#he was always going to be the brightest thing i could write him

[tonycries]

You'll Taste Me Too! - G.S.

Synopsis. How do you last three days on a work trip with the man you hate the most in the office? You don’t - you end up pinned underneath him, instead.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, office AU, enemies to lovers, jealousy (Gojo’s side), FAKE DATING, PAST Naoya x reader, creampíes, breéding, oraI (fem receiving), spítting, hot springs, cúmplay, DOWN BAD Satoru, tensíon, he’s a bit mean, revenge on your ex, ambiguous office work, exhíbitionísm, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 11.9k (this was supposed to be HALF that)

A/N. This type of annoying Gojo is always so fun to write, hope y’all have a great week <3

In all your three years as head of the marketing department, it wasn’t any of the tight deadlines or the nervous interns that drove you crazy. Hell, it wasn’t even the fact that the coffee maker in the break room only made tea. 

No, the one thing you couldn’t stand - the one thing that had you contemplating whether your transfer was really worth it - came in the form of the 6’3, cloudy-haired manchild who headed the sales department. 

The one person who’d made it his personal mission to toy with your sanity as soon as you’d stepped foot into the cleancut office of Jujutsu Enterprises. 

The bane of your existence. 

“Gojo Satoru.”

“Huh?” you gape stupidly, and if this was any other time you’d have smacked yourself for the unprofessionalism. 

Yaga nods gravely - almost sympathetic - as if he honestly couldn’t fault you for your reaction. “Yes, since this upcoming contract relies heavily on collaboration between the marketing and sales departments, Satoru here-” He nods at the tangle of long limbs that’d been draped dramatically over the seat right next to you. “-will be accompanying you on your trip to Kyoto…unfortunately.”

“What do you mean ‘accompanying’-”

“The fuck do you mean ‘unfortunately’-”

Your supervisor heaves out a tired sigh over your flurry of protests, rubbing his temples, “Look, I wouldn’t have picked out your ah- duo either. But as heads of department, you two are the best and brightest we have. And the board believes we can snag the infamous Gakuganji and his protegé easily as clients with the combination of you both.” 

“But-” you sputter out. “Can’t I go with Nanami like I usually do? Surely he’s a better option than a pompous, no-good nepo-”

“And I’d rather go alone.” Gojo cuts through smoothly, flashing a cocky wink your way. “Sorry, sweetheart, but even my charm won’t be enough to stop you from scaring that client off.”

Fuck unprofessionalism. If looks could kill, the leveled glare you shoot the man at your side is enough to bury him six feet and have you dancing on his grave already. 

You scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. Now fully facing Gojo for the first time since you’d first entered Yaga’s stuffy office, “Oh yeah, and aren’t you the one that got reprimanded for sleeping through the last company meeting we had?”

“D-did not.” his cheeks tinge with a delicate strawberry pink.

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.” you scoff, brows furrowing when you realize you’ve inched just a bit closer than appropriate. Your knees knocking against his, yet you don’t pull away out of stubborness. “What? Too embarrassed to admit your oh-so-great ‘charm’ was in the pillows?”

Almost mockingly, he’s copying your posture, tight white shirt straining over those biceps he didn’t hesitate to infuriatingly flex any time you came around. Minty breath wafting over your cheeks when he leans in to murmur lowly - just loud enough that Yaga won’t question, “No, but you would be happy to know that it is in the sheets.”

You blink, though, you can’t really be too surprised - of course, Gojo turns the conversation into something so filthy. He always does.

But before you can spit out a few venomous expletives you really would regret saying in front of Yaga, the man himself interrupts your argument with a pointed cough. “Since the chemistry is as lively as ever,” he’s deadpanning dryly. “I take it you both will be on your best behavior for these three days, and come back with a signed contract.”

Chemistry your ass. 

And though he’s addressing you both, you feel a stab of smug satisfaction when Yaga’s gaze lock with an amused Gojo’s. 

“Mhm, of course we’ll come back successful - how could you not with the star employee on this trip.” he motions airily in your direction. You stiffen, not expecting the compliment when- “And of course our cute resident hardass will be there, too.”

“You little fu-”

“Great!” Yaga claps his hands, a signal you knew meant to get the hell out of his office before he assigns more overtime. “It’s settled then, your tickets have been booked for tomorrow and I assume you both have been emailed the appropriate information?”

Nodding, you make your way to leave - and find that Gojo is waiting, glass door to the office held open for you. With a sharp click of your tongue, you bite down on whatever words come to your throat, barely out of the office before you hear a tired warning behind you, “And please don’t try to kill each other, our insurance doesn’t cover it.” 

When you’re both out in the hallway, Gojo flashes you a cocky smirk and an even cockier “You heard the man.” Pointing at his unfairly pretty features - not that you’d admit that in a million years. “After all, my face is insured but who’d want to hurt this handsome-”

“I could.” You interrupt, rolling your eyes. “Easily. And I would, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that this job pays well.” Something you say every time he prances around in your department during breaks, bragging about how you’re “all bark but no bite.”

Satoru only chuckles, raising his hands up in surrender when you continue, “Let’s just get through these three days, ace the contract, and never speak of this again. Okay?”

To your surprise, he’s grabbing one of your hands with his much larger ones - soft, you gulp, noting involuntarily. “I like what goes on in that pretty lil’ brain of yours, silly girl. Then, let’s charm the asses off that dumbass client and the board of elders~”

Everyone in the office knew of the strange little dynamic between you two - found it to be the utmost entertainment they got in the workday. But you were damned if you let it mess up this contract. 

If you two survived the entire three days, that is. 

---

You two were not surviving the entire three days - or the contract deal, for that matter. Hell, you couldn’t even survive this first day. 

“Gojo I told you.” you squint at the glossy paper. “It says platform eight. I know you can’t see without those ugly sunglasses of yours but-”

A big arm comes up suddenly behind your shoulders, snatching the train ticket clean out of your hands. Gojo lets it rest there as he exclaims, “Let me see. Now, y’know if this was me, I’d have chosen Gran class. Ichiji in finances really skimped out buying these second class seats, gonna hafta have a word with him when we get back…”

You narrow your eyes, frantically trying to push back that strange part of you that almost wanted to lean in closer to the hit of his piney, expensive cologne. “Have fun bullying him, you leech.”

To which he only responds with a syrupy giggle, “Oh, don’t worry.” And you let out a tiny gasp when he flicks your forehead softly. “You’ll be right there in first class with me. Even with that bratty attitude of yours, the ladies love those Gojo perks.”

“Mhm explains why you’ve been single for all three years I've had the misfortune of knowing you.” you hiss, eyes desperately darting about for directions to platform eight. You were going to get on this train - with or without him. Preferably without him.

So absorbed in your mission that if you didn’t know any better, you’d have said that Gojo’s words were a pitch higher than normal when he retorts with a strangled, “S-so what? Keepin’ an eye on me, sweetheart?”

And you knew the two of you definitely looked like a peculiar sight - Gojo’s dangling off of you like a ragdoll, surrounded by the few comically large suitcases that were mainly his. So much for a three-day work trip. Your face burns at the few weary salary workers that gave the two of you a very wide berth while going about their daily commutes. Fuck, you couldn’t even ask anyone for help at this point if you both looked at like some safety hazard. 

“Did you find it?” You huff when the silence lingers a bit too long - jumping when you raise your head up to find his burning stare already inches away from you. “God- I take it back, please keep those glasses on.”

“Hey!”

You’re digging your elbow into his side now, words stumbling over the other in a heated hurry, “And get- get off we’re gonna miss this-”

“It really is you, huh?”

All at once, you’re reminded that strangely it isn’t just the two of you causing ruckus in the middle of the Shinjuku station. Unfortunately. 

Any and all previous irritation at Gojo wipes away, flooding back as full, unbridled rage when you’re tearing your eyes away from the nuisance beside you to look up and-

Oh. 

Dammit, you knew you’d recognize that grating voice anywhere - and for the first time, it wasn’t Gojo’s.

“Naoya.”

“You.” 

Still didn’t even have the decency to address you properly, huh? You bite your lower lip, unaware what to say next. But luckily you didn’t have to - because Gojo is standing up straighter, features smoothing into a mask of cool appraisal when he sweeps his eyes down at the other man. 

Finally, Naoya seems to notice him. Flickering quickly between the arm still firmly around your shoulder and his darkened stare. “And who are you?”

“Could ask ya the same thing, two-tone.” he smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. And you swear you could feel the soft pads of his fingers tightening, digging in through your silky work shirt. “What business do you have with us?”

Us - you didn’t miss the emphasis. 

Evidently, Naoya didn’t either, because his tone turns into a low, dangerous simper as he continues. “What? Can’t a man come up just to catch up with a fling?”

Gojo’s jaw clenches as he watches you register the word. Fling. Sure, after about a year of dating, the two of you didn’t have the cleanest break up - with the constant fights and him wanting to uproot your life and dream career with his new job transfer. But still. 

“Of course, he can.” Gojo raises a snowy brow, buttons on his shirt straining when he puffs his chest out ever-so-slightly. You can’t help but notice that he has much more than a few inches on your ex. Gruffing out, “But not when she’s with her new boyfriend.”

Boyfriend?

You freeze the word running around over and over in your hazy mind - boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend-

“And trust me, she’s long forgotten your sorry ass.” You’re jolting back to reality only when you feel the slow, soothing glide of Gojo’s thumb at the exposed skin of your shoulder. He looks down at you with that familiar mirthful smile to say, “Isn’t that right, my girl?”

“Ah uh-” you’re mentally kicking yourself for not choosing to attend those acting lessons in college for extra credit. Coughing out what you hope to be a believable, “Yeah, this is G-Satoru, my- my boyfriend.”

But your coworker takes it all in concerning stride, pulling you flush against his toned chest, rumbling with the muse of “Mhm, and we’re very happy together.” You honestly feel like you’re about to fall weakly to your knees right then and there in the station when you feel the distinct pressure of two soft, plump lips grazing fleetingly at your forehead. Murmuring into your hairline, “Going on a couples’ trip to Kyoto this very moment, in fact.”

“I see.” Naoya levels out, and by the sharp glint in his eyes you already knew the gears on his head were turning. But before you could question him any further, the melodic voice of the railway announcer cuts through the tense air. “Ah- that’s me. And as pleasant as this reunion was, Kurama onsen doesn’t wait.” Before clapping a hand on the shoulder of the uncharacteristically silent Gojo stood by your side, “I wish you the best with your relationship, she’s only good the first few times after all.” His next words are cold and directed at you. “I’ll text ya, if you still don’t have me blocked, that is.” 

Saved by the train - and your fist gripping onto Gojo’s button-up, Naoya saunters to climb aboard the train currently entering the nearby platform. 

Leaving the both of you in that whirling, unfamiliar silence. Gojo’s arm is still burning around your shoulder, your muscles still aching from stopping him from powerfully lunging after the other man.

You break first. 

“Why…why did you do that.” you mutter over the bustling crowds - more to yourself than him, so you’re surprised when he responds just as hastily. 

“It’s just- Because he was a dick.” Gojo’s lips form a petulant pout. He decidedly avoids your probing eyes while he plows on, “And I should be the only one allowed to be a dick to you so don’t get it twisted, silly girl.”

You scoff, before your eyes widen at where Noaya was boarding through the doors of the sleek bullet train, “Wait- Gojo-”

“Satoru, think I deserve to be called ‘Satoru’ after that.” he grins irritatingly. “Consider it a payment since it’ll kill ya to say it every time.”

“Yes yes, S-Satoru-” you wave off, but you can’t deny how easily the name rolls off your tongue. And distinctly, you wondered why you called most of your coworkers by first name, but never him before. “He’s going to Kurama onsen.”

Gojo tilts his head, nose scrunching in confusion. “And?”

“We’re going to Kurama onsen.”

---

For all the disaster the first day had wrecked upon your sanity, you were thankful enough that neither of you were sat in the same area as Naoya. Barely even settling into your cushioned seat before putting on your headphones - and a sleeping mask for good measure so you couldn’t be riled up by your coworker again. 

Surprisingly he didn’t try either. Only bothering you to share his snacks occasionally, and hog the arm space on your chair, electricity running down your skin every time he brushed up against you. 

It was quiet, somehow neither of you minded. 

“Hah- are we- woah.” you gasp out after the short walk from the Kyoto station to your destination, an intricate wooden sign coming into view. Lugging your baggage with you - Gojo had insisted he carry it too as a show of strength, but you were sure it’s because he just wanted to give up halfway through and take a taxi instead. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah yeah I get that a lot.” Gojo comes up behind you without warning, a sultry trickle of sweat trailing down his forehead to the forbidden depths of where he’d unbuttoned his shirt a few times. “But usually it’s ‘gorgeous’ or ‘hot as hell’ or-”

“Oh, shut up.” you breathe, ripping your eyes away and towards the reception. “Get your ass moving now, we’ve gotta get checked in and form a game plan for the meeting.”

“That eager to get me in a bed? Always knew ya had it in you, sweetheart.” Oh, he lets out a shiver at your blazingly dirty look. “I mean- yes, ma’am.”

There aren’t too many visitors, and you choose to do the talking when you walk up to the sweet older lady at the reception, having decided that Gojo has done way too much of that for today. Humming, “Hi there, we’re here for two rooms reserved under the name ‘Yaga’?”

A few taps of her keyboard and she’s flashing you a megawatt smile, “Oh yes, you’re right on time!” Before getting up from her seat, “I’ll be the one escorting the young couple to their honeymoon suite. Just this way-”

And while Gojo breezes past you without a single complaint, you stand frozen in the middle of the cozy wooden room. Reaching out a hand to sputter, “W-wait, surely there must be some mistake? Honeymoon suite?”

Gojo is close enough that he whispers something in her ear, and you already know it doesn’t bode well for you at all. 

“Oh honey don’t worry.” she flutters a flustered hand at you. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with having your dear boyfriend here spend a bit extra on a comfy suite. Either way, it has been booked for a while now and unfortunately nothing can be changed…”

Forgetting yourself, you sneak a glance over at where she had left her desktop on. The tiny letters on screen confirming that yes, this reservation was under the name Yaga. And no, it wasn’t a mistake that the room you were given was a honeymoon suite. 

“Get your ass movin’ now.” Gojo’s voice snaps you out of your little reverie, sounding as if he was on the verge of bursting into laughter while he mocks your earlier words. He grins, “When life gives you lemons- or when Yaga gives you a honeymoon suite…”

---

“Dibs not on the couch.”

“Dibs not on the- wait, no.” Gojo huffs when you’re finally led to your sprawling room, and for all the scandal of it being a honeymoon suite, you have to admit that Yaga had great taste. “Shouldn’t you treat your boyfriend better?”

You’re splaying yourself out on the plush mattress of the bed - the only bed, because of course the universe doesn’t bestow you with a normal work trip. But god none of those cheap motels at the trips you’d gone on with Nanami or Shoko could ever compare to this. 

Mindfully, you push away the rose petals decorating the silken sheets. “Not my problem.” Jutting a thumb towards the small private hot spring allocated for your room outside, “Sleep in the onsen. Might wanna hurry though, it’s getting dark.”

“Please?” 

“I’m kicking you out of this room altogether.”

“Pretty please.”

You feel a rush of begrudging endearment at the way he’s batting his long lashes at you. Suddenly, you’re wondering whether this is why so many at the office can’t get enough of Gojo - why everyone flocks to him as soon as he waltzes into your department for no apparent reason. Struggling to stand firm. “Hasn’t Nanami told you before that adding ‘pretty’ doesn’t work?”

Grumbling, he sets down the bags, swiftly turning around to call out, “Fine, but m’takin’ a shower first, so you better keep any expensive shampoos away or m’stealing with no regrets.”

Mind dizzy with everything from today, it’s all you can do to shuffle through your bag for your laptop. Trembling fingers deciding that if you weren’t going to think too deeply about this, might as well get some work done. 

