from him, never cut through the ropes that tie your hands behind your back and bind you to him—and then you wonder for a moment, unsure if it’s selfish or selfless or some cruel in-between to think this way, if geto suguru was better off dead. 

whether that’s for your sake, or his, you’re not sure. 

and yes, he’s let off alive, and sure, there’s no real punishment for all he’s done, but you know deep down he’s as chained and shackled as he’s ever been. he’s not allowed to leave the house unless you or satoru are there to chaperone, and it’s never to be anywhere near non-sorcerers. he’s not to live in a place of his own until the higher up’s deem him trustworthy. he has to ask you to buy the things he wants from the grocery store. he can’t even step outside for a smoke unless you’re aware. 

for a long time, he doesn’t speak much—can hardly muster a barely audible mornin’ back when you force a smile and greet him cheerily for breakfast. slowly, it turns into half-snarky conversations that get cut short by one of you leaving the room. finally, you’re civil—maybe even friendly. you’re not so sure where you stand with him as of now.

it’s not the same suguru you remember falling in love with, it’s not even close to the version of the man you fell for all those years ago. it’s hard having him here—some days you’re angry and want to throw him out, to scream at him for haunting you again just when you think you’ve moved on from the horrors of your past. some days you want to cry and cling to him, bury your face into his neck and thank him for being here again, for finding his way back to you. and some days you wish you never met him at all, that this would all be easier if it didn’t exist in the first place. 

he’s not the same geto suguru you loved, but somehow, because life is as bitter as it is ruthless, you fall in love with this version just as hard no matter how much you deny it. 

“i made your favorite,” you smile gently, placing a neat plate of french toast with freshly cut strawberries on the side. you even take great care to get the syrup-to-powdered sugar ratio he likes right, but he doesn’t make a move to reach for the plate. instead, suguru sits at the table stiffly, like he has to be here or there are consequences for that too. it almost makes you sad—even here, he’s not free. 

“thanks,” he says quietly, “but i’m not hungry.”

“you said that last night, suguru,” you sigh, “and at lunch. and at breakfast. and at dinner the night before—”

“i’ll eat it later,” he cuts you off, playing with the ends of his hair. 

it’s a lot shorter now. it’s you who finds his body battered and bruised after the smoke clears. he’s almost unrecognizable, not the same charming and perfect suguru you’re used to seeing. not the same silkened strands and smooth skin, not the same muscled and toned body, not the same chiseled jaw and soft cheeks. instead, he’s a shell of himself. his hair is matted in knots, his body is almost frail, and you notice the sunken hollows of his cheeks and dark undereyes as you lift him from the rubble a little too easily. but his body is his own—that much you can tell from the way the stitches have disappeared. 

it takes shoko a long time to nurse him back to health—it takes even longer for him to open his eyes.

you waited day and night by his side, hand over his as he breathed slowly, unconscious and unsuspecting. it would be so easy, you think one night, it would be so easy to kill him and forget and move on. 

you’ve already grieved him once before. you’ve felt and conquered the pain of loving geto suguru and losing him first to himself and then to death. but love is as selfish as it is selfless, and it’s under your mercy that you let him live—yet it’s under your cowardice that you keep him close. 

“you have to gain back the weight you lost, suguru,” you sigh, “you’re w—”

“weak?” he finishes for you, eyeing you for a second and then grinning. it’s unsettling, a grin that makes your skin crawl and your heart stop for a moment before he’s reaching for the fork and stabbing into his toast. “is that what you wanted to say? that i’m weak?”

“suguru, you know that’s not how i meant—”

“you’re not wrong,” he hums, chewing on the first bite as he speaks, “i suppose i am pretty weak right now, huh? couldn’t even kill you in your sleep if i tried could i?”

your throat is dry as you shrug, “i suppose not,” you whisper. 

“ah,” he grins again, “but that doesn’t stop you from locking your door every night, does it?” 

suguru is still healing. his body is weak, and sometimes, he leans against the wall as he walks. his arm is healed—you’re not entirely sure how, but you catch him rolling the shoulder out every now and then like it’s sore and stiff. he’s lost a lot of weight—part of it is from being bedridden for as long as he was, injured and half alive, and part of it is from barely eating—save for the few bites you force into him. you never thought there’d be a day when you could say this—but the odds of you beating suguru in hand-to-hand combat are high, and the reality is an everlasting reminder that he is not who you fell for. 

you swallow, letting out a shaky breath as he watches you closely, diligently cutting another bite from the french toast sitting on his plate as he stares you down like he can see past your soul. you don’t know what’s scarier—that suguru can still practically see yours, or that you’re unsure he even has one anymore. 

“you tried coming in?” you ask, unsure what else to say. he merely shrugs, takes another bite, and sets his fork down. 

“thought i’d check on you,” he pops a strawberry half into his mouth as he speaks.

“is that what it really was?” you raise a brow, “or was i right to lock the door?”

you’re not sure why you lock the door at night. maybe it’s because you don’t trust him, or maybe it’s because you don’t want him near you just yet. you’re not sure. you’re not sure how satoru can go back to his cheery self, how he can step through your door and boom a loud yo, suguru! before settling beside suguru on the couch with his feet on the coffee table as he rambles away. maybe it’s not real—maybe it’s satoru desperately pretending that if he tries hard enough, things can go back to how they were. 

but you don’t know how he still has the energy to try, and you don’t know if you have it in you to try anymore yourself. 

you and suguru stare each other down like that for a bit, the tension rising with every silent second that passes. you’re sure he doesn’t want to be here as much as you don’t want him around—but you’re also sure he’s glad it’s here with you as much as you’re glad it’s with no one else.

“you tell me,” he smirks after a bit, the hint of amusement making your fists clench. how dare he have the audacity to look at you like that in your own home? like he has the upper hand over you without trying? “what do you think i was there for?”

“i think you should stay in your room, suguru,” you say carefully, “i bought a new bed just for that room.”

“how sweet of you,” he hums. he sips the tea before him—it’s cold by now, but it’s just how he likes it, rose with one sugar. “you must have been excited to have me.”

“hardly,” you mumble bitterly—you can’t help it. you want him to feel hurt, even just a little. you want him to know that just because he’s back, it doesn’t mean you’ve waited all this time for him to be. liar, a part of you says, you’ve always waited for him, haven’t you? but suguru doesn’t seem phased—he doesn’t even blink.

“then tell me, why am i here?” suguru asks, his tone is as casual as ever. 

i wish i knew, you want to say. i wish i knew but i don’t.

“because satoru asked you to be,” is all you can say.

he nods, pushing back his plate and standing up, offering you that same grin. “you’re right,” he hums, “that’s exactly why i’m here.”

it hits you why his smile is so unsettling once he leaves—it’s almost genuine, like he’s still loved you all this time. impossible, you tell yourself. suguru stopped loving you a long time ago. and you need to stop trying to figure out why. 

————————————————

even despite telling yourself you don’t care what suguru thinks, a small part of you needs to prove to him you’re not scared of him. that you don’t fear for your own safety in your home, and that him being here is not some form of him haunting you. you don’t care. he shouldn’t get the luxury of thinking you care. he can come in and watch you sleep like the creep he is if he wants—you couldn’t bother to give it a second thought. 

the first night you take a chance and leave the door unlocked, suguru slips into bed beside you. it wakes you up instantly, and before you can question it, his head tucks into your neck, and his hand grasps your shirt tightly. you notice the panting almost instantly—and then you realize, it must be a nightmare. 

you fall into old habits, even after all these years, defaulting to care for him like it’s second nature. 

“you’re safe, suguru,” is what you settle for saying after a moment of contemplation. it’s all you can really think to say, so you brush your lips over the top of his head as you murmur, “you’re safe,” over and over again. 

as difficult as it is to have suguru around, as painful and cruel and aggravating as it is to be reminded of his distant existence even as he’s two doors down, this part feels natural. it’s almost like you’re back in jujutsu high, waking up to him sneaking into your room as he presses his weight over your body and wakes you with soft kisses along your face. 

except this time, he’s not annoyingly demanding cuddles or telling you about his weird dream, he’s not stealing your blanket and demanding you play with his hair. this time, it’s not the same suguru—and this time, it’s not jujutsu high. 

it’s your room. the one you got on the other side of town to leave the sorcery world behind, somehow still stuck right in the center of it no matter where you go. and yet, just like all those years ago, your legs tangle, and your arms wrap him up, and you murmur, “you’re safe,” while he catches his breath. 

“but they’re not,” he mutters in between labored pants, making you pause. 

and then you remember. 

faintly, you recall the blonde and black hair from a distance, you remember bitterly wondering what’d it be like watching suguru fathering children of your own as you came to the reality that it would never happen. sometimes, you wonder if you hate nanako and mimiko for existing, for living as the dreams you never got to live through with suguru. 

it’s selfish—to hate two children because they are what you do not have. 

but then you feel something wet hit your neck, and then you wish they were okay—for his sake. and just for a moment, you’re selfless again. 

“they’re not safe,” he mutters, making you sigh. 

“they are,” you whisper, hesitating for a moment before letting your fingers slip into his hair. you scratch gently at his scalp, feeling his body melt into yours almost instantly—like it’s a response that’s natural to him. “they’re not suffering. not anymore.”

“is that supposed to make me feel better?” he scoffs. you shrug, letting your cheek press against the top of his head as you sigh.

“it helps me feel better,” you say softly, “‘s just how you learn to cope.”

it’s an understanding you both silently come to. loss on both sides. bloodshed on either ground. defeat no matter which ideal you take. to love is to bear the pain of mortality—it’s a lesson that you never cease to learn until the ends of time itself. 

“the jujutsu world is one of suffering,” he grits, sniffling into your neck. you hum, pressing a kiss to his head as your eyes close. 

“every world is one of suffering, suguru, you can’t erase them all. the sooner you realize that, the easier you’ll find peace.”

you fall into a slumber after that, faintly aware of the way he shuffles closer to you, faintly aware of the soft kiss pressed to your skin as sleep takes over your body and drifts you out of consciousness. 

when you wake up the next morning, suguru is gone, and the door is closed. the blanket is tucked up to your chin, and your neck still tingles from last night. 

————————————————

“get up,” you throw a pillow at suguru, waking him up with a start as he sits up. his hair is tousled and messy from sleep—it’s now long enough that he can put it in a bun without strands slipping from the bottom anymore. you chuckle as he glares at you, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he groans. 

“the fuck was that for?” he grunts, holding the blanket up to cover his exposed chest. 

it’s funny that he does that, in a way. it’s not as though you haven’t seen his chest…and then some too. it’s not like you haven’t torn his shirt off to stanch the flow of blood from his injuries before or feel the bare skin with your palm under the pale moonlight as the lingering scent of sex breezes through the room. 

but somehow, even though he doesn’t need to cover his chest around you of all people, you’re glad that he does. truthfully, it keeps you slightly comforted to know that he’s aware you’re still technically strangers—no matter how well-versed you are in each other’s pasts. but you don’t ponder on it too much. instead, you grin, shoving aside the visual of the small glance you caught at his pecs, and you clap your hands to motion him to hurry. 

“we are going grocery shopping,” you say casually—as though it’s not something to make him raise a brow in shock.

“me?” he points a finger at himself. you roll your eyes, and he challenges you with another raise of his brow. “aren’t i supposed to stay away from civilians?”

“yes, you,” you nod, pointing back at him, “and satoru has worked overtime to get you granted permission to roam around with me. he says you’re welcome, by the way.”

“tell him to go fuck off.”

“that’s ungrateful,” you say flatly, “his feelings will be hurt.”

“his feelings will find a way to cope,” suguru huffs. “i don’t want to be around…them,” he says bitterly. 

you suppose it’s wishful thinking to hope suguru has let go of his past beliefs. perhaps he’s long abandoned the possibility of the vision he once planned on bringing to life, but you can’t say you expected him to revert back to the old suguru who fought alongside you and satoru. you yourself certainly have no intention of returning to the sorcery world after all the events, so you can’t say you’re shocked by the lack of change he seems to show. but then again, you suppose suguru has changed. whether he sees it or not. 

he stays here and doesn’t put up a fight to leave even though he can now that he’s healed. he eats lunch when you tell him and even washes the dishes. sometimes, when you come home a bit late, dinner is even ready on the table as he sits and stares at you expectantly. his plate is empty like yours—like he’s been waiting for you even though he doesn’t need to. you suppose you can see he’s changed in the way he doesn’t scoff at the tv channels you surf through, he silently sits on the opposite end of the couch now and watches with you, and perhaps if you’re lucky, you’ll hear a light chuckle or a quiet sigh as the scenes roll on the screen. 

you suppose suguru is a step closer to suguru every day he spends with you, but you don’t know if suguru is what you need right now. not suguru, not suguru, and certainly not geto suguru. perhaps that name should’ve been buried away as a distant memory, perhaps it should’ve only been something you unlock once every year on his death anniversary—when satoru clambers through your door drunk and unsteady as he clutches the hand that killed his best friend, only to share pancakes with you in the morning and pretend like you don’t notice the dried tears on his cheeks while he acts like he doesn’t catch the way your hand shakes as you cut into your breakfast. 

but suguru is here now. whether it’s as geto suguru, one half of the strongest duo in jujutsu high, whether it’s as suguru, the love of your life and the sole reason you exist, or whether it’s as suguru, the curse user and mass murderer who haunts your past, present, and everything in between. 

so you simply sigh, grab the pillow again, and hit the top of his head before walking over to the door as you call over your shoulder, “i’m gonna wait for you by the door in fifteen minutes. be ready or face the consequences..”

“no thanks. don’t wanna,” suguru grumbles petulantly, frowning at you as you stick your tongue at him, smirking as if you’ve just played your ace. 

“too bad,” you sing before swinging the door shut.

he’s at the door in exactly fifteen minutes, like he waited until the last possible second to join you as a move of spite. but you simply gesture him out the door and lock up, taking your sweet time as he stands there with an annoyed face. you stare at the doorknob once you’re done, taking a deep breath before turning to him with your best smile. 

“let’s go,” you hum.

“after you,” he mutters.

—

he grimaces as soon as he sees the people going about their business, clearly unhappy with the idea of being around non-sorcerers, but one sharp glare from you has him sighing and trekking along. the grocery store, admittedly, is not as bad as suguru thinks—in fact, there are lots of things he doesn’t realize he misses until he watches you grab a shopping cart. 

suddenly, he sees shadows. the silhouette of your figure climbing into the cart, the angry wave of satoru’s hands as he claims it's his turn to be pushed around, the figure of shoko pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation from the back—and then, he sees the dark shadow of baggy pants and a small bun. it’s him. suguru watches himself almost in slow motion through the remnants of his imagination as he gently shoves satoru out of the way and reaches to poke the tip of your nose before he pushes the cart with you in it.  

it’s a happy memory—and it’s gone all too soon.

as soon as he blinks, the shadows have disappeared—instead, it’s you waving a hand in his face, concern written on your features as you call his name. 

“suguru? hey, hello? are you with me?”

he exhales, pulled from his trance as he gently grabs your wrist from in front of his face and sets it down as he nods, “yeah, i’m fine. just thinking,” he mumbles. 

for a second, you hesitate, like you almost mean to say something. but in the end, you only nod before turning to grab the shopping cart. but he stops you—grabs the handle and turns to you with a small smile on his face, making you raise a brow as he gently moves you away. 

“what are you—”

“get in,” he grins, making you stare at him in bewilderment. 

“what?”

“just get in,” he sighs, “you love it when you get to sit in the cart.”

“i’m not a teenager anymore—”

“get in, will you?” he groans, “always so damn difficult.”

“hey,” you pout, glaring at him with your hands planted at your hips, “that’s rude.” it’s cute. suguru stares at you with amusement in his eyes and a soft look on his face that you don’t think you’ve really seen in years. 

“humor me,” he hums, “just get in, okay?”

so you do. 

with a huff and a grumble under your breath, you fight back a smile and climb into the damn cart just like old times. you swallow and try not to let it get to you when he reaches over and pokes the tip of your nose and pushes the cart around, letting you name off the things you need from your list while he grabs them. and when he sneaks snacks into the pile, you roll your eyes and glare at him in the way you always did—the one that isn’t actually annoyed. fond. happy to let it slide because it’s him.

“we need candy,” you murmur, “that’s the last thing on the list.”

“okay. what kind?” he asks, turning the cart into the candy aisle and smiling softly down at you.

“doesn’t matter, satoru eats anything as long as it’s sweet. he’s more likely to die from sugar than fighting a curse, i think.”

“you buy candy for satoru?” he asks, making you shrug as you reach over and grab a few bags of candy off the shelves, setting them down beside you. 

“he comes over a lot so i learned to keep stuff stocked up for him. you know how he gets when he’s hungry.”

suguru feels something he hasn’t felt since he was a teenager. jealousy—specifically of satoru. 

suguru is not foolish. he knows as soon as he meets gojo satoru that of the two, one of them is stronger and it’s definitely not himself. for the longest time, he’s okay with that, okay being the strongest only when alongside satoru—until he’s not. and even if suguru always had a bit more attention in the romance department than satoru, in his head he’s always known that perhaps satoru can keep you safer, more well off, maybe even happier. with smooth smiles and eyes as welcoming as an oasis, gojo satoru would never leave you in the dark pit of misery as suguru once had. 

something about the thought of you and satoru keeping each other company through the lonely years, filling that empty spot suguru left behind, sharing moments over candy and empty wrappers makes suguru wonder for a moment if perhaps he’d be happier if he stayed. maybe he could have worn a heartfelt smile in a world that carves them off the faces of sorcerers with bloody knives as long as you were there to wipe the blood.  

but before he can dwell on it, you snatch one more bag—this time of his favorite candy, placing it into the cart and grinning gently up at him. 

“i haven’t bought this one in years,” you admit, “i almost forget how it tastes.”

“me too,” he says quietly.

“well,” you hum, “we’ll have to have some when we’re home.”

home. you say it as though it belongs to him as much as it does you, and then like you always have, without even meaning to, you wash away the dark stains of his jealousy with no trace left behind.

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we—”

“daddy, look! candy!” suguru is cut off by the gentle pitter-patter of two tiny feet running into the aisle, pointing at a bag of candy as a man follows close behind. 

his breath hitches. 

she’s small, the girl—she has two pigtails with soft strands of blonde hair falling out of the loosely tied bands. it reminds suguru of the first time he perfected tying up nanako’s hair, the soft giggles behind her tiny hand as she twirled in the mirror. 

there’s another girl in the man’s arms—dark hair on her head as she curls into her father’s chest and tucks her head into his neck when she sees you and suguru in the aisle. she’s shy, he realizes, like mimiko, and suddenly he remembers the tiny fingers that used to hook into his pants when she got too overwhelmed by the people around her, waiting for suguru to scoop her into his arms. 

perhaps in another life, suguru would redo everything differently—he’d be happy with you and satoru and shoko, and nanami and haibara would be there too, well and alive. but no matter what, he’d never redo nanako and mimiko differently. he’d never change a thing about them, not even the way nanako whines too much about small things or the way mimiko never speaks up even when something is clearly bothering her. he’d never change the way he saved them and took them in at the tender age of eighteen, too lost to be a father but choosing to raise them anyway. he’d never change the feeling of pure joy and unbridled pride when they climbed into his bed for the first time, shushing each other so as not to wake him—even though he’d awoken as soon as the door to his room opened. 

because he realized that night that yeah, maybe he’d made mistakes in his lifetime, lots of them too. maybe he’d made a bad choice choosing the path he did, or maybe he didn’t. he’s never been completely sure—just that he had to try at least to make his vision for a different world come to life. but one mistake he never made was his girls. one thing he was always sure about was the soft clutch at his pants and the tiny hands reaching for his own.

suguru wouldn’t change anything about nanako and mimiko—except maybe the fact that they aren’t here, gone because of him. 

“suguru?” you ask softly, reaching for his hand as he grips the cart tightly and pulling his gaze away from the family in the distance. 

he blinks, meets your eyes, and knows that you know. with one glance at your face, he knows you understand. the world is cruel, one filled with suffering, he thinks. but then he remembers what you said, that every world is full of suffering, not just his—that it’s a truth he has to come face to face with.

but it’s hard. it’s hard when this man has his two little girls and suguru does not—it’s hard to watch someone have what he wants with no worries of losing it, all because of people and their own weaknesses. he thinks for a moment that he’s been right all along—that non-sorcerers are too weak for this life, that the jujutsu world has always suffered so they don’t have to. 

but then the man speaks up, catching both of your attention. 

“your mother used to love those,” he says quietly to his daughter, a pained smile on his face. instantly, you and suguru both seem to understand the weight of that single sentence. 

every world has its own pain, suguru realizes. its own cruelties and unfairness, its own way of bringing suffering in its wake as it rips away the things closest to you from your begging fingertips, leaving them cold and empty and numb from the lost weight underneath them. 

