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[nameless-jamie]

Hiiii, could we get PA story roommates trope but this time PA's flat gets flooded and Jamie tells her to stay at his place? Himbo behaviour ensues

Oh my God, They Were Roommates

Read AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES first!

Masterlist

Jamie Tartt x fem! PA reader

TW: cursing, suggestive scenes, mentions of nudity

A/N: HIIII this is the last chapter before the big Climax of this story I hope you guys are as excited as me! (Please I hope someone gets the Vine reference of the title)

When Jamie walked into Nelson Road that morning, the last thing he expected to see was Y/N lugging a full suitcase through the entrance like she was moving in.

He stopped dead in his tracks, eyebrows shooting up. “Uh… you plannin’ on goin’ somewhere? Or did I miss the part where you secretly play for Richmond now? You got an away match?”

Y/N let out a dramatic sigh and dropped her bag by the receptionist’s desk. “If only. Might be easier than dealing with this bullshit.”

Jamie stepped closer, crossing his arms. “What bullshit?”

She turned to face him, clearly exhausted. “My flat. It’s infested.”

Jamie wrinkled his nose. “Infested with what?”

“Bed bugs. Fucking bed bugs, Jamie.”

Jamie took an instinctive step back, eyeing her suspiciously. “You bring any of ‘em here? 'Cause I like you and all, but if you’ve just unleashed some tiny demons into my locker room—”

“No,” Y/N groaned. “I took all the necessary precautions. My clothes are sealed up, my bag’s been disinfected—I googled everything, alright?”

Jamie smirked. “Bet you made a whole checklist, didn’t ya?”

She shot him a glare. “Shut up.”

“So, where you stayin’ then?”

Y/N sighed, rubbing her temples. “I was gonna book a hotel for the week, but now I have to fight with my insurance company, and I really don’t wanna deal with that and overpriced room service at the same time.”

Jamie, already grinning, shrugged. “Easy. Stay with me.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Jamie.”

“What?”

“You’re not just saying that because you think it’ll be funny to mess with me for a whole week?”

Jamie gasped, feigning offense. “I am a gentleman. I am graciously offering my spare room—”

“You don’t have a spare room, Jamie.”

“Alright, fine, but I do have a couch.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing down at her bag. The truth was, she really didn’t want to deal with finding a hotel. And as much as Jamie was a menace, she knew he’d make things easier just by being himself.

She let out a slow breath. “Fine. But if you pull any shit—”

Jamie grinned. “I never pull shit.”

Y/N just scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Jamie, however, was already thinking about how fucking great this was going to be.

Y/N stood in Jamie’s living room later that day, arms crossed as she surveyed the situation.

“So, let me get this straight.” She turned to him. “Your actual guest room is now a home gym.”

Jamie nodded. “Yeah.”

“And your couch is… that?”

She pointed at the comically small loveseat in the corner. Jamie followed her gaze and shrugged. “Yeah, but it’s, like, a luxury loveseat.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jamie.”

“What?”

"Where is your big ass couch? The 10.000 pounds one?"

Jamie just shrugged his shoulders. "Had to put it in a storage unit, I wanted a pool table in my living room and it is so fuckin' big that only the small couch fits in 'ere now."

“I am not sleeping on that thing. Two people can barely sit on that!”

Jamie smirked. “Guess that means you’ll have to take my bed, then.”

She shot him a look. “Where will you sleep?”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Dunno. Maybe with you?”

Y/N groaned, throwing a pillow at his face. “You are insufferable.”

Jamie, laughing, caught the pillow with ease. “Alright, alright. I’ll take the couch.”

Y/N exhaled, relieved. “Good. Thank you.”

Jamie let the moment settle before adding, “But if you change your mind—”

“Jamie.”

“Alright! Christ.” He held his hands up, laughing. “Go get settled, love.”

Y/N muttered something under her breath but disappeared into his bedroom, dragging her suitcase behind her.

Jamie, alone now, grinned to himself.

This was going to be the best fucking week of his life.

Y/N had known, logically, that staying with Jamie would be an experience. What she hadn’t expected was just how much of a menace he could be in his own home.

For example:

He never set an alarm. Instead, he relied on his "natural internal clock" (which clearly did not work), meaning Y/N had to wake him up for training every morning. Which she did anyway, but now she had to physically drag him out of bed.

He stole her coffee. Every. Single. Morning. Even when she explicitly told him not to.

He walked around shirtless all the time. And sure, okay, she had seen him shirtless before—football training and all that. But it was different when he was standing in the kitchen at 8 AM, stretching like a smug cat while waiting for the toaster. We are not talking about his bottomless sleeping behavior again...

And now, on day three of her stay, she had another new problem to deal with.

Jamie would not shut up about the sleeping arrangements.

Y/N had taken the bed the first night, and Jamie had pretended he was fine with it, but by morning, he was dramatically groaning about how his back was ruined from the tiny couch, dragging himself around the house like he’d been injured in battle.

“You literally run sprints for a living,” Y/N had pointed out over breakfast. “You’ll be fine.”

Jamie had just groaned louder.

But now, after three nights of suffering (his words, not hers), Jamie had resorted to full-on negotiation tactics.

“If I let you keep the bed, what do I get in return?” he asked that evening, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway of his bedroom.

Y/N, currently unpacking her pajamas from her suitcase, didn’t even look up. “The satisfaction of not being an asshole?”

Jamie huffed. “You could just share it with me, y’know.”

Y/N snorted. “Oh, sure. Because that’s a great idea.”

Jamie smirked. “What, scared you won’t be able to resist me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Scared you’ll snore like a chainsaw.”

Jamie gasped, clutching his chest. “I do not snore.”

“Colin says you do.”

Jamie glared. “Colin’s a liar.”

Y/N laughed. “Look, if it makes you feel better, you can switch. I’ll take the couch tomorrow.”

Jamie perked up instantly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He grinned. “Alright. Deal.”

Y/N should’ve been suspicious of how quickly he accepted that.

Y/N had severely underestimated how fucking tiny Jamie’s couch was.

She tossed. She turned. She curled up in a ball. Nothing helped.

The worst part? Jamie was thriving in his stupid bed, probably starfished across the mattress without a care in the world.

After another twenty minutes of trying—and failing—to get comfortable, Y/N gave up.

Dragging herself up, she stomped over to Jamie’s bedroom and pushed open the door.

Jamie, who was indeed starfished across the bed, blinked up at her.

Y/N sighed. “Move over.”

His lips twitched. “Oh? What’s this, then?”

She crossed her arms. “Your couch sucks.”

Jamie grinned. “I did say we should share.”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jamie.”

“Alright, alright. Get in, love.”

She hesitated for only a second before slipping under the covers, careful to keep a respectable distance between them.

Jamie, of course, was not that respectful.

Within minutes, he was shifting closer, throwing an arm over her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N stiffened. “Jamie.”

“Mm?”

“Are you—” She exhaled. “Are you cuddling me right now?”

Jamie hummed sleepily. “S’just warmer like this.”

She should have shoved him off. She really should have.

But… the bed was warm. And Jamie was warm.

And maybe she didn’t mind as much as she thought she would.

Y/N and Jamie walked towards the exit of Nelson Road together that late afternoon, chatting and joking together.

"It's going to only take a few more days till the bugs are completely gone, and then I'll be finally back home," Y/N mumbled to him.

Jamie clutched his chest in fake heartbreak. “What, you don’t wanna live with me forever?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Absolutely not.”

Jamie tsked. “Shame. Thought we made a great team, what with our shared history of, y’know…” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Accidental kisses. Me walkin’ ‘round shirtless. You ogling me all day...”

Y/N groaned. “Shut up.”

Jamie just smirked, clearly delighted to have fresh material to torment her with.

“Oi!”

Something must have been off because Roy Kent immediately squinted at them from the locker room entrance.

“The fuck is goin’ on with you two? Leaving here together in one car, all happy and bubbly and shit.”

Jamie, ever the picture of innocence, shrugged. “Nothin’.”

Y/N, knowing Roy had bullshit radar, quickly said, “My flat’s infested. I’ve been staying at Jamie’s.”

Roy’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve been what?”

Y/N sighed. “Not like that. Just for the week.”

Roy looked between them. “And you haven’t killed each other yet?”

Jamie grinned. “Nah. She likes me too much.”

Y/N groaned.

Roy crossed his arms. “There’s always a choice. And you chose this prick?”

Jamie gasped, full-on offended. “Oi, I am a delight to live with!”

Y/N scoffed. “Jamie, last time we lived together, you—”

She stopped herself just in time.

Roy’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Y/N pressed her lips together. Jamie smirked.

“Oh, nothin’,” he said, way too smug. “Just that she’s seen me naked.”

Roy froze.

Y/N froze.

Jamie just grinned like the shit-stirring bastard he was.

Roy closed his eyes. Took a very deep breath. Then muttered, “Not my problem,” and walked away.

Jamie laughed.

Y/N punched his arm.

Jamie just winked and leaned over to whisper in Y/N’s ear. “Y’know, if Roy finds out we’re sharing a bed, he might actually murder me. He sees you like a daughter or some shit.”

“Shut up.” Y/N elbowed him. “You are the worst,”

He just smirked. “C’mon, love. Let’s go home.”

[augustjoy]

Who Are You Again?

Based on the following ask: I had another plot thought! Aaron x BAU Reader (female or gender neutral) where Reader disobeys an order to save a victim and gets hurt really bad. Reader wakes up in the hospital to Aaron who is angry at first but then is shocked when it turns out that Reader has retrograde amnesia from the injury. Reader has forgotten their entire career in the BAU and even that They and Aaron were secretly dating! Last thing Reader actually remembers was attending a lecture in college where Aaron was a guest speaker and Reader developed a crush on him! Now Aaron has to carefully navigate helping Reader recover without outing their relationship to anyone else. Or maybe he wonders if it's better they forget? But for a HEA ending definitely Aaron doing something romantic sparks a memory and helps everything come flooding back. @nyxwolph thank you for requesting again and trusting me with your ideas! – I did have to change things up a bit (I struggled big time with this one)

Aaron Hotchner x BAU! Fem Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 5336

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, age gap, some language, BAU canon typical violence, mention of parent death, mention of kidnapping, mention of Haley and Jack, secret relationship, let me know if I missed any!!

That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

“In chaos theory, the butterfly effect is the sensitive dependence on initial conditions in which a small change in one state of a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state.” Essentially, something as small as a butterfly flapping its wings could cause something as catastrophic as a tornado.  

Aaron wondered what small event happened that led to this moment right now. A moment that would change the trajectory of your lives forever.

*36 hours earlier*

“Garcia has the unsubs location; he’s headed down a backroad just east of the 95.” Aaron said.

“He’s devolving, he’s probably going to try and dispose of his latest victim.” Morgan chimed in.

“Not if we have anything to do with it.” JJ replied.

“His location is being shared with you all, everyone be safe, at this point he’s going to be willing to do anything to avoid prison.” Hotch added.

“I’m close by, I am going to go try and cut him off.” You suggested.

The team expressed their worry and care and urged you to be careful. The only thing you had on your mind, however, was saving the five-year-old boy this unsub had hidden. You drove as fast as your vehicle would allow, you had to get to the unsub. You had to save that boy.

As you got closer to the location Garcia had shared, you could see the dust trail the unsubs car was leaving down the road. You thought about your options, and you made a snap decision. Drive on, no matter the consequences – take out the unsub’s car. So that’s what you did.

You drove forward and your car t-boned the unsubs, only you hadn’t considered that he’d be driving a semi tractor. Upon impact, your SUV was crushed, in your rush to get to the unsub you’d forgotten to put on your seatbelt and your body was ejected through the windshield.

The accident was enough to stop the unsub long enough for the team to arrive. As they surveyed the scene, Aaron’s stomach dropped. He immediately began barking orders, demanding medics, and sending agents to the unsubs’ farm to find the boy.  Throughout everything he refused to leave your side.

*Present Day*

“Sir, we had to place her in a medically induced coma to allow the swelling in her brain to go down.” The doctor explained.

“Is there an estimate as to how long it’ll be until she wakes up?” Aaron asked.

“With these kinds of injuries, it’s hard to say. The brain is a tricky thing, and no two injuries are alike. We just have to wait and see.”

“Thank you.” Aaron said, shaking the doctor’s hand.

Your doctor made her exit and Aaron moved to the seat beside your bed. He gently took your hand in his own placing a kiss to the back of it before returning it to your side. Aaron had thought back to the night everything changed.

*One year earlier*

“Hey Hotch, here’s that report you asked for. You aren’t staying are you?” You asked, glancing at your watch.

“Thanks, and yeah I had a few things I needed to finish up.”

You made your way over to Aaron’s couch, dropped your bag to the floor, and shrugged your jacket off. You pulled your phone out to see what was still open for delivery in the area. Aaron and you had shared many nights like this, spending late nights together in his office. The two of you had grown very close over the years, so much so that David had outright asked Aaron if you two were dating. To which Aaron let out an awkward chuckle and denied the accusation. If only he knew.

“What are you doing? You should head home.” Aaron said.

“Well, you should too, and you aren’t, so I guess that means we’re ordering dinner.” You smiled at him.

“I love you.” Aaron said simply.

“What?” You were stunned.

“I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I didn’t – I um….”

“Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Aaron made his way over to you, gently caressed your face and kissed you. It was everything you had ever imagined. There had been this tension between the two of you over the last two years and it was all finally coming together.

After that night, Aaron and you had agreed to keep your relationship under wraps, to avoid any potential disruption to the team, but also any question as to your position on the team. Aaron didn’t want anyone to question the fact that it was your skills and resume alone that got you to where you are.

Yours and Aaron’s relationship blossomed after that night, but not without hardships. Aaron and you faced a lot of adversity in multiple aspects of your relationship; you had a hard time trusting people, Aaron had been self-conscious of your age gap, and you both couldn’t help but feel that you weren’t good enough for the other (not that either of you would bring it up).

*Present Day*

A tear fell from Aaron’s eye, he couldn’t fathom losing you. This was all part of the reason he didn’t want to get serious with someone after Haley, but then you came into his life. You’d come in and made yourself known with your kind eyes and witty charm; how could he not fall in love with you.

Aaron fell for you slowly then all at once, it came naturally, and he couldn’t help it. He knew that the team had their suspicions and honestly over the last year there had been some close calls, but you had ultimately maintained the secrecy of your relationship.

In this moment, Aaron couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt and regret over the fact that he’d asked you to keep things quiet. Had he let the team in on your relationship, he could’ve done a better job at keeping you safe.

*2 Weeks Later*

Aaron had been by your side as much as possible over the last two weeks, which is exactly where he was when you started to stir. Aaron shot straight up in his seat, his hand quickly reaching for your own.

You couldn’t help the groan that escaped your throat, your body hurt so bad, and you felt very confused. You attempted to open your eyes but immediately regretted it – the bright fluorescents adding to the pounding in your head. As you blinked through the brightness of the room, you glanced over to your bedside, noticing a tall man seated there.

“What on earth were you thinking? Driving into the unsub like that, you could’ve been killed. Your actions were reckless and unacceptable.” The man scolded you.

You couldn’t find it in you to reply, your head was pounding. You brought your hand up to your forehead and gently press the heel of your palm into it, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure.

“Sweetheart hold on, I’ll go get your doctor.” A deep voice sounded from your bedside.

Before you could question the pet name, you heard the sound of his dress shoes clicking against the linoleum floors.

The man returned with your doctor; he dimmed the lights slightly on his way back to your bedside. He moved to grab your hand again, to which you shifted, wringing your hands nervously in your lap.

“Hello, I’m doctor Raynor. How are you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a truck, what happened?” You questioned, giving your doctor and the man a once over.

You recognized the man; it was Special Agent Hotchner of the BAU. What was he doing here? What happened?

“Well, you were involved in an accident, can you tell me what you remember?” Dr. Raynor inquired.

“I um, well, I was leaving a lecture.” Your gaze shifted to Agent Hotchner “Your lecture actually, you were talking about MO’s. I guess the accident was after that?” You couldn’t help but notice Agent Hotchner’s expression faulter.

Your doctor looked over at Agent Hotchner and he shook his head. The two of them seemingly knew something you didn’t. You couldn’t help but feel like you’d just given the wrong answer in front of the class. Dr. Raynor had gone through the rest of your injuries with you, multiple lacerations that had required stitches, a few broken ribs, a broken wrist, and of course your TBI. Once she was done she gave you a somber look.

“Would you excuse us for just a moment? I am going to send in one of your nurses to check you over and I’ll be back in just a moment.” Dr. Raynor said.

“Oh, okay.”

Dr. Raynor and Agent Hotchner left your room, and you tried your best to listen to their conversation.

*Hotch’s POV*

She doesn’t remember me, well us. It’s like the last five years have just disappeared.

“Agent Hotchner, I gather that the lecture she’s referring to did not occur two weeks ago when she was brought in.”

“No, that lecture was nearly five years ago.” I explained.

“This would be a case of retrograde amnesia, if she’s lost recent memories.” Dr. Raynor replied.

“Will her memory return?”

“It’s hard to say.”

While Aaron was completely devastated, he couldn’t help the doubt that creeped into his mind, telling him “This is for the best”.

*Normal POV*

Dr. Raynor and Agent Hotchner looked extremely serious, and you started to feel nauseous. Something was obviously wrong. You watched as their conversation ceased and they made their way back into the room.

Something must have happened, why would Agent Hotchner be here.

“Alright, it would appear that due to the brain trauma you sustained in your accident, you are experiencing what we describe as retrograde amnesia. This is when you can’t recall memories from your past. Based on your most recent memory, it appears as if you’ve lost approximately five years.” Dr. Raynor explained.

“Five years? Five years of memories are just gone. I don’t understand. If that’s true then why are you here?” You asked gesturing to Agent Hotchner.

“Well, you work for the BAU. You have for about three years now.”

“I do? I – I, this is a lot. What does this mean? Have you called my emergency contact?” You asked.

“I uh – I am your emergency contact.” Agent Hotchner spoke up.

“What, why? It has always been my mom, I don’t understand.”

“I’m so sorry, your mom, she uh – she passed last year. That’s when you switched it over to me.” Agent Hotchner’s gaze shifted down to his shoes.

“She’s gone?” Your voice cracked.

“Okay, this has been quite a bit of information. The most important thing right now is getting healthy. We want to keep you here a little longer to continue monitoring the swelling in your brain. Once we’ve confirmed it has gone down, you’ll want to get back in your usual routine, that is the best shot at getting your memory back.” Dr. Raynor gently patted your leg.

“How am I meant to get back to my normal routine when I don’t know it? The one person I had, I just found out is dead.”

“Given that Agent Hotchner is your emergency contact, we would be able to release you into his care. For now, we just need to stay positive.” With that, Dr. Raynor made her exit.

“I know this is a lot, but the BAU, we’re like a family, that includes you. Each member of the team is going to be willing to do anything to help you throughout this process.” Agent Hotchner said.

Part of you knew you could trust him; he had kind eyes, and you knew he was genuine. However, the other part of you felt so hopeless, like a lost kid in a department store. How were you meant to go home with this man who you didn’t know.

*Five Days Later*

“Do you have everything?” Aaron asked.

He had been with you every day for the last five days. He had brought you some things from your apartment and asked you to call him Aaron for now while you were “getting to know him”. You had to admit, it had been pretty nice talking with him the last few days.

“I think so!” You looked over at him. “I know that I am meant to be staying with you, at least until I’m fully healed, but could we go to my apartment first? I’d like to see it and maybe go through some of my things?”

“Of course we can.” Aaron nodded, gesturing towards the door.

The drive to your place was filled with small talk, mostly you asking Aaron questions about the BAU and the time you’ve spent there. It felt weird asking the man who is technically your boss about your personal life.

When you arrived, Aaron made sure to open your door for you and carry your bag into your home. He led you inside and you couldn’t help but notice how comfortable he seemed in your place, like he’d been there before. Like he belonged there. You shook the thought from your mind.

“I got you a new phone, it’s all set up for you.” Aaron said handing you the device.

“Thanks! Were they able to back up the old one? I was hoping to go through old texts and pictures to gather some insight into my life. God that sounds weird.” You huffed out a breath.

“I have our technical analyst Penelope Garcia working on that for you.” Aaron informed you.

“That’s great, thank you.”

The truth was, Aaron didn’t have Garcia backing up your old phone, at least not yet. He knew that if he had brought it to her she would uncover all the private texts and photos that you two had shared over the last year. He didn’t want to risk everyone finding out about your relationship, especially now when he wasn’t sure what your future would hold.

Aaron watched you as you made your way around your apartment. You wandered slowly around letting your fingers graze the spines of books on your shelves, picture frames on the walls and tchotchkes that were strewn about your desk and shelves. 

He so badly wanted to pull you into his arms, kiss your head and tell you that everything was going to be okay. He wanted you to know that he wasn’t just your boss. But he also thought about all the things that could go wrong if he told you. You could question your own ethics and fall into self-loathing with the thought that you’d potentially slept your way to the top – this was the furthest thing from the truth, but he knew you and the way your mind spiraled. He wondered if it would just be easier if he let you find yourself all on your own, to let this thing between you go and hope that maybe you’d find your way back to him again.

When he looked over to you once again, he saw that you had found a photo album. It was one he was very familiar with; Garcia had gotten it for you on your 1-year BAU anniversary and filled it halfway. Since then, you’d continue to add to it all the photos you’d taken with the team.

You hadn’t realized you were crying until a tear had fallen onto the picture you were currently examining. Your emotions were running high, looking through the album was so strange it felt like looking at a stranger and yet it was you in photo after photo looking happier than ever with these people you couldn’t remember.

You felt the couch dip beside you and Aaron gently rubbed his hand up and down your back.

“I can’t imagine how overwhelming this all must be. I know that I can’t understand but I am here for you and I’m happy to lend an ear if you want to talk about it.” Aaron quietly soothed you.

“Thank you so much Aaron. I just don’t know how to wrap my head around this being me but not remembering it. Clearly you all mean so much to me and yet I have no recollection of any of this.” You sobbed.

Aaron and you sat like that on your couch for a while. He gave you the time you needed to calm down, while holding you, whispering sweet nothings to you. You felt oddly comfortable there in his arms, your mind shifted to the thought that enjoying the way his arms felt around you was also incredibly inappropriate given that he was your boss. At that thought you shifted slightly. You thought back to why you had signed up to audit Aaron’s lecture and while the main reason was the knowledge he’d lend you, a part of you allowed his looks to give you that final push in signing up.

“I should probably grab a few things so we can head out.” You whispered.

“Do you need any help?” Aaron asked.

“I should be okay, but I’ll let you know!”

Aaron drove the two of you back to his apartment, for the time being he had asked Jessica to keep Jack, this way you could adjust, and Jack also wouldn’t out your relationship. Aaron had his guest bedroom set up for you, he’d set it up with some of your favorite things. A lavender scented candle, extra pillows, a fluffy blanket, and he made sure to set a small trinket dish on the dresser, so you’d have a place to put your jewelry.

These of course were all things Aaron had previously had at his place for you. When you two had gotten increasingly more serious, he encouraged you to leave some stuff at his place and he’d gone as far as to supply some of your favorites around his home for you.

Aaron led you into his home and you couldn’t help but glance around, really taking in your surroundings. You couldn’t help but take note of a few things as he showed you around; there was a photo missing from the side table next to the couch (you could see the tiny bit of dust that must’ve collected around it), the pantry was stocked with quite a few of your favorite snacks, there was a pink coffee mug in the cabinet, and lastly, tucked under the shoe rack near the front door were a pair of fluffy gray slippers.

You couldn’t explain why, but there was a slight pang of jealousy in you as you thought of Aaron having a girlfriend. You knew you had no right to feel that way and it would be incredibly inappropriate, but it was a gut reaction.

*One Week Later*

Aaron and you had fallen into a weird sort of routine, it started to feel a lot like the 50’s, you making dinner and cleaning while he worked. You were starting to get a bit stir crazy, which is exactly why you were so excited today. Garcia would be coming by to see you; she was bringing over a bunch of photos and videos of you with the team throughout the last three years.

It was a paperwork catch-up day for the BAU, so Aaron had given Penelope the go ahead to take a long lunch and spend some time with you. So, when a knock on the door rang through the apartment, you couldn’t help the burst of excitement that coursed its way through your veins.

“Hi Penelope!”

“Hey babe! How are you feeling?” She asked, giving you a look of concern.

“I’m feeling pretty good, you know, except for the missing five years of memories thing.”  You let out a low chuckle.

“Oh goodness! Well, I’ve brought a ton of stuff that might help bring some stuff back. I read that sense of smell is the sense that links with memories the strongest so have a bunch of things for you to smell while you look at photos in hopes something will come back to you.”

“That sounds like a great idea!” You smiled at Penelope.

The next hour or so went by with Penelope showing you photos and videos along with passing you various items to smell in hopes of bringing back some of your memories. And while it wasn’t like a wave crashing over you, bringing all your memories back, it did bring some things back. You could remember the members of the BAU and some of their quirks, you remembered the feeling of being in the bullpen (thanks to the smell of some very burnt coffee). What you were struggling to regain was your emotional memories, you couldn’t quite pinpoint the relationships you had with anyone from the team. 

“I am glad that this helped! I should probably get out of your hair though; I can tell you have headache.” Penelope

“Thank you Penelope, I really appreciate all of this!”

You led her to the door, and she reminded you to get some rest and to take it easy. She also suggested that you come by the BAU for lunch in the next week or so to see everyone. The team had been doing a good job of not overwhelming you and allowing you time to get back in the swing of things.

“Oh, Penelope before you go, did you get a chance to back up my old phone? Aaron said you were working on it.”

“Oh, hon. He must’ve forgotten to mention it, but I will get started on that right away! I’ll text you as soon as I’m done, okay? We will just be able to pull the backup and put it on your new phone!” She said pulling you into a tight hug, before making her exit.

Why would Aaron have lied to you about your old phone? Maybe Penelope was right, and it just slipped his mind, he had been dealing with a lot, taking care of you, and having you stay with him.

You hadn’t meant to snoop, honestly, but after having talked with Penelope, the feeling Aaron was hiding something from you was extremely prevalent. You decided to look around a bit, you know, while putting the laundry away. You needed to put the towels away in Aaron’s bathroom, you just happened to notice the second toothbrush in the holder, the dress hanging inside his closet (come on, the door was already open), the ring box tucked in his sock drawer, what shocked you the most were the photos in the hall closet. It was a photo of him and a tall brunette that had you spiraling, where was this woman? You had clearly been invading his space long enough and you couldn’t bear the thought of coming between him and this woman who was to be his fiancé.

You needed to get back to your life, and out of Aaron’s hair. You decided that you’d tell him that night over dinner, you were going to move back home.

“Hey, I’m home!” Aaron called.

“Hey, how was your day?” You asked.

Aaron explained that his day was good, and he asked you about your get together with Penelope as you finished up dinner. Aaron set the table as you followed behind him plating up the food.

“I’m glad to hear things went well with Penelope. I think lunch with the team is a great idea.”

“Aaron I’m gonna move back home.” The words flew out of your mouth faster than your brain could catch up. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to impose on your life any more than I already have.”

“It’s truly not an imposition, but if that’s what you want.” Aaron looked deflated.

“I just think it’s important we both get back to our usual every day.”

“If you think that’s best.”

You two ate in silence. Afterwards you both went to the kitchen, cleaned up the dishes and made your way to your separate rooms. You began packing up your belongings and Aaron scrolled through photos of the two of you from before the accident.

*Two Days Later*

“Good morning gorgeous!!! I am calling to inform you that the backup from your old phone is ready, and I also think it is the perfect day for you to come in and have lunch with everyone!” Penelope sang over the phone.

“Okay, what time should I come down there?”

“Ummm maybe around 12:30? Everyone is usually ready to eat by then. I can call and order in something too!”

“Oh, and uh Pen, I don’t know the address, and I’m not cleared to drive.” You said shyly.

“Oh shoot, okay! I’ll see who is available to come and pick you up, no worries.” Penelope reassured you.

You took some time getting ready, most of the team hadn’t seen you since before the injuries, and while the cuts and bruises have faded and scarred, you still had a very broken wrist and frequent headaches, along with PTSD and anxiety attacks thanks to the TBI. You felt like you had been doing well, and based on your recent check-up with your neurologist, things are trending up in regard to your health. Though you began to worry that the worst had yet to come.

A knock on your door shook you out of your thoughts, as you made your way to answer it, you wondered who Penelope sent to get you. Pulling the door open revealed someone you were hoping you wouldn’t see so soon.

“Hi Aaron.”