It’s what you do for a while - to partial success - until you’re pulled out of your spiels of presentations and trying to keep Gojo’s script on subject by the sound of the running water stopping, and the bathroom door clicking open. 

And lo and behold - there stood Gojo. Shirtless. 

The very same asshole that would throw paper clips at you during meetings, and always finished off the last muffin in the break room he knew you’d been eyeing all day. Here he stood - all sharp hip bones and smooth curves of muscle that were always poorly covered by his work clothes. 

Covering almost all of the bathroom doorway with his broad shoulders, speckled with glistening droplets of water that danced tauntingly down, down, down the sharp planes of his collarbones. Down his abs, and onto a trail of white, hidden by a fluffy white towel you have to force your eyes away from. 

“Put some- put some clothes on. You- you-” you’re scrambling urgently for something near you, which unfortunately happened to be a soft cotton you’d pulled out from your bag earlier. “-you lecher.”

Wordlessly, Gojo’s stunned surprise breaks into a brilliant grin when he unfolds the canon of cloth you’d thrown his way. Humming, “You call me a lecher, but you’re the one that wants to see me in your clothes, huh?”

And sure enough - it was. It was as if the universe was playing a practical joke on you because it was your favorite t-shirt, in fact, that ragged Bleach graphic held gently between Gojo’s long, pale fingers. 

You choke out, hastily getting off the bed. “Wait- I take it back.”

“I don’t know.” Gojo teases, holding the t-shirt well over your head. And all you can do is frantically reach and swerve for it, each attempt dodged with a shit-eating grin. “You get the bed, I get this ratty t-shirt, seems like a fair trade to me, no?”

“No.”

Gojo’s face is hovering so close above yours, though, he still keeps the t-shirt safely away from you. “Then I guess this is f’me, silly girl.”

You groan, appreciating the way his breath catches in his throat when you hook an arm around his neck. Reeling him in so close while you still swipe, “No, but what you are going to get is-”

What Gojo was going to get, he never finds out. Because in your frantic effort to steal back the t-shirt you so desperately didn’t want in the hands of the bastard from sales, you don’t pay attention to that slippery pool of water forming around you two from his half-assed attempts at drying off. 

And before you know it, you’re lurching to the floor - you wince, arms held out to break your fall and-

It never happens.

Blinking your eyes open, the first thing you’re met with is what seems like miles upon miles of milky, smooth skin. Breathing in such a heady scent, it’s probably what makes your mind so melty when the realization hits you - a little too late - that you’re being held against Gojo’s chest. 

His painfully bare chest. 

“Satoru?” you breathe. Pawing at where you could feel his racing heartbeat, thumping so painfully against one of his pecs. “Are- are you okay?”

That gets you a hot laugh into your neck, followed by a long, drawn-out shudder that sends shivers down your spine. Through laughs, he manages to grit out, “You’re asking me that?”

He sounds surprised - relieved almost. Such a tender note in his tone at the lack of usual taunting in your words. 

Gojo lets you go - barely, still keeping two strong arms locked around your waist like he was afraid even the slightest distance could have you in danger all over again. “You can take the t-shirt.” He breathes, picking up the damp fabric now fallen onto the floor and pressing it into your palms. “I’m more of a Naruto guy anyway. And you can take the bed, I was jok-”

“You can take it.” 

“What? No-”

“You can.” you cut him off, giving a sidelong glance at the cramped couch tucked into a corner of your suite. Again, you’re drinking in all of him, how tall he was. How warm. How he’d probably have half his body dangling off the side of the cushions, “We can- I mean we can share. We’re adults, right? Wouldn’t want you complaining about a sore back during the contract talks anyway.”

“Worrying about me, sweetheart?” 

“No.” you scowl, pushing him away. “Now excuse you, but I have to use the bathroom since someone was hogging it earlier.”

And if you’d waited just a moment longer - maybe peaked your head out instead of scurrying inside as fast as your legs carried you - you’d have noticed that Gojo was still standing there. A fist clenched at where his heart was, face as pink as those blooming sakura outside. 

---

You didn’t sleep that night. Not one bit. 

It might partially have to do with the fact that your bed was invaded by one very gangly asshole sprawling himself all over the pillow wall you’d constructed. Or maybe to do with the aching discomfort in your joints after moving to sleep on the hard couch after only a few minutes of him getting knocking out. 

“Good morning~” Gojo’s sing-song voice rings through your verging murderous thoughts on the second day. “The sun is shining, my skin is glowing and-” His bleary eyes lock on your hunched figure across the room, looking genuinely confused as to how you got here. “-you’re on the couch?” 

“Yeah. Considered taking ya out in your sleep but then I realized the contract would be in jeopardy.”

He whines, “I’ve- I’ve never had anyone complain before.”

“They probably ran away before that.” you nod solemnly over his sputtering complaints. Stretching, content with the pop of your bones. “Don’t look at me like that, it wasn’t that bad.”

You look away when Gojo mimics your actions, sleep shirt lifting to reveal a sliver of white tufts at the hem of his boxers. He pouts, sulky eyes still locked on you, “But still, should’ve kicked me out. I would’ve expected you to instead of taking that shitty couch. Seems like something that guy would do.”

Your heart pangs - just a bit - and you let out a sharp laugh, “Fine, I’ll kick you out tonight. Maybe.” It’s genuine, it really is, and in the growing silence all Gojo can manage to do is fall back into your little familiar dance of teasing.

“Going soft on me? Y’know it’s usually the ladies crawling into my bed not out of it-” 

“Oh fuck you. I take it back, I will kick you out of the room itself. Have fun sleeping in the onsen, you smug bastard.”

He squawks in protest when you throw a cushion at him. Several, actually, just for good measure. “Mercy, woman! I’m delicate!”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

When Gojo falls back into the comfort of the silky soft sheets, you heave out a sigh. Making your way to the sliding doors, still fully expecting a flustered employee telling you that this was all a mistake and of course, you two weren’t booked for the honeymoon suite. 

“Yes?” you answer, eyes widening when you spot that familiar man in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh god, it’s you.” Naoya spits, gaze heating up. “Of course, I should’ve known it’s you and that idiot boyfriend of yours makin’ so much noise next door.”

Great. Perfect. Wonderful. As if this trip couldn’t get any better. 

You pinch your nose, echoing hollowly, “What do you want?”

“Exactly that. Don’t make so much noise, neighbor. I don’t care what limp dick he’s giving you-” 

“Is that all?” you ask dryly, fully knowing there’s more he’s just aching to hurl at you. Before tucking yourself further behind the door, “If that’s all then I hafta go back to that ‘limp dick’.”

“What’s this about limp dick?” Goosebumps run along your arms when you feel something soft - hot - push up from behind you. From the corner of your eye, you spy a long milky hand flex as Gojo - shirtless - cages you in the doorway, “Because it sure can’t be mine then. Won’t you agree, my girl?”

Your face burns at the knowing wink Gojo throws your way, barely managing to hasten, “Uh- yeah.”

“She doesn’t sound very convinced.” Naoya narrows his eyes at your minute expressions, knowing you uncomfortably well after so long. “Guess she’s been missing a real man, huh?”

He scoffs, and you gulp heavily when soft lips kiss a gentle trail up the side of your neck, “Well who’s the one that’s been makin’ her scream all mornin’?” Gojo tilts his head innocently, blatantly showing off a ruddy splotch from where you’d attacked him with a cushion earlier, the zipper leaving a suspicious mark. “Like I said at the train station, she can make her own choices and she’s long forgotten your sorry ass so don’t even try it, you two-toned little bastard.”

Wrapping a possessive arm around your waist, you’re easily tugged back into the safety of your suite - and into Gojo’s sculpted front. You don’t push him away as your immediate thought was to, the feeling was right - too right.

“Satoru?” you hiss once the door is slammed shut.

“Hm?” he whispers hotly into the crook of your neck. 

Still pressed up so close that you can feel the surge and dip of his chest when he breathes you in deeply. “Why are you shirtless?”

“Uh- did I ever tell you I was a method actor, sweetheart?”

---

Unfortunately, despite being in one of the most picturesque hotspots that Kyoto had to offer, a work trip - especially one with such a high profile client and his protegé - meant that the two of you spent most of the day cooped up in your room, typing away on your laptops. 

“Ugh, this sucks.” Gojo groans for about the seventh time this hour. Running a hand tiredly through his hair, “Are you always such a hardass about contracts like this? Honestly, I can’t even feel my legs and it is not in the good way-”

“You pussy.” you grumble as you chug down another can of coffee, eyes flickering to the clock at the end of the room reading 11:00PM. “You don’t see me complaining.” 

He only scoffs, “Of course ya wouldn’t complain, this shit probably gets you off. But unfortunately for those of us that have lives-” 

You click your tongue, rubbing the oncoming headache that always seems to appear when you’re near Gojo. “Yeah, because talkin’ out of your ass and being a public nuisance is such a great life.”

“C’mon now, I see you picking at that blanket - my blanket, by the way - like it insulted your entire bloodline. You’re not slick, you wanna get outta here too.” At your pointed silence, he’s kicking his legs in the air, very much the toddler you knew him to be. “That’s- that’s it I can’t-”

Before you can react, Gojo is barrelling through the sliding doors of your suite. Long legs carrying up the short pathway that led to that private hot spring.

You’re following him before you realize it, “What- what are you- oh!”

You couldn’t cover your eyes fast enough. Being gifted with a brief, obscene eyeful of pale skin - leading all the way down his naked back, and even further when he cannonballs straight into the pool of water. 

Shit, maybe this was why the others at the office loved him so much. 

And it was hard not to understand it when Gojo’s drenched head poked out from under the hot water. White strands plastered to his forehead, a blush creeping down his skin at the head, looking at you with slightly-red, damp eyes that only seemed bluer through the steam.

“Yeah yeah I know I didn’t rinse before and I know I didn’t finish our project yet but-” he grins a grin that you don’t think you could ever forget. And you don’t know whether how hot you feel is from the onsen or him. Reaching out a soaked, strong arm towards you. “-won’t you help me get out?”

You startle, clearly not having expected this request. Narrowing your eyes suspiciously as you inch closer, “Get out?” He nods eagerly, fingers intertwining softly with yours. “Fine but-”

Whatever scream you might’ve let out is swallowed up by water- then air. 

Then more very deserved yelling, of course. “Satoru what the fuck-” Your nails dig into his deltoids, sure to leave some very questionable marks but you didn’t care at this moment. Wiping away the water in your face while he holds you up easily, “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah yeah, can’t kill me when you’re clinging to me like this, sweetheart.” Gojo rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to push you off. In fact, he only tightens the arm around your hips. “You looked like you needed that, the 8 hours of straight working like Yaga was havin’ you act like him.”

Somehow, you don’t feel strange about the fact that you’re being pushed up against a very painfully naked Gojo. Living out what is probably the wet dream for about half the office.

He notices, of course he does. 

“Trynna take a peek?” Gojo wiggles his brows. And when you’re trying to hide away behind your hands, he nuzzles them away, arms a bit too occupied holding you captive. Sighing dramatically, “No need to be shy, many people do. I don’t mind of course, ah the woes of being fucking hot.”

Gasping, “Fuck you.” Unbeknownst as to why, you’re laughing. Contemplating whether you should really give him a good kick down below when you choke out, “You’re an asshole, y’know?”

“I know.” he smiles. “N’ yet you still haven’t drowned me.”

“I really fuckin’ hate you.”

Why could you really fucking kiss him right now? 

“I know.”

The moment is broken only a few seconds later by some ungodly screeching you recognize to be none other than your beloved ex’s from next door. Yelling about “Shut the fuck up, if you’re gonna have onsen sex I’m calling the front lobby.”

“What? Can’t a man fuck his girl in peace?” Gojo shouts back. “Shut up just because your puny dick can’t get some, two-tone.”

That broke whatever magical spell was put on the two of you, obviously. And you were the first to run back to the suite - leaving Gojo and his nakedness alone. Very, very alone. 

He takes a bit longer to follow you, and you’re already freshened up and in bed by the time he makes his way to the bathroom - with clothes this time, fortunately for your sanity. 

Only a few minutes later, he’s nestling right next to you on the bed. You gasp in a sharp inhale at the heat of his proximity, mere millimeters away from you now. 

“Good work today, by the way.” Gojo gruffs out to your turned back, quiet words carrying over that ridiculous extra-vaulted wall of pillows, padded up with ones from the couch, too. Silver tongue stumbling over his words slightly, “For how much I complained I didn’t get to tell ya. You and I - mainly I - are gonna ace that contract tomorrow.”

There’s no taunting in his tone, not one bit. And you surprise the both of you when you murmur out shakily, “I’m worried.”

“Huh?” he chokes in disbelief. “Listen, I know I slept through that meeting one time, but I swear it was only one time. I’m a…somewhat changed man, I promise I won’t-”

“Not that.”

He pauses at your interruption. All is quiet - only the chirping of crickets outside, and the steamy buzz of nearby hot springs. 

And for the first time in the twenty-something years Gojo Satoru has wreaked havoc upon this Earth, he is rendered speechless. Wordlessly picking apart your wall of pillows - one by one, as if to give you more than enough time to stop him - to loop two strong arms around you. 

“Shut up.” he breathes. “You’ll do brilliant, silly girl.”

---

Gojo remembers the exact date he met you - probably the exact time, too. Honestly, even three whole years after that initial meeting, he can’t remember anything but that, if you asked him to recall a single meeting held that week then Gojo honestly wouldn’t have been able to tell you. 

It was a regular day spent driving poor Nanami over in the marketing department dangerously close to his fifth migraine of the day.

“You know I know I’m a valuable asset to this company Nanamin.” he chuckles, looking over where the other man was readying a sparkly Welcome! banner. “But this is all too much even for me~”

“It’s not for you.” Nanami spits, curtly. Barely sparing Gojo a glance before readying the welcome muffins, “It’s for the new head of department arriving soon today.”

And oh that piqued his interest like never before. That had all thoughts of the meeting he was currently missing flying out the window as he wondered what you would be like. Swiping away a few of those tempting muffins right out of Ichiji’s hands, he wonders. Would you be another Ichiji? Would you try and keep him under your thumb like Yaga? Hah, you could try but-

“Look I don’t know if the sales department doesn’t have food but, really?” 

What?

A shudder wracks through the oh-so-great Gojo’s body at the sound of your cool, firm tone turning to meet the source and-

Oh. Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul impaled and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Gojo thought his knees were weak at just a gorgeous glare from you - well, he was completely and utterly unprepared for when he leaned in closer to where you stood firmly. Shielding a pale, trembling Ichiji. And, honestly, with a death stare like that you couldn’t blame a guy for getting nervous! It’s all he could do to hum out a cocky, “What? Want some, sweetheart?”

“Sweetheart? What I want is you out of my department.” you furrow your brows. “Now.”

It’s all that’s said before you’re dragging him by his hand out - and, shit Gojo is so riveted by how soft your hands are that he almost forgets to be offended by the way the entire marketing department just watches and giggles at the scene playing out before them. Traitors.

You push him out of the door, “I better not see you coming back to toy with my new employees-” Heavy gaze flickering down to his name tag. “-Gojo.”

Ah, truly a woman of his dreams. 

And it honestly still felt like a dream even now - especially now - when you’re stood in front of him on the third day in Kyoto. Fingers messing meticulously with your hair as you check your reflection in the mirror, smoothing down your new red dress. “God, I hope it isn’t too much. How do I look?”

Perfect, he wants to say. 

But instead he nudges your shoulder in the booth of your seat, settling for an obnoxious, “Alright, not as good as me, though.” Gojo takes delight in the way you give his arm a punch, smile a lot easier than before now. 

“As if, you can’t even tie this properly. Here-” your fingers fiddle deftly with his slightly crooked tie. “Fixed it, you big baby.”

