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lostfracturess · 18 days ago

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remedies and reasons | ch. 04

pairing — professor geto x law student reader

summary — this wasn’t supposed to happen. not that miserable internship at the law firm you hated, not him becoming your doctor, and definitely not that drunken night at the bar. but he helped, and god, you needed a friend. and he did too. except it's never just friendship with him, is it? it could be perfect—messy, complicated, but perfect. if only his heart wasn’t already taken.

word count — 11.8 k

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, age difference (10 years), doctor-patient relationship, angst, smoking, alcohol use, mature themes, and depictions of illness. reader discretion is advised.

previously — as suguru struggles with his conflicting feelings, you have your own battles to face. between the hectic internship and these stupid feelings for your doctor, you could really use a break. good thing there's that party this weekend—though knowing your luck, something's bound to go wrong.

author's note — i know it's been a while (sorry !!) but this one is a little bit spicy to make up for it and maybe we even meet other people we know from certain stories. thank you all for being so patient with me and for all the sweet messages checking in. you guys are the best !! hope you enjoy and as always, your comments and reactions mean everything to me <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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"In consideration thereof, the Parties hereby agree that upon completion of the Merger..."

You started the sentence for the sixth time, highlighter poised over the page. But the words refused to make sense, like they were written in some strange legal cipher your brain had forgotten how to decode.

"In consideration thereof, the Parties hereby..."

Your mind drifted once more. Dark eyes. Gentle hands. The warmth of his palm against your back at the gallery. Damn it. Focus.

"In consideration..."

How his fingers felt inside of y—

"IN CONSIDERATION—"

The highlighter slipped, leaving a bright yellow streak across your index finger instead of the page. Perfect. You stared at your now neon fingertip and let out a long breath.

At least it matched the other evidence of your scattered mental state today — the coffee stain on your sleeve, the backwards sticky note on your computer monitor, the fact that you'd put your access card in the vending machine instead of your wallet this morning.

You dragged your attention back to the merger agreement, determined to actually comprehend at least one full sentence. Something about contractual obligations and breach of fiduciary duty. The words might as well have been written in ancient Greek for all you were absorbing them.

Instead, your thoughts wandered to the way he'd looked that night — slightly rumpled dress shirt, hair windswept from rushing straight from surgery, that tiny spot of blood on his sleeve he'd tried so desperately to hide.

As if that somehow mattered more than the fact he'd just spent hours saving someone's life before coming to see you.

The way he'd actually listened when you rambled about brushstrokes and composition, those pretty eyes fixed on you like you were sharing the secrets of the universe instead of just babbling about art. How someone who spent his days peering into people's brains could seem so genuinely interested in something as far removed from his world as contemporary art.

And the way he'd looked at you when you talked about your paintings. Your stomach did that stupid little flutter again at the memory, the same sensation you'd felt under his gaze that night.

No. Stop it. Case files. Merger acquisitions. Important legal stuff that actually mattered.

"In consideration thereof..." you tried one more time, but it was hopeless.

You slammed the case file shut, earning a few startled glances from nearby cubicles. A few papers fluttered to the floor, but you couldn't even bring yourself to care. This was ridiculous. You were supposed to be a professional, not some lovesick teenager mooning over your doctor.

Maybe it was just curiosity. It had to be curiosity. Nothing else made sense. You weren't lovesick. Definitely not. That would be ridiculous and completely inappropriate. He is your doctor. There are boundaries. Professional lines. You know this.

But your treacherous mind kept circling back to that moment when the phone call came. How quickly his expression had changed, walls sliding into place. You shouldn't have wondered about what — or who — had put that look on his face. It wasn't your business.

And yet you couldn't help but think it was her.

Dr. Gojo's girlfriend, the one Suguru had feelings for. You remembered how he'd sounded in the hospital that day, talking about two people made for each other, the pain in his voice when he'd admitted to watching his best friend fall in love.

Something tightened in your chest at the thought, a strange heaviness you didn't quite understand. It wasn't your place to feel—whatever this was. You barely knew him, had no right to care about his complicated feelings for someone else.

Besides, it was actually kind of tragic when you thought about it — harboring feelings for your best friend's girlfriend. Like something out of a drama. You should have felt sympathy, maybe even pity. Not this odd feeling that made you want to look away whenever he got that faraway look in his eyes.

You dropped your head into your hands with a groan. What was wrong with you? Since when did you start caring about the personal life of a man who you barely knew?

"Working hard or hardly working?"

Chad's voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. Great. Because this day wasn't complicated enough already.

You looked up to find him perched on the edge of Higurama's desk in his usual way — like he was posing for some imaginary corporate photoshoot. With his stupid suit, all perfectly tailored lines and subtle pinstripes that screamed 'i'm rich'.

"Don't you have your own work to do?" You didn't bother hiding your annoyance.

"Actually, I just finished reviewing the Yamamoto case files." He picked up one of your carefully arranged documents, examining it with that insufferable air of superiority. "You know, the ones you were supposed to handle? Higurama seemed pretty impressed with my analysis."

You snatched the paper from his hands. "Those were my notes."

"Were they?" He tilted his head, his perfectly styled hair not moving an inch. You'd never seen it move, not even in the wind. "Must have gotten mixed up in the filing system. Easy mistake to make."

You clenched your jaw, fighting the urge to throw your coffee mug in his self-satisfied face. Your entire weekend's work, and he'd just—what? Slapped his name on it and presented it as his own?

"What do you want, Chad?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Yeah, whatever. What do you want?" you repeated, turning back to your work, hoping he'd take the hint.

Instead, he leaned closer, his cologne disgustingly close to your nose. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about the Nakamura case. The international trade dispute?"

You stiffened. That was another case you'd spent countless hours on, poring over documents until your eyes burned. Of course he was after that one too. "What about it?"

"Well," he drawled, picking up your pen and twirling it between his fingers, "I'm having trouble with some of the documentation requirements. Thought maybe you could walk me through it?"

"You work here too," you pointed out, snatching your pen back before he could add it to his collection of stolen things. "These are basic procedures. Maybe check the manual?"

He laughed, that practiced, hollow sound that probably took years of private school to perfect. "Come on, help a friend out. We're all on the same team here, right?"

"Friends? Is that what we are?"

"Well, colleagues then." He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Look, I know we got off on the wrong foot with the Yamamoto thing, but I'm trying here. Besides, it's good to have friends in high places. Never know when you might need a favor."

The implied threat wasn't subtle. Neither was the reminder of his position — daddy's little prince, untouchable in his tailored suit and borrowed authority.

"I'm busy," you said flatly, gathering your papers into a hasty pile. "Try Google."

"Google?" Chad's perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up like this was the most outrageous suggestion he'd ever heard. "Come on, don't be like that. I just need—"

Then the door opened and Higurama walked in, his usual stack of files tucked under his arm. His eyes flickered between you and Chad, taking in the scene — you half-standing, clearly trying to escape, Chad still perched on his desk like he owned the place.

"Ah, Mr. Kusakabe," Higurama said dryly. "I wasn't aware my office had become the new break room."

Chad slid off the desk, his corporate smile switching on like a well-oiled machine. "Mr. Higurama, I was just discussing the Nakamura case with—"

"I'm sure you were." Higurama set his files down with a pointed thud that made Chad flinch. "Don't you have that meeting with your father in ten minutes?"

You had to bite back a smile at how quickly Chad's perfectly composed expression crumbled. "Of course, you're right. I should get going." He straightened his already straight tie and headed for the door, but not before throwing you one last look that promised this wasn't over. Like a spoiled child who'd had his favorite toy taken away.

After he left, Higurama settled into his chair with a weary sigh that seemed to age him ten years. "Giving you trouble again?"

"It's fine," you said, straightening the papers Chad had disturbed. "Same as always."

"You know," Higurama began, studying you over his reading glasses with that paternal concern that always made you feel grateful and guilty at the same time, "you can tell me if he's making things difficult. His father may be a partner, but that doesn't give him the right to—"

"Really, it's okay." You managed what you hoped was a convincing smile. "I can handle Chad—I mean, Kusakabe."

Higurama's lips twitched slightly at your slip, the closest thing to a smile you'd seen from him all week. "I'm sure you can. Still." He pulled his reading glasses off and polished them with his handkerchief. "My door is always open. Well, except when it's closed. Or when I'm in court. Or meeting with clients. Or—"

"I get it," you laughed, feeling some of the tension ease from your shoulders. Sometimes it was easy to forget that underneath all his gruffness, Higurama actually cared. "Thank you."

He nodded, then let out a heavy sigh and sank lower in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight.

"What's wrong?" you asked, settling into the chair opposite his desk. You'd seen that look before — it usually preceded either a massive case breakthrough or an equally massive headache.

"These idiots are giving me grey hair," Higurama muttered, shuffling through a stack of papers.

You bit back the urge to point out that his hair was already pretty grey — had been since you'd started your internship. Some truths were better left unsaid, especially when your mentor looked like he was one case file away from a breakdown.

"Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto?" The names slipped out before you could stop them, and you immediately wished you could take them back when Higurama looked up.

"Funny how you immediately knew who I was referring to." His lips twitched slightly. "Though I suppose they have quite the reputation around here."

"Well, they are our biggest clients from the hospital, right?" You fought back a blush, suddenly very interested in organizing the papers on the desk. "Are they in trouble?"

"Let's just say medical ethics and hospital politics don't always play nice together." He set down his reading glasses and rubbed his eyes. "And certain people seem determined to make my job as difficult as possible."

You fiddled with the corner of a document, fighting the urge to ask more direct questions. Like whether Suguru was okay. Whether this had anything to do with that phone call at the gallery, or the tension you'd sensed between him and Dr. Gojo lately.

"Is it serious?" you asked anyway.

Higurama gave you a long look over his desk. "Well, let's just say I'd rather defend a yakuza boss than deal with hospital board politics. At least with yakuza, you know where you stand." He paused, then added, "But that's not something you need to worry about."

You hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging at you for weeks. "Why do you even handle their cases? I mean, not to sound rude, but medical law isn't even your specialty."

Higurama was quiet for a moment, his fingers drumming absently on his desk. Then he leaned back, a distant look crossing his face. "Did I ever tell you about my brain aneurysm?"

"Your what?"

"Eight years ago. Was sitting right here, actually, working on some antitrust lawsuit." He tapped the spot on his desk where Chad had been perched earlier. "Started getting the worst headache of my life. Next thing I know, I'm in the ER, and this arrogant young neurosurgeon is telling me he's going to crack open my skull."

Your eyes widened. "Dr. Gojo?"

"Mmhm." A wry smile tugged at his lips. "Every other surgeon took one look at my scans and basically started writing my obituary. But this kid?" He scoffed, but there was something almost fond in the sound. "Struts in like he owns the place, probably fresh out of whatever dumpster he got his medical license from, and said he's going to save my life. Had Geto with him too, back when they were both still residents and marginally less of a pain in my ass."

You tried not to smile at the image. "And he saved your life?"

"Unfortunately." Higurama's expression was sour. "Would've been easier if he'd just let me die. Instead, I'm stuck here, playing babysitter to two overgrown children."

He tapped his pen against the files on his desk, the sound sharp in the quiet office. "And somehow they just wouldn't go away. Keep showing up with their problems and their drama and their 'just one more favor.'" He mimicked Gojo's voice with startling accuracy. "And now I'm stuck cleaning up after two idiots who think hospital rules are more like friendly suggestions."

He glared at the pen in his hand. Then, almost grudgingly, he added, "But I suppose they've grown on me." His eyes snapped up to yours. "Don't you dare tell them I said that."

You couldn't help but smile at his grumbling. There was something oddly wholesome about it — this grouchy corporate lawyer secretly looking out for two chaotic surgeons.

"Stop grinning like that," Higurama snapped, but without real heat. Then his expression shifted, turning serious. "But listen, keep your distance from them outside of work. They're nothing but trouble in private."

Your smile froze, heart skipping a beat. Did he know about the bar? The art gallery? The way Suguru's finger's had felt inside of you? "Of course," you managed, voice carefully neutral despite the sudden tightness in your throat. "Why would I—"

"Good." He cut you off, already reaching for another file as if he hadn't just made your world tilt sideways. "Now, about the Matsuda case, I need you to look into their import documentation from 2018 to 2020. Something's not adding up with their customs declarations."

"Right, the trade dispute." God, you needed to get it together. "I actually noticed some discrepancies in their shipping lists—"

But even as you dove into the familiar world of legal documents and corporate regulations, you couldn't quite shake the pointed look in Higurama's eyes. Nothing but trouble in private, he'd said.

Yeah. With every flutter of your heart when you thought of Suguru, you were starting to figure that out.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The apartment of your parents sat squeezed into a worn building at Tokyo's edges, where the city's gleam began to fade. But as soon as you stepped inside, your mom's baking enveloped you in familiar warmth, making even the tiny space feel like home.

At the kitchen table that doubled as his desk, your dad hunched over a stack of bills, squinting through reading glasses he stubbornly refused to admit needing. The table wobbled on its uneven leg, your mom's latest fix—a stack of paper towels—proving no more effective than her dozen previous attempts.

"What's all this nonsense?" you heard your dad say.

"Here, let me look at those," you said, dropping your work bag and settling into the chair beside him. The wood creaked in that old familiar way, bringing back memories of homework sessions at this very spot — your dad's calloused fingers pointing out math problems while your mom hummed by the stove.

Your dad slid the forms your way. "Tell me what all this government gibberish means."

"Just pension forms, Dad. Nothing major." You'd barely started explaining when your mom appeared, wielding a plate of cake that effectively derailed any serious discussion.

"Are you eating good?" she asked, setting down a slice big enough for three. "You're not working too hard, are you?"

"I eat plenty, Mom. Don't worry."

She brushed your cheek. "Convenience store food don't count. These fancy law firms are working you to death."

"It's just a busy period," you assured her, failing to suppress a yawn.

"With you, it's always a busy period." Your dad set aside his papers, fixing you with that penetrating look that still made you feel twelve years old. "You're young. You should be out living life, not buried in work like us."

Even at 26, your parents still fussed over you like you were a child. Some things never change, you suppose.

"Actually, I'm heading to a party tonight with friends."

Your mom's face lit up like you'd announced world peace. "A party! Oh, that's wonderful!" Her expression quickly shifted to concern. "But the lights there won't be too flashy, will they? You know how they can trigger—"

"Mom," you cut in gently, all too familiar with that worried look from years of school trips and sleepovers. "The medication Dr. Gojo prescribed works really well. I'm fine now."

"Just take care of yourself," your dad said softly.

"The medication's been great," you assured them. "Really. No seizures in months. Plus Megumi will be there, he knows exactly what to do if anything happens."

Your mom's face still held that familiar uncertainty, years of midnight hospital runs and frightened vigils etched in her expression. You crossed to her, wrapping her in a quick hug. "I'll be careful, I promise. No strobe lights, no excessive drinking, no late nights."

"Alright, alright," she conceded, but couldn't resist adding, "You know, there might be some nice young men there—"

"Mom!"

"What? I'm only asking! Mrs. Kenji from the convenience store was just telling me her son's studying medicine—"

"Please stop." You stuffed a generous forkful of cake into your mouth, the same recipe she'd used for every birthday since you could remember.

"Leave her be," your dad chuckled, then paused. "Though a doctor wouldn't be such a bad match."

You nearly choked on your cake. "Doctors are the absolute worst," you blurted, words tumbling out before you can think twice. "They're completely married to their work, walking around like they're god's gift to medicine with their fancy degrees and perfect hair—"

Your parents exchanged looks as you continued your unexpected rant.

"—acting all mysterious and professional one minute, then totally unprofessional the next. Sure, they show up late because of emergencies, which okay, fine, lives are at stake, but still—"

Your mom set down her coffee cup slowly. "Sweetie—"

"—and don't even get me started on their god complexes. Strutting around in those white coats like they own the place, being all tall and handsome and brooding—"

"Handsome and brooding?" your dad cut in, eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

Heat flooded your cheeks. "I meant hypothetically. You know, doctors in general. Not anyone specific."

"Right." Your dad set his papers aside completely, barely suppressing a grin. "Well then, how about a nice accountant instead?"

"Oh, an accountant would be perfect," your mom jumped in, eyes twinkling. "Nice stable hours. No emergencies. Definitely no god complexes."

"And absolutely no perfect hair," your dad added.

You buried your face in the stack of pension forms. "I hate you both."

"No you don't," your mom sang, already cutting another generous slice of cake. "But somebody certainly has strong feelings about doctors. In a very theoretical way, of course."

"Can we please just focus on the pension paperwork?"

"Oh, speaking of work," your mom settled into her chair with that expression that meant you weren't getting away easily, "how's the law firm treating you? Is Mr. Higurama still taking good care of you?"

A familiar heaviness settled in your chest — the same one that appeared whenever they asked about the firm. You pulled on your well-practiced smile. "It's going well. Busy, but I'm learning lots."

Your dad's face lit up with pride, and something twisted inside you. How could you tell them that each morning, you walked into that gleaming tower feeling like an imposter? That your days were spent drowning in work you couldn't bring yourself to care about, surrounded by people like Chad who seemed born for this world in a way you'd never be?

"Our daughter at Nishimura and Asahi," your mom repeated, the same way she'd probably told everyone at the market, the same way she'd mentioned it to Mrs. Tanaka at the convenience store countless times. Their daughter, the lawyer. Their golden ticket to a better life.

You thought about the half-finished paintings hidden under your bed in the dormitory, the art supplies you only dared touch in the dead of night. The way your heart had raced at the gallery with Suguru, feeling truly alive for the first time in months.

How strange that you could feel both so seen and so invisible at the same time.

"Yeah." You took another bite of cake, which now tasted like sawdust in your mouth. "It's... great. Really great."

They'd sacrificed everything. Dad's double shifts, Mom's weekend cleaning jobs, their dreams abandoned so you could chase what they thought was yours.

How could you tell them their vision of success was slowly suffocating you? That those gleaming office towers felt more like prison walls with each passing day? That this path you'd convinced yourself to follow was turning into a nightmare? That you'd been wrong?

"Should we look at those pension forms now?" you asked, desperate to escape before the guilt could completely overwhelm you.

Sometimes love could be its own kind of cage, you realized. Your parents' dedication, their unwavering support. It was both a blessing and a burden. They'd given up so much to give you a better life, never realizing they might be pushing you toward a life that wasn't better at all, just different. More prestigious. More stable. More suffocating.

The most painful part was knowing they'd done everything right. They'd loved you, supported you, sacrificed for you — all the things good parents were supposed to do. There was no one to blame, no villain in this story. Just well-meaning parents who wanted the best for their child, never realizing that their dreams for you might not align with your own.

It was a special kind of heartbreak, being unable to disappoint people who had never disappointed you.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

"If you poke my eye out, I swear—" You squirmed in the backseat, trying to escape as Nobara wielded the mascara wand right in front of your nose.

"Stop squirming then!" She grabbed your chin, fingers surprisingly gentle despite her commanding tone.

"Kind of hard when you're coming at me with that thing!"

From the driver's seat, Megumi let out a long sigh. "Could we maybe not cause an accident? I'd rather not explain that to the police."

"Oh please," Nobara scoffed, never taking her eyes off her work. "I know what I'm doing."

"Since when?" you challenged.

"Since forever. Now shut up and close your eyes."

You complied, though not without a dramatic eye roll first. The car hit a pothole, making Nobara curse as the mascara wand nearly went up your nose.

"Megumi!" She smacked the back of his seat. "A little warning next time?"

"Sure thing," he deadpanned. "Would you like me to narrate every bump in the road? Maybe add some mood music while I'm at it?"

In the passenger seat, Yuji twisted around to watch, grinning like this was the best entertainment he'd seen all week. "Can I try too?"

"Less commentary, more navigation," Megumi cut in. "Where exactly is this place?"

"Right, um..." Yuji squinted at his phone. "Take the next right. Should be the big house at the end—can't miss it."

"I still can't believe we're going to a med student party," you muttered, trying to keep still as Nobara started on your other eye. "Seriously, they'll probably spend all night talking about cadavers."

"Which is exactly why—" Nobara leaned back to examine her work, "—we need to make sure you look absolutely killer."

"I don't need to look killer," you protested. "I'm not trying to impress anyone."

Nobara lowered the mascara wand, fixing you with a long look. "Right. And I'm just going for the thrilling discussions about gross anatomy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I think you know." She reached into her makeup bag, emerging with a tube of lip gloss. "Especially since a certain someone might be there."

Your stomach did an unwelcome flip. "Who told you that?"

"Aha!" Nobara's eyes lit up like she'd just won the lottery. "So there is someone! I knew it. Spill. Now."

"There's nothing to spill," you said, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. "And I definitely don't need lip gloss."

"Too late!" She was already uncapping the tube. "Open up!"

"Nobara, I swear to god—"

The car swerved suddenly, sending Nobara's carefully aimed lip gloss streaking across your cheek.

"Megumi!" she screeched.

"My bad," he said, his tone suggesting it was anything but accidental. "Must've been a pothole."

"And this," Yuji announced from the front seat, "is why I never let you drive anymore," earning himself a death glare from Megumi.

You tried to wipe at your cheek, but the sticky gloss refusing to budge. "Great."

"Don't move!" Nobara was already armed with a makeup wipe. "I can fix this!"

"No more fixing! I look fine!"

"We haven't even started on your eyeshadow!"

You looked desperately at Megumi in the rearview mirror. "Help me."

"Sorry," he said, barely suppressing a smile. "I'm just the chauffeur."

"Traitor."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

The first thing that hit you was the noise.

Music throbbed through massive speakers, the bass so heavy you could feel it in your bones, while voices rose and fell in uneven waves, trying and failing to outmatch the music that echoed off the marble floors and high ceilings.

The second thing was the sheer excess of it all.

"Holy shit," Yuji said, voicing what you were all thinking.

The house—if you could even call it that—was more like something out of a movie. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting prismatic light across the sea of bodies below. The furniture had been pushed aside to create some sort of dance floor, where people were already dancing like the party had been going for hours.

"Is that a—?" Nobara pointed, mouth agape, at what appeared to be a massive human heart, currently serving as an elaborate vodka luge for a group of laughing students.

"There's two," Megumi corrected, nodding toward another one shaped like some kind of organ. "But I'm not quite sure what's that supposed to look like."

You stood frozen in the entrance, your senses on overload. Strobe lights sliced through the darkness in rapid pulses, bouncing off mirrored walls and making your head spin. The air was thick with fog machine haze and enough designer perfume to stock a department store.

"Hey." Megumi's hand found your elbow. When you turned, his expression was pure concerned-best-friend. "You good? With the..." He gestured vaguely, but you knew what he meant.

You took a deep breath, mentally checking in with yourself as the bass thundered through your chest. "Yeah, think so. Just... don't abandon me for any hot med students?"

He smiled, shifting slightly to block some of the strobing lights. "Please. As if anyone here is interesting enough to make me ditch you."

Suddenly, a burst of cheers drew your attention to what looked like a Vegas-style bartending show. Some guy in a vest was juggling bottles and literally setting drinks on fire, because apparently regular cocktails weren't fancy enough for this crowd.

"Oh. My. God." Nobara's squeal could probably shatter glass. "Is that a chocolate fountain? That's it, forget becoming a pharmacist—I'm marrying whoever owns this place."

"That would be me."

The voice came from behind, smooth as expensive whiskey. You turned to face a tall, striking man. Designer clothes, top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up, artfully tousled dark hair, and the kind of smile that's definitely practiced in mirrors.

"Naoya Zenin," he introduced himself, managing to sound both bored and smugly pleased at the same time. "Welcome to my humble abode."

Humble. Right. Through an archway, you could see the party spilled out to a pool area that belonged in a luxury home magazine, complete with more people than your entire apartment building.

"Don't think I've seen you around campus."

Before you could fumble for an explanation, Nobara glided forward like she was born for this moment. "Oh, we're med students too," she lied smoothly, her smile pure sugar. "Exchange program. From Kyoto University."

You barely contained your surprise, but then Nobara's heel found your toes.

"Kyoto?" Naoya's eyebrow arched. "Really? What's your focus?"

"Neurology," Nobara replied without missing a beat, then she gestured toward Megumi. "He's in cardiology. Absolute genius with hearts. Top of our class."

Megumi's face remained admirably blank, though you could practically see his soul leaving his body.

"And you?" Naoya's attention moved to Yuji, who froze like someone had hit his pause button.

"Sports medicine!" Nobara swooped in, slinging an arm around Yuji's shoulders. "You wouldn't believe what he did for our university volleyball team last semester. Practically gave them all new knees."

"Yeah, uh," Yuji managed, looking slightly green. "Knees are... really something."

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from losing it as Nobara continued to spin her elaborate tale. She was in full swing now, crafting backstories with enough detail to make you almost believe them yourself.

"—which is exactly why Tokyo was the perfect choice," she concluded with a theatrical wave of her hand. "The selection process was brutal, but once they saw our research proposals—"

"Research?" Naoya interrupted, looking more intrigued now. "What kind?"

"Oh!" Nobara's eyes lit up with what you knew only meant trouble. She glanced around frantically before her gaze landed on the slowly melting ice heart. "We're actually studying crystallization patterns in organic tissue preservation."