“Hello, were going to go pick up the food on the way back to the BAU, if that’s okay.” Aaron explained.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” You nodded.

The drive was filled with tense silence. You couldn’t help but wonder why Aaron would harbor any negative feelings towards you. You’d only moved out of his apartment so he could get back on to his life, if anything he should be grateful that you’ve gone home. One of the main reasons you’d really decided to go home was because of the fact that you were growing far too comfortable.

Things at Aaron’s house were starting to feel right, like it was where you belong. You had no idea how you had been able to work with him over the last few years, the crush you had on him all those years ago had only proven to grow stronger.

“I’ll run in and grab the food.” Aaron said, pulling you out of your thoughts.

Before you could reply, he stepped out of the car and made his way into the restaurant.  

Aaron got you signed in with a visitor’s badge (as you weren’t cleared to work) and then he led you up to the sixth floor, BAU bullpen. Upon walking in, you felt an odd sense of familiarity. You knew that it would make sense for the BAU to bring memories back and that you would have muscle memory to help lead you through the building, but it felt very strange.

You looked over at Aaron, “I need to go see Garcia, do you mind pointing me in the right direction?”

“Of course, her office is that way. Second door on the right.”

“Thanks.” You smiled.

You wandered through the corridor, catching a glimpse of Garcia through her open door. You lightly knocked on her door and walked into her office.

“Oh! Hello gorgeous!” Garcia squealed, standing, and pulling you into a hug.

“Hey Pen!”

“Let’s get your phone squared away and then we will go eat.”

You handed your phone over to Penelope and she began downloading the last backup from your old phone.

“This should only take a few minutes.”

Penelope and you made idle chit chat for a few moments while waiting on your phone. When it finished uploading, she unplugged it and handed it to you. The two of you then made your way to the bullpen.

Lunch with the BAU was overwhelming to say the least. It was fun talking to everyone, but you could tell everyone was walking on eggshells and you could see the pity flash behind their eyes as you sat and explained your lack of memories with the people sitting before you.

After lunch, Aaron let everyone leave early. It had been a paperwork day and the team had been very productive. He told them all to go home, but of course to leave their phones on, just in case they had to leave. Emily offered to drive you home, given the close proximity of your apartments.

When you got home, you changed into some comfortable clothes and sat on the couch. You took a deep breath and unlocked your phone. There were two things you noticed while going through everything, the first being a significant number of photos saved and the second being the texts exchanged between you and your boss.

You decided to go through the photos first. There were plenty of you with the various members of the BAU, but what caught your attention was one image in particular, in it, you were laid in bed with your head resting on a man’s chest…the man being none other than Aaron.

You quickly switched over to your messages app. Clicking Aaron’s name, you saw the most recent text…

“Be careful sweetheart. I love you.”

Your mind was racing, what were you meant to think, why would he keep this from you? Was the ring meant for you? You needed to see him.

You ordered an Uber and made your way to the FBI building. You signed in, getting a visitors’ badge and headed up to the sixth floor.

“Aaron” You called out into the bullpen.

“Is everything okay? What are you doing here?” Aaron asked as he walked out of his office.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Aaron questioned.

“That we were together.”

You gestured to your phone. Aaron dropped his gaze for a moment, before looking back to you. You could see the pain behind his eyes.

“Sweetheart, we had been keeping it a secret, and I don’t know, I guess I thought that maybe you’d be better off. I figured you might find someone more appropriate for you.”

“That wasn’t a choice for you to make. Aaron things have been confusing enough, losing my memory. But to have you lying to me, it’s total bullshit. How am I supposed to get my memories back if you are keeping such a big part of me a secret.” You couldn’t help the frustrated tears from slipping down your cheek.

Aaron reached for you and let his thumb brush the tear off your cheek. He stepped closer to you and brought his other hand to your cheek.

“I am so sorry. I should’ve told you from the get-go, I was scared. I thought that maybe I would tell you and you’d have to get to know me again and maybe you wouldn’t love me the way you did before. I also couldn’t help but think that I don’t deserve you and this was your perfect out. But that was selfish, I should’ve told you the truth.”

You leaned your head onto Aaron’s chest, and he wrapped his arms around you. He pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline and then he pulled back.

“Can I show you something?” Aaron asked.

You nodded and followed him to his office. Aaron led you around his desk and gestured for you to sit in his chair. He pointed to his computer screen, and you took note of the screen saver. It was a slideshow of pictures taken throughout your relationship, there were pictures of you at the FBI Gala, Jack’s soccer game, art museums, at Aaron’s home, at your apartment, etc..

It happened slowly, then all at once. A warm feeling flooded your veins, and a dull ache filled your head. Tears were steadily streaming down your face. You looked up at Aaron, and he met your gaze. A moment was shared before understanding washed over Aaron.

“I remember.”

[hischierhoney]

Snowglobe // pt. i

ski patrol!nico hischier x reader

summary: an unfortunate turn in the weather leaves you trapped on the ski hill, and your vacation plans a bit in disarray, but there are worse people to be stuck with than Nico. 4.7k words

warnings: winter storm, mentions of danger (but everyone is fine!), suggestive content and mild (very mild!!) angst upcoming in part ii.

You’ve heard before that the weather on the mountain can change quickly, but you never really understood what they meant until this very moment. You’re standing, facing down the run, staring out at the dark clouds rolling in, thick and churning like the ocean. Dread settles in your stomach as the flakes begin to thicken around you

It’s probably fine, you think, bracing yourself. It’s just- you’re pretty high up on the hill, all things considered. It would take you a while to ski down under normal conditions. But the world is turning into a snowglobe, and the visibility is going to be awful, and-

“Hey!”

You turn toward the noise. You spot the person easily, clad in that signature bright red ski patrol jacket. He’s skiing towards you, waving an arm frantically.

“Hey,” he says again as he skis up next to you. “They’re closing the mountain.”

“Oh, yeah, I figured,” you nod, gesturing down the hill. “Was trying to work up the courage to ski down. Any suggestions on the route? Or should I try and take the lift-“

He shakes his head. “We’ve been told to shelter in place. They closed the lifts. I’m surprised you got all the way up here, you must’ve been the last one up.”

“Shelter in place?” You say, nose wrinkled. “Where?”

“There’s a ski patrol hut nearby,” he says. His face is pinched, at least what you can see of it beneath the helmet and goggles. “Look. I know you don’t know me, but I really can’t recommend skiing down. If something happens, we may not be able to get to you.”

You hesitate. He’s standing in front of you- you can barely make out any features on his face, but he sounds trustworthy enough. Besides, they wouldn’t hire him if he wasn’t. You look down the mountain again and swallow, hard. The visibility is fading fast- the tree you’d been looking at before has disappeared.

“Hut it is,” you reply. “As long as you promise you’re not crazy.”

The man laughs, and it makes your own smile grow. His laughter is contagious. It keeps you level headed all the way to the little hut on the side of the slope.

“I promise,” he says, in a firm, kind voice.

There’s a tiny space heater inside that’s already going on full blast. The man helps prop your skis up next to the door, and you stand there, shivering, a little unsure what to do. You survey the tiny room. There’s a couch, a microwave, a little sink. An electric kettle, a little desk, a portable radio that’s seen better days. And, thankfully, a bathroom.

You turn to the man to ask how long it’s going to be, but he’s staring out of the window, radio held to his ear, so you wait. There’s chatter he seems to be waiting for a break in, something about the Bluebird lift. Finally, there’s a break in the noise.

“Base, Nico, checking in,” the man says.

“Go ahead, Nico,” a voice crackles through.

“Safely to the Daisy Chain hut,” he says. So, he must be Nico. You test out the name on your lips, silently. “I’ve got one guest with me.”

“Okay, Nico. Hold tight. We’re predicting a break in the weather in the next fifteen, we may be able to get you to the gondola and down or at least to the Bluebird lift building with everyone else. But hold tight for now.”

You eye the swirling gusts outside skeptically. Even with a break in the weather, an escape seems doubtful. The Bluebird lift is far enough away, and down the hill from here, which is a risky maneuver when the weather could pick back up. The gondola is even farther. Anxiety flutters in your chest. You shuffle slightly towards the couch, closer to the little heater. You take a seat but stay dressed, figuring you’ll need to be ready to go pretty quickly.

15 minutes later, Nico’s still staring out the window. His shoulders are hunched. You hear his name crackle over the radio.

“Now’s your gap,” the other person says. “Should stay at this rate for the next ten minutes. Your call, Hisch.”

The wind is still blowing, strong. There’s a tree just outside the window, you saw it coming in, but from here, you’d never be able to tell. Nico sighs, heavily, shoulders sagging. He shakes his head.

“No way, Shel. Visibilty is shit.” he says, wincing at his own use of profanity. “Not when we’re safe here. We’ll make do.”

“Affirm. What’s your guest’s name? We’d like to let their friends know they’re safe.”

Nico turns over his shoulder towards you for the first time since you entered the hut. You try and look brave, but from the way his hard set expression softens, you think you’ve failed pretty spectacularly. He tilts his head towards you, and you tell him your name without a second thought. He repeats it back over the radio, listens to a couple instructions, and then sets it down on the desk. He turns fully towards you with a sigh. You feel incredibly small, suddenly, like a kid in a bad thunderstorm. So unsure about everything.

…..

Nico’s kicking himself, hard. Directly to where it hurts the most, probably. He walked into the hut and proceeded to ignore you for the next near half hour. No regards for your worries or your comfort or anything. He feels like an asshole. Sure, he was worried, but he could’ve taken a few seconds to get you comfortable- you’re still in your ski boots, for god’s sake.

He clears his throat. “Hi. Sorry. I’m Nico.’

“I heard,” you say, blinking up at him from the couch. “What’s the verdict, Nico?”

He sighs, again. “Not gonna lie, we’re gonna be here a while. Probably overnight. The snow and the wind is a bad combo.”

You nod solemnly, and then sit there, waiting, quietly. You look scared. It makes his chest ache.

“Hey. I promise you, I’m getting you off this mountain safely, okay? Just gotta wait it out. For now we can get comfortable. I’d give you a tour but I think you’ve seen it all, honestly.”

You laugh slightly- that feels like a win- and start unzipping your jacket. “What, no hidden rooms?”

He laughs at that, too. “Unfortunately not.”

A few minutes later, your outer layers of clothing are hung up next to his, near the door, and your boots are there, too. The hut is a bit drafty, and he winces again when you shiver slightly. There are emergency blankets in the kit under the sink, but he doesn’t want to pull those out if he doesn’t have to- would probably send the wrong message. Instead, he unzips his black puffer coat, leaving him in the hoodie he’s wearing underneath. You need it more than him.

He holds it out with a low “here.”

When you look up at him through your lashes, he feels his heart skip a beat.

“Thank you, Nico,” you say, softly, a smile slipping across your face.

That’s better.

…..

Nico’s puffer jacket is warm. Cozy. Comfy. And honestly, it’s a sweet gesture. It’s amazing how something like that can make you feel just a little safer. Suddenly, the storm outside doesn’t seem quite as scary. You watch as Nico putters around the hut, digging through drawers and starting up the electric kettle. He’s tall, and broad, the ends of his dark hair poking out from beneath his beanie to match the slight dusting of stubble on his face, paired with a well kept mustache. You check your phone, but it’s just as you expected- no cell service.

“Aha!” He exclaims, making you flinch slightly. “I knew this was in here.”

He stands up with a deck of cards in his hand, smiling triumphantly, and you start to melt even more. Outside, the snow is piling up, but in here, you’re warm.

Nico sinks down onto the couch next to you, sitting at the other end. He opens the pack of cards, shuffling them back and forth in his hands. You try not to watch too closely, but you’re unsure where else to look. His face, maybe? But god, he’s-

He’s cute.

You noticed it in the smile he gave you out on the mountain, even. But here, in the yellow light of the hut, undone and face on full display, he’s almost overwhelmingly handsome. Strong jaw, big dark eyes, the sweetest smile when he catches you looking.

“Have you ever played Jass?” He asks. You shake your head, and he grins. “That’s okay. I can teach you.”

Nico’s a good teacher, and you’re a fast learner. It takes you a couple rounds to beat him, and he smiles happily when you do. Next, you teach him a different game, one of your favorites. He bears his confusion with a smile, but he’s quick, too, catching on far too fast for your liking.

Eventually, you lean back on the couch, your stomach rumbling slightly. You laugh at the sound, but Nico frowns.

“You’re hungry,” he says. You shrug. “We have ramen packets? Microwave popcorn?”

You groan, softly. “I could fuck up some ramen right now. We can save the popcorn for a midnight snack.”

He laughs, a full laugh, unmuted, from somewhere deep in his chest. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he does. You laugh, too, and bite your lip when he’s not looking. His laugh is pretty, too. It’s almost unfair.

This is going to be a long night.

…..

Nico’s never been more proud of his ramen doctoring skills than when you have your first bite. You sigh happily, eyes squeezing shut, and he grins in response. Maybe it’s just the feeling of a good meal at the end of a long day, but either way, it makes him happy.

He promised he’d keep you safe. This is part of it, that’s all.

He sits down next to you with his own bowl. It’s dark outside now. He sees your gaze flicker to the window every so often, brows pinching together, the same way he does when you’re not looking. He doesn’t like it either, honestly, but he hopes you know he’s going to keep his promise.

“Okay,” you say, quietly. “Tell me a fun fact about yourself.”

It’s so unexpected he nearly laughs around a mouthful of noodles. From the smirk on your face, the timing was deliberate. He bites back another laugh and swallows, wincing at the hot food. It’s fine. Worth it, to see you laugh again.

“Huh,” he hums. “Are we doing ice breakers now? We’ve been here for four hours.”

You nod enthusiastically. “No time like the present, Nico.”

He rolls his eyes affectionately. He likes the way you say his name. The way your lips form around the word. He should probably stop watching you say it. Bad for his health, he thinks, the way it makes his heart rate kick up.

“Um. Okay. When I was 16, I moved to Canada by myself to play hockey,” he says.

You blink at him. “Like. The NHL?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Nah. I was trying, but it wasn’t for me. The whole time, I just missed skiing.”

You nod slowly. He can see the gears in your brain turning. “And now it’s your job to rescue poor saps like me.”

He shakes his head, nudging his elbow against yours. “Now it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good day on the mountain. I take it very seriously. Can’t you tell?” He asks, gesturing at the haphazard pile of cards on the table and the bowl of ramen in your hands.

You break into giggles again. “Mhm. You’re doing great, all things considered, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree. “10 out of 10 hospitality. Would recommend. The host even gave me his jacket.“

He grins, and shifts on the couch. Leans a little closer, his knee knocking into yours.

“Your turn for a fun fact,” he directs.

You groan. “What if I don’t have one?”

“You started this!”

…..

Nico’s kind. Warm, really, feels like the best word to describe him. He makes your chest feel a little fizzy. His laughter is contagious, his smile even more so.

But he’s just doing his job.

You keep reminding yourself of that, because if you don’t, this would all feel a whole lot like flirting. The two of you are huddled on the couch, now, leaning close to peer at the screen of his phone. He’d remembered he had a couple episodes of Scrubs downloaded, said something about watching them with someone named Jack during lunch breaks. You selfishly hope that Jack isn’t more than a friend to him. And then, you remind yourself, again, for the millionth time, that he’s just doing his job.

His shoulder bumps yours when he laughs at something, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his thigh next to yours. The thing is, he’s not pulling away. That’s a good sign, at least, right?

The hut is chilly, even with the space heater. A little shared body heat never hurt anyone. When he slips an arm onto the couch behind you, not touching but hovering near your shoulders, you lean into him, just slightly.

He doesn’t pull away.

A while later- you’re not sure how long- you wake up with a start. Your head has fallen against his chest, curling into the warmth of him. You grimace, feeling a little embarrassed, until you feel the weight atop your head. He’s fallen asleep against you, too.

“Nico,” you say, in a hushed tone.

He hums in response.

“Hey, Nico,” you repeat. He lifts his head slightly. “Wanna figure out a sleeping arrangement?”

He swallows, lifting his hand to scrub at his jaw. His other arm stays around your shoulders, his hand resting against you, you notice. You try not to think about it too much. Try not to lean into the touch. Try not to let your mind run wild with the idea of falling asleep against him, again. You regret waking him.

“Yeah,” he says, quietly. “You take the couch. I’ll…”

You look around the room. There’s an office chair that seems to be on its last leg. No shot. The only other option is-

“”I’ll take the floor,” he says.

“Like hell you will,” you protest, elbowing his side lightly. “Don’t be silly, you worked all day today.”

“And it’s my job to make sure everyone has a good day-“

“Yeah, well, you sleeping on the floor will ruin my day,” you snark back.

You turn to look up at him. In the low light, you can see his one brow raised, the smirk on his lips. He’s so close, now. It hits you, then, that it wouldn’t take much to close the gap. You could lean in, press your lips to his. He could wrap that arm around you, all the way, hold you close. Kiss you back. Pull you into his lap. Hell of a way to stay entertained in this tiny hut. It would keep you warm, too.

You blink, hard. Fight the urge to shake your head.

“We can share the couch,” you say, before you can even really think it through. “It’s wide enough, we can each take one end. We’re gonna need our beauty sleep.”

Nico sighs, then pats your shoulder. “You drive a hard bargain. I accept.”

He sticks his hand out to shake yours, like it’s a business deal and not a sleeping arrangement. You laugh, again, and feel the warmth of his hand in yours all the way through your body.

…..

Nico lays there in the dark, listening to your breathing evening out, one emergency blanket laid out over the two of you. He’s trying not to move, knowing the tinfoil like material with crinkle, not wanting to wake you. From the angle he’s at, he can just peek over at you, your face barely visible in the low light.

You’re beautiful, he thinks.

Outside, the wind howls. A constant reminder of why he’s here, that he’s not laying next to you for the fun of it.

It’s his job to keep you safe. As soon as he fulfills that promise, he’ll probably never see you again.

He closes his eyes and tries to ignore the anxiety that makes him feel.

…..

You wake up to blinding sunlight, an empty couch, and the strangest scraping noise you’ve ever heard. It takes you a solid minute to get your bearings, even longer than that to realize that Nico’s not in the bathroom and that he also hasn’t left you to fend for yourself. The scraping noise is a shovel. The sunlight means the storm has cleared.

You shove the thin emergency blanket off of you, shuffling towards the door. When you open it, you squint, nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off the fresh snow. You hear Nico before you see him, just by the sound of his laughter.

“Morning, sunshine,” he calls out, leaning on the snow shovel. “You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”

You squint at him. He’s not even wearing his jacket- you still have his puffer coat on. It’s just him in his snow bibs and his long sleeve shirt. He sticks the shovel into the snow again, and you watch his muscles flex, his undershirt leaving little to the imagination.

“You should’ve woken me,” you manage to get out, your brain barely working. “I could’ve helped shovel.”

He shakes his head. “There’s only one shovel.”

“We could’ve shared.”

He laughs at that, taking a couple steps through the snow towards you. “Okay, let’s get you some coffee, sleepyhead. Maybe a poptart. We’ve got a date with Jack.”

Jack, as it turns out, is Nico’s coworker. Which, in reality, probably doesn’t rule him out as someone who could be more than a friend. The way Nico grimaces at Jack’s loud voice over the radio does, though. That, plus the affectionate eye roll and the hand motion he does, as if he’s telling Jack to hurry it along.

“-so they’re gonna get Bluebird spinning here, soonish. We’ve got twenty to go down, plus me, Lukey, Siegs, and Timo. You’ve just got a plus one, right? We shoveled out earlier and your route looks pretty clear from our point, I’d just take Lark down to the Stork cutoff, or- Siegs says maybe-“

“I can’t cut in,” Nico says, mildly exasperated, mildly affectionate. “He won’t hear it.”

“-and just avoid the area under the lift, in case there’s any ice stuck to it-“

When Jack finally stops talking, Nico responds with a short and sweet 10-4 and a relay of the plan. You start cleaning up before you go, while he puts on a kettle and makes some instant coffee. It’s bitter and a little grainy, but it wakes you up, even if you’re both grimacing at each other over your paper cups.

Then you get suited up. You give Nico his jacket back, albeit reluctantly- it wouldn’t fit under your layers, anyways. He’d folded your dry clothes before he went out to shovel, and set them near the space heater, which means they’re nice and toasty when you slip into them. Then you follow him back out into the sun, fidgeting with the straps of your helmet.

He turns, frowning slightly, and comes closer.

“Here,” he mumbles, his fingers brushing against your chin. “You’re a little twisted, that’s all. I got it.”

“Thanks,” you say, blinking up at him.

He has long eyelashes. Thick, dark eyebrows. Wrinkles near his eyes- smile lines, so happy all the time that it shows on his face. It makes your heart skip a beat. His fingers are warm against your skin, despite the cold.

He shrugs. “No problem.”

Right. Things like this are just a part of his job.

You strap into your skis and take off behind him. The snow is powdery and light, the mountain peaceful and empty. You think, for a second, that you should’ve take a photo of the hut, to remember it by, but it’s too late now, and he’d probably think it was weird. You turn over your shoulder for one last look, the tiny building disappearing into the distance.

It’s not a long trek over to the top of the Bluebird lift. You sort of wish it was longer. Nico stays by your side the whole time, pointing out birds in the trees or a particularly interesting bit of wind drifted snow. He’s smiley, again. He loves this, you can tell. You get why he chose this life.

The lift comes into view not long after that. There’s a few people milling about, a couple in red jackets. One of them, the tallest one, lifts an arm and waves. Nico waves back.

“That’s Luke,” he says.

Like he wants you to know. Like these people, who are important to him, are ones you should know, too. Something about that makes your heart twist, makes butterflies swirl in your stomach.

When you ski up to the lift, the shorter of the two red jacket clad men greets Nico with a hug. There are others coming out of the building now, more skiers, followed by two more Ski Patrol guys. They greet Nico, too. You hesitate, wondering if you should just go. If you should mingle with the other “guests”, or maybe just wait it out on your own. You were silly to think Nico cared about anything other than getting you there safely- his job is done, isn’t it?

As if on cue, he turns around, dark eyes sparkling, and waves you over. He introduces you, and then the rest of the guys- Jack, Jonas, and Timo. Luke, too, though you already knew his name.

“I taught her Jass,” he says, and Jonas and Timo both hum and nod approvingly. “She beat me. Or, at least she says she did. I think maybe she cheated-“

You scoff, elbowing him, feeling indignant. “I wouldn’t even know how to cheat.”

Nico’s smirking next to you. He nudges his shoulder against yours. You bite back a matching smile of your own.

“Impressive,” Luke says. “Jack’s been trying to beat Nico for years.”

Jack glares at Luke- similar faces, similar mannerisms, you’d bet they’re brothers. “Yeah, well, I think Nico does cheat when he’s playing me.”

There’s a loud noise, and then the lift lurches into motion. You swallow down a little bit of resentment. It’ll be good to get off the mountain, to meet back up with your friends. They’re probably worried, despite the check in Nico gave to let them know you were safe. It’s just…

Nico’s arm is pressed against yours. You swear you feel the warmth, even through all the layers. You don’t want it to end. You want to stay right next to him.

Jonas starts directing people towards the lifts. “Guests first,” he calls out.

You find yourself a little frozen. You realize, suddenly, that you’re probably going to end up riding down alone, or with a total stranger. And it’s fine. The lift is safe. It’s just- you’ve heard horror stories about storms, about lifts having damage, about people getting stuck. You don’t want to get stuck alone.

“Hey,” Nico says, nudging your shoulder again. “I’ll ride down with you, if you want. We’ll just have to go last.”

You blink up at him. “Really?”

He nods. “Told you I’d get you off this mountain safely, right?”

You feel the smile creep across your face. “Right.”

When you look away, Jack is smiling knowingly at the both of you. You smile right back.

…..

Nico wraps his arm around your shoulder on the lift.

He does it without caring about what anyone else thinks. He knows he’ll get shit from all his friends on the seats behind the two of you, who can see it so clearly, and probably see right through him, too. All he cares about, though, is the way you lean into it, the way you nestle so perfectly into his side. The weight of your head against his shoulder, his chest, just feels right. The world around you is peaceful. Slow. The lift is at half speed for safety reasons, and he’s not complaining.

He points at a forested area. “There’s a secret run in there. It’s one of my favorites. Take a left at the top of Gray Jay and you’ll see it.”

You grin. “Already found that with one of my friends yesterday.”

He laughs. “Here I am trying to tell you all the mountain’s secrets, but you’re an expert, huh?”

You shrug and look up at him, eyes wide and soft. “Tell me another secret.”

You’re gorgeous.

That’s no secret. And it’s also not something he can say to you. Not now, not while he’s working. You’ve trusted him to keep you safe. He might ruin it all by saying something like that.

So he smiles, points towards another run. “If you take that and veer right, you’ll get to this open powder area that almost nobody touches. It’s perfect.” Then he frowns. “But maybe wait a day or two. After all that snow… could be a little sketchy.”

You nod. “Got it. But hey, I know who to ask for if I get into trouble, right?”

Nico’s heart flutters. “Yeah. You call, I’ll be there. Promise.”

He holds his pinky out towards you. It’s hard to tell, because he’s wearing mittens, but you laugh and do the same, wrapping your finger around his as best as you can. It makes his chest ache.

…..

There are people milling around at the bottom of the lift. Friends and family, waiting for their loved ones. You think you spot one of your friends, in her signature bright pink jacket. You sigh as you inch closer to the ground, both you and Nico sliding off the lift easily.

You come to a stop just outside the landing zone. Nico follows suit. When you turn to look up at him, he’s smiling, cheeks rosy pink along with the tip of his nose. You want to kiss him. You want him to kiss you.

He doesn’t.

One of your friends calls your name. At the same time, someone calls his. You try not to look disappointed.

“Sorry,” he says. “That’s my boss. You’re good now, yeah?”

You nod. “Off the mountain, safe and sound.”

He smiles and nods. “Then my job here is done.”

You swallow and nod again. “Thanks, Nico. For everything.”

Just doing his job, you think.

He smiles softly. At the last second, he reaches out and squeezes your shoulder. “For you, anytime. I mean it.”

Then he skis away, leaving you wishing for just one more moment with him.

…..

Nico doesn’t always let them drag him out to the bar, especially after a long day like today. Honestly, he’s a little exhausted, and he probably won’t last long before he decides to try and get an uber home. Normally, he’d walk, because it’s damn expensive to catch a ride, but his legs are like jello.

He’d spent the day hard at work, getting things back up and running again, filling in where he could. He’s ski patrol, but he’s handy with a hammer, able to help with basic maintenance when lifts go down. He’d also spent the day with Jack yapping his ear off about all the Karens they’d spent the night with at the Bluebird lift station.

“Can’t believe we had to deal with that and you got to spend the night with-“ Jack had started, and then paused.

Nico filled in your name, helpfully, whacking at a stuck lift bar and grinning when it fell into place.

“Yeah. She seemed like much better company. Like. Did you guys kiss?”

Nico had sighed. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t ask me that. I was working.”

Now, Jack’s sitting at the bar next to him, yapping his ear off, again. Nico takes a sip of his beer- he loves Jack, he really does. He’s just re-running all the things he’s done and said in the past 24 hours, questioning if he missed his chance with you. He could go home, wallow about it, but that would mean giving up on the real reason he came out in the first place. The one he won’t admit out loud. The reason he keeps scanning the room over Jack’s shoulder.

When he hears the unmistakable sound of your laughter, the sound that’s been etched into his brain since he first heard it, he takes a deep breath, trying to steady his suddenly racing heart. Then he flags down the bartender and orders another drink.

find part ii here!!

…..

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon!

[fluentmoviequoter]

Rich for a Night

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!detective!reader

Summary: To catch a thief targeting wealthy couples, you go undercover with your husband Deacon.

Warnings: fluff, Deacon & r are held at gunpoint, a Bugatti gets wrecked :(

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (1x19 "Source")

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you lament. “The robberies always occur after big events, dinners, charity galas, but there’s no other connection.”

“Catering company?” your desk neighbor suggests.

“Different for every event. No one worker has been at every event. Planners have alibis, there’s no similarity in looks or where victims live, even banks. The only lead we have is wealthy couples getting robbed, sometimes at gunpoint, after an event.”

You drop your head into your hands as you reconsider the entire case. You’ve looked through every guest list, and everyone has alibied out, even though only a few couples overlapped and attended every event. They got robbed, too, as it turns out. The first two robberies had a connection: they both banked at the same place, but after that, the connection disappeared.

“It has to be someone near the events,” you murmur. “Maybe it’s someone who has access to Los Angeles socialite calendars and is just hanging around the events and picking people at random.”

Your phone rings, and you sigh before you answer, “Detective Kay.”