He grins, “If you wanted to get your hands on me then you should’ve- oh wait you already have, haven’t you? I remember that someone bypassed her own lil’ pillow wall last night.”

“Shut up.” you give him a tight warning. “They’re here.”

Honestly, there was only one thing worse than seeing old Gakuganji - that is, the sight of his sniveling protegé following him right after. Except- 

“Two-tone?” 

“Y-you!”

There’s a tense silence between the three of you in the exquisite onsen dining hall, one that almost makes you want to jump up and bolt back to your room because this can’t be real. Surely, this can’t be-

“I see the three of you are already acquainted?” Gakuganji’s strained, aged voice cuts through your whirlwind of thoughts. “Sit, sit, Naoya. That only makes things easier.”

As a fuming Naoya and an oblivious Gakuganji take their seats in front of the two of you, you feel the undeniable pressure of long, warm fingers squeezing your own. Reassuring. And it makes you flash the two men your best, most polished business smile, “So, about the contract.”

---

“I’m going to throw up.”

“Satoru.”

“No, I will throw up. And that will not be good for my reputation.”

“Satoru, if you throw up I’m beating your ass.”

He narrows his eyes at your heated whisper, matching you with a low, ��Damn keep it for the bedroom sweetheart. We still hafta wait till Gakuganji comes back with his decision.” 

“Ahem!”

It’s that annoyed, grating faux cough that drags you and Gojo out of your little world - back to reality in which no, unfortunately while your primary client has gone off to take an important business call regarding your contract, you were left to babysit his protegé.

“Yes, Naoya.” you give him a dry grin. It was nearing well into late night at this point, and most of the other visitors had cleared out except for the reserved table you were sitting in. “Do you want to be beat up, too?”

He only points an accusing finger at the two of you, “Don’t play games with me you hear. I’ve already got you figured out, coming here on a business trip and dating your coworker all the same-” Both you and Gojo raise a brow at this, what an idiot. “-you two will be fired for this.”

You catch Gojo’s eye and try not to burst out laughing, “As if. And trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I knew that you were Gakuganji’s new protegé.”

“Not because the guy you have to be here with is the same one you told me you hated back then?” he spits. “Honestly, you’d have been better off with me than this ‘pompous, no-good nepo baby asshole’ as you loved to put it.”

And you knew that Gojo was aware of your little rivalry - hell, he was an active participant, more than happy to rile you up every time. But that still didn’t stop you from tensing up when you spared a glance at the man beside you. 

Surprised to see that unapologetic smirk on his face, “Of course she did.” Looking down at you with what you swore was such unimaginably deep fondness in his eyes. “I probably imagine she told you all the funny ways she wanted to get back at me, too? Banning me from the marketing department? Holding an anti-Gojo campaign? Strangling?” Gojo takes Naoya’s shocked silence as enough of an answer, “Guess what, she did hate me, probably still can’t stand me. Very understandably so, because she’s hot as fuck when she’s mad.”

Despite his furrowed brow and the angry slash of his mouth, Naoya can’t stop himself from blurting out, “W-well how did you-”

“We fuck it out, of course.”

And perhaps for the one time on this entire trip, the universe smiles down at you. You find yourself sighing in relief at the sight of Gakuganji nearing your table, evidently done with his phone call. Thank fuck, you weren’t ready for a fight to break out and this dress was too expensive to ruin. 

“Seems you three are getting along well.” the old man drones out, and by the tone of his voice you genuinely can’t tell whether he was joking or not. Turning towards you and Gojo, “Well, after that very thorough presentation and careful consideration with the board at our Kyoto branch, we have all come to a unanimous decision.” You wait with bated breath for his next few words, “Where do we sign?”

Naoya stands in his seat, “But- but, sir.” He cringes, as furious as the last time you’d seen him a year ago. “You can’t sign off on this deal- not with these scumming, absolute little shits.”

“Naoya.” Gakuganji’s voice carries a warning. “You are dismissed.”

Ah, Gojo chuckles inwardly, exactly where he wanted him. 

It seemed like a blur after that - a blur of signed contracts and Gojo making faces at an ashen-faced Naoya behind Gakuganji’s back, of being told that the two of you simply “must visit” their offices in Kyoto one day - much to your exes absolute torture. To which Gojo had replied with a smug, “Of course, my girlfriend and I will. Won’t we, sweetheart?” Just loud enough that Naoya - who’d been banned to a nearby table - could fume over. 

And it’s how you found yourself pulling a giggly Gojo by his lapels back to your suite, hasty and desperate. Tripping over one another as you stumble in. 

“Easy there on the merchandise, sweetheart.” he jests, but it sounds so strained even to him. “Can’t break our streak and kill each other on the last day now, can we?”

Your laughter dies down, “Hey, Satoru?”

“Oh no…”

“Why did you call me your girlfriend even at the end back then?”

His brows scrunch up, pleading almost. He chokes out, “Just- you- I just-” Flicking a calculated finger right in the middle of your forehead, “You think too much, did you know that? Hate to see this pretty face like this, did you see his reaction?”

“Oh my god yes did you see his face, Satoru?” you’re pressing him against the wall to steady yourselves. Feeling so drunk off the evening and him. “Naoya looked like he was going to explode right then and there. We did so good.”

“What did I tell, ya? I always know everything, silly girl.” Two big arms wrap around yours in a congratulatory hug - or, at least, what you think is a congratulatory hug. And if his palms dip just a bit lower than your waist - if this was just a bit inappropriate - neither of you say anything. “Mhm. Don’t even know what you dated that fool in the first place, he’s not even in your league.” 

You scoff, “Gee thanks.”

“No no, not in that way, don’t ever think in that way, stupid.” A long index comes up to tilt your chin up to meet his greedy gaze. “You’re too gorgeous for him. Besides, he spoke like a man who couldn’t even find the clit.”

“Well- he did find it.” you relish in that deepening furrow of Gojo’s brow, the way the muscles in his jaw tick just right. “But wanna hear a secret?” Those soft baby hair at the nape of his neck raise when you’re whispering in his ear, barely even waiting for his dazed nod. “He still never made me cum.”

“...Never?”

“Never.”

There’s a beat of silence, one. Two. 

Shit. 

You’d long expected Gojo’s smart mouth to make some kind of insulting joke by now. And you’re halfway through wondering whether you’d overshared too much, untangling your arms from his vice-like embrace before-

“I would.” he rasps, breaths ragged. You’re tilting your head in confusion when he repeats cockily, “I would’ve made you cum, y’know. How could I not?”

There’s a snarky little part of you that makes you quick a brow, a sultry smirk playing on your lips. “Is that an offer?”

Gojo’s arms loop around you tight - almost too tight, you could almost hear your poor bones popping in protest. “It’s a promise.”

Oh that’s all you wanted to hear right about now. And he can fucking see the goosebumps that make their way down your exposed shoulders, he can practically hear that syrupy sweet tone that was really not good for his sanity. 

“Prove it, Satoru.”

His lips are crashing against yours like they’re magnetized - and it’s nothing like what you’d imagine kissing Gojo Satoru would’ve been like. Nothing suave, shallow. It’s sloppy, a mess of teeth and lips and his tongue tasting every inch of your candied lips like he couldn’t get enough. Like he didn’t even want to breathe for fear of losing out on your pretty mouth. 

“Fuck-” Gojo hisses, delicate strings of spit snapping as he pulls away ever-so-slightly to take in the delicious sight of you all glossy eyed with swollen lips. “Fuck you’re so beautiful. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.”

Kissing you over and over like he couldn’t get enough. Like he didn’t want to get enough, you’re moaning when Gojo slips his tongue past the seam of your lips. Addicted to the distinct taste of him and those cheap cherry lollipops you always caught him sucking on in the break room.

He’s drawing back in a way that has him drinking in your soft noises, big palms kneading your body over your dress. 

“Sa- Sato-” you’re gasping out when he flips you over to press you up against the wall. Assaulting your bruised lips with heated peck after peck. “What do you- mean-”

He groans, lips moving to kiss down the quivering column of your throat, “Shut up- Just shut up and kiss me. God, for how much I love that mouth of yours, you talk way too much, sweetheart.”

And that was really rich coming from him - but you don’t get to snark back at him. Because no sooner are the words out of your mouth that Gojo decides he’s had enough of playing nice - that is, if he was in the first place. 

Immediately fiddling towards that cold metal zipper in the back, gliding down the red fabric right along with your bra- shit, when did he even unclip it?

“You-” you sputter, the cool chill of the bedroom pebbles your sensitive nipples. The dawning feeling that this absolute thorn at your side might be much more than just talk has your thighs pressing together. Leveling him with a narrow look, “You are such a whore, aren’t you?”

He flashes you a sheepish grin, large palms groping your tits. “Would ya believe me if I told you it was from how many times I’d imagined this before?”

“Absolutely not.”

This earns you a sharp smack! gifted onto the fat of your ass, the five pads of Gojo’s fingers burning onto where your dress was hiking up. 

“Always need to talk back, don’t you?” he spits, shoving a knee between your two legs. Such an innocently handsome grin splashing across his face at the soft moan you let out, grinding purposefully against that damp mound of your needy cunt. “Why won’t you ever hah- believe me?” He has one hand shoving your dress down, down, down. The other dragging your sloppy hips down his muscled thigh, “You wanna hear a secret? Stick your tongue out f’me like a good girl now, sweetheart.” 

And oh you wanted to fight back. To outright refuse to comply so brattily, but it’s all you can do to nod blearily, feeling so fucking dirty with the way you’re letting your tongue loll out. Whining when Gojo smushes your cheeks together into an obscene pucker, into the perfect target for him to spit once. Twice. 

“Yeah, take it- that’s my girl. A secret for a secret, right?” Gojo smiles so darkly, swiping away that thick splatter of syrupy saliva dredged up on the corner of your mouth. Intentional, of course. His words are low but clear, unable to have you mistaking them for anything else when he says, “That time I slept through the whole meeting? Wasn’t sleepin’.”  He bites down on your earlobe, licking lightly. “S’just, I happened to see that cute new skirt you were wearing that day, it was so short- so fuckin’ tight. Couldn’t bear to show my face, not after I’d just spent the past few hours with my hand wrapped around my cock, wondering all the sweet things I could do to you in it.”

You’re gasping, “You’re so fucking filthy.”

“Yeah yeah.” he purrs, toying with the hem of your now dress, the red cloth now dangling somewhere at your thighs. “And don’t pretend you’re not just as dirty, hardass. Actin’ all prudish when ya dress like this underneath.”

As if to prove his point, the back of one of his fingers is gliding across where your lacy black panties were peeking out. Groaning at the sopping wet fabric, “Yeah, just as dirty as I thought.”

With his little hypothesis confirmed, it’s all that Gojo has to do to pick you up with one arm hooking under your already trembly thighs. You’re keening when he plants another solid smack on the fat of your ass, “Satoru!”

“Ohh, I love that. Say it again.” he murmurs, walking slowly to the edge of your shared bed. Savoring that feeling of your drooling cunt seeping through to paint a small dark patch on his suit. “I said, say it again.”

All it takes is another harsh slap against your ass, and a honeyed drag of Gojo’s name for him to splay you out like some slut on the soft silken sheets. You find yourself pulling him back by his broad shoulders when he takes the moment to admire just how gorgeous you looked. Even better than any daydream that mind of his could think of. 

“Sa-toru-” you mewl, and he only licks his lips as if in a daze. Not knowing where to look - at that needy, already-cockdrunk glaze over your eyes, at the way your flimsy dress wrapped around the plush of your thighs, at that glistening little patch on the plump mound of your cunt. So mouthwatering. “Satoru- Sa- Toru!”

That makes him snap out of his little hypnosis. “What did you call me?” he breathes. 

You bat your lashes deceivingly innocently up at him, “Sato-”

“No.” he’s cutting you off, Adam’s apple bobbing with the heavy gulp he takes. Thumbing at your puffy lips as if to drag the same words out of you - have them going straight to his achy cock once more. “That other one. Don’t play stupid with me, silly girl, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” 

Oh, you did. 

And you’re feeling the way your dripping pussy clenches with anticipation when you whine out that little nickname once more. “Toru, please.” Adding a little flair to have Gojo’s rosy lips fall into a soft oh! choking on a ragged low hiss when a hand of his subconsciously goes down to squeeze his bulging erection. 

“Oh yes, m’name sounds so fuckin’ cute on your lips.” he groans. The sheets below you two rustling with movement when he shuffles urgently downwards, “Sounds so fucking good it makes me wanna-” 

RIP!

“-know if she sounds it out just as pretty as you.”

You’re still reeling from the tatters of what remained of your favorite red dress being thrown unapologetically onto the tatami mats below. Huffing in irritation, “Satoru, if you’re ngh- dead if you don’t replace that-”

He’s shutting you up with another quiet smack onto your heated skin - this time at your shamefully spread inner thighs, the edges of his padded fingers just barely touching on your swollen folds. “Yeah yeah, I’ll buy ya the whole fuckin’ store if I have to.” Before hovering so close you could feel every hitch of his hot breath on your beading cunt, “And m’gonna make it so you don’t dare call me that again.”

You don’t have a response to that - and anything you might’ve taunted back is being knocked out of your mouth. The only thing leaving it being slurred little whimpers of Gojo’s name when he licks a long, languid stripe up your puffy slit. 

“Oh, look at that.” he chuckles. Pushing apart your thighs to get a nice greedy look at every drop of your sweet sweet juices glistening in the dim lighting. “Think she’s more mouthy than you, if tha’s even possible, heh.”

His long, eager tongue is slurping up every syrupy drop of your slick. Again. And again. And again and again and-

“Fuck- Toru.” your fingers find their way weaving into his soft strands when the very tip of his soft tongue finds its way just past your folds. Arching your spine off the plush bed needily like some slut, “Need you to- hngh- go deeper.”

The only response you’re getting is a sultry, smug grin being spread across your pussy lips. Feeling everything from the quirk of his cupid’s bow, to that dimple at the edge of Gojo’s smirk, “Knew you were needy, but this- this is fucking amazing.”

“Guess you’re all bark no bite, huh?” you pout, voice teetering into teasingly whiny. And oh how you love the way that wipes all the cockiness from Gojo’s face. “Even Naoya was able to actually eat me out the way I-”

It’s like it killed him to hear those goading words from you - and something snaps before he’s shoving that pretty face of his back nose-deep into your addictive pussy. 

Slotting his tongue up and down your hot slit. Up and down up and down up and-

“F-fuck, oh Toru-” you squeal when he wastes no time pushing past that snug little ring of resistance to reach deep into your gummy walls. Barely even giving you any warning - Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head at how sinfully tight you were squeezing him. “Shit how are you in so deep-”

And that petty, petty little part of him doesn’t answer, instead gliding up a determined thumb up to draw methodical circles on your throbbing clit. Fast. So so sloppy with the way he was letting your juices dribble past his knuckles, his wrist, forming a glossy sheen all the way down to the sheets. Matching the ruthless cadence of the way he was fucking your ravaged cunt the way he wished he could do with his rock-hard cock right now. 

“Ah!” you gasp, when one swipe of his tongue sends jolts of pure white-hot pleasure running up your spine. And that’s all Gojo has to hear before he’s attacking your hidden sweet spot over and over. “F-fuck s’too good. Fuckin’ hate how your big mouth is- ngh- so good at this-”

That causes a husky rasp of laughter to bubble its way out of Gojo’s throat, and he’s pinning your wildly bucking hips down with one arm. “Don’t you dare run away now. You’re so cute when you’re cockdrunk and truthful like this, silly girl.”

The vibrations have you moaning out a feverish Toru! Toru! Toru! louder than ever, wrenching out of you with every crash of his soft tongue against your sensitive spots. Every harsh swivel on your clit, just harder on the tip, softer at the curve. 