You nearly choked on air.

"Is that so? And what have you found?"

"Well," Nobara continued, smooth as butter, "the molecular structure of ice formation in cellular matrices shows fascinating parallels to..." She jabbed an elbow into your ribs.

"Crystalline lattice networks!" you squeaked, mentally thanking every god that you'd actually opened one of Megumi's chemistry books that one time.

"Precisely." Nobara beamed like you'd just discovered penicillin. "The implications for long-term tissue storage are absolutely groundbreaking."

Naoya's eyes narrowed slightly. "And you're all involved in this research?"

"Interdisciplinary approach," Megumi cut in, his poker face giving away nothing. "We each bring our own perspective to the project."

"How intriguing," Naoya drawled, and you couldn't tell if he was actually buying it or just playing along. "We'll have to discuss it further over drinks. I have some excellent imported vodka over here."

"Perfect!" Nobara practically sang, already dragging a shocked Yuji towards the bar before Naoya could start asking about actual medical terms.

The moment Naoya turned away, you released a breath that felt like you'd been holding it since freshman year. "Crystallization patterns?" You glanced at Nobara. "Seriously?"

"I panicked, okay?" she whispered back, still maintaining her beauty-queen smile. "The ice sculpture was right there! What was I supposed to say?"

"Maybe something that won't get us exposed as frauds when he starts asking about actual medical stuff?"

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

It was remarkable how quickly your ridiculous pretense took on a life of its own. Your virgin mojito had long since grown warm, forgotten in the excitement of your increasingly elaborate charade. You'd tried to back out earlier, but Nobara wouldn't hear of it.

Now, surprisingly, you were having too much fun to care.

Nobara charmed her way through the room like always, her tales of revolutionary research getting more outlandish by the minute. Yet somehow, these future doctors were eating it up. Her theatrical gestures and infectious confidence made even the most absurd claims sound plausible.

You found yourself caught up in the performance, adding details to your fictional research with surprising ease. Every half-remembered phrase from Megumi's textbooks, every medical drama you'd ever watched, became fodder for your improvised deception.

"Exactly!" Nobara said, turning over to you. "Show them that diagram you were working on."

Without missing a beat, you grabbed a cocktail napkin and began sketching what you hoped looked like scientific diagrams but were actually just random shapes you remembered from Megumi's chemistry textbooks. The small crowd leaned in.

"This is brilliant," someone said, peering at your doodles. "The way you've mapped the molecular bonds—"

"Groundbreaking," another agreed, though you were pretty sure your drawing made no sense.

Even Megumi, usually allergic to fun, had embraced the absurdity. His natural stoicism translated perfectly into the role of a serious researcher. In fact, he seemed genuinely in his element. For once, he could talk about molecular structures and reaction mechanisms without your eyes glazing over.

Yuji, meanwhile, had found his stride discussing sports injuries with a group of actual athletes. His enthusiasm for sports made up for any medical knowledge he lacked, and he'd managed to deflect every technical question with "Yeah, but you should see what this does to your knees!"

It was strangely freeing, this slipping into another life.

You hadn't actually needed to pretend to be med students — there were plenty of other students at the party too, from engineering to literature. But somehow, making up this stupid story was surprisingly enjoyable.

For once, you weren't thinking about law school, your parents' expectations, or your complicated feelings about certain doctors. Instead, you were just... playing, creating a fantasy world where you could be anyone you wanted to be.

And maybe that was the real breakthrough of all.

Later that night, you and Nobara made your way to the bar to get new drinks, still laughing about your successful deception. Naoya was already there, lounging against the bar with the kind of casual elegance that suggested he'd never had an awkward moment in his life.

His eyes lit up when he spotted you, that boyish smile spreading across his face. He straightened up, abandoning whatever conversation he'd been having with his friends.

"Ah, our brilliant researchers," he drawled, gesturing to the bartender. "Let me make you something special."

The way he said it made you wonder if he'd seen through your act, but his smile remained playful, almost conspiratorial. He leaned over the bar himself, selecting a few bottles. His movements were smooth, casual, like everything else about him.

"Oh, she doesn't drink," Nobara said, pulling you closer as she watched him mix the drinks. "Medical condition."

"Come on, one won't hurt," Naoya insisted, his smile never wavering. "This is a celebration." He slid two glasses towards you both, the liquid an impossible shade of blue that seemed to glow. "My own creation. Like your groundbreaking research, it's one of a kind."

Nobara reached for the drink, but you hesitated, knowing it was a bad idea to drink with your medication. But then you reached for it anyway. It seemed rude not to.

Naoya raised his own glass for a toast, but before either of you could react, a group of boisterous athletes in varsity jackets crashed into your circle

"Yo, Naoya! Stop flirting and get your ass over here!"

Naoya's casual composure cracked slightly as his friends practically manhandled him away and dragged him backwards. "Ladies, excuse me. Duty calls. Save that drink for me?"

Once he was gone, Nobara nudged you with her elbow. "Well, he was subtle."

"Please don't start."

"What? I'm just saying, the guy couldn't take his eyes off you."

You rolled your eyes. "He's literally your type. Rich, handsome, probably going to inherit a hospital or three. Why don't you go for it?"

"Because he wasn't looking at me?" Nobara raised an eyebrow. "Besides, since when do you turn down good-looking guys?"

"Since they started looking like they've never heard the word 'no' in their lives. I mean, look at this place. These people probably vacation in countries I can't even spell."

"Right, because that's totally the reason." Nobara's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing to do with a certain someone who you won't talk about?"

You groaned, dropping your head onto the bar. "Can we go back to pretending to be brilliant researchers? That was way more fun than this conversation."

"Don't be like that!" Nobara suddenly perked up, grabbing your arm. "Come on, let's go dance. Fresh air will do you good, and maybe clear whatever, or whoever, is on your mind."

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

You followed Nobara into the backyard, still carrying your untouched drink more for show than anything else. The night had transformed the perfect garden into something between a music festival and a medical conference gone wild.

Fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting everything in a dreamy glow, while the pool glowed an artificial blue that matched your drink. In the water, people splashed around, their pretense of sophistication long abandoned as music pulsed through the air.

Near an absurdly big fire pit, you spotted Megumi and Yuji sitting with a couple of female med students. Even from a distance, you could tell that Yuji was trying to impress them in his own unique way of doing—whatever it was he was doing there—while Megumi watched with his usual quiet amusement.

Then, the music shifted to something with a heavy beat, and before you could protest, Nobara grabbed your hands, pulling you both into a dance circle. Even Megumi got dragged in, though his version of dancing mostly involved standing there while the rest of you moved around him. His deadpan expression only made everything funnier.

You found yourself laughing, really laughing, as Yuji attempted to coordinate a group choreography that absolutely no one could follow. Nobara twirled you around, both of you giggling as you nearly crashed into Megumi, who caught you with an eye roll that couldn't quite hide his smile.

For a moment, everything else faded away. None of it mattered — not law school, not your internship, not any of it. You were just four friends being young and stupid together, pretending to be something you weren't and having more fun than you'd had in months.

Across the yard, you kept catching glimpses of Naoya, who remained stationed at the beer pong table, surrounded by his athletic friends. His smile would flash in your direction whenever your eyes met, and something about the attention felt... nice. Not him specifically. Maybe you just liked being seen. By someone. Anyone.

That's when someone burst through the backyard doors, nearly colliding with you. His shout cut through the music and chatter, "Professors incoming!"

The words rippled through the crowd like lightning. The party dissolved into instant chaos as someone killed the music, leaving only the telltale sound of glass bottles being hastily collected while future medical professionals scattered like startled teenagers.

Before you could process what was happening, someone crashed into you — literally crashed, sending your blue drink all over your shirt. The woman looked right through you, her eyes fixed on something behind your shoulders, face pale like she'd seen a ghost.

"I'm so so sorry," she managed.

"It's okay—" you started, but she was already moving past you, drawn to the front entrance like a magnet.

"What a bitch," Nobara said, eyeing your ruined shirt.

"At least I don't have to pretend to drink it anymore." You dabbed uselessly at your shirt, though you were oddly unfazed. After all, this wasn't the first time something like this had happened.

But Nobara wasn't listening anymore — her attention had shifted to the front entrance where a group of older, admittedly attractive men had just walked in. Your stomach dropped when you spotted him. No, them. Both of them.

Dr. Gojo and Dr. Geto, walking in like they owned the place. Which, you realized with growing horror, they kind of did — these were probably their students. And here you were, playing pretend medical researcher while your actual doctors just crashed the party.

But any panic about your blown cover vanished when you saw what happened next. The woman who'd run into you had frozen in place as Dr. Gojo spotted her. The look that passed between them was so intense, so heavy, that you felt like you were intruding just by witnessing it.

"What is that about?" Nobara whispered, gripping your arm as you both watched the scene unfold.

"I don't know." You couldn't tear your eyes away. Gojo had caught up to the woman now, and even from across the room, you could feel the tension between them as they exchanged what looked like a few terse words. Then, just as abruptly as it started, he strode off deeper into the house, leaving her standing there alone.

"Okay, that was weird," Nobara said, still clutching your arm.

You just nodded, feeling strangely unsettled. There was clearly a story there — several stories, probably — but you weren't sure you wanted to know any of them. Something about the whole interaction felt too private, like you'd stumbled onto a scene you weren't meant to witness.

Then Suguru moved towards the woman, the crowd parting before him. When he reached her, his hand came up to her face with a gentleness that felt like a knife between your ribs, thumb brushing against her cheek.

The pieces clicked together then with nauseating clarity. This was her. Dr. Gojo's girlfriend—student—or whatever she was. She was probably also the woman from the phone call at the art exhibition, the one whose voice had made Suguru drop everything.

Watching them, seeing how his fingers lingered on her skin, made something twist uncomfortably in your stomach.

It was ridiculous. You had no right to feel this way. He wasn't yours to want, wasn't yours to miss. Hell, he was barely more than your doctor, even if the memory of his hands on you in that bar bathroom still burned.

Then, as if pulled by the weight of your stare, his eyes met yours across the room. For one endless moment, the party dissolved into white noise. His hand dropped from the woman's face, and something unreadable flickered across his features before he tore his gaze away.

The moment shattered like glass, leaving you standing there with your stained shirt and a mess of feelings you didn't want to examine too closely. Nobara was saying something beside you, but her words seemed to come from very far away.

You couldn't look away as Suguru turned back to the woman, his posture now stiff and controlled. She kept glancing between him and Gojo with wounded eyes, and Suguru looked at her with such longing, and somehow that felt like a punch in the gut to witness.

"Hey," Nobara's voice cut through your spiral, her eyes falling to the stain on your shirt. "Want to try washing it out?"

You nodded.

─────── ౨ৎ ───────

Nobara steered you away from the scene, her grip on your arm somewhere between protective and worried. You let her guide you through the crowd, grateful for the excuse to escape. Behind you, you could still feel the weight of everything you'd witnessed pressing against your spine.

The bathroom was one of those stupidly luxurious ones rich people have in their houses. All marble counters and fancy hand towels. The lights were almost too bright, making you squint at your reflection in the stupidly large mirror.

"Okay, take it off," Nobara commanded, already wetting paper towels. "We'll see if we can save this thing."

You pulled your shirt over your head with shaky fingers, trying not to think about the last time you'd taken off clothing in a bathroom. Trying harder not to think about whose hands had helped you then.

"So," Nobara said, her tone deliberately casual as she worked on your shirt at the sink. "Want to talk about whatever that was back there?"

"What what was?"

She shot you a look that could have stripped paint. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the way you were looking at that guy from before like he'd personally betrayed you by touching another woman?"

"I wasn't—" you started, then stopped, because what could you say? That you weren't jealous? That seeing him with her hadn't felt like swallowing broken glass? "It's complicated."

"When isn't it?" Nobara said, scrubbing at the stain. "But seriously, what's going on?"

You sit up on the counter, wrapping your arms around yourself in your camisole, the marble cold against your skin. "Nothing's going on. He's my doctor, sort of. We went to an art exhibition. That's all."

Nobara's hands stilled on your shirt. "You went on a date with your doctor?"

"It wasn't a date," you protested weakly. "It was... I don't know what it was."

"Girl," she said, turning to face you fully. "Normal doctors don't take their patients to art shows. Or look at them the way he just looked at you out there."

"How did he look at me?"

"Like someone who's realizing he's in way over his head." She wrung out your shirt, frowning at the stubborn stain. "Which, by the way, seems to be a mutual problem."

You groaned, letting your head thunk against the wall behind you. "This is such a mess. I don't even know why I'm here. I hate parties. I hate med students. I hate—" You cut yourself off, because finishing that sentence with 'seeing him look at her like that' felt too honest.

"Could be worse," Nobara said, attacking your shirt with the fancy hand dryer mounted on the wall. "You could be the one out there in whatever that drama is." She paused, eyeing you. "Though maybe you already are."

"Can we just focus on the shirt?"

Between the two of you, you managed to get the shirt mostly dry, though the stain had settled into a weird bluish shadow. Better than nothing, you supposed.

"I need to fix my face," Nobara announced, pulling out what looked like an entire Sephora store from her tiny purse. "Want me to do yours too?"

"God, no." You shrugged your shirt back on. "I think I'll head downstairs, get some air or something. Meet you there?"

"Don't do anything stupid without me!" she called after you, already leaning close to the mirror.

You slipped out of the bathroom, heading downstairs the music growing louder with each step. The party had somehow gotten even more chaotic, if that was possible. You weaved through the crowd, trying to find Megumi or Yuji.

And then it happened.

You turned a corner and collided face-first into what felt like a brick wall. A brick wall that smelled like sandalwood cologne and cigarette smoke. Strong hands steadied you before you could stumble backward.

You knew those hands. Knew exactly how they felt against your skin, knew the calluses on those fingers, knew—

"Careful," Suguru's voice rumbled above you, too close and not close enough.

You looked up, immediately wishing you hadn't. But before you could even process the proximity, he tilted your chin up with his fingers — the same hands that had anothers woman's face in them just minutes ago — studying your eyes with sudden clinical intensity.

"You shouldn't be here," he said. "The lights, the noise—"

"What happened to 'hello'?" you interrupted, somewhere between amused and exasperated.

He blinked, his doctor act faltering. Something shifted in his expression, softening around the edges as his hand dropped from your chin but stayed resting lightly against your neck. "Hello," he said, the word carrying a warmth that made your chest tight.

"Hi," you managed, your voice embarrassingly breathy. He still had one hand on your arm. His thumb brushed against your bicep in what might have been an accident but felt like fire through your shirt.

"Are you leaving?"

"No, I just needed some air." You swallowed hard, too aware of how warm his fingers are against your skin. You should step back. Should put some distance between you and the intoxicating heat of him. Should definitely stop staring at his mouth.

"I didn't know you'd be here," you said, which was both true and completely beside the point.

"Neither did I." His eyes dropped to your shirt, narrowing slightly. "What happened?"

"Oh, just someone's drink. A friend of mine helped me clean it." You gestured vaguely upward, toward the bathroom. "Story of my life, really. Can't go anywhere without wearing half of it home."

"First sports bars, now this." A hint of the warmth you remembered crept into his voice. "At this rate, you'll need to start bringing spare clothes everywhere—"

"I haven't forgotten about your shirt!" you said quickly. "I have it washed at home, I just... with everything going on, I kept forgetting to bring it to your office."

"Keep it." His voice dropped lower. "It looked better on you anyway."

Heat rushed to your cheeks at the compliment, and you found yourself stumbling over your words. "I... that's not... I mean—" You stopped, painfully aware of how flustered you sounded.

His words stirred up memories you'd been trying to ignore. Skin against skin, the taste of beer on his lips, the way his fingers had felt inside you. From the way his jaw clenched, like he was physically biting back words, you knew he was remembering too.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked then. "With your medication—"

"No," you cut him off. "I'm being good, Dr. Geto. Just water and my endless talent for attracting stains."

The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. "Good," he said, softer now. "That's... good." But he didn't let go, and you found yourself swaying slightly closer, drawn in by his warmth, by the lingering scent of cigarettes and that cologne that had haunted you since that bathroom.

You stayed suspended like that, neither of you speaking. Not about the woman from before. Not about that night at the bar. Not about how his thumbs were still tracing absent patterns on your skin like he couldn't quite help himself.

His breath ghosted across your face. This close, you could make out every detail — the faint shadow of stubble along his jawline, the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. It would be so easy to just lean in, to close that last bit of distance and—

A burst of laughter from somewhere else shattered the moment. His hands dropped from your arms, leaving cold spots where his warmth had been. He took a step back, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed more nervous than purposeful.

"I should check on—" he started.

"Yeah, of course," you said quickly, wrapping your arms around yourself to fight the urge to reach for him. "Go. I'm just going to..." you gestured vaguely toward nothing in particular.

"Be careful getting home," he said after a pause.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. You watched him disappear into the crowd, and only then did you let out the breath you'd been holding, sagging against the wall.

"So I was thinking—" Nobara's voice floated down the stairs, and you immediately lunged for her, catching her wrist before she could finish whatever mortifying observation was about to leave her mouth.

"Don't," you said, already trying to drag her toward the nearest exit. "Not a word. Not one single word."

"But I just saw—"

"Nope." You tightened your grip on her wrist. "We're not doing this. We're going to find Megumi and get out of here before—"

"Guys!" Yuji's voice cut through the crowd, and suddenly he was there. "Holy shit, you have to come to the backyard right now."

"Yuji, I swear to god if this is about another keg stand—" Nobara started.

"No, no, this is way better," he insisted, already herding you both toward the back door. "Just trust me." Yuji was already pushing through the crowd, leaving you and Nobara no choice but to follow. You stumbled after him, trying to ignore how your skin still tingled from Suguru's touch.

Meanwhile, the backyard had transformed into some kind of arena. As you pushed through the throng of drunk students, you saw why.

She was there — the woman who'd collided with you earlier, the one Suguru had touched with such tenderness. But she was different now, her earlier vulnerability replaced by something sharp as she lined up a shot at the beer pong table. And beside her, of all people, stood Megumi, looking simultaneously out of place and utterly captivated.

Across the table, Gojo made a show of rolling up his sleeves and crossing his arms over his chest. Next to him stood Naoya, practically radiating the kind of entitled confidence that came with old money and too much validation, you thought.

You squeezed through the crowd to get closer to Megumi, catching her mid-sentence as she spoke to him.

"—and honestly, the way you approached the protein degradation problem?" She gestured with her free hand while perfectly arcing a shot across the table. "Brilliant. Though I had questions about the temperature controls in the third trial—"

The ball landed with a soft 'plop' in Gojo's cup. She hadn't even looked.

"Wait," Megumi cut in, actually leaning forward. "You read my paper? The one about molecular preservation in organic compounds?"

"Read it? I've referenced it in my assignment." She lined up another shot. "Your approach could change how we handle long-term storage of biological materials. Though I did wonder about the crystallization patterns in the control group—"

You watched as Megumi's face did something you'd rarely seen. Because Megumi? Megumi was gone. Hook, line, and sinker. All it had taken was one beautiful woman who could discuss molecular restructuring while landing perfect beer pong shots.

You nudged him with your elbow. "Wrong place, wrong time?" you whispered, but he barely registered your existence.

His turn came, and oh god, it was painful to watch. The ball went wide, not even close to the cups. You had to suppress a laugh because you'd never seen Megumi look so unbothered by failing at something.

The woman spun back to him, completely ignoring Gojo's turn. "So what got you thinking about temperature-dependent structural integrity in the first place?" She aimed for another shot. "Because I have some ideas about stabilization methods that might—" Another perfect arc, another splash. "—actually complement what you're working on."

You watched your best friend — your brilliant, antisocial best friend who'd once spent forty minutes explaining why drinking games were "a fundamental degradation of human intelligence" — now hanging on every word from this woman.

And he was smiling. Megumi, the guy who'd rather solve complex equations than make small talk was actually smiling at her talking about molecular bonds between beer pong shots.

"You didn't get dragged into this at all, did you?" you said to him.

"Shut up," he muttered, but his ears were pink and his eyes never left her as she lined up another shot.

"Oh god," Nobara whispered beside you. "I think Megumi's in love."

Then you let your eyes wander, and through the crowd you saw him. Suguru stood between the two teams, hands in his pockets, looking like every ethical violation happening before him was physically paining him. His jaw was set, shoulders tense, desperately trying very hard to pretend none of this was happening.

You had to bite your lip to hold back a smile at how adorably stressed he looked, like a substitute teacher whose class had spiraled completely out of control, and somehow, as if sensing your amusement, his eyes found yours across the sea of people.

Your chest did that stupid flutter thing again, the one you really needed to stop happening every time he looked at you like that.

He shook his head slightly, a silent 'can you believe this?' that made the chaos around you fade for just a moment — the shouting crowd, Megumi's awkward academic flirting — all of it dimmed compared to the way Suguru was looking at you.

But then Megumi actually landed a shot, and the crowd erupted. When you looked back, Suguru had turned away, deep in conversation with another professor next to him. You tried to ignore those weird feelings in your stomach, especially when the woman he was clearly in love with stood just feet away. What right did you have to feel this way? To want his attention when she was right there? It was selfish. It really was.

You turned back to the game just as Megumi launched into another scientific discussion. "—if we adjust the temperature coefficient during the initial—" A ping pong ball sailed between them, deliberately catching Megumi's shoulder.

Gojo stood there, all fake innocence. "Are we really doing molecular whatever at a party? Really?"

Across the crowd, you watched Suguru pinch the bridge of his nose, looking like he was questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. But then Naoya brought out the tequila and challenged them to drink more, and the playful atmosphere curdled into something else entirely. Something heavier.

More shots appeared. The laughter got louder, sharper, meaner.

Nobara pressed closer to your side. "This is about to go sideways."

The woman matched them drink for drink, but while others started swaying, her aim stayed deadly precise. It was almost unnerving — you wondered how any of them were still standing, let alone hitting targets.

Then it happened. When she sank another perfect shot into Gojo's cup and he drained it like water, something shifted in the air. She put one leg up on the edge of a beer crate, hiking up her skirt. The crowd went completely silent as she sprinkled cinnamon on her thigh, just above where her stockings ended.

The air felt suddenly thick, charged with something uncomfortable. Gojo stalked around the table toward her, and you wanted to look away but couldn't. It felt wrong to watch, invasive, like walking in on something raw and private that was never meant for an audience.

When Gojo dropped to his knees before her, you finally managed to tear your eyes away — only to catch Suguru's expression. God, you wished you hadn't. The raw hurt that flashed across his face felt like a punch to your gut. He turned away, disappearing into the dark garden beyond the fairy lights.

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, but all you could hear was static. Your skin felt too tight, your chest too hollow. The party pressed in from all sides, suffocating, while that image of Suguru's face played on loop in your head.

Next to you, Megumi had become intensely fascinated with his shoelaces, while Nobara looked like she'd witnessed a car crash in slow motion. Something had shifted, tilted off its axis. What had started as fun had twisted into something else entirely.

You needed air, space, anything to escape the sudden wrongness of it all. You murmured something about needing air to your friends and slipped away from the crowd, following the path Suguru had taken into the garden.

You found him in a shadowed corner, far from the main paths. His cigarette glowed like a firefly in the dark, smoke trailing upward as he exhaled toward the sky.

He must have heard you approach, but he didn't move. You stepped closer, careful to make your presence known, giving him every chance to tell you to leave. When he stayed silent, you settled beside him.

"You okay?" The words came out barely louder than a breath.

"I'm fine." His voice was rough, like the smoke had scraped it raw.

"Okay." You tipped your head back, studying the stars. They were clearer here, away from the party's glow. "Well, I'm just going to stand here and count stars for a bit."

"You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" You kept your eyes fixed upward, letting him have his privacy. "I'm just stargazing. You happened to find the best spot."

Silence fell. More smoke spiraled skyward. You stayed quiet, true to your word, as if watching stars was all you'd come out here to do. As if you hadn't followed him because seeing him hurt made something in your chest ache.

Just two people, looking up at the same sky, sharing the same quiet corner of a chaotic night. If he needed to pretend that's all it was, you could give him that.

"You know," you said, gazing up at the hazy Tokyo sky. "Van Gogh painted 'Starry Night' from an asylum window. Could only see Venus from his room, had to imagine the rest. Afterwards he wrote those frantic letters to his brother complaining that he made Venus way too big in the painting, he could never quite let go of that."

Suguru looked over at you. "Is that so?"

"Mhmm. Also, did you know that he used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would make him happy from the inside out?"

You caught the slight twitch of his lips in the darkness. "You're making that up."

"I swear I'm not! He also tried to drink turpentine once. His doctor had to physically stop him." You were fully animated now, warming to the subject. "Though considering this is the same guy who gave his severed ear to a prostitute as a Christmas gift, the paint-eating thing seems almost reasonable."

"Please tell me that's a joke."

"Oh no, for real! But there are even weirder stories about artists. Like there's this issue about whether Vermeer used some kind of prehistoric camera. Like talent wasn't enough of an explanation for his paintings." You rolled your eyes. "My personal favorite theory is that Vermeer was actually a fraud and his daughter did all the paintings. Oh, and don't get me started about the conspiracy that Salvador Dalí's mustache was actually fake."