“let’s go, suguru,” you whisper, “we have everything we came for.”

“yeah,” he whispers back, clearing his throat so his voice doesn’t crack, “let’s go.”

suguru leaves the grocery store with you after you pay, and for a brief moment, he’s unsure. unsure whether he’s grateful to satoru for fighting for him to be able to come and grateful to you for dragging him along, or if he wishes he died along with the rubble, gone before you could find him and turn him into this.

“before you even think about hiding away in your room,” you say, grabbing the bags from the cart as you put it back where it belongs, “you have to help with putting away the groceries.”

“sure,” he says smoothly, grabbing all the heavy bags from your hand, and you make a move to protest that you don’t need him to take the heavier ones, that you’re fine and can handle them like you’ve always handled them. 

but he walks off, and finally, you decide to simply follow.

————————————————

satoru likes to come and visit—you’ve started a routine movie night every week (unless he’s away, of course.) it’s fun, but it also means he makes your veins pop because he’s a headache like that—always makes himself right at home and eats your snacks like this is his place and not yours. he helps himself to your already limited candy and puts his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table no matter how many times you tell him not to. 

you try sitting with legs as long as these, he always whines, earning a harsh glare from you as you smack at his shins until he ultimately caves and begrudgingly sets his feet down. 

but then they always make their way back up to the coffee table, and you’re too busy enjoying his company to care—although you’ll never admit it. 

satoru is endearing like that, swallowing the dark clouds from your shoulders whole and eating up your burdens with that side of responsibility that you don’t think you could ever stomach. satoru is just like that, you realize, taking the brunt of the weight and laughs off every concern until you can’t help but not take them seriously yourself. 

it’s hard to remember that sometimes you didn’t just lose suguru, the love of your life, that night. everyone lost something. shoko lost someone to smoke with, yaga lost a student to scold, nanami lost a headache to avoid, and satoru?

well…satoru lost what you think might’ve been the only filled void of his miserably empty life. 

it’s hard to remember that satoru lost his best friend—the only best friend he’s ever had (although you like to think of yourself as a close contender)—because he’s so good at letting you forget. he brings you ice cream (that he eats half of because it’s only fair he gets a share), and he sits and hogs your couch (that he argues you don’t really need as much space as him on because your legs aren’t as long), and he watches those stupid sitcoms that are dry with boring jokes (that you used to make suguru watch back in the day).

it’s hard to remember that satoru also lost as much as you because he’s so damn good at making you forget about your own loss, you don’t care to think about anyone else’s for a while. just a short while. just until he’s yawning that obnoxiously loud yawn and stretching those awkwardly long limbs of his before he claims he really should go and that being the world’s best teacher requires as many hours of beauty sleep as you can squeeze in. 

and then he’s off. and it’s empty again. and just like that, you’re reminded of why he was there in the first place—to fill in that sick and painful void that geto suguru left in you. 

it’s gaping, like he tore a chunk of you right out with sharp teeth, like you’re just a piece of meat for him to get his fill of. if suguru really loved you, would you be so easy to let go of? why couldn’t he smile? because you could—god, you could smile just from the sight of him alone, you realize a long time ago. him with his cigarette tucked between his lips, those death sticks as you called them, hung loosely from his mouth as he gives you a lopsided grin. 

geto suguru is enough of a reason to smile. the world could crumble at your feet and leave you with nothing but rubble and dirt, and still, suguru is the core of the earth you’re searching for. 

so why couldn’t you be the same? what is it you were missing? what about you was just not enough for him like the way he was enough for you? 

it dawns on you one night, through bitter tears and shaky sobs, and that sick, twisted, pleading feeling in your gut that begs the wind to carry him back to you—geto suguru has never loved you the way you loved him.

and for that, you can never forgive him, you don’t think.

“you tryin’ to go bug-eyed?” he asks, settling down on the couch next to you, making you snap out of your trance. you shake your head a little, stare back at him for a moment before putting on that look on your face where you roll your eyes and pretend everything is fine.

“no,” you huff, “i’m just thinking.”

“about…?”

“satoru has rarely ever missed a movie night.”

“maybe he’s sick of you,” he shrugs, grinning slyly at you as you narrow your eyes with a glare, “there’s someone here to keep you company now so he’s probably taken his opportunity to run.”

“you’re hardly company,” you scoff, “freeloader.”

“hey,” he defends, shrugging as if it’s not his fault. you suppose it’s not. “i didn’t ask to be rescued. you can’t be high and mighty and petty. ‘s not how that works.”

“says who? you don’t make the rules. i can be graciously kind and a jerk all at once.”

“complexity,” he nods, “i like it.”

“i’m not as complicated as you might think,” you grumble, crossing your arms as you stare at the time. yeah, satoru isn’t making it—which, he told you as much, but he’s strolled in at the last second too many times to count before. you figure today would be the same. “as long as you don’t skip movie nights with me, i’m pretty simple to keep appeased.”

“alright,” he props his feet up on the coffee table—seriously, what is it with asshole men putting their feet on your table? satoru is a terrible influence. “let’s have a movie night.”

“what?” you blink.

“movie night,” he repeats, “you said you don’t like skipping movie night—”

“well, i meant i don’t like satoru skipping movie—”

“well, it was me before satoru, wasn’t it?” he says with a smile. his eyes are closed, crinkled at the corners, but his voice is carefully neutral—like he takes extra care not to let you see any emotion behind it. 

but that only means there is an emotion, isn’t there? is he jealous? does he hate the fact that you and satoru have a routine of your own without him? that you don’t need him to continue living your life? 

good. he should be. he walked out on you all those years ago. he killed a village. killed his parents. you never even got to meet them—he never even got to take you home and introduce you to them before he ripped away every fantasy you ever had with him. 

and now he’s back—he has the audacity to live, to laugh in your face with his existence that yes, geto suguru is here. and he was supposed to be executed, but your stubborn friend didn’t let that happen. he was supposed to be your husband by now with kids and a happy little home, and you were supposed to be his parent’s new addition to their family that they loved so much. but none of that is even close to happening, and it’s suguru’s fault, and the least he can do is show you some regret and maybe feel just the slightest bit bad that you now have to watch shitty movies with his best friend instead of him to feel normal. 

ex-best friend? half best friend? you don’t even know—do they still consider each other their best friends? does anyone consider suguru anything? you don’t know what you consider him. but you think the least he can do is act just the slightest bit pathetic after making you feel so pathetic for so long just to even the score. 

he should be a stranger. he feels like an old friend. but either is dangerous. 

“alright,” you sigh, “let's bring back movie night. don’t fall asleep.”

“i get plenty of sleep nowadays,” he hums, “i have more than enough free time for that now.”

“how lucky of you,” you snort. 

—

picking a movie with suguru is difficult. he actually has standards—satoru watches anything so long as he gets snacks, and he can make anything fun to watch with the way he comments from the side like a critic. suguru, on the other hand, actually cares about the quality of a movie, the metrics that make it good. 

so you pick the hunger games just to piss him off. 

“seriously?” he raises a brow, “this is your pick?”

“yes,” you grin, “i like these movies.”

“of all movies—”

“my house, my rules,” you grin cheekily, “you can pick the movies as soon as you start paying the bills.”

“wow,” he deadpans, “stooping to use my financial status against me? i thought you were better than this.”

“oh suguru,” you sigh dramatically, grabbing a bag of chips from the table, “you don’t know me at all.”

all things considered, you think it’s a rather enjoyable experience. it’s not as fun without satoru’s stupid comments that you pretend to hate, but suguru provides his own commentary that earns a giggle out of you here and there too—although his are not meant to be funny. but that’s the appeal of it, you think. 

“she should have picked gale,” he mumbles. you raise a brow.

“peeta was always there for her, did you miss the rain scene?”

“so was gale,” he says smoothly, grabbing a chip from your bag and making you scowl.

“gale killed her sister,” you point out, “and a lot of other people too. he was ruthless. she needed peeta.”

“gale did what he had to do,” suguru mumbles. 

suddenly, it doesn’t really feel like you’re discussing the movie anymore. it feels more than that. it feels sickening—the air is heavy, and your throat is dry and god, you just wanted a movie night and not this heaviness as you talk about stuff from the past without actually talking about it. 

you blink before turning to your chips, playing around with the bag as you shrug. 

“in the end he didn’t get katniss, did he?”

suguru studies you for a moment, stares a little too deep into you that you start to feel the urge to bolt to your room and go to bed. 

“guess not,” he says quietly, “guess that’s the one regret he has, huh?”

you think for a second, as suguru stares at your eyes with something you can’t quite read, that you might cry. you might cry and throw that half-empty can of soda in his face for speaking in codes and making you question what he means and remember your past. you might cry because suguru could’ve always gotten you—in fact, he had you.

it’s not fair. nothing is, but you can’t help but dwell on it.

“i’m going to bed. it’s late,” you mumble after a few moments, standing. he only nods, staring at the tv as the credits roll. when you make it to your room and the door shuts behind you, you debate clicking the lock in place. 

in the end, you don’t lock the door. suguru climbs into bed with you once more later that night, shaking slightly from his nightmare but calmer than usual. he’s still gone by the time morning comes, and you still never mention it.

it hits you one night that maybe he still has you—maybe you never let him stop having you, no matter what you say.

————————————————

suguru is good at cleaning while you’re away. you have to go out and do adult things like breadwinning and grocery shopping and bill paying. he dusts and cleans and even takes out the trash when you’re home to monitor him as he steps two feet out of your front door. sometimes, because you like to get on his nerves, you accidentally mess up a corner of the house just as he cleans it, laughing as he shoots you an unimpressed look. 

“stop getting crumbs on the floor,” he mumbles, “i just vacuumed.”

“you make a good malewife,” you giggle, “vacuuming and everything. how cute.”

“don’t call me that,” he grumbles, sitting down on the couch. 

“but you missed a spot,” you point to the crumbs you’ve sprinkled from your fingers as you snack away, making him glare. “failwife.”

“i’m going to divorce you and take everything,” he snaps, making you snort as you put your hands up in surrender.

“you don’t have to, you know,” you murmur, “clean, i mean. i can handle it.”

“i think i should carry my weight around here,” he shrugs, “since you are basically sugar babying me around for now.”

“dangerous curse user to the world, but sugar baby to me,” you tease, pulling a chuckle out of him as he rolls his eyes. 

sometimes it’s nice to have his company. suguru is good with banter like that, he’s not annoying like satoru where you run in circles. suguru makes you laugh from your belly, makes the hiccups catch in your throat as you double over. he’s always been like that, always known how to make laughter pour from your lips and trickle down your chin. it’s comforting to know he still knows how. it leaves a small bitterness that he’s still able to make you feel like this. 

“by the way, next time you go shopping, take me with you,” he says casually, “i need to buy stuff for my hair. it’s growing.”

“you’ll finally see the sun just for your hair?” you gasp, “who knew that’s all it’d take?”

despite the playfulness in your words, there’s still shock. suguru is willingly stepping foot outside your house. he’s finally choosing to return to life after living like a recluse no matter how many times you and satoru have tried to beg him to get up and go somewhere. the most you can get out of him is a walk around the neighborhood before he goes back to wandering your home and hiding away in his room. 

suguru is returning to life, his life, and you can’t help but wonder where that leaves room for you.

“my hair is my charm,” he reasons, “wouldn’t you agree?”

there’s a smirk on his lips when he asks—it’s like he’s seventeen and teasing you again, giving you that unfairly flirty smile that used to make you stutter as a kid. back when you were hopelessly in love. back when it was you, suguru, and the world in your corner. back when you had dreams of your future, practically giggling as you planned it away in a notebook. 

suguru was always perfect like that, the kind of guy you could only dream about. he’s always been handsome—he’s always been the center of attention everywhere you went. you used to huff about it, about all the attention he managed to get from walking into a room alone. but then he’d smile, give you that tender look of his as he’d chuckle, and you’d be hopeless again. 

he shouldn’t have that effect on you anymore after over a decade. but he does. it’s cruel, the way the universe works. it’s like there’s a magnet that pushes you together no matter how far you try to go, still pulled by gravity straight into his awaiting eyes and devilish smile.

“i cut your hair off once, i can do it again,” you huff. he laughs, it’s good-natured and kind. 

“i was a bit heartbroken when i realized it was so short, i have to admit,” he says, “i didn’t look like me.”

“you looked good,” you say quietly, “i think you’d make anything work, to be honest.”

“yeah?” he grins, “any requests? i might consider it if it’s you.”

“oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, “how about shaving your head bald? let's see how much charm you have without all that hair.”

“i could charm you without the hair still, couldn’t i?” he winks. 

it’s unfair how he acts like normal. like a few months in your home undoes everything he’s ever committed, all the atrocities he’s caused. the way he flirts with you feels like you’re his again. the way he’s aged and changed feels like you’re meeting someone new. you don’t understand how suguru is so natural with that—with seamlessly falling back into a rhythm with you like nothing has changed at all.

deep down, you know that suguru is just moving on with his life. he’s making the most of what he can. he can’t die, satoru would never let him have a peaceful death after all this. he can’t go back to the way things used to be, whether that’s his sorcery days or his curse user days, and he certainly can’t start over. so he’s making do with what he has—which is very little in reality.

it’s you, your home, and the biweekly visits from satoru and occasionally shoko. so he weaves you seamlessly into his life and treats you with a sense of normalcy you can’t hope to treat him with. maybe it’s because suguru was actually able to move on after he left. 

it’s the part you hated him most for. for building a family with new people. for having two girls that he raised as daughters. for finding people to follow him and trust. suguru, after he walked away from everything he ever knew, actually did something with his life—even if it could hardly be considered good. 

you? you fell deeper and deeper into a pit of denial until clawing your way back out was too impossible, until you had to leave behind everything you’ve ever known to get away from the remnants of his existence. 

it’s easy for him to weave you back into his life because he chose to cut you loose. it feels damn near impossible to let him weave back into yours after he tore himself from the edges and frayed away. 

“don’t do that,” you sigh, making him frown.

“do what?”

“you know what, suguru,” you pinch your nose in frustration, “stop acting like things are normal.”

“things are definitely not normal,” he snorts bitterly, “i think needing your approval to take the trash out is not equal to normal.”

“then why are you acting like…” you trail off, unsure.

“like what?” he raises a brow. 

“like we never changed,” you slam your hands down on the couch in exasperation. 

he stares at you for a minute, blinks once, then twice, and then furrows his brows.

“well, of course we changed,” he mumbles in confusion, “i know that—”

you shouldn’t have said anything. you quickly realize that. suguru is not trying to act like things are normal—he’s trying to be civil, and you’re just a fool. a fool who looks too deeply into everything and assumes what you want to out of things and god, you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your one and only ex-boyfriend in over a decade who was once dead and somehow came back to the land of the living.

of course, he knows things are not the same. he doesn’t want what you think he does. it’s been years and suguru has moved on—he had already moved on all those years ago, and you’re the only one here that is still focused on the past. and now he knows it too. 

you stand before he can finish, nodding as you stare down instead of meeting his eyes, pretending to adjust your clothes. 

“right, of course you do,” you nod, “i don’t know why i said that. just ignore me, i’ll be going to my room now. i have…things to do, so i’ll be—”

“hang on,” he frowns, hand grabbing your wrist, “i don’t mean it like that,” he says gently.

fuck geto suguru for being so confusing and fuck him for being nice about it too. 

“you can let go, suguru,” you pull at your wrist, “forget what i said, i wasn’t thinking—”

“i still feel the same,” he cuts you off, making your eyes widen, “if that’s what you mean. i never stopped.”

never stopped—that’s almost worse than moving on. how could he have felt the same all those years and still never come back?

“that does not help even a little,” you swallow the lump in your throat. “that makes this so much worse, do you see that?”

“i know,” he sighs, “i’m sor—”

“don’t say you’re sorry,” you grit your teeth, “we both know you’re not.”

“maybe not,” he admits, “i had to try. and that meant leaving—i’m sorry that’s not what you wanted.”

“it’s not!” you turn around, pulling your arm out of his grasp—suguru, for what it’s worth, takes the shove to his chest like a champ. “of course i didn’t want you to leave and kill a bunch of people and have an execution stamped on your forehead and live your life without me.”

“i know—”

“and now you’re back. back! in my house, eating my food and sleeping in my bed for half the night and i just have to act like this is normal. how is any of this normal?” 

“it’s not,” he agrees. he’s calm. so calm, it almost makes you mad. why is he so calm? “nothing about anything in our lives is normal. it never was.”

“you ruined my life,” you blink back tears. he smiles sadly, taking a step closer.

“i guess i can take the blame for that,” he nods, hands finding their way to your hips. against your better judgment, you lean half your weight against his body. this is bad, very bad—but it’s also the best thing ever. 

being close to suguru feels like the sun’s heat tearing through your skin—it’s warm. it’s pleasant. it leaves you parched and drained with a dry throat. but still, you need it to survive. 

“why did you come back?” you ask tiredly. his hand finds the small of your back, rubbing slow circles.

“i don’t know,” he hums, “i didn’t really get a say. maybe i was always meant to, who knows?”

you look at him at that—tilt your head to get a good look at his features. his eyes are more tired, and his cheeks are a bit more sunken in compared to the youthful flesh you remember him with. his hair isn’t as healthy, and his forehead has the slightest traces of pale marks from the scars. but he’s still suguru—and you have always loved suguru, even if he gives you every reason to hate him.

“you make my life unreasonably difficult,” you mutter.

he hums, smiling. “can i?” he asks breathlessly, pleadingly. you stare at his eyes, he stares at your lips. you know what he wants—but fuck, you can’t let him have it so easy. 

“can you what?” you ask, raising a brow slowly.

“are you really gonna make me say it?” he grunts, lips almost curled into a pout. it’s cute, the way he looks longingly at your lips—it’s so cute and beautiful and dangerous all at once, just like suguru. 

“yes,” you say, “yes i am. i deserve to hear it suguru, after everything you put me through. you…you left me. i wasn’t enough for you. i mourned you. i grieved a body i never even saw. do you know what that does to a person? to lose them not once but two times? the least you could do is tell me what you want,” your voice wavers just a little. 

it shakes for the lost time. for the moments you’ll never have. for the memories you lost. for the past that’s tainted. time is cruel like that. but that’s the beauty of it all—the fragility. it’s like sand falling through the cracks of your fingers, every grain slipping from your reach but still soft and soothing against your skin as it falls. everything fades over time, everything starts to hurt one way or another. but it stops. it heals. it starts over. the sand fills the cup of your palms again, warm and delicate and just as beautiful as before it crumbled. 

“can i kiss you?” he asks desperately, “please?”

“kissing me is not a temporary thing,” you shake your head, “not anymore. it’s for good. only for good.”

“i want to kiss you for good,” he nods, hands digging into your hips impatiently. you’re close. you’re too far. he can feel you, smell you, hear your unsteady breaths. but it’s not enough. he needs to devour you, taste you on his tongue, and melt you with his touch. “i won’t stop this time,” he promises. 

“you better not,” you sniffle, tears blurring your vision. you hated suguru for leaving you. you hated him for coming back to you like this. you never stopped loving him, never will stop loving him—and maybe that’s what love is. when the darkness is worth trekking through for the afterglow of the light. “if you fucking leave me again, you’re dead to me. i don’t care how many times you come back to life. you’re dead to me.”

“okay,” he agrees through a shaky chuckle, “i suppose i deserve that. let me kiss you, yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe.

he kisses you—years too late, he kisses you. it feels like you’re teenagers again. it feels different and foreign. you know this feeling like the back of your hand. you don’t understand what this sensation is anymore. it’s new. it’s old. it’s perfect. it hurts. suguru is here. he promised not to leave—you don’t know if you believe him, but you’re going to trust that finally, for once, you are enough. 

you’re enough to make him happy. to give him a sense of purpose. to keep him swimming when his limbs start to sink. 

finally, for once, you’re enough. 

“i love you,” he whispers against your mouth, breathing the words into you like he’s offering you the air from his lungs, “i never stopped. i promise.”

“you don’t deserve to hear it from me,” you murmur back, panting against his lips, “not yet.”

“fair enough,” he chuckles, “you sure know how to leave a guy waiting.”

“i learned from the best,” you shoot back.

he grins—suguru smiles, heartfelt and real. life is full of misery, it’s painful, and nothing fucking makes sense. everything is cruel. everything dies no matter how carefully you water the roots. there’s always something, someone, ready to tear it from the earth. but if you keep planting the seeds, suguru will keep watering. 

maybe something kind can bloom from that, something big enough for him to hide under the shade when the scorching heat of tragedy becomes too much. 

in this world or in the jujutsu world; in this life or in the next. suguru is yours.

“why am i here?” he asks gently, his face digging into your neck. you hold him, cradling the back of his head as you hum. 