“Detective, there’s been a murder,” the caller says.

“Let me get you someone in homicide.”

“No, this is related to your burglary case. Or at least that’s what the homicide detective thinks. It looks like a robbery gone wrong.”

“What’s the address?” you ask as you pick up your cell phone and keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

On the drive into the hills, you add this new twist to your thoughts on the case. You agree that this location, the schedule, and everything about the setting of the crime match your investigation. The murder is either a progression or a mistake. Maybe the burglar was interrupted, or the victim tried to stop him. Before you can create too many theories, you arrive at the scene and flash your badge to enter the house.

“What have we got?” you ask the homicide detective surveying the scene.

“Forensics is going over everything now, but it doesn’t look like anything was taken. Single gunshot to the chest was our cause of death.”

“Nothing was taken?” you repeat. “Then why do you think this is related to the thefts?”

“Because of that,” he answers, squatting as he points under the makeup vanity. “A bag filled with jewelry pushed just out of reach. Almost like a dying woman was trying to protect herself and her home.”

“What else did you find?”

“Not much. Seems like this happened pretty quickly. Alarm was disabled at eleven-oh-five p.m.”

“After the murder mystery theater on the yacht,” you add. “Date night gold for the rich.”

“Hence, why we think this is your case, not ours. They’ll try to recover the bullet during the autopsy and run ballistics.”

“Until then, it’s mine to decipher. Thanks, detective.”

“Could I make one suggestion?” he inquires as he removes his gloves. You nod, and he says, “This seems like the perfect opportunity for a UC. Even if you don’t come face-to-face with the burglar, you get to know a bit more about the victims.”

“Even more if you go undercover yourself,” your partner adds as she walks into the house. “Progression or accident?” she asks, pointing to the victim.

“I can’t go undercover,” you argue.

“Why not? You get to play dress up. Plus, you’ve got a tactically trained and incredibly attractive husband you could take with you. No one would question your right to be there with Deac’s old money vibe and your, well, everything.”

You look around the scene, a luxury environment as an outward acknowledgement of all the victim worked for, or as it may be, didn’t work for, and decide it truly is your best option.

“I need a Rolex.”

Browsing the rows of the evidence locker with a small box in your hand, you wonder why so many rich people get arrested. So far, you’ve gathered a Rolex Daytona worth at least $100,000 and three pairs of sunglasses from Cartier, Ray Ban, and Dolce and Gabbana.

“Perfect,” you whisper as you find an envelope with a Tiffany ring and a pure obsidian band.

With these accessories and the dresses your contact who works with the UC division is procuring for you, you do not doubt that you will fit in. You still need a car, but you know just the people to ask about that.

“I need to check these out, Ally,” you request as you slide the evidence onto a desk. “For case 9212024.”

“No problem,” she answers as she begins logging case numbers and photos into her computer. “Who’s the ring for?”

“My husband.”

“I pity the criminals you’re after.”

“At least they’ll get a nice view while we put the cuffs on.”

“What are you doing here?” Rocker asks as you enter SWAT HQ.

“Lovely to see you too, Donovan,” you reply with a smile. “Do you greet your wife like that?”

Rocker shrugs and hugs you quickly before he directs you to where 20 Squad is reviewing warrants.

“Sergeant Kay,” you call as you enter.

“Oh, hi!” Street greets.

“This is a surprise,” Deacon says as he moves around Street to hug you.

“I have something for you,” you begin. You pull the obsidian ring from your pocket and lift the Cartier aviators from your side. “A proposal.”

“Is this a married couple thing or am I just confused?” Street whispers.

“You don’t want me to answer that, playboy,” Luca replies, slapping his back.

“Why?” Deacon questions, smiling even as he narrows his eyes at you.

“It’s just a date,” you promise.

“To do what?”

“I’m still working the string of burglaries targeting rich couples. We’ve got tiny leads that add to enough of a clue that I want to go undercover at the next big event to try to find something. I have to work faster because a woman was killed during a robbery last night.”

“Why not take someone more familiar with the case?”

“Do it, Deac,” Street whispers. “Just for the watch.”

“What watch?” Deacon asks.

You lift your hand to show the Rolex Daytona hanging loosely around your wrist. “There’s a look to people like this. I’ve got everything except a date right now, and you’re the best option for more reasons than I can list, Deac. If you can’t, I get it.”

“No, I want to,” he states, taking the sunglasses from your hand and sliding them onto his face. “Let’s catch a burglar.”

“Oh, that’s just not fair,” Street complains.

“Street,” you call. “I need something from you and Luca too.”

“Alright,” you announce after you secure your earrings. “We just moved here from New York, have our accounts set up, moved into a newly renovated house in the hills and are scoping out the local charities because we’re budding philanthropists.”

“And luring a thief,” Deacon adds as he gently tugs the strap of your dress to straighten your neckline.

“Mostly that.”

“I’m following your lead tonight, detective.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Your ride is here,” Street says on the other side of your door. “And you’re welcome, but don’t get used to it. Luca and I may be brilliant, but we’re not get a free Bugatti loaner every week brilliant.”

“I never said it had to be a Bugatti,” you whisper to Deacon.

“I can hear you, ya know,” Street calls. “You are wearing a wire. So, keep it PG, Deac.”

Deacon smiles as he leans toward the tiny microphone hidden in the seam of your dress strap and answers, “10-4, good buddy.”

Street groans, and you gently push Deacon’s shoulders to straighten his tie. He looks good, though you expected no less.

“Let’s be rich for a night.”

“Welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Napier,” the valet greets as he opens your door. “Beautiful car. It's number 17,” he adds as he hands Deacon the card to pick up the car after the event. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thank you,” Deacon answers, nodding as he shakes the man’s hand and passes a $50.

You wait on the curb as Deacon rounds the back of the Bugatti and wraps his arm around your waist.

“If he scratches that car, Street will kill me,” you say through your smile.

“Good thing it’s not Street’s car,” Deacon replies. “Let’s go, Mrs. Napier.”

You smile while you loop your arm around Deacon’s bicep and follow him into the concert hall. Innumerable couples are finding their seats and milling around the open area of the hall as they discuss charities, recent events, and bank account balances. With Deacon, you have no concern about looking out of place, and your confidence is assured when three different women look over at him. One of which looks away from her husband to do so.

“Good evening,” a woman greets, smiling as she approaches you. “My name is Andrea Campbell and I’m hosting this evening’s event. Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but I don’t recall meeting you.”

“No, ma’am, you haven’t,” Deacon says, carefully extracting his arm from your hold as he offers to shake her hand. “I’m Dan Napier and this is my wife. We just moved here from upstate New York and wanted to see the charities of Los Angeles.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Mrs. Napier, I am an advocate for women in philanthropy, so if you have any questions please do not hesitate to contact me. I truly hope you enjoy this evening’s show and the presentation.”

“Thank you,” you offer before Andrea is called away. Once she’s out of earshot, you stifle a laugh and whisper, “I’m surprised she even saw me.”

“Mrs. Napier, is it?” a man asks, allowing as he pauses directly at your side, out of Deacon’s reach. “My associate Andrea mentioned that you were here. I believe you recently opened an account at my branch of United Banks. Hopefully you can spare some time soon so I can show you around LA.”

He walks away before you or Deacon can speak, and you’re left to watch him and wonder why he chose to acknowledge you.

“Think he’s a suspect?” Deacon murmurs into your ear as you turn toward him.

“No,” you answer, moving your professionally styled hair as you shake your head. “Just a man with a roving eye. We have no evidence that our guy goes after women any more than men.”

“But he killed the woman last night.”

“The husband called it in, though. He was in the house when it happened. Said they were both tied up and she managed to get free and went into the bedroom to confront the thief. He’s scared, he doesn’t like being watched. Nothing like that guy.”

Deacon nods and pulls you close, smiling before he kisses you quickly. You slide your hand into his and follow him to your seat.

During the concert, nothing of note occurs. Even after it ends, you’re welcomed to Los Angeles by several couples, but no one sticks out as a possible suspect. So, disappointed and back at square one, you exit the concert hall and stand at Deacon’s side as he asks the valet to fetch the car.

Just as the Bugatti pulls up, the man who parked your loaner car moves behind Deacon and presses a gun against the small of his back.

“Get in the car, Mr. Napier. I’d hate to shoot through your wife’s pretty dress,” he demands quietly. “Now.”

Deacon moves his hands slightly to show the man that he’s unarmed and mumbles, “Okay, okay.”

“In the car, Mrs. Napier,” he demands, jerking his head toward the passenger door.

You nod quickly, wearing faux fear on your face as you get in the front seat. Deacon sits in the driver’s seat beside you as the armed man slides in behind him.

“Nice car,” he applauds. “Now drive to your house. Either one of you moves for a phone… if you even adjust the air vent, I will shoot you both.”

You don’t think he will, not somewhere as noticeable and closed-in as the car, but you nod and pretend to swallow a sob as Deacon pulls the Bugatti out of the short driveway.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” the man begins as Hondo speaks into your earpiece to alert you that he’s behind you in an unmarked car. “We’re going to go into your house, you’re going to turn off the alarm and get out of my way, and I’m going to take whatever I want. Understood?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Deacon replies.

The man presses the gun against your temple and yells, “Understood?!”

“Yes,” Deacon answers quickly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles white as his hands remain firmly at 10 and 2. “Understood.”

“I trust you, Dan,” you whisper as his left hand shifts slightly. “And everything you’d want people to do.”

“Shut up!” the man demands, lowering his gun slightly as he looks between you and Deacon.

“I trust you, Daniel,” you repeat softly, hoping your wire picks it up.

“I hope you don’t regret that,” Hondo answers in your ear. “Turn one light too early if you mean it, Deac.”

Deacon’s jaw clenches as he approaches the last light before your turn.

“This way is faster,” he tells the thief as he hits the blinker but doesn’t move.

Hondo’s engine revs as he increases his speed, steering his car to the right to perform a PIT manoeuvre.  When his front bumper collides with the side of the Bugatti, Deacon releases the wheel and turns toward you. He grabs the man’s forearm and hits it against the passenger seat as you retrieve your service weapon from your ankle holster. The car slides to a stop against the curb, and the man drops his gun, then begins crying as you level your aim at him.

“You’re under arrest,” you tell him, panting as you try to catch your breath and lower your heart rate.

“Who are you?” the man whimpers as Deacon holds his arm between the front seats.

“Detective Kay, LAPD,” you answer. “This is Sergeant Kay. And the man about to pull you out onto the pavement is Sergeant Hondo. LAPD SWAT.”

“Wait,” he interrupts, sniffling. “You’re actually married?”

Hondo rips the door open before you can answer and grabs the back of the man’s shirt collar to haul him out of the car. He looks through the open back door to check on you and Deacon, then clicks his tongue.

“Luca and Street are not going to be happy.”

You tip your head back against the headrest and groan.

“Congratulations, Detective Kay,” Deacon says.

He smiles as you turn in the seat to face him.

“I love you,” you tell him softly. “Even more without the expensive jewelry.”

“But I look good in the sunglasses, right?”

You laugh and nod but point out, “We didn’t need them for a concert at night, though.”

Deacon laughs with you, and as the approaching police lights reflect around you, you know your life is richer with Deacon than with any material belongings you could ever borrow or earn.

[totothewolff]

Chemtrails Over the Yacht Club Collection 18+ | Toto Wolff x reader, age gap, smut operator, clear daddy issues (this fic is inspired by Lana del Rey, duh), and yacht culture.

Summary: Toto Wolff is a name often mentioned at the Yacht Club, where you work after classes. For some reason, you have always pictured him as an old crank like the usual members, not this foxy man who arrives at the reception making your knees quiver.  The entire staff goes frenetic as he, one of the Club's most important clients, chooses to spend his spring break there without previous notice. You pray to the Gods that you don't cross lines with him since your entire livehood depends on this job, and you really want to graduate college. Author's note: This was supposed to be a one-shot but was way too long, so I split it into two chapters. I hope you enjoy them. By the way, this version of Toto has questionable morals.

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2 - Breaking up slowly

As Mr. Holst's gateway yacht trip reaches an end, you follow protocol and deliver Toto the guest's satisfaction survey before docking in the Club's harbor.

It's supposed to be confidential and private for the guest. Still, Toto reads you the questions and tells you his answer as he writes them, evaluating you while you sit on his lap in his cabin armchair.

"Any complaints or suggestions, please elaborate," he reads you. "Yes. Y/N's skirts should have been shorter. They don't do justice to that ass," he jokes as you blush, still in awe of him.

He squeezes your ass cheek and gives you a hard slap leaving a red mark, instantly turning you on.

"Fuck me, daddy" you beg him against his lips, already placing you on top of him. 

Your clothes hit the ground. 

You aren't sure if the waves are rocking the hull that hard or if it's Toto's powerful thrust as he fucks you relentlessly, firm grip on your hips, fingertips pressuring on your skin.

-

The guests enjoy the yacht's amenities till the last minute before docking in the harbor of the Yacht Club.

The crew and you are all but busy, going everywhere, attending to guests, and running safety checks and protocols.

You attend to Toto's daily demands as he peacefully sunbathes before going to his cabin to change outfits. His tan skin makes him look even more handsome.

You overheard him telling the person on the other end of the call that he was going to a meeting downtown. 

He'll be gone the entire day and the whole of your shift. At least a bit of a break for you!

These past few days have been a dream but tiresome.

As the sailing master safely and perfectly anchors the yacht in the harbor, the guests start to descend the ship. A small committee of girls with beverages and canapes welcomes them.

The only people remaining onboard the ship's deck are Toto and you; he wanted to go last.

As you two casually talk, he pulls out an envelope from the insides of his blue blazer and offers it with his hand for you to grab it.

"Sorry, what is this?!" you ask, looking at the rectangular yellow envelope.

"It's a brick of money, isn't it?" you think.

"Your tip," he confirms your thoughts.

"But that is excessive. No way I'm accepting it."

"Do so," he sounds authoritarian as usual. "'It's going to help you with that fine." 

"Oh, hey, listen, I will make it, don't worry about it."

"Y/N," he sounds serious, his eyes looking straight at you. He is a very kind and sweet person on the inside. Still, on the outside, he is always cold, stony-looking, demanding, and impossibly hot. "Take it," he enunciates, his controlling trait displaying.

You have noticed, just by being by his side all these days, the pull and effect he has on people and still holds on to you. He is someone you want to impress, to win his approval and have his attention.

"What do you think this is "Pretty Woman"? Calm down, Richard Gere!" you dare to joke to change the mood a bit.

"Aren't you too young to know that reference?" he still answers sternly.

"I live with the rom-com connoisseur, aka my aunt." you smile brightly at him.

Toto has avoided stepping onto personal life terrains, wanting to remain far apart.

"Last time I offer it, take it. You need it. Besides, it's not like you are going to buy a Kelly bag with it; it's for your tuition."

"A what?!" you think. "Wait! How does he know that? I don't remember mentioning that to him."

"Thank you, but I prefer to maintain our relationship non-monetarian." you stand your ground.

"Our relationship?" Toto thinks.

He places the envelope back into his inside pocket as he said he would and steps off without looking back at you, moving along with his day.

-

"Welcome back to land," Chloé greets you the next day as you clip your radio on your belt in the staff locker room. You're getting ready for another shift before hugging her.

"I'm impressed! I must admit. You almost, ALMOST, achieved it! You got a really good-rate review on the satisfaction chart from Mr. Wolff, something I've never seen before." Then, she makes a dramatic pause.

Only if she knew...

Before continuing: "But not so with Mr. Elrod. He placed a formal complaint since, according to him, your incident with him was life-threatening."

"OH COME ON! He barely swoll!" You look annoyed and want to smash the locker with your fist.

"I know, I checked. Still, I'm really proud of you! But Raphaël called you to his office, so please go there now."

-

Oh God, you hate going up there!

You arm yourself with patience while climbing the swirling stairs to the upper floor of the management wing of the building, where the big names' offices are.

He makes you wait for a long time. The fucker knows the long wait it's going to delay your chores and make you leave work late. Until his assistant informs you from her chair at the front desk that you can go in.

You open the large glass door into the Assistant General Manager's office with a speech already prepared in your mind in case of the worst.

Raphaël is leaning back on his enormous executive leather chair and massive desk that screams small dick energy, looking sternly at you. 

Raphaël is a very posh, solemn, and wealthy fucker who is besties with Mr. Holst and his entire family and extended family, a textbook social climber.

A very uptight asshole. Raphaël chose to dislike you from the moment you set foot at the Club; he tries to get you fired at any given chance. 

Most of the girls who work there are beautiful and come from an obvious upper class; most are daughters, nieces, or granddaughters of...

The Yacht Club is where the rich teach their kids a lesson on the value of work or use it as a perfect excuse to kick them out of the house for a few hours.

Usually, they get hired because daddy made a call, and you are none of that.

"Ah, good morning," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I see you're still here. I'm surprised you didn't quit on the spot after that dangerous incident."

You take a deep breath and try to keep your cool. "Good morning, Raphaël. I'm still here because I'm committed to doing my job to the best of my ability and finding a solution to the problem rather than blaming myself."

Raphaël snorts. "You're the one who caused the problem, sweetheart. You're always causing problems. You're a liability to this company."

You feel angry at his words, but you keep your composure. "I understand you're upset, but I'm trying my best."

Raphaël swings a bit in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You're just a silly girl who doesn't know how to do her job. You're lucky I'm even giving you a final and last chance to prove yourself."

You feel a lump form in your throat. "I understand you don't think highly of me, but I'm trying to do my best; I have learned fast and proved myself worthy."

Raphaël laughs a cold, cruel sound. "You're just not cut out for this job, sweetheart. We are the best and need the best on our team."

"I...I don't know what to say," you stutter.

Raphaël leans forward, his eyes glinting with triumph. "Just thank Ava, sweetie, for changing Holst's mind. You're on thin ice, one more mistake, and you're gone. You can leave now," he dismisses you.

-

"Thank you, I owe you one, I guess," you whisper to Ava for saving your ass as you cross paths with her in the beautiful and perfectly maintained gardens.

"You were kind to me," she says in the same tone as usual, not as friendlier as you would have liked. "I trust you keep our conversation from that day private."

"Pinky promise," you offer her your pinky. She looks at you with an "ugh" expression, rolls her eyes, and walks away. A couple of steps further, she turns to smile at you.

Now you two are best friends for life in your head! IJBOL.

-

The following two weeks are a swirl of moans as Toto, and you can't keep your hands off each other. 

You fuck everywhere private and remote enough, where there are no security cameras.

You can't have enough of his dick and his body. You are so infatuated with him.

Every time he calls in you at his villa, you end up fucking; it doesn't matter how hard you both try to fight the urge to do so.

He has had you against the door, his bedframe, or the room's vanity, on top of the piano and even in the jacuzzi. The sex drive of that fit man is spectacular, and you are young enough to keep its pace.

You have never been so sexually active and free in your life, learning and experiencing many things for the first time. Toto makes the best teacher and lover you have ever had.

By this point, you lost count of how many times you have moaned his name, called him daddy, or the number of times he has made you cum and beg for more.

-

Your aunt and close friends start to notice your glow. Lately, you look radiant and happy.

She is intrigued to know the reason behind it as you two go to the mall on Sunday.

"FINE. I WILL TELL YOU! I'm dating the most gorgeous, wise, handsome, accomplished, hot guy, AND HE IS SO INTO ME! Can you believe it?!"

"Oh, I can. My niece is great! And where did you meet this adonis, and most importantly, does he have an older brother?"

"He is an older brother!" you want to say but don't. 

She doesn't need to know every single detail, not yet. You want to keep it a surprise for when you take Toto home.

"He has a sister," you answer.

"Ah! And what else can you tell me?"

"Well, he is from Austria! I plan to invite him over to have dinner at the apartment so you can meet and ask him all the questions you want. What do you think?"

The look she gives you! You had never taken a single boy to the house. This must be serious, then.

"Has he tasted your cooking yet?" she wonders before answering.

You shake your head.

"Well, if he survives it, then it's true love!" you two laugh as your aunt jokes and links her arm with yours before adding: "Please invite him for dinner. I'd love to meet him, but you know what! Better buy lasagna. We want this to work, right?!"

-

You love to text Toto sweet and touchy messages throughout the day that hint at how he makes you feel, how much he means to you, and how great it is to be with him.

You are in love.

Yet, you try not to suffocate him or embarrass yourself, still being nervous around him, still wanting his approval. 

Toto still intimidates you. Being the powerful and dominant man he is.

You can't believe you snatched him! Lucky girl!

But in your mind, fuck! Wedding bells are already chirping, and future children's name-searching is already happening.

-

The Yacht Club has a museum/memorabilia section that almost no one visits. It's located far away from the lobby and main guest areas, and for obvious reasons, it has many security cameras. 

But next to it, further down the hallway, there's a blind spot on the CCTV system, right in the space of the door to an old phone room. 

In this room, the original antic magneto wall set telephone is still mounted on the wall, along with a stern wood chair where people used to chat in private.

You ask Toto to meet you there after he texts you he hasn't seen you today. 

Also, you want to inform him that you are going on a "two-day leave" plus the weekend, so you will be away from him for four days. 

You don't want to send him mixed signals, and you're getting paranoid that he might think you're running away.

And since you don't want to miss him, maybe he could join you if he wants and feels like it. You know, couple life outside the Club.

A hand-in-hand walk through Monaco's streets sounds nice; a cute date with wine and kisses sounds more than good.

-

When he closes the door behind him, the place looks ridiculously smaller.

You immediately stand on your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around him as you greet him. 

You share small, soft kisses for a while.

He sadly tells you he can't join you on your break. 

Since he extended his stay, Toto has things scheduled on his agenda that he is supposed to be doing in his office in London.

"But I'm going to miss you, daddy," you pout and give him the biggest Bambi-begging eyes.

"Not even that it's going to work. Try it with my assistant. Thanks for trying tho."

"Where can I meet her?"

He laughs before pulling you into a more intense kiss.

"Should we say goodbye to each other?" he says against your lips, caressing your neck.

"It is crazy how four days felt like nothing before you; now that I have you in my life, it's an eternity."

He holds you closer, pulling you by the waist.

"Then let's make it count enough to stay in each other minds for those days."

"You are permanently on my mind," you confess, burying your face in his shoulder, all red, and not even being able to look at him while feeling the expensive material of his jacket brushing your skin.

Then, your mouth finds his, kissing him hungrily. You push your tongue into his mouth, tangling with his, your hands sliding up the hard planes of his chest, then drifting over his shoulders to find the hem of his shirt. 

Your fingers feel his warm skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through him as you trace the contours of his muscles.

The smell of your perfume, jasmine, and vanilla intoxicates him. This scent will remind him of this moment as he passionately claims your mouth.

Slowly, you undress each other, savoring the anticipation. As hands wander over defined abs, curves, and dips, caresses become bold strokes.

The pads of your fingers move lower, exploring the ridges of his abdomen. With a smoldering look, you glance up at Toto, a wicked smile on your lips.

Heat spreads through him as you press yourself against his groin and your bare breasts against his chest. He can feel your heart pounding.

With a soft, playful jerk, you touch his growing excitement. "Eager, daddy?" you ask.

He nods.

You waste no time, and you get down to your knees as you take him into your mouth as he is sitting in the chair. Your warm, wet tongue swirls around him, your head bobbing gently as you work him in and out of your mouth. 

His fingers find their way into your soft, silken hair, gripping it gently, urging you on.

His pleasure moans grow as you work your magic, your tongue and lips exploring him for a while.

Slowly, you move up till your lips brush the shell of his ear. 

He commands you. "Ride me, now."

You shift your weight, adjusting your position to better align with Toto's cock, and you sink onto him, your pussy fitting itself around his cock like a glove; you feel a jolt of pleasure.

He fills you completely, and you allow yourself a moment to take in the intensity of that feeling, skin against skin.

Your hips begin to sway, moving gently to the rhythm of your shared breathing. With each undulation, the chair beneath you becomes part of the dance.

Toto's hands, which had been resting at his sides, now find their way to your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he feels you move against him.

Your breath is warm and soft against his neck as your bodies rock with each movement. You feel your core tighten, your pleasure growing in intensity. 

The control Toto wields over the rhythm, and you is intoxicating. Your breathing quickens.

"Faster," he orders you; you moan, obedient and needy. He wants you full force.

You feel the intensity of your coupling, the friction becoming almost unbearable.

You throw your head back mid powerful and intense bounces and cry out, desperate for release. 

His hands move to grip your thighs, his fingers applying pressure into your soft flesh as he guides your hips up and down to meet now his intense thrusts, Toto's bucking his hips up now, and your full breasts bounce against his sculpted chest.

Your lips meet in a passionate kiss; tongues entwine at a pace as hungry as the one below your waists. 

You tangle your hands in Toto's hair, tugging it gently to urge him for more as you clench your sex around him, drawing out an animalistic groan from deep within him. 

"Fuck, yes, Y/N," Toto growls through gritted teeth. He slams his balls into your pussy again and again, driving you both closer to the edge.

Your bodies are all slick with sweat as you shudder atop Toto, releasing a visceral moan with an orgasm radiating from your core and rippling through every nerve in your body, dripping all over his shaft and thighs.

He growls low in his throat, a raw, primal sound that reverberates through the room as he surrenders to his own release.

-

Every day away, you text him, exchanging photos and moments from both days.

You can't keep away from him.

-

Upon your return, you attend and cheer for Toto, who is participating in the regatta rally. 

The sound of seagulls surrounds you, as does the smell of salt water and fresh coffee wafts from the food and beverage stalls, enticing the crowd on the quayside.

As the starting gun fires, a fleet of sleek, high-tech sailboats burst into action, their crews navigating the intricate course set out on the water. 

The crowd cheers and chants as the boats round each mark, their helmsmen and women trimming their sails to maximize speed. 

As the regatta approaches its climax, the top boats are neck and neck, and Toto and his crew are straining every muscle to gain that precious extra yard. 

The tension is palpable as his boat crosses the finish line, and he and his crew leap into celebration as they win the rally.

Meanwhile, champagne corks pop on the quayside, and glasses get raised in a toast to the winners. 

The air is filled with conversation as the member's friends and families mingle, congratulating each other on a thrilling day under their giant sun umbrellas and comfy outdoor chairs.

Meanwhile, you remained sitting on the pier under the sun with your crew coworkers by your side, waiting for your guests to return and watching the action unfold on the waters. 

All of you girls, legs hanging, white sneakers almost touching the waters beneath you, dress in blue shorts and white polos with the Club's logo patch on the left.

After a while, the sun and the wood surface start to irritate your face and ass, respectively.

You smile brightly at Toto when you spot him reaching closer in the boat, locking eyes with him.

His shirt is all wet, and what is beneath it is showing. You fight the urge to run your hand all over his chest when you reach him after the trophy ceremony.

-

As you finish setting Toto's regatta equipment back inside the shed in his villa's garden view deck, Léo approaches you, thinking you are alone.

Staring at your bend over the body, eyes on your ass. An excellent view. 

Toto watches this from inside. He stepped inside to go shower.

"Y/N!" you turn without flinching, familiar with the voice and happy to hear it. 

"Léo! Hi!"

"I missed you, cutie," he says to you, even if you are a girl. Then he welcomes you with a tight hug, pulling you off the ground.

Toto wants to see how the scene unfolds, still without making himself be noticed. 

Why is that guy standing that close to you? Doesn't he know personal space?

He watches you two chat, you looking all happy and smiley, telling Léo all about your past days while his eyes burn on you. 

Toto catches desire in them, so when Léo places a hand on the shed and around you, Toto steps in.

"Kid," he calls for you. "My drink," he reminds you what he asked you to do next.

"Oh! Yes, sir!" You quickly move to serve Toto's drink. Léo gives him a "those manners!" look, and they share a quick exchange. 

At that moment, Toto glimpses at his cook uniform in bright daylight and tells him, "I didn't ask for any food." This is a subtle hint to better leave.

When Toto moves to stand right behind you, you can almost feel his knee in the back of your thigh.

Léo proceeds to leave, sending him a silent fuck you with his eyes.

"Bye, gorgeous! See you around, my girl." Léo addresses you but holds his gaze at Toto as he walks away, looking back.

"Okay..." you think, watching them interact.

-

"Let's go, kid," he orders you.

"Where?!" you ask as he drags you by the arm, a firm grip on your forearm as he pulls you along.

"Move," he instructs.

-

Minutes later, the sun warms Toto's back as he expertly maneuvers his jet ski on the waters. Going extremely fast as you hold tight to his body, the jet ski roaring beneath you, surging forward as water sprays behind you.

The salty ocean breeze whips through his dark hair and yours. 