"Now I know you're making this up."

"I swear I'm not! Art history is wild!"

Finally, a real laugh escaped him — just a quiet thing, but real, the sound startling in the quiet garden. You watched his shoulders finally relax, the tension leaving his face.

"Ah, there it is," you said quietly.

"There's what?"

"That smile. Been wondering if you'd lost it completely."

He shook his head, but the smile lingered. "You're something else, you know that?"

Your eyes drifted to the cigarette dangling from his fingers. "Those things will kill you, you know," you said. "I hear there's this really demanding profession called 'doctor' that keeps warning people about that."

"Is that so?" he mused. "Must have missed that particular lecture."

You studied him for a moment before saying, "Want to talk about it?"

He blew out a stream of smoke, watching it disappear into the darkness. "It's nothing."

"Right. Because all the cool doctors hang out alone in gardens, smoking and looking sad."

That got you another smile, smaller this time. "Careful, Attorney. Your sarcasm is showing."

"Better than your deflection."

Silence fell between you again. Music from the party drifted through the garden, muffled and dreamlike. You waited, letting him choose whether to fill the quiet or let it be.

Finally, he spoke, his voice rough. "It's just—" He crushed out his cigarette beneath his shoe, watching the ember die. "Watching them hurt each other, then somehow find their way back together. Over and over. Like they can't help themselves." His fingers twitched toward his pocket, probably for another cigarette, but he stopped himself.

He raked a hand through his hair, leaving it messier than before. "And I can't... I can't fix it. Any of it. I'm just standing there, watching it all fall apart."

You shifted closer until your shoulder brushed his, offering what comfort you could. "Maybe it's not yours to fix."

He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's the problem, isn't it? I've spent so long trying to fix things for him, for them both. And now—"

"Now you're caught between them," you said softly, "still trying to fix things while being left out."

"Something like that." He turned to look at you then, really look at you. "When did you get so wise about all this?"

You shrugged. "Oh, you know, all those stupid law books."

He huffed out a sound that might have been almost a laugh, then grew serious again. "They deserve better than this," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Both of them."

"So do you."

The words hung between you, weightier than intended. When he turned to look at you again, something in his expression made your heart stutter. The fairy lights caught in his eyes, turning them to liquid gold at the edges.

"Here," he murmured, voice dropping to that deep tone that seemed to vibrate through your chest. "You've got..." His hand moved toward your face, hovering for a heartbeat before his thumb brushed your cheek with impossible gentleness. "Eyelash."

You forgot how to breathe. "Gone?"

"Almost." He leaned closer, thumb tracing another whispered path across your cheekbone. "There."

But neither of you moved away. His gaze dropped to where his thumb had just been, lingering there as a shiver ran through you — from the night air or his proximity, you couldn't tell. Goosebumps raised along your arms, and his eyes caught it.

His fingers drifted down your arm, barely touching, following the trail of raised skin. That ghost of contact only made you shiver harder. You heard his sharp intake of breath, felt it in the charged space between you, and inhaled that faint cigarette smoke that still lingered on his lips.

"You taste like smoke," you whispered, immediately wanting to take the words back. Smell, not taste — as if you already knew.

"Sorry," he murmured, but instead of pulling away, he swayed closer, like you were both being pulled together by gravity itself. His free hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that made you dizzy.

"Don't be."

The moment hung suspended, everything beyond your small circle of garden fading to watercolor blurs. There was just his hands on your skin, the barely-there space between you, and then — his lips found yours.

He kissed you achingly gentle at first, as if afraid you might shatter. He tasted like smoke and wine and something underneath that was purely him. For a heartbeat, the world condensed to just this — the soft press of his mouth, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin, the night wrapping around you like silk.

But even as you melted into him, you could feel it — the shadow of her lingering between you, all his unspoken love for her. It was there in the slight trembling of his hands, the bitter edge beneath the sweetness of his kiss, the way he touched you like he was trying to convince himself of something.

Then his fingers slid into your hair, and rational thought scattered. This wasn't like that desperate night at the bar. This was slower, deeper, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sigh, every shiver, learning exactly how you wanted to be kissed.

You knew you should stop this. He was carrying a torch that burned too bright to ignore, loving someone who wasn't you. But his hands felt so right against your skin, his mouth moving against yours with a tenderness that made thinking impossible.

Instead of pulling away, you drew him closer, fingers curling into his jacket. He made a sound low in his throat, surprise or surrender, you weren't sure. Didn't want to know.

The kiss deepened, turned hungry. Your back hit something solid, a wall maybe, you didn't care enough to check. His hands cradled your face now, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kissed you like he was trying to forget something, or someone.

Then suddenly he was gone, backing away so quickly you nearly stumbled. His breathing came ragged, matching your own. In the dim light, you could see the conflict written across his face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have—"

You knew this was wrong. Everything about it screamed mistake — he was older, more experienced and he was your doctor, technically, and let's not forget he's clearly in love with someone else. Tomorrow, in the harsh light of day, you'd probably both regret this.

But right now? Right now you wanted to be selfish. Wanted to pretend, just for tonight, that his hands on your skin meant something more than escape. That when he looked at you with those dark eyes, he was seeing you and not her shadow.

And was it really that wrong to be selfish, just this once? To take something you wanted without overthinking every consequence? Everyone else seemed to do whatever they pleased, why shouldn't you?

You closed the distance between you, hands finding his jacket collar once more. "Don't think," you whispered, pulling him down to meet you. "Just... don't think."

For once in your life, you decided to take something you wanted, consequences be damned. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

He resisted for half a heartbeat, then surrendered with a groan that made your knees weak. This time when he kissed you, there was nothing gentle about it. He walked you backward until stone met your back again, one hand bracing against the wall beside your head.

Your fingers wound into his hair as he pressed closer, until you could feel every line of him against you. The solid weight of him made the world spin. When he lifted you, it felt natural to wrap your legs around his waist, letting him pin you more firmly against the wall.

His hand slid under your thigh, grip steady and sure. Every point of contact between you felt electric, dangerous, wrong — and yet too good to stop.

But god, the way he touched you made it impossible to think straight. Every rational argument dissolved under the heat of his hands, the pressure of his body against yours. You were playing with fire and you knew it. But maybe you wanted to burn.

When you broke apart for air, his eyes were dark enough to drown in. For a moment, you both stayed frozen like that, breathing hard, balanced on the knife's edge of something stupid.

"We shouldn't," he said, but his fingers only tightened their grip.

You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Maybe we should find somewhere more private," you breathed, feeling the shudder that ran through him. "Like a bedroom."

His grip on your thigh tightened. He pressed his forehead to the wall beside your head, harsh breaths hot against your neck. The hand by your head curled into a fist against the stone.

"My place isn't far," he said roughly. When he met your eyes again, there was something vulnerable in his gaze. "But are you sure about this?"

Instead of answering, you traced slow kisses along his jaw, feeling the scratch of stubble against your lips. The sound that escaped him was almost pained.

"I meant here."

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note — thank you all for your continued patience and support with this slow update story :')) i've added a "previously" section at the beginning to help you keep track of the narrative, maybe? idk, i'd love to hear if you find this helpful.

sooo this chapter dove deeper into the growing complications between our characters as their lives start to tangle together. i had so much fun writing the crossover between the remedies and reasons and symptoms and causes storylines, even though handling two timelines of the same events nearly broke my brain.

also thank u to that one anon who reminded me that r&r reader still has suguru's shirt (would have totally forgotten about it).

& quick note about the alcohol consumption in this story: while it's serve the narrative of the story, please remember that alcohol is toxic to the body and brain, with no "safe" amount. please be mindful of your health and wellbeing.

and lastly, thank you so so much for reading. all your messages, comments, and reblogs mean the world to me, like really, seeing your theories and those long analysis messages absolutely makes my day !! i read every single one even if i don't always get to reply. thank you for supporting this story and being patient with my updates <3

ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here !

tags — @sugurora @manhattanstrawberry @rosso-seta @shoruio @paolarox01

@depressedemosantaclaus @myahfig4 @starlightanyaaa @theelegantpotato @panteramarron

@saurondriell @starmapz

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nobodyinfart · 7 months ago

Text

Is your love as unrequited as you think? Or does the team hide more than you think?

Maybe you’re just a lower rank soldier or just lack the confidence,, but you don’t believe that a love with the main characters of the task force would be possible, even in your daydreams as a hopeless romantic.

Johnny’s achievements are nothing to be humble about, being the youngest candidate to pass the selections process and being deemed a demolitions expert are ever praiseworthy. His cheeky demeanour makes even the quietest soldiers crack a smile, and lights up the base unlike any other. Maybe that’s why you code him as Sunshine in your journals,, scrawling affirmations of adoration between the margins. Coded lines of love decorated your many notebooks, all sealed within the depths of your cabinet to never see the light of day. Of course, you’d know it’s too selfish of you to ever confess, since there is no possible chance. Maybe you would change your mind if you ever caught a glance of how Soap casts his first look at you to see if you laughed at one of his corny jokes. Definitely making notes on what kind of jokes make you smile the brightest, obviously.

Although understated, Gaz is obviously brawns and beauty. Like, was it really necessary for him to have the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen? You can barely focus, line of sight often slipping down to his lips before moving them back up just to feign ignorance. You saw him as an aspiration at first, viewing his top place on the SAS selection rankings to be a goal to achieve. It wasn’t long for that awe to morph into something more affectionate. Dangerous territory, too dangerous that you decide to bury yourself in your training. Trying to snap yourself out of that lovesick daze, you push yourself to your own limits in the process. Using that pain to distract yourself, you definitely don’t notice Gaz’s worried gaze when you head towards the training grounds once again, his concern evident when he realises your hands are still bruised from the previous day. He’ll have to sneak some ointment into your gym bag again, somehow.

Ghost, who doesn’t know him? The stoic Lieutenant in the task force, prime of his trade in ambush and stealth. It’s tough to even get familiar with him, let alone be in a relationship with the lieutenant. Respecting his quiet demeanour, you have always kept your distance as a form of respect; never pushing more than what you know he can handle. A secret is that you always keep his tea bags in stock, replenishing when stocks go low. Simon hides a secret of his own; sometimes gripping the standard military knife you normally practise with to gauge your hand size,, just for an accurate daydream of how your hands would fit in his own. Would your fingers lace with his just as well as he imagines? Don’t tell anyone, but Simon has been staring at you long enough for Soap to notice, who knew Ghost could be so distracted?

Honestly, Price is the one you have to be the most cautious about. Out of everyone in the force, he is the most observant thanks to his expertise in the military field. Rugged and charming, it is not hard at all for Price to get your attention. His gravely chuckle lights a fire in your stomach, you desperately wishing to be the cause of it someday. Yet, a love between a Captain and his subordinate remains unfeasible on all sorts of levels, especially one as devoted to his job as John Price. Even if your love is impossible, you always try to make his life easier; doing paperwork with both speed and detail. Often, his heart softens when he sees a light peeking from under the door of your office, hoping for an opportunity to get to know the angel who files their reports perfectly. No matter how much he shouldn’t, he sincerely hopes to find a chance to make himself a stable placement in your life soon enough.

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #cod gaz #gaz mw2 #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #nobody’s works

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queen-of-the-avengers · 1 year ago

Text

Not Allowed

Pairing: Cop!Bucky Barnes x Receptionist!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: bad date angst, jealous bucky

Summary: You and Bucky always flirt with each other while at work but it never goes anywhere like you'd hope. You accept a date with another man, causing Bucky to be jealous. He's a cop who is jealous. Nothing will go wrong, right?

Squares Filled: kink: pet names (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

You walk through the double doors with a smile on your face because today is another day. You’re alive and that’s the best kind of day. You work for the local police department as their receptionist. You’re the first thing people see when they come in so you have to be on your best behavior.

You set your things down on your desk and quickly get settled in. Besides the Captain, you’re the first one in the building. Every officer that comes in, you greet them with a smile as you log into your computer.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Officer Wilson says when he comes in. He always calls you that since he's often told you how he thinks of you like a little sister. “How was your weekend?”

“Too short,” you chuckle. “Did Sarah get into that college?”

“Yeah, she got the acceptance letter yesterday.”

“Oh, I’m so happy for her!” you grin.

“Yeah, I’ll tell her to give you a call.”

Sam taps your desk twice and leaves to go to his own. A few more officers come in until the one you’ve been waiting for walks in confidently. Your heart starts to race because you have a huge crush on him. He kind of knows it but doesn't outright call you out on it.

“There she is,” Bucky smiles and leans on your desk.

“Officer Barnes, it’s good to see you.”

“Doll, you know you can call me Bucky.”

He knows exactly what those pet names do to you. After a night of drinking together, you let it slip that your kink is pet names, and doll happened to be your favorite. Like him, you won’t call him out on it.

“I know. How was your weekend?”

“Better if you were there with me,” he flirts.

“Oh, Bucky,” you chuckle nervously. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I do. I was wishing, ‘Man, don’t I wish Y/N was here with me? I guess I have to drink alone’.”

“You know what alcohol does to me.”

“Yeah, I do,” he smirks. “You look cute today. That dress compliments you.”

“A compliment. I might swoon,” you joke even though your cheeks are hot.

“As long as it’s in my arms, I don’t care.”

“Don’t you have a job to get to, Officer Barnes?”

“Yeah, but I’d rather stay here and talk to you.”

“You might get fired.”

“It’s worth it,” he winks. “Here’s your coffee.”

He sets your favorite coffee order next to your keyboard and walks away. That’s the extent of your relationship with Bucky. You two flirt constantly but nothing ever comes of it. It’s comfortable. Why leave something when you’re comfortable being there? Do you wish you were something more? Of course. Do you think he’s going to man up and take it to that next level? Not unless something threatening happened like him realizing if he doesn’t do it soon, he’d lose you.

Some of what your work includes is printing off documents for the other officers, inputting things into evidence before they get shipped off there, and sorting through the files regarding the people they have locked up in the holding cells or interrogation rooms. You already have a list of things to print out and file, but you look for Bucky’s name first.

After printing off what he needs, you get up and personally hand this to him. There is a mailbox for the officers that you’re supposed to put in, but you like visiting his desk. He has a picture of you and him printed out and placed next to his computer that you look at every time you visit.

“Here are the papers you asked for,” you smile.

“Thanks, doll,” he grins and grabs them from you, intentionally brushing his fingers against yours.

You go back to your desk to finish your work, and you come across two people who need stuff put into evidence. One of them sent it over a couple of hours ago, and the other one is from Bucky. You immediately click on his name to get what he needs first before looking at the other one.

“Now that is bullshit,” you hear from behind you.

You jump and turn to see Sam standing there with a half-smile on his face.

“What are you doing? You scared me!”

“I sent you evidence hours ago and Bucky sent you it just now, and he’s the one you pick first?”

“I--”

You don’t have any words for that.

“When are you two gonna fuck?”

“Sam Wilson!” you gasp.

“What? It’s a valid question. I should ask him that.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I’m rooting for you two no matter how painful the slow burn is,” he chuckles and walks away.

It takes half an hour to get the idea of you and Bucky fucking for you to do your job right. Once you’re in the groove of things, the door opens and an attractive man walks in.

“Can I help you?” you ask with a smile.

“Yeah, I’m here for my brother. He’s in lock up.”

“Okay, what’s his name and date of birth?”

“James Farley. 04/05/1986.”

“Your name?”

“Brandon Farley.”

“Okay, I see your brother here. It looks like--”

“I’m sorry, but I have to tell you how beautiful you are.”

“Oh, thank you,” you blush.

“Are you seeing anyone?”

“No, but--”

“Great. Can I take you out?”

“You can see how this is inappropriate, right?”

“Yeah, but you like it,” he grins. “So, can I take you out?”

There’s a certain charm about him that you find endearing maybe because he reminds you of Bucky. Being put on the spot like that is enough to make you freeze up, so you say the one thing that won’t cause conflict.

“Yes.”

“Here’s my number.”

He grabs your hand and writes his number on it so that it won’t come off with one scrub.

“I have sticky notes!”

“This is better. Now you won’t lose it.”

“Go take a seat. Someone will be with you shortly to bring you to your brother.”

“Thanks,” he winks and walks to the waiting room.

You’re about to get up and wash off the number when you notice Bucky standing in the doorway that leads into the precinct.

“Did I hear that right?”

“What?”

“You have a date?”

“Yeah, he asked me out,” you stutter. Bucky looks pissed as if you just told him you killed someone. “Why do you look angry?”

“Nothing. No reason.”

Bucky walks off angrily leaving you confused. He avoids you like the plague for the rest of the day. He isn’t at his desk when you drop off paperwork, and he’s not there to walk you to your car when you get off. He’s supposed to get off an hour before you do, but he stays after not on the clock to make sure you get to your car safely.

This time, he didn’t.

The next day, Bucky is already at work when you arrive. There is no coffee on your desk, either, and you’re feeling guilty for accepting a date with someone else. Is that why he’s acting this way? Sam walks in drinking an energy drink when you stop him.

“Hey, what’s going on with Bucky?”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, what did I do?”

“You accepted a date from someone else.”

You knew it. Why is he bigging out?

“So?”

“Have you not been here for the past two years? You two flirt like crazy.”

“No, he’s just being friendly.”

“You won’t get it until you do,” Sam shakes his head and walks off.

The date with Brandon comes sooner than you hoped. He picks you up in a fancy car and takes you to a fancy restaurant that you could never afford. He smooth-talks the hostess to get him a table by the window so he can have a view while he eats. The waitress brings by a drinks menu but he already orders what you two are going to drink.

“Trust me, you’re going to love this,” he winks at you.

“Okay,” you say and fiddle with your fingers underneath the table. “You know what I do for work. What do you do for work?”

You shouldn’t have asked him that.

“I work in the telecommunications sector. You know that big building in the city? That’s mine. It’s funny. I got all my parents’ money when they died and instead of using that money for myself, I decided to invest in a small company that turned out to give me millions.” You open your mouth to speak but he continues talking. “Can you imagine that? This small company that wasn’t going to go anywhere if it weren't for me. I’m like their hero. They eventually sold their part to me, and I’ve been thriving ever since.”

Once he got to talking about his job, he hasn’t shut up about it since. He’s very arrogant and rude but that doesn’t seem to stop him. As soon as the drinks come, you greedily take yours and down it without caring what it is.

“Whoa, doll, calm down. I don’t need to haul you to the car at the end of the night. You should pace yourself.”

No one can call me that but Bucky. Oh, Bucky. You shouldn’t have said yes to this man. He only asked you out to hear himself talk. You want this date to end so you pretend to be interested in what he has to say. Even when the date is over and he’s driving you home, he won’t shut up. His voice mixed with alcohol is starting to make your head throb.

About halfway to your house, you see red and blue lights behind you.

This better not be him, you think to yourself. Brandon pulls the car over obediently and waits for the officer to approach him. You look through the mirror to see the outline of the officer and recognize it immediately. He better not. I swear to God… Instead of walking to the driver’s side door, Bucky walks over to your door and leans down so only you can see him.

“Step out of the vehicle, please.”

“No.”

Bucky takes a deep breath to calm himself down. He leans in so close that you can smell his delicious cologne. That makes your head spin.

“I’ll repeat myself. Step out of the car.”

“Or what? You’re gonna drag me out?”

“Don’t tempt me, doll,” he says so only you can hear it.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Brandon asks.

“Yes. You have a busted taillight.”

“Fuck! You’ve got to be joking, sir.”

“No, sir, I’m not.”

“Shit. Officer, I can promise you I keep this car in the utmost pristine condition.”

“Not today, buddy. That’s a ticket.”

Bucky takes out his pad and writes Brandon a hefty ticket for a broken taillight you’re not sure is even broken.

“Fuck!” Brandon turns to you without guilt on his face. “Look, do you mind if I drop you off right here? Your house is only down the road. You can get there from here, right?”

Your mouth drops open in shock.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take her home,” Bucky offers.

“Thank you. I’ll call you.”

You don’t say anything as you get out of the car. Bucky walks you to the passenger side of his cruiser. You look at the taillights of Brandon’s car and notice they’re both working properly.

“What the fuck, Bucky?” you yell when he gets in the driver’s seat. “His taillights are broken! You can’t just do that. That’s illegal!”

“He’ll fight against it, and I’ll drop the charges,” he shrugs.

“You’re un-fucking-believable. We were actually having a good time,” you lie.

“No, you weren't,” he laughs.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s written all over your face. Your eyes don’t have the usual light.” Bucky pulls onto the road and heads in the direction of your house. “I don’t know why you would accept the date in the first place.”

“Because at least he had the fucking balls to ask me.”

That puts the entire car ride into a tense silence. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the ride home. He pulls up to your place but instead of letting you get out first, he gets out and walks over to your side of the car. He opens the door but doesn't let you leave the car. He leans into the car, grabs your chin, and kisses you. You’re shocked but you won’t pull away from him. Both your lips move in harmony against one another, and he slides his tongue into your mouth to show you he means business.

“You’re not allowed to see other men.”

“Why not?” you ask, breathlessly.

“Because you’re mine now and I’m not gonna let you go.” This brings a smile to your face. He lets you get out, and when you pass by him, he taps your ass lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Doll.”

Yes, you will.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fic #mcu #marvel fluff #mcu fanfiction #marvel fiction

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haechanniessgirl · 8 months ago

Text

memory lane ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- {l.h}

summary: when irritated, Haechan may put your feelings aside without intentionally doing so, his actions repeatedly leave you feeling neglected and unimportant, and as time passes, you find yourself growing weary of his attitude. Your patience wears thin, and you reach a breaking point.

pairing ✧˚ · . haechan x gn!reader ft jaemin ( no love triangle soz )

genre ! established relationship, fluff and a bit of angst (comfort!), arguments ( haechan was kinda mean at the beginning) haechan and reader getting sad D: ( also slow burn ) word count: 4617

AUTHORS NOTE:: I finally caved and decided to start writing! please let me know if my first work is okay,, please dont mind the spelling problems if there are ( i've pulled an all nighter ) :/

Amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule, Haechan had surprised you on your anniversary with a heartfelt gesture.

On his rare rest day, he had whisked you away on a romantic outing, the memory still fresh in your mind. The day had been filled with laughter and tender moments, a welcome respite from the relentless pace of life.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, Haechan had presented you with a small velvet box. His warm smile filing you up with tremendous warmth, a warmth you wish to never disappear. With trembling hands, you had opened it to reveal a delicate promise ring, its shimmering surface reflecting the love and commitment he felt for you.

"chan..." Tears welled up in your eyes as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, the weight of his promise settling like a comforting embrace around your heart. In that moment, amidst the hustle and bustle of the world around you, all that mattered was the love you shared and the promise of a future together.

The memory of that day served as a beacon of hope, a reminder of the deep bond that connected you despite the challenges you faced.

And as you stood before Haechan now, baring your soul and laying your heart on the line, that promise ring served as a symbol of the love and devotion that would guide you through the storms ahead.

That was 2 months ago.

But in this moment in time, you stared into that beacon of hope, that promise ring he gifted to you, promising to be by your side through thick and thin, now realizing its meaning is slowly fading as your relationship that you held onto so dearly for years, is slowly breaking apart.

The clock read 2am, you've been sat in front of the TV, huddled up in a plethora of blankets, to help relieve the weight thats been heavy in your heart. You're tired, so tired, but you're waiting on him. The day passed slowly, and only then you're met with buzzing sounds coming from your front door. In a hurry, you scrambled to your feet, excitement mixed with an uneasy feeling slowly sunk in. Will he greet you like he used to do? with a long comforting hug and a kiss on the forehead?

As the door clicked on, you remained still in your spot, by the couch, waiting for him, like you've been doing for the past month.

The tension in the apartment was palpable as Haechan appeared through the door, the weight of his exhaustion evident in every weary step. You knew he was tired, you knew he spent hours at work, practicing. But your heart sank as he barely acknowledged your presence, offering only a cursory nod in your direction before retreating swiftly to the sanctuary of your shared bedroom.

"haechan..." your words were cut short once you heard the door shut swiftly.

Alone in the dimly lit living room, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that settled over you like a suffocating shroud once again. The distance between you felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow you whole. You werent sure what went wrong, was he tired of you? The questions that lingered in your mind were starting to take a toll on you.

Your body felt numb, and you were tired all over again. Picking at the skin around your nails, you needed to talk to him. You looked at that band around your finger, wondering if this was all worth it in the end.

You grew to learn that Haechan's irritation was palpable whenever he was around nowadays, his patience wearing thin like a thread stretched to its limit. He'd always retreat to your shared bedroom, changing out of his work clothes and beelining to his computer, and seeking solace in the virtual realm of video games with the other members. You'd hear their laughter echoing through the apartment, a painful reminder of your own solitude.

With a heavy heart, you approached your shared bedroom, and slowly opened the door.

He didn't notice you at first, too busy in his own world to notice your existence, " haechan we need to talk.."

Only then he looked up from his screen, momentarily startled by your presence. " can we do this later, we're about to start, " he mumbled, as he fondled with the mic attached to his headphones.

" no, chan, we need to talk about this now, you can't keep doing this " you looked and sounded exhausted, your patience growing thin as this conversation has been put aside one too many times in the past month, and he noticed it.