“because i need you here. will you stay?”

“yes,” he murmurs, “i think i’ll stay.”

hi. i have been working on this since march. its still not how i envisioned it to be originally but that's okay. i had fun writing it and it means a lot to me even tho its kind of. well....cliche LMAO like everything i write. but. i enjoy the cliches okay ?? i do. kxljchskdf hope u guys didn't hate it </3

also the fic banner is …. not the greatest. just ignore it ok

[genshinwomenontop]

"Meeting Father"

☆Part 2 of the the Navia fic.

☆Warnings: Arlecchino scaring Navia, Navia being flirty, wholesome moments between you and the twins and Freminet and Arlecchino, implied Arlecchino x Colombina, Emotional/soft Arle.

The nation of Fontaine was lively as ever. You walked around your home town, taking in the view of nation that you were born and raised in. You had Freminet holding you hand while Lyney and Lynette walked infront of you, giving you a run down of how much has changed. You don't have much time since your father had called you into her office to discuss something which you had no idea about but you asked her for some time to spend with the kids. "Well older sister, when are you going to tell father about you and miss president?" Lyney had a slight teasing tone.

"I don't know. I'm scared she won't accept Navia," you sighed.

"Well father kept asking us if we saw anything out of the odd going on with you," Lynette spoke up as she sat down on a bench. You joined her and placed Freminet on your lap since Lyney took the remaining spot.

"Did you tell her anything?"

"Well you asked us not to tell so we didn't."

"Um..," Freminet fidgeted with his finger, "I... may have told...father."

Lyney choked on his saliva and you and Lynette stared at him wide eyed. "Oh dear god..."

"I guess we now know why she wants to discuss something with you," Lyney choked out as his twin patted him on the back. You let out a groan of fear and frustration and you didn't realize Freminet was crying until you felt him shaking.

"Hey hey why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't know you don't father to know. B-besides, she called me into her office and I didn't want to lie. I'm sorry for crying and I'm sorry for ratting you out. Please don't be mad." He managed to speak to fluently until he sobbed at the end of his statement.

Lyney and Lynette looked at each other and then at you. They knew how scary you can be when you're angry and after all- you are the smallest version of Arlecchino, only more loving than she can be.

"I'm not mad Fremmy... I'm just kinda scared. I mean you know how father can be," you whispered softly as you kissed his head. Lyney wiped away Freminet's tears and Lynette held his hand, trying to offer some type of comfort to their baby brother.

"Big sis will never get mad at you or us. She loves us too much." Lyney was proud of his statement which only made you chuckle.

"You should head over to father now, you don't wanna make her more mad."

"You're right Lynette, take care of Fremmy while I'm gone okay." With a kiss to each of their foreheads, you left.

You stood infront of Father's office, taking in a deep breath before knocking. A sharp 'come in' was heard and you began trembling in your wits. When Arlecchino saw it was you, something changed. You gulped as you stepped forward and bowed.

"Care to tell me why I don't know you're seeing someone? Take a seat." Her sharp authoritive tone made a chill ran down your spine. You sat in the soft chair.

"F-father I-I must apologise for not telling you. I was and still am scared that you won't be supportive of my relationship."

Arlecchino arched her eyebrows, "and why is that? Is there a reason why I wouldn't be supportive? I wouldn't have been angry if you had informed me earlier but having to hear it from someone, it... it's heartbreaking."

Your eyes widened upon hearing her statement. "F-father-"

"Do you not trust me y/n? I understand I can be scary at times but I told you that you can come to me anytime."

"I'm so sorry father! I really am! I do trust you but I was scared that you won't accept her since she's not a fatui..."

"You don't need to love a Fatui, you can love whoever you want, as long as they won't break your heart. That's all that matters," Arlecchino got up and stared through the window, her back facing you. "However, I still won't accept it unless..."

"Unless?"

"Unless I meet her. Bring her to me tomorrow and I will decide if its worth supporting or not. You are dismissed."

"Of course Father." With another bow, you left her office. Arlecchino still stared through the window, but a single tear fell and a smile made it's way onto her face.

"My baby is growing up," she whispered.

The next day, you and Navia sat in Arlecchino's office, Lyney on your right, Lynette on your left and Freminet behind you. Arlecchino came in shortly after and you four bowed at her. Navia looked confused but still bowed as she wanted to make a good impression.

"You must be the one who captured my daughter's heart?"

"Yes. I'm Navia, the president of Spina di Rosula," Navia stuck out her hand and Arlecchino reprociated the action. Arlecchino then dismissed the kids, leaving the adults alone.

"That's quite impressive miss Navia. A very popular organisation indeed, however, I don't remember you being the president a couple of years ago."

"No ma'am. That was my father, unfortunately he was recently killed, leaving me to take over." Navia's voice cracked as she spoke. It was hard to bring up her father. You noticed this and grabbed her hand, rubbing a soothing thumb across her knuckles. Arlecchino also noticed this and didn't press further on the topic.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. What are your intentions with my daughter?"

"Well, I really love her alot. She's the one who stood there for me when I lost my father, she's always been there for me and I want to protect and cherish her. She's a gem and the love of my life."

Arlecchino seemed slightly pleased with her answer. "Well, I should tell you this, my daughter is a part of an important organisation that will always need her. It's one of danger and she's always busy so I hope you won't distract her from her mission or whatsoever."

"I wouldn't. Whatever she has to do, I'll be here to support her. I understand how hectic the Fatui is and I assure you, I will try my best not to distract her." Your eyes widened, how did she know?

"Hmm. Very well mannered, polite, lovable," Arlecchino took a deep breath before speaking. "I approve."

"What?! Really Father?!"

"Father?"

"I'll explain later."

Arlecchino smiled slightly before nodding. "But before we move on, I want you to promise me this, when Y/n takes over as the head of the House of Hearth, she will have alot of duties, her title will also be known as 'Father' so I would like for you to be there for her and... act the role of 'mother' for the children. They currently have a mother but she's all the way in Snezhnaya."

The smile on Navia's face widened and she beamed with joy but her joy faded away when Arlecchino's eyes turned dark. "If you ever break her heart, I will terminate the entire of your organisation and you as well along with any traces that it was ever existed." You felt Navia begin to shake slightly but you kissed her cheek.

"Oh and miss Navia, I would like for you to join us for dinner one afternoon. It would be a pleasure to host you. You're both dismissed."

When you got up, you approached Arlecchino and pulled her into a hug, not care if it was rude or so, you just wanted to hug her. "Thank you father." It took a while before she hugged you back and it was a long hug, long enough for her tears to leak but she wiped it away before you could see, unfortunately, Navia saw and smiled.

"Run along now." Before Arlecchino cries some more. You and Navia left and as you walked out, Navia jumped with joy.

"Holy shit she approved of us! Can you believe that?! That's amazing!" You chuckled at her energy and you both headed home.

Later in the night, as you and Navia were laying in bed, she suddenly climbed on top of you. "You're gonna be father to the kids soon huh?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're gonna be daddy for me, hehe~"

Once could only imagine what happened after that sentence.

A/n:

Finally the Navia one is finished. I saw someone repost the part one and the hashtags were so cute 🥹

[giorno-plays-piano]

Okay but what about Orc!bucky and Goddess!reader ..😳🤭 Shes an Aphrodite, I can imagine her looking down and seeing orc!bucky and just craving him. They be a great power couple ...

Hi hun! I'm sorry it took me so much time to write this fic, and, well, since most of us already have some depiction of Aphrodite in mind, I decided to make the reader her daughter. Guess the story turned out something very different from what you wanted, but I still hope you will enjoy it!

Somebody to Die For

Pairing: orc!Bucky x goddess!Reader

Warnings: violence, injuries, angst, hurt/comfort.

Words: 2385.

____________________

"I will fight for you till they cut off my arms, my legs, and my head."

You looked at the warrior in front of you, his heavy body clad in armor, his arms holding a spear and a shield you brought to him yourself, earning a slap from your mother, the goddess of beauty who forbid you to help humans so shamelessly, and yet, you always did.

The man standing in front of you was neither orc nor human but the descendant of the both of them, the only hero who could possibly defeat the evil forces when every other man had failed. He's rough; he's rude; he knew little of honor, but he's the one who still fought when the ones before him had long given up. Despite the prejudice against orcs, now even humans understood he was their only salvation.

You hoped he would survive the last battle. Not just because you needed the human kind to have a savior, a leader, the one who would aid them when nobody else would, but because you had grown found of him, the man you had been guiding for years, helping him to protect those who detested him, bringing him hope when he was ready to give up, embracing him when he no longer had the power to hold his spear. A daughter of the goddess of beauty, you were to bring this beauty to the parts of the world where your tired mother could not, but you brought hope instead.

"Fight for me, and if you win, I will fulfill your wish, soldier." You whispered through your golden mask that covered your face entirely, only your eyes visible to the orc standing on his knees.

Your mother never approved of it, but you had seen people going mad from having just one glance at you, your immense beauty blinding them, driving them insane, making them forgot who they were. It was a curse, not a blessing. It was the reason you wore your mask at all times, only showing your face to those your deemed worthy, strong enough to withstand the charms you had no control over.

You knew your hero wanted to see your face more than anything else in the world.

"I will bring you the demon's head on a golden plate, my goddess."

You'd chuckle at his attempt to please you, but you were scared, you feared he would fail, fall, die in the hands of evil forces feasting upon human kind and threatening to destroy all the gods had created. You could not fight along him, possessing no skills to win that battle; moreover, your mother would most certainly kill you if you intervened, breaking the oath you had given to her. You could only help the hero you had chosen while staying in the shadow.

"Stay alive, Bucky." Those were your last words when you pressed the cold lips of your mask to the orc's forehead, giving him your blessing and hiding the tears behind the cold metal.

If only you could fight, but your hands grew cold every time you touched the hero's spear, unable to wield a sword or a mace. The war was not your domain, all the gods kept telling you when you plead them to gift you enough strength and courage to engage in battle. No, your fate was to shine like a golden statue, blinding all those who dared to look at you, bending them to your will like you mother had always done. They couldn't understand your ardent desire to watch over the humankind and all those who needed your help, spending your time healing soldiers, aiding orphans and the elderly, bringing food and water to all those in need. The gods cared little for mortals. Even when the Great Evil appeared out of nowhere, wreaking havoc on the lands belonging to people constantly praying for gods mercy, the immortals were too busy with their own affairs, realizing how serious the matter was when it had been too late.

When the orc you clad in charmed armor stood in front of the army of the undead, the diabolical creatures with horns and gaunt wings growling behind them, ready to strike, you prayed for him to come out of the battle alive. It was his fate to be the last hero standing between the chaos and all what was dear to the living, yet he bore no responsibility for it - he didn't ask to be the hero, to fight when his spear was long broken, go forward while the undead broke his bones and demons feasted upon his flesh, ripping pieces of meat before the orc could crush their heads with his mere hands. You kept casting spells to aid him, knowing your mother would whip you, but you didn't care, healing your hero's wounds so he could fight until he would cut off the head of the Demon King with his own sword.

Your hero was laying on top of demon's dead body, still holding the head even while unconscious as you sneaked into the field full of corpses, bodies of demons and bones of the undead rotting under the blazing sun. Your hero was dying from his wounds, bleeding so much his skin was loosing its color, and now it was your time to bring him back to the living before it was too late.

Oh, you knew your mother could kill you for stealing the salve meant only for gods to heal their wounds, but you no longer cared. What did it matter if the one who saved you all was to pay with his life for everything he had done to protect the living? No, it was unfair. The orc stood to gain nothing from his heroic deeds, gods being too arrogant to acknowledge him properly, but he had the right to keep his life.

And so you carried his heavy body to the springs, washing his wounds, applying the salve generously and casting as much healing spells as you did in your entire life to keep him alive, praying and hoping the gods would take mercy on him. Yes, he was three quarters an orc; he was barbaric, savage, ferocious, but he had kindness in his heart like no other, agreeing to fight for humans who had always utterly despised him. Despite being a brute, he was kind to children, women and elderly people. He had never lay his hand on those weaker than him, except when they attacked him on their own. In the end, he was the only hero who answered your call when all those you had asked for help died on the battlefield, unable to fight the demons and their army of corpses.

It had been three days and three nights you spent tending to his wounds until his heart started beating like of a living being. You cried your eyes out when you heard it. The salve had finally worked, and the open wounds closed, leaving his body scarred but healed; his breath steadied, and soon your hero would come back to you, you knew. Gods had answered your prayers for the first time.

"Am I dead?" Bucky asked you when he opened his eyes on the fourth day as he saw you tired face, your mask long abandoned the moment you brought him to the springs.

You smiled at him and held him close, his head laying on your lap while you witnessed his awakening, his body covered in salve, making his skin shine like pure gold.

"You are alive and well." leaning to him, you left a kiss on his forehead, brushing his dark disheveled hair out of his face, and the orc made an odd sound as if he were purring like a giant cat. "You will live a long life, cherished and honored by those you protected, I promise you."

"Will you keep that one promise you gave me, my goddess?"

He's impatient, he had always been, and you laughed at his eagerness, knowing his body still hurt, but the orc didn't seem to mind it. Was he unhappy with seeing your face? You didn't think so, and yet, apparently, he wanted something else. Gold? Women? Immortality? The last one would be quite hard, that is if gods wouldn't struck you with a lightning or something just to teach you a lesson to be more pliant and respectful.

"What it is that you want, my warrior? I will do whatever you ask me to if it is within my powers, just like I promised."

"It's within your powers, I'm sure." He grumbled, making you laugh even harder at his unusual grumpiness, touching the tips of his tusks, and the orc laughed at you, too.

"What is it, then? Don't keep me waiting, mortal, for even I grew tired of tending to you over four days." Winking at him in the most frivolous manner just like your mother had taught you, you giggled then, and the hero's face lightened up.

"This is not how I imagined it to be, but who cares, anyway." he muttered to himself and sat up, turning to you and hurriedly searching the pockets of his torn pants, obviously empty after his long, intense battle. "Shit! I've brought you golden rings and necklaces and bracelets, but those flying bitches made holes in my clothes. I should have hidden my gifts under some rock before the battle."

"Oh, you should have!"

He's impossible, you thought as you both snickered, his huge, calloused hands touching gentle yours. He brought you gold? What for?

"Well, whatever, I'll find more for you later if you don't mind, goddess. Will you give me the honor of becoming my wife even if I didn't bring you the gifts?" The orc tilted his head to the side, looking at you as if it were just a mere matter of something minor, unimportant, but soon, as he watched you openly gape at him for his audacity, he quickly bowed his head, kneeling in front of you.

You were speechless. For once, you had never for once suspected of the hero having these feelings for you. Surely, he prayed to you, he respected you as a mortal should respect their deity, he was intrigued by your true appearance you had concealed from him, but his spoke of marriage seemed preposterous. Was it your face again, your mother's charms? No, no, it couldn’t have been it for the hero intended to bring you gifts, wedding gifts, that is. He had come prepared.

Unbelievable. Did his feelings grow while he didn't even know how you looked?

"Forgive me my insolence, goddess." he mumbled, realizing his offer could be a grave offense to you, a being standing way higher than him. "But I can serve you till the end of my days, do whatever you tell me to. If I have survived the last battle and brought people salvation they wanted, I must be good enough, right?"

"Will you serve me even if I am not your wife?" You asked him quietly, looking at your hands covered in the balm you stole from the gods just to heal his wounds, knowing you were attracted to him despite your feelings never being voiced.

For a couple of seconds the orc grew silent, watching the carpet you put him on to tend to his wounds: it had been soaked in his blood that now dried out.

"I will serve you even then." He uttered grimly, refusing to look you in the eyes, his gaze on your hands as he kept sitting in front of you.

Afraid to speak, you fell silent too, wishing to touch him, brush your hand against his disheveled hair. Oh, didn't you want him? Didn't you wish to be embraced by the very hero you spent years guiding and healing so he would continue his journey? Didn't you deserve to be loved, the daughter of the goddess of that very same love you'd been craving for so long?

But your hero was a mortal. You were frightened to even think what gods would do to him for his impertinence.

Oh, evil gods. You spent years to teach and guide the mortal hero they despised who brought the salvation to the lands they were so afraid to lose, and yet neither him nor you were given anything in return. Instead, they were granting you a torture of refusing advances of the only one dear to you.

Please, darling.

Your mother's irritated voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you froze, knowing she was rolling her eyes at you, watching you secretly like she often did.

You have a heart of stone if you reject the man who is standing on his knees in front of you. I grant you my permission if you so need it.

As her mighty voice rang in the complete silence of a cave, Bucky shivered, immediately getting on his feet. Of course, he knew nothing of your mother except that she was a goddess, and he had never heard her voice. It didn't matter to you, though, as you stared at him, dumbfounded.

Permission. She granted you her permission to marry him. You were free to act as you like, knowing the gods wouldn't bring their wrath upon your hero.

"I will have you if you promise to love and cherish me like no other, protect me, and be loyal to me until your last breath." You whispered, your eyes full of tears as you watched him from below while he towered above you, and the next second he was on his knees again, taking your arms in his and kissing your tears away.

"Even if my face will be disfigured, my tongue cut off, and my body dismembered, I will love you till my last breath." his voice was so quiet, yet you heard him as if he were screaming at the top of his voice. "I promise to worship you and come to you aid whenever you need me."

Hurriedly ripping a piece of his ragged, soaked in blood clothes, he wrapped it around your finger like it was a ring he had lost.

"My soul, my heart, and my sword - everything I possess I give to you."

___________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sourpatchspinster @iheartsebandchris

[byorder-fanfic]

How They Look After You When it Gets Bad: John

Requested by @apollonshootafar

Preference Masterlist

Warnings: Reader going through a hard time, touch aversion, sexual remarks and suggestions, swearing and mentions of injury

Word count: 1608

Author's Note: I'm nearly done with these, just had a bit of a block trying to get this one done. Hopefully you like it and if you do, I absolutely love to hear your comments and I appreciate your reblogs. I think John might be a little OOC here, but I tried. I'm always here to talk if you need it.

(Gif by @peakascum) (and....)