A desolate yet inviting small beach appears in the distance as a coast unfolds. Toto gestures to you to the sandy expanse, "There."

You glance at the beach in question and raise your delicate eyebrows. "You brought us here? Why?"

"I have something to make clear." It's all he answers, in a harsh voice, before reaching land.

-

The waves lap gently against the fine white sands of the isolated coastline. You take a moment to enjoy the sounds of the ocean and the serenity of nature surrounding you.

Your skin and Toto's glisten with sweat, seawater, and sunscreen. 

His gaze roams over your body, relishing the breathtaking view. He licks his lips, unable to resist himself any longer. 

His eyes are so intense on you that he almost looks angry. Toto's expression dangerously morphs into a lust-filled one. 

He leans closer to claim your mouth in a rough, passionate kiss. Parting your lips brusquely, allowing himself to explore and taste your sweetness with his tongue while holding your neck with a stern grip.

His hands move to press your slick body firmly.

Toto then powerfully lifts you from the ground and takes you further into the beach, finally pushing you to the sand and rolling on top of you, feeling your breasts crush against his chest. 

He pulls your legs open and places them around his waist, roughly handling you, nails pressing into your skin, and he sighs in pleasure, feeling your warmth pressed against his.

He moves to remove your clothes roughly and quickly, almost tearing your polo shirt; within seconds, you are both naked. "Beautiful," Toto whispers, voice dangerous.

Your eyes flare with desire and curiosity as he has never handled you this rough.

With no hesitation or warning, he pulls his rock-hard length inside you, making you gasp at the sudden move. Toto's voice rasp in your ear, "Only I can fill you up."

You nod eagerly, biting your lower lip.

"Say it," he demands.

"Yes, daddy. Only you can fill me," you whisper, your voice thick with arousal.

Those words send Toto's self-control over the ledge. 

He slides into you frenetically, your pussy taking his hard hits with thunderous moist claps. He is fucking you so harshly in such a powerful rhythm you can barely take him.

You bury your nails in the sand surrounding you, grasping. "Daddy!" you moan so loud.

"Fuck, your pussy feels so good," Toto growls, biting down on the curve of your neck.

His thrusts are desperate and animal, and every muscle in his body is rocking. You arch your back, moaning nonstop as Toto keeps hitting that perfect spot deep inside you, relentlessly. 

"Daddy! Please," you gasp for air. You can barely take it anymore. "Daddy! I can't." his balls deep thrust keep going. A massive moan escapes your lips.

"Be a nice girl, take this dick good." He commands.

"I-, I-, Daddy, please." Your fingers dig into his shoulders, urging him to let you catch your breath.

"You are only mine to have." Toto's mouth claims yours, swallowing your moans. 

"This pussy is all yours!" you are barely able to say, shaking violently under his strong jabs.

"Again," his dick slams you harder.

"I'm only yours!" you scream in an orgasm, breathing real loud.

"Again," he slams you with his dick again.

Your whimpers grow louder.

"I'm yours, daddy!"

The feeling of his raw masculinity taking you over, dominating you entirely, sends ripples of need through your core.

Each drive of his hips is a powerful claim, a branding that declares you his.

"Good girl, now it's clear." He kisses your lips softly and licks them, running his wet tongue all over them.

With one final thrust, he buries himself as deep inside you, feeling you clench and pulse around him as you cry out.

Toto's body shudders with the force of his release. You stay there, panting and covered in sweat and sand as the waves crash upon the shore, matching the rhythm of your breathing.

Toto stays inside you, wanting to remain close for a little longer. He places soft and sweet kisses all over your face, now tenderly caressing you. His soft touch is all over you.

He collapses in exhaustion next to your side. The two of you are naked with your backs to the sand and facing the sky, feeling the sun's warm rays on your skin. 

You can't help but smile as you look over at Toto, lying beside you with his muscular chest heaving up and down. 

"We're quite a mess," you chuckle, gesturing to the sand and fluids that cover your bodies.

Toto laughs, "Nothing that a quick rinse can't fix."

He watches you stand up, brush the sand off your ass, and sprint towards the ocean. 

Toto follows you, admiring your naked figure and the way your ass moves as you stride.

You dip your toes into the water, squealing as a wave crashes over your feet. Toto comes up behind you, planning to plunge you into the water, so you playfully run from him.

He catches and kisses you before lifting you in his arms and bringing you inside the water with him.

He admires your ability to be open-minded, fun, and fearless in pursuing new experiences, especially those involving him.

-

A call bell coming from Toto's living room makes you speed there. Your chores today were so fucking tedious; by this point, you have like four good hours inside the china's closet.

As soon as you enter, he informs you, "Kid, I need my things packed by 2 p.m."

"You are leaving?!!" That sounded more desperate than you expected.

"I need to fly to sign papers in my London office. I will return on Thursday, just in time for Holst's Casablanca-themed birthday party."

Oh, yeah, next week is going to be crazy. A fucking colossal gala it's going to take place at the Club's gardens.

-

When the elevator doors to Toto's office slide open, a burst of energy and femininity floods the room as the most stunning woman enters.

Toto's office is on the top floor of a sleek, modern skyscraper, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering an unobstructed panorama of the bustling London's metropolis.

Her impossible curves seem to have been crafted by the gods themselves.

Her long, dark, sleek hair cascades down her back, framing her heart-shaped face and highlighting her stunning eyes. 

With her full lips in a deep shade of red, she moves with a confident stride, her high heels clicking on the floor as she makes her way to Toto's desk. 

Her toned and shapely legs seem to go on forever. She is supermodel tall, and the way she moves her hips is enough to weaken any man in the knees.

Irina sits in one of the expensive designer chairs in front of Toto's trendy clear glass desk. Her fitted dress hugs her curves in all the right places. 

Her shoulders are bare, and the gentle swell of her breasts seems to strain against the fabric.

Her hands are long and elegant, and she has a massive diamond ring on the fourth finger of her left hand. 

As she leans back in the chair, her hair bounces against her shoulders, releasing a faint scent of perfume.

Looking busy behind his desk, Toto can't help but look up from his papers, his eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of surprise and admiration. 

-

Toto's iPhone buzzes on his desk surface as Irina moves to get comfy on the expensive velvet sofa by the wall after a good chat and a successful exchange on Irina's part.

Reminding Toto of his responsibilities in life.

He picks it up to open your chat.

"Since it's our first month anniversary and you are away. I had more time to prepare a gift for you." you text Toto.

He watches a photo loading on your conversation.

A photo of a completely naked you arrive, standing back to the camera behind a see-through light fabric curtain that looks like and is the one in his bedroom at his villa. 

Your shoulders, back, and ass are on full display, your silhouette looking delicious to him; you are posing with your arms up, both placed on your head, and your hair is in a bun.

No face, just body, in a contrast of light.

Toto feels like jerking off to that photo when a second one arrives. 

It's a close-up photo of your breast; you are laying on his bed in the villa, again with light fabric on top of your tits, nipples hard, looking ready for him to bite them: no face or more body below your waist on this one.

"What a masterpiece," he replies. "But who took them? It's that my villa? How did you manage?"

"A dear friend of mine takes boudoir photos. I lied to Chloé and told her the photographer came for a photo session appointment with the guests I'm serving during your leave."

"An that dear friend is?" instantly possesive.

"Anne, a girl friend from college, she is an art major," you quickly reply.

"They should hang them in a museum."

You feel so proud of yourself for making him react like that. God, you miss him.

"Hey, kid, you are home?" he looks at his Rolex, running calculous.

"Yes"

"Do me a favor then."

"Sure!"

"Touch yourself till you cum, and moan my name loud." you get wet, reading the text.

"Would you do the same, daddy?"

"Yes."

-

Irina wonders who makes him smile like that.

-

As you prepare everything at Toto's villa for his return, along with Chloé, you dare to ask her a question and discuss a topic you have been dreading for so long.

"Does Mr. Wolff have a leave date?" you gain the courage.

"He already overextended his stay, which is rare, as rare as him showing up unexpectedly as he did. Mr. Wolff is one of those people who schedules everything in advance and always informs us months before, so something must have happened." She reaches out to you to help you place the fresh sheets on his bed.

"So, no date?" you ask again.

"You grew tired of him already?" Chloé looks straight at you.

"OH. NO, NO. I'm just curious," you quickly add, waving your hands.

"No date, child"

Is he staying for you? You wonder in your head.

-

You two have never talked about your future. 

Toto leaving without you has become your biggest fear in life, like ever. 

-

The night is fully set over the sea, and the Club's grounds are set by the strumming of a Moroccan guitar, which sets the tone for the true extravaganza about to happen.

You see Ava fixing Mr. Holst's bowtie as he prepares for his grand entrance.

The Club's gardens transformed into a Moroccan oasis, and the towering palm trees were now adorned with twinkling fairy lights.

The crowd erupts into applause as Mr. Holst enters, resplendent in a tailored white suit and sunglasses, à la Rick Blaine, escorted by a troupe of really hot and barely dressed female dancers, who performed a mesmerizing choreographed routine to the iconic tunes of "As Time Goes By."

The tables are set with fine china and crystal glassware, adorned with candles and a sumptuous spread of Moroccan delicacies, including tagines, couscous, and fragrant pastries. 

The aroma of exotic spices wafts through the air.

Meanwhile, at the bar where you are currently working, the mixologists are shaking (not stirring) up signature cocktails inspired by the classic film's iconic characters. The "Ilsa," a refreshing blend of gin, lemon, and mint, is a particular hit among the guests.

The place is packed with wealthy people from around the globe, all friends of Mr. Holst and his wife, and the bar is the busiest spot. 

You are so busy that you haven't even had a chance to look for Toto. He must be somewhere looking all handsome in a classic tuxedo! Gosh, you die to see him and kiss him.

Then, Mr. Holst takes center stage once more, surrounded by his wife and children. With a heartfelt speech, he starts the party.

-

As midnight approaches, a massive three-tier cake held by two big guys enters in the old style, and everyone sings Happy Birthday to Mr. Holst as fireworks light up the night sky! 

The crowd cheers and oohs as sparks rain down upon them.

Then, you have your first break of the night. Some of your coworkers at recess get dinner, light a cigar, or just sit down in the crew's hidden section. It's been crazy!

You use the opportunity to text Toto: "Hi, my love. Where are you? I want to see your handsomeness in a tux. Daddy, I miss you so much."

-

As a tipsy Toto is laughing and drinking with Holst and his wife when the couple reaches the table where he is, Irina picks up his phone, buzzing on the table.

She reads the text you sent him and chunks of your conversation. 

"Who the fuck is "Kid"?!"

She then starts looking at the photos you shared, fuming, especially when she finds the ones from the boudoir photo session you took for Toto.

Oh, no, baby! Her wedding with Toto is happening, yes or yes, and she will not allow you to interfere!

Toto will not slip away from her! Not now, she got him back at the palm of her hand and into his senses!

It worked wonders to give him that bit of a break after he got cold feet and had second thoughts about committing himself to her.

No one touches what is hers, and she is about to teach you a lesson!

Now that she knows your face, it is just a matter of time before she finds you there.

Apparently, you work here.

-

You are navigating through the crowded party, surrounded by the thumping music and the hums of conversations because your boss asked you to move to attend a special guests table.

As you walk there, you feel a pair of eyes burning into your skin. The hottest woman you have ever seen is staring intensely at you. 

It turns out to be the table where Raphaël parents are. So, to your misfortune, he is also around, adding an extra stress layer to your night as he behaves demanding and pays attention to your every action.

-

As the night progresses, you feel unsure if you are being paranoid or that woman has been watching you for a long time, her gaze flicking from a phone to you again.

Mr. Holst greets you, and you congratulate him on his birthday; he sits to chat with Raphaël's elderly mom.

The hot woman suddenly swoops in, her long legs striding across the room to you. 

Her eyes flash with anger as she grabs your arm, her nails digging into your skin. "You think you're so special, don't you?" she hisses, her voice low and venomous, taking you completely by surprise.

You try to shake her off, not knowing what the fuck is happening! But she's too strong. 

She pulls you closer, her face inches from yours. "You're nothing but a foolish little fling to Toto," she sneers really loud for everyone at the table to hear.

You start to feel all eyes on you as she causes a scene.

"This means nothing to him! You are just an entertainment." she continues.

You feel a surge of embarrassment as you realize what's happening. 

Toto looks at you two, his eyes wide with surprise, but he doesn't intervene. Your bosses are standing nearby, their faces frozen in shock.

Irina shows you the stunning diamond ring on her hand and holds it up for everyone to see. 

The table you attend falls silent, and all eyes are on you. Humiliation hits you as you realize the scope of what's happening.

"You think you can just waltz in here and steal my man? Toto is marrying me," she says again, her voice dripping angrily. "Me! Stay the fuck away!"

Irina flings back into the crowd, her words echoing in your mind. 

You feel tears stinging in your eyes as you turn to flee the party. 

"Don't even bother to come back. You are fired." Raphaël addresses you, firing you in the spot, catching you preparing to leave, his gaze burning with triumph and victory.

The sounds of laughter and music fade into the distance as you stumble into the night air, your heart heavy with sorrow.

Léo and Chloé look astonished as they watch you leave after witnessing the show Irina put on.

Your heels are hitting the floor faster, and the trail of your fitted gorgeous gala dress sways behind you.

You know that you will never be able to show your face at this place again and that no one will ever look at you in the same way after this.

God, you are so mad at Toto and even more heartbroken!

-

A loud knock comes at the door; maybe your aunt left work early. "Coming!" you look like a mess with swollen eyes from all the crying and feeling like shit and heartbroken, destroyed, dusted, you name it.

Toto's tall figure greets you when you open the door.

"How yo-?!" you look at him, eyes filling with anger and tears again.

"Ava," he interrupts you. "She got your address and sent me in a car here."

He reads your intention to close the door to his face and stops it firmly with his muscular arm.

Toto invites himself into your apartment. Standing beside the worn-out cupboard, he looks out of place, especially in that expensive tuxedo.

Gosh, he looks so dreamy, fuck him!

"Irina was completely wrong. You are not entertainment; what happened with us was real; you are important to me, more than you imagine." He goes straight to the point, not wasting time making things clear.

You feel a couple of tears run down your eyes. Lots of emotions for just one night.

He reaches closer to wipe them with his fingers. "I shouldn't have allowed Irina to talk to you that way and embarrassed you. Please forgive me. For all. We were on a time off when I met you."

"Irina? You thought that was his sister. You heard Holst asking him about her at brunch, along with his mom," You stupid girl!

"I called off the engagement for good." He looks straight at you and closes the steps between you.

"You did?!" and you die to add the "for me," but you contain.

"Do you still want me?" he asks, leaning closer to your lips, his breath brushing your mouth.

"Yes," a beg escapes your lips.

-

Toto is there to apologize for the hurt he caused. He wants to reach for you, to hold you close, but he doesn't know where to begin. So, instead, he does the only thing that feels right at that moment.

His lips find yours in a tender kiss, at first gentle but exploring, as if trying to find his way home.

You respond with a soft sigh, and your hands roam over his back, muscles reacting to your gentle touch. 

Your mouths open to each other in a deep, consuming kiss, tongues darting and twisting, exploring every spot of the other's mouth.

Before any of you knows what is going on, you stumble your way towards the bed, Toto's hands finding the hem of your short nightgown, pulling it up and over your head, revealing your naked body. 

The sight of your bare skin is enough to take his breath away. 

Toto's fingers trace the curves of your breasts, thumbs flicking at your stiffening nipples as you gasp and arch into his touch. 

God, you always feel so good.

"Fuck," he mutters, bending his head to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. The taste of your nipple is intoxicating, and he moans in pleasure as his lips close around you.

Toto's mouth works its magic on each flick of his tongue and grazes of his teeth; you get wetter, your arousal building up.

Then his fingers find your folds, slick with need, and he spreads you open, fingering that pussy he very much loves.

He groans at the contact, his cock throbbing in response. He needs to be inside you. He needs to lose himself in you.

Clothes go out of the way.

Toto looks up at you, asking for consent, and with one swift motion, he enters you, his cock sliding into your wet, welcoming heat. You gasp as he fills you, your body adjusting to his size.

He doesn't move yet. He gives you time to get used to him. His eyes never leave yours as he waits, his breath hot against your skin. The anticipation is unbearable, and you rock your hips against him, urging him to move.

Toto growls, low and deep in his throat, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back into you. The force of his thrust pushes your body down against the bed, and you cry out as pleasure shoots through you.

The feel of Toto inside you, filling and completing you, is unlike anything.

Toto's thrusts become harder, more urgent, driving into you with a force that had you moaning out his name over and over again, lost in the pleasure of the moment.

The sound of your sweat-slicked bodies slapping against each other, the wetness that escapes with each thrust, fills the small room.

Your breasts bounce with every move. You are so close to the edge, your orgasm building deep within you. Toto feels your inner walls begin to flutter around his cock, the sensation driving him wild.

"Fuck, Toto!" you cry out, clutching at the sheets as your body trembles with pleasure under his thrust.

He repeats the motion over and over again, your body shaking beneath him, your moans desperate. Toto feels your body tighten around him and your inner walls milking his cock.

With a final, frantic thrust, Toto lets himself go. He cums hard, filling you with his release.

As you both come down from your high, Toto collapses onto you, his body panting and slick with sweat. 

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both catch your breath.

Toto presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips brushing against your skin.

"Toto, I... I..." you try to build the courage to say.

"Yes?" His voice is husky but caring.

"I- I love you." You are all red, looking down, unable to face him. 

He pulls your chin up tenderly with his finger before kissing your lips. 

Before you dare to confess: "I never loved someone this much, I... I want a life with you and you to be my future. Could, you, I don't know, think about it, maybe, you know, you could... take me... with you to London, it sounds good."

A trail of kisses comes your way. "I will think about it, but let's sleep first. It's almost 4 a.m." he rubs his eyes and wraps you around his body.

"Yeah, I'm exhausted too; a lot happened." You kind of laugh and move to enjoy the view of his naked body, caressing him till he falls asleep, and you, too.

-

As sunlight creeps into your small room, you wake up disoriented. It's a hot day, and the AC is off.

"Toto?" you call his name; his body is not next to you, and you hear sounds from the kitchen.

"Is he making you breakfast? How sweet!"

You get on your feet and quickly pull some clothes on. You don't want to miss that moment for your life.

You pull the slightly already open door of your room to be greeted by an unexpected scene.

Surprisingly, your aunt is there, cooking breakfast for your mom. You look around the apartment, confused.

"Surprise!" your mom lets out from one of the chairs on the small round table. "Oh, it's only me, honey!" your mom informs you, thinking you are looking around to spot her family. As usual, believing life revolves around her.

"Are only just you two in here?" you ask.

"Ahm, yes..." your aunt says, holding the pan. "Well, no, if you count the ghost that lives here, the one who likes to throw my flowerpots."

"It's a cat!" you add before walking fast back to your room. Then you look at the clock, fuck! It's almost 1 p.m.; it's not breakfast time. It's lunchtime!

You pick up your phone, no new texts or calls from Toto; maybe he is dealing with shit after what happened. It's too bad you cannot go back to the Club.

What is that?!

You notice a folded piece of paper on the nightstand. You feel the fine paper on your fingertips as you open it:

"I'm sorry to do this to you, kid, but I can't."

And just like that, he exits your life.

Join us at The Wolff Pack Discord Server > https://discord.com/invite/tpgArxqbfd

[p0orbaby]

For a Good Time, Call… (2)

summary: waking up groggy and confused in an unfamiliar house, you try to piece together the previous night's drunken events

warnings: alcohol consumption, suggestive themes

a/n: this took an age, i’m sorry

word count: 3k

part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | epilogue

-

There’s something so categorically degrading about waking up with a hangover.

Even on a basic level, it’s a pure, unadulterated betrayal. Your body, the very vessel you trust to carry you through life itself, turns into a traitor. You can almost hear it whispering, “Oh, you thought dancing on tables and singing karaoke off-key was a good idea? Well, here’s a headache and nausea combo for your troubles”.

Waking up is a gradual ascent from the fiery depths of hell. Satan himself has seemed to take a liking to pounding on the inside of your skull. You’re hot, you ache, and why is it so damn bright in here? You reach out a weak, shaky arm for the lamp, desperately craving the solace of darkness, only to be met with no lamp at all and curtains so wide open that the morning light shines an accusatory beam bright enough to burn your retinas.

Life is so cruel.

You drop your hand and groan at the effort of having moved for no reason. And you contemplate burying your face back into the pillows, but you opt against it when you feel how dry your mouth is. Water. You need water. So with the grace of a rudely awakened sloth, you peel your eyes open.

Well then, it appears you’ve been involuntarily thrust into a theatrical production of ‘Regret: The Morning After’. The decor around you doesn’t match your last memory of home, and unless your furniture recently acquired a taste for avant-garde minimalism, you must admit you are, in fact, not in your own flat.

The bed feels suddenly unfamiliar, and the sheets are the kind of thread count that screams someone else’s good decisions. You’d normally appreciate waking up in luxury, but the pounding in your head and the revelation that you’ve become an uninvited guest dampens the joy somewhat.

A quick survey reveals a room that’s both meticulously organised and lacking the warm chaos of your own living quarters. As your faculties slowly return from their hangover-induced sabbatical, some important questions arise: Whose residence are you dishonouring, and where exactly did you misplace your own good judgment last night?

Hesitantly you sit up, the sheets cascading down exposing not your anticipated nakedness but a fully clad form. The dignity you deemed lost and laying dead in a gutter now resurrects itself, a phoenix from the ashes, offering unexpected relief and a silent cheer for your redemption.

You don’t even care that you can’t find your phone. The contents of it will probably make you want to call your therapist anyway, and who needs that? Not you, that's for sure. You need water, asap. Because if you don’t get it soon you honestly think this random room in this random house will be the last thing you’ll ever see.

So, on legs as shaky as those of a newborn giraffe, you stand from the bed and stumble towards the door that’s keeping you safe from the rest of the house.

Your plan? Find the nearest water source, some footwear, and the exit. Preferably in that order. It should be simple enough, unless you’ve somehow made it all the way to Timbuktu throughout the course of the night. In that case getting home may be more of a struggle than originally anticipated. But at least Mali has water.

Dehydration is making you lose your marbles.

You open the door and three things happen in very quick succession. The smell first. Bacon. Your stomach rumbles automatically and you briefly wonder when the last time you ate was. Second, the sound of running water. And in your mind that only means one thing. But your brain is currently running at the same rate as Internet Explorer and has trouble realising that water doesn’t just run on its own accord within a household.

Revelation number three you ask? Hang in there, it's a kicker.

-

“What is wrong with you?”

“What? No, nothing. Nothing's wrong”

“You know you’re like, a super bad liar?”

“And you know you’re like, super weird following me into the toilet?”

Kyra just rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at you. She’s just like that. Immature, like a little sister, but way more annoying.

“So you’re the only one who’s allowed to piss now then?”. It was your turn to roll your eyes, locking your phone and tucking it back away into your bra. “You didn’t answer my question”

“I did. I said nothing’s wrong”

Kyra huffs, crossing her arms defiantly. “Well, your face says you’re constipated or something. Seriously, what’s up with the permanent frown”

You sighed, realising trying to get out of this was going to be more effort than it’s worth. “It’s just… life stuff, you know. Relationship problems”

“I didn’t think you were in a relationship” Kyra questions with a frown of her own.

“Exactly. It’s complicated”

Leah gave you the green light to reach out again, and yet, you find yourself stuck in a loop of doubt. The ball is in your court, and you’re juggling excuses instead of taking the shot.

She catches your eyes in training sometimes and shoots you a look as if to say, “come on, make a move already”, yet all you can do is stand and stare at her like a deer in headlights.

“Sounds it” by Kyra’s tone you can tell she’s not convinced by your answer, but she enters a cubicle and thankfully leaves it at that. “I think we should do shots,” she says through the door.

You sigh, because that’s the single best thing you’ve heard her say all evening.

-

“Laura”

Your breath catches when you see her emerge from the bathroom. At least you’ve laid eyes on someone you recognise.

“Hey! Good morning!”

Oh god, she was so nice. She wasn’t even out last night. How on earth have you dragged her into your mess?

“Hi- I. Do you-“

She looks you up and down and chuckles a little at your disheveled state. You don’t feel exposed or uncomfortable under her gaze, but you do feel disjointed. Untethered.

“Nice shorts”

“I-“ you choke on your words again and she stares at you expectantly. “I’ll wash them”

Her expression changes instantly. Her small smile makes way for a downward turn of her lips and a furrow of her brow.

“I’m sorry?”

“The shorts” you blurt out. “I’ll wash them for you. God knows what I’ve done to them”. She raises her eyebrows at your words and you panic. “Not that I’ve done anything bad, like piss in your bed or anything. I’ll wash that too. Your sheets, if I’ve pissed I mean. But the bed was dry when-“

“Jeepers, you did drink a lot last night didn’t you?”

“I’m so sorry”

You have no idea what you're apologising for. Everything perhaps. She’s not your mother, you don’t have to justify that you went out and had a good time.

“For what? It’s not my sheets you’ve ruined”

You blink at her in confusion. “You mean-. This isn’t your…”

“House? You think this is my place? Gosh, you must’ve drank the place dry”

Not for the first time this morning, you were completely lost. There were too many unanswered questions clunking around your throbbing head to even make sense of what was going on.

“Right, well I’m going to go. The bathroom is right there” she points dramatically at the room behind her, as if you couldn’t find your way five feet in front of you on your own. “I’d get yourself in front of a mirror before you head downstairs”

She gives your shoulder an affectionate squeeze when she brushes past you. “Mirror, got it” you mumble as you shuffle towards the toilet with great effort.

Laura was spot on – a mirror was your morning lifeline before subjecting anyone else to the sight of you. You weren’t just rough around the edges; you were a walking exhibit on the brink of a hangover apocalypse. Death warmed up? More like the undead, straight out of a zombie flick.

Your hair. Well, it was doing its own thing. A rebellious, unruly dance that had nothing to do with your input. It screamed “I partied all night and regret nothing”

And your makeup? Let’s just say it was on a journey of crude self-discovery, smudging and migrating in stubborn ways around your eyes. Big, bold mascara smudges teaming up with the remnants of a night that involved more tossing and turning than beauty sleep.

“You’re a fucking mess” you tell your reflection. “Jesus Christ”

You run the tap, gather some water in your palms and sluse your face to try and salvage at least a smidge of self esteem. The water feels like heaven against your skin, and you almost cry when your tongue darts out to catch the drops running over your lips.

-

“We thought you fell in”. Katie says when the two of you find yourself back with the group. “We almost sent out a search party”

Without missing a beat, you shoot back, “We’re getting shots. They’ve got a deal on Sambuca”. A smirk plays on your lips when Caitlin’s eyes light up.

Katie folds her arms, giving you a look of disapproval. “No way. I don’t trust you. Not after last time”

Kyra, leaning against the side of the booth you’ve all acquired, chimes in, “come on. Y/N’s practically depressed. Shots are the only way she’ll stop moping into her phone”

“Yeah, Kyra’s right”. Sort of. “I need shots to cope with the existential crisis that is being caused by my tragic life”. You don't, but you need to play along if you’re going to get your way.

You want to get to that sweet spot of intoxication. Where everything feels like it’s in soft focus, and you’re floating through the night on a cloud of liquid courage. You've already had a cocktail, or three, so you’re certain a few doses of clear spirits will get you there.

Even in the dimmed light of the bar you could see Katie narrow her eyes. She was thinking about it. Weighing up the options. Last time you all did shots she, honestly you can’t quite remember what happened, but she turned up late to training with a bruise blooming over her left brow and limp.

“I’ll buy them! Please Katie, for me” you plead, pulling out your best puppy dog eyes.

You see her physically deflate when she comes to her decision. “Okay! Alright! But if I get another late fine, you’re paying it”

-

You followed the sound of music and the hiss of bacon hitting a hot pan. Unfamiliar territory, yet your feet led you to the kitchen, guided by a primal hunger for anything salty.

Confusion still lingered like a heavy fog in your hungover mind. Too many questions and not enough answers. Until you stepped into the morning glare of a sun beaming through patio doors, then a series of mental gears clicked steadily into place.

It started with the song. The one that floated through the house on the back of the crackle of bubbling fat. It’s one you’ve heard many times before. A pre match staple that you loathe due to it being horrifically overplayed by its lover. Country music was never a bandwagon you wanted to get on the back of.

Then the subtle recognition of the athletic back turned towards you. The way the muscles moved under the taut skin with each flip of food. A mental Rolodex of faces spun, landing on a particular blonde's distinctive silhouette.