".. i'll call you guys later" and with that he carefully took off his headphones, ending the call, and turned around to finally, for the first time in weeks, look you in the eyes.

" we can't keep doing this, what's happening to us? you haven't talked to me, let alone look at me for a week!, " you huffed, sitting down on haechan's side of the bed, fiddling with your ring ", i feel like you're disappearing from me, hell we live under the same roof yet you can't even spare me a glance! what's going on with you? i feel like i'm constantly walking on eggshells around you!" you feel yourself choking up, fighting the angry tears that's threatening to spill, yet your words fall onto to deaf ears.

You continue your rant, " why have you been acting this way? i get that youre tired, truly i do, but i cant help but feel like a burden, its been weeks since we've been intimate, weeks since you've come home to me before midnight!" your patience is wearing thin, tension in the room is rising, yet haechan still hasnt muttered a single word, his gaze fixed on the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

The silent stretched on, a suffocating weight that pressed down on you like a leaden blanket.

And slowly, you're getting more and more frustrated " please say something! i dont know what you're thinking if you keep ignoring me, please haechan! " by then your anger slowly dissipating into sheer sadness, overwhelming you with a sense of despair.

" are you done? " he muttered, he remained unmoved, his voice slightly laced with frustration and exhaustion, yet his demeanor remained the same, " have you ever thought about how maybe i just long for peace and quiet after work? , but i cant do that when you're here! always hovering, always being so god damn overbearing clingy!"

The words stung like a slap to the face, the weight of his accusations crushing beneath their weight. You had never intended to be a burden, to suffocated him with your presence, all you had ever wanted was to be there for him, to support him through it all, so you tried to retaliate, to prove to him that no, you're not overbearing and clingy as he claimed, however he beat you to it.

".. and maybe" he continued, his voice remained stoic "maybe this is just the way i like, maybe i just want to come home and be alone." His eyes finally met yours.

You searched his face for answers, and for the first time, in a long time, you notice a hint of regret behind his eyes. He seemed to realize the weight of his words, his gaze softening with a hint of remorse " i didn't mean it like that" he quickly added. But the damage was done.

" please, y/n , you know i didn't mean it like that " but it's too late, tears have seamlessly rolled down your face.

" you cant do this haechan," you breathed out, your eyes fogged with tears, yet in your clouded peripheral, you can see him slowly approach you, you continue " not when i care so much, not when i stay up late every single night, to make sure you make it home safely! not when i make your favorite meals and have them delivered to you every single day to make sure you're eating well and taking good care of your health, because i care! not when despite me also having a life outside of us, i make sure to be by your side no matter what, because i care, so much haechan, you cant put me through all of this and say im overbearing when im only looking out for you. Do you know how much i long for you? how much i've missed you? how much i love you? and despite all of this, i'm still here! you cant push me away when all i've ever done is be by your side! for the love of god, do you even love me? have you thought about me, and my feelings, once?"

Haechan watched you with heavy eyes, his own fogging up with tears, he cant cry, not when he's put you in this position, not when he's the one that is breaking your heart, the one he promised with all his being to protect. His heart is breaking and its his fault, he too knows it, and he knows he's fucked up big time. His mind is realling with possibilities, with what may happen after this conversation, that he forgot to answer you. " do you even love me? "

To you, he's hesitating to answer, the answer that you wished he could've answered without a second thought, but he stood still, staring at you with wide eyes. Your eyes flicker to his hands, noticing they're softly shaking and you chuckle.

You dont know what decision you made right in that moment, but you needed time, and as you crossed the threshold, you could no longer bear to look at him, to see the regret etched on his face as he stood opposite from you.

And without a second glace, your eyes flickered from his hands to yours, and you look down, for the second time that night, at the shimmering band that clutched your finger, and reached for it, and with a heavy heart, you tossed it onto the bed.

"i'm done." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, before turning on your heel, and fleeing from the house, leaving Haechan behind with a whirlwind of desperation and regret.

But he never followed you. He watched you leave, and for a moment, you thought it was over.

But Haechan is far from okay, the second you left, he crumbled, he lost you, the person he cherished the most, the person he promised to protect with all his being, the person he loved so much, that at times, its hard to breath. But in this moment, he finally knew what losing you felt like, his heart is aching, he's having trouble to breath as he sank to the floor, and he has no idea what to do. And with each passing moment he stayed in that room, the deeper the realization of what he had done sunk in, leaving him wracked with guilt and remorse, but he knew he deserved it, for acting the way he did when you meant well.

He knew losing you wasnt an option, his world crumbled around him the second you walked through that door. " fuck ".

Meanwhile, you found yourself in a state of turmoil, the vents of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record " way to go y/n" you muttered, wiping the remaining tears, and quickly pulling out your phone. With Jaemin on the other line, complaining about the time, you asked him for a favor.

" you think i can spend the night? " you sniffled, the line went dead for a moment and you thought he hung up on you " something happened with haechan? "

you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to put your feelings into words, " just need a break, can i? " you muttered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. the line stayed quiet, but you hear soft shuffling on the other end and jaemin finally spoke up " of course you can, how are you getting here? "

" i already called an uber, " you mentioned " ah so you were gonna come even if i said no? " jaemin complained on the other end followed by a soft chuckle.

" you know it " with that your uber arrived and you ended the call, and made your way to jaemins place.

The ride was tense, your mind replaying the evening over and over again, and your mind was getting foggy with exhaustion. But you got to your friend's place quickly , and settled in for the night, all while jaemin made sure you were okay before leaving you alone to rest in the comfort of his dimly lit living room. However, you were restless and you couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for a reconciliation or if the damage done was too great to repair. But a small part of you knew that its possible, and longed for it.

All the while, in the quiet of his room, jaemin dialed haechan's number, he was worried for the both of you. When haechan's voice came through the line, jaemin noted that he too was a mess, and his voice was dim, a stark contrast to the confident and carefree friend he knew.

Haechan knew you went to jaemin's, as he was the reason you two met in the first place. He knew you were in safe hands but he couldnt help but ask, " is she okay ? ", his voice cracked in the process, his fear and uncertainty laid bare for jaemin to hear, in any other circumstances, he wouldnt ever let his long time friend hear this side of him, but he was scared, he was so scared.

" she's safe, don't worry " he assured the boy, his voice gentle yet firm " she needs time you know? i dont know exactly what happened but im sure you two can bounce back" he hummed , " you two love each other , no matter what happens everything'll be okay, all you need to do is make things right."

Haechan remained silent as he listened to his friend's reassuring words and as the conversation came to an end, they both bid each other a good night and ended the call. Jaemin tossed his phone to the side, and turned over his cats " they'll be okay".

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As the morning rolled around, the sunlight softly laid upon haechan's tanned skin, and he groaned in the process. As he opened his eyes, he almost forgot about the other night, but as he looked over to your side of the bed, cold and empty, he knew it happened, of course he knew, he woke up with a heavy heart, tear stained cheeks, and your promise ring was now settled on his pinky finger, and not with you, where it belonged. And he knew what he had to do.

You woke up in the same state, disheveled and miserable.

Looking over, you noticed that no one was home, at least from your point of view, the apartment was dead silent, the only sound came from the cats playing around with their toys laid out on the living room floor. You also made a mental note of the fact that jaemin's bedroom door was wide open, which would be unusual especially if he has guests over.

You slowly got up from the comfort of the couch, and groggily stumbled into his kitchen, the remnants of tears still staining your cheeks, you were greeted by a handwritten note leeft on the countertop for you to find, it read " goodmorning y/n! hope you're feeling somewhat better :( i had to leave for work early this morning, but please make yourself at home since i'll be at work all day ( ps please feed the cats) "

The last part made you giggle as you turn over to the critters standing by you, looking up at you in hopes to get a treat. You quickly got yourself a cup of water, which was the sole reason you left the couch for, all the while looking for cat food.

With a sigh of relief, glass of water in hand, you felt a sense of comfort knowing that you had a safe haven to retreat to in your time of need, and feeling incredibly grateful for having a friend like jaemin. While finding solace with the presence of his kitties, you settled yourself back onto the couch, the warthm of the morning sun filtering throuh the winfow and envelopping you in a cocoon of comfort. However, your mind kept coming back to Haechan, how was he doing? does he miss me? is he already happier with me gone?but your questions remain unanswered for the time being.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Unbeknownst to you, jaemin was busy meeting up with haechan.

As jaemin found haechan slumped over at a nearby park bench, the boy made a mental note to not pester him for his already bad posture. As jaemin approached haechan, he was quickly greeted with a tearful smile, haechan was going through it and this was a side that jaemin never in his life would've thought he'd ever witness. So he made it his mission to help ( to a certain extent ) fix the two of you with his plan.

Jaemin left you alone in his apartment to drag haechan out to buy gifts for you :D, jaemin knew you, he was almost like a brother, and knew that the smallest attention to details would put a smile on your face.

As jaemin and haechan embarked on their mission to make things right, jaemin urged haechan to delve into the memories that had brought you joy. Together, they sifted through the fragments of yours and haechans past, remembering what you loved best, and haechan knew what you loved best, he knew you like the back of his hand.

His mind drifted back to your last anniversay, a bittersweet memory tinged with regret. He remembered the way your eyes lit up with delight when he presented you with a bundle of flowers, each petal a vibrant reminder of his love for you, and each color being your favorite.

" close your eyes my love~" haechan sang, your eyes closed, a soft giggle passing your lips, as the wind soflty blew, you can hear haechan giggling as hes shuffling around to where you're seated.

"open your eyes!" and there he was, sunset in the background as he held up the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, with the flowers you loved, quickly remeniscing on how he has gifted you individual bouquets of each flower on different occasions. Your smile was so bright, haechan's cheeks burned up as up took the bouquet from him, cheerfully thanking him. However he wasnt done, " wait i have another surprise for you!"

as you traced the deliquate petals with trembling hands, your heart heavy with gratitude as the simplest things can make you emotional, you looked over at him, lulled by his voice and away from the beautiful tulips, you noticed the velvet box, your heart pace quickening, as you noticed how nervous he was. you knew he wasnt proposing, you two were far too young for mariage, but you knew you wanted to marry him.

" pretty girl, the most beautiful girl ive ever laid my eyes upon, you are my one and only, and i promise you," he giggled before continuing, "that no matter the hardships we may encounter, my undying love for you will never fade away, this ring, is a symbol of my loyalty, my love, and my entire being, handed over to you, i forever will love you" and with that he slipped the ring onto your finger.

Haechan smiled at that thought, while another memory surfaced haechans mind, one of a random night spent lounging on the couch with you.

" you ever been on a picninc? " you asked lazily, stretched over your boyfriend, reaching for the remote control that laid by his side "no, why? " he asked, pushing you down onto him as you squealed in his embrace, landing a quick kiss on his cheek as you settled into his arms.

" ive always wanted to go on one, mom used to tell me all about the picnic dates my dad used to take her on, i guess i wanna go too" you shrugged, haechan looked over you, fondness evident in his eyes, as he softly smiled at the thought. " then why not go on one now?"

" the weather has been ass lately" you frowned " sucks that its during your break too, we could be going on picnics every day if we wanted to if it werent for the 24/7 rain storms"

" then ill clear out my schedule once the weather gets better" he murmured into your neck, hugging you tighter, melting into you and your scent. You once again squealed, jumping out of his embrace " really? "

" of course, id do anything for you my love"

That was a month ago, the weather cleared up a month ago, and haechan felt his heartstrings tug for the up-tenth time that morning. He promised you so much, yet never kept them. And for that, he swore to be a better man for you, if you'd give him a second chance.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As much as spending time alone felt great, you missed haechan so dearly, despite being alone wasnt any different in your own home for the past month or so, you cant help but long for his presence, even just the sight of him would be enough for you. And thats when you knew, you needed him back.

You knew he didn't mean what he said last night, at least you hoped he didn't, but in this moment, after hours of consideration, being once again left alone with your wandering mind, you knew you needed him in your life, and you would be willing to go through it all over again if it meant having him back in your arms.

You decided that, it was time to go talk to him again, only now noticing the bombarding messages he left you the last night, since you had turned your phone off once you had made it to jaemins.

However, he didnt leave any calls or messages today, sending you back onto your train of thoughts, but if he wasnt gonna come talk to you, you'll be the one doing so. Lazily, you finally left the couch and cleaned up after yourself, folding the blankets and putting the pillows back in place.

You're gonna go home, and face haechan. While cleaning up, you made a mental note to text jaemin and thank him for accomating you before leaving.

you - jaems! i think ill head home soon, thank you for letting me stay over <3

As you sent the message, you noticed he viewed it oddly quickly, seeinf as how he was at work, he swiflty replied not even a second later.

jaems - you're welcome! but do you think you can look after the cats for a while, they get sad when left alone, pretty please :D

You knew there wasnt an easy way out, plus you loved his cats, maybe this'll give you some more time to think about what to say to haechan. You sighed,

you - fine fine

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As Haechan and Jaemin approached Jaemin's apartment, the weight of the picnic basket filled with delicious treats and the bouquets of your favorite flowers in Haechan's hands felt both comforting and daunting. With each step closer to the door, Haechan's heart raced with nervous anticipation.

Jaemin offered a reassuring pat on Haechan's back before retreating down to the garage in his car, leaving Haechan standing alone at the threshold of his friend's home. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, Haechan squared his shoulders and raised his hand to knock on the door.

As his knuckles rapped gently against the wood, Haechan felt a surge of hope and determination coursing through him. He prayed silently that this gesture, made in the comfort of Jaemin's friendly abode, would be the first step towards healing the wounds that had divided you. With the promise ring tucked safely in his pocket, a tangible symbol of his commitment to you, in which he was ready to once again promise to, Haechan waited with bated breath for the door to open, his heart filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Unbeknownst to you, you opened the door and saw Haechan standing there, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. Sadness mingled with relief, happiness mixed with apprehension, as you took in the sight of him standing before you, his eyes are sunken, dark circles evident.

With a heavy heart, Haechan stepped forward, his eyes filled with tears already threatening to pour. "I'm so sorry," he began, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have never pushed you away, especially knowing that you were the only person keeping me sane and happy."

" i should have never ignored you, ignored your efforts, the love you gave to me, cannot and will never be replaced, i love you so much, and i failed to show you my appreciation for even being with me through all of this, i failed to give you the world, to protect you. My stress due to work shouldve never been an excuse for distancing myself from you, i should have never spoken to you the way i did, my love, im so sorry " his words carried the weight of his guilt, the sincerity in his apology evident in every syllable.

"If you give me this second chance," Haechan continued, his voice pleading, "I promise I'll never make you doubt yourself ever again. I'll cherish you and hold you close, never taking your love for granted."

In that moment, as you listened to his heartfelt apology, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you.

With a trembling voice and tears in your eyes, you nodded. And as you opened your arms to welcome Haechan back into your life, you knew that this second chance gave way for a better future, all relationships have its ups and downs, but you knew everything'll be okay in the end.

As you accepted Haechan's heartfelt apology, a sense of relief washed over both of you, lifting the heavy burden that had weighed on your hearts. With tears still glistening in your eyes, you embraced him tightly, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and all those feelings over heartache, disappeared.

Haechan, for the second time, reached into his pocket and pulled out the promise ring, a sense of deja vu washed over you two, and with a tender smile, he slipped it back onto your finger, a silent promise to be a better man, to cherish and honor you with every beat of his heart.

Haechan's eyes sparkled with determination as he made a silent vow to make things right, to be the partner you deserved. He pulled you into a passionate kiss, sealing that promise he made to you.

"And now," Haechan said, his voice filled with excitement, "I'm finally going to take you on that picnic trip you've been wanting to go to."

Your eyes lit up with joy at the prospect, the thought of spending a day in the sunshine with Haechan filling you with happiness. But before you could reply, he added with a chuckle, "But first, we'll have to drive back home to get ready."

With a nod and a smile, you agreed, giggling for the first time that day, and feeling a sense of anticipation building within you, cause like jaemin said, everything'll be alright.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#haechan #donghyuck #nct #nctdream #haechan x reader #haechan angst #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream angst #lee donghyuck #nct dream imagines

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scarletemeraldpurple · 26 days ago

Text

After Office Hours

Agatha x gn reader

Agatha Harkness is an acclaimed professor at your magical university. You are a student with a heavy courseload, Agatha takes a load off of your mind for awhile.

Notes: hypnosis, trancey language,voice kink?power imbalance, professor/student relationship, Mommy kink.

“I can cast illusions, I can control a feeble mind.” Agatha Harkness had said during a lecture in her class on magical psychology. But she assured her class that they, by virtue of being in her class, had nothing to worry about.

And it was true. She’d never be able to Control your mind, not fully. But that was almost more fun anyway, more of a challenge.

You were a diligent student. Visiting her at least once a week for office hours. She had seen your painstakingly kept little planner. You had a heavy course load this semester. Her class, a taxing multiversal physics course with professor Strange, an advanced ecology course with professor Vidal (both of which had labs), plus upper level Russian with Maximoff. She was quite impressed how you kept up with the 4 professors as well as several extra curriculars.

One week you missed office hours. Your paper was…adequate, but certainly not at the level that she had come to expect from you. The next time she saw you in class, you had had bags under your eyes, and you were slouched over in a hoodie and sweats.

She could see you struggling to focus as she talked, which was very very odd for you. You poor thing, someone oughta help you get some rest.

“Y/N? Could you stay behind for a minute?” She said as your peers filed out at the end of the block.

“Of course professor.” You said nervously, fiddling with your sleeve.

She sat on the edge of the desk. “You don’t seem quite yourself, everything alright?”

Professor Harkness was not nearly the hardass everyone had made her out to be, at least she wasn’t that way with you. Nonetheless, she was quite intimidating, she was powerful and confident. And it didn’t help that she was gorgeous.

And you couldn’t help it, as embarrassed as you were, when the tears spilled from your eyes. You hadn’t been sleeping. You had been working so hard. You wanted to achieve. God how were you going to get through this.

“Oh my dear, come let’s talk in my office shall we?”

She placed a hand on your shoulder gently as she led you to her office. Instead of sitting you at the chair across from her desk, like a normal meeting, she led you to the couch in the back of the room.

You took your book bag off, a literal weight lifted off of you. And she brought over some tissues.

Agatha sat down next to you, not too close (not yet anyway), and gently rubbed your back.

The comfort triggered more tears from you.

“Oh angel. It’s okay let it out. Take your time.” She soothed you. “But you do need to breathe. Can you take a nice deep breath for me?”

You nodded and did as she asked. In, hold, out.

“Good, very good.”

“I’m so sorry professor.”

“Ssh, nothing to be sorry for.”

She cautiously put her arm around you properly and squeezed your shoulder.

You had to stop yourself from leaning into her side. She smelled nice, sweet, with something warm underneath. Her touch felt nice. Her voice was so soothing.

“Under a lot of stress aren’t you dear?”

“I mean aren’t we all?” You half chuckled.

“Perhaps, doesn’t make it any easier does it though?”

“No ma’am.”

Agatha chuckled. “Always so polite. You’re my favorite student you know?”

You blushed and looked down at your hands. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to have favorites.”

“Maybe not. But that doesn’t exactly stop anybody. Anyway, obviously I want to see all of my students succeed, but when I see someone as bright as you, as hardworking as you, slip a bit, I have to check in y’know?”

You took a sharp breath in. “I failed that paper didn’t I?”

“No doll, all of your arguments were sound, and supported by evidence, but something tells me you didn’t get the time you would have liked to work on this. And based on the state of the gardens around the school, I’m guessing professor Vidal slammed you guys with a project this week.”

You were tearing up again. “Yeah, and I had so much trouble with the equations for strange this week. And I promised I’d make something for the bake sale for my tarot group…I don’t mean to make excuses—”

“Sshh,” Agatha squeezed you tighter, “you’ve had a lot on your plate dear. I understand. Let’s take another deep breath okay? In. Hold. Out. Very good. Let go of some of that stress. I know it’s been a hard week, you poor thing. But right now you’re just here with me. Let me help you.”

You looked over at her, those deep blue eyes looking back at you. Her fingers started rubbing a spiral into your shoulder. You could feel your attention drawn to her, it wasn’t hard to focus on her. It never was. And it did feel nice to focus on her. It was so easy to listen to her, maybe to easy.”

“You look worried again, dear.”

“Professor…am I feeble minded?”

Agatha couldn’t help but laugh, “no dear, far from it I assure you. What makes you ask such a thing?”

“I—I can feel a pull towards you.”

“And the fact that you’re resisting that pull proves you’re not feeble minded. But that doesn’t mean you can’t sink for me. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t sink for me. After all, wouldn’t it feel nice? To sink for me, to let me take over for a bit?”

Her free hand held your chin, making sure you stayed facing her. Your faces were so close together.

“It’s…so easy professor, should I be worried? Is this even allowed?” You started to shake off the fuzziness begging to creep through your mind.

“No baby, the point is you don’t worry,” she stroked under your chin, your eyes closed. The pet name and the proximity made your heart beat faster.

Agatha hugged you tightly to her. You timidly put your head on her shoulder.

“There you go,” a hand came to pet your head, “no worries now, just my voice, just my touch. Just keep taking nice steady breaths. So good for me.”

Her hand in your hair felt sooooooo good. Your mind was quieter than it had been in ages.

Agatha pressed a barely there kiss to your forehead. You wanted to pick your head up but her hand in your hair didn’t let you.

“Ssh, no baby, you can’t move right now. You’re far too relaxed. You just have to keep listening to me. Let me lull you even further down, pet.”

You could move, if you really needed to, if you needed to stop this you could. But it felt so good to obey. You knew how the process worked, the ins and outs of hypnosis, you had learned them from her, but those specifics were at the back of your mind. Right now you were relaxed, safe, and mindless.

“That’s right pet. I can feel you loose and limp against me. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt that head of yours so quiet. And you are so very safe with me, my sweet pet.”

Later, later you would confront how you felt when she called you pet. Later you would confront her about everything going on. But right now, it felt good. You were her pet, her obedient pet, and it came so naturally to you.

Agatha bit her lip at the sight of you. Practically helpless against her. Had she caught you on any other day you’d probably have put up more of a struggle. Maybe another day you two could talk about resistance play. But for now, she relished your surrender.

“Sleep now, pet.” She said before pressing another gentle kiss to your forehead.

—

You woke up still on her couch, tucked under a blanket. Agatha was working on next week’s lectures at her desk.

“Hi pet,” she said cheerfully, “sleep well?”

“Yes Mo-“ you slapped a hand over your mouth.

Agatha laughed.

“I wasn’t sure if that suggestion would stick or not while you were sleeping. But maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, you are always so eager to please.”

“This isn’t—I mean we can’t—you could lose your job!!”

Agatha stood up from her desk and sauntered over. “We’ll be smart. Well, I’ll be smart, don’t want you thinking too much now.”

“Professor—” You rejected the suggestion this time. Your anxiety overriding the urge to obey.

Agatha put a finger to your lips “Sh, school day is over, and we have the whole weekend ahead of us. Let Mommy take care of you, pet.”

She stroked your hair gently. “You’ve been such a good pet, don’t you want your reward?”

—

She led you to her car and drove you to her home. You had nothing but your book bag with you.

Her home was very beautiful, but also quite cozy.

“You were awful quiet in the car. And I know it’s not because you weren’t thinking.”

“Just overwhelmed I guess.”

“Poor thing. Are your shoes off? Good. Come, drop your bag there and come over to the couch.”

She sat down first. “Come lay your head in my lap, sweet thing.”

You gingerly laid yourself down as she had asked. You were rewarded with her nails scratching yours scalp.

“Good pet. So obedient. Comes so naturally to you doesn’t it?”

Heat rose to your face.

“Aww, does that embarrass you? How you were just meant to be my pet? You’re Mommy’s good pet, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

“You can do better than that. Whose are you? What are you?”

“I-I’m your good pet.”

“Sooo close angel. I’ll give you one more chance.”

“I-I’m Mommy’s good pet”

“Yes you are! You’re so very good. And good pets get rewarded.” She moved a hand down to your chest, groping at you. You drew in a shaky breath.

“Mmm, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you baby.”

“Really?”

“Oh god yes baby. I see the way you look at me you know? You don’t even mean to stare, you just can’t help it. You’ve never been able to help but focus on me. And that’s okay. I have you now.” She said with a pinch of your nipple.

You whimpered under her touch and her words.

“And I don’t want you worrying that cute little head of yours when you’re with Mommy. You still need to worry a little with professor Harkness, but you’ve always been such a good student. Once we get you nice and rested you’ll be back on track okay?”

“Thank you…Mommy.”

Agatha’s eyes lit up when you used her title. “Of course baby. Now just let me,” she reached under your t-shirt, and groped at your bare chest.

You shuddered.

“Sensitive little thing hm?” She said with a smile. She traced circles around your nipple with her fingertips and watched you melt underneath her.

She surprised you with a pinched and you arched up into her touch. She bit her lip at the sight.

“I have a slutty little pet on my hands, don’t I?”

You whined in response.

“I think I do, and I wouldn’t have it any other way trust me.”

“Mo-mommy?” You asked shyly.

“Yes pet?”

You looked up at her, eyes drawn to her lips. “Can I kiss you?” You said, voice barely above a whisper.