(Gif by @talicat713) (cause that face holding thing john does is the premise of this fic)

John always loved to have his hands on you, his cheeky grin pressed into the side of your neck as he whispered jokes and suggestions to get you giggle. And it wasn't just when the two of you were alone. No, he seemed to become all that more handsy (if it were possible) whenever his family was near. You often said it was as if he were claiming you, showing his possession with each imprint made on the softest parts of your body. Like a bloody dog pissing on his property. He just gave you a shit-eating grin and called you kinky. You rather liked the attention, to be honest. It wasn't as if it were violating or unwanted, even if you've rolled your eyes at his touch more times than you could count. Truth was, he made you feel attractive. Desirable. Good. There never was a time when his hand on your hip made you feel anything but loved or safe. Your big bad Blinder boyfriend who pouted like a wounded pup when you were too busy washing up to hold his hand. John may have made his constant touching seem like a thing of bravado- a masculine need to claim and possess. However, the both of you knew the real reason why the two of you were attached at the hip: John was clingy as hell. When you'd confronted him on that hypothesis, his whole face turned red, right to the tips of his ears. He was stuttering out excuses (it was a damned strange thing to see you smooth-talking lover start choking out sentences) and you swore he was making his voice go lower, trying to gain some fragile sense of masculinity. In the end, you just grabbed his belt loop and pulled him to against the front of your body. You felt all of him relax as soon as he felt the warmth of your skin seep through both of your clothes, the feel of your hand at the bottom of his abdomen and your lips barely an inch from his. His hands immediately wrapped around you, all embarrassment cooling off him in a sigh of relief. "Don't worry, love, it'll be our little secret, ey?" You whispered as you stroked through his hair. After that, John had continued being just as bold as the day you met him when you were in sight of others. As soon as you stepped into the threshold of home, though, he was nigh-on begging for your touch at every available moment. You were used to him teasing you, trying to excite you and get into bed whenever the house was empty. But when you were dishing up dinner, with the grumbling of four hungry kids, the last thing you wanted was John pawing at your busy hands for a touch. His touch had always been a wonderful thing- then it wasn't. You didn't know when the change began, only that your tired muscles didn't ease when his strong arms were wrapped around you, your heart didn't flutter like it used to when he kissed the back of your hand, and you didn't feel so warm when he grabbed your waist at the pub. All you could feel was the uncomfortable imprint of skin, and you didn't know why. You still loved John. God, did you love him. You loved when he smiled at you from across the room, eyes ignoring every other person that as vying for his attention, and landing entirely on you and only you. Maybe you were a bit possessive too. You loved him when he came home from long nights, weary and barely mumbling a good night as he jumped into bed next to you. He snored like a lion and fell asleep quicker than the four kids in the room next door. You loved him when he cam home bloody and beaten. He always at down in a chair whilst you tended to his cuts and bruises, his hands between his knees and head bent like a prayer, and you always presses a kiss to his forehead before he even started to recoil from his position and hold you, his head pressed against your belly. You loved John. But his touch had lately been too much. Of course, you didn't tell him that. You were pretty sure John would die if he wasn't close to you for even ten minutes, he'd die, and you weren't willing to test out that theory. Instead, you gave a little smile when he came up behind you as you washed the dishes and wrapped his arms around your waist. You let him nuzzle his nose into your neck,

letting the discontent be seen only over his shoulder. It made you feel fragile, and stiff. John was asking you more and more, "Is this okay?" and "Can I touch you please?" and each time you perfected the art of saying yes convincingly. Sometimes though you watched him, snoring the house down at night, and whispered the words in the dead of night where not even the monster that lived in Katie's wardrobe could hear: "Help me, John." It was at the Garrison where you spilt over. After a long day, you were looking for a drink with your mates not another chance for John to grasp at you. You were just sat side by side in the snug, laughing at some stupid joke John had made (at the expense of their dear and absent cousin Michael) when you felt it. As soon as he had caught his breath after calling that certain 'big boss' a prick, his hand had landed on your knee. It shocked you at first, as John had been remarkably restrained all night. You thought it was cause of Tommy, who'd given both of you the side eye when you'd walked in, and said he didn't want any funny business. He hadn't touched you till that moment and it made you freeze. It took one flinch of your knee and his hand slipped away, but it didn't slip from sight. You could feel all the eyebrows in the room raising, even John's. "Hey, you and Y/N having a tiff ey, John boy?" Arthur chuckled to himself. You knew you must have made a face comparable to the horrible feeling inside, because as soon as he said it you saw his smile drop into regret. Arthur wasn't really a thinker, so you knew he never meant to say anything. Still, you didn't let him say his apology as you muttered something about being tired and jumped from your seat, walking out of the Garrison so quick you could've swore you were running. "Y/N! LOVE, HEY WAIT!" You heard John scream at you from down the street. Subtlety wasn't his specialty. You turned around, the tears stinging your eyes not quite clouding the clear worry on his face. "What's wrong, hey, love, please-" He stepped forward to hug you but you took a step back, head nodding wildly. The hurt in his face was as painful as if you had smacked him. And you hated yourself for it. "What did I do?" His voice trembled. His voice never fucking trembled. "I'm- I'm so fucking sorry, John, I love you, I swear." You felt every ounce of guilt in you swell up and pour itself into tears. "I don't know what's fucking wrong with me, why I can't just let you freaking touch me!" He moved forward again, arms out in a hug. Then he stopped, realising what he was doing and awkwardly settled his arms back down. "Shit, sorry love, it's just me, you know? I need to touch you." H scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I don't know what it is, John." You said it again. "I love you, though. I love you." "I know," his cockiness had risen from its slumber. "And I love you too. If you don't want me to touch, then I won't." He held up his hands in surrender. "I can control myself." "No you can't," you quipped back, a smirk settling on your lips too. "No, but I will," he admitted. "If it's what you want." You nodded shyly, still feeling far too guilty and far too far away from him. "Here I was thinking I'd hurt you somehow, and all you needed was a bit of space," he sighed, the relief obvious in the little upturns of his mouth. "John, give me your hand," you said, an idea forming. He looked at you with furrowed brows but did so none the less. His hand still had faded bruises on the knuckles, covered up by an abundance of rings, a burn mark from his cigar hidden on the side of his middle finger, and you sought out for the crease on his palm which he swore on your first date meant that he was the best kisser you'd ever had. You didn't think it was palmistry that made that a fact. Gently, you pressed his hand on the side of your face over your hair. It was like a ghost of a touch, but you leaned into the curve of his palm lightly. "This is okay," you told him, John was perfectly still, looking at you with a cautious awe, his hand not daring to move from your assigned spot.

After a moment, he smirked again and got that cheeky look you adored: "So does this no touch thing mean no sex or-" He was cut off by you dropping his hand, rolling your eyes and walking away. "Wait no babe I was only joking!"

[tfwlawyers]

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

-

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

-

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

-

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

-

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

-

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

-

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

-

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

-

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

-

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

-

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

He

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

-

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

-

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

-

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

-

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

-

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

-

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

-

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the  proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

-

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

-

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

-

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

-

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

-

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

-

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

-

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

-

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

-

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

[aperrywilliams]

Pour Some Sugar On… Me? (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

———————

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.

Summary: What if Reader and Spencer want to try something new in bed?

Word Count: 6522.

Warnings: Smut (NSWF); 18+ (please respect that!). Sexual talk. Fingering. Oral (male/female). Spanking. Penetrative and unprotected sex. Food play.

A/N: This fic was written to my dear friend @spencers-dria in the 3rd Fic-Swap from @imagining-in-the-margins Discord Server. For reference, the song alluded here is this one.

——————–

Days off are a blessing and a curiosity in your job. It's not that you hate it; on the contrary, you couldn't be happier doing what you do, but there are times when you need to take a break. Working at the BAU is something you always dreamed of, and once you got it, you were still willing to give your 100%. But the last few months have been intense and stressful. So having a day off was welcome. Most welcome if you could spend time with your now-boyfriend Spencer. Wow, how weird that feels to you. After working at the BAU for almost five years with Spencer, it was only four months ago that you dared to confess your feelings for him. To your delight, he also admitted that he had feelings for you. Of course, the whole team already knew that, except for you two. But hey, as they say, better late than never, right?

The first date was almost dreamy. Like a real gentleman, he picked you up at your apartment. He took you to dinner in a nice and quiet place where you both could talk. You guys had a lovely time chatting and laughing at how blind both of you were for so many years being friends and not admitting that you liked each other. At the end of the date, at the door of your apartment, you saw how nervous he was, and you took your chance: you kissed him first. After that, things flowed the way you always wanted them to. Spencer was the most caring, loving, and amazing boyfriend you've ever had. All of your previous relationships didn't even compare to this. You were sure you loved Spencer, but neither of you dared to say the three words until the first time you both had sex. It took you longer than people say. You guys didn't do it after the fourth date or the fifth. It was after a case. At that time, you had already been dating for almost two months.

It had been a difficult case. It took more than eight days to find the unsub. The entire team made superhuman efforts to identify and catch the killer. But you were one of the most affected because the case was in your hometown. You knew some of the victims or their families. That had you on the brink of collapse, but you managed to stay focused, and it was even you who managed to connect the dots and arrest the unsub. All the case tension showed in you when you guys flew back to Virginia, and you burst into tears.

Spencer was the one who sat next to you and hugged you, holding you in his arms throughout the flight. Whispering words of reassurance to you and stroking your hair and back. That night you asked him if he could stay with you. You didn't know if you were okay enough to be alone. He, of course, accepted. Neither of you both was thinking about anything other than being with each other. Still, the kisses on the forehead became kisses on the cheek, then kisses on the lips, neck, collarbone... that's when the three words came out.

"You're the bravest woman I know. You're the best in your job, you care about people. I'll never stop to amaze by that quality of you. I love you, (Y/N)," Spencer whispered, his lips brushing yours. And maybe you kissed him for the first time, but he was who said to you 'I love you' for the first time, and you lost your mind.

You said it back almost instantly, throwing yourself into his arms to kiss him and repeat those three words over and over again. You got up from the couch and took his hand, guiding him to your bedroom. That first time was slow, loving, gentle. It was the living definition of 'making love.' It was unique, and you never felt more loved in your life.

Spencer could agree with you on that. He always told you that accepting the fact he wasn't a man with a lot of experience in sex, he felt that time was the first time he knew what it was like to make love and not just fuck someone. Maybe he didn't use those identical words, but it was basically what he meant.

After that first time, many followed. And saying 'many' may even be an understatement. Not long after, you realized that Spencer was always eager to touch you and to have sex with you every time he could. It wasn't something that bothered you, quite the opposite.

Sex with him was always great. He always cared to satisfy you and make you come before him at least once or twice. Even when the time was limited, Spencer never allowed himself to leave you without an orgasm.

Thinking about that, there was something about that passion on him that led you to wonder what the limits would be for Spencer in bed - if he really had them. Sure, everyone might have thought that sex with Spencer was mostly vanilla and innocent - if the word 'sex' and 'innocent' were allowed to be put in the same sentence. But something inside told you that he could be into other things, that he maybe could be into experimentation in bed. You didn't know if Spencer could be a kinky guy. He never talked about that. But you could feel that maybe he had something like that in him. You promised yourself to find out.

But that afternoon of your day off, you weren't exactly thinking about that. Instead, you were focused on replicating a recipe that Rossi had shared with you last week. The last time you went to his house for dinner, you fell in love with the dish he made on that occasion. Spencer had offered you to call for some take-out instead of cooking, but you were hell-bent on replicating Rossi's recipe.

While you were cooking, Spencer was in the living room reading a book. He had offered you help, but you decided against it. You'd rather make a mess in the kitchen without him seeing you, and besides, he had the right to spend his afternoon off without having to cook.

You liked to cook. You didn't do it frequently for lack of time. And because you weren't a very efficient person at cooking: you always used more utensils than necessary, spilling as much as could be spilled on the floor and on the counters. That meant every time you embarked on something in the kitchen, you had to spend a lot of time cleaning everything afterward. But it was your day off, so it didn't matter. Thus you connected your phone to the speaker you had in the kitchen, put on your favorite playlist, and got to work.

You lost track of time when you realized you were almost ready. Tasting the sauce at its temperature and flavor, you were satisfied with the result. So satisfied that you started dancing and singing as you began the arduous task of cleaning up your mess. Coincidentally, one of your favorite songs started on your playlist. That encouraged you to dance and sing more animatedly.

You have always been quite eclectic for your musical tastes, but you can't deny that your guilty pleasure was the '80 glam. Which you have only allowed yourself to enjoy in the privacy of your home, doing tasks as domestic as cleaning the kitchen, in this case. The best part of the song was playing, and you couldn't help but pick up the broomstick to dance around it.

[You got the peaches, I got the cream. 

Sweet to taste, saccharine.

'Cause I'm hot - hot, say what, sticky sweet

From my head -head, my head, to my feet

Do you take sugar? One lump or two? 

Take a bottle - take a bottle - shake it up - shake it up - 

Break the bubble - break it up - break it up 

Pour some sugar on me. 

Ooh, in the name of love. 

Pour some sugar on me. 

C'mon, fire me up...]

Singing wasn't enough, so you didn't save energy to put a show dancing into the music's rhythm. You were at it when you turned around and saw Spencer watching you from the kitchen entrance. The blush rose to your cheeks immediately, you stopped dancing and singing, but you still didn't let go of the broomstick.

Spencer stood up from the couch because he wanted to check on how you were doing and if you needed any help. He could hear the music and how you sang, but he didn't think he would find you dancing using a broomstick as a pole. Because that's what you were doing, an authentic pole dance in the kitchen.

Moving your hips sensually, up and down, with sweat running down your body. Your wet shirt clinging to your body accentuating your nipples - because, of course, you weren't going to wear a bra on your day off. The scene itself made Spencer freeze staring at you. Worse yet, when you added the music to the stage, it brought Spencer into the hot dimension. He could feel beads of sweat accumulating on his forehead and how his lower half began to reveal a particular need for attention.

"Spencer, oh my God. I didn't see you here," you apologized. But he didn't say anything or moved from where he was. Because undoubtedly he was lost in thoughts. About what? Well, not of you sexy dancing in the kitchen. Not him imagining you dancing naked in front of him. Not him imagining you naked over the kitchen's counter whit spread legs. No, he wasn't thinking about how your body could taste with sugar on it.

"Spencer?" you repeated.

Shit. What's that? Someone is calling his name. Oh yeah. You.

"Uhm?" he barely replied.

"Something is wrong?" you asked hesitantly. You didn't know if Spencer was shocked in a bad way.

"Uh- no. Everything is okay..." Spencer assured you.

"You zoned out, you sure are you okay?" you insisted.

"Yeah. Perfect. More than okay," Spencer said, trying to regain some composure.

"Did you want to ask me something?"

"Oh. I - just if you needed help," Spencer offered, remembering why he was there in the first place.

"No baby, I'm okay. Thank you. I'm sorry for the show by the way," you stated with a grimace and a blush in your cheeks.

"What?"

"I'm not a good dancer as you could see," you joked. He smiled and looked at you from head to toe.

"I wouldn't say that... I wouldn't say that at all," he stated with a minimal perceptible smirk. You took his response as a cue to relax.

"Okay, well. I'm done with dinner and cleaning. I think I need a shower now. Could you set everything in the dining table?" you asked.

"Sure," he replied. You passed by his side, stole a peck from him, and headed to the bathroom.

Spencer stood in the kitchen doorway for a few more seconds before reacting. His mind wandered into the world of possibilities of things he could and want to do to you. His erection agreed with each and every one of them. He was amazed at himself at the things that went through his mind. Not that he has never thought of 'different' things to do in bed, but he had never been motivated enough or found a partner to do them. Maybe you were the one for that. Why not? Spencer promised to test waters with you when he got the chance, but for now, what he was clear about was that he wanted to fuck you hard after dinner.

Not only were you satisfied with the result of the dinner. Spencer congratulated you for replicating Rossi's recipe so well, even giving it your own special touch.

After the dishes, you both sat on the couch to watch TV. But Spencer was distracted enough to pay attention. You were curled up next to him with your arms around his torso. He had an arm around your neck, stroking your arm. Slowly he began to kiss your head while his free hand caressed your cheek. You raised your head to look at him and found his eyes fixed on you. You smiled at him, and he leaned to kiss you. You kissed him back. As the seconds passed, the kiss became more intense and passionate. Without thinking twice, you changed position to straddle him. Thus you guys started a making-out session. You could feel Spencer's eagerness matching with your own. That intensity transformed into moans and dancing hands on both of you.

"God (Y/N), you feel so good," he whispered in your ear.

"Uhm. You too, Spencer. So so good... so so sweet," you added.

Spencer couldn't help but bring to mind the moment he saw you dancing in the kitchen.

"Like sugar..." he mumbled in your neck, grabbing your ass with both hands.

"Sticky sweet..." you said offhand, grinding your hips forward, looking for some kind of friction.

Your intention was not to bring the song you were listening to previously. Still, it was in your unconscious and apparently, in Spencer's too, because when the words left your mouth, he emitted the deepest groan you have heard from him in a long time.

"Oh, you liked that, uh?," you teased. Spencer nodded.

"Yeah... that show of yours in the kitchen did something in me," he confessed.

"Uhmm... and you think you would like to try something like that?" you probed, biting his earlobe.

"Try what?" Spencer replied, massaging your breasts over your shirt.

"Pouring some sweet on me?... and taste me?" you asked, and another groan left Spencer's throat.

"Yes. Yes. Surely yes," Spencer hastened to reply with his lips nibbling your collarbone. You smirked. Spencer Reid was showing the experimental side that you wanted.

You were about to suggest the first experimental activity when both of your phones started ringing at the same time. That only meant one thing: a new case. A growl of frustration came from both of you. Spencer looked at you with longing eyes, and you could only shrug.

"We'll have to put this on standby until we get back," you said after a sigh, pecking his lips.

"Okay, but I need a quick cold shower anyway," Spencer replied. You agreed.

The case took the team to Alabama. You and Spencer sat apart on the jet, both of you still feeling frustrated by the sudden interruption.

You tried to focus on the case and managed to do so. However, Spencer had a harder time doing it. Not that he was repeatedly thinking of you, imagining you naked in your bed, inviting him to taste your sweet body. Of course not. Damn, these days would be torture for him.

One of the first things you guys noticed once you got off the jet was the infuriating heat in the area. It was summer, and the town where you landed seemed to be the driest in the region.

Worse was realizing that the air conditioning was under repair at the police station. The entire team in a room trying to focus on the case, trying not to think about the place's heat.

"How uncomfortable! I feel so sticky and we haven't even been here four hours," you complained at one point. It was just you, Spencer, and Emily in the meeting room, going through files.

"Yeah, this heat barely allow to work," Emily agreed.

"Indeed, I'm sweating as I were in a sauna," you added. When you looked at Spencer to ask his opinion, you saw him flustered, with pink cheeks. You frowned, but you didn't want to say anything to him. His eyes barely met yours.

In Spencer's mind, only one verse was repeated over and over: 'Cause I'm hot - hot, say what, sticky sweet. From my head - head, my head, to my feet'. 'Fuck' he thought when he realized where his brain had gone. That was one of the moments where Spencer Reid hated his eidetic memory. He roamed your body with his eyes in the most subtle way he could. Spencer fixated on the sweat running down your forehead and down in your throat. That clearly wasn't helping the erection that began to show under his slacks.

By the second day, you guys had barely managed to get a few clues to locate the unsub. The good thing was that at least the air conditioning was fixed. You were with Morgan and Spencer in the meeting room. At the same time, Spencer wrote something on the board to illustrate a mathematical formula. Suddenly the marker stopped writing.

"What...?" Spencer wondered in frustration, looking at the marker.

"Baby, shake it up," you suggested. Spencer turned to face you, mouth agape.

"What?" he asked. Again you could see his cheeks all flushed.

"The marker. You need to shake it up," you replied. Morgan furrowed. He didn't know why Spencer was suddenly so nervous. But you started to find it out, and the thought made you smirk.

In Spencer's mind, another verse was repeated again: 'Shake it up. Break the bubble - break it up.' Along with that, he could see you in your apartment's kitchen, lowering your butt to the floor and moving you sensually. His mind went beyond, and he remembered the first time you gave him a handjob. Spencer froze when he saw Morgan and you looking at him. Then he turned, shook the marker, and kept writing. Jeez, what's wrong with me? he thought.

By the third day, you guys had already managed to deliver the profile and were in search for the unsub. After a round of interviews, you were in the station's kitchen making yourself a coffee. Spencer arrived with the same goal, apparently. He smiled at you, moving his mug in your direction since you had the pot in your hand. You put the precious liquid in his cup and left the coffee pot in its place. Spencer was adding his usual unhealthy amount of sugar to his coffee, and you couldn't help but make a comment to teasing him.

"Do you take sugar? One lump or two?" you teased. Spencer's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when he recognized the verse coming out of your mouth. You couldn't help but laugh, confirming your theory. Spencer was about to say something when Hotch came into the kitchen to put coffee in his mug as well.

"Are you two okay?" Hotch asked. You nodded yet chuckling. Spencer just nodded, focusing on his coffee.

You took the cream and put some into your coffee. Before you put it on the counter, you made the last move to finish off Spencer.

"Oh, sorry. I got the cream, do you want some? This one is so sweet to taste," you offered. And Spencer gave you a look that could have knocked you down right away.

If another day had passed, Spencer would surely lose his mind. Fortunately, on the fourth day, you guys managed to arrest the unsub and fly back to Virginia that afternoon.

You arrived at the BAU almost at dinner time. You hadn't had a chance to tease Spencer that day, and you thought it was for the best because as soon as you grabbed your things to go to the elevator, Spencer followed you from behind. You both entered the elevator without anyone else from the team. As soon as the doors closed, Spencer's lips were on yours, kissing you like he imagined doing it for the past four days.

"Tonight we are not going to cook, we are going to order take out, but after catching up, understood?" he clarified. You only nodded, feeling the heat between your legs.

As soon as the door to your apartment closed, Spencer dropped his go-bag and cupped your cheeks to begin kissing you. Almost as passionately as in the elevator. You moaned and dropped your go-bag as well. Your arms around his neck bringing him as close to your body as possible. Spencer began to kiss your neck while his hands danced between your sides and your hips.

You would have accepted that Spencer to fuck you in that moment and place, but you had an idea in mind and wanted to put it to test, no matter how eager both of you were at that minute.

"Baby, wait," you breathed out. Spencer stopped and looked at you with concern.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" He panted.

"No, no. Quite the opposite, but... I need you to ask you to wait a moment, okay?, could you do that for me?" you asked. Spencer let out a sigh.

"To wait?, yeah. I can do that. But, are you okay?" Spencer asked again.

"Yeah. I promise you this will worth it," you replied, pecking his lips and heading to the kitchen. Spencer looked at you confused, but he didn't say anything. He sat down on the couch, waiting for you.

You took your time, and Spencer started to worry, but you called him from your bedroom before he could ask something.

"Baby, can you come to help me?" you asked. Spencer stood up from the couch and walked towards your bedroom. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open. He wasn't ready for what his eyes found. Oh boy, he wasn't prepared. Or maybe he was. Too much prepared, you could tell: four days prepared.

You were lying in bed, your body barely covered in matching black lace. And even 'barely' could be too much. But to Spencer, that wasn't a problem at all. He enjoyed every time you took your time to surprise him with those details. He scanned all your body at the dim light of the bedroom.