“I can feel you staring”

Well, you were. It was hard no to when you're faced with a chiseled physique clad in only a sports bra and a pair of training shorts.

“Why am I here, Leah?” You croak out. Voice horse from its dryness despite the water you just guzzled from the bathroom tap.

“For breakfast, I presume. I made bacon”

You roll your eyes at the back of her head. She knows full well what you mean but she’s choosing to be aloof just because she could.

“Think about it” she says as she finally turns around.

And you would think, but your brain has short circuited.

Christ on a bike she’s hot. It’s nothing you hadn’t seen before, of course. Being teammates and sharing locker rooms and ice baths and physio slots. But that was a professional setting. The way your eyes lingered was for science. To improve yourself. A personal physical goal.

Abs

Biceps

Cleavage

Your eyes shoot to the ceiling in an attempt to be respectful.

“Why do you think you could be here, Y/N?”

You swallowed hard, you were torn. If she’s alluding to what you think she’s alluding to, then damn, you’re actually pretty annoyed at yourself for not remembering it.

Before you can say anything, she places a plate of steaming hot food on the kitchen island you're keeping yourself upright against. Maybe you were still a little drunk. Maybe your peanut brain was trying and failing to act composed around a pretty girl in her underwear.

“Eat up. Then I’ll drop you home”

-

Is it possible to miss your bed after just one night?

Yes. Yes it is.

Leaving the comfort of your own mattress, cozy blankets, and the reassuringly familiar creaks of your bed frame is a betrayal you wholeheartedly regret when you find yourself splayed against the duvet an hour or so later.

Suddenly, you’re grappling with the harsh reality that not all beds are created equal. No matter their feather count, there’s nothing like your own bed.

But you can’t help but let your mind wander to the one you woke up in. And whose house it was situated.

The car ride back felt charged. Lingering Stares at red lights and small touches when Leah changed gears, or grabbed something out of the glove box. Maybe she was just playing games. She didn’t actually say exclusively that you’d slept with each other. But why would she lie?

And why else would you be there?

Your mind was reeling, caught in the aftermath of a night that seemed to have shifted the dynamics of your relationship with Leah even further than before. But the ghost of something remained unanswered, and you don’t think you’ve got the energy to figure it out.

You’re about to resign yourself to ignoring the nagging feeling, ready to fall into a well deserved sleep when your phone finally flickers to life. It had been dead for god knows how long and charging it seemed like the responsible thing to do.

You regret it instantly when you reach for it and see the barrage of notifications and texts from your friends filling the screen.

-

Amidst the relentless beats and a dance floor resembling a disorganized chaos of limbs, your friends seemed to have vanished quicker than a magician’s assistant in a puff of smoke.

Fucking amateurs.

You supposed that's why your phone kept buzzing in its place within your bra. A customary ‘Lost in the crowd, where are you?’ Or ‘Wanted nuggets, get home safe’ text. Though unexpectedly, it was Leah’s name that illuminated the screen instead.

Brace yourself for a probable lecture about your irresponsible choice of extra curricular activities. Not everyone is as disciplined as you Williamson!

You unlocked your phone with liquor numb fingers, ready to clumsily type back a response about personal space. Yet what you laid your eyes upon was certainly not something you’d be writing a scathing review about.

To say you got an eyeful would be the understatement of the century. Not that you could complain, because you really couldn’t. Who would when a full frontal picture of an extremely hot woman in lingerie is gifted to them on a plate free of charge. Not you. Definitely not you.

You squinted at the screen, half-wondering if the club’s DJ had spiked your drink with a dash of hallucinogens. Especially when a written text follows.

‘My place?’

Oh, and a google maps pin to the address of her flat as well. How convenient.

Who would’ve guessed it? The England skipper herself, the picture of professionalism, delivering a bold invitation with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer through a window. Regardless, it had you weak in the damn knees.

As the relentless bass thumped around you, you found yourself pondering the options laid out before you like some bizarre choose-your-own-adventure. Should you head to Leah’s for a morning that could redefine interesting, or persist in your quest for the lost tribe of friends in the dark, clammy wilderness?

Fuck your friends, you wanted to get laid.

‘I’ll get an Uber, be there in 10’

Thank god for auto correct.

-

Your mouth goes dry and your stomach falls out of your ass.

It all starts to make sense now – the glances, the static atmosphere. You ditched your friends for a booty call, and the evidence is now uncomfortably displayed on your screen, a vivid reminder of the unexpected turn your night took.

Just as you’re contemplating each increasing level of chaos, a single fresh text lands itself serendipitously in your inbox.

One guess as to who it’s from.

You want to scream.

‘Afternoon slugger. If you’re reading this you’re probably having a panic attack whilst looking at my nipples. You’re welcome. I want to clear something up. Unfortunately for you, we didn’t sleep together. Necrophilia isn’t my thing. So, congrats on surviving the night with your dignity intact. Your move, baby. Impress me’

You stare at Leah’s message, your jaw threatening to set up a permanent residence on the floor.

She played you like a damn fiddle. She seized the opportunity to mess with your head while you were too fragile to navigate the situation yourself. A cunning move, you have to admit.

It sparked something in you. A realisation that not only did she reach out, but she thought about you enough to ask for a booty call. And she’s put the ball back in your court, probably out of impatience. The fire in your belly she left there the day in the gym gew even hotter.

You would play along. Maybe even bend the rules like she did.

There was nothing wrong with a little game of cat and mouse, after all.

[rahuratna]

In another universe, you and I ...

(But it's crack): PART 1

Summary: A short series in which the highly attractive sorcerers of JJK find themselves in an alternate universe with you (with a twist).

Part 1 includes:

Top Model! Gojo who meets you at a party. In spite of your instant chemistry, he harbours a dark secret ...

Naval Captain! Nanami, who has been hunted for years by his nemesis, the white leviathan who aims to show him his giant member. Will you stand by his side?

Genre: Humour, parody, crack

Warnings: sexual and suggestive content.

(I)

"You need a date."

"Mei Mei, I don't have a single free minute in my schedule at the -"

"Okay, let me rephrase that. You need to get fucked."

The coffee you've just taken a sip of diverts somewhere in the depths of your nasal passages, leaving you sputtering. Dabbing at your mouth with a napkin, you glance around the cafe while Mei Mei stirs her flat white, amused.

"Something wrong?"

"You know I'm not ... good at that kind of thing."

"A mystery, to be sure. You're an eyecatcher, even in that coat."

"What's wrong with my coat?"

"Listen." She leans forward, the crook of her lips conspiratorial. "I'm having a little get together at my new place. Kind of a housewarming. And I'm inviting some people I work with. You should come."

Mei Mei was an avante garde fashion photographer, known for her theatric sets. If she was hinting at what you thought she was, then ...

"You're telling me that you're inviting a ... bunch of models?"

"Some of my associates. So yes, models. And others. Just a relaxed little get together. What do you say?"

"I don't know ... I have to -"

"So you'll be there."

Her sly, red-lipped smile brooks no argument.

******

Tugging at the straps of the shimmering green dress Mei Mei had loaned you for the occasion, you took a breath before pressing the buzzer on the intercom that would give you access to the upscale compound. Mei Mei had pulled some strings to procure an apartment here, arranged by one of her well-connected clients in the fashion industry.

Gaining entry, you traversed the beautifully furnished foyer, with its black and white tiles and vintage lamps. The heels you wore were a lot higher than your usual choice, and you walked with the care of one who expected to twist their ankle at any given second. You hoped nobody noticed.

Mei Mei's get together was a relaxed, but lively affair, the buzz of conversation and the clink of glasses audible above the scent of various flowers her guests had brought her. She greeted you at the door and introduced you to a few of her colleagues.

Sipping champagne and appearing to listen intently to the lighting director who seemed to have an odd fixation on nipples under spotlights, the slow dawn of another's observation prickled against your skin.

You turned and surveyed the room, and you saw him. He was not exactly the kind of person you could miss. Tall, eerily beautiful, the ripple of lean muscle evident along the rangy lines of his body, his eyes capture you before anything else does. Blue as the most crystalline mountain lake, as clear, his pale lashes framing their illuminated surface, he is watching you with undisguised intrigue. The snowy hair, artfully disheveled, and the promise of a cheeky smile form a devastatingly handsome collection of features that blend together in a most pleasing fashion.

There was no mistaking it. This was the Gojo Satoru, one of the rising stars of the modeling world, a man who happened to look effortless in each and every one of his lauded photo shoots, many of which had already won awards.

And he was looking right at you.

Mei Mei had noticed his scrutiny of you, and she edged in, her soft introduction delivered with a smirk. She is gone faster than your eye can track, and now he's standing right opposite you, examining you with that laser-lit stare.

Clearing your throat, you swirl the remaining champagne in your glass.

"Gojo Satoru. I saw your cover on last week's Men's Wealth. It was ... really something."

He grins, pearly teeth catching the light of the chandeliers.

"Yeah? Which part of it did you like the most?"

"Which ... oh. The composition of the second photo was quite ..."

"Ahh, that one. Yeah. They just handed me the baby oil and told me to go to town. Didn't know it would be that slippery."

You choke slightly.

"So they don't give you ... more direction than that?"

"Oh no. I guess it's unique to me. I know what works best in my shoots and I get it done."

"Sounds like an interesting work ethic. I bet there aren't many models at your level who can say the same."

"Nah. I know I can be the best. I'm gonna be traveling to the New York Fashion Week tomorrow, and I barely know what's in store. They don't even bother telling me anymore."

His easy admission would sound arrogant from anyone else, but the confident assurance in his voice tells you that this man is simply stating facts. A frisson of something warm filters through you. As if his looks weren't already enough.

"Are you good at everything you put your hand to?"

Oh boy. The champagne had decided to assert its control over your mouth. Gojo doesn't seem to mind. If you're not mistaken, something is kindling in those fractured points of brilliance in his eyes too.

"I guess you could say that. I do have one vice, though. Something pretty incurable."

You lean forward, keen to hear this.

"A vice?"

"Yeah." His voice lowers to a secretive huskiness that turns the conditions in your underwear as humid as the Amazon rainforest.

"I kind of have ... a terrible sweet tooth. Can't get enough. I see something sweet, I want it right away."

He winks and sips from his glass, which you can see contains a cocktail with a fair amount of grenadine. You lick your lips, and his gaze follows the slick movement of your tongue.

"Oh? And what specific kinds of sweets do you like?"

"The classic kind."

He isn't touching you, but with the way his eyes rake over your form, he might as well be.

"I like spun sugar, light as air. The creaminess of a panna cotta. The burst of flavour on my tongue from a berry coulis. Give me some of that, and I'm yours, fair lady."

The upward quirk of his mouth is practically irresistible. It's what keeps you glued to his side for the rest of the night, while he, shockingly, seems to be thoroughly enjoying your company too. At times, you catch Mei Mei watching you both with discreet amusement and satisfaction.

At some point, she approaches and makes sure to thank Gojo for his assistance in obtaining this apartment. You glance over at him in surprise.

"Oh, Mei Mei did talk about that. I didn't know her contact was you."

"Sure was. I live just one floor up, actually. Put a word in with the owners and got her the place, no problem."

"So you own a place here too?"

He slides a hand into the pocket of his designer jeans, the glance he shoots you over his tinted glasses a clear invitation.

"Wanna come up and see the view?"

******

You had no idea how it had come to this. This wasn't you. And yet, here you were, in his apartment, the soft chatter of Mei Mei's party long forgotten in the frantic pace of your lips against his.

You both were barely in the door before his hands were on you, groping, caressing, mapping out every part of you sheathed in that increasingly cumbersome green dress. At the first opportunity, his fingers had stolen their way along the zipper and the material had slid down your legs.

You couldn't remember where your bra had been shed, probably somewhere just outside the bedroom.

He was surprisingly strong for someone with such a lean build. The corded sinew of his arms and back clearly weren't just for show. You found yourself tossed breathlessly onto the soft surface of the bed, as he surveyed you with a hunger that had your hands creeping south between your legs.

Satoru pauses, and suddenly there is a shift in the energy within the room. His face takes on a serious cast and his glance bends floorward. You sit up slightly.

"Satoru? Is everything - "

Eyes flitting briefly up to you, his throat bobs slightly as he swallows.

"Well. I guess this is a first for me. I don't usually do this, but ... I kinda want to see you again. After tonight, I mean."

You breathe out reverently. You certainly hadn't been expecting this level of vulnerability.

"And I want to see you again, too."

"So ... if that's the case then ... you need to see all of me. I can't hide this if we're going beyond a one night thing."

You're paying close attention now, reaching for him. He laces his fingers with yours.

What could this perfect man possibly be insecure about?

He takes a bracing breath before relinquishing your hand, stepping back from the bed and approaching the nightstand. Reaching into his mouth, he fiddles a little before plucking something away and placing it in a small container stored there. Turning back to face you, you see what he has been concealing.

The pearly teeth that had reflected such brilliant perfection in the light of Mei Mei's home were gone. In their place were a series of ill-formed, browning and misshapen stumps, many of them worn down completely. Your eyes snapped up to his, widening slightly.

"Satoru ... how - "

"I told you that I had a sweet tooth. I ... indulged myself as a child and my parents never stopped me. They spoiled me rotten in more ways than one! And now I'm  ... I'm paying the price."

"That's ... but why didn't you - "

"I'm going to have surgery soon to ... permanently fix it. But even if I do, my sweet tooth won't go away! It'll be with me forever. I'm ... "

His shoulders slumped slightly.

"Caramel icing. Berry coulis. Soft serve and rock candy. Even liquorice! Toffee! I can't - "

His voice breaks and you find yourself lunging across the bed towards him, enfolding him in a tight embrace. His breath washes over you, the foul tang of decay now noticeable. You understand how he couldn't keep something like this concealed beyond a one night stand. Your voice, when you speak, is infinitely soft.

"Satoru ... all this time ... were you avoiding proper relationships because you ... "

"I - yes."

His arms come up slowly around you, as if he is unused to the gesture.

"I couldn't even ... make them breakfast if I wanted to. Because then ... we'd have to brush our teeth together and they'd see ... "

"Oh, Satoru."

You press your mouth fervently against his, undeterred, mapping out each stump and broken edge with your tongue. He tastes like old coffee, milk gone sour, the cloying overripe sweetness of a fruit gone bad. But this is irrelevant to you, because you're kissing him.

You break away from him, watching those magnificent features of his freeze in shock.

"Wait ... you still want to - "

"Of course I want to. Come here."

The merry tap of fork and knife and Mei Mei's self-satisfied smile on the floor below would escape the both of you, as wrapped up in each other you had become. You vowed to yourself, running your fingers through his incredibly soft hair, that every morning from now on, you'd stand beside him at the bathroom sink and brush your teeth together.

Satoru missed the New York Fashion Week, but gained something far, far sweeter.

(II)

They call you Ishizu.

It isn't your true name, but it's one you'd accepted when you joined this crew. As the ship's surgeon, armed with your family's repertoire of skills and remedies, you'd managed to earn some credibility in your field. You'd saved more than one sailor's life.

For the brave fishing crews that traversed the Sea of Ruin, the vast stretch of unchartered water between this continent and the next, populated by scores of deadly sea beasts and treacherous archipelagos, the sea was a perilous temptress. Those with the skill and courage, not to mention a healthy dash of insanity, could make a substantial profit within a short time before retiring.

Such was the nature of Nanami Kento, Captain of the Casse Croûte, one of the few living men who had sailed the seven oceanic planes in all three seasons.

The Captain was an enigmatic man, to be sure. He'd come across as cold initially, sticking to such rigid timings and sailing plans that you'd wondered how any of his crew liked him. And heavens, did they adore the man. He had the undying loyalty of every person on board, and whenever you'd asked about it, they'd simply smiled and told you that you'd see with time.

So you waited and observed. Gradually, you began to see the qualities the crew so prized in him. When the cabin boy, Yuuji, almost fell into the jaws of a large sea beast with grey, cross-stitch skin, the Captain had drawn his cleaver and struck such a heavy blow across its nose that the creature immediately lost interest in a fisherman-sized snack.

When Sailor Ino, eager to prove himself, had set forth on an expedition on an unchartered island, only to return covered in large insect bites and a raging fever, the Captain had stayed up with him every night until the fever had broken. You'd never seen such dedication to the welfare of the crew.

There were many other such instances, and slowly, you found yourself gravitating to the quiet, charismatic captain as much as the others did. He was also unmistakeably handsome, with his kind, tired gaze, gleaming blonde hair, tall, muscular frame and clean-cut profile. In spite of his injuries, a missing eye and the damaged hand, he was also a formidable man. You'd be lying if you'd claimed that this dangerously attractive man hadn't intruded on your nighttime musings more than once ...

And on one particular night, while the next watch took their positions at the bell and you sat in the small galley that adjoined your surgery, he'd come in, nursing a steaming coffee, and kept you company. Slowly, he'd opened up to you, speaking of his days as a sailor, before he'd become Captain of the Casse Croûte, and what came after.

Something heavier lay over the conversation, though, something he seemed on the verge of telling you. Eventually, you pried it out of him. As you'd suspected, it was to do with his terrible injuries.

"Have you ever heard of the white leviathan?"

Swirling the coffee in his cup, his single eye glances up at you under dark lashes.

"I ... have heard some tales, yes. He's a legend, according to some."

"A living legend."

Seeing your eyes widen, he nods.

"Made off with a portion of my arm, and I'll never watch the sunrise with this eye again."

You exhale heavily.

"Captain ... I had no idea you'd encountered such a creature. What ... exactly happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"You should ask. After all, as long as I remain in command of this ship, he may yet make another appearance."

"What do you mean?"

"The white leviathan, also known as a Gojoverian Satorunus, is the strongest of its kind to be born in centuries. Normally, they keep to their distant isle, within the Lightning Archipelago, where few venture. He, however, roams the seas in an eternal quest."

"I've heard that legends call him the Meibi Dick. Is there ... a reason for that strange nickname?"

The Captain hisses through his teeth, one hand raising to his eyepatch, as if just the mention of that moniker has sunk a harpoon into his flesh. You hurry to apologise.

"Captain, I'm so - "

"Please. No need. Let me explain. That nickname ... was a direct result of my encounter with him."

"It was?"

"Indeed. It was a gloomy day, I remember. Rain was pelting down. We'd put out the sails, because the sea was quite still.  At that time, we came upon a wreck, out at sea. The ship had washed up on a great reef, and there it hung, a spectre of former glory."

You were now hanging on to Nanami's words like a crow with carrion.

"And the white leviathan had caused this?"

"Indeed, although we didn't know it at the time. I ordered some of our skilled divers to check the wreck for any possible survivors. There were none, but one of the divers came back with something. A large piece of purified ambergris, said to smell and taste as good to leviathans as the sweetest nectar. Its call to them is so strong, that it may even drive them into heat, causing mating events in their population when they come across it. In my folly, I took it on board for its great value."

"And what happened then?"

"That night, the white leviathan, which had destroyed the other ship for the ambergris, came for us. The scent had laid such claim to the beast's mind that its mating mark had bloomed on the skin near its head, which it displayed to us."

"Its mating mark?"

Reaching into his pocket, Nanami drew out a small notebook and charcoal stick. He sketched something on one of the blank pages before passing the book over to you. Your eyes widened as you took in the drawing. It looked like a crude, stylized penis with the testicles sketched in just below.

"Is this ... "

"His frightful member. Indeed. He was attempting to show us his intention in order to lay claim to the ambergris."

"What did you do?"

"I knew we stood no chance against him. Foolishly, I thought to outrun him. It was futile. He boxed us in at every turn, his plaintive, terrible cry echoing across the water to us. Eventually, I ordered for the ambergris to be thrown overboard. It only served as a distraction. The beast consumed it and resumed his chase. Due to how long I'd evaded him, he'd come to associate this ship, and me, the Captain, with the ambergris."

"But Captain, that means ..."

He nods grimly, and you are sorely tempted to reach across the table and take his hand.

"He will hunt this vessel to the ends of the earth. Why do you think I plan every stage of our voyage so carefully? I'm always one step ahead of him, monitoring and studying the tides, the currents, the beast shoals. As long as we stick to the plan, we have the ability to outrun him."

Hope flares in your chest, in spite of your growing fear.

"I have faith in you, Captain. So does this crew. We'll be beside you, if the white leviathan ever makes an appearance."

This time, you do take his hand in your warm, tentative grasp, watching as his eyes drink in your countenance in the dim light of the galley. He squeezes your fingers in return.

**********

The seasons at sea come and go, and its a full seven months and three days before Captain Nanami's perfectly timed schedule is threatened. A storm, the likes of which you've never encountered before, strikes with unpredictable ferocity. The ship is blown completely off course, and although it will take a few days to rectify, Nanami's dire mood is palpable.

If you didn't have full faith in your Captain, you might have considered this an overreaction on his part. But you knew better. You knew that his concern came from long experience.

A well-founded concern, as it turned out. The white leviathan made an appearance a mere two days after the storm, spotted far to starboard by the lookout, and gaining fast.

Captain Nanami forbade any of the crew joining him in his task of slaying the beast, but this was one occasion where nobody would follow his instructions. You all loved him too well. Come hell or high water, you would all be by his side.

And the leviathan approached, its size alone boggling the mind. The waves slapped and beat against the hull, the slow rise and dip of the deck more and more pronounced as it came closer. Nanami stood on the prow, facing the creature, the large harpoon readied by Yuuji in one hand, his trusty cleaver in the other.

Then, you heard it. The terrible call of the creature, booming across the water to batter at your ears. The grotesquely formed words were difficult to make out, but to your astonishment, they formed distinct speech that you could understand.

"Naaanaaamiiiin, letttsssss .... gooooooo oouutttt."

The Captain gritted his teeth, his own reply loud on the wind.

"Never, you foul creature!"

"Sompppthin .... impooorrtant .... talkkkkk tooooo youuuuuu .... "

"You've been chasing me for years! There's nothing this important! Begone!"

"Iiiiiiii .... havvveeennn'tttt...... saiiiiddd nyythiiing ... "

"I refuse!"

That groaning, awful cry had come closer and closer, forcing you to your knees, hands clasped over your ears. The Captain stood firm, even as the giant, pale form broke the surface of the sea beside the ship, the giant, electric blue eye surveying the vessel with the glee of a long awaited victory.

"Naaaanaaaaminnnnn .... "

And then, you saw it. The mark the Captain had spoken of, the giant member and testicles that appeared as scrawled marks from beneath the skin of the beast. It had not forgotten! And now, as the beast called out again, it dawned upon you in a flash where it's dreaded nickname had come from.

"Naaaanaaaamiiinnnnnn ... maaaaayybbeeeee  ... diiiiiiicckkkkkk?"

You lunged toward the Captain, grabbing at his leg to keep him steady as the deck pitched violently before the amorous leviathan. You saw Nanami looking down at you, that beautifully courageous gaze trained on your water-streaked face. He turned back to the monster.

"I will never accept your dick, you all-ruining, unambitious fish."

You grasped his leg harder, willing all of your strength into his good arm as his body uncoiled and the harpoon flew true through the eye of the storm.

Part 2:

Demon Lord! Geto and Fireman! Kusakabe

[jjkamochoso]

Wedding Guest Plus One

Fluff

Levi Ackerman x gn!reader

When you get invited to a wedding, you're reluctant to show up by yourself. Luckily, you have a friend that would never leave you hanging...

Warnings: cussing, small mentions of background characters drinking alcohol

A/n: I hope the end isn't too ooc because I couldn't resist the opportunity to write that lol I hope you all enjoy reading this much as I did writing it!! <3

The strikingly opulent invitation was weighing down your hands like it was made of lead. The painstakingly crafted calligraphy was openly mocking you: "To our beloved Y/N and Guest..."

You sighed.

It wasn't like you didn't want to go to your friend's wedding, that wasn't it at all. The event sounded like it was going to be a wonderful time, filled with good food and fun moments as love was being celebrated. It was just that this would be another wedding you'd gone to without a boyfriend or husband. Your friends were mostly nonjudgemental but you knew your continuous bout of singularity over the years was rare enough to garner speculation and gossip from anyone in attendance at those types of gatherings, especially when everyone knew each other.

You hauled yourself out of your office, leaving the frilly paper discarded on your desk to be taunted by at a later time. You quickly made your way down the hall of the Survey Corps base, knocking on the familiar wood door in front of you.

"Come in," said a voice from the opposite side and you wasted no time entering, eager to begin your venting session.

"I see you got your invite as well," you said, spying the same white rectangle upon your best friend's desk.

"I did," Levi replied, his eyes not leaving the paperwork he was currently working on.

You picked it up, inspecting it, and you frowned. "Hey, yours doesn't say Levi and guest! Mine did."

"It said Levi and guest?"

"I hate you," you whined, Levi smirking a bit at his joke. "Mine said 'Y/n and guest' and I want to know why you got spared the embarrassment of being allowed a plus one but never having one."

"That's because everyone knows by now that if I'm showing up, I'm coming alone. They still have hope for you."

"Well, I don't like it," you mumbled, putting the invitation back down.

A few seconds of silence passed.

"Aren't you going to complain to me until my ears feel like they're going to bleed or are you actually going to be a grown up about this and leave me alone to do work?" Levi asked with an eyebrow raised at you.

You scoffed. "I thought friends were supposed to listen to each other rant about stupid shit."

"They are. But this is beyond stupid shit. Who cares if you don't have a partner? We're in the Scouts. Most people's partners are dead. Just lie about having a boyfriend who vanished at the mouth of a titan and people will leave you alone."

"But people at weddings are brutal! Someone's parents will just try to set me up with someone else while I'm there. You would understand if you bothered to go to one once in awhile."

"Weddings are stupid. A public proclamation of love is completely unnecessary." Levi brought his point home with an extra loud huff. "It's pompous and egotistical. I'd rather shit in my hands and clap than go to another one."

"I should've gone to Hange for advice," you said, rolling your eyes, "but they would probably just suggest bringing Bean or Sonny. Or Mike, who'd sniff everyone and get me blacklisted from any other event ever."

That got Levi to let out a small grunt of laughter.

"I really don't know what to do, Levi. It's stupid, I know, but I can't take going to another one alone. I want to be there to support our comrade but I don't want to look like a total loser."

“I’ll go with you,” he suggested as he continued signing papers, the words leaving his mouth like it was the most glaringly obvious idea in the entire world.

"What?" you exclaimed, your mouth hanging open in shock.

He finally looked up to meet your gaze. "Tch, close your mouth, you're going to catch flies. Don't look so shocked, either. Erwin was just telling me I have to go to more shitty events to boost morale amongst the soldiers and brass and you need someone to go with so you don't look lonely. We can hang out, bitch about how lame everything is, and go home. It's a win-win. Unless...?"

"No! That would be amazing," you replied quickly, not wanting to lose this opportunity, "thank you. I'm just taken aback, that's all, since a second ago you used a very crass saying to express your unwillingness to go. Are you sure you'd want to show up with me? People talk, you know. They might think we're dating."

"So? Let them."

Levi was right. You were going to get judged no matter if you brought a random guy, attended by yourself, or went with Levi. At least this way you'd have someone to talk with all night.

"Does this mean we get to coordinate outfits?"

Levi balled up a discarded piece of paper from his trash bin and threw it at you. "Don't make me regret this, brat. Now get back to work."

You left his office chuckling and feeling a newfound sense of relief wash over you.

When the day of the wedding finally arrived, you felt butterflies in your stomach, nervous for what was to come. You tried to keep your mind off the stress you were feeling as you got ready after work. It was a rare occasion to dress up in your civilian clothes as you were always in your formal military wear for galas or other professional events. You had second guessed your outfit all day but it was too late to buy something else so you got dressed and fixed up your hair. As you put the finishing touches on your look, you heard a knock at your door. When you opened it, you were definitely not expecting the sight you were greeted with.

"You're out of uniform."

You both spoke the same sentence at the same time.

"You really know how to keep people on their toes, don't you?" you asked, moving out of the way so he could come in.

"I was tired of wearing that damn thing all the time. This suit hasn't seen the light of day in a long time so I figured this would do instead."

The suit he had on made him look absolutely dashing, even more so than usual (which you didn't know was possible). He wore a gray collared buttoned shirt underneath a dark blue jacket with matching blue slacks and a brown belt. His cravat topped it all off, its stark white a nice contrast to the other colors.

"You look really nice," you complimented, your heart picking up speed as he raked his eyes over you.

"As do you," he replied, sincerity coating every syllable. He certainly wasn't wrong; your outfit hugged you in all the right places, accentuating your best assets. You opted for a silky black color for tonight since the wedding dress code asked for elegance. All of your previous fears about not looking okay were out of your head with the confirmation from Levi that you presented yourself nicely. You hadn't realized that you were lost in space, still enthralled in how handsome your best friend was until he finally cleared his throat, knocking you from your daydream.