Agatha smiled. “Of course pet. Come here.”

Her hand wrapped around the back of your head as you sat up to meet her. Her lips as gentle as the tone she used to lull you down into trance. You could just as easily get lost in her kisses. Her tongue slid into your mouth and you moaned. You tangled your fingers in her hair.

A safe, warm feeling settled over you. You were being so good. Mommy’s good pet. Good pets pet Mommy take care of them.

You finally needed air and when you broke apart you saw desire burning in Agatha’s eyes.

She cupped the side of your face, tracing her thumb over your lips, you parted to allow her in.

“Fuck you’re perfect. That’s all you baby, that’s just your instinct isn’t it?”

She loved the embarrassed look in your eyes as she gently degraded you. “And that’s okay. You were just made for me that’s all. Just a good little slut for Mommy.”

You closed your eyes and sucked harder on her thumb.

“Yeah, I know baby. What a good mouth. Oh there are so many things I’d like to do to that mouth. Plenty of time for that. For now though,”

Agatha adjusted you so you were straddling her thigh. She kissed you from the base of your neck all the way up to your ear.

“What I want for right now, is for you to come undone with pleasure,” she husked.

She guided your hips to grind against her. Quickly you moved your hands to grip the back of the couch, steadying yourself.

“No thinking, I’m gonna help you grind your thoughts away. Yeah, you’re just gonna get lost in sensation for a bit for me. That’s a good pet.”

You buried your head in her neck, moving your arms to wrap around her.

“Already so docile for me. I’m gonna have you mewling like a kitten baby.”

“Please keep talking to me Mommy.”

“Oh you sweet thing, I can do that. Need to hear Mommy’s words guiding you through it all? Need me to fill that head up, push all those thoughts away? That’s what I’m here for pet. You can just let go, you can just give in, just hump my leg like the good little pet that you are.”

“Feels so good Mommy.”

“Good, I’m glad baby. Focus on that pleasure, let yourself get hornier and hornier. My words will guide you no matter how far you drift. Keeping you safe. Just feel good baby.”

You couldn’t think, you didn’t want to think. It felt good to give in. It felt good to grind against Mommy. It felt good to be Mommy’s Good Pet.

“Mommy, getting close.”

“Oh yeah? Wanna cum for Mommy?”

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please Mommy…ah, can I cum?”

“Such a good pet, cum for me baby. Cum for Mommy.”

You moaned right in her ear, thanking her for letting you cum. You were a practically a rag doll her arms now.

“Oh you did so good today baby. I know this week was hard but you did so good. You deserve to feel good like this.”

She moved you so that you were basically being cradled by her. Your head in the crook of her neck, nuzzling her.

“Sweet pet. You feel so small in my arms like this. Mommy’s got you, you can rest now.”

#agatha harkness smut #agatha harkness x reader #my fic #hypnok1nk #hypnovember #<-better late than never

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jacqueline-01 · 26 days ago

Text

A Clue to the Heart

A.H x bau!y/n

Word count: 1,005

The soft hum of the café filled the air as Y/N stirred their latte, lost in thought. It was their favorite little spot in Quantico, a retreat from the whirlwind of life as a profiler for the BAU. The warm scent of coffee and the chatter of patrons were a welcome contrast to the grisly cases they often faced.

“You’re quiet today.”

Y/N looked up to find Aaron Hotchner standing at their table, his usual calm demeanor in place, though his eyes carried a rare softness. His presence was magnetic, commanding attention without trying, and Y/N felt the usual flutter in their chest.

“Hotch,” they greeted, gesturing for him to sit. “Just thinking. What brings you here?”

“Coffee,” he replied with the barest hint of a smile. “And maybe a break from the case files.”

Y/N smirked. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I can be unpredictable,” he teased lightly, taking the chair opposite them.

The banter between them was effortless, a delicate dance that always left Y/N wondering if there was more to their connection. But Aaron Hotchner was nothing if not professional, and Y/N was never quite sure if they were reading too much into his small gestures.

Two hours later, Y/N found themselves back at the BAU headquarters, poring over evidence from their latest case—a series of art thefts tied to a suspicious death. The case wasn’t their usual violent fare, but it was still puzzling.

A knock on the conference room door drew their attention. Hotch stood there, holding two cups of coffee.

“Thought you might need this,” he said, setting one in front of them.

“Thanks,” Y/N said, surprised. “Is it bribery to make me work faster?”

“I prefer to call it motivation,” he countered, his voice laced with humor.

As Y/N chuckled, their phone buzzed with a text. A photo from an anonymous number popped up—a blurry image of Y/N and Hotch at the café earlier that day. Beneath it, a cryptic message read: “Trust no one.”

Y/N’s blood ran cold.

“What’s wrong?” Hotch’s sharp instincts kicked in immediately.

Y/N handed him the phone, their hand trembling slightly. “This just came through.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he examined the photo and message. “Do you recognize the number?”

“No.”

He stood straighter, his protective instincts in full force. “Stay here. I’m alerting Garcia.”

Within minutes, Penelope Garcia had traced the number to a burner phone, confirming their suspicions of foul play. The timing of the message, the photo—it all pointed to someone close to the case.

“I don’t like this,” Hotch said as they gathered in his office. “Whoever sent this knows where you’ve been and has access to information about us.”

“Us?” Y/N echoed, raising an eyebrow.

His expression flickered, as if he realized his slip. “You know what I mean,” he amended, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

Y/N decided to let it slide—for now.

The next day, the team staked out the latest crime scene, an art gallery set to host a private auction. Y/N and Hotch were partnered, tasked with watching the back entrance.

As they waited, the tension from the text still lingered between them.

“Do you think the message was meant as a threat?” Y/N asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Hotch admitted. “But I don’t take risks with my team.”

Y/N glanced at him, noting the way his hand rested near his holster, his posture alert. “Aaron, you don’t have to—”

He cut them off gently. “I do.” His dark eyes met theirs. “You’re important to this team. To me.”

Before Y/N could process his words, movement by the door caught their attention. A figure slipped inside the gallery, carrying a black bag.

“That’s our guy,” Y/N whispered, adrenaline surging.

They moved in tandem, signaling the rest of the team. The suspect bolted as they approached, but Y/N and Hotch were faster. Y/N tackled him to the ground, while Hotch secured the bag. Inside were stolen paintings and a notebook full of incriminating details.

But what struck Y/N most was the final page—a detailed surveillance log of them and Hotch, dating back weeks.

Back at headquarters, the suspect confessed to everything: the thefts, the surveillance, and the cryptic text.

“It wasn’t personal,” he said with a shrug. “I just needed leverage in case the FBI got too close.”

Hotch’s jaw tightened, but Y/N could sense his relief. The threat was neutralized.

As the team began wrapping up, Y/N lingered by Hotch’s office.

“You don’t have to babysit me anymore,” they teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Hotch looked up, his expression softer than usual. “It was never about babysitting.”

Y/N stepped closer, heart pounding. “Then what was it about?”

For a moment, silence hung between them. Then, Hotch stood, closing the distance between them.

“It was about this,” he said quietly, his voice steady as he cupped their cheek.

Y/N barely had time to breathe before his lips met theirs, a kiss that was as unexpected as it was inevitable.

When they finally pulled away, Y/N’s lips curved into a smile. “Well, that’s one mystery solved.”

Hotch chuckled, his forehead resting against theirs. “Let’s see if we can keep it from becoming another case.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x y/n #aaron hotch x reader #spotify

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horanghaejamjam · 1 year ago

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Jigsaw - {CS}

↪ Summary: You are the lead detective in an investigation surrounding one of the most infamous killers the city has ever seen. Unfortunately for you, Jigsaw knows you're onto him and has played you like a game at every turn, threatening the case and your status. Your determination to catch him finally gets you a lead, only for you to find yourself tangled in a special trap that he designed just for you. Let the game begin.

↪ Pairings: Jigsaw Killer Choi San x Female Detective Reader

↪ Rating: M 18+

↪ Genre: Non-idol/Slasher/Horror movie au/ Suggestive / Fluff/Friends to enemies to lovers

↪ Word Count: 5.7k

↪ Warnings/Contents: References to classic horror movies, mainly Saw, Silence of the Lambs, and Scream. Mentions of death/murder/being shot (not detailed). Seonghwa and Mingi both make cameos in this story with a few other members being mentioned. Swearing and implied smut (MDNI). San being a teasing little shit, makeout sessions, fondling over clothes.

↪ Side Notes: To the wonderful @pinkywritings hi darling I was your assigned Ghost Writer for the @atinyhalloweenproject. This is my first time writing for San and I had a lot of fun with it so I hope you enjoy it! Sorry it is so late I wanted to have it out by Halloween but due to the sudden weather change we haven't had power. I tried to make it longer to make up for that so hopefully it doesn't feel rushed and was worth the wait!

I honestly may do a part two to this or an expansion later on because I love the idea of Jigsaw San but we'll see.

↪ Click here to see my other Ateez stories

↪ Click here for other kpop masterlists

↪ Click here to join my fic taglist

“Police officials are seeking any leads in identifying the man known only to the public as the Jigsaw killer. He is believed to be linked in multiple disappearances and murders that have taken place around Seoul for the past three months. The victims were all found in various handmade traps and had a puzzle piece drawn somewhere visible on their body. At this time investigators have no leads and are asking the public for any knowledge they may have on this public threat.”

The reporter's voice faded to nothing as the volume on the TV was lowered to zero. You groaned softly to yourself as you tossed the remote to the side, running your hands through your hair as you sat forward on your couch. It had been just over a month since you were assigned the Jigsaw murder case, the last detective backing out after the man in question threatened to target his family. The case was quickly transferred over to you, one of the best detectives in your field, but it was very quickly starting to test your patience.

Whoever this Jigsaw was, he was a clever man. He left no trace, no evidence, nothing that would allow you to track him down. You went through surveillance, interviewed the family and friends of the victims, tried breaking down his traps for any clues, but any lead always led you right back to square one. You had tried to be patient, hoping that eventually he would slip up and give you something, but it was starting to sound like wishful thinking. Even worse, he knew who you were and started calling you out directly. You would find notes addressed to you, pictures, voice messages, all calling you out and taunting you. It was like he was playing some cruel game with you and you had no choice but to play along or risk losing everything. You couldn’t even walk to work anymore without some reporter chasing you down demanding an explanation or any evidence you had in the case. It came to a point where you only went to the office when called, and the rest of your work you did from home.

Various evidence pictures and case files were thrown across your coffee table, a few rough notes scribbled in between. You had been looking at the same files for the past couple of hours, dissecting every last word to see if you had missed any connections. Your last victim had been found 72 hours ago, and you knew you only had a day at most before the next one. There were a few things you had discovered about Jigsaw, and the main one was that he worked on a schedule. Once someone was reported missing, it would be three days before their body turned up and the cycle would start again. Whoever this man was, he clearly enjoyed his patterns, and that is what you found yourself looking for, any pattern you may have missed.

“Working from home again I see?” you practically jumped out of your skin as you heard the deep voice of your roommate behind you, turning around to see his tall frame leaning over the couch.

“For Fucks sake Mingi you almost gave me a heart attack!” you whined, reaching up to lightly smack at him, “what are you doing here anyways I thought you weren’t coming home tonight.” You and Mingi had been friends for as long as you could remember, having met back in high school and staying together through college and your time at the police academy. He was like a brother to you at this point and you trusted him so you didn’t mind if he saw your work, even if he technically wasn’t supposed to. Mingi always found your work to be fascinating and would bug you randomly about cases, which only grew more when you started investigating Jigsaw, though you assumed it was just because you got to bring your work home now. Just as you predicted, he made his way to the other side of the couch and took a seat next to you, picking up one of the crime scene photos to get a better look.

“I was going to stay at Yunhos tonight but something came up and he had to cancel,” Mingi explained, running his thumb over the picture he was holding, “ouch this looks like it would have been painful, what is it?”

“That’s one of Jigsaw's latest traps,” you answered, snatching the photo away from him, “I’m looking through it to see if I can find any missing clues.”

“Have you found anything?”

“Sadly no, he’s very good at covering his tracks. It’s been a month and we still don’t have any leads on this guy, it��s like he’s a ghost or something.” Mingi hummed softly as he continued to look through all the pictures, careful not to mess them up knowing you would yell at him if he did.

“Now I’m no expert but, are you sure you’re only looking for one person?” he asked, catching you off guard.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean all these crime scenes you’ve shown me have been pretty big and this says it only took three days, seems like a lot of work for one person if you ask me.” Mingi explained, “and that’s why your patterns wouldn’t line up like you want them to.” You blinked up at him dumbly for a moment as you processed his words, looking back down at the file you had basically memorized by this point. You didn’t want to admit it, but Mingi had a point.

“You know that’s actually not a bad idea,” you muttered.

“I can be helpful sometimes you know,” he bragged with a laugh, earning himself a punch to the shoulder. He didn’t have time to retaliate though as you were packing up all of your things and rushing towards the door, “Wait where are you going?”

“I need to check on something, don’t wait up for me!” you called back, pulling on your coat and running out the door as he called after you. In your rush you hadn’t realized that you dropped part of your case file on your way out, nor did you notice Mingi pulling out his phone to call someone as he closed the door to your apartment.

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You made it to the crime scene in no time, an abandoned warehouse located just on the edge of the city. You parked your car a bit away and pulled out a flashlight as you made your way inside, ducking under the caution tape and pulling your jacket closer to yourself as you looked around. The clean up crew had gotten most of the scene cleaned by now, but the trap itself was still there. A weirdly broken mess of chains and blades that you wouldn’t have been able to put back together if you wanted to, making you wonder how Jigsaw even came up with the idea in the first place. You shook the thought out of your head and made your way to one of the blades, leaning down to inspect it carefully. It was sharp with a curve to it, but almost messy in design as if it was handmade. To test that theory you took a look at another one and noticed the same thing except this one was thicker and less curved despite being set up the same way. The chains themselves were also a bit sloppy when you looked at them closely, almost as if they had been done in a rush. It wasn’t as clean as Jigsaw's normal work, and now Mingis suggestion that you were dealing with more than one culprit seemed more plausible.

You took your phone out to snap a picture just as the door to the warehouse opened, a new light pouring in and a familiar voice calling your name.

“Over here!” you called back, flashing your light in his direction so he could see you. Quick footsteps made their way towards you before a familiar figure came into view. Park Seonghwa, a senior detective that had transferred over to your department a little over a year ago and assigned as your partner. You had been against the idea at first since your original partner had been killed only a few weeks prior during an investigation gone wrong. The chief had insisted it would be for the best though since you needed the help and Seonghwas cool and more collected nature would balance you out nicely which would prove to be true. Your impulsiveness had driven the older detective crazy a few times, but for the most part the two of you got along well and you could even consider him a friend. He was wearing a long black coat and matching gloves and his hair was long and falling into his face rather than slicked up like normal, probably because he had been at home resting when you called him.

“Would you care to explain why you called me out here in the middle of the night when I haven’t heard from you in the last 48 hours?” Seonghwa questioned, unable to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“I’ll make it up to you but I figured this couldn’t wait,” you muttered, going back to inspect the chain again, “I’m trying to prove a theory about something.”

“That theory being?”

“What if Jigsaw isn't working alone?” you challenged, “what if it’s more than one person, that would explain why nothing lines up.” Seonghwas eyes widened a bit and you could have sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, “what did you say?”

“Oh nothing,” he brushed you off, “what made you so convinced of this new theory? Did you find something?” You froze for a second, not wanting to expose yourself for letting a member of the general public view the case file.

“Just a hunch,” you lied, “but I mean look at the way this trap was built, it's messy compared to the others, almost as if it was made by someone else.”

“Or maybe Jigsaw just ran out of time and rushed on it,” he argued.

“Can you just humor me for five seconds Seonghwa,” you groaned, “maybe I’m wrong yes but isn’t it at least worth looking into?” Seonghwa rolled his eyes but gave in, walking to the other side of the trap to get a better look. You were too distracted by your own work to pay much attention to him, meticulously looking through every detail of the trap despite not actually knowing what you were looking for. Your instinct was telling you that there was something there you were overlooking, something that was hiding in plain sight, you just had to figure out what that was.

“Hey Y/N,” Seonghwa called out after a few minutes, “I think I found something.” Your head shot up and you quickly dusted yourself off before making your way over. Seonghwa was standing in the corner of the warehouse holding what looked to be a tape recorder. “I found it tucked away over here, may have gotten knocked around during the investigation,” he explained.

“Does it say anything?” you asked, taking the recorder from his hands and pressing the play button. There was only static for a moment before a robotic voice spoke up, like someone was speaking through a voice changer. Despite that, you couldn’t help but feel like the voice seemed familiar to you, but it was hard to tell through the editing.

“Hello Detective Y/L/N,” the tape addressed you, sending a chill through your body, “these past few weeks you have been running around in circles trying to discover who I am. You have been closer to the truth than you realize but you always end up blindsided by your work and, as a result, you overlook the answer that is right in front of you. I have enjoyed silently watching you up until this point but now it is getting quite boring so why don’t we make this a bit more fun? Do you like games, detective? I hope you do because I want to play a game with you. I have left a riddle for you, the answer to which will tell you all you need to know about who I am and what I do. You have 48 hours to find the riddle and tell me the answer or you will find yourself and those closest to you in a very undesirable situation. The timer starts the second this recording ends, let’s hope you are as clever as everyone says you are. Let the game begin.”

You felt your blood run cold as the tape came to an end, barely registering Seonghwas hand on your shoulder as you tried to process everything you just heard. Seonghwa tried talking to you but you ignored him, pushing his hand off and rushing back to your car, your partner not far behind you.

“Where are you going? We should report this to the office first!” he called after you.

“What good is reporting it going to do? You heard him Hwa I have 48 hours to figure out who this guy is or we’re all screwed, I can’t waste time.”

“So what you’re going to rush into something and get yourself killed?” he argued.

“Better than doing nothing and getting everyone else killed,” you snapped back, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find this riddle he’s talking about.” Seonghwa called after you again but by this point you had gotten in your car and were already making your way back to your apartment. Part of you felt like going home was a bad idea, but you also couldn’t help but feel like something was pulling you to go there. The same feeling of familiarity that you got hearing the tape returned, making you feel more and more uneasy as you pulled into your apartment complex. Like you knew who Jigsaw was and yet the image of his face was blurred any time you tried to imagine him.

Mingi didn’t seem to be home when you got back, his shoes were gone and the light was off. You couldn’t focus on that though, as your attention was drawn to the stack of papers placed neatly on your coffee table. You carefully walked over and looked through the pile, recognizing pictures from all the different crime scenes you had investigated so far, each one marked with red ink.

‘Y/N, doesn’t this random pattern seem a bit too random?’

‘This is quite close to home don’t you think?’

‘The truth has been in front of you the whole time.’

‘Why do I do what I do?’

‘Did you miss me?’

You ran your hand through your hair as you continued looking through the pictures, realizing that the riddle was basically going to send you on a scavenger hunt. It would take forever for you to go back through each crime scene and look back through everything to find out what he was talking about. Even worse, it was pretty late and you could feel exhaustion slowly taking over you, slouching over the coffee table and eventually laying against it as you fell asleep trying to decipher the riddle.

You were jolted awake by the sound of your phone vibrating, groaning softly as you sat up and reached into your pocket for the device. You half expected it to be a call from Mingi or Seonghwa, but instead you were greeted with the same robotic voice from the night before. Only this time, you were able to hear his actual voice a bit more and it was one you swore you had heard before.

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty, I hope my riddle didn’t keep you up all night,” the voice immediately woke you up, straightening your posture as you looked around.

“Who is this?” you asked.

“Aww I’m almost offended you don’t remember me, we go way back you know,” the voice responded, “I’ve missed you Y/N, and even if you don’t remember me now I know you miss me too.” You paused for a moment at his words before realizing now was not the time to worry about that.

“Why are you doing this?”

“That. my dear detective is for you to find out, you always did enjoy the thrill of a good challenge didn’t you? I figured you would have solved my puzzle by now but since I believe in giving people a fair chance I’ll give you another clue. One of those puzzle pieces doesn’t quite belong, once you find the answer I will be waiting for you in the place we last met, don’t keep me waiting Doll.” With that the call ended, causing you to groan in frustration and toss your phone to the side.

“I’ve had about enough of these damn games,” you huffed, rubbing your hands over your eyes. You looked through the pictures again before one in particular caught your eye. It wasn’t one of the Jigsaw crime scenes, but instead it was a picture of an older house, one that you recognized from your last murder investigation with your old partner, San. The memories slowly came back to you and that’s when it finally clicked for you, the puzzle and the reason the voice sounded so familiar to you. That was impossible though, San was dead, you had been at the hospital with him when the doctors told you there was nothing they could do. There was no way that San was still alive, and yet you would recognize his voice anywhere. Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone and stood up, calling Seonghwa and telling him to meet you at the house in question as you left your apartment and got in your car. The whole ride there you tried ignoring the feeling of dread that came over you, hoping that your intuition was wrong.

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Seonghwa was already at the house before you got there, leaning against the wall with a blank expression. “I take it you found the answer to your riddle?” he asked as you walked past him, leading him inside.

“As much as I hope I am wrong I think I did,” you confessed, “and if I’m right the clue we are looking for should be here somewhere.” Seonghwa stood still in the middle of the room as you frantically looked around, digging through his pocket and following your movements with his eyes.

“This isn’t one of the crime scenes,” he pointed out, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Jigsaw said to find him at the place we last met and this place was the only one pictured that wasn’t one of the crime scenes,” you explained. Seonghwa hummed softly at your answer, but you ignored him as you continued looking around.

“Why here then, what’s so special about this place?” you froze for a moment at the question, an action that didn’t go unnoticed.

“This was the last place I investigated with my first partner,” you answered, “he was shot during the investigation and I thought he was dead but I’m starting to think I was wrong.”

“You think it’s him,” Seonghwa stated rather than asked, to which you nodded.

“I don’t know why he would do such a thing, but it all lines up.” Seonghwa sighed and glanced down at his watch before making his way towards you.

“I’m surprised you know, you solved the riddle faster than we thought you would, we’re a bit ahead of schedule.” His words made your blood run cold, freezing as your head turned to look at him.

“What did you just say?”

“I’m sorry about this Y/N,” Seonghwa apologized, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a syringe, “just know I don’t make the rules, I’m just the delivery guy.” Before you could react to his words he had grabbed you and injected you with what you assumed was some kind of anesthesia, your body going limp in his hold almost immediately and your vision going black. The last thing you remember hearing was his voice and footsteps approaching before you completely lost consciousness.

When you returned to consciousness the first thing that you noticed was that you couldn’t move. Your arms and legs were handcuffed to a chair that also appeared to be bolted to the floor so you couldn’t tip it over. Tugging at your restraints, you glanced around to find that you were in some sort of workshop, various trap parts and gadgets tossed around multiple workbenches. At the front of the room were what appeared to be security monitors, each watching different parts of the city that you could just barely make out.

“I have to hand it to you Y/N,” a voice said from behind you, “the last detective didn’t make it nearly as far.” The sound of footsteps echoed through the room before a figure appeared in your vision, wearing a full body red and black hood. Even though his face was covered by the hood, you could feel the presence of your former partner.

“How, I thought you were dead,” you whispered, not sure what to feel at the moment. In any other circumstance you would be over the moon to know he was alive, but how were you supposed to feel knowing he was the serial killer you had been anxiously tracking down. Shock, betrayal, anger, sadness, confusion, all of these emotions swirled through your brain like an endless whirlpool, pulling you in deeper and nearly bringing tears to your eyes.

“Everyone did,” San replied, turning away from you to face one of his work benches, “the doctors said it was a miracle, that no one thought I would make it through the night let alone make a full recovery.” You could hear him messing with something, but couldn’t see what it was, struggling to look past his shoulder as he continued talking, “I tried to find you after you know? I thought you were the only one left that cared about me, and yet even you managed to turn your back on me.”

“I always cared about you,” you argued, “that’s why I’m trying to understand why San, why did you do this?” It was at this point that he finally turned to face you, pulling the hood back so you could see him properly. He looked almost the same as you remembered, but there was a cold gaze in his eyes that almost made him feel like a stranger. This wasn’t the warm hearted and cheerful person you used to consider a friend, he was a killer. Despite this, however, you couldn’t help yourself from falling for his familiarity, almost as if you could convince yourself the old San was still in there, somewhere.

“You never realize just how valuable life is until you are inches away from death,” he explained, “the adrenaline and the fight to survive, it almost feels like you are being reborn. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how corrupt the world we live in truly is, because no one really knows how to appreciate the life they are given until it is nearly taken from them. You may not understand it now but trust me my methods will help make the world a better place.”

“You’re killing people because you want them to appreciate life?” you questioned, wondering if he was actually being serious. There was no way a person's mind could be that twisted, right?

“You think I’m a killer?” San asked, not needing a verbal response since your glare was enough confirmation, “that’s where you’re wrong you know. I have not killed anyone, all of my games are survivable as long as the player has the will to fight for it. Those who failed the games basically killed themselves.” You wanted to argue that putting people in these death traps still made him a killer but he cut you off, “Seven people have won so far, seven people who had that will to live and had the chance to be reborn. They understand what it truly means to be alive and now they help me spread my message. You may not understand me now, but I really do hope that you will be the next.”