"Wow... (Y/N). I thought - I, you... needed help?" Spencer stuttered. He couldn't move from his spot in the bedroom entrance. You smiled and played along.

"Yes. I do, actually. You can come closer?" you asked flirtatiously.

"Yeah. Yes. Of course," Spencer replied, taking a step forward, feeling his heart pumping hard. That wasn't the only thing he wanted to pump hard, though.

"Would you help me with something here?"

"Any- anything." You grinned at your accomplishment: Spencer in awe and speechless. So you pointed to a white bowl with honey in the nightstand. Spencer tilted his head.

"Would you... pour some sugar on... me?" You kept your voice seductive.

And... he lost it. His brain stopped working. All his bloodstream focused on that part of his body that wouldn't stop shrieking until its complete satisfaction. Like a small computer, his remained neurons only could process a simple string of commands: clothes off/ jump to the bed/ taste you / eat you / fuck you. Simple.

The first command was successfully completed in no time. You never saw Spencer peeling off his clothes so fast before. You couldn't deny how much his eagerness turned you on. You felt your wetness coating your panties. So warm. So hot. You didn't know if you would be capable of ending this foreplay without coming. But, who cares anyway? You surely would enjoy this.

Spencer was kneeling in front of you on the bed. You didn't think twice and started putting on a show. Still making eye contact with him, one of your hands took the bowl from the nightstand. You put two fingers into the bowl and took out a little amount of honey, which began to drain through your fingers. You slowly brought those two fingers to your mouth and started to suck the honey from them. A moan of satisfaction came from your throat at the sweetness. But what really made you lose your mind was seeing how Spencer, with his lips parted, licked them with his own tongue without taking his eyes off you. Another thing that worked perfectly as motivation for you was seeing his hard cock twitching at the sight of you. What a confidence boost.

When you finished cleaning all the honey from your fingers, you repeated the same. Putting two fingers inside the bowl, removing a little of its content, but now you offered the delicious treat to your excited boyfriend.

"Do you want to taste it, doctor?"

Spencer couldn't release any word but nodded and leaned, catching your sweet fingers with his mouth. Both of you leaving scape a deep moan when Spencer started to suck your fingers to remove all the honey from them. You closed your eyes, feeling his hot tongue around your fingers.

When there was nothing left to remove, Spencer's mouth released your fingers in search of your lips. When his lips found yours, he began to kiss you as if the world was going to end. It was a passionate, lustful kiss. You moaned into the kiss. He took the chance, and his tongue started exploring your mouth. The taste of honey on him was intoxicating.

When both parted for some air, you opened your eyes to see Spencer looking at you as you were the most gorgeous and sexy woman on earth. Well, you were for him. You blushed a little, his gaze was intense, and he hardly blinked. Spencer leaned to kiss you again, and when you parted, the only words that came from his mouth were...

"Did - did you know honey is associated with love and sex in both the Bible and the Karma Sutra? At traditional Indian weddings, the groom is often offered honey to boost his stamina," Spencer explained. He reached your cheek with one of his hands and stroking it. His lips latched in your neck. You chuckled mischievously.

"Well, it's good to know that. But I was thinking of using it in another way, you know?" you coyly stated. Spencer parted and saw you, smirking as well.

"Oh yeah?" You nodded as you get some honey from the bowl and spread it slowly onto your stomach. You took some more and smeared it in the column of your throat. You left the bowl on the nightstand and beckoning to Spencer to step closer.

"Do you want to taste it, doctor?"

"Oh God, yes," he hastened to reply. His hands roaming your legs.

"Then taste it, all of it," you invited.

Just a second took Spencer latching his mouth on your stomach. He started sucking and licking the honey from your body. His hands grabbing your hips and yours tugging his hair.

"You taste so good," he said, muffling his words on your skin. "I thought about this all-time we were in Alabama," he confessed.

"Did you? What did you think about? Tell me..." You asked. Spencer now nibbling and licking the column of your throat. A load moan escaped your mouth, feeling Spencer's hot tongue against your skin, moving to your neck. That sweet spot that drives you crazy.

"I thought about kissing your soft skin, about brushing you with my tongue, about... the sounds you do when I touch you, and you're aroused," you let out a moan, and Spencer smirked in your neck.

"Yes, those moans that I love so much. I thought about your breasts. God, your breasts..." he muttered as one of his hands unclasped your bra, taken and tossing it to the side. With your breasts on display, his mouth moved from your neck to the south. Before stopping in your bosoms, Spencer reached the bowl with honey, grabbing some with his fingers, and smeared it in your nipples. The substance was cold, and you hissed a little.

"Easy love, I'll take care of it," he said. His voice low and sexy. God, you sometimes had a hard time trying to understand that the shy guy you pinned for years was so hot in bed. You don't complain, though. You love it.

Spencer put his fingers in your mouth, and you wasted no time sucking them. He let out a groan of satisfaction and clasped his lips in one of your nipples, swirling it with his tongue and flicking the nub up and down, removing all the honey from them. You let out a howl, muffled with Spencer's fingers in your mouth, pressing your tongue.

"Fuck (Y/N), you indeed taste so sweet," he praised, letting out his fingers from your mouth and moving it, tracing a slow path to the hem of your panties. He slid them under the thin fabric, searching your clit massaging it gently.

"Spencer, oh God. That feels so good." He moved from one breast to another one, repeating his motions.

"Yeah, you feel so good. Your are so good for me (Y/N). I could stay here all night. You have no idea how much I thought about that stupid song and doing everything on you," he whispered, releasing your nipple to move his lips to your navel.

"Please, please Spencer..." you whined. If you teased him before, now you just wanted him to fuck you mercilessly.

"What do you need sweetheart?" he asked.

"You. I need you to fuck me," you replied, feeling Spencer's tongue in your navel traveling south.

"Yeah. And I need to fuck you. That's I'm going to do now. You want that dirty girl?"

"Yes!"

"So... you teased me all these days. You knew what you were doing. Don't you think I need to repay you for that?" Spencer said as toying with your panties' waistband.

"What? Are you going to punish me? Doctor?"

For those who said kinks don't fit in all relationships, maybe they were right. But in Spencer's view, this was not the case. In the most pleasant way possible, he discovered that the kinky side of him fitted perfectly, and you seemed pleased too.

"Oh, do you want that, my dirty girl?" And before an answer, Spencer slid your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. Now, his goddess laid naked on her bed, ready for him, waiting for him.

Spencer grabbed your thighs and pushed them open, revealing your core for him.

"What a beautiful pussy we have here," Spencer coed. Picking some more honey from the bowl, he smeared it in your inner thighs, tracing a path to the spot where you needed him most. You wanted to scream. Before you do so, Spencer started washing the honey from your thighs. He did it from down to up, brushing your clit with his tongue in every licking.

"Fuck Spencer, I know I teased a lot these days but please..."

Spencer smirked between your legs, but he kept doing what he was doing. When he was sure he removed all the stuff from your thighs, his tongue focused on your clit.

"Yes!... oh God," you cried.

He moved one of his fingers between your folds, coating the wetness, and the pleasure was indescribable. His tongue still focused in your clit, circling and licking. Spencer put a second finger, curling them and reaching that spot inside of you that had you whining in no time. Your moans encouraged him to speed up his motions. Your hands were on his hair, eyes fluttered shut, lost in pleasure. Moans filling the room while his hands kept your hips onto the mattress, stopping you from buck forward.

"Spencer, oh my God. Please, don't stop!" you begged. His fingers never stopped thrusting you in and out, and his tongue having a feast with your clit. You could feel the knot down in your belly about to explode.

"Cum for me, dirty girl," he mumbled yet with his mouth on your clit and his fingers thrusting mercilessly. Then you cried, feeling your orgasm hitting you like a train.

When you descended from your highs, you propped yourself in your forearms to look at Spencer. His mouth coated with your arousal and smirking at you.

"C'mon baby, I need to taste you too," you demanded with a lazy voice, still dizzy from your orgasm.

"As you wish," he replied, sitting on the mattress with his back resting on the headboard, looking at you. Eyes full of lust. You kneeling in front of him first admiring his big-hard cock, tip coating with precum. You replicated his same motions: grabbed some honey and smeared it into his cock. Spencer moaned at the simple sight.

"Now I'm gonna taste how sweet you are baby," you announced. 

Resting on your elbows, you took the tip in your mouth, tasting it slowly. He groaned hard. Of all the times you gave him a blowjob before, for Spencer, this was undoubtedly the most amazing of all.

You moved your tongue, swirling around him, making sure of licking the pounding main vein. Spencer's breathing was sharp and unsteady. 

"Oh shit (Y/N)… you take it so well, your mouth feels so good," he groaned. You keep your task hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head. You set a steady pace that made Spencer jerk with each movement. He tried to keep his eyes open to see how you were working on him, but when you speed the pace, he couldn't help throw his head back, closing his eyes in uncontrollable pleasure. Spencer was sure that if you kept doing that, it wasn't going to last much longer, and he was aiming to cum in another part of your body, not your mouth.

"(Y/N)… I need to fuck you right now," he panted. You released his cock and looked at him with a full satisfaction grin. "Knees and hands on the mattress," he commanded, still gasping. You happily complied. With your ass on display, Spencer hardly thought about it and instinctively spank your buttocks with his open hand.

You hissed to the sharp feeling, but it was pleasant. Spencer had never spanked you before, and the very fact had you turned on. Spencer hesitated a little when he realized what he did, but your words lifted any doubt he can have.

"Again! please!... do it again," you begged, and Spencer complied, spanking you again now in the other buttock. You moaned, and Spencer groaned.

"You like that, uh?" he teased.

"Yes!" And he did it again. The sharp pain was nothing compared to the pleasure that followed. You could feel the head of his hard cock in your entrance. Slowly but with no hesitation, he pushes into you. You could feel every inch of him, and it was glorious. A loud wail left your mouth. Spencer hissed, feeling your walls clench around him. Spencer bottomed out, and he took a moment to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)… shit. You're always so tight. You feel so good," he praised.

"Yes, baby, all for you," he grabbed your hips tighter, pulling out his cock almost to the tip and then pushing again into you as he started a slow but intense pace.

As you searched for the perfect rhythm, only moans, praises, and your names came out of your both mouths. Spencer pounded to you harder and faster. You were both a bundle of moans and sighs. You could feel beads of sweat running down your body. The skin-to-skin slamming sound was lustful and wild but delightful. You were both lost in the single goal of pleasing each other and reaching your orgasms.

"Fuck Spencer! I'm gonna cum!" you cried.

"Yeah, sweetheart, me too. C'mon, give me your sweet cum, and I'll give you mine," he commanded.

Spencer moaned, on the edge of his own pleasure. His words did the trick. He thrust you once, twice, and in the third one, your impending orgasm exploded in you, running through your entire body. You curled your toes at the pleasant feeling, moaning Spencer's name and another sort of lost words. Your walls clenched around him tightest, you still in your high, feeling his cock twitched before he expulsed his warm release into you. Your eyes squeezed shut in delight, feeling how he rode out your both orgasms.

You guys stilled for a moment, trying to catch your breath. Spencer was the first to move, pulling out of you, as you turned to your back in the mattress. He rolled to your side, both of you looking at each other with a huge grin, still panting.

"Wow... that was..." he trailed off, setting a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Yeah... I know. Amazing," you replied, giggling.

"Why we didn't do this before?" Spencer wondered.

"Well, I don't know. But I wanted to," you confessed.

"Why you didn't tell me then?" he asked, stroking your cheek.

"Maybe I didn't know if you wanted to try things like these?" you hesitantly replied. Spencer looked at you lovingly. He could stay and admire you forever if he could.

"I must confess I didn't know exactly if this kind of thing could like me, but with you... I'm sure there is nothing that could dislike me. If you want to try anything, I'm more than willing with you," he replied, leaning to kiss you. You smiled into the kiss. 'How could you be so lucky to have someone like him?' you thought. The funny thing is that Spencer believes the same about you.

"Well, I think this experimentation went quite well, don't you think?" you said, beaming.

"Yes, I do. But now we're sticky, we need a shower," Spencer acknowledged.

"Sticky sweet," you corrected. Spencer chuckled and offered his hand to you to stand up.

You both went to take a shower. Needless to say, the shower served not only to clean up the remnants of your previous activities but to add new ones. You guys came out of the bathroom exhausted, changed the sheets, and plummeted onto the bed.

You snuggled into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer hugged you and kissed your forehead. Both ready to fall into a deep sleep.

"Please, remind me tomorrow emailing to Joe Elliot to thank him," you mumbled, nuzzling into Spencer's neck. Your eyes flutter shut and dozing off.

"Who?" Spencer asked, confused. You chuckled, almost falling asleep. Of course, Spencer didn't know who he was.

"Let's say we both practiced today what is pour some sugar on me, thanks to him," you giggled. Spencer breathed a laugh.

"Oh. Okay. Thank him for me too," Spencer said, smirking.

"I will,” you replied, snuggling more close to Spencer. “Spencer?" you asked him, a few seconds far to fall knock out.

"Yes, sweetheart?" he mumbled, almost in the same condition as you.

"I love you," you blurted out. Because it was true. Your love for that man grows any second passed, and you didn't care to admit it now.

"I love you too, (Y/N)... sticky sweet," Spencer replied. You both giggled, groggy with sleep. "And (Y/N)?" he added like he forgot something important to tell you.

"Uhm?"

"Can we listen to your playlist tomorrow? I'm curious about what are we going to do next." You didn't remember if you replied to him, but you surely would think of something new to try next in your dreams.

———————

AN2: I’m sorry but I’m a sucker for 80′s music.

I’m tagging some moots around here!: @andiebeaword @blameitonthenight21 @dreatine @sierraraeck @paulaern @calm-and-doctor @spencers-dria @safertokiss @hopefulfangirl24  @reverdevivre  @matthewstiles1912 @goldentournesol @psychedellic-phase @psychicdonuts​

[hellotvshowtrash]

Major angst warnings!!! As well as canon typical violence and gore. Description of blood and requests of blood and death. 

Elijah x reader

Due to recent problems with witches the reader dies in his arms. As she bleeds out and her heart stops beating, Elijah sings THEIR SongTm Like I’m Gonna Lose You by Megan Trainor. And then klaus and Rebekah have to pry him off of them and practically drag him away kicking and screaming because it’s been hours (maybe days) and he’s just sitting there, soaked in her blood and cradling her slowly decomposing body.

Well... you asked for it!

Like I’m Gonna Lose You

TW: lots of blood, major character death, graphic depictions of death and postmortem decomp, hella sadness, ((sort of song based as in the ask above!)) using witches as a cop out just like plec did <3 this is by far the darkest fic I have ever written, please feel free to skip if any of this makes you uncomfortable!

Word count: 1.4K

My submission for the April2021promptchallenge! Prompt was “I wanted to be better than this.” “Maybe next time.”

I was going to make a moodboard but this gif is too fitting and good to not use

The humid Louisiana air clung to them as they swayed, gripping each other tightly despite the sweat trickling down their skin. Elijah wrapped his arms around his love, taking in the scent of her hair around him, his eyes closing in bliss. She clutched him back, breathing heavily. Golden lights hung around the pair, the silver moon glinting in the sky. The perfect night for such a perfect pair.

Elijah opened his eyes from his dream to his reality, sitting, rather than dancing, cradling her in his arms. The sticky sweat and humid air was replaced with the hot scent of iron and the thick sheen of blood. Nothing had prepared him for this. Nothing had prepared him to lose another one of his lovers. His throat felt tight, no sound escaping him as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of her. Confusion riddled his mind, how could this have happened? How is she here now, bloody and broken when she was just dancing with him the previous night? Her smile was so wide and radiant then as she admired the new ring on her finger.

Now, she was choking, losing her consciousness and looking at him desperately. She reached up weakly, cupping his cheek with a blood covered hand.

Blood poured from her, in no slow fashion, from multiple wounds across her body. He had tried to feed her his blood, it proved fruitless rather quickly. He had made it to the empty compound in time to cradle her gently, his whispered vows and her gurgled cries filling the soundless concrete walls. He clenched his jaw, his tears creating streaks down his face.

One thing hadn’t changed from his dream, and that was the silvery hue of the moon pouring in from the open roof above them. It illuminated her in a way that Elijah had once deemed divine, but now, now it was horrible and tragic but still somehow beautiful because it was her, and it was always her and it would never not be her. He caressed her face gently and she blinked at him, her own diamond of a tear cleaning a path down her cheek.

Elijah’s breath stuck in his throat, his voice coming in a croak when he tried to string together something coherent. “I never meant to take you for granted,” he whispered to her. His voice was deeper and more gravelly than normal, and it made her smile. Even wrought in pain, her smile still made his heart jump. “I wanted to be better than this,” he choked before sobbing, dropping his forehead to hers. She shifted underneath him and he realized she had chuckled.

“Maybe next time, yeah?” She coughed and a trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth. Elijah opened his eyes to look into hers, placing a soft kiss on her cracked lips. Like a puff of smoke, her breath escaped her lips for one last time and her hand went slack, falling from its place on Elijah’s cheek. His face twitched at the cool air making contact with the blood she left behind before he let a choked whine through his clenched teeth, his ears unable to find her comforting heartbeat. He squeezed her tightly against his body, her own limp and lifeless.

Elijah wasn’t sure how much time had passed, sitting against the concrete wall, holding onto her. He knew that the sun had come up and gone down at least twice. He knew that the body - her body- was slowly bruising and becoming cold, a smell had begun to accumulate and her cheeks had started to sink in. But still, he held her. He held her and talked to her, telling her all the things he should have said when she could still listen. And he sang to her, but he didn’t really sing because Elijah Mikaelson doesn’t sing, but he did say their song to her as if she could hum along like she used to.

“I’m gonna love you,” he whispered, pushing her hair away from her face. “Like I’m gonna lose you,” and his voice cracked as he sobbed. “I’m gonna hold you, like I’m saying goodbye.”

The footsteps came before he was ready.

“Goodbye, my love,” he whispered to her, kissing her forehead one last time.

“Dear god, brother, what happened?” Klaus was next to him in a beat, avoiding the now dry puddle of blood beneath Elijah and his love.

“I’m… not sure,” Elijah answered in a daze. “One moment we were dancing and the next..” he drifted off, his eyes staring past Klaus and now Rebekah and Freya who held each other in horror.

Freya reached out and grabbed Klaus’s shoulder, gesturing to a mark on the body’s hand. “Witches,” she whispered. Elijah hadn’t noticed the mark before, not through his grief. He stared down at it, feeling as though his gaze could burn the mark off her cold skin.

Klaus took a moment to take in Elijah’s appearance. Dried blood coated his white button up, a bloody, smudged handprint covered his right cheek. His hair was disheveled and tears stains covered his cheeks.

“Sister, get a sheet, please,” Klaus murmured. In a whisper of air Rebekah was gone and back again, white sheet in hand. “Elijah, you must let her go,” Klaus put his hand on his brother's shoulder.

“No.” Elijah responded immediately, his own voice loud in his ears.

“Broth-,”

“No, Niklaus. I cannot leave her. I can’t let her go. This wasn’t supposed to happen,” only then did Elijah lift his eyes to meet his brother’s, realizing that Klaus was dirty with mud and blood. He looked over at Rebekah and Freya, both were frayed and Freya was slightly wounded, but all in all, they were okay. “Where were you?” Elijah asked quietly, his eyes not leaving Freya’s.

Freya’s heart broke in her chest as her eyes welled with tears. “We were dealing with these same witches.” She gestured to the body cradled by Elijah. “We should have been here,” she said, leaving Rebekah’s side and moving closer to her brother, keeping her eyes locked on his. “I’m so sorry, Elijah.” As she talked to him, Rebekah and Klaus worked gently to remove the body from Elijah’s lap. Elijah didn’t necessarily let them, but he didn’t fight them either. He maintained eye contact with his sister and as soon as his lap was freed he collapsed into her arms, sobs tearing free from his lips. Klaus and Rebekah moved the body to the nearest table, wrapping her in the sheet supplied by Rebekah. Klaus swallowed roughly and turned back to his brother.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, brother.” Freya helped Elijah stand and Klaus moved to Elijah’s other side, helping him up the stairs of the abattoir. Elijah caught a glimpse of the body in the sheet laying on the table and broke once more, dropping to his knees on the stairs, his siblings trying to keep him afloat. He turned and rested his head against the railing, staring at it - at her.

In his long thousand years, a grief like this hadn’t ever consumed him. Not because he wasn’t aware of the risks being with him carried, because he was fully aware of them, but because he had worked tirelessly to keep her safe in the last two years of the relationship they shared, because he knew they should have been safe.