"Huh? Oh sorry," you said sheepishly, "let me grab my shoes and we can get going."

The first shoe cooperated wholeheartedly but the second one was not wanting to work with you. You kept trying to buckle it but you were at a bit of an odd angle trying to balance yourself standing up while fiddling with the metal piece.

"May I?" Levi gestured to your foot. “We’re going to be late if you keep messing with that damn thing.”

Frustrated, you nodded, grateful for his help. His nimble fingers made quick work of the buckle and you were ready to leave in no time. You two walked down to where carriages were lined up to take the wedding guests from the Survey Corps base to a town a few miles away. Once you got inside the palatial venue, you were welcomed with the sight of decorations everywhere. The whole building was grandiose but the paper swans, crystal beads, and plush seating arrangements did much to elevate the overall luxuriant atmosphere. You had never seen such a splendid display at any of the other weddings you had been to, but you were at the wedding of two high ranking military officials, after all.

"All this and our soldiers can barely get fresh fruit half the damn time," grumbled Levi, clearly not impressed. You were inclined to agree with him. The whole scene was gorgeous, but in the grand scheme of things, it left a bad taste in your mouth that so much money was spent on this when it could've gone to something more... tangible.

"I know, but there's nothing we can do about it. Let's just try to ignore it and hopefully charm our way into securing more money in our budget from some other mucky-mucks in attendance."

"Here I was thinking I could convince you to leave after the vows were done," Levi said, earning a glare from you.

"In your dreams. There's no way I'm leaving without dinner and dessert. I should've brought extra handkerchiefs to sneak out food like Sasha."

While you two were chatting it up, waiting for the bride to make her appearance, you were quickly garnering much interest from the other guests. People were totally caught off guard seeing you arrive with someone, much less a man, much less the actual Captain Levi. It shouldn't have been as big a deal as it was since you were also a well known captain and you and Levi normally stood by each other at military events you were forced to be at, but the casual air about the both of you at such a romantic occurrence was turning heads. You and Levi paid no mind, continuing talking like you were the only people in the room. Finally, you were saved from the incessant ogling by the music signaling the bride had arrived.

The vows were done, the lips were kissed, the couple was married. Now came the worst time of the night--the social part of the event had started. You and Levi, of course, sat next to each other for dinner but you were dismayed at the fact he was the only one you knew at the table. Hange and your other friends were seated elsewhere and you made a mental note to say hi before the end of the night, even if you were going to see them all tomorrow anyway. Everything was going smoothly, no one bothering you or your date. The food was as yummy as you expected and Levi was satisfied with the tea they offered with dessert. The night had almost ended and there weren't any weird instances you had to deal with.

Until now.

"Oh my goodness! Y/n! It's so good to see you!"

You were startled by the voice practically screeching in your ear as you were eating a large piece of cake. An old acquaintance of yours greeted you loudly, grabbing you into an awkward hug since you were seated and she was standing. She took a seat in the open chair next to you while you prayed Levi would come back from the bathroom soon.

"How are you?" she asked, a huge smile on her face. You knew she'd definitely been drinking heavily throughout the night, though she was normally this giddy all the time.

"I'm doing alright. You know, the same old, same old. Nothing crazy going on at work or anything, thankfully. How about you?"

She completely ignored everything you said. "So I came over to see what was up between you and Captain Levi."

Here we go, you thought to yourself, resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"What do you mean?"

Playing dumb was always a good idea in these types of interactions.

"You know," she pressed, taking another long sip of whatever was in her cup, "you and him. I thought it was odd that you usually come to these things alone and all of a sudden you show up with a hot guy like him as your date. How'd you manage that? Did you pay him?"

"We've been best friends for many years and decided to be each others' dates," you said, trying your hardest to remain civil.

"Right." She slumped back in her seat. "That makes a lot of sense. We all figured there was no way you were dating. You two are in completely different leagues."

That was your breaking point.

"Nice seeing you," you said, your chair screeching as you slid it back and walked away from her. You wanted to scream. Why was it so difficult for people to be decent? And who did she mean by "we all" ? Did everyone find your situation that much more interesting than the beautiful wedding taking place? Was it really so strange a notion that you and Levi could've been dating?

Why did it bother you that no one would believe it if you were?

You were practically tripping over your feet to get outside, away from the prying eyes and invasive questions. You made your way over to a secluded bench where you felt tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. A few finally fell, leaving dark splotches on the light stone beneath you. The longer you sat out there, by yourself with no one to bother you or make you question your worth, the more you felt at ease. The brisk night air enveloped you like a blanket and the darkness did wonders to calm your racing thoughts. However, there was just one thought that wouldn't quit nagging you. You and Levi had been best friends for countless years and you had been content with the state of your friendship for all that time. Ever since he offered to be your date for this wedding, though, you'd started viewing him in a more romantic lens. Taking note of his appearance, feeling your heart speed up when he was close to you, getting lost in his eyes a little too long. You'd developed a crush on him but were much too nervous to mention such a silly, trivial thing to him, especially in fear of ruining the bond you shared. Now that someone pointed out the obvious, that you and him don't belong together, your harmless daydreams of him being your lover came crashing down and brought you back to reality. The reality was that Levi could never be yours, no matter how much you so desperately wanted him. It was a sad realization to have on a day that was supposed to be all about celebrating everlasting love, but such is life. You were torn out of your personal pity party when you heard the crunch of leaves underfoot.

"Here," Levi said, handing you your plate with your half eaten cake on it. "It worried me when I saw you abandoned dessert."

He wore an unreadable expression as you took it gratefully, patting the spot next to you as an invitation for him to sit with you.

"I'm sorry for bailing on you," you apologized, nibbling on your fork, "but there was this lady in there that I just-"

"I know," he said, keeping his eyes trained on the sky. "I heard the whole thing."

"Oh."

The void of silence left between you was a gap you were both unsure how to fill, so you didn't. The only thing heard for a few minutes was the faraway sound of laughter and the clinking of your silverware against the porcelain plate.

"She's wrong, you know. They all are," Levi said suddenly, making you jump a bit. You didn't say anything, discarding your empty plate on the ground next to you.

"There's some truly shitty people in this world."

"You got that right," you replied, your eyes moistening again as your mind replayed the mean words you were subjected to earlier.

Levi turned to you. "Don't do that. I know you, y/n, don't sit here and think about what she said over and over. It doesn't matter. She doesn't matter."

"Easy for you to say. You didn't just get your self esteem ripped to shreds." You sniffed and angrily wiped away a tear that streamed down your face as you kept your eyes anywhere but on Levi.

"Look at me."

He spoke with such conviction that you felt compelled to do as he said. Without hesitation, he reached out and wiped away the wet that was accumulating on your cheeks with his thumb. You knew Levi wasn't a fan of physical affection, so why was he being so loving toward you all of a sudden?

"I would go to a hundred of these shitty weddings if you were there by my side because you make them less shitty. You make everything less shitty. I just... fuck, I'm not good with words, but what I mean is that I would do things I hate doing if it meant we could do them together."

You had known Levi long enough to be certain that he was currently expressing his feelings for you in his own roundabout way. Though the confession was a huge surprise, it certainly wasn't unwelcome.

You finally cracked a small smile. "You make my life a lot less shitty too, Levi. I'd even suffer through the entirety of those horrendous galas the MPs throw all too often if I had you next to me."

You reached out your hand to find his and gave it a small squeeze. "Let's get out of here. There’s no point in hanging around now that dessert’s finished."

You stood up, ready to make your exit. Before you went too far out of earshot, he stopped you.

"Want to give them one last thing to talk about?"

You didn't understand what he meant until you followed his gaze, landing on the group of guests that were currently not-so-secretly spying on you.

"Sure, I guess-"

Levi expertly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving you breathless. If he didn't have such a steady grip on your body, you would've immediately melted onto the ground in a state of stupor. You heard startled gasps as people clamored about, anxious to spread the news of the two captains kissing.

"Should we flash them the ol' royal salute for being creeps?" Levi muttered against your lips.

"We'll save that for next time," you said, enveloping his lips in yours once more.

[solussan]

The Guesthouse, part one | Choi San

Pairing: San x reader 

Genre: angst, suggestive, slight fluff but mostly slow burn

Warnings: mentions of violence, general lack of consent (from the ‘guests’)

Summary: Y/n works off a debt as a dancer at the Guesthouse, a rowdy gentleman’s club where San is the newest recruit to join their security detail.

[ Part one ]

‘You’re on in 5’ Yeosang clipped, ‘at least try to pretend you want to be here’. His forlorn smile lingered a moment, letting the acknowledgement of your pretence sit in the air longer than necessary. You brushed off your robe, and headed past him to the stage, offering a small thank you, hoping it captured your gratitude not just for his tireless wrangling of all the dancers but for the gentle manner he shows all the girls at the Guesthouse. Like many others, you were not here by choice - a fact he understood minutely having witnessed your tumultuous arrival: dragged against your will through the back doors and thrust into a contract of effective servitude. 

You had found yourself on Hongjoong’s staff a year ago when your family’s debts fell to you after a turf war went south. The technical term would be ‘sold’ but that doesn’t bear thinking about it. New to the industry, you had been assigned as a dancer and bartender, avoiding the soft glint of the backrooms - that is, for now. The thought of attending to the inflated egos that go back there and their attached sweating bodies was enough to bring you out in hives. This was certainly a kindness that did not go unnoticed and for the most part Hongjoong had made your time here comfortable. He could not help the clientele his gentlemen’s club - or, for the right price, brothel - attracted. The throng of repulsive executives that flocked to the Guesthouse was an occupational hazard. 

Dancing and bar work was enough of a slog, though. You would often feel the aches of back-to-back sets in your lower spine and have to soothe the frequent injuries you were graced with on nights where the stage would be slick with the slosh of some banker’s whiskey loosely poured on someone. This has been your lot for a whole year and suffice to say you have felt every damn minute. 

That is until recently. Time has since warped slightly, rippling in the wake of a certain individual. You do not remember quite when it happened but over the last few shifts you have felt the eyes of a new security guard trained on you, watching your sets and tracing your patterns throughout the night. Keeping the utmost security, of course. As he does for all the other dancers. But, you couldn’t help but think there was a layered intensity to his study of your movements. Besides, there are only so many fights that erupt here, most take place behind closed doors where limits loosen. There were more pressing security concerns, you thought, than what was happening in the open lounge space he routinely surveyed. Maybe he was just finding his feet. 

Yet, he had the eyes of an ex-something - military or at least martial arts. This was a man weathered by years of service despite his youthful complexion. He started about a week ago and joined the ranks with dumb and dumber - Yunho and Mingi - bringing down the average height and then some. Though, what he lacked vertically he made up for tenfold in his build. His build definitely spoke of significant training. 

The three-piece suit all the security wore practically tore apart as he walked, his broad back straining against its confines. Most nights he opted to remove the blazer altogether but never the waistcoat. No, the waistcoat was a defining characteristic it seemed, something he could not do without. This night was an exception, however. He had on only a simple black shirt and some dark slacks, his hair brushed away from his face save for a few loose strands. Not that you had noticed. 

Tonight started fairly regular: a few hours on the bar trading jibes with Jongho and Wooyoung; a more upscale jazz duet you performed with Seonghwa - the Guesthouse’s only male performer; and finally, the Sip. This was the part you most dreaded. The part that demanded the closest proximity to the guests - the approved way to refer to the wily types and their sycophants that came through the Guesthouse’s concealed entrance.

The Sip was the last round of drinks poured to all the men that signalled the end of the night, normally rousing their most daring efforts to try to flatter and grab at the dancers. It always started the same, one pair of hands trying their luck for a particular dancer, inviting the rest to join in their antics. This was expectedly when the security would inch that bit closer, forming a ring around the stage in preparation for what ensued. Repeat offenders who have not quite grasped the concept of consent would occasionally be barred, but again, see: occupational hazard. The security guards were mostly powerless to help, watching as the dancers would trace their way back to the main stage, far enough from the tables to elude jabbing fingers but close enough to reach wads of crumpled cash. 

One larger-framed individual had practically pulled himself onto the thrust stage, folding himself over its edge and swiping a claw at your legs. His bulging eyes pulsating with obsession, he heaved over the top and sat beneath you, tightening his grasp of your thighs ready to haul himself up towards your chest. His path was cut short, however, as he was abruptly tugged from the stage and promptly escorted out the exit by San, the stern newbie. 

You continued with the rest of the set, politely jostling away other guests similarly testing the waters, feeling San’s practiced eyes watching you and your surroundings for further attempts to overcome the barricade. You ended with a few improvised moves before the curtain fell. Finally, you could heave a breath, laughing with the other dancers about the usual suspects but all sharing the same knowing look that once again the night descended as it always does. 

—

The next night was much the same. Again, the Sip induced too much excitement and too little spatial awareness from the guests. The security did their best to corral the crowd toward the exits, towing the ever blurred line between protecting the staff and ‘creating space’ for the guests, as Hongjoong would say. San more than most. Either he had something to prove as the newbie or a particularly strong work ethic as his conviction completely eclipsed the other guards - present and previous. 

He was somehow both unseen and everywhere. He would preempt a man’s lunge toward you before a hand was even raised, spawning at your side and firmly pressing away the individual like he were swatting flies. All the while, he maintained the same noncommittal expression, watching and waiting. 

When a table of five rowdy men got particularly handsy, however, his gaze turned glacial. He stalked across the lounge to find one of them forcing you across their thigh, trying to pry open your jaw to allow them to pour alcohol down your throat. The man’s grip was carving marks into your skin. But the burning sensation was nothing compared to his sickening, jeering laughter at your discomfort, matched by the similar howl of his friends. 

Then, the stream of liquor etching down your throat eased, as did the laughter. In its place, you saw the men cowering as San’s broad frame approached. He yanked at the man’s collar and jolted him upright, allowing you to slink to the floor. You spat some of the fiery liquor across the tiles, nursing the marks tracked across your uncovered thighs. San kneed the man where you would imagine, eventually dropping him by barrelling into his chest.

‘Out’ was all he had to say for the rest to peel toward the exit, dragging the prime suspect in tow.

Without a word, he gathered you in his arms and glided towards the backstage area. 

‘Are you allowed to hit them - actually hit them?’ You stammered, the words rising raw from your now coarse throat. 

‘I doubt it’ he returned, a slight smirk playing at his lips. At least that’s how it seemed from this angle cradled in his arms. ‘Do you always do what you are told?’ He questioned, lifting you gently onto the lighting deck so he was stood between your thighs.

It was weird to see the wall come down. The harsh stance he’d presented since his arrival appeared to soften slightly as he steadied you on the ledge. 

‘So you think this is my fault?’ you ventured, eyes brimming with hot tears. You blinked tightly to stop yourself, gripping the edge of the lighting deck. 

‘I didn’t mean it like that. I just wish you were allowed to be firmer.’ His voice was terse, as if holding back something further. 

‘The guests don’t understand firm, not from me anyway. They just think it’s funny.’ 

He had been preoccupied wiping away the remaining alcohol that had poured down your face and neck, stopping at this to lock eyes with yours. 

‘You just say the word and I’ll show them firm.’ Any trace of gentleness now completely dissipated from his gaze, his furrowed brows and dark brown orbs belying an intensity you hadn’t yet seen from him. ‘I mean it.’

‘Ok’ were the only two syllables you could string together in response, still quivering from the rush of the assault on your body. 

‘Will you be ok getting home? I’ll tell the guys you’re done for tonight.’ 

You nodded. 

He didn’t seem pleased with your answer but lifted you down and squeezed your shoulders gently. He then bid you a ‘Goodnight’ and traipsed back to the lounge. 

You stared blankly at his retreating figure, the air around your thick with an uncomfortable heat. You weren’t one to normally question your read on people but you couldn’t reach any conclusion about San. His words had been those of a coworker but his actions had been anything but - running a towel over you to wipe away the alcohol? That certainly wasn’t in the job description. You could’ve sworn he had slowed his movements at your collarbone, labouring over the task more than was strictly necessary. 

But, it was all easy enough to explain away. Yes, he was doing his job and going above and beyond as was his way. This was a man on the clock. Nothing more. 

You gathered your things, signing out and deciding to call a cab after tonight’s events to go home and sleep off whatever that was. Hopefully by the morning you would know whether the heaving in your chest was brought on by the brute that accosted you or the man that pulled you away from the scene. 

[derpycon]

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[ctrlsatoru]

DIABLO CH2 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. protective!toji and also asshole!toji. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to being roofied. toji being toji. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k tags: @liitlesushi a/n: ok so this might be longer than I anticipated and also semi slow burn. it'll be worth it, trust. summary: It's Gojo's anniversary party, you're doomed by your Satoru's whims, haunted by your father's scheming, and now a devilish third player appears: Toji Fushiguro. And he's here to collect.

Toji opens his eyes, manually focusing on the ceiling above him. The strange pattern spun in slow circles, and then it settled.

This bed is not his own. The pillow feels too flat under his head, which is throbbing painfully. He feels like a dozen horses ran over him. A voice, distinctly female, unnecessarily loud, makes him wince and curse under his breath.

“... If I agree, and I haven’t, you’re not picking my outfit. Know that .”

This is unlike him. He can’t remember a thing. The one good thing about not recognizing the bed is that he’s not gonna have to deal with a strange woman in his place–

“Because your conception of what’s socially acceptable to wear to a formal function is not tethered to earthly reality, Satoru.”

Oh.

It’s you .

You’re on the phone, standing by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight casts off your ring like white laser when you turn, blinding him.

“Mornin’” he croaks, pushing himself to sit against rough the rattan bed frame. The room moves from side to side, like you’re both stuck in a boat, and not in one of Haibara's many guest rooms. It’s all coming back to him, the party, watching you and your boyfriend’s fight, the deck–

“Oh. Hey, buddy.” you say idly, looking over your shoulder as you sit on the other side of the bed, your ring-covered finger tying some slutty sandals around your ankles like some kind of shibari countess. The strap of your top falls as you lean over. Toji’s buffering.

His ears must be fucking deceiving him. 

Buddy?

The fuck?

He can’t for the life of him remember anything after the deck. You’re zooming through the room, texting furiously. On top of that, you look fresh and plump like lettuce out of the fridge, don’t you? But he had to blink several times to break through the layer of crust around his eyelashes, and his body is telling him you two fucked like animals for the past 12 hours.

Or he spent the weekend in the trenches. 

He feels wildly unprepared for this morning after, and it’s a just fucking relief that you’re keeping your distance until you start tap tap taping your little heels to the door.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

You stop, surveying him over your shoulder like he’s coming close to being some sort of inconvenience. 

And then the corner of your lips lifts, the mole on your cheek jumping with the motion.

“It was fun.” Your phone starts ringing again. The sound drills a hole into Toji’s temples. “Too bad that it never happened.”

With that, you’re gone. 

You abandon Toji with a bunch of unconscious people scattered around the house and Haibara, who’s still young enough to not know what a real hangover is. The kid will just not shut up about some hardcore surveillance system he had installed around the house recently after he noticed someone was stealing from his Kaws collection.

Toji listens to the whole story, sipping on the cold pressed green juice Haibara made himself, simply refusing to use the crystal straw, and makes a promise to himself. You’ll pay for whatever it is you did to him.

Even if he doesn’t remember what that was. Yet. It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay anyway. Nicely. 

“Say, kid.” he asks Haibara, licking the green foam off his lips and putting down the empty glass on the counter. The juice tasted just like it looks, which is cow puke, but his mind is somewhere else. Machinating. Scheming. 

“This system of yours, does it cover the whole house?”

Here’s the thing.

There are many things Toji isn’t. 

For starters, he’s not easily bothered by most things, a trait that people usually mistake for a personal attack, like it has anything to do with them and isn’t just the hand that he was dealt. People assume others, in this case him, think about them more than he can be bothered to. 

He’s not a control junkie either, not anymore. He left those days behind.

Control isn’t something he needs to worry about anymore. He has plenty of it. If something gets out of line, it gets back on it automatically. That’s just the way life is. Sure, he had his vices back then; lactose, gambling, adrenaline, women. 

But the thing is, you learn a few things with age, right? Shiny things lose their sparkle. The excitement wears off. Nothing is safe from becoming predictable, not even the rush of hearing bone crack under his fists or the juiciest, tightest pussy presented to him on a tray.

And this sheds a light on the fact that he’s way past the age of being pussy whipped.

“You cannot be serious.”

So why the fuck is Shiu Kong looking at him like that? 

And who does he think he is standing next to him, all up on his screen, and mind you, only alive thanks to the fact that Toji has lost some edge from his gory days?

He shuts down the tab like a kid who got caught watching porn on the family PC.

“You listen to me. Don’t you ever fucking do that–”

“The Gojo kid?” 

Toji’s eyebrows dig into his face because you’re certainly not a kid. No. Kids don’t look like that. Kids most certainly don't go around passing people horse tranquilizer or whatever the fuck it is you fed him with that glossy mouth of yours.

And that’s what you did. That’s as far as he can remember. 

“Is that what’s been–”

“I’m gonna stop you before you say some dumb shit and piss me off any further.”

Shiu’s been pestering him for days now about the upcoming iteration and the threat of several deadlines. Toji has been brushing it off. No nagging back or shutting down his complaints. 

Somehow, his silence only pushes the stick further up Shiu’s ass. Like he’s his sexually neglected wife of 40 years.

Truth is, he hasn’t given the dynamic with his CFO/best friend much thought lately. Why would he when there’s an infuriating, mouthy woman with siren eyes that somehow look down at him even when he’s about two heads taller than– 

You.

“–stalking the poor girl on the desktop version of Instagram.”

Toji returns to the conversation. “I don’t stalk people. I’m a grown-ass man.”

And you’re not a girl either. You’re something else. He hasn’t figured what yet.

“Mm. So am I.” Shiu says, still standing there with his hands in his pockets, head tilting down at some forgotten paperwork on his desk. “And even I know looking at someone’s profile on a desktop computer is a concerning level of unemployment, which you’re not at. Yet.” 

Toji’s not that thick-headed. He knows he’s been distracted, but he can’t just brush that night at Haibara's away.

You pop up in his head unannounced and make yourself comfortable, rent fucking free. Like a little squatter. In the middle of meetings, when he's driving back home, at the gym, when he’s at the club with a gorgeous woman on his lap. 

It’s becoming so frustrating that he’s started to despise you for real, and not just the made-up version of yourself he created when he met you and decided you were an ill-mannered bunny that he wanted to toy with for a bit.

In this scenario, of course, he was a wolf.

No one ever talks about how sometimes the bunny knocks the wolf out and bolts the morning after.

Days pass and his mind is blank of memories, no glimpses, no time-stopping sex flashbacks, just a bunch of strange vivid dreams about you that would make any mid-century french cult film director weep and the Soviet Union recoil. They distract him to the point of him nearly knocking the front teeth off his trainer’s face, or spilling orange juice all over his clothes this morning.

Toji’s positive you didn’t fuck. Sure, you had a bit of bed hair, but your face lacked the I-was-fucked-by-the-Toji-Fushiguro glaze he's used to seeing in women and takes pride in. You looked perfectly fine, collected enough to be giving your dimwit brother hell on the phone and fuck with him before disappearing.

It was fun.

He was also wearing underwear, and you walked just fine. No wobbly legs or tilted hips. No bruises on your neck or scratches on his back– 

Too bad that it never happened.

You had shared a bed, that much he knew. He caught a whiff of your perfume after you left. He had cursed you then, feeling like a pathetic fucking dog sniffing up some pillows, but now the confusion and annoyance faded to a curiosity that extends past the time in his head he gives to the best lays he’s had. 

So today he put up an incognito tab and looked you up hoping to find something annoying, corny or pathetic about you to make you unappealing, and somehow he landed on your personal IG profile. 

You posted a set of pictures three days ago of meaningless corners at some random location. The fourth picture is a snap of what looks like your desk. There’s a polaroid of you and your fiancé next to a stack of notebooks.

You’re standing in front of him, leaning your head to the side with his chin resting nice and cozy on your shoulder, his nose pressed against your neck. Toji's lip curled in distaste.

He found your twitter account as well, because why not? And found nothing of particular interest. You stick to promoting your work and that's the end of it. Other people in your circle, on the other hand…

Toji went through a twitter phase not too long ago. He found endless amusement in pissing people off with less than 140 characters and replying to those who enjoyed his work. He uninstalled the app the second he found people selling mugs with screencaps of his tweets. 

Safe to say the decision made Shiu’s and the PR team quite happy. 

He’s out of the loop with the overall discourse, but it’s clear that you have farmed your own dedicated micro following online and your boyfriend is some kind of A24 flowerboy on the rise. 

Toji heard of him before meeting you. His newfound success is the byproduct of his dreamy looks, a melancholic breakout role and the occasional activism, something that's been often questioned due to his relationship with you, and the consequential ties to your family.

Both of you, as a couple, act like viagra for a very specific, insufferable and presumptuous crowd. They’re hyper-focused on the fact that you haven’t posted him on your stories for weeks, that Hiroki allegedly deleted some posts with you on Instagram, and that he's been caught dreamily staring at his female co-star during press conferences.

Why people choose to waste their time with their noses up stranger's ass is something Toji does not understand, life being as short as it is.

“Please tell me that’s not her twitter account,” Shiu says. Toji inhales sharply. “This is more pathetic than I thought. No wonder you haven’t gotten anything done in days.”

He kills the rest of the tabs, spitting over his shoulder “I can’t very well do my fucking job if you’re breathing over my fucking shoulder, can I? You know how I fucking feel about people standing behind me when I’m trying to get shit done.”

“Twitchy .” Shiu notes and takes his sweet time walking around his desk, plopping down on the chair.

“Yep, take a seat, why don’t you.” Toji grumbles.

Shiu drums his fingers against his knee, a sign that he’s craving a cigarette, surveying him.

“So I’m gonna take a leap of faith here and assume this is some kind of executive-level scheming, and you’re just exploiting a vulnerability.”

Toji’s face twists like he sucked on a lemon at the mere thought of it. 

“You know damn well the day I do business with that old cunt will be the day your ex-wife comes clean about what she did at that yoga retreat in Bali and asks for forgiveness.”

“Figures. So?”

“You’d probably take her back. Fucking cuck.”

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Shiu notes, unbothered by the unprovoked attack. 

Toji sniffs, comes down from the spike of anger, and finds a more comfortable position on his chair.

“She owes me.”

Shiu leans his head back, mildly amused. 

“You adding usury to your ledger now?”

“Not money.”

“Alright then, I don’t want to know.”

Lies. But Shiu knows better than to push too much. Toji’s the type to hoard details not because he’s afraid of compromise, just to be an asshole. 

It’s refreshing to see him almost… desperate. If you were anything like your brother, Shiu thought, you might be just the perfect little karma agent for his best friend.

“Fine. You get that business sorted. You’re no use to me if you’re distracted.”

“You worry about sorting your own business and I’ll worry about mine, Kong.”

Shiu stands up, fighting back a smile until he opens the door, stopping at the sight of Toji’s assistant about to knock.

“What is it?” Toji asks, scratching his eyebrow, already exhausted.

Keiko looks down at the tablet in her hands, hesitant.

“The team at Gojo Corp has reached out, sir. It seems Gojo Shinobu would like to invite you to dinner next week.”

The look on Shiu’s face as he slowly turns to face him is priceless. Toji rests his elbows on his desk, a sinister smile pulling at his scar.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

“Interesting indeed.” Shiu agrees. Keiko eyes them skeptically, because her boss smiling like that cannot mean anything good for society, or her sleep schedule.

“I better get to work then, eh?”

“Anytime would be nice, yes.” Shiu says, turning to Keiko. “I guess I’ll finally find out about Bali, then.”

So you might be thinking, look at him backtracking like that. 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s nothing like that.

Toji’s sitting across from Gojo Shinobu, the man, the myth, the bigot himself, with absolutely no intention of making business with him.

He’s just sniffing the territory.

In person and up close, Shinobu's a disturbing aged mix of you and your brother: the hair and the uncanny valley eyes went to him, but the eyebrows, the slope of his nose, it’s you. Even the handshake, firm and tight like a war general, reminds Toji of you.

Gojo Shinobu’s old as the fucking bible. His eyes are graying, eyelids sagging but it's clear that grandpa's still sharp.

For the record, Toji doesn’t like the old fart. He represents many things that he despises about older generations, and his business model is one of the many reasons for the country living in the past, but he’s not about to get political. 

Not liking Gojo Shinobu doesn't mean he has no respect for him, so he’s honest and immediately shuts down the proposal of Gojo Corp. being involved in future Diablo releases.