“So what, am I the next person that gets to be put in one of your death traps then?” you groaned, tugging at your restraints. San pouted a bit but shook his head.

“Your game began the minute you took the case from Detective Kim,” he explained, “you and I always seemed to have an understanding so I had hoped you would pick up on my clues and join without a fight, but you were far too stubborn to listen. Eventually I had to cut my losses so I had my apprentices plant fake evidence to finally get you here, it was the only way.” Your heart dropped a bit at the word apprentices, your mind immediately going back to Seonghwa and how he was the one who brought you here.

“So you’re telling me the whole time,” you trailed off.

“Seonghwa was working for me, yes, Mingi as well, they both survived my games and agreed to help with the cause and when you took over my case I knew I could use them to guide you in the right direction,” San explained. He took a moment to glance at a clock on the wall before sighing and making his way over to you. San rested his hands on the arms of the chair and used them to prop himself up so he was leaning over you, “As much as I have enjoyed our little chat I’m afraid we do not have much time. I really do like you Y/N so I will give you a choice. Join me and together we can help change the world for the better.”

“And if I refuse?” you challenged.

“Well then I guess we’ll have to play a game,” he hummed, leaning away from you, “The second I walk out of this room it will lock and a timer will start. Behind you are two doors, each with a different combination, one door will lead you to the exit, and the other will lead you to me. If you choose to leave then you will be free but you will lose your chance to catch me. If you choose to come after me, then you have a chance to learn the truth at the risk of your freedom. The combinations are hidden in this room and you will have exactly one hour to find them and leave through the door of your choosing, and trust me you don’t want to know what will happen if you run out of time.” San chuckled softly before pulling away and walking behind you, “This is your last chance to accept my offer Y/N, I would hate to lose you like this.” He waited for a moment but when you didn’t respond he sighed, “Very well, let the game begin.” You felt him place something into your hand, which you quickly realized was a key, before the door slammed shut and San was gone.

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It didn’t take you long to unlock yourself, taking a second to rub your wrists as you stood up and made your way cautiously around the room. You did your best to stay calm and not look at the clock as you examined the doors and then looked around for the combinations, which you quickly realized were hidden on his tools. The question was, do you free yourself and turn your back on the case, or do you risk it all and try to go after San. The rational part of your brain was screaming at you to just get out of there and not look back, and yet you quickly found yourself moving on autopilot. Before you could really process what you were doing, you had entered the code for the door labeled “Truth” and ran through it, stepping into a dark hallway and letting the door lock behind you.

You took a moment to compose yourself before heading forward, placing your hands against the walls to help feel your way through the space. All the doors were locked until you came to one at the very end that was cracked open, revealing what looked to be a makeshift office space, with nothing but a desk and filing cabinet in the room. You poked your head through first, looking around for any sign of life before slowly stepping inside and making your way to the desk, only to gasp as you felt another body pin you to it.

“I knew you would come after me,” San whispered, spinning you around so that you were facing him. Your body was pressed between his and the desk, his arms caging you on either side as your eyes locked.

“I can’t let you get away with this,” you argued, trying to wiggle away from him but San was stronger so he held you in place.

“Come on Doll, you and I both know that’s not why you came after me,” he teased, “maybe it was at first but if that was the case now you would be fighting me harder.” He was right, even if he was stronger you knew you could at least hold your own enough to get him away or subdue him long enough to call for help. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to actually fight him off, struggling against him enough to save your pride but not enough to actually push him off. “So tell me,” San continued, “why did you really come after me, was it because you were curious about my work? Or, was it because deep down you missed me?” Honestly, you weren’t even sure if you knew the answer, your body having reacted before your mind could catch up.

“This isn’t right,” you argued, reaching your hands up to push at his shoulders.

“And yet here we are,” he teased, backing up enough to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him. Your bodies pressed together and your arms instinctually made their way around his neck which made him chuckle. “I always knew you were special, you understood me in a way that no one else ever did. Stay with me, nothing will be able to come between us.” San leaned down until your lips were centimeters apart, his breath tickling your lips with every word. You tried not to give into him, knowing that this was wrong, but you also couldn’t deny the thrill that ran through you just from being near him. You had always cared for San when you two were partners, hell there was even a time where you could argue that you did have a crush on him. That was back then however, when he was the sweet and easy going detective that decorated his desk with mini plushies and would whine if you forgot to get him a pastry on your morning coffee runs. This version of San wasn’t like that, even if the allure was still there, he was cold, twisted, and a killer.

“I can’t do this,” you argued, “you’re not the man I once cared about.” You tried to turn your head away from him, but he gripped your chin to force you to look at him.

“Yes I am, behind all of this it is still me and I can prove that to you,” he whispered, “just let me show you.” When you shook your head again he huffed, loosening his grip for a moment before it tightened again, “Fine then, how about another game?”

“I already won your stupid game though!” you challenged.

“Yet you still haven’t learned,” he fought back, “the least you can do is give me a chance to convince you. If you don’t give in then I will go with you to the station and turn myself in, but if I win then you quit being a detective for good and you stay with me.” You gave him a questioning look, at this point more than positive that he had gone insane. However, if playing his dumb games meant putting an end to Jigsaw, then you were more than willing to oblige.

“Alright fine, deal,” you reluctantly agreed. You only had a moment to register Sans smirk before he was pulling you against him again and connecting your lips. One hand stayed pressed against your back to keep you against him, while the other tangled itself in your hair, tugging slightly to get a reaction out of you. The kiss wasn’t rough or forced like you had expected, instead it was gentle and passionate, like he wanted to take his time with you. His lips were surprisingly soft against yours, and you began to slowly melt against his movements. You kissed him back and allowed him to have more control, whining softly against his lips when he tugged a bit harder at your hair. Your own hands trailed down his body, tracing his shoulders and chest for a few moments before daring to go a bit lower. San groaned as he felt you palm him over his robe, tightening his grip on your hair and deepening the kiss as his own hand reached down to grab at your thighs and your ass.

All your resolve melted away at his touch and you found yourself giving into him completely, relishing in the way he invaded your senses. All rationality had left completely, replaced with an unusual desire as San explored your body. As desperate as he was, his touches remained soft and left you craving more whenever he pulled his hand away. San walked you back until you reached the desk, lifting you up enough to sit you on top of it and slotting himself between your thighs as he finally pulled away. You only had a second to catch your breath before you were pushed back slightly and pinned down by your hands. San hovered above you with a knowing smirk, taking a moment to enjoy your flustered expression before leaning down to whisper directly in your ear.

“Looks like I won. Game Over!”

Ateez taglist: N/A

Please see my pinned post to be added to the taglist.

#sandsofirenet #atinyhalloweenproject #san x reader #choi san #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez smut #san fluff #san smut #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop fanfiction #horror au #slasher au #au #ateez au

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hanasnx · 10 months ago

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too bad i forget.

MINORS DNI 18+ NOTES: takes place during s2e2 where annie, abed, and troy break into a lawyers office | not sure how i feel about this bcos it was stuck in my head and i felt like i was trying to fit too many things in but whatevs

“You guys!” you exclaim, stamping your foot in frustration. “I’m the smartest one in the group and all I’ve been used for is bait and distraction.” With each angry bounce in place—conveying your mini temper tantrum as you complain—you hadn’t realized your chest rippled from the impacts of your stomps until their eyes drifted and remained there. Both Troy and ABED NADIR watch your curves move under the thin material of your form-fitting dress, and you scoff in offense. Your arms cross over, veiling your cleavage and breaking their trance. Finally, they meet your gaze as you frown at them. It’s humiliating enough to be looked at like a piece of meat, but you would’ve never expected that behavior from Abed.

A little later, it furthers still when you lift a box of files to prop open the door. Your little heels don’t stay under you when you crouch, sliding to a sit on the floor with your legs folded out on either side of you, and your ass jiggles from your firm landing. Embarrassed, you squeak, and whirl your head around to face the boys, checking if they caught your blunder. Troy has his back turned, but Abed’s unabashedly watching. His eyes follow the deep arch of your back, how your ass fans out sat against the floor, your smooth legs tucked in a most exquisite way. It shocks you enough to idle as he tilts his head. Only when you scramble up, face hot and deeply colored, does Abed return to his task of searching the computer for evidence. Hastily, you dust off your outfit, and make sure it’s not exposing more than it already was. Briefly, you remember the way he scanned you, and you feel a disappointment you didn’t let that linger a little longer.

You and Abed aren’t a thing, but you know how upset he sounded when he heard Jeff had kissed you that night, after the dance. The big reveal right in that study room had him practically storm out after verbalizing Jeff’s blatant disregard for human decency. It was mortifying to say the least, you’d never seen Abed so upset. His voice had a subtle edge that you may have never noticed if you didn’t spend so much time with him. Additionally, there was that one time that Pierce had described you and Britta as—what he believed to be—your most identifying features: one of you was “flat-ass” and the other was “the one Abed wants to nail.” One million questions had flooded your head all of them having to do with the latter. Another time was pottery class, and you hadn’t realized it in the moment, but sculpting a defined phallic shape accidentally had caught the eye of both Abed and Jeff. Running your wet hands up and down the shaft of the clay had brought them both to pensive silence as they observed your graceful movements. All this evidence kept piling up to explain Abed’s strange behavior tonight, but you keep denying it.

You keep denying it right up until you can’t take it anymore, right up until you’re back at his place, straddling him. Your lips against his, you find him oddly stiff. The kiss itself isn’t unpleasant, but you can feel his hesitance. Or maybe he’s just nervous, manifesting in rigid movements. Nevertheless, you find it appealing. A guy who gets worked up kissing strikes your fancy because you’ve always imagined yourself as the one to take it slow. It’s refreshing that he’s beating you to it. Your dress is cascaded over his pelvis, and his head is propped up on the armrest of his couch. Sweetly, he’s returning your kiss the best of his ability, even parting your lips with his when he slips you a glimpse of tongue.

You pull away to speak, but he interrupts your path. “Did I not do it right?” he asks, but his tone is characteristically devoid of concern. Instead, it’s calculative, as if he’s been measuring your enjoyment inside his head and is surprised to have been incorrect just now.

“Oh, you’re doing fine.” you reply with a relieved grin, clutching onto the front of his shirt. “I just wanted to say…” You lean down, pecking his willing lips. “you could… you know, touch me a little.” Those hands of his have been faithfully laying atop your thighs this entire exchange, and he glances warily down at them. So you help him. “Like this.” You palm the backs of his hands and gently glide them along your body, riding up your dress as they come to sit at the space right above your ass. Searching his eyes, you can see a glint of enthusiasm pass through them, and then those curious hands invite themselves to take a generous grope of your backside, incidentally rutting your core against the crotch of his jeans. You exhale, disbelief mixed with pleasure, and you could predict he was gonna say he saw this move in a movie once. Didn’t give him the chance though, pressing your chest against his to recapture his lips.

Strangely forward, Abed experimentally rocks you. Shallow jostles back and forth which is not at all what you expected from him. It’s unnerving until a twang slips from his lips, “Gonna ride me like a cowgirl tonight, huh?”

It becomes clear. You can tell he’s getting nervous treading into unknown territory, and falling back on a reference you don’t understand playing a character you don’t know is a way to diffuse that. “This is not a movie, Abed.” you chide.

“Sorry.”

#indy: drabbles #ch: abed #abed nadir drabble #abed nadir x reader #abed nadir x fem reader #abed nadir x you #abed nadir x y/n #abed nadir imagine #abed nadir fic #abed nadir fanfic #abed nadir fanfiction #community smut #community x reader #community imagine #community fic #community fanfiction

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mcntsee · 10 months ago

Text

— ★ aim

↳ Summary: Spencer’s nerves are on edge as he anticipates his upcoming firearms qualification exam, yet he remains staunchly resistant to seeking assistance from the one individual who likely holds the key to his success.

↳ Warnings: Self-doubt, anxiety, like one cuss word, firearms, shooting, not proof read and i think that’s it?

↳ Note: This is a reader insert, but, as requested, they call reader “zero” (and “y/n” once.)

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You could always ask her.”

His eyes trailed Rossi’s hand movement. With a precision akin to a hawk’s hunt, his gaze darted from one point to another until it alighted upon the focal point of Rossi’s gesture: her, standing ethereal and captivating amidst the ordinary backdrop of the office.

“Absolutely not.”

“Kid—“

“—No, Rossi. I’m not asking her to train me as if I were a child.”

With a sigh, Rossi’s hand fell from its previous position, surrender evident in the way both hands rose shortly after in the universal gesture of concession. Under his breath, he muttered something that seemed to insinuate Spencer's immaturity and something else about a crush.

As Rossi turned to leave, Spencer’s gaze instinctively gravitated back to her form, lingering just a beat longer than intended. He seemed ensnared in a trance, only snapping out of it when she turned, locking eyes with him. Her hand lifted in a gentle wave, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Flushed with embarrassment at being caught, his cheeks tinted crimson as he too lifted his hand in a shy wave, mirroring her gesture with a smile of his own.

Days had slipped by since his latest, unsuccessful venture at the shooting range. The higher-ups had been incessantly pressing him to pass the test, but despite their relentless prodding, his aim simply refused to cooperate.

He had spent weeks down at the shooting range, seeking assistance from anyone willing to help him hone his shooting skills. However, conspicuously absent from the list of helpers was her because, of course, Spencer refused to ask.

Lost in his own thoughts, his head snapped up at the sound of heels clicking against the ground, drawing nearer in his direction. “Brainiac!”

“Zero.”

"What's troubling that pretty little head of yours?" she inquired, her voice laced with curiosity as she finally reached him.

He quickly shook his head, feigning ignorance, and assured her that he had no idea what she was talking about. She stood there, her eyebrow raised in a questioning look, before releasing a sigh and uncrossing her arms. “Well—“

She swiftly turned, her hands reaching behind to grip the edge of his desk as she lowered herself onto its edge, mindful not to disturb any of his files. With a graceful movement, she crossed one leg over the other, settling comfortably into her impromptu perch. “Morgan and I are planning to hit the shooting range that’s like forty minutes away. Would you be interested in joining us?”

“Why the sudden trip to the shooting range?”

“Morgan’s been boasting about his shooting skills for too long. I thought I’d humble him a bit, but having an impartial referee there wouldn’t hurt.”

Of course Morgan is. With a sigh, he quickly scanned his desk, searching in vain for an excuse to decline her invitation. “Come on, genius. Don’t you want to witness Derek getting humbled?” she teased, a playful glint in her eye.

And that’s precisely how all three of them wound up at the shooting range, forty minutes away from the safety of his desk back at work.

"Boom!" Derek exclaimed, prompting an eye-roll from her– a gesture that seemed to have become a routine in the past hour.

“Beat that.”

“You know I will, Derek.”

Derek extended his arm in a challenging gesture, a silent “go ahead” for her. She carefully placed her sniper rifle on the ground before assuming a prone position, her left side facing the target. She gripped the rifle with her left hand on the grip, supporting its weight. “All talk and no show, zero?”

She then adjusted the stock against her left shoulder, while her eye was brought close to the scope for a clear view. Simultaneously, she positioned her right hand on the fore end for additional support.

With her cheek firmly against the stock, she started taking controlled breaths, aligning the scope.

“You take too long.”

"Shut it, Morgan," Spencer’s voice sliced through the air from behind them, a reminder of his reluctant presence. Though he harbored some regret for being there at all, he also recognized the potential to glean valuable insights from this impromptu activity their coworkers had decided to partake in.

A collective silence fell as they observed her, noting the deliberate inhalation and gradual exhale. In the stillness, she squeezed the trigger smoothly with her left index finger, the controlled precision of the motion echoing through the shooting range.

“Smashed it, didn’t I, Morgan?”

Before Derek could respond, the buzz of their phones reverberated in their pockets. Spencer, being the only one without anything in his hands, swiftly retrieved his phone to check the notification.

"We have to go," he declared, a pleased yet discreet smile adorning his face, evident since the moment her shot hit the target. "New case in Richmond," he announced, quickly displaying the screen of his phone to them before returning it to his pocket.

Spencer watched as Derek’s hand extended downward to help her up, but just as she reached for it, Derek swiftly withdrew his hand, laughing as he started to walk away.

With a shake of his head, Spencer swiftly extended his hand to help her up from the prone position on the ground where she had been lying to take the shot. Unlike Derek, he actually helped her up. “He is such a sore loser,” she began, dusting herself off. “That he is,” Spencer agreed, chuckling at her remark. With a smile, they joined Derek as he made his way to the car.

Once they reached the SUV, they quickly stowed their equipment in the trunk, with Derek and Spencer settling into the front seats while she climbed into the back, flopping down with an audible sigh of exhaustion. “At least it’s not a long drive.”

They spent most of the drive engaged in lively discussion about the case, brainstorming various motives for the murders and playfully wagering on the most absurd profiles they could concoct with the limited information available.

As they settled into a lull, the car filled with the melody of music and the occasional navigation directive to Morgan. Suddenly, she sat up, her annoyance evident as she glanced at her phone, emitting a frustrated huff that didn't escape Spencer's notice through the rearview mirror. “What is it?”

He waited in silence as she tapped away on her phone, observing as she eventually locked it and tossed it onto the seat beside her. "I have to take the firearms qualification exam," she announced, “It doesn’t make sense. I’m the best sniper the BAU has. They shouldn’t need to keep testing me every year.”

“Well, it does make sense. The exam is essential for maintaining proficiency, ensuring safety, compliance with standards, adapting to changes in technology and tactics, and mitigating legal liabilities.”

With a sigh, she leaned back in her seat, letting out a drawn-out“I know.” and Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle at her melodramatic response. “When are you guys taking yours?”

“Oh, I already did, sweetheart.”

“What? When?”

“Two weeks ago. I went with Hotch.”

Spencer remained silent, anxiety tightening its grip on him as the weight of the impending exam settled on him. “Spence?”

Her voice jolted him back to the present, and Spencer swiveled his upper body to meet her gaze. "I'm scheduled for next Wednesday.” And just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, she dropped the bombshell that she would schedule hers for the same day.

“That way we can take it together!”

His only response was a tight-lipped smile and quick nod before he turned back around to face the road. Anxiety crepping back in, but now, he not only had to worry about passing the exam but also about not embarrassing himself in front of her.

The car lingered in silence for a while longer following their conversation. Usually, Spencer enjoyed the peace and quiet, but now it felt suffocating, as the only sound permeating the air was the cacophony of insecure voices echoing in his mind.

“Y/n?”

“Spencer.”

“Why Zero?”

Despite knowing the answer, Spencer couldn't bear the silence any longer. He posed a seemingly trivial question, hoping it would prompt her to continue talking for the remainder of the drive and drown out the incessant voices in his head.

“It was my call sign back in the military.”

Well, that wasn't the type of answer he was hoping for. He had anticipated a more elaborate narrative, maybe a glimpse into her military days—something that would keep her talking for longer. Instead, all he got was a generic response. Great.

“I know, but why “zero”?”

“Guess.”

"Well," he began, contemplating why ‘Zero’ might have become her call sign, “I know the term “zero” originated from the idea that a sniper’s goal is to achieve “zero error” when taking a shot, meaning they aim to hit the target precisely.”

His gaze darted to the rearview mirror, meeting her eyes that were already fixed on him, nodding along encouragingly for him to continue. "Uhm, 'zero' could also signify a sniper's ability to effectively neutralize threats, reducing them to 'zero' or nothing," he added, his voice gaining confidence as he elaborated on his observation.

“Go on.”

“Snipers often operate clandestinely behind enemy lines, gathering intelligence and surveilling enemy movements,” he continued, noting the little chuckle that escaped her lips, a bright smile illuminating her face as she gestured with her hands in encouragement for him to continue. “In that context, ‘Zero’ could signify the ability to remain undetected or ‘zeroed’ in on the targets without being noticed.”

As he finished, she leaned forward, her hands gently patting his shoulders. "Those were really good guesses," she praised, a genuine smile gracing her lips. “but, no.”

Now he was genuinely curious. The voices in his head having long since quieted, as his intrigue grew with each passing second. “Then why?”

“Do you know what “zeroing in” means for snipers?”

His gaze lingered on hers for a moment longer before he lowered it to think about the term. “Yes,” he began, “it’s the process of adjusting the scope to ensure that the bullet’s point of impact aligns precisely with the crosshairs or reticle at a given distance.”

“Yup.”

“Is that it then?”

As he allowed his gaze to return to hers, he couldn’t help but notice the faint blush that now colored her cheeks. “Kind of,” she replied softly.

His eyebrow rose in question, his expression expectant as he silently urged her to elaborate on what she meant by that statement.

"When I first joined the military, I struggled with my aim and had a tough time adjusting my scope properly," she explained, her voice quieter than usual, the blush on her cheeks now more prominent than before she started speaking. "My friends started calling me 'Zero' as a playful way to tease me about it."

Before Spencer had a chance to respond, Morgan voiced the same question that had formed on his mind. “You had bad aim?”

“Terrible.”

Morgan and her continued their conversation, their voices fading into the background as Spencer's attention turned inward. The voices in his head, once a source of anxiety, now offered reassurance. Perhaps reaching out to her for assistance before his exam might not be as absurd as he had initially imagined.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

The case had been straightforward—a series of disappearances in a small town stemming from a feud between two families. Innocent civilians becoming collateral damage in a game of power and revenge.

It had taken the team longer than expected but not long enough for Spencer to have to reschedule his test. He had two days to somehow improve his aim and despite his efforts, he still struggled to grasp what he was doing wrong.

“Brainiac!”

His head, which had been previously buried against his desk in frustration, snapped up as her voice reached his ears.

“Are you alright?”

He swiftly smoothed down his hair, which he had been tugging at in desperation, before turning around to face the direction from which the voice had come, meeting her gaze head-on. “Uh, yeah. What’s up?”

Her gaze lingered on his face for a moment, her eyes scanning his features as if trying to decipher his thoughts before ultimately relenting. “Want to come down to the shooting range with me?” she asked, extending the invitation with a faint smile.

“Why?”

“I would like to practice before the test.”

Might as well, he thought. With a nod, he swiftly gathered his belongings, stowing them away in his satchel before trailing after her as she made her way to the elevator.

Once there, she unlocked the door, retrieving two sets of earmuffs and handing one to him before heading towards one of the multiple shooting stalls.

He watched as she reached for the gun securely nestled in the holster on her hip. With deliberate movements, she brought it in front of her, assuming a steady stance with her feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and weight evenly distributed between both feet.

As her upper body gradually relaxed, her grip tightened on the gun. With precision, she aimed at the paper target, taking a couple of steady breaths before firing. Each shot rang out, hitting the target with unerring accuracy.

After firing her last shot, she swiftly engaged the safety on the firearm and ejected the empty magazine from the gun. She deftly retrieved a fresh magazine from the shelf behind them and smoothly inserted it into the magazine well, the satisfying click signaling its secure placement as she turned around to face him. “Your turn.”

He shook his head in denial, but before he could voice his objections, she placed the gun in his hand and gently nudged him forward, stepping back to give him space.

He felt his shoulders drop in defeat as he slowly reached up to unhook the strap of his satchel from across his body, pulling it over his head with a heavy sigh before letting the bag drop to the ground.

He shook his shoulders and arms, attempting to release the tension that had built up within them as he made his way towards the stall. Once there, he brought the gun up in front of him, closing one eye as he took careful aim at the target.

After a couple of deep breaths, he steadied himself, his index finger applying pressure to the trigger. His eyes closed for a brief moment as the shot rang out, causing his arms to instinctively rise slightly from the recoil of the bullet being fired.

As he lowered the gun, his eyes quickly sought out the hole he had created on the target, knowing all too well that, as usual, it was the only hole that had not landed inside the outline of the man.

With a frustrated groan, he took the earmuffs off and re-engaged the safety before turning towards her, extending the gun for her to take. "I'm going to fail," he admitted with a heavy sigh, his frustration evident in his tone.

Her eyes followed his movements as her hand came up to remove her own earmuffs. With a gentle smile, she reached out and pushed his extended hand back towards him. “You won’t,” she assured him.

Hearing her words only fueled his frustration, igniting a spark of anger within him. “I am. I keep missing the target.” he retorted, his tone laced with frustration. She shook her head and gently placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing his body to turn back around to face the target.

“Get into position again.”

He attempted to move away from her, but her grip tightened on his shoulders, anchoring him in place. Her hand gently lifted his chin, guiding his gaze to meet hers. In her eyes, he saw a pleading expression, coupled with an encouraging nod, urging him not to give up. “Don’t shoot, just get back into position.”

Reluctantly, he brought the gun back up in front of him as soon as she released his face and waited for further instruction.

Slowly, she shifted from her previous position after instructing him to hold his stance. Moving behind him, she asked for permission to touch him and adjust his posture. With a nod of assent from him, he felt her hands grasp his hips, gently guiding the right side forward. “Your hips should be parallel to each other,” she explained, her voice calm and reassuring, “not twisted or turned to one side.”

Then, he felt her foot tap his. "For your feet," she began as she gently nudged his left foot with hers, "you want to stand with them about shoulder-width apart." Once she positioned his left foot, she tapped his other foot, silently prompting him to adjust it. "This width provides a stable base for shooting."