“Her ring,” he croaked, his hand extending through the railing in her direction. Rebekah, still standing next to the table, moved to uncover her left hand and pull off the ring that lay delicately on her finger. Once it was in her possession, Elijah’s hand fell and he closed his eyes, his cheek pressing up against the cool metal of the railing.

As hard as it was for Klaus to be, he was speechless. He had never seen such a visceral reaction from his usually level headed brother. Freya choked back her own sob, the pain in her brother radiated and she felt it too. Rebekah didn’t dare make eye contact with any of her siblings, her eyes couldn’t leave the body of the girl she almost got to call sister.

-

Elijah now stands in front of the freshly bricked tomb, his eyes unmoving from what he knows lay inside. A whirlwind of events led him here and he wonders what he could’ve done differently to save her. He lays his palm across the brick, his eyes filling with tears again.

“Maybe next time, darling.”

—

Taglist: @elijahs-wife @dumble-daddy @alwaysfangirlingish @akshi8278 @drachentraum @nikmikaelsonswife @njeancastro316 @mikaelson-emma @brown-eyed-babes

For Elijah, Klaus and Kol only: @malfoys-demigod

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room. 

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles. 

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.  

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters. 

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans. 

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies. 

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm. 

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away. 

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again. 

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy. 

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket. 

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-” 

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep. 

“It will be.”

[funkwhistle]

You

Pairing: Any male gang member x GN!reader (no names used)

Notes: This was originally going to be a Kylo Ren fic start, which might still happen, idk. But then it formed this :D. For whomever you want to it, there’s nothing mentioned which would define a specific gang member - who uses he/him pronouns atm

Blissfully blank. That's how you felt as his lips bruised themselves onto yours, clearing your mind of whatever you'd been annoyed about beforehand. Without pause for breath, he pushed you more forcefully into the wall making your insides fill with magma as his gloved hands cupped your face. As his lips roved greedily over yours, the groans he was eliciting were delicious; and definitely not helping your shaking legs — he was practically holding you up at this point. 

Somehow he always drew you back in; his kisses were as delectable as ice cream on a summer's day; like a high you chased to remain sane. Each time his lips crushed onto yours, it was as though you'd never kissed him before — but when you stared into his amber eyes which sparkled with

something 

 when he looked at you… you fell for him twice over. 

It wasn't like you hadn't tried to untangle yourself from the loving web you'd spun together, the idea of being with him permanently made your insides swirl. You hadn't decided if that was a good or bad thing yet. But, for now, you focussed on the moment; his tongue darting into your mouth to deepen the kiss, his hands closing the gap between your hips and his. And dear god had you missed this.

Eventually you had to break away from the kiss to breathe, watching as his pupils dilated as they stared at you in adoration; flushed cheeks and a cheeky grin making its way onto your face. One of his hands moved from your hips to cup your face, brushing his thumb over your lip gently as you stared at each other, basking in the company of the other one. “I missed you y'know” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his to close the gap between the two of you. 

“Mm hmm,” he nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to your nose. “I shouldn't be gone long next time,” you brushed his point off, not being able to stop the grin on your face as you remained looking at him. Reuniting your lips together, he mumbled “God I missed you,” against your lips, inhaling through his nose as to not have to pull away from you. 

Wind bit viciously at your ankles as the pair of you stood there, lost in each other and praying for it not to rain, finally happy. The weather, however, had different plans; at first it was just the odd few drops, then the heavens opened throwing hot summer rain over the pair of you. As the rain hammered on unrelentingly, you felt the feeling of it dripping from your nose and joining your lips in the kiss, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your body, the feeling of fresh plants thriving around you. It felt as though the pair of you were in one of those romance novels Mary-Beth read, reunited after being apart for so long.

You couldn't stop yourself grinning into the kiss, teeth clashing as he mimicked you, having to move away, so you could both laugh.  At this moment, nothing else mattered aside from him, as he held you close and the rain drenched the both of you.  Your head on his chest, listening to his laugh as it died down, his hands trying to keep you warm as they rubbed your back. 

“While I don't want to move, do ya want to come sit inside, get out of this?” he gestured to the rain, which battered as hard as ever, as he spoke. Nodding a little, he linked his hands with yours and dragged you through the mud; not caring if either of your clothes were muddy. You raced back to camp, to the dry refuse of Shady Belle. Like giddy teenagers, you couldn't take your eyes off the other one, which ended up with you stumbling over things on the floor on your journey inside. 

[jaskierswolf]

HERE FOR MORE KITTEN!FIC: something from kitten!Jaskier's POV? Does he understand the situation he's in, but is enjoying Geralt's soft attention too much? Perhaps he thinks he's in a very pleasant dream where Geralt returns his affections and cares for him? Geralt confessing his feelings for Jaskier to the kitten (like he talks to Roach). Geralt hiding the kitten under his cloak when it rains/snows. And of course Geralt's embarrassed/shocked reaction when Jaskier turns back!

Sorry it took a while! I got caught up with Christmas/Wintery prompts! So this is a follow up to this short drabble. This part is a tad longer at just under 900 words. No warnings apply. ___________________________ Buttercup purred and snuggled closer to the witcher’s chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that something wasn’t right. Cats didn’t like witchers but he’d been so lost and confused when his witcher, Geralt, had found him on the path. He’d bounded up to Geralt like they were old friends and Geralt had scooped him up so gently that Buttercup had forgotten why cats were supposed to be afraid. Geralt had only ever treated him with kindness, he’d even given him a name; Buttercup.

The witcher had been so sad when Buttercup had found him but it hadn’t taken long to coax a smile and even a laugh from Geralt. He was particularly fond of moments like this, when Buttercup was purring happily on his witcher’s chest as they settled down for the night.  Buttercup yawned, stretching as he dug his claws into Geralt’s shirt, and then settled back down, closer to Geralt’s head. He meowed, pawing at Geralt’s cheek.

“Would you stop that?” Geralt grumbled, still half asleep.

Buttercup let out a half purr, half meow and nibbled at Geralt’s chin before rolling onto his back and catching the witcher’s long hair in his paws. To his dismay Geralt picked him up by the scruff of his neck and dumped him back down on Geralt’s stomach, far away from Buttercup’s favourite toy. It wasn’t fair that Geralt had such fun hair and Buttercup wasn’t allowed to play.

He hissed at Geralt and flicked his tail, crawling back up towards Geralt’s neck.

“No, Buttercup,” Geralt growled but he scratched behind Buttercup’s ears. Buttercup closed his eyes at let out a long deep purr.

Oh how dearly he loved his witcher.

“You remind me of someone, little one,” Geralt hummed, absentmindedly scratching behind Buttercup’s ears. “His name was Buttercup too, guess I named you after him. You have the same eyes as him. He went by Jaskier though, probably thought it sounded fancier. He wasn’t scared of me either, just like you, and gods you’re both fucking needy.”

Buttercup opened one eye and glared at his witcher. He wasn’t needy, he just enjoyed Geralt’s company. He dug his claws a little deeper into Geralt’s chest and flicked his tail. Geralt didn’t seem to notice and carried on stroking his fingers through Buttercup’s fur.

“Guess he knew that I needed someone, before I knew myself. He was perceptive like that. I’m glad you’re here, little one. I fucked up. Thought I could do this on my own but… I don’t think I can. I’m supposed to go to Cintra to collect my child surprise but he won’t want to be linked to witcher. Jaskier could’ve helped. He would’ve wanted to help. He. He loved me…”

Buttercup raised his head and gazed at his witcher. Of course this Jaskier loved Geralt. He couldn’t imagine anyone not loving his darling witcher. He meowed and moved so he could nuzzle under Geralt’s chin. He didn’t like it when Geralt was upset. He’d had too much pain in his life already, he deserved to be happy, to be loved.

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned. “he loved me and I. I fucking ruined everything. I couldn’t find the words to tell him that…”

Geralt cut himself off with a sigh. Buttercup’s tail flicked and he meowed. He needed to know the end of that sentence. It was suddenly the most important thing in the young kitten’s life. He felt dizzy and could barely make sense of where he was anymore, it was only Geralt.

“To tell him that I loved him too,” Geralt finished, a whisper barely audible above the crackling fire place.

Buttercup’s whole world turned on its head. He cried out as bright light filled his vision, the potion’s effects reversing and he landed back on Geralt’s chest, still wearing the old red doublet from weeks ago.

“Oh bollocks!” Jaskier groaned and rolled onto his back, away from the witcher.

“What the fuck?”

“Ah… hello Geralt,” He croaked, giving his witcher a small wave.

Geralt was now sitting up, staring at him with a look of horror, a pale blush dancing on his cheeks. “Jaskier?”

“The one and only.”

“You were a kitten!”

Jaskier nodded. “Apparently so, I didn’t know exactly how the potion would work. I just. I wanted it to stop. Ah well, no matter. I’ll get out of your hair now. Sorry about all that by the way!” He smiled sheepishly and gestured vaguely at Geralt’s hair. “I’ll umm… just go.”

But Geralt grabbed his wrist, golden eyes staring up at him and fuck Jaskier was weak. “Stay.”

Jaskier swallowed and nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Geralt’s. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier felt tears prickling in his eyes and he launched himself at the witcher, hands threading into Geralt hair as their lips crashed together. Jaskier wiped his eyes as he pulled away from the kiss. “I love you too, you bastard.”

Geralt kissed his forehead. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Jaskier laughed and buried his face in Geralt’s neck. “I’ll hold you to that, my dear. I want to be spoiled rotten.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s a yes.”

“We’ll see.” Geralt chuckled and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s hair.

[guardianofrivendell]

Tea and Lockscreens

Modern!Fíli x reader

Requested: Yes! For my 500 followers sleepover @cassiabaggins​ asked for prompt nr 12 from the Fluff list with Fíli!

Prompt: “Am I your lockscreen?” - “You were not supposed to see that.”

Warnings: minor injury (I couldn’t help myself) - fluff - sweet caring Fíli - rushed writing (seriously, I need to chill sometimes)

A/N: Well, I broke my promise of keeping the sleepover drabbles under 1k so this gets its own post between the oneshots. I loved my idea/the plotline for this fic, I’m only not so sure it’s well written. 

You walked through the dark streets of your hometown.

Not too fast, but at a steady slow pace in an effort to keep the night going. Even though it was freezing outside, you didn’t want this night to end yet.

You pulled your warm woolen hat a little further over your ears to keep the cold from making them red and numb.

The reason why you didn’t want the night to be over soon walked right next to you, an arm around your shoulder.

Fíli.

Tonight had been your third date, and you were already looking forward to the next one. You tried to hide your excitement, knowing that you sometimes got carried away. It made you seem clingy or too attached. At least, that’s what your exes told you.

So when you met Fíli, you tried really hard not to go too fast.

The only thing you allowed yourself to do was changing your lockscreen to a picture of the both of you. The one Fíli took on your previous date at the ice skating range.

You had shared a few kisses - nothing too steamy, sometimes holding hands or he kept you close under his arm like he was doing right now.

But that was it.

It was your little secret. Your guilty pleasure.

When the inevitable happened and you had reached your apartment building, you stopped and turned to him expectantly. This was the moment he would kiss your cheek, tell you he had a wonderful night and would watch you enter the building.

Nice and slow, you kept repeating over and over again in your mind. We don’t want to rush things. But somehow, it wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted more. 

“You want to come inside to warm up?”

You bit your lip, anxiously waiting for his response. Fíli smiled, and placed his hand under your chin, pulling your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said. “And yes, I’d love to.”

* 

“Please,” he answered. He took a seat on your couch and you couldn’t help but think he belonged there. Dark slacks, white button-up shirt – with the top button open – and a matching suit jacket. No tie… Pity, you thought. It might have come in handy later, when he would tie your hands with–  Ok, that’s enough young lady! Remember to go slow! Go, make tea!

“Tea?” you asked when you hung his coat away, hoping he wouldn’t notice the tremble in your voice.

The date had been wonderful, you both had a lovely time and he had taken your offer to come inside. In your apartment. No reason to freak out right?

You excused yourself and hurried to your kitchen before he would notice your flushed state.

While you were making two cups of tea, you tried to get yourself together again.

You felt like a schoolgirl again, infatuated with the lead actor of some teen movie. It had been a long time since you felt so giddy.

You took a few deep breaths and smoothed out your clothes. You got this!

 You carefully made your way back to your living room, carrying the two steaming mugs in your hands when you heard your phone ding. That was probably your friend to see how everything was going. She could wait.

You were focusing really hard not to spill anything that you didn’t notice the message had made your screen lit up. Before you went to the kitchen you had thrown your keys and phone on your coffee table as you always did. In full view of a pair of blue eyes…

“Am I your lockscreen?” he asked, looking up from your phone, a hint of amusement in his voice.

What? No! No, no, no!!

In your haste to get to your phone so you could pretend this never happened, you forgot you were holding mugs with boiling hot water. The sudden movement of your body made the water spill over the edge, right onto your hands.

A curse escaped your mouth and you dropped the mugs.

Fíli jumped up from the couch and was at your side in less than a second.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking your hands in his.

Before you could answer his question, a curse escaped his own lips and dragged you towards your kitchen.

He opened the tap and put both of your hands under the ice cold stream.

“Keep them there, the hot water has burned your skin,” he instructed. His voice was calm, but you could see the worry in his eyes. So cute.

He placed his hands on your shoulders and gave them a light squeeze, before he lowered them to rub your upper arms a few times.

“I’ll be right back.”

A few seconds later he returned to the kitchen with the two now empty mugs.

“Luckily they fell on your carpet, so they didn’t break.”

But then he heard you sniffling.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

He lifted your chin with his hand and wiped your tears with the back of his other hand, lingering a little longer than he probably should.

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it stings a little but that’s it. And my hands are cold.”

You made a move to close the tap but Fíli’s warm hand stopped you.

“Just a few more minutes love,” he said softly.

The endearment was enough to send a few more tears over your cheeks.

“We were having such a good time and then I had to ruin it, and you’re being so nice and cute and… god!” you groaned, frustrated with the turn of events.

He chuckled.

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Yes I did,” you muttered.

 He leaned against your kitchen table, crossing his arms.

It gave you the chance to look at him. Really look at him. The man in front of you was drop dead gorgeous. The piercing blue eyes, long nose, the stubble you couldn’t wait to feel on your skin…

“What?” he laughed, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the spitting image of Dean O’Gorman? You know, the actor?”

The cute dimples in his cheek you liked so much appeared when Fíli smiled. He rubbed his neck to hide that he was flattered by your compliment.

“Yeah, they might have mentioned it once or twice.”

 “Can I remove my hands now? I can’t feel them, they’re practically frozen,” you whined after a while.

He placed his hand on the small of your back when he closed the tap.

“Let me see,” he said, and he took your hands in his. They were red from the cold water, and on your left hand was a small second degree burn.

“Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Fíli,  you don’t have to do this. I’m fine!”

He held your face in his hands and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Let me take care of you. Please?”

Was it possible for a human to melt? Because if not, you might be the first one.

You nodded slowly and told him where he could find the necessary supplies.

*

When he was almost finished bandaging your left hand, you bit your lip again.

And just like he did outside, Fíli took your chin in between his fingers and made you release it.

“What’s bothering you?”

You sighed.

 “About the lockscreen…” you began, dreading the possible outcome of this. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

He placed the clip in its place, securing the bandage around your hand.

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Fili said, taking his own phone out of his back pocket with his free hand. He held your injured hand in his other, absentmindedly rubbing it with his thumb.

“Here,” he smiled and gave you his phone.

You looked up at him questioningly. Why would he give you his phone? 

“I saw your lockscreen, so it’s only fair I showed you mine.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. You giggled. Dear god, you were acting like a school girl. But when you pressed the side button of his phone, your smile faltered and your breath hitched. 

His lockscreen matched yours. 

“You’re not the only one excited about us…,” he whispered before he nuzzled his face into your neck.

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje​ @kata1803​ @entishramblings​ @artsywaterlily​ @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose​ @marvelschriss​

[imagine-loki]

Tear You To Pieces, Chapter 5

TITLE: Tear You To Pieces CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 5 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki was sent to make up for his deeds by helping out The Avengers at the tower. Everyone thinks he’s changed, but he is just biding his time. He manipulates and uses someone who works there, who has a crush on him, to get exactly what he wants.  RATING: M

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: DARK LOKI, RAPE/NON-CON, MANIPULATION, MURDER, VIOLENCE, EMOTIONAL ABUSE, KIDNAPPING

The day after their first date, Kelly was in the lab doing some computer work while Bruce and Tony were doing some more higher tech jobs.

Loki came strutting in and grinned when he saw Kelly working on her own at a table. He walked over to her and slipped his arm around her, giving her side a squeeze that made her jump slightly. Her cheeks turned red when he whispered in her ear. ‘Good morning, sweetheart.’ And he kissed her on the cheek before taking a seat next to her.

‘Morning, Loki.’ She beamed happily. ‘Uhm, are we not supposed to be careful still, with the others around?’ She asked quietly.

Loki nodded. ‘We are. But those two imbeciles over there aren’t paying us any attention right now. They tend not to care what I’m doing, providing it’s not trying to take over the world again.’ He teased.

‘Good point.’ She smiled and nodded.

‘Did you get a good sleep last night after our date?’ Loki asked.

‘I did, thank you.’ Kelly said quickly, trying to forget about the rather vivid dream she had last night. ‘Did you?’

‘I most certainly did.’ He purred.

Loki got dragged into helping Tony and Bruce, much to all their annoyances. Kelly disappeared briefly to get something to drink from the kitchen, she made everyone some tea and brought it back to the lab.

‘Ah thank you, pet. You’re such a star.’ Loki smiled and kissed the top of her head as no one was looking.

‘Do you want anything else?’ She asked chirpily.

Loki saw his opportunity to test out his theory. ‘Would you mind nipping to the library and grabbing me a book that I left on the little table between the sofa and the window please? There’s a few things in there that might come in handy for what we’re working on.’

‘Sure!’ Kelly rushed off to get it for him.

The God smirked as he sipped his tea, waiting for her to come back. While he was waiting, he pretended to fiddle about with a reactor that he was supposed to be helping the others fix. But he didn’t overly care if it worked or not in the end.

He didn’t need to wait long before Kelly was back with the book. ‘Is it this one?’ She asked as she handed it over to him.

‘Ahh, good girl. Perfect, this is the one. Thank you.’ Loki smiled widely.

‘You’re welcome!’ She squeaked out higher than she had meant to as her face went bright red, she quickly averted her eyes away from him and stepped backwards. Her stomach was twirling and her heart racing at hearing him say those two words especially. ‘I… gotta go… See you later.’ She said quickly and darted out of the lab.

Loki smirked to himself as she left.

‘Hey, reindeer games. What are you smirking at? What have you done? Did you scare Kelly away?’ Tony called on Loki from across the room.

Loki scowled at Tony and said nothing as he carried on with what he was doing. He was certainly going to enjoy killing him the most once he had his powers back.

Over the following month, Loki took Kelly out on a date every other day. They kissed each time, making Kelly feel like she was on cloud nine. She was falling hard and fast for Loki, like she had feared she would. But he was so charming and such a gentleman, she didn’t see a problem.

Loki often used her weakness on her, by asking her to do minimal things. In return he would praise her, using those two words that would have her all flustered within a second. She always tried to be near him, almost to the point of clingy. Not that he minded, he had her exactly where he wanted her.

She was like a little puppy obsessed with its master. She did anything and everything he asked of her without hesitation.

They still kept quiet about the fact that Loki was courting her. The others did notice that they talked a lot and were often near each other, but they knew that Kelly was the only one that was civil and nice towards him, so it wasn’t overly suspicious for them.

‘When do you think we can tell people about… us?’ Kelly asked him when they were spending some time together in the library.

They were on the sofa by the fireplace, Loki had his arm around her and she was snuggled into him while he was reading. She loved his voice, hearing him read anything was so soothing.

‘I think we should still wait a while, pet. Especially as there is a big mission coming up in a few weeks’ time. Everyone is a little, stressed about it.’ Loki said as he rubbed her arm softly, making her arm tingle under his touch like her body did every time he touched her.

She still couldn’t believe that Loki was dating her.

‘Big mission?’ She queried, turning to look at him slightly.

Loki nodded, then his eyes went wide. ‘Oh dear… I wasn’t supposed to tell you that, it’s classified.’ He cringed.

‘I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. I promise.’ She said quickly, making Loki smile.

‘I know you won’t, you’re my good girl.’ He purred and leaned in to steal a kiss from her as her body trembled slightly from what he said, the usual flush creeping up her neck too.

He grinned and ran the tips of his fingers down her neck, enjoying the way the goosebumps rose up on her skin under his touch. ‘I know you have a praise kink, don’t you, darling?’

Kelly’s eyes widened and she pulled back slightly, looking startled at him calling her out on it. ‘I… I uhm…’

‘It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, pet. If anything, it’s very endearing how much you want to please me.’ He growled low and moved in to kiss her again, making her sigh against his lips.