“Yeah- yeah yeah yeah, say my name like that.” he gasps, spitting out hissy profanities into your velvety walls. You were squeezing him so tight it was almost difficult to bully his tongue into your plushy walls. To keep up his mean staccato - but fuck, it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up, it didn’t matter if his tongue was getting tired. Because Gojo Satoru was one stubborn man. “Louder-”

“T-Toru!”

“No no,” you’re jolting at the feeling of something cool and glossy hitting your cunt in a harsh glob. Gojo barely wastes any time thumbing his spit in to mix with the mess made down below, letting your ears ring with such obscene squelches that have your cheeks burning. “Hear this, sweetheart?” As if there’s anything else you could hear, he’s pulling out those sultry sounds from you. “She’s louder than you, n’ that makes me so sad-” You fuck up further and further into Gojo’s tongue, eyes locked with his down in his favorite position between your legs. “-my girl can be ah- loud f’me, right? Say my name, say it so the whole fuckin’ onsen hears.”

“Toru—”

He’s taunting you in that same honeyed tone, “Louder.” Murmuring even deeper into your cunt, “C’mon, louder. Tell it to me.”

“Toru! Fuck- m-close-” It’s probably the last understandable sentence you’re managing to moan out before you finally cum. Wave after wave of such filthy pleasure hitting you, it’s all you can do to tighten your grip on his hair. Angling and using leverage to grind your hips down deeper, jolting with every flick of his tongue sending stars behind your eyelids. And Gojo, satisfied, shuts up to let you ride his face through your high. Using him, just dragging your sloppy pussy all over his tongue, his mouth. Over and over.

“Jus’ a bit more-” you hear him whisper out so sweetly over your ringing ears. Suddenly, your limp hands fall to the sides of that drenched pool you’ve made. And yet Gojo is still going, still meshing his bruised lips so messily against your own, making out with your cunt in a way that has him so depraved. “Just some more, pretty girl- you taste so addictive.”

Big fat tears of overstimulation prick at your eyes, and you’re sobbing out, “W-wait- fuck m’too sensitive for that.”

“You can handle it, you’re a big- fuck- a big girl, aren’t ya?” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head with every taste of your pussy. Surging forwards despite the hold you have on his hair, “Hold on- just want a bit more- you don’t know how long-”

The pout he’s giving you once you have to just drag him away like a man starved, fighting against the grip you have on him. 

But oh Gojo looks so pretty, cloudy bangs pulled back to reveal his delicately blushing face, lips painted in a glossy sheen of your slick. Slobbering down, down, down to glisten across the bottom half of his face. Looking so bruised with how greedy he was, almost the same color as those cherry lollipops he loved so much. And his eyes - fuck, his eyes - glassy and half-lidded, hazy with a sheen that told you he was already completely and utterly pussydrunk out of his sanity. 

“Toru…” you start, unable to tear your eyes away from the way he moans at the mere sound of your voice. “Your turn.”

It’s a long endeavor to get rid of Gojo’s pants - or, at least that’s what it feels like. 

Hooking a still-shaky leg over his toned waist, you’re slamming his muscular frame down onto the mattress. Buttons hitting the floor when you all but tear his overpriced button-up off - because, really, it’s not you two if one of you doesn’t get your revenge somehow.

“These- these damn belts.” you scoff, too-eager fingers fumbling with the metal latches of Gojo’s belt. “Why does it have to have so many-”

“You’re so cute when you’re eager this way, silly girl.” he’s cupping the side of your face. Free hand easily unbuckling his belt, and the heady metallic sounds are enough to have your cunt so needy. “Like this-”

You’re gasping when he finally takes his formal dress pants off - along with those uselessly precum-soaked boxers. Sticky and leaving a lewd trail of glossy down his milky, sculpted thighs. 

And oh if you thought Gojo was pretty before then he was a fucking masterpiece right now. All tall, lean muscle that rippled with every minute movement. Curves and dips of sculpted skin being accentuated so perfectly against the dim lightning in your suite. 

So infuriating at how that couldn’t give you a better look at his massive, swollen length. So long and girthy, hefty where his fat head was leaking silky precum all over his abs. Such a delicate pink matching his lips at the head, dancing down, down his thick, prominent veins to those tufts of soaked white at his sharp pelvis. Fuck, he was so big - could you actually take him?

Wrapping your soft palm around Gojo’s furiously throbbing fast, you’re letting him coat you hand in a sinful sheen. And you can’t help but wonder what he’d taste like, too-

“Hold on right there, my dirty girl.” your slowly dipping head is tilted firmly by Gojo. “As much as hngh- fuck you’re squeezing me so tight- as much as this has been fuck- all I’d dreamt of since that office ice cream party. I just know m’gonna cum as soon as you put that smart mouth on me, sweetheart.” He’s kissing gently at your lips, sucking on your lower lip. “And I just know you’re never gonna fuck– let me live that down.”

You smirk, “Not gonna live that ice cream party thing, either, Toru.”

“He flashes you such a devilish smile, steadying your hips to straddle him messily. Spreading your legs on either side of his weepy tip. “Oh, fuck off.”

You hiss when you’re feeling the hot kiss his head is planting on your sensitive pussy lips, “Fuck you.”

“No.” Gojo chuckles, powerful thighs curling up to plant his feet on the mattress. Waiting. Anticipating. “I’m fucking you-”

It’s barely even a warning - laughable, really - how that’s all he’s gifting you with before bullying the very tip of his fat cock into your snug cunt in a sloppy hit. 

He groans, eyes fighting to roll to the back of his head but caught so so greedily on the way you swollen pussy lips are being spread so obscenely to swallow every single inch after fucking inch. Disappearing down into your gooey walls, Gojo’s breath hitches at the first sign of resistance from your too-tight entrance. 

“C’mon now.” he moans gutturally. Hips fucking up in a jagged, slow grind, trying so desperately to plunge himself in deeper. “C’mon c’mon come- on-” 

“Toru!” you’re gasping when he slides his soaked length even deeper. Feeding in to the way your gummy walls want more more more more- “You’re so fuckin’ hngh- impatient.”

“Me?” he’s asking, voice a few octaves higher and dripping with the audacity to sound so genuinely in disbelief. “You’re- you’re saying that I’m impatient. Oh, sweetheart-” you blink back the lusty haze in your eyes to look down at Gojo fully, spying that upwards curl of his lips that you knew didn’t mean well for you right now. “-look down.”

Your eyes widening as you’re whirling downwards to spy the way he’s not even halfway in yet. But that’s not all, no, your poor pussy is just absolutely bulging around his girthy shaft, struggling, stretched to their limits - yet still quivering with the effort to try and milk something delicious out of him. 

And the moment that tiny, shaky gasp leaves your mouth, his sharp hip bones are just crashing into yours. Toned hips lifting off of the bed to drive his achy cock into your drooling cunt. One hand kneads and gropes the flesh of your ass to steady you down, down, down-

“Toru-” you’re moaning, like a mantra, once his angry tip is gliding across the spongy wall of your cervix. The stretch too much, Gojo’s cock so thick in his girth that you could feel each and every sweet spot of yours being dragged down his length. “F-fuck, Toru!”

He chuckles, gritting out through those long, determined grinds. Having himself now fully stuffed inside your cunt, heavy balls kissing at the curve of your ass, pubic hair scratching up against your needy clit.  “Can’t hah- keep quiet, can you? Fuckin’ love how needy she is- how needy you are.”

“Sh-shut up-” you mewl, narrowing your eyes. 

“Hah- I would.” Gojo grins out so smugly. Tilting you precariously on top of him like some ragdoll to easily give your g-spot a mean crash of his greedy head. “But you can’t.”

And of course, he’s proving his own point by bouncing you in a heady, fast tandem, abs burning with the ache to fuck you so rude. Gojo spits once on two of his long, slender fingers, letting this lewd coating smear down to his knuckles before dipping them down to spread your puffy folds even farther. 

“Fuuuck, jus’ look at you.” he rasps, the deep baritone of his voice having your gummy walls mold even harder onto the shape of his cock. Gojo throws his had back, twitching balls squeezing harder with every increasing smack against your ass. “Shit shit shit- how that bastard had you hngh- all to himself and didn’t make th-this pretty pussy come everyday I’ll never understand.” He’s pulling you down with a hand to the back of your neck, tightening, “So don’t we hah- rub it in his ugly face?”

Shit, the thought has you grinding and stuttering your hips down to meet Gojo’s unforgiving cadence, arching your body into him like you couldn’t get enough. 

“You just got- hngh- so impossibly harder at that.” you push his bucking shoulders down onto the mattress. Now fully riding him just as much as he was fucking you into the mattress so animalistically. “And you call me needy.”

He scoffs, “I’m not the only one.” The fingers still lingering on your cunt moving to toy with your pulsing sensitive nub, teasing and toying your clit between two fingers. “Can you just h-hear how loud this pussy of yours is? Bet he can hear too.”

And it was true, the wet smacks were only getting louder. Sloppier. Squelching with the push and pull of Gojo’s pounding cock in the same maddening staccato. 

But still - you weren’t going to be compliant that easily. Feeling the familiar tingles of your high edging closer, you wanted to break him just one more time. “Nah- I don’t think he can.”

“Oh you’re gonna regret that, silly girl.”

In all of two seconds - maybe even less than - Gojo’s using his immense strength to his advantage. Flipping the two of you over so your back is hitting the soaked sheets, droopy legs thrown over your shoulder to plow into you in such a mean mating press he has you folded into. 

The new change in angle makes it even easier for him to be kissing your g-spot. Bruising. Branding his name onto your sweet spots - your cervix - so you wouldn’t forget. So you can’t forget.

“F-fuck, Toru-” you’re letting out staggered gasps every time he rams his hefty cock into you. Fingers still relentless on your clit - playing around with it as much as he was playing with your sanity. “I’m so-”

“What was that?” he interrupts through sloppy, stuttering thrusts. Free hand cupping his ear so goadingly, ‘Can’t hear you, sweetheart.“

“Toru-” you’re squealing over his rapidly accelerating movements. Fighting to babble out coherently, “Toru m’close-”

“Louder.” he’s grinning meanly. Hips burning with slowly fatiguing effort because he’s so close, your slick walls are massaging him so tight. But where’s the fun if there’s no teasing? “Still can’t hear ya.”

Your voice is shot at this point, “Toru, m’gonna cum-”

“Louder or m’not gonna let you.”

“Toru! Fuck fuck fuck m’cumming.” It hits him before those loud moans are even leaving your mouth, because your velvety walls are clamping down so snug. Molding to the shape of him, your heels digging even deeper on his shoulder, nails raking red red patterns down the pale skin of his biceps. “M’cumming- ngh-”

And fuck each and every slam of his hips sends electricity up your spine, bullying you through your high. Dragging it out till you think you could go insane. 

“God- fuck you’re so-” It’s the only hoarse grunt leaving Gojo’s lips before he’s spilling thick rope after rope of seed into the awaiting channel of your pussy. “So perfect f’me.”

Two hands of his lace above your head, pushing you so impossibly deep down his thick hilt. He’s cumming and cumming so hard like he never has in his life, body out of control with the way he’s stuffing you with every drop of seed. 

He shivers at the overspill, gushing out of the corners of your ravaged cunt, painting a creamy ring around his tired base. Too much. And yet mindlessly thrusting even sloppier, catching your lips in a lazy, passionate kiss. “At least we didn’t fuckin’ kill each other, hm?”

You smile into it, slotting your hips languidly, “Didn’t do hgnh- the neighbors any favors, either.”

“It’s Naoya, who fucking cares? ‘Limp dick’ my ass.” And oh how Gojo loved that sweet sweet smile gracing your lips, the way your eyes light up all because of him. He can’t help but drawl out, “Y’know…since we were locked up in this room for all three days, and have most of the day tomorrow, how about you and I actually do some sightseeing here before we leave?” 

You nod eagerly, tightening your legs around his waist and shit, this might just be heaven. “We need a break after that contract, s’gonna be so fun.”

He’s connecting his sticky forehead with yours, “Of course it will be, I’ll be there.” Babbling deliriously, drunk off the way you’re leveling him with another one of your familiar glares, “And we can use Yaga’s care, too, he never checks-”

“Toru…” you warn when Gojo cuts himself off with a gasp. Quirking an irritated brow - as you usually did when you’re with him, “Don’t tell me you’ve been dipping into Yaga’s card, he’ll kill you if he finds out. That’s if I don’t kill you first.”

“...”

“...Toru…”

“Is this a bad time to tell you that I booked us this suite with it too?”

A/N. My red flag is making Naoya the shitty ex in every piece of writing I do (or is that a green flag hmmm?)

Plagiarism not authorized.

[italiangirlcoresblog]

main masterlist \\ lando masterlist

-----------------••✩🍪☕️🩹✩••----------------

𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠...

✩ : as the 2024 season comes to an end, so does the time you have left to finally confess your feelings to lando

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭. : lando norris

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1,3k

✍︎ : this is my way of celebrating lando's win in abu dhabi. honestly, i was kinda hoping it would end like this, and seeing him smile again after the shitshow the last few races were was the best conclusion i could've imagined for this season.

i'm also planning to write one for carlos, a sort of 'other side of the coin': same scenario, same feelings involved, but a totally different atmosphere (which means heavy angst because i don't think i'll ever get over him leaving ferrari). let me know if you're interested! 🩷🧡

-------------------------❦︎-------------------------

The McLaren garage had always been a lively place, but nothing could have prepared you — or any of your teammates — for the chaos that Lando's win brought that night.

Abu Dhabi, the last race on the 2024 season calendar, the last chance for the team to become great once again, and Lando had made it. He'd pulled off an absolute masterclass on track, securing both his fourth career win and the Constructors’ Championship title for McLaren, and you were there to witness it.

The moment he crossed the finish line in first, it seemed like the whole team gasped for air after holding their breath during the entire race. Then came the cheers, the hugs, the shouts, the tears of joy and relief… and him.

Being a part of the Papaya crew, you were as excited as everyone else for the long-awaited victory, of course, but the only thing you could seem to focus on were Lando’s watery eyes, sparkling under the bright lights of the Yas Marina Circuit.

It was written on his face — you could see it in his smile: he was proud of himself. For the first time in so long, that’s what his almost unbelieving gaze screamed, what you were dying to scream too.

You made it, Lando.

The celebration that followed was a blur of champagne, noisy music, and dances, yet the loudest party was the one going on inside your heart, which seemed to follow the rhythm of Lando’s laughter.

How long can a person hide their true feelings for someone they’ve known for… well, a while? In your case, what had initially started as a harmless, silly little crush almost seven months before was now the reason your world had lit up as soon as you’d seen Lando smile again.

You couldn’t keep it in anymore now, could you? After all, what better time to confess your embarrassingly strong feelings for him than as the perfect conclusion of such an eventful night?

Taking one last deep breath and a long sip of champagne from a nearby glass, you finally gained enough courage to walk up to where Lando was standing, surrounded by a crowd of orange t-shirts as he casually chatted with Oscar.

Once you reached him, you cleared your throat to get him to acknowledge you, which he almost immediately did, turning his head toward you with the biggest, brightest smile still plastered on his face.

“Hey,” you muttered, face flushed under his piercing stare. “Hey.” He didn’t hesitate, pulling you into an ecstatic side hug that only worsened your situation, totally unaware of the effect his presence — him in general, to be honest — had on you.

“I, uh… congratulations, Lando,” you somehow managed to blurt out, your cheeks completely on fire by the time he let go of you.

“Thanks.” His smile seemed to soften, as well as the look in his eyes, which lingered on your face with something that almost resembled tenderness. That’s all you needed to keep going.

“You deserve it. I mean it.” You stopped him before he could say anything, your voice unexpectedly firm since you knew he was about to shrug your compliment off. “You worked so hard for it, and I’m not just talking about tonight. The win, the championship — you earned it all, Lando. Everyone here is proud of you, and… I’m really proud of you, too.”