Dignified, not happy, but never one to accept a no, Shinobu just smiles, brushes his beard like a Ghibli villain, and switches the subject.

Alcohol involved and pretending to put business talk aside, the conversation flows easily. Your father has a surprisingly entertaining dry sense of humor. Toji supposes you stop giving a shit when you have one foot in the grave, he also imagines the borderline cruel wit had something to do with your mother getting knocked up with you at the peak of her career as an actress and sex symbol.

“I hear you have a kid.”

“Two.” Toji corrects, remembering that he’s supposed to pick up Tsumiki in an hour. Ballet class. She’s getting rather serious about it. “A girl and a boy.”

“Ah, good balance.” Shinobu nods with a knowing smile. “They listen to you? How old are they?”

“15 and 16. And they do.”

They don’t, because they’re teenagers, not soldiers. Megumi and Tsumiki are good kids, certainly better than he was at their ages, they don’t need him ordering them around, watching their every step.

“Dangerous, dangerous age.” your father hums. “You make sure they do that, save yourself the bitterness in the future.”

Damn. Alright. Toji lifts his eyebrows and leans back, listening. That’s all it takes.

“You’d be surprised. You get a little too light handed, and a perfect sapling can get ruined just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “It’s harder to straighten them up as they grow up.”

Toji takes a long, good sip, fighting back a chuckle. He has no concerns when it comes to who or how people choose to fuck, but the blatant homophobia is always amusing.

“And then they gang up on you.” Shinobu scoffs. Toji can imagine you and your brother scheduling a year worth of publicly terrorizing Shinobu. “No wife? You raising them on your own?”

“I am.”

“Good man. It’s hard, honest work. Make sure you look for a good one to settle with, not all of them are in touch with their motherly instinct.”

His assistant comes in, tells him someone has arrived, and Shinobu makes a noise with his nose or mouth that reminds Toji of an exasperated horse.

“Take the advice from me. You see–”

He leans over the table, brushes his beard. 

“If, and I am not wishing this upon you, your daughter comes of age and– after years of picking up and dropping all sorts of interests with no interest in commitment,"

He pauses, chuckling humorlessly.

"–comes to the conclusion that she wants to waste her life playing with cameras and hanging out with gender-bending creatives,”

The word is said with so much despise Toji feels like there should be a new phobia for it.

“You have to sit down and choose what’s more important; letting her waste her potential away, or being in her good graces. More often than not it can’t be both, that’s just how it is.”

Perhaps Toji hasn’t given you enough credit. You could’ve ended up a lot worse than you are. Knocking him out was nothing. You could’ve chopped him up, kept his dismembered body in your fridge, and he’d see where you're coming from.

“But when she tells you she wants to let some vulture into your family and make him blood, you take matters into your own hands.” he nods firmly, like it’s Toji he’s mad at, and finally looks over his shoulder, nostrils flared.

Asaya Hiroki approaches the table. Jetlagged eyes, tail between his legs.

“Fushiguro, this is Asaya Hiroji, my daughter’s boyfriend.”

Hiroki looks like he has half a mind to correct him on either the name or relationship status but he’s too fond of keeping his head attached to his body.

Hiroki’s pretty. Toji can’t compete in that department. He looks like he puts sugar and milk on his tea and smashes the china on the floor when he’s told he can’t have more, like a psychotic puppy. 

In other words, you make sense together. 

You like to look at pretty things so your boyfriend’s cute. No harm in acknowledging that, though he remembers Tsumiki mentioning that when noses dip down like that it means there’s some kind of prosthetic. 

And if you pay attention, really read between the lines of his 90’s film heartthrob face, something’s off with him, isn’t it?

But what does he care? A nose job is no crime. Hiroki has other flaws to offer. For example, he has a rather shitty way of hiding the fact that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to. 

Perhaps, even, going behind someone’s back.

And the guy calls himself an actor.

Satisfied with the results of what he thought would be a waste of an afternoon, he excuses himself. He’ll be just in time to get to Tsumiki’s class before it’s done and have the other kids’ moms and nannies ogle at him. Tsumiki hates it when he does that.

“Don’t be a stranger, Fushiguro. I’d like to keep this channel between us open. I hope to see you at the anniversary party.”

“Pardon?” Toji stops, surprised.

“The company’s anniversary party this Friday,” Shinobu says, like it’s obvious. “I’d like you to meet my son, and well, you’re already acquainted with my daughter.”

Hiroki’s round bobba eyes follow him all the way to the grand crystal doors. Toji has the distinct feeling that he was just part of Shinobu taking matters into his own hands. 

He’s both disturbed and impressed. He never mentioned meeting you, and he’s pretty damn sure that this detail didn’t slip from your lips either.

 

Every year the company throws an anniversary party, and you and your brother and every high-level employee have to attend and listen to your father’s rendition of why diesel was better and how you’re all wimps for being born after the extinction of smallpox. 

The one year that you didn’t attend, because you were stuck in Norway with a canceled flight, your father spent exactly 11 months reminding you of it like you had any say in the weather conditions of the North Sea.

Tonight might be his last speech as chairman, since he’s about to step down from his position after growing health concerns. The company has gone all out; live music, huge venue, ice sculptures, people are dancing. They've put so much effort your father's probably more annoyed than anything.

Suguru approaches you at the empty family table and sits down next to you with a knowing smile, like he's thinking the same thing as you while you're watching people waltz. He’s looking as handsome as ever, you just miss the bangs framing his face.

“So, when do you think he’s going to publicly execute the medical staff that diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s?”

“Probably after he declares war on Gretha Thunberg.”

You’re wary. He might have everyone convinced, but it’s not like him to step down quietly. Your instincts are telling you to expect shenanigans tonight, and they’ve never once failed you.

“Seems too good to be true, don’t you think?” you say, eyeing the crowd. “I don’t know how Satoru’s so cool about it.”

Suguru sighs, craning his neck. “I wouldn’t say he is.”

And that’s when your brother slams his palm on the table, making you jump in your seat. He leans over the two of you, eyeing the room like it’s the school cafeteria and he’s the king of prom.

And he kind of is. Today your father will officially name him his successor, so the sour look in his face makes you and Suguru share a look.

“Do you see Hideo Kojima on steroids hanging out with Nanamin? I guess next year we’ll have the Yakuza on the jazz band.”

You laugh, only half weirded out. Suguru looks up at your brother, confused.

“Who? ”

“Toji Fushiguro. ” Satoru drawls, icily amused, and your neck turns so fast Suguru worries it’ll break. “And his underling.”

Remember your intuition? Red sirens start ringing in your head, and the edges of your vision start staining in with a deep burgundy color.

What on earth is he–

“Dad invited him.” Satoru says, still not sitting down, still scanning the room with deadly eyes. You feel the urge to look around and pinpoint his exact location, but you wait for him to point with his chin. “They’ve been seeing each other. Mimosas and manicures, I heard.”

You find him across the room, several tables between you, just over the elevated candles in the middle of your table, talking with Nanami and some man you don’t recognize. 

You fight the weak but sensible urge to look away when he suddenly turns to your table and lifts his glass in your direction, like he felt the shit talking from a distance.

The room is vast, but you recognize the feeling of his eyes looking straight at you. Your brother is too occupied cursing under his breath while he mockingly lifts his glass to notice you gulping.

“You think dad’s hitting that?”

You try not to gag. “You’re sick.”

“Cause someone will owe me a loooot of money if that’s the case.” he taunts. You both placed a bet on whether your father is bisexual or not years ago. “Look at him, standing there like he’s threatening to swipe all the fertile wives in the room. Freak.”

You snort. A bit of your goes down the wrong pipe, Suguru helpfully pats your back.

“You better hold on to yours then.”

“Nah, he’s locked in. Ain’t cha , babes?”

You roll your eyes, feeling Suguru shake his head with a lovesick smirk. Your brother replies with a wink, lazily dropping his weight on the chair next to you, like you need to be in the middle of all that.

You lean back, stretching your neck and stranding up. “Ok, you can back up a little. It’s embarrassing enough to be matching with you.”

Satoru stretches his arm over your now empty seat. They’ve been purposefully keeping a distance, him and Suguru, people assume it’s for appearances' sake, but you know them better than that. They’re playing some game tonight, and you’d rather pluck out your lashes one by one than learn the details.

“And I distinctly remember asking you to stop feeding into those fucked up theories online about me terrorizing you as a child, but you had to take those creepy family portraits with the heads cut off. We don’t always get what we want, sis.”

And don’t you know that. Tonight was stressing enough without 6’ something with a lip scar, ever so subtly following with his eyes as you make your way around the party. Not too obvious for an outsider to notice, but just enough to make the exposed hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

You’re a little too energized. Like too many shots of espresso and Ritalin after an allnighter.

It makes no sense to start feeling threatened by Toji Fushiguro tonight, when he’s in your territory, but you do. 

But you weren’t raised under the same roof as Gojo Shinobu and Gojo Satoru to be so easily intimidated, so you mingle, let people stop you for quick, boring catch ups and questions about being excited about your brother and what-have-you-been-up -tos, even those whose faces or names you can’t recall.

You smile, entertain and even ask people about their whereabouts, until you’re out of social battery for the rest of the season.

“Took you long enough.” you say, making a point of not looking at him.

His voice comes closer than you expected or feel sane about. Smooth and dark, in through your left ear.

“Patience is a virtue, haven’t you heard?”

His presence is more unnerving than you geared up for, and just like the first time, a shiver cuts through you. Something urges you to move and take a step sideways, out of the magnetic pull around him. 

You finally take him in. Tailored tuxedo, slightly tousled black hair that you know for a fact is unfairly soft, exuding confidence. Never in your life had you encountered someone as infuriating and intoxicating as him.

“So, are you my new stepdaddy?”

A slap to his face would’ve stunned him less. Hell, he might’ve enjoyed it. You don’t give him a chance. His pants have no business getting tighter from that fucking question. Toji buffers again.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

He hums, hands in his pockets.

“Depends.”

You tilt your head.

“You into that kind of thing?”

You scoff, dismissive as always, but suspiciously purse your lips to one side before taking a sip of your drink. Perhaps gatekeeping a chuckle.

Head held high, nose up in the air. Toji takes your profile in. The light bouncing off the high points of your face, the deliberate, doll-like curl of your lashes, the soft slope of your neck and the dips and curves of your shoulders. Your dress painted a nice image in his head of your body from afar, so he refrains from going past your collarbones like the honorable man that he is.

“What? No backtalk? I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you any time soon.”

“Like I said, patience is a virtue.”

You roll your eyes and laugh dismissively. “You don’t believe that.”

“Bold assumption.” he counters. “I wanted to see how long you’d last entertaining guests, but then your right eye started twitching and I suppose took some pity on you.”

“Aren’t you an empath.”

“Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

Your chin quivers, but you keep the smile to yourself with a quick sigh. Toji could look down at the way your chest rises and drops, but he’s not in a rush here. 

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest? I’m sure Shinobu raised you better than that.”

Name dropping your father gets the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Why are you here?” you repeat, enunciating slowly, but the words you want to say are don't fuck with me right now.

But you’re too precious for him to deny himself the pleasure. Not when your eyebrows tremble like that. 

“Your father was kind enough to invite me. It would’ve been rude to turn him down.”

“You’re not here to entertain him. He’s stepping down soon and you can’t stand him.”

“Doesn’t mean that I don’t respect him. Why else would I waste a perfectly nice friday night surrounded by a bunch of suck ups? Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

Your squint at him, like you don’t believe he has the guts to say it.

“Did you perhaps assume I’m here for… you?”

Toji wonders if your silence has anything to do with the white haired manchild looking your way for the second time.

“We do have something to settle. You owe me something, if I remember correctly.” 

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Nice try. An explanation, does that ring any bells?” 

Your head snaps up to him, the wisps of hair hanging from the sides of your face flow with the movement. The tip of your nose and your cupid’s bow catch the light, if he couldn’t see your face this close he’d mistake that for sweat. 

He’s reminded of how you looked at the deck in contrast to the sight of you right now. A sheer layer of sweat was covering your skin, your plump thighs spilling on the wood surface, he'd kept his hands in his phone and held on to his own sanity.

“What is there to explain? Nothing happened.”

Toji tilts his head. “Lying is a bad, bad thing,” 

“We didn’t do anything, Fushiguro.” you insist, lowering your voice. Toji looks over your head, bored with your attempts at gaslighting. “If you–”

“You wanna dance?” 

The nonchalant act drops, you unconsciously lean back and open your mouth like there’s not enough air in the room. Toji smiles at your hesitation, cold and challenging.

“It’s in your best interest.”

“How?”

“Because the old cunt that kept kissing your hand earlier is coming our way and I’m about to leave you alone with him” he lies and you don’t dare look over your shoulder to check, not wanting to risk making eye contact with the slimmy fucker.

It’s a bad idea. Being near Toji is a bad idea, dancing with him is the equivalent of putting on a vest bomb. Your father is somewhere in the room and your brother might act aloof but not a single interaction of his interest is going unnoticed. 

Putting your hand in his is a bad, bad idea. The worst. But you suspect figuring out Toji Fushiguro’s intentions will take some compromise on your part, so you don’t hesitate when you grab his hand.

With his arm around you, he's reminded of a particularly striking dream he had about you days ago. The first thing he did when he woke up from it was open his app notes and write two words, perverse angel.

Now he knows it was actually deja vu; you close your eyes for a bit, the breathing image of reminiscing. This isn’t your first time in his arms.

The melody gets rather slow. You hold yourself with all the poise of a reluctant little heiress, defiant but serene as you look at him, arm resting over his.

While he’s growing quite fond of the sight of your neck exposed, he’d rather find the main pin and let your hair down. Let you get comfortable, not taut like you are in his hold.

“You look like a tall pint of guinness.”

Toji could do this all night. Just watch your expression drop, annoyance pinch at your temples.

One ankle betrays you, but he’s not about to let that happen. The arm around your waist keeps you steady, moving along with him. His grip is firm, but not overpowering.

“You’re an asshole.” You say like you just discovered it tonight.

He’s right. You know it and you hate that he described it so right. You’re dressed in a black, sleek and form fitting dress that goes down to your ankles and the top is made of an off-shoulder white band that wraps around your shoulders.

Toji laughs with that shark grin of his, his scar stretching. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He adds helpfully, hand coming up to straighten the white fabric around your left shoulder. The air turns colder with the absence of his arm, but it returns to the spot in no time. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, granted, but it’s a lovely dress. Perfect for a night at the pub, watching the game with the boys.”

“I think I’ll pass on the unsolicited fashion advice, thanks.”

“Come on. You can never go wrong with a red dress.” he counters, eyes dropping briefly. You wrinkle your nose, he takes offense. “What?”

“Not my style” you shrug.

“Now that’s just tragic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to wear one to your funeral.”

The couples closest to you turn with different looks of controlled distaste. Toji laughs heartily, head thrown back and everything. 

“I’ll hold you to that. I might just return just to see it with my own eyes.”

“Not sure doors open both ways in hell, but hey, more power to you.” 

“So you wanna hear my theory?”

You sigh. “Nothing happened, Toji. I mean it.”

What a terrible liar you are.

“I think you had a little alcohol in you, were fresh off a fight with your boyfriend, and just couldn’t help yourself because you have a thing for problems.”

You nod sarcastically. “And of course, you’re the problem in question.”

“Well, yes.” he blinks. “And also, you don’t have half the self control you believe you have. So you freaked out and put me to sleep to stop yourself from doing something you thought you might regret.”

This is how it was. You had forgotten the rush, despite replaying time and time again your past conversations. Interacting with Toji Fushiguro is like playing five finger fillet, thrilling and grueling and high risk, but it’s a whole other thing with people around you. You can’t let up, all your senses need to be on guard.

“Aren’t you too old to be throwing a fit because I gave you more than you could handle?”

Toji’s eyes dig into yours, a hint of amusement and something else.

“Here’s a piece of advice: choose your words very, very carefully. They might come back to haunt you. ”

“It never happened. And it won’t.” You repeat with a cool tone. The pulse on your wrist drums against his own. 

“I have to say, you’re a better actress than he is.” he mentions. “But denial does not suit you. We’re gonna have to do something about that or things will get very awkward real soon.”

“Actually I think we should focus on your rejection issues first.”

“I’m not a problem for you to solve, sweetheart.” he chuckles darkly, eyes knowing, never leaving yours.

Years of practicing the art of bullshitting in your household could not help you deny the fact that you're maddeningly, disturbingly attracted to him.

“What you see is what you get. And you could, if you stopped being a little coward.”

He makes you turn effortlessly, that’s when you see him. Hiroki. The words die on your lips, your stomach drops, all resolve wavers. He releases you and your arms hang limp on your sides.

He licks his scar and smirks sideways at you, eyes twinkling. You could push him off the roof of the building.

“You should fix your face, angel, ‘cause I won’t behave if he wants to pick a fight.” 

You’ve always liked Nanami Kento. He’s one of your father’s closest, youngest and less... spineless advisors, the pathological victim of your brother's pestering, and always impeccably polite to you, sweet even.

But right now, when he’s introducing Toji Fushiguro and his friend whose name you didn't catch to Suguru and Hiroki, you’d love to hit him in the head with a hammer.

At least your brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Pleasure to meet you." Suguru says.

Hiroki has his arm around your waist. He's not looking at you. You know what the dimpling of his cheeks mean. 

“We’ve met before actually, haven’t we?” Toji turns to him, brow burying into his face like he’s not too sure, shaking his finger in the air. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t remember too well.”

Your heart is stuck in your neck, threatening to crawl out of your mouth. Suguru gives you an odd look.

“We have.” You don’t see the look on Hiroki’s face when he replies, but his tone is controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

Shiu Kong says something, and Suguru responds another thing. It's all noise to you. 

You grab a drink from a passing tray and the corner of Toji’s mouth tilts, his attention on Suguru’s conversation. You feel irrationally mad, like slapping him, but then he’d probably fix his jaw and look at you like you should've gone rougher and–

There’s something seriously wrong with you. Officially.

You grab Hiroki’s hand and pull him with you.

He’s confused, but follows you nonetheless. “Can you just wait for a–”

“We should ditch the party.” You tell him, but he doesn’t agree like he usually would and grabs your arm, stopping you at once, brown eyes searching yours.

“You’re not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

“My dad invited you?” you reply, confused by the offended look on his face.

“No. Why would he? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

Now you’re confused. You smell his breath and notice his flushed cheeks. “But you’re here.”

“Wow. Try to contain the excitement, why don’t you.” he scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fly across continents and interrupt whatever the hell that wa–”

He’s starting to raise his voice, drawing attention, usually composed demeanor nowhere to be seen. You catch a whiff of alcohol on his breath.

“You’ve been drinking.”

His face drops. The volatile look in his eyes is not something you can deal with tonight.

You’re forever grateful for the woman announcing your father’s speech. Hiroki’s expression clears up, but he gives you a look that says you’ll resume the conversation later, soon, tonight. 

Then he pulls you to his side and leads you closer to the podium.

Your father looks into the crowd with piercing blue eyes. You, like you have for the past few months, have a bad feeling. Like if you were to take a picture right now, it would later be displayed as the moment before hell broke loose.

“... And as many of you know, the time has come for me to step back and allow a new generation to lead us forward."

The crowd hangs on his every word. You scan the room for the 10th time, looking for a head full of white hair.

Hiroki notices your unease and looks down at you, rubbing your arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t see Satoru.”

Your father continues, voice unwavering. 

"It is with great confidence and optimism that I announce my successor, a person who embodies the values and vision of our company." 

You finally find Satoru at the back, he’s with Suguru and Nanami. Waving his arms around him, hair a mess, pissed.

"Please join me in welcoming our future CEO, Noritoshi Kamo."

The room bursts into applause, but before his words can fully register in your mind, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through. For a split second collective confusion takes over, and then it turns to full blown panic.

You watch your father duck under the podium. Your legs move on their own.

Gunshots.

People are running, crawling and diving for cover all around. Tables are overturned, glass shatters. It's all white noise.

"Get down!" someone shouts. 

Something slams into you.

Toji picks you up from the ground. Exit located, going for it.

“My dad," you protest with wide eyes, hastily trying to look over your shoulder. Toji has half a mind to throw you over his shoulder.

“He’s fine.” he assures, hand covering your head, pushing it down.

Security sprung into action in no time at the first gunshot, formed a barrier around your father and hurried him down the stage. Toji saw it with his own eyes right before he caught you running like a tweaking baby reindeer, right before some piece of shit shoved you to the ground.

You keep protesting, resisting, trying to go in the opposite direction, so Toji has no choice but to lift you up and thrown you over his shoulder.

A colorful string of panicked and enraged expletives follow. You’re livid, fists slamming into his back without mercy. Toji pays no mind, pushing through the crowd, making his way to the emergency exit.

He doesn't put you down until you're both alone in the emptiness of some sterile corridor. And you're still rambling.

“Shut up for a second, will you?"

That does it. You're flabbergasted, opening your mouth again in full Karen fashion.

Toji doesn’t care for it. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” you reply furiously, fist tight on your sides. You catch your breath, step down from your heels and start to speed walk down the corridor. “I have to find my father– I need to– Satoru–”

“They’re safe.” Toji catches up to you in two or three long steps. “Gojo’s security doesn’t fuck around. I mean– yeah, they did fuck up letting a guy bring a gun inside the premises, but they were quick with it.”

Your nostrils flare. Toji hears voices at the corner and pushes you behind him. He sees a couple of guys in black in the reflection of a fire extinguisher cabinet. Dressed in black, wired ears, walking like they know they might lose their jobs tonight.

“Hey, I got the heiress here. She’s looking for her old man.”

They escort you both, eyes hopeful, looking at you like you're their ticket out of unemployment. Your father and his people are gathered in some conference room one floor above. The altercation can be heard from outside. 

“It’s for the best. You're too out of it to see it now, but you will.”

The room is packed. Your father, his disciples, your brother and his boyfriend, a very uncomfortable looking couple of cops. A woman approaches you, asking you if you're ok, but your eyes and attention at stuck on your father and your brother dueling for the whole room to see.

Your brother stops his pacing and turns to face Shinobu. 

“No, that's not it. I see it, I see you. You’re too prideful to let me clean up after you.”

Getting caught in a family brawl was not in Toji’s plans tonight, but he stays put, watching you approach them with confusion all over your face. They don’t seem to notice you. 

Gojo Shinobu levels his son with warning eyes, finger pointed at him. “Watch your words, Satoru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My decision is final.”

He turns around, beckons the woman who approached you to him, but your brother is not done.

“You know I can do it." he says, your father stops and turns to him with death in his eyes and his lips pressed into a thin line. "You know I can. You just can’t stand the thought of me succeeding where you fucking failed.” 

The look on your face says it all, you don’t know what your brother is talking about, and that you’re in no headspace to ask either. Satoru's not just pushing the limits, he just sped past them.

The words hit your father square in the chest. 

Things are about to get bloody.

“You’re nothing but a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks he deserves everything handed to him on a silver platter. Look at what you’ve made of your life, acting like everything is a fucking game. You think I’ll let someone like you lead what I spent my life building?”

You turn to him, mouth falling open. “Jesus christ, dad.”

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your brother’s face contorts in rage. He -predictably and unpredictably at the same time- lunges forward, fist aimed at your father’s face.

The room springs into action. Your father's guard dogs, the cops, Nanami Kento, you beat them all to it, but it’s ultimately Toji who gets to him.

In another situation, Toji would've found a comfortable seat for himself, perhaps a drink, and watch the havoc unfold. Let the son champion the decade long cause of union workers, environmental hippies, human rights, consumer advocacy activists alike, and punch the lights out of his father's smug face.

Then he'd spare no details for Shiu over a nice dinner.

But he grabs Gojo Satoru's arm instead, stopping him mid swing.

Blue, crazy and uncanny eyes land on him.

As a general rule, he avoids getting involved in other people's affairs, especially when it comes to love spats or family drama. However, when he says, 

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” 

He means it.

Your father chuckles dismissively.

Your brother watches as he walks away, chest heaving up and down. 

“Toru?”

Surely those two syllables did not come from you. If denial did not suit you, this uncertainty is just disturbing. It’s not right.

“What was that?” The question comes from the depths of your throat, voice nothing like Toji has heard before. 

“Not now.” your brother snaps, turning around and walking out. Geto Suguru on his side.

Toji’s phone starts ringing, he tries to shake off the unsettling image of you before walking out of the room to answer.

It's Shiu. He's waiting outside, watching the police drag the gunman into a car, and wondering where he is. Toji sighs, comes to terms with the fact that he's on a streak of sorts tonight, because once again, against his own code, he tells him Shiu to leave without him, not answering any questions about his whereabouts. 

People have dispersed with your father gone from the scene. Toji walks back inside, pocketing his phone, and finds you by a corner of the room. Your boyfriend has found you again, fuck knows where the came from.

He's pulling his phone out, ready to call Shiu and tell him he's on his way down, but you're shaking your head, running your hand through your hair like you forgot it's pulled back.

Hiroki gets in front of you when you try to walk away. You put your hands between you, like the last thing you need is someone coming close. You must've just said something nasty, hit a tender spot, because he freezes where he stands.

Toji drops his arm.

Once again you try to walk around him, but this time Hiroki gets a hold of your arms.

“Why?” he asks. You’re looking at him like he grew a second head. “We talked about it all the time, we always said–”

Toji's wandered close enough to catch your reply.

“What do you mean why? Have you lost your mind? I can’t leave Satoru alone right now, Hiroki.”

“In case you didn’t notice he just fucking left you here.” he snaps at you. 

You flinch. Recoil. Push against his hold.

“Let go. I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“You can’t? Right. You can’t. Tell me something, do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve had to put up with–”

You snarl at him, baring your teeth, bare feet stomping on the carpeted floor. Hiroki doesn’t even sway with your attempts, or flinch at the near animalistic way you look at him. 

“I fucking don’t. And I don’t want to know. I didn’t ask you to be here tonight.”  you reply, tone vicious, jaw locked. “You don’t get to hold it against me.”

The next thing Hiroki says pours out of his mouth like it’s a known fact, or an acceptable thing to say to the woman you’re going to marry. 

“They don’t give a shit about you. You know that.”

By now, you two have caught Kento Nanami's attention. He wraps up whatever he's discussing with a couple of men and approaches the scene.

Hiroki does not let up, it's easy to see that he will not. He fixes his grip like you'll turn to liquid and spill between his fingers if he gets distracted.

You wince.

Toji walks over with four or five committed strides until he's between you two. The abrupt interruption and breach of personal space startles Hiroki, gives you the chance to step back.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Well, this is just great.”

Hiroki chortles, looking away like he’s collecting his thoughts. Biting his lips in contemplation. Nodding to himself once or twice. Toji regards him coldly, lets him gather his thoughts, or the guts to attempt something idiotic like, who knows, get himself pummeled to the ground.

“You know, I keep seeing you everywhere lately, why is that?”

Toji shrugs, uninterested and unintimidated. Hiroki won't get his face cut even if he deserves it, and it's not that Toji's against the idea of being a vessel for some sort of long time coming retribution. In fact, he'd be doing it just for his own satisfaction.

But the night should end now. He’s gonna have a hard time forgetting how you looked earlier when your moron of a brother stormed past you and left you standing there, in the middle of a room full of people that did not care about you, heels hanging from your hand, shoulders sagging.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna give the boy something to pop a vein about.

“Why don’t you take a guess, hm?”

Something snaps behind Hiroki's eyes. Toji's front row this time, and he confirms everything he suspected about him. 

And he makes his mind up.

Hiroki looks at you, lids heavy, ears red. “Are you fucking him?”

How predictable. Toji looks at you over his shoulder, and somehow, you understand. It's barely noticeable, but you shake your head.

“You have to leave.” you sound a lot more like yourself this time. Only tired. Really exhausted. Like your feet are about to give out under you. Toji's not blind to the way you’ve been putting all your weight on one foot.

Hiroki pauses, realization lands on him that you’re talking to him, and not Toji.

“Get on a plane, fly back to Spain, and stay there for as long as you have to.”

“This is fucking unbelievable.” 

“I disagree. Have a safe flight.”

Hiroki stomps out, shoulders past unfazed Nanami Kento, who looks at him like he’s a speck of dust. He approaches you, asks you if you're ok.

You ask about your dad, he tells you he’s currently talking to the police and insists on getting you a car and someone to accompany you. Says you should rest.

“I can take her home.” Toji says. You peer at him like that's the last thing you were expecting to hear, and then you nod.

Nanami watches Toji carefully, studying him intently. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Keep me posted?”

His features soften just a bit, he touches your shoulder, promises he will.