His hands started sliding down her body and slipped inside her blouse. But when he attempted to remove it, she put her hand on his arm and stopped him.

‘Loki… I…’

‘Sorry, pet… Am I going too fast?’ He asked, frowning.

‘No… It’s just me… I do want to go further, I just. Well, I’m still a virgin. And I don’t think I’m quite ready, not yet. Please, don’t hate me for it.’ She said worriedly.

Loki cupped her face in both hands and smiled softly at her, then pressed his forehead against hers. ‘Don’t worry, pet. I could never hate you. I adore you, and I will wait as long as you need. There is no rush from me.’ He assured her, making her heart flutter.

‘Thank you, Loki.’ She whispered, smiling widely.

‘No need to thank me, darling.’ He kissed her forehead gently.

-

Loki snarled angrily as he slammed his bedroom door shut. He stormed across to his bed, his clothing disappeared from his body as he swiftly lay down. He gripped his hard cock and started jerking off rapidly.

‘That pathetic mortal quim, keeping herself from me. How dare she!’ He spat as he roughly pumped himself to the thought of plundering into her virgin cunt.

The image of her beneath him, submissive and pliant as he fucked her flashed before his eyes. Knowing how tight she was simply around his finger… He started grunting as he quickened his pace even more, squeezing his cock as tight as he could to replicate what she might feel like.

But as he came, spurting over his stomach, it was not as satisfying as he knew she would be.

Any mortal should be honoured that he, a God, wanted to sleep with them, a lesser being. Especially one that has a crush on him. He was getting more and more impatient each day with the godforsaken mortals. He had at least thought getting Kelly wrapped around his little finger would’ve brought him some pleasure in the meantime… but no. The little bitch was holding out on him.

And he was furious.

[fandom-puff]

Full (part 2)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Requested by: anon

AN: so this is the part two of this fic. Part 1 was very smutty, though, but part 2 can be read on its own as it’s literally just toothrotting fluff. Gif creds to owner

Warnings: morning sickness, pregnancy, mentions of sex but no actual smut

Groaning lowly to yourself, you dashed to the bathroom, eyes still gooey with sleep as you collapsed in front of the toilet just in time, throwing up for the fourth time this week. Ten minutes later, teeth brushed and stomach empty, you slipped back into bed, sighing as Fred wrapped his arms around you.

“You alright, babe?” He murmured drowsily, voice gravelly with sleep as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hmm... just a dickey belly,” you mumbled back, shuffling backwards slightly so you were fully pressed against him, holding his hand that rested on your tummy. “Probably just a bug,” you said as you drifted back off to sleep.

Fred, however, stayed up a while longer, mulling things over... putting two and two together...

It had been three weeks since your passionate night of possessive lovemaking, and while you had had sex since then, it had been much less intense- and protected. Fred also knew for a fact that you had missed your period...

Wanting to give you time to figure it out yourself (and fearing a very emotional YN should you suddenly start getting hormonal), he left it for a week and a half. You had become increasingly groggier, having morning sickness as well as being poorly throughout the day. One day he’d decided to make a move. After work, he walked over to you and plonked a muggle pregnancy test on the table next to you.

“F-Fred dp you really think...?” You asked, eyes widening.

“Only one way to find out darling,” he said gently, smiling and kissing your forehead as you went to the toilet. When he heard the flush he got excited, not quite getting that the muggle test needed a few minutes to work. “Is it done, YN?” He called.

“No, not yet!” You called back.

It was silent for ten whole minutes, and Fred was beginning to worry. Surely it wouldn’t take that long? Knocking on the door, he called for you. “YN... love, are you okay? Let me in, darling,” he heard the lock unclicj and slipped into the bathroom. You pointed at the test on the counter, biting your lip.

‘PREGNANT’

Fred looked up from the stick to you, and back again, mouth agape, before he scooped you up into a massive bear-hug, kissing the top of your head gently. “YN! This is brilliant! You’re... we’re gonna... oh my god!” He grinned, looking down at you as you smiled weakly. “Are... are you not happy?” He asked softly, face falling.

Your eyes widened. “Oh god, yeah,” you smiled, reaching to kiss him. “Just processing... I... wow,” you said, your small smile growing until you were beaming. “We’re going to be parents, Freddie,” you said, happy tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “Me and you,” Fred nodded, peppering your face with kisses.

“You’re bloody wonderful,” he said softly, cupping your cheek gently, stroking your hair.

You swayed on the spot, hugging for god knows how long, until you murmured “I’m gonna look like a whale,”

Fred snorted. “Well, my dear, you’ll be a very sexy whale,” he grinned, hands trailing down to your hips. “Very sexy indeed,”

You laughed brightly, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Watch it, Mister,” you chastised. “You finding me incredibly sexy was what got us here in the first place,”

Fred nodded and trailed his hands lower, giving your bum a firm squeeze. “Well love... shall we go to bed? It’s not like you can get even more pregnant...”

Tag List: @a-hopeless-fan @lotsoffandomrecs @justanotherwildstar @rai-strangebr @zodiyack @haphazardhufflepuff @dumbfuckinslytherin @severuslovebot @darkthought15 @strawberriesonsummer @rabeccablake

[escapetodreamworld]

Angelique x Reader

one shot

@generally-likeable​

hey... remember when you ask for this one shot 2 months ago, but my requests were closed at the time, well I was thinking about your request a few days ago and well...

a meeting the family fic where readers family doesn’t like Angelique at all. with a happy ending because you left the ending up to me. and I made it thanksgiving themed sort of.

a/n I can’t write short fics, I try but then they end up like this.

Feeling your girlfriends arms wrap around your waist from behind as you finish making a pie crust, you lean back into her, sighing happily.

You feel her hot breath on your neck as she trails kisses up to your ear, you giggle at the feeling. Causing her to tighten her hold on you slightly, you can feel her grinning against your ear. "Tomorrow's our first thanksgiving together, just you, me and a few bottles of wine. What could be better than that." Angie says, then presses a kiss to your cheek.

"Nothing, nothing could be better than that." You say, agreeing with your girlfriend. You turn around in her arms, leaning against the cabinet. You press a soft kiss to her lips, but of course, Angie being Angie the kiss turns into a deep one.

She pulls you closer to her, keeping one hand around your waist she snakes the other one up your body to your cheek. She has her pinky finger behind your ear, pulling you closer. Just has her tongue swipes against your bottom lip you hear a knock on your apartment door.

At first you both try to ignore it, hoping whoever it is will go away. Sadly, they don't. You whine, pulling yourself from Angie's embrace. She groans at the lost of your body against hers. You give her a quick kiss and say. "I'll get rid of them. pour us some wine and I'll be right back." You wink suggestively before heading for the door.

On your way to the door you hear Angelique moving around the kitchen quickly, wine glasses clinking together, and you hear the pop of Angie using her magic to take the cork out of the bottle. You can't help the smile forming on your face.

That smile disappears when you open the door.

"Mom! Dad! Alex! What are you doing here?!" You say, loud enough so Angelique will hear. You can't hear anything coming from the kitchen anymore.

"You told us you had to much work so you couldn't fly back home, so we came here too surprise you. Surprise!" Your mother says, cheerfully. Your parents look excited, your brother, bored.

"Wow that's so nice of you, but, I have plans for tomorrow." You say, trying to figure out how to get yourself out of this deep hole you're about to be in. Your mother's smile drops slightly, but she quickly recovers.

"Well, we'll just do our Thanksgiving plans earlier or later in the day to accommodate for your schedule." Your mom says, and you slowly lose hope of getting out of this.

"(Y/n) dear, aren't you going to let us in?" Your dad asks, peering over your shoulder looking into your apartment. You look over over to the kitchen which is blocked from they're view by the door. Angelique is standing in the door way watching you, an unreadable expression on her face.

You look at her, pleading for an answer to this problem. She shrugs before mouthing "let them in." Then straightens out her pants suit and reapplies lip stick in the mirror.

You turn your head back to your family, forcing a smiling and opening the door wider. "Come in." You say, voice cracking from nerves. You look back towards the kitchen doorway but Angelique is no longer there. You turn back to your parents quickly.

"So my living room is through there." You say, pointing to the another door. Your parents looking around the entryway. "if you could head in there and I'll be right back to give you the tour." You say, your parents "oohing" at the idea of a tour of your apartment and head into the living room.

You quickly move towards the kitchen, only to be stop by your brother whispering your name. "(Y/n)!" He whispers, loud enough for only you to hear. You turn around to see him in the living room doorway. "What?" You whisper back.

"You've got lipstick on your neck, might want to clean that off." He says quietly, you quickly slap your hand over your neck. He rolls his eyes and disappear into the living room.

Finally making your way into the kitchen, you see Angie sipping her wine. You grab a towel and start wiping your neck vigorously, trying to get the red lipstick off. You see Angie watching you, amused. You put the towel down and make a grab for the other wine glass on the table. Angelique snatching it up before you could, she swirling the wine in the glass, it starts glowing.

"Here." Angelique says, finally handing you the glass. You eye it suspiciously, you raise an eyebrow at her. "What did you do to it?" You ask, still not taking the glass.

"Just a little calming spell, you look like you need it." She says, but puts the glass back on the table. Angelique steps closer to you, she gently brings her hands up to your face, running her thumbs over your cheeks. You close your eyes, taking a deep breath, relaxing into her touch.

"Baby, it'll be okay. We're going to go out there, I'll meet your parents and we'll have a nice visit." She says, reassuring you. You nod, opening your eyes. She pulls you closer, kissing your forehead. Once she pulls away she pick up the wine glass again, offering it to you.

You accept it this time, bring it to your lips. Angelique puts her finger on the base of the glass tilting it up, making you drink it faster.

You empty the glass, and Angelique takes it from you, placing it in the sink. She turns back to you, and runs her thumb over your lips, wiping away any traces of wine. "Good girl." She says, causing an ache in your core. She smirks, knowing exactly what she just did to you.

"Later, my dearest. We have company." She says, grabbing a hold of your hand, lacing your fingers together. "Are you ready?" She asks, and yes. you are. You feel so much calmer than before.

"Yeah." You say, smiling at Angelique. You start for the living room, pulling Angie with you by your joined hands. You stop in the hall before you're in your parents line of sight, you turn around to quickly say. "I love you, no matter what happens." After an "I love you too." You start to move again, until your both standing in the wide door frame to the living room.

Your parent are snooping through your things unaware of your presence, your brother's laying on your sofa, he notices you, looking between you and Angelique. He puts the pieces together, and starts grinning.

You clear your throat, gaining your parents attention. "Mom Dad, this is Angelique. Angie these are my parents." You say, introducing them. Your parents immediately looking too each other, confused.

Your Dad recovers first, walking up to Angie. Shaking her hand, and like any father would do, starts asking questions. "Nice to meet you Angelique, how do you know my daughter? Are you two, roommates?" Your Dad asks.

Angie let's out a laugh. "God no, I'd never live in a place like this. You should of seen this place before I started coming over, her landlord never fixed anything in this building." Angelique grins, causing you to roll your eyes.

"Angelique threatened the man, scared him half to death. But my ceilings fixed. And my water pressure is better, so I can't really complain." You say, and flash a smile at Angie.

Your Dad chuckles, shaking his head before say. "Well, thank you. I hate the thought of my daughter living across the country, in a run down old apartment." Your mom laugh along with your father, but it's short lived.

"So if you don't live here, where do you know (y/n) from?" Your mom questions, looking between you and Angie. You watch as your mom come up with the wrong answer "You two must work toge-" "We're dating." You interrupt, and the room goes quiet. Your brother sits up on the couch, incredibly interested in what might happen next.

Your Mom frowns. "That's not a funny joke (y/n). Your Mom scolds, you glare back.

"It's not a joke mother." You say, unable to get angry because of the spell in your wine. But you hold your ground anyway. Angelique looks angry and is about to interrupt, but you shake your head. Nope, your going to handle this calmly.

Your Dad seems to want to do the same. "Sweetie, your Mom and I don't have a problem with you liking girls. But Angelique is our age, there's no good reason for her date someone half her age." Your dad explains, you can see Angie ready to snap.

You sigh. "Dad Mom, I'm glad you both accept me for liking girls. But Angie and I are dating, have been for ten months. She hasn't forced me to do anything, she's never hurt me, she never even yells at me. And we've had plenty of fights, but she NEVER raises her voice at me." You finish, and wait for they're response.

"No."

"What?" You ask, shocked.

"No, we won't let you date her." Your Dad replies.

You look at Angie, who's boiling with rage. "Angelique, I can't fight them at the moment. So, I'm going let you handle this." You say, and she nods. then you quietly say. "Don't break anything, don't hurt them, and NO magic. Make them accept it, if they can't. get them out." You turn to your brother, motioning for him to follow you. "Lets go." He jumps up, quickly following you out of the room and into the kitchen, you close the door.

Lucky Angelique isn't really a yeller, she can instill fear in people in the softest voice you've ever heard. luckily you've never been on the receiving side of that voice, probably never will be considering its only used for her board members, and the Collins.

You and your brother sit in the kitchen for an awkward minute, you wonder how it's going. until your Mom stormed in. "Alex, we're leaving." She says, before addressing you. "(Y/n) we think you're making a big mistake. But know that we'll be there for you when it ends terribly." Then leaving the kitchen.

You stare at the door shocked, your brother speaks up. "Your girlfriend's hot." You smile. "Thanks." You say, and hug your brother. You walk him to the door, where your parents are waiting. You all say bye, but not much else is said by anyone. Angelique's leaning against the living room door frame, watching over you.

You close the door after they leave, you mean your back against the door, and close your eyes. "I know I should feel sad or angry, but I don't." You say, and open your eyes. Angelique looks at you sympathetically, and makes her way over to you, gently pulling you from the door and into her arms.

"The calming spell is stopping you from feeling emotions that counteract with it, like anger and sadness. It'll wear off really soon and you be hit with those emotions again." Angie stats, while tracing calming patterns on your back.

"Great, can't wait for that." You say, sarcastically.

Angie pulls away. "I need to say something, before the spell wears off." Say says, and you slowly start feeling concerned. "Okay." You nod

"I never thought I'd love someone as much as I loved Barnabas, I'd been living with an emptiness in my heart for centuries, but then I met you. And I started to feel again, you gave me the one thing I never had. Someone's love, you were the first person to truly love me. I don't want to lose you." Your crying now, the spell having worn off.

Angelique takes both your hands, and get down on one knee. You have to pull your right hand away and cover your month so you don't let out a gasp as you cry tears of joy.

"Will you marry me?"

[taetaespeaches]

“I think we should avoid overthinking.”

jimin x reader (or oc) genre: smut; fluff word count: 2.6K

a/n: Hi lovelies! This fic takes place the night after Jimin and Dear’s first time in “Did I really get to shag you last night?” and they have a talk about their relationship status. It’s soft and they can’t really keep their hands off each other. Can you blame them? I hope you all enjoy and thank you for reading! :)) 

p.s. this also fulfills a fluff drabble request from ages ago: “I think I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do.” and “Every inch of you is the most incredible thing that god ever created.” 

SLIGHTLY nervous, but mostly giddy, you set down a steaming mug of tea in front of Jimin, your lips curving upward at the sight of him evading your gaze by directing his to the stone countertop.

“How was practice after I left?” You asked with a smirk, Jimin looking up with a wide-eyed expression.

“They were relentless,” he smiled, shaking his head, you giggling as you rounded the kitchen island with your own mug to sit next to the man.

“I can imagine,” you told him, sitting down with your knees pointed toward him. “Sorry about that,” you smirked, Jimin rolling his eyes.

“Sure you are,” he teased, your knee brushing along the side of his thigh. “No, they were happy though,” he told you softly. “They want to know what we are.”

“Don’t we all,” you joked, Jimin chuckling as he bounced the tea bag in his mug.

“I do, though,” he added, looking to you with a look of uncertainty.

Taking a sip of your drink, you looked at the steam being released before locking your gaze with Jimin’s. “I think we should avoid overthinking,” you told him, the man slowly nodding.

“Ok,” he thought out loud, dragging the word out. “But stop overthinking in what way?” He asked, you lightly laughing at his inner confusion and slight torment. “Dear, I need your help,” he giggled, you reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder.

“I mean I don’t think we should overthink things in a way that freaks us out over what we are now,” you told him, the confusion etched into his features just deepening, making you keel over in laughter.

“What are we?” He whined through his own giggles as you slid your hand to his neck, soothing over his skin as he leaned into the touch.

“Well, what do you think?” You asked, raising your eyebrows as you awaited his response. “No overthinking.”

“I think,” he started, taking a pause to exhale, “I’m in love with you and I don’t know what to do,” he confessed, your expression softening as you bit back a grin.

“I’m in love with you too,” you told him sincerely, Jimin’s hand finding its way to your thigh just above your knee. Giving the muscle a small squeeze, you allowed your smile to spread across your face.

He mimicked your smile, inching closer to you. “Are we together now?”

“We were always together,” you told him, Jimin scoffing through his fond grin.

“I mean, are you my girlfriend now?” He clarified, you smiling softly.

“Are you asking me?” You questioned teasingly, Jimin licking his lips as he took a deep breath.  

“I am,” he said firmly, you scrunching your nose in excitement.

“Then yes,” you giggled, Jimin smiling widely as he wasted no time in leaning in, catching your lips in a passionate kiss, you falling right into step with the action as your hand cradled his jaw, his hands running up and down the sides of your thighs. Breaking away for a moment, you smiled, Jimin resting his forehead against yours. “My boyfriend, Jimin,” you tested out favorably. “Oh my god, that sounds so good,” you squealed in excitement, Jimin pressing his lips to yours in a series of soft kisses.

“I love the way it sounds,” he whispered against your lips. “It feels even better,” he added, the comment making you wrap your around the back of his head, digging them into his soft locks to kiss him deeply, Jimin moaning into the meeting. Your lips moved in perfect synchrony, just like they did the previous night. And god those lips felt amazing against yours; so soft and plush.

Moving from his lips, though reluctantly, you trailed your kisses across his face, the man giggling at your cute action. Placing one to the tip of his nose, you grinned happily. Blissfully happy.

“We knew we’d end up here eventually,” you spoke softly, Jimin licking his lips as he watched you carefully. “And I knew I’d be happy, but I didn’t know just how at home I’d feel,” you told him, Jimin giving you a look so full of affection you could have cried.

Feeling his tears well up, he quickly stood from the chair, grabbing your face in his hands, yours settling on his wrists as he kissed you harder than before, pushing his body between the v of your legs. When he pressed himself against you so you could feel your effect on him, you moaned into his mouth, one of your hands falling to the waistband of his pants.

“I love you so much,” he mumbled against your mouth, you smiling into the kiss.

Standing up, you pulled away from him just slightly, Jimin’s hooded gaze watching your face closely. “I love you, Chim,” you replied, as you grabbed his hand, leading him to your bedroom.

It was a slow progression of shedding clothes, neither of you in a rush, wanting to savor every moment. Hand sliding underneath your shirt as you both stood at the side of the bed, he once again appreciated your lack of bra with a throaty groan against your mouth.

“Have you always been this bad, Dear?” He asked, you smiling as you bit your lip at him. Gently, he lifted the shirt over your head, wasting no time in attaching his lips to your chest, your fingers digging into the hair at the back of his head. A moan left your mouth when he wrapped those pretty lips around your nipple, lightly tugging with a smirk.

“And you ask me if I’ve always been this bad,” you scoffed, Jimin smiling in amusement before sucking on the flesh of your breast, intending to leave a mark. Pulling away from your chest, he smirked before catching your lips once again, the force of the kiss knocking you back a step, the backs of your legs hitting the bed.

Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, you eagerly pulled it overtop his head, breaking from the kiss just long enough to remove the garment, the shirt dropping to the floor next to yours. Your hands running down his toned chest and abdomen, Jimin moaned into the kiss as your fingers slipping into the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging downward.

However, before you could get the pants removed, he gripped the sides of your shorts, and as he slowly lowered himself onto his knees, he inched the fabric down your legs, revealing you to him for the second time ever.

“You’re so pretty,” he told you softly, you whining at the compliment, and the way his breath fanned across your center. Pressing a kiss to you most sensitive area, he again whispered, “so,” another kiss, “pretty,” finishing with one more kiss.

Next thing you knew, he was pushing you to the bed, tightly gripping your legs and tugging you to the edge of it, burying his face between your thighs.

Squealing out, Jimin worked you with his tongue, circling your clit almost too perfectly. If he stayed down there for much longer, he would end up catapulting you into your first orgasm, which was his intention.

He gave you no mercy, your hands tugging at his soft hair as he expertly moved his tongue and lips against you. “How the fuck,” you breathed out, “are you so good?” You questioned, your voice faint as your high quickly approached.