You could feel your face burning as the last words left your mouth, and when you dared to look directly at him, you could’ve sworn you saw a glimpse of redness crawling up his neck and softly tinting his cheeks… but it must’ve been the garage lights, right?

“Well, thanks… again,” he chuckled, his right hand shooting up to scratch the back of his neck while his eyes finally left yours, falling to his feet instead.

As you opened your mouth once again, words fighting to go past the lump in your throat, someone from the team suddenly called out Lando’s name, his attention shifting to the engineer as he briefly waved at him.

This was it. If you let him go, you knew you wouldn’t find another moment like that for a while. No more backing down, no more second-guessing yourself — it had to be now.

“Wait, I… I need to tell you something else.” The almost panicked tone you used made his head snap back toward you, his eyes shifting from the hand you’d grabbed his arm with to yours, a spark of something you couldn’t really put your finger on flashing across them. “Yeah?” Was that… hope, in his voice?

“I just– well, I’ve been thinking about this… a lot. It’s not exactly easy for me to say, but–” You let out a nervous laugh, running a hand through your hair. “God, I’m already making a mess of this. What I’m trying to say is…”

Your gaze wandered over all the faces that surrounded you, suddenly very aware of their presence, until it landed on Oscar’s. A smile tugging at the corner of his lips, he just gave you an encouraging nod, to which the words started spilling out in a flood.

“I like you, Lando. I have for a while now. Ok, maybe more than a while, but that’s not the point. And not in a friendly kind of way, more like in a ‘I’ve-liked-you-for-over-seven-months-now-but-I-didn’t-know-how-to-tell-you’ kind of way, which sounds desperate when I say it out loud but–”

You stopped, realizing how fast you were talking, your words tumbling over each other. Lando’s expression hadn’t changed, and your stomach dropped.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you muttered, both your hands blocking out the defeated sigh you let out shortly after. “Listen, forget I said anything. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut–”

And that’s exactly what you did.

Before you could even process what was going on, Lando’s fingers were tightly wrapped around your wrists, giving them a firm yet gentle tug that drew you right into him, your lips meeting halfway.

The kiss took you completely by surprise, eyes widening in disbelief as your words got muffled by Lando’s mouth, which had crashed almost aggressively against yours, stealing your breath right away. His lips tasted yours, hungry, the lingering flavor of champagne making your head spin together with the room around you; someone whistled, someone even shouted an amused ‘Get a room!’, but you felt like you were under a glass bell, everything else shut out from the little universe only you and Lando had access to.

Lost in the burning sensation of your mouths moving together, he placed your hands on his chest and brought up his own to cup your jaw, his thumbs gently grazing your cheeks as you tangled your fingers through his brown curls to deepen the kiss even more.

When you broke away, he didn’t entirely pull back — not yet — his forehead rested lightly against yours, a lazy grin now plastered on his face. “You talk too much, you know that?” he teased, voice barely above a whisper, only for you to hear.

“I– you– why…?” A series of incoherent words fell from your mouth, the realization of what had just happened hitting you like a ton of bricks.

“Because I like you too, you muppet,” he mumbled, the blush on his cheeks now blatant. “And I would’ve told you tonight if you just didn’t beat me to it. But I guess I can’t win them all, now, can I?”

“Wait, you actually like me?” It was all too good to be true, like a dream from which you’d eventually have to wake up.

“Do I need to kiss you again to prove it?” His tone was playful, but the look in his eyes spoke louder than any words ever could. “Maybe you do,” you breathed out, your smile matching his own as he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours, the rest of the world immediately fading away and leaving no room for doubt.

Because now, now you knew.

-----------------••✩🍪☕️🩹✩••----------------

©italiangirlcoresblog // do not copy, rewrite, or translate any of my work on any platforms

[tbaluver]

hi!! i was wondering if i could ask for some angst with all the guys ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

smthing like mc (gender neutral if possible!) going to a mission and not coming back and the guys' reactions to that ?

ty in advance (≧▽≦)

When You Don't Come Back From Your Mission- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: angst no comfort a/n: hi anonnie! i hope this was okay and that you enjoy ! i'll post a part where mc/ reader comes back from the mission after a long time and maybe that would be a comfort part of this angst reaction (๑>؂•̀๑) i know a couple people from my inbox have requested me to write something about that and i'll get it out soon it's just sitting on my drafts but it'll be out so so soon ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) sorry lovelies i just get distracted a lot any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

You and Xavier weren’t assigned to this mission, which was a bummer given how often you two have been always paired for similar tasks. Your extensive training together, countless sparring sessions, and numerous times you two have spent together have created a deep bond and sense of confidence in each other’s skills. Although it was unusual to not be paired in a mission, you both trusted in your abilities and didn’t think much of it.

As he returned from picking up snacks at the convenience store, he walked into the Hunter’s Association office and was struck by the sense of panic that had been overtaken in the room. The frantic energy was evident as he overheard that your team has not given any responses or updates regarding your location. The news hit him like a jolt, nearly causing him to drop the snacks he was holding.

His gentle demeanor shifted to one of deep concern. The usual calmness in his eyes was replaced by a serious and troubled look. His universe felt like it had dimmed, knowing that the brightest star was missing from his grasp.

He demanded immediate access to the latest mission’s location, coordinates, or any relevant information. He insisted that he would take charge of the situation himself and offer no objects as they recognized the intensity in his voice.

He internally blamed himself for not coming sooner. Every path he takes as he travels to find you, only fuels the sense of urgency and concern to find your and ensure your safety.

Zayne:

Zayne has always trusted in your abilities and knew what you were capable of. Each mission, he knew you could handle it with ease and he had faith that you would come back. As always, before he left he would always remind you, “Stay safe and don’t do anything reckless. I don’t want to see you back in my office with another injury.”

Normally, your absences were brief and he would patiently wait for your return, eager to hear the absurd stories of your missions, but this time something felt different. Something he couldn’t quite place. The days dragged on longer than usual and the silence from you was unsettling.

He tried to distract himself with paperwork and tending to patience but his anxiety gnawed at him, thinking of what had happened to you. A mission shouldn’t take this long, especially for someone as skilled as you. 

Every day he would send a text and sometimes they were random. Sometimes they were filled with encouragement or updates about small things in his life, in hopes to get a response from you. However, each message he sent was always left unanswered which fueled his growing concern. He began to doubt if you were ignoring him or if something far worse had happened.

Unable to contain his worry any longer, he drove to your house and knocked on your door unannounced. The minutes stretched into an agonizing wait and when there was no response. His heart that had been warmed by your presence has now gripped by icy fear.

Each day he has desperately waited for any responses and any updates from the Hunter’s Association about your well-being. The longer he had to wait, the more he was determined to join the battlefield himself in desperation to find you again.

Rafayel:

Ever since you departed on your mission, he would be counting the seconds, minutes, and days until your return. It’s something he would usually do when you leave for a mission. Time passed by slowly in your absence and he tried to distract himself by visiting the beach or working on new sketches, hoping to find a spark of inspiration for his next piece. Yet, inspiration was difficult when his greatest muse was missing for a few days

A few days. What began to be a few days stretched into a week and more. His concern grew as your silence and absence in his life persisted. Normally, you would have responded to any of his texts or calls even amid the chaos of your missions. But now, this mission was different. His phone never lit up from any notifications from you and your absence gnawed at him.

His distress was evident. His meticulously groomed appearance had unraveled. His hair was disheveled and his outfits mismatched. The studio that was usually a bright haven of creativity had become a reflection of his inner turmoil. The room was shrouded in shadows, and canvases were marred with erratic splashes of paint and frustrated strokes.

'Missing you comes in waves and tonight I am drowning.'

He was spiraling and grew relentless, digging up any lead and rumor of information about your mission. Whatever happened to you, someone was going to pay. He doesn’t care if the bounty on his head catches up to him. He’ll try to find you no matter what, even if it takes him another 800 years.

Sylus:

He knew you were a skilled Hunter so initially he dismissed your absence as just another routine mission. He assumed he would see you again soon in a couple of days and began making plans for the two of you to relax and enjoy when you returned.

However as days turned into a week without any responses to his text or voice messages, his calm demeanor began to crumble. Your status on DeepSpace hadn’t been updated since the last time you had talked and it never showed that you read his messages. His unease deepened when Mephisto reported that he had been unable to locate you.

The growing anxiety and frustrations were impossible for him to contain. He had tried to rush to the location of your mission only to find no trace of you there. His office became a battleground of his conflicted emotions. He cursed himself for being so careless about you.

Luke and Kieran could only witness the storm of anger and worry from a distance. They dared not to approach him during the moments of his intense agitation. They understand as they miss you as well but they could only wish they could do so much to help find you.

He figures he has to take matters into his own hands no matter the cost. Your little Hunter’s Association could only do so much but many do not understand how much power, influence, and resources Sylus has at his disposal. He doesn’t care if he has to get his hands dirty, he will have to do anything to find his little dove back in his arms again.

[pastryfication]

Oscar, who has a girlfriend that works in a nursing home. This has my heart.

Can you please write that? 🥺

heart of gold | oscar piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x nurse!reader note: thank you so much for this request xx

you push open the heavy glass doors of the nursing home, the familiar scent of antiseptic and calming lavender greeting you as you step inside. it's early morning, and the soft light of dawn is filtering through the windows, casting a gentle glow on the polished floors, giving the place a cozy, inviting feel despite its institutional purpose. you take a deep breath, readying yourself for another day of nurturing and caring for the elderly residents who have become like a family to you.

as you walk down the corridor, you can hear the murmur of voices and the soft hum of a television from one of the common rooms. mrs. thompson waves at you from her wheelchair, her face lighting up with a smile. you wave back, making a mental note to check on her later. your first task is to help mr. baker with his morning routine. he’s always grumpy before his first cup of tea, but you've learned how to coax a smile out of him.

checking in on the office timetable and picking up the first round of medication for your patients, everything about the morning seems normal. everything except for the fact that you have a shadow today.

your boyfriend, a normally very busy man, had asked to come with you to work. he’s on summer break, and with nothing else to keep him occupied, seeing you walk around in your natural habitat had become his biggest wish. and who were you to deny him?

your colleagues had found it an amazing idea, insisting that the residents of the small nursing home you spent so many of your hours at would only enjoy having someone new around to entertain them.

“good morning, mr. baker.” you put on your brightest smile and most cheerful voice as you push open the door to the elderly man’s room. “i bring to you breakfast, morning medicine, today’s schedule and a special guest.”

“i haven’t heard anything about a special guest.” he replies gruffly, eyes narrowing at your cheerful form.

“well, consider it a surprise then.” as you move towards the elderly man, readying his arm to get a shot whilst guiding him to take his morning pill, oscar steps out behind you. “mr. baker, this is my boyfriend, oscar. remember i told you about him? he’s a formula one driver.”

“a formula one driver? i see . . .” he eyes oscar for a moment. “and he treats you well?”

you let out a laugh while oscar nearly chokes on air, neither of you expecting that question.

“yeah, he treats me well. we’re very happy, i’d say.” you smile as oscar nods along to your words.

“well, tell me about this driver thing then. what is your job exactly?”

as oscar starts retelling stories from his work, mr. baker seems to perk up. your boyfriend hesitates at times, not sure wether he should continue, but the older man urges him on.

you smile from the side, enjoying the sight of oscar fitting so naturally into your world, and you actually feel bad about dragging him away when your time is up and you have to move along with the schedule.

the day goes like that. you go around doing your job, giving the care you usually do, and oscar follows you around, interacting with the elders and telling them about his life and job.

when you’re finished for the day, after you’ve checked out, oscar drives you home, a comforting silence enveloping the car as oscar places his hand on your thigh and starts rubbing small circles. a gesture that warms your heart and makes you melt even further down your comfortable seat in his extravagant car.

“you know,” oscar starts, breaking the silence. “i really admire you.”

you look at him in surprise, not sure what he meant. “what? why?”

“the way you do your job.” he explains. “you do it with so much tenderness. even when you don’t feel up to it. i could see how tired you were after lunch, but you still greeted everyone with such kindness.”

as he speaks, he tightens his grip on your thigh, giving it a loving squeeze. “i’m so lucky to call you my girlfriend.”

you feel your heart swell at his words, almost tearing up when you hear the tender earnestness in his voice. “i love you,” you place your hand on top of his on your leg. “and i’m also very lucky to call you my boyfriend.”

“i love you more, so much more.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

You may request A batboys reacting to the death of the reader

First time writing for Tim, so he’s probs ooc in this one.

Dick feels as though he’s failed you.

He tries to act like he was fine but he was far from it and everyone knew it as they stepped on eggshells with him during this time.

Dick would often find himself sat on the very rooftops where he’d take you on countless dates or just to star gaze and talk as though you were still with him.

It was his own way of comforting himself with your loss but that was never enough to stop the tears that fell from his eyes when he spotted a bright star he’s never seen before until now, and laughs humourlessly.

‘I see you’ve finally made your way amongst the stars huh sweetheart?’ He’d say as your star would twinkle in response, making him chuckle. ‘You’re so beautiful, the brightest of your kind.’ He adds sombrely as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand as he felt his heart sing out for you, only to receive nothing in return.

Reality was often disappointing but with you it was a fairy tale.

Waking up to you was a dream within itself and getting to do mundane things with you before heading off to work was something that could only exist in a daydream.

He knew Hayley misses you as badly as he does with how he’d hear the poor dog whine and whimper at the door, as if waiting for you to walk through it and tackle her with kisses and love like you always did, only to get nothing for hours.

‘I know, I miss them too.’ He says against Hayley’s fur as she whimpers and whines at the door. ‘I miss them so fucking much it hurts.’ He adds as he allows himself to mourn for you alongside his dog long into the night.

Jason blames himself for not being fast enough or strong enough to keep you protected and safe.

The apartment you once shared with him that only recently had started to feel like home to him now felt cold and haunted with the ghost of you, so much so to the point he avoids it at all cost.

Nothing felt right without you, everything felt wrong and unjustified that he became more ruthless then before on patrols just to let off some steam and would come back from them more beaten and bruised then normal.

He didn’t care, he couldn’t feel anything anymore with how numb he became after loosing you.

Dick and Roy would stop by to see how he was doing but each visit was the same with Jason refusing his older brother and best friend entry as he held one of your plushies tightly against his chest. He knows they mean well but he just couldn’t find it within himself to hear the same thing he’s heard from everyone else; It just felt disingenuous after a while and didn’t feel as though people truly understood the impact that you had on him throughout your time together.

Jason would become more destructive with himself and going headfirst into danger without a second thought and damns his teammates for dragging him out by the scruff of his neck as he fights and kicks out of their hold. He doesn’t want to be saved! He just wanted to be with you again, why couldn’t they see that?!

After loosing you Jason becomes more prone to angry outbursts and often lets them out on the wrong person but he couldn’t care less at this point, his favourite person was gone and he was left back where he was before you.

Lost and deeply afraid.

Tim would retreat from everyone and everything by cooping himself into his room, rarely to come out.

He’d rather rot in his bed and on his phone, looking through all the photos you’ve taken together and seeing just how happy you both were, all the while a pit in his stomach grew at the thought of all the plans you’ve made but would never get to do.

He hated how easily he gave you his heart and hated it even more at just how easy it was to loose you that he wishes that he could stop himself from meeting you for the first time, just so he could selfishly save himself from the best moments of his life and the inevitable heartbreak he’d soon suffer.

Tim would do anything in his power to get you back but knew that it just wasn’t possible.

He knew Jason was given life by the Lazarus pit but he wasn’t willing to subject you to that even if he was held at gunpoint. He’d rather you rest in peace than force you to live with the knowledge that you should technically be dead.