After he correctly positioned his right foot, she moved to a spot where he could see her without having to adjust his stance. "How's your balance?" she inquired, and he felt his cheeks redden in embarrassment. "Not very good.”

With a nod, she returned to her position behind him. "Try placing more weight on your heels rather than the balls of your feet," she advised. He followed her instruction, adjusting slightly until he felt stable enough in his stance.

After a moment of silence, he felt her cold hand press against the sides of his neck, gently massaging the tension away. "You want your neck to be relaxed and comfortable," she explained softly, her touch soothing, "not strained or tense." Her thumbs applied a bit more pressure to a tense spot just below his skull. "Keep it in a natural position, not too stiff or leaning forward too much."

His eyes closed at the sensation, feeling his neck gradually relax under her skilled touch. "This way, you can move head freely to aim at the target," she explained, her hands ceasing their movement and slowly trailing down to his shoulders, "without any discomfort or restriction."

Her hand gently tightened on his shoulders before releasing, adjusting them slightly so they were aligned straight ahead towards where he was aiming. "You want them to be squared with the target.”

He felt her move to his side, her hands leaving his shoulders behind as they came up to grasp his arm. "Don't completely lock out your arms," she instructed gently. Without moving his body, he shifted his gaze to find her figure, scanning her face before lowering his eyes to where her hands were adjusting his arms. "Keep a slight bend in the elbows to absorb recoil and maintain control over the firearm."

His eyes returned to her face, watching intently as she looked him up and down, analyzing his new stance with a thoughtful expression.

After a couple of seconds, her eyes found his, and she smiled, giving him a reassuring nod. Stepping forward, she continued, "Your grip on the gun should be firm but not overly tight." She then picked up the earmuffs that rested on his shoulders and placed them over his ears before doing the same with hers.

With one last reassuring smile, she stepped back behind him, close enough for him to hear her but far enough to not disturb him, allowing him to focus on his shooting.

“Safety.” His thumb moved sideways on the gun, sliding the safety lever into the “off” position with a satisfying click.

“Clear your mind. Breath.” He mimicked the same breathing technique he had seen her do countless times before. With each inhale through his nose and exhale through his mouth, he felt the tension slowly dissipate, clearing his mind of distractions until he finally felt ready.

“Lock in on the target.” His eyes fixated on the target, his gaze penetrating through the sights of the firearm as he visualized the desired point of impact, mentally mapping the trajectory of the shot. “And remember to follow through, Spence.”

With those last words, she stepped back, giving him more room as his index finger rested lightly on the trigger. With one last exhale, he applied pressure to the trigger, the shot ringing out once more as he focused on his aim and followed through with precision.

He remained in position for a moment longer, his focus unwavering as he resisted the urge to shift his gaze to find where the bullet hit. Instead, he concentrated on the target, determined not to let his attention waver. It was only when he heard cheers from behind him that he allowed himself to relax slightly as he engaged the safety.

“You did it, Spencer!” Before he could fully turn around, he felt arms engulf him in a tight hug. Returning the embrace, he craned his neck to look at the target, finding the new bullet hole dead center in the paper man’s forehead.

Happiness filled his chest, bubbling up until a giddy laugh escaped his lips. Feeling proud of himself, he tightened his arms around her, holding the hug for a moment longer before reluctantly letting go, a sense of contentment washing over him.

“That was so good!”

“Thank you.”

She started to shake her head, her lips parting as if to speak, but before she could utter a word, his hand came up to gently cup her cheek, stilling her head. "I mean it.“ he said, his eyes meeting hers with gratitude, “Thank you for helping me.”

“Of course.“ Her hand came up to hold his that was still resting on her cheek,“I would’ve helped sooner but you never asked.” She smiled, but then her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why didn't you want me to help you?"

His shoulders dropped slightly, his hand still pressed against her cheek. “I-” he began, but cut himself off, his own eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “Who told you that?”

“A little birdy.”

“A little birdy?”

“Couple little birdies.”

With a groan, he lowered his head, attempting to hide the blush that had begun to spread across his cheeks. However, when he heard her laughter, his head snapped back up to look at her. Her eyes were closed, and her head tilted backward slightly, her laughter infectious and filling the air with warmth.

A smile grew on his lips as he continued to gaze at her, her happiness radiating through him and warming his heart. “I should thank them.”

Soon her laughter quieted down, and her eyes met his. They stayed in that position for a while, enjoying each other's company in comfortable silence before he spoke again. “How did you do that?”

At that, her brows furrowed once more. "Do what?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by his cryptic statement.

"That," he said, twisting his body to gesture towards the target behind him, "I've been coming down here every week for what feels like an eternity." His hand slowly lowered as his gaze returned to hers, his expression earnest. "Everyone has tried to help me improve, but none of them succeeded."

“You don’t have bad aim, Spencer.”

He snorted, his playful smile faltering into a look of confusion as he saw the sincerity in her eyes. “No?”

“No.”

“Then… What?”

“Your stance.”

His confusion deepened even further, his hand leaving her cheek as she dropped hers. No one else on the team had mentioned anything about his stance before. They had all focused on giving suggestions about his aim, but never mentioning his stance.

"Try again," she urged gently, pointing back at the gun that had been discarded on the stall with her now free hand. "Just remember what I told you," she added, her tone encouraging and supportive.

He felt the nerves creeping back into his body as he picked up the gun, his shoulders and neck tensing for a moment before he remembered her instructions. Taking a deep breath, he focused on relaxing his muscles and recalling the guidance she had given him.

He slowly positioned his body, meticulous in following every single step she had given him. With each movement, he focused on maintaining the correct stance and grip, feeling the tension ease from his muscles. Soon, he found himself taking deep breaths, clearing his head and finding his target with renewed clarity before pressing the trigger multiple times.

When the gun clicked to signal the magazine was empty, he engaged the safety and lower the gun. As he took his earmuffs off, he heard her voice from behind him, “Not bad aim at all.”

He had been too scared to look at the target at first, afraid that his first successful shot had been a one-time thing. However, after hearing her words, he forced himself to look up, his eyes quickly finding the much bigger hole the bullets had made on the paper after repeatedly hitting the same spot.

A smile crept onto his face again as he turned towards her excitedly, meeting her proud smile with one of his own. “I think you’re going to pass.”

With a laugh, he approached her again, opening his arms as she walked right into his embrace, giving him a quick reassuring squeeze before backing up.

As he looked at her, his brain started rushing with thoughts, and before he could back out, he forced the words he’d been meaning to ask for a while to come out of his lips, his heart pounding with anticipation. “Do you want to get dinner?”

“Are you paying?”

“Yes.”

With a laugh, she mumbled a quick “yes” before taking his arm and pulling him out of the shooting range. The warmth of her touch and the excitement in her voice filling him with joy, as he eagerly let her lead the way.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

His steps quickened as he walked from the elevator to the office, eager to share his exam results with her. The anticipation bubbled inside him, and he couldn't wait to see her reaction once he told her the news.

As soon as he walked in, a loud “pop” came from somewhere on his right, and confetti rained down on him, sticking to his hair and clothes. A chorus of voices yelled “congratulations!” as he looked around in surprise, confusion written all over his face, while multiple excited claps reached his ears. The unexpected celebration left him momentarily stunned, but as he took in the scene, a wide grin spread across his face, before he was pulled into a tight hug.

After some more hugs and congratulations, he looked around, a puzzled expression on his face. “What—” he began, but then paused, noticing the smiles on his colleagues’ faces. “Why are you guys so positive I passed? I haven’t told anyone my results.”

“We don’t know the results but miss zero over there was very insistan that you were going to pass.”

As Morgan pointed in her direction, his eyes followed, finding her standing there with a nervous smile on her face. Before he could respond, she awkwardly asked, “Well, did you?”

He quickly glanced down at the floor, his hand coming up to rub at the back of his head nervously as he searched for the right words. “Well…” he began slowly, the weight of the silence in the office pressing down on him. His colleagues waited expectantly to hear his result, their earlier celebration now tinged with uncertainty.

“Oh shit, Spencer I’m so—“

Before she could finish her sentence, he threw his arms up in the air, his face breaking into a wide grin. With excitement bubbling in his voice, he announced, “I passed!” The tension in the room instantly lifted, replaced by cheers and applause as his colleagues erupted in celebration once again.

He suddenly felt a sting on his arm, and as he looked over to where the hit came from, he found her looking at him angrily. “You asshole,” she exclaimed, her tone half-joking and half-serious, “I thought you were going to say that you failed. I felt so bad.” Her words were laced with both relief and frustration, and he couldn’t help but laugh at her reaction.

With a warm smile, he extended his arms towards her and pulled her into a tight hug, his mouth close to her ear as he whispered, “Thank you.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #fluff #fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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hheaven-sentt · 5 months ago

Text

willow and wisteria

summary: he's the willow, you're the wisteria | leon kennedy x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: movie title mentions (had to pull out the pop culture stops for this one), yearning, a certain nostalgia for Blockbuster and VHS rentals

notes: has this been sitting on my laptop for two weeks? yes. do I want to talk about that? no. also, i am battling a sinus infection that spread to my lungs? and let me just say: sinus infection's got hands | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shoulder to shoulder on the couch, you wonder how you got to this point. He’s stiff beside you as the credits roll on some old western movie you don’t remember the name of. You can see him in your peripheral, jaw clenched like he’s fighting to keep words in, skin naturally smoother than you could ever get it with products, staring straight ahead like he’s looking for his own name on the screen. He’s wearing a sweatshirt you’ve never seen before; it looks so soft, and you want nothing more than to crawl into it.

His voice pulls you from your thoughts. “How many is that?”

You turn your head a bit and blink at him. “Twelve, I think,”

“I think I’ve seen enough westerns to last me a lifetime,” he teases lightly. “I get to pick next time,”

This is what you do. It’s a moment of reprieve for each of you. In total, you’ve watched sixteen dramas, fourteen comedies, six romances, and twelve westerns. Movies are easy. There’s no expectations, not like there would be if you went out to dinner or to a bar. You’re not supposed to talk during movies, although you and Leon have never really been good about that. You don’t know his middle name or his favorite color, but you know that he hates Die Hard and he had a crush on Molly Ringwald as a kid. So, yes, you talk during the movies, but never about the things that would let you peel back the curtain.

You like it that way. There’s no fear of saying the wrong thing or unloading baggage that’s been packed away for decades. It’s easy this way, and you like easy.

“I’m sure the guy at Blockbuster is eagerly awaiting your decision,” you grin. Leon rolls his eyes.

“Are you going to bring that up every time I pick a movie?” he asks, looking at you finally. You see something in his eyes that you can’t quite place.

You shrug. “Probably. I’ve never seen a man more excited to talk about Alien,”

Leon cringes. “To be fair, it was a good movie,”

“I don’t know if it was ask-for-your-number-good, though,” you laugh. “Besides, I bring it up so that you don’t get any ideas about ditching me as your movie buddy,”

“I can’t imagine that we’d watch a ton of movies,” Leon says. Immediately, his cheeks go pink, and you can’t resist the laughter bubbling in your chest. It’s bright and wide, filling up the entire room. You’re wheezing before you know it.

“Hey, man, do whatever you want,” you say between giggles. “Just as long as you watch movies with me,”

Playfully, he knocks his shoulder into yours. “That’s not what I meant and you know it,”

You like when Leon grins. It’s more than a regular smile. It takes up most of his face, eating away at his cheeks and his sorrow, even if only for a moment. He carries something that he won’t share, and you like when he lets go of it for a while. There is peace in the way he laughs, and you prefer to savor it.

“Help me clean up before you head out?” you ask. Sometimes, you try to make him overstay his welcome. Sometimes, you never want him to leave. Sometimes, you try to con him into three or four movies in one night, hoping that he’ll choose to crash on your couch rather than brave the D.C traffic.

He nods, and begins to grab bowls and cups off your coffee table. There’s never much of a mess, but he always helps when you ask. Wordlessly, you file in and out of the kitchen until there’s no evidence that he was here at all. He gathers his things–his keys and geriatric phone–from the table next to the door and slips on his shoes. There’s a weight in your stomach that you wish would go away.

“Same time next week?” he asks. You smile.

“Don’t miss me too much,” you tease. “And don’t stop by the video store without me,”

“I can’t risk going back in there alone,” he says, feigning seriousness.

You can’t help but notice the way he lingers in the entry. You stare at him as you hear a crack of thunder rolling through the sky. You gnaw on your lower lip.

Before you can stop yourself, you say, “If you’d rather not face the storm, my couch is pretty comfy and I make a mean cup of coffee in the morning,”

He looks at you for a moment, like he didn’t fully understand what you said, and then he slips his shoes back off. Silently, he pulls his keys back out of his pocket and returns them to their place on the table.

“Just so you know,” he says. “I drink it black,”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you do,”

You half expect the next few minutes to be awkward, but they aren’t. Leon just settles back into his spot on the couch, leant back against the cushions behind him like he’s supposed to have been there all along. You have to fight the curl threatening to upturn your lips. You return to him, like you always do, settling down beside him with room to spare.

“What’s next on the list?” he asks. His hands are on his chest, just below his sternum, fingers interlaced. You notice that his eyes have slipped closed.

“I was thinking Titanic,” you muse, leaning your head against the cushions. You hadn’t realized how tired you really were. “It’s a classic,”

“Little boring for my taste,” he says. You smile.

“A whole boat sinks during the last, like, hour of the movie,” you tease, leaning over to shove him playfully. “How is that boring?”

He shrugs, smiling and opening one eye to peek at you. You feel a chill snake its way down your spine. “The other two thirds cancel out the boat sinking,”

“Fair,” you note. You can’t find anything else to say, even if you want to. He looks so peaceful there, loose on your couch and in your space. He chose to stay. He chose to be around you. Sometimes, it makes you nervous.

Silence stretches between you, but it doesn’t amplify the nerves. It settles them, honestly. You find yourself so comfortable here, an arm’s length away from him but somehow still wrapped in his warmth. He eases your tensions, dampens the sounds from outside. What a pleasant world it would be if he were here all the time. Your eyelids droop as you watch him. His breathing is so steady, you’d think he’d fallen asleep. But he twitches every now and then to tell you he’s still awake.

“You’re really gonna make me coffee tomorrow?” he asks. His voice is low and smooth. It makes you smile.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s the least I can do for holding you captive,”

He laughs, weak and wonderful as if he’s on the edge of sleep. “You’re not holding me captive. There’s hurricane force winds out there,”

You grin, opening your eyes to look at him. You find him already watching you. Blush creeps over his features. You hold his stare, wondering what he’s thinking.

“You make me nervous,” you whisper. You’re not sure he even hears you. He seems to be calculating his words, or maybe his escape route.

Instead, he furrows his brow. “I hope it’s a good kind of nervous,” he whispers back. Your lips form a line as you nod.

The silence returns, but you keep watching him. He’s pretty like this, haloed by the lightning that flashes in the window every few seconds. You fight the urge to reach out and trace his features. You can imagine the way his skin would feel against yours, the sloped angle of his nose, the creases near his eyes.

You want to jump out of your skin when he turns to consider you more. There’s a half smile hung on his lips. Then, he’s reaching out to grab your hand. It’s tentative, like a young boy might slowly wrap his fingers around a girl’s for the very first time. It’s simple, it’s easy; you like easy. His hands are much warmer than yours, though you’re not sure how, considering you feel like every inch of you has been consumed by flames. You worry that he can see the sweat beginning to bead along your hairline. You swallow thickly, praying to whoever might listen that you don’t screw this up.

“What’s your favorite color?” you ask. Your voice is low, barely above a whisper like you’re children trading secrets when you’re meant to be asleep.

He smiles. “Green,” he says. “Like a forest just before dusk,”

Of course it would be green. You feel a flash of embarrassment for not having asked earlier. The amount of green things you could shower him would last a lifetime. You think back to every green item you’ve ever seen, every natural green you’ve had the pleasure of witnessing, and wonder how you’d never thought of it before. Now, when the tree outside your window raps against the panes, you’ll think of him. You’ll think of him when you use the crockpot your mother gifted you when you moved out. You’ll see him in the murky depths of a lake, or the vibrant hue of your favorite pair of shoes.

“Mine’s purple,” you reply. “Like wisteria,”

His face sours for a moment. “The stuff that hangs off willow trees?”

You grin and nod. “Exactly like that,”

At this, he laces your fingers together with more confidence. You feel your heart stutter. You would be content to die like this. In this moment, you’d make him a hundred cups of coffee, give him a thousand green hued things, and look for willow trees where you can.

#m writes #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #my fics #x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfic #fanfic

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metalmonki · 2 months ago

Text

Objection! Part 5

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

2.1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

For months the days where just as busy as that first day. Some days were filled with paperwork, some days were spent entirely at the courthouse. More and more I was working independently of Rafael only crossing paths briefly to hand off files or to discuss a case. Rafael had even organised me my own office. As much as I enjoyed the newfound freedom within the DA’s office, I was also missing being so close to Rafael. We still had a little meetings, casual lunches and nights out with the SVU team, but it became less of us and more the whole team.

Finally, a case came up that allowed me to work closely with Rafael again. What started as a runaway with no connection to SVU and turned into a possible stranger abduction had become a massive manhunt for a yet unknown person who was enjoying taunting Rafael in the form of letters with clues which to places with more clues that lead to dead ends. 2 months and hundreds of mans hours had been put into finding this person and we were still no closer. No name, no witnesses, no evidence and 7 missing teenagers. We had rearranged the entire SVU pull pen pushing all tables to the sides and filling the middle of the room with drawing boards. I was currently sat staring at the clues we had been sent. The first ever letter we received from this guy told us that we would find the missing teen just by following his clues. Yet all the clues had led to dead ends. Something wasn’t adding up, something didn’t make sense.

“Y/n we have to go update the mayor” Rafael said coming to a stop next to me.

“Yeah, yeah coming”

“You’ve been staring at these notes for ages” Rafael sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Somethings bothering me about them. I feel like we’ve missed something” I say eyes not leaving the boards in front of me.

“You’ve been working for almost 40 hours, lets update the mayor then you can go home and get some sleep.” Rafael held out a hand to help me up.

I took Rafael’s hand and stood, though my eyes lingered on the boards a second longer. The sketches, cryptic letters, and scribbled coordinates seemed to mock me, each taunt from our unknown suspect ringing louder in my mind. But he was right—I needed a clear head if I was going to see whatever was lurking in the details.

As we made our way to the mayor's office, I replayed the clues in my mind, hoping a fresh perspective or a conversation might help connect the dots. This case had turned into something personal for everyone involved, especially for Rafael, whose frustration was mounting with each letter that slipped through our fingers and led to nothing.

In the elevator, he broke the silence. “You know, we’re close. I can feel it.”

I glanced at him, seeing the exhaustion mirrored in his expression. But there was something else too—a simmering determination that made me feel as if we were on the brink of a breakthrough.

“You think he’s messing with us on purpose?” I asked, voicing a theory that had been nagging me.

“Absolutely. He’s got a plan,” Rafael said, his jaw tight. “And he wants us chasing our tails.”

The elevator doors opened to reveal the marble hall leading to the mayor’s office, but before we could step out, Rafael's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his face darkened.

“It’s another message.”

A chill ran down my spine as he opened the new text. Another cryptic line: "When you reach the end of the labyrinth, the prize will be in plain sight. If you just open your eyes." It was as if the perpetrator could sense our frustration, even knew that we were about to speak with the mayor.

“Another clue,” I whispered, looking over Rafael’s shoulder. But something was different this time. The tone—it wasn’t taunting. It was almost... instructional.

Rafael took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. “Looks like we’re not going home anytime soon.”

“No,” I said, a spark of determination reigniting. “But I think we’re finally starting to understand his game.”

As we turned back toward the precinct, abandoning the meeting with the mayor, my exhaustion melted into resolve. I’d follow every hint, trace every step. This time, I was determined to beat him at his own game.

…

The precinct was quiet, nearly deserted, with only the faint hum of overhead lights filling the silence. Midnight was approaching, and most of the team had taken off for a quick break. Olivia and Rafael had left to grab food for everyone, Amanda was somewhere in the break room nursing yet another coffee, and Sonny was curled up in the bunk room, catching some much-needed rest. Finn had gone out hours ago to chase down a lead.

I sat in front of the board, staring at the latest clue we’d pinned up: "When you reach the end of the labyrinth, the prize will be in plain sight. If you just open your eyes."

A familiar presence broke the silence beside me as Nick ambled over, arms crossed, eyes scanning the chaotic tangle of clues, locations, and scrawled notes we’d collected over the past two months. He’d been watching me closely for a while, occasionally throwing out theories, but mostly letting me sift through my own thoughts.

“Still chewing on that one?” he asked, tilting his head toward the new clue.

I nodded, barely looking at him. “Yeah. This one’s different. It’s… almost like he’s taunting us less, like he’s trying to lead us to something.”

Nick furrowed his brow, clearly considering it. “Or maybe he’s getting cocky, slipping up a little.”

I tapped my pen against my notebook, scanning the list of locations we’d already searched, the cryptic clues leading us from one dead-end to another. I was exhausted, but something kept gnawing at me, like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. We’d been to all these places, followed every lead, yet somehow, I felt like I’d been staring right at the answer without seeing it.

My mind flashed back to the first letter—the one he’d sent that started this whole twisted game. "You'll find them if you look beyond the obvious."

A realization hit me, cold and electric. “Nick,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “What if we’ve been overthinking this? Maybe the answer isn’t at the end of some long, winding path—it’s been right in front of us all along.”

Nick leaned in, interest sparking in his eyes. “You think he’s hidden something we’ve overlooked?”

“Yes. Or maybe he’s been hiding in plain sight, knowing we’d miss it because we were too focused on finding something complex.” I scanned the board again, every location we’d been to flickering through my mind. Parks, subway stations, alleys, all public spaces with no clear connection other than being… central.

My eyes widened. “Nick, what if he’s been using these places to form a pattern, like a… map?”

Nick straightened, a gleam of understanding lighting his face. “So you think he’s been leading us in circles—maybe around somewhere specific?”

“Exactly.” I felt my pulse quicken. “I think he’s been taunting us by leading us right around his hiding spot, and he’s getting a thrill out of knowing we haven’t found it. But I need to check, and I can’t explain why just yet.”

I turned to Nick, urgency thickening in my voice. “Come with me. We have to go now, but don’t tell anyone. Not until we’re sure.”

He looked at me, searching my face, his jaw tightening as he weighed my request. Then, without another word, he grabbed his jacket off the back of a nearby chair. “Alright, I’m with you.”

We slipped out of the precinct, moving quickly and quietly down the stairwell and out the back exit. The chill of the night air hit me as we stepped onto the empty street, adrenaline sparking through my veins.

“You have any idea where we’re headed?” he asked as we walked.

I gave him a small smile, my confidence growing. “I do. I just hope I’m right.”

And as we headed toward our destination, a strange sense of clarity washed over me. The missing piece was within reach; I could feel it. This time, we weren’t going to let him slip through our fingers.

The streets were empty as Nick and I navigated our way through the quiet alleys, following my hunch toward one of the oldest and most forgotten parts of New York’s sewer system. With each step, the city above felt more distant, the buildings looming like silent witnesses to our descent. We slipped through an unmarked, rusted gate, making our way down a narrow, crumbling stairwell that reeked of mold and decay. Somewhere ahead of us was an answer—a clue, maybe even one of the missing teens—but right now, every instinct was screaming that this was a mistake.

“Are you sure about this?” Nick murmured as we approached a door at the end of the passage, barely visible in the dim light of my flashlight.

“Positive,” I whispered back, my voice tight with anticipation and dread. The door was dented and corroded, with a single piece of paper pinned to it. I lifted my flashlight, illuminating a simple, handwritten message: Welcome, Rafael Barba.

A shiver ran down my spine as I stared at the name, the ink bold and deliberate. “He was expecting Rafael,” I whispered, pulling the note down with a trembling hand.

Nick glanced around, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. “Looks like he planned something special.”

I crumpled the note, stuffing it in my pocket. “We’re here now. Let’s see what he had in mind.”

I pushed the door open, and we stepped inside, the smell of damp concrete and rust thickening in the air. Before I could react, the door slammed shut behind us with a heavy clang, echoing through the tunnel as it locked into place. Nick spun around, yanking on the handle, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” he muttered, frustration flashing in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist as an unsettling silence settled over us, thick and foreboding. And then, a crackle overhead—a faint hum of static that made my heart pound. Somewhere in the darkness, an intercom system buzzed to life, and a voice filled the room, low and edged with disappointment.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled, with an eerie calmness that sent chills down my spine. “I was expecting Rafael Barba. But instead, he sends his… assistant.” A pause, as if he were savoring the surprise. “Not what I had hoped for. But I suppose you’ll do.”

I clenched my fists, anger simmering beneath my fear. “If you wanted Barba, maybe you should’ve faced him directly, instead of hiding behind your little clues.”

The voice chuckled, a cold, amused sound. “You misunderstand, my dear. This was never about facing Barba—it was about creating something he couldn’t ignore. A labyrinth, an elaborate little puzzle designed just for him. I wanted to watch him sweat, watch him chase his own tail. Just like I had to do when I begged him to take my sisters case” He paused, his tone turning playful. “But now, it seems I’ll get to see you and your friend test your wits instead.”