“You cumming, Dear?” He asked you, you frantically nodding as you squeezed your thighs around his head, Jimin having to use his hands to hold your legs open. “Cum then,” he told you, you following his authoritative command within seconds, your body relaxing as you came down.

Jimin peppered kisses against your thighs before trailing them up your stomach, appreciating the flesh, pressing them against the valley of your chest before leaving them on your neck. Hovering over you, he smirked down at you, you letting out a breathy laugh of disbelief.

“Is this really what I’ve been missing out on all this time?” You asked in all your fucked out glory, Jimin falling into laughter as he dropped his face to your neck, kissing along the edge of your jaw between his giggles. “I mean, seriously, I willingly passed this up for two years?” You furthered your questioning, Jimin’s hands grabbing onto your hips as he kisses up your chin, finally finding your lips.

“I’m all yours now,” he whispered against your mouth, you smiling fondly before kissing him passionately. Wrapping your arms around Jimin’s shoulders, you lifted your hips to his, Jimin grunting against your lips. Sliding your hands down to his chest, you pushed against the warm skin, rolling him over onto his back, swinging your leg over his hips to straddle him.

Leaning forward, pressing your chest to his, you first left a soft kiss to his lips before placing them across his face, Jimin giggling beneath you. Looking down at him, you smiled. “My turn,” you whispered, giving him one more kiss before sliding down his body, trailing kisses across his chest.

“I love you,” you whispered between kisses, repeating the action and words, Jimin grabbing your hand and bringing it to his own lips, placing kisses along your knuckles, you continuing to whisper “I love you’s” down his body toward his hips.

Pulling your hand from his, you gripped underneath the waistline of his sweats. “Lift,” you told him with a smirk, Jimin easily complying as he raised his hips from the mattress, allowing you to pull his bottoms off his ass and down his thighs.

Your desire for him was at an all-time high, you eagerly wrapped your hand around his length, moving your wrist to work him up and down. Brushing your thumb over the head, Jimin let out a pretty groan, the sound making you want to hear more. Settling yourself even lower on his body, you pressed a sweet kiss to the head, Jimin moaning at the feeling and the sight of your wide eyes looking up at him.

Adding your tongue, you swirled it around his tip, a whine sounding from his pretty lips just before you took him into your mouth, Jimin’s hand meeting the back of your head, leaving it there as he comfortingly massaged your roots.

“God,” he breathed out in what sounded like a whine, the sound shooting to your center, causing you to moan around him. “I love you,” he confessed breathily. “Fuck I love you.”

Releasing him with a pop, you shot him a smirk, Jimin shaking his head at you in disbelief. “I love you so much,” he told you again, you giggling.

“I love you too,” you replied, biting your lip as you sat on your knees.

“Come here, Dear,” he told you, reaching for your hand and tugging you toward him, you resisting just for a moment as you leaned to your bedside table.

“Hang on,” you chuckled, Jimin whining. Opening the drawer, you pulled out a condom, wiggling it between your fingers, your now boyfriend laughing at you.

Crawling up his body, you kissed him again, Jimin kissing you eagerly before peppering your cheeks with pecks, you giggling before sitting back against his thighs, and unwrapping the condom. Just after securing it onto him, Jimin sat up, his hands landing on the sides of your thighs as he kissed your chest, your arms wrapping around the back of his head.

“I can’t believe I get to do this with you,” he told you in disbelief, you grinning as you kissed the top of his head. “I’m never going to get used to this,” he looked up at you. “To you.” Giggling, you kissing his forehead.

“Me either, my love,” you told him as you lifted yourself off his lap just enough for Jimin to guide himself inside, you sinking down on top of him.

Gasping at the stretch, Jimin buried his face against your chest again, a moan resounding from him. “Oh my god,” you breathed out. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

“I love you,” he told you again, the confession sounding just as good as the first time. Grinding your hips on him, Jimin whined out, your own sounds mixing with his.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, Jimin’s hands found your ass. He guided you to rock against him, your bodies pressed flush together.

Clinging to him, your arms were clasped around his shoulders, your fingers clawing at his back, his muscles tense underneath your digits. The warmth of his body was transferring to yours, his skin starting to glisten in the low lights of your bedroom. His breath was heavy when he fell back against the mattress, bringing you with him as he began pumping into you, his feet flat against the bed as he lifted his hips against yours.

Your lips attached to his neck, you kissed and sucked along his collarbones, small moans and whimpers leaving his mouth. Lifting your head, you looked down at your boyfriend, smiling as he smirked, his eyes hooded.

Kissing him, Jimin groaned into your mouth, you lightly clamping your teeth on his bottom lip, tugging on it before releasing it, Jimin chuckling as you giggled. Sitting upright once more, you moved your hips atop him, riding your boyfriend, his hands on your hips as he guided your motions.

“Fuck, I’m seriously never getting used to this,” he told you breathlessly, you simply moaning in response. “Just,” he gasped, and you were sure he was nearing his high, “look at you.”

“Look at you,” you countered, your second orgasm approaching as well. “I’m close, baby,” you announced, Jimin moving a hand from your hip to work your clit with his thumb.

“Cum for me, Dear,” he moaned, bucking his hips up to meet yours.

Your orgasm hit first, Jimin’s following short after as you continued to ride him, working him through it. Breathless, our arch backed as you rested your hand on his thigh, Jimin’s heavy breaths turned into a light laugh.

“Incredible,” he spoke softly, you giggling as you looked down at him and nodded.  

“Yes,” you agreed, lying down against his frame to press a soft peck to his lips. “You are.”

You both stayed like that, you on top of him, in relative silence, your face resting against his shoulder as you pressed random kisses to his shoulder and neck. His hands dragged up and down your back, soothing along your skin, the touch feeling better than you ever though it could.

Tucking his chin into his neck, he looked down at you. “Every inch of you is the most incredible thing that god ever created,” he suddenly whispered to you, your eyes glancing up to meet his gaze.

Flashing him a bashful smile you shook your head.

“I’m in love with you, Dear,” he confessed again, as if he was making up for all the times he wanted to say it throughout your friendship.  

“Me too,” you replied simply, tears pricking your eyes as you looked at the man, your man, and the realization hit you that you were finally giving yourself to Jimin. “So in love with you.”

“Let’s be happy,” he told you, his own tears forming. “Finally.”

Placing your hand to the side of his face, you soothed your fingertips over his plush cheek. “Finally,” you emphasized before pressing your lips to his softly. “I’m happy, Chim,” you whispered, your lips hovering over his own.

And you were happy. You could only hope the feeling would last forever. But if it didn’t, you had to trust the man, kissing you as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world, that he would fight for you. You just had to trust him; you did trust him.

“That’s all I ever want,” he told you sincerely, his hands soothing along your lower back, providing you a sense of comfort and safety that was still a bit foreign to you. “You happy. I couldn’t ask for more.”

[miracleonice87]

I’ll Take Care of You, part two

a Tyler Seguin fic

a/n: this one’s from Peyton’s perspective. back in the fall when I first started writing fics again, I wrote part one in first person, which I don’t really do anymore, but I’m keeping that consistent for this one. read part one here first if you haven’t already. 

tw: fainting, mention of miscarriage/loss of pregnancy/infertility/periods

“Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon for this to occur with first pregnancies. It happens more often than you might think. It certainly doesn’t mean you won’t ever be able to have a baby. My rule of thumb is to let couples try to get pregnant again naturally for one year without any intervention. Then, if you’re still having difficulties, you can come back in and we can talk about other options.”

It had been eleven months since my doctor had spoken those words to Tyler and me following the miscarriage that had nearly broken us both.

Those eleven months had seen us try again and again each month with no success. I tracked my body temperature and ovulation cycle each and every day before even leaving bed. I’d completely removed alcohol and caffeine from my diet and monitored everything I put into my body, controlling every single factor I could possibly control.

And yet, on the thirteenth day — the unluckiest of days for multiple reasons — of each month, like clockwork, my period arrived. If Tyler was at home when it happened, I simply left the bathroom with a sorrowful shake of my head, curling into his waiting arms as he comforted me silently, holding me close, disappointment weighing heavily on us both. If he was on the road, I texted him only a “🔴” symbol, indicating that my monthly visitor had shown up unwelcome yet again. He replied each time with an, ”I’m sorry, sweetheart,” though he had nothing at all to apologize for.

My patience and determination, along with Tyler’s, were wearing thin. It was feeling more and more impossible to keep the faith — more and more unlikely that this would happen on its own.

I had all but given up hope.

But then...

The eleventh month arrived, and the thirteenth day of it came and went with no sign of my cycle. And then the fourteenth day. And then the fifteenth.

And with that, the smallest sliver of hope glimmered from out of the darkness in the depths of my heart.

But I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited. With Tyler on a road trip to the East Coast, I barely slept those three nights, tossing and turning and wondering if I should take one of the numerous tests stuffed in the bathroom cabinet.

On the sixteenth, after Tyler had already left for morning skate, I decided it was time. Though I knew I couldn’t do it alone, I also couldn’t stomach the thought of waiting for Ty to return — let alone the thought of seeing his disappointment in the event of yet another negative test.

Thankfully, though, the sixteenth was a Friday — the day that Fanny, Klinger’s fiancée, and I had long ago set aside for morning yoga in my home gym. Fanny, now six months pregnant herself with her and John’s first baby, would arrive at 10 a.m., and I decided that that was as good a time as any to find out what was next for Ty and me — we would either finally start the family we’d always wanted, or it would be time for a different approach.

After greeting one another and stretching over small talk, Fanny carefully broached the topic that I had brought to her, heartbroken, so many times in the past year.

“So how have you been feeling?” she inquired gently from the mat next to mine, bending to the side for a new pose. “Are you on your cycle?”

From where I stood with my arms extended straight out, my face turned away from hers, I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and pondered what to say next.

“Well,” I began before clearing my throat, “That’s, um... I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

You pivoted to face Fanny, her pretty eyes now wide as saucers. Slowly, she stood up straight.

“Stop it,” Fanny whispered incredulously, joy etched in her expression.

I shrugged a bit. “I’m late,” I admitted softly. “But only by three days. And I haven’t taken a test-“

“Peyton!” Fanny warned through her giggles, hands finding her hips. “You have to!”

I smiled, appreciating my dear friend’s excitement for me while still feeling the familiar tightness of anxiety in my gut.

“I will,” I promised. “I seriously told myself I was gonna wait to do it while you were here. I couldn’t do it alone and I... if I’m not... well, I just can’t bear to see Ty’s reaction again…”

Fanny nodded solemnly. “Oh, sweetie. I understand,” she assured. “Maybe after we finish up? Or not. I mean, we can do it whenever you feel ready.”

I nodded, suddenly feeling overheated and attributing it to my frayed nerves.

“God, is it hot in here?” I asked, unzipping my lightweight jacket and throwing it aside, still fanning myself though I now wore only a sports bra and athletic shorts.

Fanny frowned, looking at my reflection in the mirrored wall in front of us. “No, I feel fine,” she said.

I tied my ponytail into a high bun to get the hair off my neck, noting a faint ringing in my ears as I placed my feet in position on the mat once more.

As I reached down for my toes, the ringing grew louder, and I suddenly saw stars in my vision.

With trembling hands, I wiped the sweat from my now-dripping brow and stood straight up, but apparently too quickly, as the room around me quickly fell from focus, darkness taking its place.

“Fan... I-I don’t feel good...”

Alarmed at the weakness of my voice, Fanny turned to face me and gasped.

“Babe, oh my god!” she exclaimed — the last thing I heard before everything faded to black.

_____

The next thing I heard as I came to was my husband’s voice, which sounded distant and faint. I moaned, squinting at the bright fluorescent lights above me as I realized that I was lying on my back on the floor, with Tyler’s face inches above mine. I opened my eyes slowly and heard him draw a deep breath, announcing, “She’s awake.”

I felt him cup my cheek tenderly as I offered a weak smile.

“Hi,” he breathed, relief heavy in his tone. “Hi, sweet girl. You scared us pretty good.”

“What happened?” I asked, confused by the hoarseness of my own voice. I moved to prop myself up on my elbows, but Tyler gently pushed my shoulders flat once more.

“Shh, shh, hey, don’t get up,” he instructed. “You passed out while you and Fanny were working out. Do you remember that?”

With a furrowed brow, I nodded. I saw Fanny standing behind Tyler, covering her lips with her fingers as she stared at me nervously.

“Oh god, Fan, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, still feeling weak and shaky.

Fanny shook her head and took a couple of steps forward, standing over Tyler’s shoulder. “Babe, no, don’t apologize,” she insisted. “I was just worried about you. Tyler came in the door just a minute after it happened but I had already called 911. I just didn’t know what else to do. I’m sorry.”

I nodded, my eyes fluttering closed once more. “That’s okay,” I said softly.

Just then, there was a knock at the door upstairs, and Fanny hurried up the steps to answer it. I rolled my head to look at Tyler, who stared down at me with deep concern.

“You’re gonna be okay, baby,” he promised, pushing some hair from my still-damp forehead. “We’re gonna get you checked out and see what’s going on, okay?”

I nodded as I heard footsteps coming back down the stairs, and two paramedics followed Fanny to where I lay, still on my yoga mat.

“Hey there,” one of them smiled. “I’m Maria, and this is my partner, Chris. You’re Peyton?”

I nodded as Maria knelt beside me, opposite Tyler, with Chris placing a medic kit on the floor next to him.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peyton,” Maria said kindly. “How are you feeling right now?”

I cleared my throat, attempting to blink the fog away.

“Not as bad as I did a few minutes ago,” I half-joked. “But I still feel shaky, and hot.”

Maria nodded, pressing the stethoscope to my chest.

“Can you tell me what you’ve had to eat and drink today?” she asked.

“Um... I had two cups of coffee, a yogurt... and some water during yoga,” I replied.

“Okay,” Maria said as Chris took my pulse, with Tyler holding tight to my other hand and watching their every move. “Any history of fainting before this?”

I shook my head. “No, never,” I said.

“Any blood sugar issues? Diabetes, hypoglycemia?”

“No, nothing.”

“Are you currently on your period?”

My cheeks warmed. This certainly wasn’t the way I had planned to tell Tyler of our latest development.

“Um, n-no,” I admitted sheepishly, glancing at him. I could see the wheels beginning to turn in his mind even as he watched the paramedics instead of me.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?” Maria asked gently as she folded her stethoscope into her bag and reached for a blood pressure cuff.

Shit.

“Uh… actually, yeah.”

Immediately, Tyler’s head snapped toward me.

“Wait, what? Really?” he inquired, joy exuding from his whole being.

I simply shrugged, beaming. “I’m late.”

A small, knowing smile crossed Maria’s face. She wrapped the cuff around my arm and began to squeeze the pump.

“Okay, well, that could be the reason,” Maria noted. “Sometimes when you’re early in a pregnancy, your body might not be getting all the extra rest and nutrients and hydration it needs. It happens sometimes, and often, it’s no big deal.”

I nodded, reaching for Tyler’s hand.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I said with a scrunched nose. “I just didn’t want to get my hopes up, let alone yours.”

Tyler brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

“It’s okay,” he told me with a shake of his head. “I get it.”

I smiled gratefully, and Maria removed the cuff from my arm.

“Your blood pressure is a little low, which doesn’t surprise me,” she said. “Again, this can happen. Just to be safe, I wanna take you to the hospital for an EKG and monitor you for a bit, and we’ll do a pregnancy test there too, okay?”

I nodded, looking to Tyler for reassurance.

“It’s okay,” he said, knowing exactly what I needed to hear. “I’ll be right there with you.”

_____

One ambulance ride later, with Tyler beside me and Fanny following behind in my car, I had arrived at the emergency department and was being poked and prodded and hooked up to a plethora of monitors. A cardiologist soon confirmed that everything was fine with my heart, and my pregnancy test was then the only result that hung in the balance.

I sat propped up on pillows in the hospital bed, Tyler standing at my side as we waited in silence.

Out of nowhere, tears formed in my eyes, and I tried to swipe at them without Tyler noticing — a futile attempt. When he heard my faint whimper, he stepped closer and gathered me into his arms, kissing the top of my head.

“Hey, hey,” he spoke softly. “What is it, baby?”

“I’m scared, Ty,” I whispered, head buried in his chest. “Whether it’s positive or negative. I’m just scared.”

“I know, babe,” he replied, slowly caressing my back. “It’s okay to be scared. I’m scared, too. You’ve been through hell.”

“We’ve been through hell,” I corrected, sniffling as I looked up at him. Tyler nodded and smoothed his thumb along my jaw.

“We just have to believe that everything is gonna work out this time,” he told me as he kissed my forehead. “Good things are coming, Peyt. I can feel it.”

After several more minutes, my nurse, a sweet woman named Beth who spoke with a thick Texas accent, entered the room holding my chart. I could actually hear my own heartbeat in my ears, this time not because I felt faint, but because I was overwhelmed with anticipation.

“Well, Miss Peyton…” Beth began with a smile. “Congratulations. You’re gonna be a mama.”

I let out a sob and covered my mouth with my hand immediately, and Tyler choked out a breathless laugh. His hands grasped my face as he kissed me firmly.

“You hear that? We’re having a baby,” he whispered, eyes glossy with tears. “God, I love you so much.”

I giggled excitedly. “I love you, too, baby daddy,” I replied, causing Tyler to chuckle, too.

As Beth looked on with a grin, she wrote a few things down on my chart, then said, “Congratulations, you two. I’ll give you some privacy. Peyton, honey, we’ll be back around to check on you in about half an hour, okay?”

I nodded, tears streaking my face. “Yes, yes, thank you,” I spoke. “Thank you so much.”

With a kind nod, she left the room, pulling the sliding glass door closed behind her.

Before the door was even shut, Tyler’s lips found mine once more, his fingers holding my cheeks reverently. Eventually, I pulled away for a breath.

“You were right,” I told him, nudging his nose with mine.

Still completely giddy, he asked with a smile, “What was I right about?”

I reached a hand up to work my fingers through his curls. “You told me good things are coming,” I reminded, voice quivering. “You were right.”

Tyler was overcome with emotion once again and wrapped his arms around my shoulders. For the longest time, we stayed that way, embracing with only the sounds of soft, happy cries filling the room.

_____

eight months later...

“Are you the most handsome little man in the whole wide world? Hmm? I think so,” Tyler spoke to the tiny baby he held in his arms. “I think you’re just the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen.”

I smiled from my hospital bed, feeling more exhausted and more in love than I ever knew I was capable of.

“And it’s a good thing you look like your mommy,” Tyler added, smirking at me before kissing the baby’s forehead — our baby’s forehead. “Uncle Jamie is gonna say that too. Yes, he is. I might as well beat him to it, huh?”

I chuckled, patting the mattress beneath me and gesturing for Tyler to join me.

“Bring him back over here,” I pleaded. “I miss him already.”

Tyler hummed knowingly and rose from his chair, carefully cradling the baby in his arms.

“I know,” he said. “I miss him, too, and I’m literally holding him. How is that possible?”

I smiled. “Because having kids means your heart walks around outside of your body,” I spoke, kissing our boy’s chubby cheek as Tyler took his place on my bed. “That’s what my grandmother used to say.”

He nodded. “You’re damn right,” he said, shaking his head. “I feel it already. I never knew it was possible to feel this way, Peyt. As bad as we wanted a baby, as much as it hurt when we lost the first one...” Tyler choked up as he spoke of the loss we’d experienced now almost two years ago. After a pause, he continued. “I still just never thought it would feel this incredible.”

I curled my hands around his arm and kissed his bicep. “Me either,” I admitted airily. “I’ll never forget the pain we felt then. And that baby will always be our first. But this... this is the best day of my life.”

Tyler beamed, wrapping one arm around my waist while cradling the baby to his chest with his other.

“So, are we decided on this little man’s name?” Tyler asked as I touched the baby’s pouted lips, making us both giggled at his expression.

“I think so,” I confirmed, leaning my head against his shoulder. “Are you still thinking what I’m thinking?”

Tyler looked down at me with hooded eyes, full of adoration, and nodded. “If you’re sure,” he spoke.

I’d been sure for a few months now, since the first day that I allowed myself to browse a baby name book, still riddled with fear of the unknown, while also waiting expectantly and with hope for our new journey ahead. I didn’t get far, only to the B’s, when I found the perfect name... one that meant blessed. 

As I peered down at the boy in my arms, no name seemed more fitting than that one I’d whispered into being long ago. 

“I’m sure,” I replied confidently. I cradled the baby’s head in my hand and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Welcome to our world, Bennett Tyler Seguin,” I whispered, overjoyed and humbled to finally have the privilege of having a son to name not only for his daddy, but also for the precious, long-awaited gift he was to us.

“Our boy,” Tyler whispered reverently.