Tim would remain in his room, wondering about the what ifs and the what could’ve beens if you hadn’t died. Would someone have taken your place? Was your death an unchangeable fixed point in time that was meant to happen?

He would only be reunited with you in his dreams where he has saved you and you had gotten to live out the rest of your life happily, rather then left for dead in an alleyway not too far from the place where you were originally going to meet up for date night.

Damian dedicated his life to getting revenge.

He had lost the light in his life, so why should he think his adversaries should live when you weren’t even given the option?

There will be more bodies pilling up on the streets of Gotham at a faster rate than normal whenever Damian is on patrol, much to Bruce’s dismay.

His anger and grief was all consuming and that left little to no room for logic to make him stop and see what he was doing was no better than the thing that took you away.

Life was black and white for a long time for Damian and you were the colour.

You were the air he breathed and without you he was gasping.

He knew about the Lazarus pit in his grandfather’s possession and its mythical properties and how it gave Jason a second chance at life. However he was at a cross roads on using it for his own selfish gain, on one hand he could have you back and everything would be fine again, but on the other hand you wouldn’t be the version of you he fell in love with…

Damian didn’t know what to do. The grief, the anger, the sadness…it was all too much for him. He felt as though he apart of him was missing and he would never get it back, it just wasn’t possible.

Bruce feels as though nothing has changed since his parents death.

He may be older, faster, stronger and wiser but that didn’t mean nothing in the face of death, and your death only proved that to be true as he held you in his arms, holding you close to his chest as he quietly sobs into your cold neck.

Much like Tim, Bruce doesn’t take care of himself anymore and it was up to Alfred to make sure that he doesn’t keep over and die unexpectedly.

‘They wouldn’t want this for you sir.’ Alfred would say as Bruce slams his hands down on the surface of his desk. ‘And what would you know that they want for me Alfred, y/n’s dead and it’s my fault.’ He would bark and bare his teeth at the only father figure he had in his life, a father figure whom has seen this expression bore on the young master’s face more times then he could count, but it still hurt him to see Bruce in pain and heartbreak.

‘They would want you to take care of yourself, sleep proper hours, eat full meals, shower, reach out to anyone,’ Alfred began to walk towards Bruce and place a hand on his shoulder, where he could practically feel the unbridled anger and pain radiation through him that he kept under control. ‘They wouldn’t want you to wallow in pain alone, Gotham needs you.’

‘And I needed them.’ Bruce replied sharply, aggressively wiping his eyes with his hand as he looks over at a framed picture of you that he always kept nearby. ‘All I wanted was them.’ He adds softly this time as he looks at Alfred, lost and confused at what to do now that his anchor was gone. ‘I miss them so much Alfred.’

Alfred brings Bruce into his arms, much like he did when he lost his parents, when he lost Jason and now you, allowing him to burrow his face into the Butler’s shoulder and softly sob into the fabric. Alfred felt his heart break even more as he rubbed Bruce’s back in an attempt of bringing him comfort. ‘I know master Bruce, I know, but you’d be doing their memory a great disservice by destroying yourself.’ The older man started as he looked over at the framed picture of you and smiled soberly, you were a beacon to Bruce and Alfred wasn’t afraid to say that he viewed you as his in law with how happy you made Bruce and that was all Alfred could ever want for him.

Now that you were gone, Alfred couldn’t help but feel that the manor got just that little bit lonelier without you.

[wordbunch]

healer's healer [Elrond x reader]

a/n: WELL! look at that. the people want ROP Elrond and of course I give them Elrond ��� it's short but bear with me - I haven't done creative writing in ages and I feel very rusty, but he deserves good things. 🥹

I didn't watch the S2 trailer bc I never do that, but I did see screenshots of baby El after some battle 😭😭😭 so this vaguely goes off of that. Enjoy! 💞

Your breath hitched in your throat as you hurried down the spiraling staircase from your chambers, having noticed a familiar (and beloved) figure on the horizon. Though he was approaching uncharacteristically slowly, without mistake it was your spouse in the distance, returning from his latest task along with his companions. As fast as your legs carried you, you ran out to meet them - well, Elrond - and your heart clenched at his disheveled and evidently injured state. Immediately you scurried to the horse he was on, all drawn into himself and with scars etched into his handsome face.

“Meleth nín,” you breathed out, helping him down as gently as you could muster. Elrond clung onto you as soon as you came in contact, as he held one arm protectively over his middle.

“Beloved,” he replied, fatigue dripping from his words. “I have returned to you… as promised.” His attempt at a soft smile turned into a painful grimace as you slowly walked to somewhere he could at least sit down comfortably. You helped lower him onto the nearest settee you could find and began anxiously examining his wounded form.

“I knew you would keep your promise, always,” you whispered to him, cradling his face in your hands with a feathery touch. The way he was looking at you was shaking you to the bone - in his storm-colored eyes you could see an echo of many a thing he had seen, found, and been through, and you could all but hear your heart crack. “Breathe,” you attempted to soothe him. “Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere,” he winced, meeting your eyes once again, shakily reaching for your hand laid across his scarred cheek. It was easy to notice his breaths were heavy and uneven. “I love you,” he added hastily, stopping your thoughts in their tracks, as if he was afraid he wouldn’t get many more chances to lavish you in his feelings. “I-I did not know whether… whether I would have another opportunity t-to… tell you that… one more time.”

“My brightest star,” you breathed out, leaning your forehead against his and reveling in his presence after the agonizing weeks of uncertainty. Elrond soaked in your warmth and softly nudged his nose against yours. “We will not speak of such things, ever. You are home now, you are safe, and I am here.  We are going to get you healed, I promise. Neither of us is going anywhere, ever” 

“Until the whole Middle-earth is no more than a distant memory,” he quietly echoed the vows you had exchanged quite a few moons ago. You were hoping you could actually sense, and not that you were just deceiving yourself, that he was beginning to feel more at ease (if not less in pain) only through being in your arms once again.

“Meleth nín,” you inched back only slightly to look at his state, “do you think you could be strong enough to get up with me and walk to our chambers? I will hold you the whole time,” you squeezed his chilly hands in encouragement, eliciting a subtle nod from your spouse. “Then we will make you comfortable, warm, and I will do everything in my power to heal you. From the things you are able to tell me, just as much as from the things you cannot speak of yet.”

Immediately his arm was around your shoulders as he reluctantly rose to his feet. You heard him breathe through his teeth, but you knew he could do it. He was as strong as he was kind, and you were more than willing to bring back his joyous laugh and twinkling eyes.

“How strong have you gotten in these weeks, my dove,” he quipped, doing his best to lighten the somber atmosphere. “I have got a true elven warrior by my side.”

“I have only tried to match you, I admit.”

♡

I should try to somehow revamp my taglist too :/

[thewailingbells]

Hello~~

I discovered your profile not long ago (literally yesterday) and I loved your writing. You made me more in love with Thomas Hewitt than I already am!!!

Could we have a fic where Thomas and S/O are already lovers but for some reason S/O has to leave or travel to another city for a few months and this leaves Thomas completely devastated and stressed. Even Luda Mae and Hoyt notice the change in his behavior while s/o is away and when s/o finally returns home,she has to find some way to de-stress Thomas who is dying of missing her. 😞 (No need to write NSFW if you feel uncomfortable!!!!)

(English isn't my first language so I literally translated this whole thing on google... lmao.)

Always Forever

AN: AFAB Reader. This is my first time writing smut! I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Sex, nudity, fingering, rough sex, piv, creampie, general nsfw things.

“Thomas, you know I have to go.”

Your boyfriend was standing behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your torso, and his head buried into your shoulder. Your words only made him squeeze you tighter.

“Tommy, I need to go see my family. They miss me, and I promised I would visit them for the week! I wanted you to come with me; you know that, but Hoyt said no.

He sighed, knowing you were right. His uncle needed him to stay home and take care of the house. God knows what would happen if Tommy wasn’t around.

Since you started dating him, there hasn’t been a day when you two were apart. Thomas didn’t want to let you go, but he knew he had to. He spent the rest of your time together, following you around as you packed your bags. Noon came quicker than you expected, signaling it was time for you to go.

You said your goodbyes to Luda, Hoyt, and Charlie as you walked out the door. Tommy was already outside, having carried your bags to the car. Once all of your luggage was neatly packed up, you smiled at him. You pulled him into a tight hug before kissing him. “I love you. I promise I’ll be back.”

You got inside your car and smiled at him. With that, you drove off. Tommy waited until your car was nowhere in sight to go back into the house.

“Tommy,” Hoyt said, “How’s it feel now that your bitch is gone?”

Thomas ignored his words and stomped down into the basement. He could hear the sound of bickering between Hoyt and Luda Mae, most likely due to Hoyt’s crass language.

Tommy wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had been in the basement. He just kept chopping and chopping and chopping the animal meat laid in front of him. He had been cutting meat for years now, to the point where he didn’t even have to think about it.

“Tommy! Tommy! Get up here now,” Luda Mae shouted. His mother’s voice awoke him from his thoughts. He walked up the stairs. Luda Mae looked at her boy with sad eyes. “Tommy. You’ve been in the basement for six hours. It’s time to stop now, sweetheart. Come on, let’s get you some food and water.”

The next few days, Thomas would go to work at the crack of dawn and come home hours after the sun had set. When he came home, he would wait by the door for a few moments. He thought that maybe you would have come back early, but you didn’t.

The week had gone by. You had promised him you would be back home on Monday by one o’clock in the afternoon. Thomas believed you. Why wouldn’t he? However, it became harder and harder to believe you as the hours on the clock ticked by. Tommy sat by the front door. Watching. Waiting.

Hoyt sighed and came up behind Tommy. He placed his hand on his shoulder. “Boy, I don’t know how to tell ya this, but I don’t think she’s coming back.”

Thomas’s eyes grew wide. He shook his head. You were coming back. He knew it.

“Thomas, it’s six o’clock. She said she'd be home by one. I don’t see her anywhere. Do you?”

Tommy placed his head in his hands. He wished Hoyt wouldn’t say things like that. Things that were not true. But then again, Tommy had never been the brightest. Maybe you never loved him. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity for you to escape from him. When Thomas was about to spiral into distress, he heard a car door slamming.

Thomas jumped out of his chair and rushed to the door. He opened it with such force that it nearly flew off the hinges. That’s when he saw it—your car in the driveway. He ran towards it.

You quickly stepped out of your car, beautiful as ever. You smiled when you saw him. “Tommy! I’m so sorry I’m late. I was-” Your sentence was cut off when Thomas picked you up off the ground and pulled you into the tightest hug you’ve ever experienced. You tried to wiggle out, worrying his grip was too tight, but you gave into the hug and snuggled against him. You knew he needed this.

Eventually, he put you down on the ground. “Tommy, I told you I would be back. I’d never leave you. I love you so much. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

He didn’t say anything. He leaned down and kissed you. It was rough and passionate. Before it escalated, he threw you over his shoulder and brought you inside.

Hoyt smiled at the sight of you. “Well, would you look at that? She came back! Luda was right,” he muttered to himself.

Thomas brought you upstairs to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed and quickly pinned you down. Your faces were inches away from each other. The room was silent except for the sounds of both of you panting.

Tommy gently cupped your breast. He looked at you with pleading eyes.

You nodded. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want to me, Tommy.”

He immediately got to work, his movements faster than usual. Normally, he would take his time with you. Not today, though.

He roughly grabbed the waist of your pants and yanked them down. You let out a squeak in surprise. He grabbed both of your wrists in one of his large hands, keeping them suspended above your head. He balled your t-shirt up in one of his fists before forcefully tugging it up. He released his grip, allowing you to slide it off.

Tommy let out a desperate whine at the sight of your body. You were dressed in white lace lingerie. It was nothing much; it was very simplistic, looking like it could pass for a normal pair of undergarments. Despite that, Tommy nearly came in his pants at the sight of you.

He leaned down and nestled his face in the crook of your neck. He aligned his clothed cock with your clothed pussy. He began to desperately hump you. Tommy felt shameful; you could tell by the way he hid his face. Never in his life had he been this desperate for anything. He wanted, no, he needed to be close to you in any way. He had to show you how much he loved you.

A breathy moan fell from your lips. “Tommy, Tommy, calm down. I can take care of you.” You began to sit up. He pushed the middle of your chest, causing you to fall back onto the bed. You sighed, knowing he wanted to do everything himself today.

He pulled your panties to the side, exposing your pussy. He ran his thick fingers up against your lips to feel your wetness. He roughly put one of his fingers inside of you, causing you to throw your head back and moan in pleasure. He would usually give you time to adjust to it, but not today. Today, he immediately shoved his second finger inside your hole as well. Your back arched as he roughly finger-fucked you harder than ever before. Tommy then put his thumb on your clit, gently circling it.

Once he felt your walls begin to stretch for him, he removed his fingers. You whined in annoyance. Thomas unzipped his fly and pulled his cock out. It was rock hard and dripping with precum. He aligned himself with your hole and then fully bottomed out in one swift movement.

You mewled in pleasure. “Tommy! Fuck, Tommy~”

He immediately began to roughly pound into you. The feeling of your tight pussy wrapped around his cock drove him crazy. Your moans got louder and louder, not caring who heard them.

He reached down to toy with your clit, bringing you so close to the edge. You grabbed the blankets on the bed.

Tommy was so close. He needed to come so badly. You looked at him with lustful eyes. “I love you~ cum for me. Cum for me, Tommy.”

With one particular rough thrust, he buried himself to the hilt and came. He let out a deep moan as his seed began to fill you up. Thomas nearly collapsed on top of you. He grabbed your waist and flipped you onto him, his cock still deep inside you. Your entire body was pressed tightly against him. He wrapped his hands around your smaller frame to keep you in place.

Once you had calmed down, you sighed contently. You reached up and pushed some of his hair out of his face. “I told you I would come back, didn’t I?”

[mononijikayu]

ikaw lang— fushiguro megumi.

"Thanks. he muttered, his voice softer this time, almost shy. He still wasn’t used to letting people in, but for some reason, with you, it didn’t feel so bad. You smiled again, that same warm smile that made something inside him flutter. "Anytime." you replied, and Megumi knew you meant it. “Let me take care of you again, okay? When this happens.” “......You didn’t need to—” You shake your head, smile even wider.  “But I want to, okay?”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Fluff, Romance, First Love, First Meeting, Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Friendship, Confessions, Humor, Mutual Affection, Love, Pining, Hugging, Mention of Injury, Mention of Fighting, Mention of Blood, Depiction of Medical Aid, Fushiguro Megumi is In Love, Sorcerer! Megumi, Non-Sorcerer!Reader, Megumi and Reader Are A Bit Older;

WORDS: 6.5k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this song is really cute. i should rest after this because ive been writing all the other poll related works and my eyes hurts. i might open commissions some time so i can get new glasses 🤔 but anyway, i hope you like this as much as i do. i love you so much 🫶

main masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

:•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:

HE WONDERS WHAT HE DID TO BE THIS HAPPY. Fushiguro Megumi often finds himself lost in thought, trying to piece together how he ended up with someone like you as his lover. It’s a mystery to him, one that he turns over and over in his mind, especially in the quiet moments when he watches you from across the room.

The two of you couldn’t be more different. Megumi has always been reserved, the kind of person who prefers the solace of a quiet corner, away from the spotlight. He’s never been one to seek attention, content to blend into the background, observing rather than participating. 

And then there’s you, today. The person he loves the most.

You, who are the complete opposite of everything he thought he needed. You walk into a room and light it up effortlessly, drawing people to you like a lighthouse in a rough storm. Your presence is magnetic, radiant—wherever you go, you leave a trail of warmth and joy, like the sun casting light on everything in its path. If the sun existed in Megumi’s universe, it would undoubtedly be you, the brightest star in his sky, illuminating even the darkest parts of his world.