He doesn’t keep his eyes off Toji until you two make it to the door. Toji might find the guy agreeable, stick up his ass and all.

[effinbirds]

UPDATES: Effin' Birds Appearances & Hawaiian Shirts

Had a few additions and subtractions to my fall tour. If your local comiccon-esque event didn't invite me, find their feedback form on their website and let them know how much you wanted to see me there. I'm in the midst of planning my 2025 appearances right now.

Up next:

FAN EXPO Canada, August 22-25 Dragon Con, August 30 - September 2 Madison Comic & Pop Culture Expo, September 14-15 Cincinnati Comic Expo, October 18-20 Twin Cities Con, November 8-10

Unfortunately, Winnipeg Comiccon and Ottawa Comiccon decided to rescind my invitation this year for budget reasons. Hopefully I'll get back to those shows in the future! Feel free to hit up their Guest Suggestion Survey on their guest page if you'd like to see me there. (Please be polite, they are nice people who had to make a business decision.)

Hawaiian Shirts

I have 30 or so EAT FARTS Hawaiian shirts left from San Diego Comic Con, so I've added them to my store. Get them while you can!

Also available are what will be, at least for now, the last run of Oh My God, What The Fuck Hawaiian shirts.

I do have a few of each size in my luggage and will definitely have some at FAN EXPO Canada in Toronto next week.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 20: Checkmate at Check-In

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: It is a truth universally ignored by those who ought to know better that assembling the entire Bridgerton family, their friends, suitors, and rivals under one roof is a recipe for catastrophe. And yet—here they are. Arriving. Smiling. Plotting. What could possibly go wrong?

There was a distinct sound to arriving at Aubrey Hall.

The crunch of carriage wheels against gravel, the soft whinny of horses in the stable yard, the fluttering bustle of maids rushing to windows, and—above all—the low murmur of something about to happen.

 It wasn’t just the estate itself, although Aubrey Hall was nothing short of breathtaking. With its ivy-draped stone, tall windows glinting with morning light, and perfectly trimmed hedges, it looked less like a home and more like a memory waiting to be made.

No, it wasn’t just the house.

It was the gathering.

And as the final carriage doors closed and trunks were whisked inside, the great hall of the Bridgerton estate became a theater once more.

“Welcome to Aubrey Hall,” Violet Bridgerton declared with a smile that could freeze a battlefield.

She stood at the top of the staircase like a general surveying her troops, elegant and composed, clipboard in hand (metaphorically, of course—but one could feel it). Her guests clustered below, fanning themselves, glancing at one another with carefully arranged expressions that suggested both civility and the possibility of murder.

The entire ensemble had arrived.

You stood at the center of it all, elbow linked with Eloise’s as she muttered under her breath: “This is how the French Revolution started.”

Room Assignments: The Ceremony of Mild Judgement

Violet cleared her throat.

“Rooms have been prepared according to preference, history, and—as always—my judgment.”

Gasps? No. But there was the collective inhale of tonic water about to be spilled.

“Daphne and Simon,” Violet began, turning toward the Duke and Duchess of Hastings, “you shall of course have your usual rooms in the east wing, near the nursery.”

Daphne gave a gracious nod, Augie bouncing slightly in her arms.

“Lady Danbury, Lady Mary, and the Misses Sharma—”

A pause. A soft beat of tension as Anthony’s gaze flicked toward the trio.

“You shall be in the west guest corridor. Newton may roam the gardens freely, provided he does not chase the peacocks again.”

Newton barked once, as if in agreement.

Kate opened her mouth to protest—about the peacocks or the company, it was unclear—but Lady Danbury placed a hand on her arm. “We are here for sport,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Let the games begin.”

“My sons—” Violet said with precise formality, “—have their usual quarters. Try not to ruin them.”

Gregory whispered to Colin: “Does that include emotionally?”

Colin: “No, I think that’s encouraged.”

“Eloise and Hyacinth—”

“Together,” Eloise said quickly.

“I need someone to keep me sane,” Hyacinth added brightly.

“Y/N—”

Heads turned.

You straightened slightly. Violet’s tone was unreadable.

“You will remain in your usual chamber, adjacent to Eloise. If you require privacy, do let the staff know.”

Hyacinth whispered, “That’s the room closest to the garden, isn’t it? With the balcony?”

Eloise grinned. “Very poetic.”

You nodded politely. “Very convenient.”

And then—

“Lord Blackbourne.”

The room stilled just enough to notice.

Lucien tilted his head, eyes glittering as he slowly stepped forward from the edge of the crowd.

“Yes, Lady Bridgerton?”

Violet gave him a smile that walked the line between warning and welcome.

“We’ve placed you in the north wing. Top of the stairs, second door on the right. Close enough to the action, far enough to cause mystery. Should suit your temperament.”

Lucien grinned. “That sounds dangerously well-planned.”

“Oh, it is.”

Anthony said nothing. But his jaw twitched.

Benedict, to your right, murmured, “I do love when Mother starts arranging people like chess pieces.”

You: “Don’t you mean like explosives?”

Benedict: “That too.”

The gathering began to disperse, each guest peeling off toward their rooms, escorted by staff or trailing laughter.

Lucien caught your eye briefly as he passed. He didn’t wink. He didn’t smirk. He just looked. Directly.

You felt it. Like a secret.

And just behind him, Anthony watched. Unmoving. A storm waiting for its cue.

Aubrey Hall Grounds – Afternoon Light, Day One

The sun filtered through the canopy of old trees, dappling the gravel path in golden fragments. Aubrey Hall had taken its first breath of chaos—carriages had arrived, trunks were being dragged into rooms, and the air already hummed with the unspoken promise of too many people under one roof.

And still, somehow, Lucien Blackbourne had found a sliver of quiet.

He stood at the edge of the lower gardens, sleeves rolled to his elbows, the afternoon breeze tugging lazily at the hem of his waistcoat. He wasn’t lost in thought. Lucien never truly got lost—he simply wandered, waiting for the world to catch up.

So when a shadow approached behind him, steady and measured, Lucien didn’t turn.

Not yet.

Then—

“Funny,” came a voice from behind him, smooth as aged whisky. “I expected someone taller.”

Lucien didn’t flinch.

He simply turned.

And found himself face to face with Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings

Lucien's brow lifted, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I expected a Duke with a deeper voice.”

Simon chuckled, hands casually tucked into his coat pockets, posture too relaxed to be anything other than intentional. “My wife has told me all about you.”

Lucien tilted his head, the light glinting off his cufflinks. “Only good things, I hope.”

“Only the best,” Simon replied smoothly. “Something about you being a walking disaster with exceptional taste in waistcoats.”

Lucien placed a hand over his heart. “I do try.”

Simon stepped closer, gaze flickering toward the looming estate behind them. “I’ll admit—I respect the chaos. Anyone who can set Anthony Bridgerton on edge without drawing a sword deserves a moment of my time.”

Lucien’s smile widened just slightly, though his eyes remained sharp. “Ah. You’ve sparred with the Viscount yourself, then?”

Simon raised a brow. “He challenged me to a duel once. Said I compromised his sister’s honor.”

“Did you?”

“Repeatedly.”

Lucien laughed. “And he still speaks to you?”

“Eventually.”

The two men stood in companionable silence for a moment, the rustling of the trees above them the only sound between them.

Then Simon turned to him fully. “So tell me… what’s your plan here?”

Lucien didn’t answer immediately.

His gaze drifted toward the house.

Where you were.

Where he was.

“I didn’t come here to start a war,” Lucien said finally. “But I’m not above winning one.”

Simon considered that.

Then—quietly, “You’re already winning it. He just hasn’t realized it yet.”

Lucien exhaled slowly. “It wasn’t supposed to be a war at all.”

Simon’s voice dropped. “Neither was mine. But love has a way of turning quiet things into battlegrounds.”

 A beat passed.

Lucien looked at him again, sharper now. “So what now, Hastings? Are you here to warn me off?”

Simon grinned, teeth flashing like a sabre. “On the contrary. I’m here to join you.”

Lucien blinked.

“You and me,” Simon continued, taking a step forward, “may be the only two men in this house who’ve ever properly wrecked the Viscount’s composure.”

“I consider it a specialty.”

Simon tilted his head. “Then let’s test your skills.”

Lucien’s smile turned dangerous. “You’re asking me to team up against your wife’s brother.”

“I’m asking you to give him a reason to unravel. Fully. Dramatically. Preferably while holding a croquet mallet.”

Lucien offered his hand, slow and deliberate. “You realize this makes us enemies of the state?”

Simon gripped it without hesitation. “I’m a Duke. I am the state.”

They both laughed.

And as their handshake sealed a very specific kind of doom, the breeze shifted.

Somewhere inside the house, Anthony Bridgerton paused—feeling a chill run down his spine despite the summer sun.

He turned to Benedict. “Something’s wrong.”

Benedict didn’t even look up from his sketchbook. “Of course something’s wrong. Lucien’s on the property.”

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach

[adhdnursegoat]

BTAS

cw: Riddler being dashing😊, reader is gn but wears a dress

word count: 1.4k

The grand ballroom is alive with the glittering lights of chandeliers and the soft hum of violins. Elegantly dressed, the identities of each guest are secret, each one hidden behind a facade that adds a layer of mystique to the evening. You adjust your own mask—a delicate, feather-adorned piece that matches your flowing lavender gown—as you navigate the room. The masquerade is a charity event your father insisted you attend, a gesture of goodwill and politics wrapped up in finery and champagne.

You weave through the crowd, offering polite smiles and nods to other guests. It is not the first time you’ve found yourself at one of these events, surrounded by the elite of Gotham City. But tonight feels different. There is a tension in the air, a charge that has you glancing around with a sense of anticipation, as if something—or someone—is watching you.

And then you see him.

At the far end of the room, partially obscured by the throng of guests, stands a man in a sleek black suit. His mask is striking—a bright violet piece of fabric with an intricate, swirling design that matches a purple tie tucked beneath his sharply tailored jacket and green vest. It is hard to miss the way he carries himself, oozing confidence and charm as he surveys the room. Your breath catches as his gaze meets yours across the space, and you find yourself frozen in place.

He steps forward, moving through the crowd with an ease that suggests he belongs here, that this masquerade is his stage. As he approaches, you feel your heart pick up speed, each beat syncing with the rhythm of the music filling the room.

“May I have this dance?” His voice is smooth and low, like velvet in your ears. He extends his gloved hand, palm up, waiting. You hesitate, your eyes searching his masked face for a sign of his intentions. But there is something in his posture, in the way he holds himself, that is both commanding and alluring.

Against your better judgment, you place your hand in his, allowing him to lead you onto the dance floor.

As the two of you glide into a waltz, his arm slides around your waist, pulling you closer. His movements are precise, his steps confident, as if he’s danced this routine a hundred times. He guides you effortlessly, each turn and dip executed with a finesse that leaves you breathless. The room around you fades, the music and the spinning of the other dancers becoming nothing but a blur. All that remains is this man’s attention, the steady warmth of his hand against your back, and the mystery of his intentions.

“You dance well,” you manage to say, trying to temper the nerves in your voice.

He chuckles softly, the sound rich with amusement. “I do many things well,” he replies, lips curving into a dashing smile. The mystery dancer leads you into a smooth natural spin turn, the both of you gliding across the room as if you both have practiced this a million times.

“I must say, I’m finding myself particularly interested in this dance.” His eyes, hidden but no less sharp, are locked onto yours. “And in you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the way he says it, as if you’re the sole focus of his grand scheme tonight. Your instincts tell you that there’s more to this than a simple dance, that he has motives far beyond a casual flirtation. But despite the warning bells ringing in your mind, you can’t help but be drawn to him, to the intrigue that surrounds him like a shadow.

“Who are you?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. He twirls you gracefully, your skirts flaring out as you spin, before catching you in his arms once more.

“Now, where’s the fun in revealing all my secrets so soon?” he teases, his grip tightening on your waist for a fraction of a second. “Let’s just say I’m here to make this evening unforgettable.”

His words are laced with a promise, one that sends a thrill through you. He continues to lead you in the dance, the two of you moving seamlessly as the music swells around you. But you can’t shake the feeling that this moment is fleeting, that whatever spell he’s cast over the ballroom will soon break.

As the song reaches its crescendo, his arm tightens around your waist, and he dips you low, your body instinctively following the fluid motion. His face hovers dangerously close, the warmth of his breath grazing your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. Your eyes widen, a soft gasp escaping as your back arches gracefully over his arm. Every muscle in your body is taut with anticipation, your fingers clutching his shoulder for support, your hand entwined with his. There's no doubt—he’s completely swept you off your feet, and the smug look on his face tells you he knows it.

His hold is firm but gentle, a balance of control and finesse, making it clear he’s in command of this moment. The scent of him, a dark and intoxicating teakwood, fills your senses as the world around you blurs into the background, leaving only the two of you, locked in this intimate, magnetic dance.

Your heart pounds in your chest, but not from the exertion of movement. It’s the way he holds you—like a secret, like a promise, in a way that only belongs to you two—that sends your pulse racing. He leans in ever so slightly, his lips just a whisper away from yours, a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.

“My dear, I must take my leave, I’m afraid,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet caress against your ear, dripping with playful charm. “But do remember this dance, won’t you?”

The mystery dancer’s words wrap around you, leaving you breathless, your mind spinning as you try to process his sudden departure. Before you can respond, before you can plead for just one more moment in his arms, he lifts you back up with effortless grace. You find your footing, but the world feels different now, as if it's tilted on an axis that revolves solely around him.

His fingers linger on yours, pulling your hand to his lips in the softest of touches, sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. And then, with a final, almost wicked smile that promises so much more, he slips away, vanishing into the crowd. You stand there, breathless, your heart still dancing long after he's gone.

And just like that, you’re left in the haze of what felt like a dream, the memory of his touch searing itself into your skin.

You blink, disoriented, as the music changes and the other guests continue their revelry. For a moment, you simply stand there, your heart still racing, your hand and waist tingling where his touch had been. It is only then that you notice something missing.

Your bracelet.

You glance down at your wrist, realizing with shock and awe that the delicate, jeweled bracelet you had worn is gone. The realization hits you like a bolt of lightning—he had stolen it. And you hadn’t even noticed.

Panic flares in your chest, but it's quickly overshadowed by something else: exhilaration. You look around the ballroom, searching for any sign of the man in the purple mask, but he’s vanished as if he were nothing more than a dream.

Somewhere, amidst the laughter and clinking glasses, you hear a faint sound—a distant echo of his voice in your mind, telling you to remember this dance. And you know you will. Not just because of the stolen bracelet, but because he had stolen something far more valuable: a piece of your heart.

You exhale, a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The night suddenly feels alive with possibilities, as if his touch had left a mark on your very soul.

With a quiet resolve, you straighten your mask and step away from the dance floor. This isn't over. Not by a long shot. If he thinks he can simply waltz into your life, steal what he wants, and vanish without a trace, then he clearly underestimates you. A smile tugs at your lips as you begin to mingle back into the crowd, keeping your eyes peeled.

You’ll find him again. And when you do, it's game on.

[marvelmusing]

Our Souls

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Fem!Reader

Summary: His Dark Materials inspired AU. As a well-known scholar, you’re invited to a gala at Lord Morozova’s estate. What you don’t expect is for the man himself to show a particular interest in you and your dæmon.

Warnings [18+]: mentions of sexual content, Aleksander is very suggestive and alluring, dæmon touching is a metaphor for intimacy and I’m really running with that metaphor, I’m also just twisting up the lore here.

“Well now they’re just showing off,” Fabian, your dæmon, remarks quietly while you observe the host of this gala.

Glancing down at the fox that is your lifelong companion and physical embodiment of your soul, you almost laugh at how primly he’s sitting beside your feet. Then you follow his gaze and find the dæmon of your host.

Lord Aleksander Morozova. His dæmon, a dark wolf with marbled grey fur, sits on the small dais at the side of the room whilst her human counterpart mingles with the crowd.

Standing such a distance from his dæmon is an impressive feat and you’re certain it is some sort of subtle intimidation technique to remind tonight’s guests of his power.

The majority of the people at this gala are scholars and other academics. Their research is all funded by Lord Morozova - as is your own.

There aren’t many of your fellow academics that you would consider your friends. Throughout the night you manage to make some minimal small talk, though you mostly keep to yourself with Fabian as your only company. That was how the two of you liked it.

It’s as you’ve finished a plate full of desserts that the host of this evening approaches you. Once you notice him, you brush down your black dress as subtly as you can, ensuring that you look presentable.

When he inclines his head politely in greeting you mirror the action with a small smile.

“Lord Morozova.”

“Aleksander, please,” he corrects you with a rather kind smile. “You study dæmonology, yes?”

“I do, sir.”

“A fascinating field,” he remarks appraisingly. “I must admit I’ve read most of your papers, you have a rare talent of perception.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The study of dæmons, particularly their behaviour and the relationship between them and their human counterpart has always been an interest of yours. Knowing the meaning behind certain dæmons has always helped you figure out what kind of person you’re talking to.

“Might I ask for your personal analysis?” He gestures down to where his dæmon has appeared.

“A wolf,” you state, the hint of a question at the edge of your tone. He nods encouragingly.

“Yes.”

After pausing for a moment, you recount the general characteristics of someone with a wolf dæmon.

“Strong, intelligent, loyal.”

He surveys you for a long moment, and you begin to fear that you’ve disappointed him, then he remarks,

“If I wanted flattery I would have remained with Miss Nazyalensky.” The amusement in his words fades as he holds your gaze. “Tell me the truth.”

Unable to look away from his dark eyes, a shiver runs down your spine and a strange warmth prickles over your skin - like a flustered sense of embarrassment mixed with an unfamiliar pleasure. Almost breathlessly, you say,

“There’s a violence in your soul. A vicious need to protect and possess. To take down whoever stands in your way, no matter what.”

He hums, approval shining in his eyes as he steps closer.

“And what about your little fox?”

At that, you glance down at Fabian and a bolt of surprise hits your chest as you see Aleksander’s dæmon nuzzling herself against your dæmon. Dark fur brushing firmly against Fabian’s glimmering red.

Hardly able to breathe with the flood of sensations running through your body, you barely notice that Aleksander has taken your chin between his fingers.

To see your dæmons entwined, playing with one another, feels too intimate. Especially in public like this.

“Look at me,” he demands gently. When you do as he says, you almost melt at the casual dominance resting on his features. “Answer the question.”

Words spill from you without any prior thought.

“Foxes are clever. Adaptable and cunning. They enjoy the hunt.”

He smiles darkly.

“It appears your soul is just as vicious as mine, wouldn’t you say?”

He steps closer as Fabian rolls happily onto his back and Aleksander’s dæmon rubs her face enthusiastically over his fluffy underbelly.

Sensing where your gaze has fallen once again, Aleksander breathes out a small huff of laughter at the sight of your dæmons together.

Then he asks in a low voice,

“Have you ever touched a dæmon before?”

Amusement glimmers in his eyes as you inhale sharply in response to his question. Touching someone else’s dæmon is regarded as taboo. Even in an academic context, you’ve never even considered such a thing.

“Surely you of all people should know that it is only common courtesy that prevents us from doing so,” he muses quietly.

Then he lifts a dark brow.

“I’m assuming no one has ever touched your dæmon?”

You shake your head.

“Poor thing,” he coos, stroking your cheek softly. “With consent, it can be quite a pleasurable experience.”

“You want to touch my dæmon?”

The words are stammered and fumbled as they leave your lips but Aleksander smiles indulgently all the same.

“Yes. And I’d very much like you to touch mine.”

Just the thought of sinking your fingers into the thick dark fur, imagining how Aleksander’s eyes might flutter closed, his head tilting back slightly, has you thoroughly enticed.

“Perhaps we could go somewhere more private to continue this discussion,” he suggests.

Holding his gaze for a long moment, you find yourself slipping away from reality, utterly mesmerised by the man in front of you and the feeling of his soul curling around yours. Once again, your eyes drift over to your dæmons.

“What’s her name?” you whisper softly. When the hint of a frown touches at his brows you add, “Your dæmon.”

Something in his expression softens.

“Andromeda.”

The corner of your mouth lifts with a soft smile.

“Pretty name.”

“Thank you.” He tilts his head so that his eyes can bounce between you and your dæmon, then he adds in a low voice, “Fabian, isn’t it?”

A visible shudder rolls through your dæmon as you nod with a dazed look in your eyes.

Aleksander looks almost sympathetic as he observes the state of you, curling each of his hands around your forearms to steady you.

“If you want me to stop this-”

Shaking your head, you interrupt him with a quiet plea.

“No, please, don’t stop.”

“Come with me,” he insists, though he makes no move before you nod in consent. When you do, he breathes out a soft smile and begins to lead you through the throngs of people.

It all passes by in a blur. Aleksander’s arm curled protectively around your waist. Andromeda pressed closely against Fabian as they follow you.

As soon as you reach a deserted hallway, Aleksander is pushing you back against a smooth stone wall. For a moment he watches the heavy rise and fall of your chest, your lips parted and eyes wide as you stare up at him.

His fingers ghost over your lips in a silent question, to which you nod and allow your eyes to flutter closed in anticipation.

Then his mouth descends, meeting yours in a fierce kiss that steals everything from you. Mind filled nothing but thoughts of him, you grasp tightly onto the front of his kefta to support yourself and bring him closer. The way he takes the air from your lungs makes you dizzy.

He withdraws slowly, after several more lengthy kisses that pick apart your sanity piece by piece with every movement of his lips. When he does half his assault, he doesn’t go far, your noses brushing together delicately.

“My apologies,” he murmurs, his own breathing ragged as he rests his forehead against yours. “I had intended on making it to my quarters before doing that.”

The smile that spreads over your face is rather giddy as you laugh softly. His own smile is boyish, with a twinkle of amusement sparkling in his dark eyes.

He noses affectionately at your cheek, tilting his head so that he can press kisses along your jawline.

“They appear to be enjoying themselves,” he observes lightly.

Following his gaze, you see Fabian and Andromeda curled around one another on the floor. Fabian nips playfully at her ear and a low sound rumbles from Andromeda. Little pink tongues flicker over fur as they continue to pet each other.

It’s rare for dæmons to get along so well. Even the dæmons of married couples aren’t as forthright as yours are right now.

“We must be quite compatible,” you suggest.

His body presses firmly against yours and you can feel his hardness digging into your stomach. It makes sense that the sensations you’re experiencing are also being felt by him. After all, your dæmon is just as eager as his is to touch and play with one another.

Still, you’re surprised to see the usually reserved Lord Morozova look so unravelled - by you.

His hands are firm on your body as he all but drags you down the corridor, stopping occasionally to kiss you against a wall or a closed door. The idea that someone might see you both has a warmth prickling under your skin.

Then you reach his rooms.

He closes the door behind you, pressing you against the dark stained wood. Caging you between his arms, he stares at you for a long moment. Leaning in slowly, he brushes his lips lightly against yours.

His delicate touch, after the almost violent hunger displayed in the hallways, makes you moan quietly, filled to the brim with yearning and desire.

“Aleksander,” you whisper against his lips. “Please.”

He steps away and you whimper.

Shrugging his kefta from his shoulders, you watch as he hangs it over a chair and begins to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. He toes off his expensive dress shoes and unbuttons the top few shirt buttons to reveal a generous amount of his bare chest.

Then he reclined himself casually over his bed, propping himself up with an elbow resting against the mattress.

“Fabian, come here.”

There is a moment of hesitation from your dæmon. People don’t usually address them directly and your poor soul seems conflicted. But curiosity and the need for Aleksander seems to win him over.

Inhaling shakily, you watch as he trots across the room towards the bed, leaping up in a nimble motion, before he approaches Aleksander.

Aleksander’s eyes flicker up to where you’re frozen by the closed door.

“This distance doesn’t hurt you, does it?” he asks.

You shake your head. Some people are better than others at maintaining distance from their dæmon. Some can barely move a few feet without feeling a sting of pain, whilst other dæmons can wander into other rooms without any discomfort.

Aleksander nods in acknowledgement.

Then he brushes his hand delicately over Fabian’s fur. Nearly choking on your breath, you gasp and lean heavily against the door. Both Fabian and Aleksander watch you intently.

“You can join us,” Aleksander suggests with a soft smile.

In all honesty you’re not sure if you can walk steady. Then Andromeda licks your hand in affectionate encouragement. Staring wide-eyed down at Aleksander’s dæmon, you give her a tentative pat on the head.

Aleksander hums softly in pleasure and you smooth your fingers over the soft fur at the top of her head before you scratch gently behind her ear. He groans lowly, his eyes fluttering closed as he inhales deeply.

Stumbling a little, you move hurriedly over to Aleksander’s bed, tugging at your heels and discarding them carelessly. He smiles widely as you lie down beside him on your back.

Fabian presses himself against you immediately and you curl your arms around his body as he drapes himself over your chest. The familiar weight soothes you and instantly both of you relax.

“You have quite the bond,” Aleksander observes quietly.

Self-consciously, you bury your face down into the fur of your dæmon.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he assures you, threading his hand through Fabian’s fur. “Too many teenagers shun their dæmon in an attempt to seem more of an adult. Evidently, you didn’t do such a thing.”

You shake your head.

After your dæmon settles, it’s generally thought that you should limit talking to and touching them in public. Some people even think in private your dæmon should remain reserved. That’s something you’ve never believed in. Fabian is your soul - the two of you are the only ones you can rely on. Pushing him away would hurt too much.

There are lonely nights where nothing except his weight on your chest and the softness of his fur against your fingers can help quieten your mind. He gives you some of the best advice and you can’t imagine life with a dæmon you couldn’t talk to.

The distance Aleksander is able to put between himself and his dæmon is impressive, but his admiration of your bond with Fabian makes you wonder.

“You and Andromeda…” you begin slowly. “Are you separated?”

He seems impressed by your observation, though there is a touch of sadness in his eyes. Some people purposefully separate themselves from their dæmons, whilst sometimes it happens during a trauma.

“Not quite,” he says in a quiet voice. “Even before she settled, my mother insisted that I should be able to move a great distance without my dæmon.”

Andromeda noses against your side and you can’t stop yourself from giving the poor dæmon some affection. The idea of Aleksander’s mother encouraging them to be parted at such a young age makes your heart ache.

“It’s taken us several years to rebuild our bond,” he admits as he rests his hand against the dark fur of his dæmon.

The two of them seem so in tune with one another, it’s startling to think that their bond had to be recreated as an adult.

“Fabian thought it was a power display,” you remark. “Publicly putting that much distance between you both.”

“I did not,” your dæmon grumbles in a small murmur. At that, you give him a pointed look of disagreement.

Aleksander chuckles.

“He was right. If people see how much distance I can put between myself and Andromeda, they will wonder what else I am capable of.”

Fabian turns his head to look at Aleksander and in response he curls his fingers under your dæmon’s chin. He scrapes his blunt nails through the short hairs there before he moves his attention back to you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

Sighing in pleasure, you smile softly.

“Good.”

He hums in approval.

“You’re doing very good. A lot of people lose consciousness the first time their dæmon is touched.”

You frown.

“Really?”

He nods.

The silence is comfortable between you both as you continue to gently pet one another’s dæmon. Occasionally, your dæmons will give each other some attention, murmuring quietly to one another as they nuzzle and lick at their faces and fur.

Soon they’ve settled in the space between you and Aleksander. Fabian pressed against Aleksander’s ribs whilst Andromeda rests her side against your stomach. Both you and Aleksander have turned on your sides to face one another and watch your dæmons.

“Shouldn’t you be at your gala?” you ask him quietly. He shakes his head.

“I can’t think of a single person there that would deserve more of my attention than you do.”

His words set a fire within you and your gaze drifts down to his lips.

“Aleksander…”

“No.”

“You don’t know what I was going to say,” you protest weakly.

He chuckles.

“I do. And the answer is no.” Both you and Fabian huff lightly. “As much as I want to…” He traces his thumb over your lower lip. “You’re not thinking clearly and I won’t take advantage of that.”

“But-”

“No buts. If you need a moment to yourself I can draw you a bath.”

Blinking in confusion, you frown at him.

“A bath?”

He hums with a small smirk.

“Or I can wait in my study, for however long you need, if you would prefer my bed.”

The frown on your face deepens.

“Are you…?”

His smile widens into something that makes your stomach flip. He takes his hand away from where he’s been petting Fabian and traces his fingers gently over your cheek.

“I’m telling you to touch yourself, darling. You’ll feel better once you do.”

A burning blush floods through your body. The thought of touching yourself in Aleksander’s rooms makes you a little embarrassed, especially when you imagine accidentally making a mess of his sheets.

“Can I have a bath?” you ask shyly.

He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“Of course.”

-

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