Nick tightened his grip on his flashlight, his jaw clenched. “We’re not playing your game.”

“Oh, but you already are,” the voice purred. “In fact, you’re at the very heart of it.”

I scanned the room, my pulse racing. The walls were lined with passages, each one barely visible in the dim light, twisting and disappearing into darkness. The intercom crackled again, the voice practically dripping with satisfaction.

“I’ve left you a series of clues,” he continued, “if you can find them, that is. Each path you choose will lead you deeper into the labyrinth. Or… to a dead end.” He laughed softly, the sound echoing around us. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll even get out alive.”

Nick shot me a look, his expression deadly serious. “What’s the plan, then?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “We play along. For now. But we stay sharp and look for a way to turn this back on him. He thinks he’s got us trapped, but that’s his first mistake.”

The intercom crackled again. “Tick-tock, Y/N. Time is running out. I’ll be watching—don’t disappoint me.”

The line went silent, leaving us in darkness, with only the soft, persistent drip of water echoing through the tunnels. I gritted my teeth, the weight of the situation sinking in. He wanted a game? We’d give him one he wouldn’t forget.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #carisi!reader!

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littleplantfreak · 2 months ago

Text

Word Count: 847

Suo x Reader (drabble ig?)

I wanted to write something with fallen angel suo and originally I was gonna make him mean but for some reason I can never do him dirty T-T I didn’t check it for errors so ✌️

Cws: Blood, maybe implied corruption? idk

Every time you meet Suo, he plucks a feather from your wings. He laughs as you pout, grumbling that you should do the same to him and he agrees, inching them closer to you. You never do grab one, nor do you ask why he does it.

Are angels supposed to meet with fallen angels? Of course not, but if nothing else, you wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t tell you why he fell, or what happened to make him cover his eye with a patch. The answer is nebulous and changes by the day, but that’s also part of the charm isn’t it? It’s part of the allure that led to you meeting with him every week, sitting under a heavy canopy of trees or slipping into a dimly lit cave a trail of flower petals led you to.

He’s a pinprick of red, crimson in your otherwise white, colorless life of working to watch over people who can’t see you. A thankless task, but necessary. Your way of living has been ingrained in you time and time again like water eroding mountains to follow a path out to sea, so by now the words come automatically.

“I don’t need to be thanked, Suo. I was made for this.” It’s an assurance you make time and time again, even if you sigh sometimes when you think about the monotony of it all.

Help, bless, pray and repeat.

Suo recently showed you laundromats, and the way the washing machine spins the water and soapy clothes in circles is how your job has started to feel. The trance you fall into as it spins is the very trance you slip into easily completing your assigned tasks.

“I think it’s natural to want to be thanked for your work.” His words eat at you sometimes, because you can tell they’re sincere. Regardless of his status, of what he is, and how he’s fallen, you can tell with certainty he believes it. You would say that, is what you want to say back, but he doesn’t deserve cruel words when he’s been nothing but kind.

No one’s questioned your absences, or your missing feathers. Both are sparse in the grand scheme of things and if anyone has noticed or made note, it’s been filed away as a transgression so minor you feel like screaming.

Why doesn’t that matter? Why shouldn’t someone be concerned? Why do they look at you funny if you even so much as think to ask a question that goes against what you’ve been taught? The word ‘why’ is small but stark. It stands out in your mind like the small dots of blood that replace the feathers Suo plucks from you over and over. The empty spaces have started to fill, but by the time you realize what’s happened, your wings have splatters of black against what was once a pristine white canvas.

You paint over them every morning one by one trying to bury the evidence, but you can feel the difference in how you think and see the world. When it comes time to meet Suo again, you can tell he sees through the effort you’ve put in to make yourself seem normal. Whatever normal was is not your normal now, but when he places his own black feather in your hand, you realize it’s just as soft as your own. It weighs the same, probably even has the same chemical makeup if you tested it in a lab, but the color is growing on you the more you look at it. Maybe this normal is better.

For now though, you bring the feather with you, shoving yourself back into the wash cycle. It can’t be much longer before someone starts to notice, but by the time they do, you’re sure it will be too late, and you’ll be long gone. It seems silly now to say an angel has fallen when they keep their wings, you think.

Suo hears that comment from you himself too, smiling as if he knows a secret. Would you believe him if he told you the truth? That the black feathered wings usually only grow back after their old ones have been torn from their backs, blood flowing and staining skin and lost plumage like a waterfall?

The first day he saw you he could tell right away what your course was meant to be. The look in your eyes was the same as his right before he was grounded and left flightless in a heap, not a hand to help him up in sight.

It’s good that he found a way around that. A way to save you from the pain and shame of not just falling, but being crushed under heel by the very entity that made you who you are. You’re happy now, looking through the garden he’s brought you to as you use an old botany book to search up what the flowers are. Your words from a lifetime ago ring true, if only for him. He doesn’t need to be thanked, he’s sure he was made for this.

#im just glad i could write something even if its..whatever this is #suo hayato x reader #mari writes #its just for funsies even if its a little pretentious #originally i wanted him to catch and torture angel reader and just continue to pluck their feathers out corrupting them like that but again #its hard for me to make him really mean sorry suo bby ill make u a monster next and let u kill ppl

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joels-darlin · 1 year ago

Text

Shattered

Pairings: post-outbreak!Joel Miller x shy/anxious!f!reader

Warnings: angst but I guess fluffy ending, illusions to domestic violence (previous relationship cos Joel is only ever a sweetheart), lots of crying, guilt, hurt, comfort, angry Joel, I guess slight abandonment (I think that's it but pls let me know if I missed any)

Summary: During a silly argument Joel shows a different side of himself.

Word count: 785

Author Note: Oh what is this I'm finally dipping into writing for Pedro characters. Just a short piece that I had filed away and felt it fit the universe of Joel Miller. I guess enjoy, any feedback is appreciated :D Special thanks to @ladybess-a03 for all your help <3 AO3

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“Well what the fuck do you want me to do about it?” he shouted banging his fist on the nearest surface; you stayed silent. It was early evening, and Joel was late coming back from patrol, leaving him in a grumpy old man mood. So you currently stood opposite sides of the kitchen in the midst of an argument over something stupid.

“I don’t know…” you mumbled.

“Jesus Christ…why won’t you ever argue back, you just stay quiet…I never know what you are thinking I’m not a damn mind reader!”. Joel was getting angrier now, the veins bulging out the side of his now flushed neck. You stood still unsure of what to say, not wanting to argue back as you weren’t that type of person - always the quiet one in the relationship. Given your abusive past he should understand that. You looked up at him, he had his back to you.

“I-I can’t do this” you said quietly.

“Well how do you think I feel? Sometimes I wish I could just fuck off and leave you to it” he roared. Your heart sank at his comment - this man was your everything. Next thing Joel lashed out. Picking up the chipped coffee mug that lay on the counter before flinging it across the side of the room. It flew past the side of your head, just a few inches away, smashing into pieces against the wall. Silence blanketed the room. And then, it started; erratic breathing, sweating, flashbacks of the past swirling around your head. Dropping to the floor head in your hands the tears started to flow heavily. You didn’t think Joel was capable of anything like this. He knew he had screwed up the moment the cup left his hand. Watching intensely as you slipped down to the floor, landing in a heap. Why did he do it, he knew about you.

“Shit…” he cursed and after grabbing his coat off the chair, sprinted out of the room. The last sound you heard was the front door slamming, then your sobs starting to echo off the walls of the empty house.

The tears had eventually ran dry. Still laying on the cold hard floor where Joel had left you a mere hour ago, body aching from head to toe. Eventually mustering up the courage to move then you crawled over to the cupboard taking out the brush to clean up the smashed ceramic, making sure to dispose of it all. The shards evidently becoming one big blur on the floor from the fresh tears that where threatening to fall. Once it was all disposed of you settled against the wall again head in hands.

In an attempt to distract from the aching feeling in your chest you eventually moved from the floor to the couch, curled up in a ratty blanket. The front room was shrouded in complete darkness but you chose to absentmindedly flick through one of Joel’s books off the shelf; not really paying attention. “Where could he be” your mind wandered off for a moment, he had been gone a few hours now with no ideas of his whereabouts.

In between reading and mulling over thoughts you dozed off. Only to be woken by the sound of the front door opening, he was home. Joel called your name distress and pain evident in his voice.

“In here” you half-shouted in response. The sound of footsteps entering the room alerted you of his presence. He knelt down next to you.

“Darlin’…I’m so sorry…” he pleaded, the southern twang heavy in his voice ��...I lost my temper” you looked up, his eyes rimmed with redness telling you he had been crying - a sight you had never seen before. “Please...sweetheart…forgive me” he choked.

You twiddled with your thumbs under the blanket and nodded. He reached out placing a hand on your leg. Making you flinch at his touch and pull back abruptly.

“Oh darlin’-” his voice strained realising the weight of his actions. “I won't hurt you I promise” he begged “…please just let me hold you” it was silent for a moment as you gather your thoughts. Nodding gently at him, Joel peeled the blanket back, you shifting over to make space for him on the tiny couch. When he was settled he wrapped his arms around you tightly and placing your head on his chest.

“I love you…” he mumbled against your hair “...I’m sorry darlin’, I’ll never ever do that again, promise”. You hugged him in response, not wanting to say anything just yet. Settling down into the warmth of his chest your eyes started to droop, succumbing to sleep, hoping tomorrow would be a better day.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal characters

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wambsgansshoelaces · 1 year ago

Text

Turmoil; Chapter 8

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I need him biblically

let me know your thoughts x

Word Count: 3.289k

You got one lazy day. That was it before you had to throw yourself back into work. You and Roman both stand at your bathroom sink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck. You press a light kiss to his forehead, and surprisingly, he doesn’t run off after the fact. He winces, but he stays.

“Connor’s bank statements should be handed to you when you walk in today,” he murmurs.

“You’re a godsend.”

“I know, right?” He takes you by the chin and presses an obnoxiously sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Kendall and I are looking into that politician thing today. Maybe we can go out to dinner today?”

“You’d better show up today,” you warn. He playfully pinches your hip.

“I promise.” He moves away, pulling his shirt off and disappearing into the closet. “If I don’t, put a bullet through my head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Rome?”

“Mm.”

“What’re you gonna do with that… thing with Marcia?”

“We wait until we can use it,” he calls back. “Thank god it’s on your phone and not mine.” You sigh. You both manage to get dressed and feed yourselves breakfast, and Roman hails you a cab and sees you off with a hesitant kiss to your lips.

You steel yourself as you stare up at the building containing your firm. You love your job- just not what you were doing with it now.

Before entering your office, you subtly slip a jewelry box onto your assistant’s desk. You’d gotten her a necklace and set of earrings while abroad as a thank-you for fighting Connor off with a stick. Roman was right, too. You give her the box and she slides you a manila file with a grin on her face, mouthing ‘thank you’.

You settle into your desk chair, leafing through the papers. It’s normal the first ten years, but starting another ten, his spending became erratic, and lo and behold, he stopped paying his taxes. You wonder how Connor has made it this far in life without getting killed by someone.

You can piece together the puzzle pretty easily. Connor thinks he’s too high and mighty to be taxed, he stopped paying them, the interest racked up an outrageous amount, and now he’s committing fraud to get money to pay everything off.

You take a moment to think.

If Logan bailed Connor out before, would he do it again?

You think you want to find out.

You could catch Logan with his pants down. You were closer to a solution to get him out of your- and Roman, and Kendall, and Shiv’s -life. You were lucky that he was the vote that would’ve won him the vote of no confidence- if he’d legally won, he would’ve dropped the guillotine on you and ousted the fact that you’d kept Connor innocent from fraud. Since he hadn’t, and he’d stayed, if he’d tried ruining your image, he’d look like a child throwing a tantrum.

Satisfied with your mental acrobatics, you toss the file into a lockable compartment of your desk. While you wanted nothing more than to serve Connor right that second, you knew taking him and Logan down at the same time would be much more satisfying. So you decide you’ll wait.

You make a small list on a post-it note of what you have so far. Kendall and Roman had begun to investigate Logan’s suspicious activity around the failed politician, Greg and Roman had gotten you the finances, you’d found more than one hard piece of evidence that Connor was lying on the suit. You also have the issue with Marcia, which you don’t really want to think about. Ever.

If you wait long enough, you think you’ll be able to find your way out of this mess.

Having gotten yourself into a good mood, you decide to pick up some pro-bono cases from junior associates in the bullpen to lighten their load. You spend the rest of your day doing paperwork, but you don’t mind.

You’re in your office for so long you eventually need to flick on your desk lamp. You’re not feeling as tired as you usually would at this point, and you’re thankful for it. When your phone rings, and you find Roman on the other end, you pick it up with a smile.

“Asshole. Why do you work so late?”

“Aw, I miss you too, Roman.” You jot something down in the margins of one of your documents. “Besides, it’s only dark out because it’s winter.”

“Are you almost done? I made a reservation for six.”

You glance over at your watch, sitting on the inside of your wrist. Five-thirty.

“Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, we have stuff to talk about. Involving my big, happy, functional family.”

“We do,” you muse. “I thought this was a date.”

“It is, swear. I just have to tell you because I’m a good fiance.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say. Call when you’re here.”

“I’m already outside, bitch.”

“You’re so romantic.”

You clean up in your office, bid your assistant goodbye(even though you’d given her permission to leave ages ago), and find him parked in front of the complex.

“You drive? How many people have you hit?” you ask, climbing into the passenger seat. He rolls his eyes at you, waiting until you buckle your seat belt to pull away.

“Only two old ladies and their dog that looked like Kendall.”

You snort. “How was work?”

“Glorious. Felt like a superhero fucking shitting on my dad like that.”

“Go on.”

”We did some digging, found a few paper trails. I didn’t know the old man was stupid. Kendall thinks we’re on track to find people that have the ability to testimony.”

“If you even have an inkling that someone could, send them to me. Like immediately. We can’t have them blab to the wrong people. I can legally keep them safe from Logan if they disclose to the firm.”

“You’re the boss.” He honks at the car that missed the green light in front of you. “Fucking dick.”

“Of course you have road rage.”

“I don’t have road rage.”

You sit in comfortable silence the rest of the way, interrupted by the occasional expletive from Roman at bad drivers. He’s surprisingly level-headed behind the wheel, keeping calm regardless of the ‘idiots around him’.

At the restaurant, you take the inside of his elbow as you walk. He flexes his arm, trying to suppress a grin, setting his hand on his stomach. You can tell, despite his slowly dissipating disdain for your physical affection towards him, he fucking loved showing you off in public.

He’d warm up to you eventually. You didn’t want to force him into anything you didn’t want, so most of the time, you let him initiate physical contact. And even though neither of you ever spoke about it, you got the feeling that he appreciated it immensely.

You both sit in a secluded corner of the restaurant, and his legs press up against yours from his seat across from you.

“You should tell me more about yourself,” you begin, setting your head in your hands, balancing your elbows on the table.

“What is there to say?” Roman mirrors your pose.

“I dunno. What’s your favorite color, Romulus?”

“Green. The color of money. Next.”

“Oh, that’s so bullshit.” You lean back, laughing. He pushes off his elbows, instead crossing his arms over his chest. “Your favorite show?”

“I don’t watch television, Miss Attorney-at-Law. Eat, sleep, corporate fucking, repeat.”

“That’s kind of vile.” You take a sip of the water at your hand. “We should watch garbage reality TV together. You’d enjoy it.”

“Why watch on a screen when it’s my real life?”

“You boring piece of shit.”

Roman takes your hand from across the table, hooking your fingers together. “That I am.”

“What about movies? Or are you allergic to rainbows, fun, and joy?”

“Oh no, my throat’s itching,” he says sarcastically, pouting. “I don’t have time for any of that. And when I do, it feels… weird. I never was into movies or TV shows or video games when I was younger. I was always on eggshells with Dad, so…”

You give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “So… we can do all of that stuff together after we give ourselves a week off of work.”

“We just got back from Norway…”

“Roman. You’re really saying you’re not going to give yourself a week off for shits and gigs?”

He has trouble pushing down his smile. “Of course I will. You know me so well already.”

“We should do it after we serve your dad the papers. So he has to wait even longer to go to court.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re evil. So perfect for me.”

You both laugh.

You both begin your meals, Roman surprisingly attentive the entire time. You both ask questions, answer them, and giggle like schoolchildren.

By the end of it, his chair is pulled all the way around the table, sitting next to yours as he tries to explain a business venture.

“So if pervs won’t disappear completely,” he says, gesturing with his hands, dead serious, “we appeal to the ones who like feet. Because who’s going to fucking know they’re your feet if they one, haven’t bought them, and two, inspect your toes in real life?”

You can’t help the ugly laugh that rips from your stomach. “Why have you thought about this in so much depth?”

“It’s infallible.”

”I didn’t know you knew what that word meant.”

He taps the side of his temple. “I’m learning. From you, specifically. Kendall’s fucking dumb.”

Back at home, Roman’s reclined into you, his head set lopsidedly on your shoulder. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, glancing up at you every so often, as if making sure you’re still there. You catch his eyes, and you both smile at each other.

Without thinking, you give him a peck on the lips. He lets you.

“It was hard,” he says quietly. “But it’s getting easier.”

“And so goes life.” You let your head rest on top of his. “I think you’re doing great.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Thanks.”

He hums, satisfied, when your nails begin raking through his hair. You stay like that, for a long while. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing regulating as time passes. You think he’s asleep when his phone rings, loud and obnoxious.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill whoever’s calling,” he mutters, shifting so that his head is in your lap. You see Connor’s name. “I’m putting him on speaker.”

He does, and starts the conversation with, “What is it, asshole?”

“Hey, Rome. I know it’s a little late, but your fiance hasn’t been returning my calls. Or texts.”

“She thinks you’re ugly. Not interested. Stop trying.”

“Roman.”

“Just being honest.”

“Well, be serious. We need to hurry things along. I’m starting to go into the red.”

“What the fuck are you buying? Oh, wait, your gir-”

“Shut the fuck up. That douchebag of an accountant. He’s doing some shady shit, I know it.”

“Or, shocker, you need to stop spending money. Batshit crazy idea, man.”

“You’re giving me financial advice? Remember when you spend twenty grand on a watch in high school and then lost it the day of?”

“At least I had the twenty thousand to spend.”

You have to suppress a laugh.

“This isn’t what I called for. Just forward the word, okay? I don’t want Willa to have to miss anything important at the theater.”

”What’s that have to do with my girl?”

“She can speed up proceedings.”

Roman looks up at you, and you shrug. You could, but you definitely wouldn’t. Not for Connor. “Yeah, come back later.”

“Nice talking to you, too.”

☾𖤓

The next time you’re at Waystar, it’s a ‘family’ meeting in Kendall’s office. You sit on the couch, Shiv sunken into the seat next to you.

“I say you take that nasty-ass video straight to Marcia and get the good shit from her,” Shiv says. “No beating around the bush. Surely she’ll spill.”

“You’re certainly free to do that. I can’t keep it on my phone anymore- I’m prone to vomiting,” you respond.

“Anyone know about that prick from the party? The one balding in all the weird spots?” Roman asks, leaning against the wall.

“What, Peirce? That’s the dick that was sucking the life out of Dad’s bank account. He was taking money pretending to be paying taxes.”

You turn and glance at Roman. “He’s actually not that stupid, is he?” you ask incredulously.

“I feel like we’re saying that a lot,” he mutters back. “You know that that guy is Con’s accountant now? And he has literally no money left?”

“He’s never been the brightest,” Shiv says without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How can he miss that, though?” Kendall asks, dragging a hand over his face.

“Desperate times,” Roman supplies.

“His firm name’s Thompson & Thompson, right?” you ask.

“Fucking banger name,” Shiv says. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“They have a consultation with me tomorrow. I don’t think it’s anything good, given Connor’s recent history.”

“Lock them out,” is all Roman says.

“This is all such a headache,” Kendall mutters. “Has anyone heard from Dad recently?”

“Surprisingly, no. He’s been suspiciously quiet,” Shiv replies. “You think he’s in the hospital again?"

“Wouldn’t he say something?” you ask.

“I guess not,” Shiv says. “Makes him look weak. Someone will notice, anyway. We’re in the States, we’ll know where he is soon enough.”

“He’s scheming,” Kendall states. “He’s trying to find a loophole back into the company.”

“He wishes,” you retort. “Vote of no confidence. Can’t come back on without making a big deal about it.”

“What if he wants that? He could use it to distract us,” Shiv suggests.

“But from what?” Kendall asks, staring at his feet, boring a hole through the floor.

“You’re overthinking it,” Roman clarifies. “What does he have that he can do right now?”

“God, I don’t even want to know.” You push yourself to your feet. “I’d better head out.”

Kendall grunts a goodbye, Shiv gives you a hug. Roman walks you, and as soon as you turn the corner and nobody’s around, he takes your hand in his.

“Is this what having a crush feels like?” he asks as you wait for the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“I never stop thinking about you. I get all giddy talking to you- just looking at you. I’m always trying to make you laugh, smile. And look at your fucking face. I don’t need to keep telling you how fucking pretty you are.”

“Hm, maybe you do,” you say, grinning.

“But really.” He lets go of your hand in the elevator, instead winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Is this how normal people feel? All… sappy and shit?”

“I guess. I don’t think I can be considered normal, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m into you, aren’t I?”

“Asshole. I take back what I said. You’re repulsive,” he says, lips on your jaw. When you’re in the lobby, he tells you, “Call me when you’re done,” and leaves you with a squeeze of your shoulder.

At your firm, you give your assistant a wave, gather some files, and head to a conference room. Peirce is there, waiting for you.

“Mr. Thompson,” you say politely, ignoring his outstretched hand. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. “Please tell me tax fraud isn’t why you asked to see me and refused to disclose why over the phone.” You both take your seats.

“I’m afraid it is. Rather, not that I committed it, because I wouldn’t be here if I did.” He takes his handkerchief and wipes away a bit of sweat from his chin. He’s a horrible liar. “Rather, some accusations that are being made. I was wondering if anything could be done. And since you’re already handling my client…”

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “If you can prove it, we can sue for defamation. That’s really it.”

Peirce straightens. “I can prove it, actually. Tax returns, receipts.”

While you don’t take cases you don’t want to(Peirce makes you want to vomit), you know that this could lead to something useful. So you tell him, “Have them faxed by tomorrow,” and he’s on his feet, thanking you profusely as you push past him.

To your surprise, however, he follows you to your office. “Can I help you?” you ask, miffed.

“I just, ah, thought that since I was here, I’d check on how my client’s suit was going.”

“It’s going,” is all you say back. “Last time I checked, I’m the J.D. between the two of us. I can handle my business like a big girl, while it disappoints me to say that you can’t do the same.” You gesture in the direction of the exit. “If you would.”

“Are you sure I can’t just-”

“Quite sure.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Take no for an answer and go before I have you removed.”

Dismayed, Peirce shuffles off.

“And tell Connor to get off my fucking ass,” you say under your breath, heading into your office. You drop your notepad, pickingup your cell and dialing Roman.

He picks up on the first ring. “What’d the weasel do?”

“Was creepy. He said he’s being accused of tax fraud and that he can prove it.”

He scoffs. “He’s going to send you a ‘get out of jail free’ card from a Monopoly game. Does he really expect anybody to buy it?”

“If he’s still in business, people have before.”

He sighs on the other end. “Come home.”

“I have some paperwork to do. Then I’ll hail a cab or something.”

“Boo fucking hoo. I want to see you.”

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“I want to see you again.” Roman pauses. “Pretty please?”

“You can wait another hour. I believe in you.”

“Aw, come on. I’m warming up to you and everything.”

You laugh. “I appreciate that, Rome,” you say sincerely. “But-”

“I’ll do your laundry for a month if you just bring the paperwork home.”

You take a moment to consider it. “You know how to work a laundry machine?”

“I’m going to murder you. Come home so I can stab you.”

☾𖤓

The minute you’re home, he pulls you into bed with him and curls up against you.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Peachy,” he says into your shoulder. “Shiv talked to Marcia. It worked.”

“At least that bullshit was worth something.” You shudder. “Why are you going to bed so early?” He’s dressed entirely in pajamas, his shirt a soft cotton that clings to every muscle in just the right way.

“Early day. Stockholder drama.”

“I thought Kendall did that.”

“He does. I’m going because I know they’re going to fight.” You feel him smile into your skin. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. I’m not so good with words.”

Roman’s hand finds your chin, bringing your mouth to his. When your lips meet, his hand slips up your jaw and buries in your hair. You kiss back fervently, and he matches your vigor. He kisses you like he needs your taste to breathe.

Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt and glides across the panels of his chest, and he groans into your mouth. You feel the soft, oddly satisfying scrape of his stubble against your face. He pulls away only to dot kisses on the corners of your mouth, then unevenly again on your lips.

“I think what I meant was good night,” he says cheekily.

“Jackass,” you murmur giddily into his lips. “Fuck you, Roman.”

#succession x reader #succession #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #roman roy fic #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession hbo #succession hbo fic #wambsgansshoelaces #turmoil #succession fic

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