Sometimes, Fushiguro Megumi wonders how someone like you could ever be drawn to someone like him. He’s not flashy, not outgoing or overly expressive. But then, you’ve never needed him to be. From the moment you met, you saw something in him that no one else did. You didn’t mind his quiet nature; in fact, you seemed to appreciate it, to cherish the way he found comfort in the shadows while you thrived in the light.

Every time Megumi sees you, his heart races uncontrollably. It’s a feeling he can’t quite describe, this mixture of awe and disbelief that he’s lucky enough to have you by his side. You have a way of making him feel things he never thought possible—emotions that run deep and wild, far beyond the calm exterior he usually shows the world.

And whenever you flash him that smile, the one he loves so much, he feels his composure slip. His face turns scarlet, his heart stumbles over itself, and he panics slightly, wondering how he’ll ever survive the intensity of his feelings for you.

But what truly leaves Megumi breathless are your eyes.

He’s always been captivated by them, even before he realized he loved you. There’s something in the way your eyes shine that draws him in, that makes him feel like he’s seeing something otherworldly. When you look at him, it’s like the rest of the world fades away, leaving only the two of you in a moment of pure, unfiltered connection.

Your eyes are windows to your soul, reflecting every emotion, every thought, every ounce of love you hold for him. And Megumi, who is often so unsure of himself, finds a sense of peace and belonging in those eyes. They are his sanctuary, his guiding light, the proof that he’s not alone in this world.

Sometimes, when you catch him staring, you’ll tilt your head and ask him what he’s thinking. And every time, Megumi struggles to find the right words, because how can he possibly explain the way you make him feel? How can he put into words the overwhelming mixture of gratitude, love, and fear that courses through him whenever he’s with you? All he knows is that, in those moments, he’s reminded of just how extraordinary you are, and how incredibly lucky he is to have you.

You are the sun in his universe, the brightest star in his sky, and with every passing day, Megumi falls deeper in love with you. And even though he’s not always able to express it, he hopes that when you look into his eyes, you can see just how much you mean to him—how much he adores every part of you, and how grateful he is to share his life with someone as wonderful as you.

Each time you raise your head and let Megumi gaze into your eyes, he’s struck by how they seem to shimmer with an otherworldly light. It’s not just the way they sparkle, but the depth and complexity they hold within them, as if your eyes contain entire galaxies, full of stars, planets, and endless mysteries.

To Megumi, your eyes are like a universe unto themselves—vast, beautiful, and impossible to fully comprehend. He can never quite find the words to describe the wonder they bring him, because, in truth, they’re unlike anything he’s ever known. They’re out of this world, something magical and extraordinary that he’s lucky enough to witness every day.

And every day, Megumi is reminded of just how fortunate he is to have you by his side. There are moments when he’s caught off guard by the simple yet profound realization that someone as remarkable as you chose him.

He’ll be lost in thought, or caught up in the routine of daily life, and then you’ll look at him, your eyes meeting his, and all those thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. In those moments, nothing else matters—just the connection between you, the unspoken bond that ties your hearts together.

Megumi finds that the most beautiful part of his day is when you look back at him. Your eyes, shining with a brilliance that words can’t quite capture, speak volumes in a language only the two of you understand. They tell him of the abundant love you hold for him, a love that fills his heart with warmth and light.

He’s always been shy, a little reserved, and sometimes he struggles to put his feelings into words. But when you look at him with those sparkling eyes, he wishes he could find the courage to tell you just how much it feels like heaven on Earth when you let him see the hearts hidden behind the bright beam of your gaze.

Megumi knows that you’re patient with him, that you understand his quiet nature, but sometimes he worries that he doesn’t show you enough how deeply he loves you. He wishes he could be more expressive, that he could find the words to tell you everything he feels.

But when words fail him, he hopes that you can see it in the way he looks at you—in the way his breath catches, in the way his heart races, in the way he’s completely and utterly captivated by you.

To Megumi, your eyes are not just beautiful—they are a reflection of the love you have for him, a love that he treasures more than anything in the world. Every glance you share, every moment your eyes meet his, is a reminder of how lucky he is to have found someone like you. And even though he may never fully grasp the magic you bring into his life, he knows that he will spend every day trying to show you just how much you mean to him.

To Megumi, it feels like stars might actually be falling from the sky, captured in the light of your gaze. Every moment he gets to see those eyes, he feels like he's witnessing something otherworldly, something that makes all the differences between you melt away, leaving only the overwhelming love he has for you.

Even though Megumi isn’t always good with words, he sometimes wishes that you could simply look into his eyes and just know that he loves you more than anything in the world. He hopes that you no longer feel the need to ask over and over, like you used to, because the truth is, you’re the only one he has ever truly loved—and the only one he ever will.

But sometimes, a nagging doubt creeps into his mind. He worries that his quietness might not be enough to convince you of how much you mean to him. He fears that he’s not doing enough to show you just how deeply he cares, because he struggles to express his feelings out loud. Yet, despite those fears, Megumi is determined to try harder, to find ways to show you his love so that you never have to doubt it.

If there were a way, Megumi wishes you could look into his heart and believe without a shadow of a doubt that you are the only one his heart has ever loved. And as he gazes at you now, he silently hopes that you can feel the depth of his affection in the way he looks at you, even if the words aren’t always there.

Fushiguro Megumi vividly remembers the first time he saw you for the first time. That was that day, during middle school. It was an ordinary day, and he wasn’t expecting anything to change. And for that change to be for the best.

He was known for being a bit of a loner, someone who kept to himself and occasionally got into trouble for his rebellious streak. He wasn’t exactly a model student, and most people gave him a wide berth, not wanting to get involved with someone who had a reputation for being a delinquent.

But then there was you, when you were younger.

He had just been reprimanded by one of the homeroom teachers for getting into another fight—something that had become more common as he struggled to navigate the challenges of his teenage years.

Or rather, just the annoyance he had for people he considered to be cruel, horrible people. But he supposed he was also angry, frustrated with the world, and on the verge of lashing out again when you approached him.

You were new, just transferred to the school, and Megumi was sure that you, like everyone else, would steer clear of him. But instead, you walked right up to him, your eyes full of concern rather than fear or judgment. You were like the sun blocking his eyes when he met you. You changed his whole world that day, he likes to think. 

"Hey! Are you okay?" you had said softly, your voice calm and soothing. "Oh no, you got some dirt on your shirt—is that a cut on your side?"

Fushiguro Megumi had been taken aback for a long time. The last time must have been when Gojo said he’s taking him and Megumi in. There were very few things that had Megumi fazed, stuck in his tracks, and at a loss for words.

Perhaps the act of kindness being shown to him was one of those points. But he doesn’t think you’ve blamed him. He wasn’t used to anyone talking to him like that—without the underlying wariness or caution. He didn’t know how to respond, so he just shrugged, trying to brush you off. 

“I’m fine.” he muttered, his tone gruff, hoping you would just drop it and leave him alone. "Don't worry about me. Move on."

But you didn’t leave. Instead, you stood your ground, your eyes filled with a concern that he hadn’t seen in a long time. It was as if you could see right through his tough exterior, straight to the part of him that was hurting, and you weren’t about to let it go unnoticed. You shook your head, your hands reaching out to gently tug at his sleeves, drawing his attention back to you.

When he finally looked at you, he was surprised to find that you seemed more distressed about his well-being than he was. There was a softness in your gaze, mixed with a quiet determination that caught him off guard.

"It doesn’t look like it! See? It hasn’t stopped bleeding. you replied gently, your voice free of any reproach, but filled with genuine worry. 

Megumi followed your gaze to the cut on his arm, a wound he hadn’t given much thought to in the heat of the moment. But seeing the concern etched on your face made him pause.

You hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of how to proceed, before speaking again. "But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s okay. I just… I just wanted to make sure you’re alright." 

“Don’t worry about me—”

Your voice wavered slightly, betraying the depth of your concern, and it made something inside Megumi’s chest tighten. "At least maybe let me help you clean that nasty cut."

Megumi blinked, taken aback by your persistence. He was used to people either ignoring him or chastising him for getting into trouble, but you were different. You weren’t trying to fix him or tell him what to do—you were simply offering to help, to be there for him in a way that no one else had been. It was a kindness he wasn’t used to, and he didn’t quite know how to respond.

For a moment, he considered brushing you off, telling you he didn’t need any help, that he could handle it on his own. But something in your eyes stopped him. There was a sincerity there, a genuine desire to take care of him, and it made him realize how rare it was for someone to care like that.

"Fine." he finally grumbled, though his voice had lost its earlier edge. He couldn’t quite bring himself to meet your gaze, instead focusing on the ground as he added, "But it’s really not that bad."

You didn’t seem convinced, but you didn’t push him further. Instead, you smiled—a small, relieved smile that made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to. "Let’s just get it cleaned up, okay?" you said softly, leading him to a nearby bench.

As you carefully tended to his wound, Megumi found himself stealing glances at you, wondering why you cared so much. You were new to the school, new to his world, and yet here you were, going out of your way to make sure he was alright. It was strange, but also… comforting.

"Why do you care?" he asked quietly, surprising even himself with the question. It wasn’t something he’d meant to say out loud, but now that the words were out there, he couldn’t take them back.

You paused, looking up at him with those kind, worried eyes. "Because you deserve it." you replied simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Everyone deserves to be cared for, you know?"

Your words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, Megumi didn’t know what to say. He’d never thought of himself as someone who deserved kindness, especially not from someone like you. But hearing you say it so matter-of-factly made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, you were right.

You took Megumi to the nurse’s office, your concern evident in every step you took. He had tried to brush off the cut on his arm as no big deal, but you weren’t having any of it. As you entered the office, you headed straight for the supply cabinet, rummaging through it to find the emergency kit.

Megumi watched you with a mixture of apprehension and admiration. His face was tense, a mixture of discomfort and embarrassment clearly visible. He had never been one to draw attention to himself, especially not for something he considered minor. Yet here you were, focused and determined to make sure he was taken care of.

You pulled out the first aid kit and set it on the counter, your hands moving quickly and efficiently. “Alright, let’s get this cleaned up,” you said, your voice steady and reassuring.

Megumi shifted uncomfortably, clearly aware of the fuss you were making. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble. It’s just a scratch,” he muttered, trying to downplay the situation.

You gave him a stern look as you began to clean the cut. “It’s not just a scratch if it’s bleeding. Besides, it’s my job to make sure you’re okay. You’ve been taking care of everyone else, so let me take care of you for once.”

He sighed, though he couldn’t help but feel a little comforted by your persistence. As you carefully applied the antiseptic and bandaged his arm, Megumi stole glances at you, noticing the focused expression on your face. Despite his initial resistance, he was grateful for your concern.

“You really don’t have to do this,” he said again, though his voice lacked conviction this time.

You glanced up at him with a small, reassuring smile. “I know, but I want to. You’ve always been there for me, and it’s only fair that I return the favor. Besides, you look like you’re in no condition to argue right now.”

Megumi managed a small, appreciative smile despite his discomfort. “Thanks. I guess I’m just not used to this… kind of attention.”

You finished wrapping the bandage and patted his shoulder gently. “Well, get used to it. Because I’m not going to let you get away with not taking care of yourself. And don’t think I won’t be checking on you if you ever get hurt again.”

He looked at you, the tension in his face easing as he met your gaze. “I’ll try not to get hurt then. Or at least try to let you know before it gets this bad.”

You laughed softly, your eyes crinkling with warmth. “Good. And remember, if you ever need anything—whether it’s help with a cut or just someone to talk to—I’m always here for you.”

Megumi’s heart swelled with a mix of gratitude and affection. Even though he had tried to downplay the situation, your unwavering concern made him feel valued in a way he hadn’t felt before. He knew that no matter what happened, he could always count on you to be by his side.

As you finished bandaging his cut, Megumi felt a strange sense of calm settle over him. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel so alone. Maybe it was because of the way you looked at him, or the way you didn’t push him to talk about things he wasn’t ready to share. Or maybe it was just because you were there, offering your help without expecting anything in return.

"Thanks....I guess." he muttered, his voice softer this time, almost shy. He still wasn’t used to letting people in, but for some reason, with you, it didn’t feel so bad.

You smiled again, that same warm smile that made something inside him flutter. "Anytime." you replied, and Megumi knew you meant it. “Let me take care of you again, okay? When this happens.”

“......You didn’t need to—”

You shake your head, smile even wider.  “But I want to, okay?”

He didn’t know how to reply. He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re a weird one.”

“EH!? But I’m not!”

As the two of you sat there, the world seemed to quiet down around him, leaving only the gentle presence of the person who had somehow managed to slip past his defenses and show him a kindness he hadn’t realized he was missing.

Megumi didn’t know what to say. He was used to people either avoiding him or giving him grief for his behavior, but you were different. You weren’t trying to lecture him or push him away. You were just… there, offering your kindness without expecting anything in return.

From that day on, you always treated him with the same patience and understanding, even when he continued to get into trouble. You never judged him, never scolded him. Instead, you listened, offering support when he needed it and giving him space when he didn’t. You seemed to see past the rough exterior, recognizing that there was more to him than just the delinquent reputation he had built.

At first, Megumi didn’t understand why you were so kind to him. He didn’t think he deserved it, and part of him expected you to give up on him eventually. But you never did. No matter how many times he got into trouble, you were always there, offering him a smile or a word of encouragement.

Slowly, he began to soften around you. He started to look forward to the moments when you would seek him out, your presence becoming a source of comfort in his otherwise turbulent life. You became his anchor, the person who made him believe that maybe he wasn’t as bad as he thought.

It wasn’t long before Megumi realized that his feelings for you had grown into something deeper. At first, he had tried to convince himself that what he felt was simply gratitude, an appreciation for the way you treated him with such genuine care and respect. But as time passed, he found himself thinking about you more and more, his thoughts lingering on the little moments you shared.

Like that time in the library, when you had insisted on helping him with his homework. Megumi had been struggling with a particularly difficult problem, his frustration mounting with each failed attempt to solve it. You had noticed his struggle and quietly slid your chair closer to his, gently guiding him through the problem with a patience that both surprised and comforted him.

“There, see? You’re getting it!” you had said, a bright smile lighting up your face as you watched him work through the problem.

Megumi had looked at you then, really looked at you, and something inside him had shifted. It was the way you had been so kind, so encouraging, without a hint of judgment or condescension. The way you had treated him like he mattered, like you genuinely wanted to see him succeed. It was a feeling that was foreign to him, yet it warmed him from the inside out.

Another moment had come when the two of you were walking home from school. It had started to rain unexpectedly, and Megumi had cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. But before he could worry too much, you had pulled out your own and held it over both of you, smiling up at him as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Come on, let’s share. Can’t have you getting soaked.” you had said, your voice cheerful despite the downpour.

As the two of you walked side by side, your shoulders brushing occasionally, Megumi had felt his heart do a strange little flip. He hadn’t been able to stop himself from glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, noticing the way the raindrops clung to your hair, how your smile remained unwavering despite the weather.

In that moment, something had clicked for him. It wasn’t just your kindness that drew him to you—it was the way you made him feel safe, understood, and… cared for.

The realization had hit him one afternoon when you both were at the park. You had been talking animatedly about something, your hands gesturing as you spoke, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Fushiguro Megumi had been content to just listen, watching the way your expressions changed with every word. And then, without warning, you had turned to him, catching him completely off guard with a look of such warmth and affection that it nearly knocked the breath out of him.

“What?” you had asked, laughing lightly when you noticed the way he was staring.

Megumi had opened his mouth to respond, but no words had come out. Instead, he had felt a strange mix of emotions bubbling up inside him—nervousness, excitement, something that felt suspiciously like hope. It was then that he realized: this wasn’t just friendship or simple admiration. It was something deeper, something more.

He liked you. A lot.

The thought had sent a rush of warmth through his chest, leaving him both exhilarated and terrified. Megumi wasn’t used to these kinds of feelings, and he wasn’t sure what to do with them. But as he looked at you, standing there with that bright smile on your face, he knew one thing for certain—he wanted to be around you, to make you smile like that as often as he could.

“Nothing.” he had finally managed to say, a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just… thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” you had asked, tilting your head curiously.

Megumi had hesitated for a moment, but then he had decided to be honest, even if he couldn’t say everything that was on his mind. “About how… I like spending time with you.”

Your smile had grown even brighter at his words, and you had reached out to lightly punch his arm in that playful way you always did. “Well, I like spending time with you too, Megumi.”

And just like that, Megumi had known that he was done for. He liked you—really liked you. And even though the thought scared him, it also filled him with a strange sense of happiness, one that he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt before. From that moment on, Megumi couldn’t deny it anymore. He liked you, and he wanted to see where these feelings would take him.

Looking back, Megumi often finds himself reflecting on how profoundly different his life might have been if you hadn’t approached him that day. It was a pivotal moment, one that he now sees as the turning point in his journey.

Before you, he had felt like a perpetual outsider—misunderstood, labeled as a troublemaker, and largely ignored by those around him. He had been resigned to his role, to the way people saw him, without much hope for change or growth.

But then you came into his life, a beacon of kindness and patience in a world that had been mostly indifferent. You saw something in him that no one else had—a potential for change, a person worth caring for. Your approach had been gentle but resolute, offering him a friendship and understanding that he hadn’t known he needed.

You didn’t judge him for his mistakes or his quiet demeanor; instead, you reached out to him with a genuine concern for his well-being. It was this unassuming kindness that started to crack open the hardened shell he had built around himself.

Now, years later, Megumi often wonders if he would have ever found the strength to change if it hadn’t been for you. He thinks about the way you had treated him back then, how your unwavering support had slowly begun to reshape his view of himself.

It was as if you had quietly whispered to him that he was worth something, that he had the potential to be better, and that there was more to him than just the surface-level troubles. And in doing so, you had planted a seed of hope and self-worth that gradually grew into something stronger and more resilient.

As the two of you sit together now, the evening sun casting a warm, golden glow through the window, Megumi can’t help but be reminded of how far he’s come. The comfort and familiarity of your presence have become a cherished part of his life.

He often steals glances at you, unable to fully comprehend just how lucky he is to have someone like you by his side. The way you’re sitting there, so effortlessly at ease, makes his heart swell with a deep affection that words can hardly capture.

You’ve caught him staring more than once, and each time, you respond with that soft, knowing smile that makes his heart skip a beat. It’s a smile that reassures him, that reminds him of the love that started on that day in junior high, when you saw him not as a problem or a troublemaker, but as someone worthy of care and respect. That smile, simple yet profound, continues to be a source of comfort and joy for him, a daily reminder of how much you mean to him.

In those moments, as he looks at you and sees the warmth in your eyes and the gentle curve of your lips, Megumi is filled with a deep sense of gratitude. He thinks about how his life might have been different without your influence, and he realizes just how much you’ve changed him. The love he feels for you is rooted in that initial connection, and it has only grown deeper and stronger with time.

Megumi knows now that the love he has for you began with that first act of kindness you showed him, and it has only been enriched by the years you’ve spent together. As he sits there beside you, basking in the glow of the setting sun and the warmth of your presence, he can’t help but feel that he has found something truly extraordinary—something that started with a simple gesture of care and has blossomed into a love that he never thought possible.

You lean in slightly, noticing how quiet he’s been. "Megumi. Oiiiiiii, Megu–Megu~ Gumiiiiii!”

He sighed, looking at you. You have energy again, after resting. “What is it?”

“You truly okay?" you ask, your voice gentle and inviting.

He hesitates, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. "It’s nothing. Don’t worry about me.” he mumbles, looking down at his hands, fidgeting slightly. "Just thinking about the past. Nostalgia."

You tilt your head, your eyes sparkling with curiosity and affection. You smiled. "You’re always so cute, Megumi.” You sighed, as you reached out gently to touch his hand. ”You’ve been staring at me all evening. If you have something to say, you can tell me, okay?”

Megumi swallows, gathering his courage. "It’s just… your eyes…" he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. "They’re… really beautiful. And just…..you. I think how lucky I am to be with you.”

You blink in surprise, not expecting such a heartfelt compliment from him. "Oh, my beloved Megumi." you murmur, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you."

Megumi slowly looks up at you then, his own eyes filled with a tender sincerity that makes your heart flutter. He took a breath before letting his eyes wander at the sight of you, his beloved marvel. His wonder in life. He gives you a faint smile. 

"When you look at me like that… it feels like I’m seeing stars." he continues, his voice growing softer, more vulnerable. "Like… every time I see your eyes, it’s the most beautiful part of my day. And… I don’t know how to say this right, but… it’s like there’s love shining behind them, so much that it feels like heaven."

Your heart swells with emotion, and you squeeze his hand gently. You lifted his hand to your lips and looked at him tenderly as you pressed your lips against the top of his hand. He doesn’t know when his heart will calm down. But when it’s you, he doubts if it will ever happen. 

"Megumi, that’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me." you reply, your voice filled with warmth. "And just so you know, when I look at you, I feel the same way. You make every day feel like the brightest one I’ve ever had. Because when I look at you, I ask, ‘how did I deserve this boy?’ Because, you’re too good to me.”

He smiles shyly, his blush deepening as he takes in your words. "I’m glad….that you feel like I do too." he murmurs, his fingers intertwined with yours.

"I always will." You reassured him, grinning at him lovingly.

"I… I’m not good with words, but I want you to know how much you mean to me. Every time you look at me, it’s like… it’s like I’m the luckiest person in the world."

You lean in closer, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You don’t have to say much, Megumi. I can see it in your eyes too." you whisper, your breath warm against his skin. “That’s more than enough for me, know that. Okay?”

Megumi’s heart swells, and for a moment, he forgets about his usual shyness. "I love you." he says softly, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Your smile widens, your eyes shining even brighter. "I love you too, Megumi." you reply, your voice filled with the same sincerity and warmth that he sees in your gaze every day.

And in that moment, with your hands intertwined and your eyes locked, Fushiguro Megumi knows that there’s nothing more beautiful than the love you both share. And he truly believes that. He thinks that you’re the love of his life. And he has no intention of letting you go.

Megumi's heart races as the words hang in the air between you. He's never been the best at expressing his feelings, but something about being with you makes it easier—like the words come naturally when you're around. You pull back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes again, your own filled with the same warmth and love that makes his heart flutter. 

"You know, Megumi." you start, your voice soft and affectionate, "I always feel like I’m the luckiest person too. Because even when you're quiet or shy, I can feel everything you don’t say in the way you look at me. It’s like you’re telling me a million things with just a glance."

He bites his lip, trying to find the right words to respond. "It’s hard for me to… say things out loud sometimes. And it’s hard to be honest at times." he admits, his gaze lowering for a moment before meeting yours again. "But when I’m with you, it feels different. Because when I’m with you, I’m just….me.”

You smile at him, a soft, understanding smile that makes him feel even more at ease. "You don’t have to say everything, Megumi." you reassure him. "I can see it in your actions, in the way you care for me, and in those beautiful eyes of yours. You’re always telling me how you feel, even when you think you’re not. I love that about you, don’t worry.”

Megumi blushes, the compliment making him feel a mix of embarrassment and joy. "You… you think my eyes are beautiful?" he asks, his voice small, almost disbelieving.

"Of course I do." you reply, leaning in to rest your forehead against his. "They’re one of my favorite things about you. They’re so expressive, even when you’re being quiet. I can always tell what you’re feeling just by looking into them. Your eyelashes too. They’re always pretty!”

His breath hitches at the closeness, your words making his heart swell with emotion. "I… I’m glad you think that." he murmurs, his eyes locked onto yours. "Because… When I look at you, I see everything I could ever want.”

Your heart skips a beat at his confession, and you close the small distance between you, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. It’s soft, sweet, and full of the love that you both share, a love that needs no words to be understood.

When you pull back, you see that Megumi’s face is a deep shade of red, but there’s a small, content smile on his lips that makes your heart soar. "You really know how to say the perfect thing, don’t you?" you tease lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face.

He chuckles softly, his shyness momentarily forgotten as he looks at you with nothing but affection. "Only because it’s you." he replies, his voice steady and full of sincerity. "You make it easy."

You both sit there for a moment, just enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. Megumi’s hand is still entwined with yours, and he gives it a gentle squeeze, as if to remind himself that this is real—that you’re real, and that you’re his.

"I never thought I’d be this happy, you know?" he admits quietly, almost as if he’s afraid that saying it out loud might break the spell. "But with you… it’s like every day is a dream."

You smile, your heart swelling with love for the boy who, despite his quiet demeanor, has given you more happiness than you ever imagined. "Then let’s keep dreaming together, Megumi." you whisper, leaning in for another kiss. "Because I never want this to end."

The warmth of the setting sun bathed the room in a golden hue, casting a gentle glow that seemed to amplify the intimacy of the moment. Megumi and you were nestled comfortably together, sharing a quiet sense of peace that had settled between you. This was paradise, Megumi thinks. This was heaven on earth. You and you alone, in his arms — he could not ask for anything more.

Megumi glanced at you again, his eyes reflecting the soft light. “What good did I do to be with you?”

You tilted your head, smiling at him with a mixture of curiosity and affection. “Why do you say that? What makes you feel that way? You did everything good. You do deserve me."

He hesitated, his gaze falling to the floor as he tried to find the right words. “It’s just… you’ve always been there for me, even when I didn’t really know what I needed. I was so closed off and messed up back then. But you saw something in me, something I didn’t even see in myself.”

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his cheek to lift his gaze to meet yours. “I saw a person who needed kindness and understanding, and I’m really glad I could be there for you. But you did the hard part, Megumi. You changed and grew, and that’s all you.”

He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. “I couldn’t have done it without you. And now, every day with you feels like a gift. I keep thinking about how different things could have been if you hadn’t come into my life. It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing his hair back from his forehead. “Well, I’m glad I did. And I’m glad you’re here with me now. It’s like we were meant to find each other, don’t you think?”

Megumi nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah, it does feel like that. I keep thinking about how we met and how everything just seemed to fall into place after that. It’s like you were the missing piece I didn’t know I needed.”

Your eyes sparkled with affection as you leaned closer. “And you were the person who showed me what it means to be patient and understanding. We’ve both learned so much from each other.”

He smiled, a rare, genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “You’ve made me a better person. I feel like I’ve become more open, more willing to trust and care. It’s all because of you.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle hug. “I’m just glad I could be a part of your journey. And I’m excited for everything that’s still to come for us.”

Megumi returned the hug, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. “Me too. I want to make sure I’m always there for you, supporting you just like you’ve supported me. I don’t want you to ever doubt how much you mean to me.”

You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips. “You don’t have to worry about that. I know exactly how much I mean to you. And I’ll always be here for you, just like you’ve always been there for me.”

As the two of you sat together, the warmth of the setting sun casting a gentle glow over the room, Megumi felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. He knew that with you by his side, every day would be brighter, every challenge more bearable.

And as he looked into your eyes, he realized that the love he felt was a constant, reassuring presence—one that made everything feel right in the world.

[weediee]

New Orleans Beignets

HUMAN ALASTOR X FEM WIFE!READER (She/Her pronouns)

Summary: Y/N is one of the leading bakery owners in the entirety of New Orleans! People travel minutes, hours to try the sweet treats that reside within her bakery. But there's one special radio host who's obsessed with none other than her famous New Orleans Beignets.

E/N: This is based off of Princess Tiana's Beignets. It was too perfect not to make into an Alastor story so why not + she's one of my favourite princesses.

This story isn't proofread so it's not perfect. Also I haven't written for a while so I might be a little rusty, but I hope you all enjoy it anyways! x

No trigger warnings besides some light kisses! (Lmk if I forgot any.)

Rainy afternoons were never the brightest time for those in New Orleans.

The freezing cold, the shivering of finger tips, the multiple layers worn in hopes of being able to keep at least a little bit warm. It was always certainly a surprise when people realized that instead of the usual sunlight and humidity, it was going to rain.

So, what do those in New Orleans do during these miserable days? Well there's one of two things. Stay inside, bored half to death, or go find a nice place to have a cozy meal and settle down for the day. And what better place to go rather than Y/N's bakery?

That's the thought that Alastor thought of every day when these storms swept through New Orleans (and every usual day too.)

No rain, hail, nor shine could prevent him from leaving the studio on his lunch break to go check on his dearest wife who was slaving away in her bakery, and in the process of greeting her, he could never resist stealing one of her heavenly Beignets.

"Hello, anyone home?" Alastor spoke loudly, his radio voice on show as he entered the door. He watched as Y/N perked up from behind the counter after hearing the short chime of the door opening. "Hello, stranger." She laughed softly, standing up straight to brush off her dusty apron. It was adorned with pastry batter and powdered sugar from all the sweets made throughout the day, if anything it was just a sign of how hard she worked.

"Yes, I did prepare your Beignets darling." She admitted without a question needed, walking over to her husband to pass over a small brown paper bag, inside two hot Beignets showered perfectly with powdered sugar. They smelled divine, it was like heaven itself had been baked into two small pastries.

"Just how you like it." She nodded slightly, moving forward to kiss her husband's cheek nonchalantly.

"Thank you my dear, without you I fear I would starve!" Alastor laughed, looking at his wife with such a thankful and loving look plastered across his face. "You truly are such a darling when it comes to spoiling me."

"Only for New Orleans finest radio host." She said proudly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Alastor leaned forward, kissing her forehead softly for a moment before pulling away, smiling down at his gorgeous girl. "And only for New Orleans finest Beignet maker."

E/N: I'm tweaking I hate this. Am I still going to post it? Yes.

PLEASE don't be hesitant to send me some Alastor ideas or head cannons you'd like me to write. I really don't enjoy writing without a plot like this story, you can see the laziness within my work.

All dandy though, have a wonderful evening everyone!

- Weedie 🥀

[aspenmissing]

Hi!! Could you please write Arcane characters (Jayce, Viktor, Sevika, and basically all the mains) x reader with a self harm addiction? But reader never told them about it, and they find out after reader relapses after a fight? If it's okay of course (I'm projecting hard with this one)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ-ɪꜱʜ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 9204 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ||

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀʀᴍ, ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴀᴛᴛᴇᴍᴘ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ (ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ), ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

Y/N had always kept her struggles hidden from Jayce, afraid of how he would react or if he'd see her as weak. She was his rock, the one he could always rely on, and she refused to burden him with the darkness that lingered in her heart. The weight of his dreams, his work, and his battles were all that seemed to matter. She couldn’t add her own turmoil to his already heavy load.

But Jayce wasn’t blind. He noticed the subtle signs—the faint tremble in her hands when they touched, the shadows that clung to her eyes even on the brightest of days, the bruises she tried to hide with layers of clothing. He saw how she disappeared into her workshop at night, and sometimes how she’d come back with that distant look in her eyes, as if she were trying to drown something inside her. But despite all that, he had never asked, never pushed her to talk. He simply believed she’d come to him when she was ready.

It was a Sunday evening when the fight started. Jayce had been consumed by the mounting pressure from the council, the looming responsibilities of his position, and the endless plans that seemed to drain him of everything. Y/N, ever the supportive partner, tried to help, tried to offer guidance or simply a listening ear. She knew how hard the constant demands were on him, and she just wanted him to lean on her as he had so many times before.

But this time, when she suggested an alternative approach, Jayce snapped.

"You don’t understand, Y/N," he barked, the tension in his voice thicker than it had ever been. "You never understand the weight of what I’m dealing with. I don’t need you telling me how to handle things!"

Y/N recoiled at his words, the sting of his anger like a slap across her chest. "I do understand, Jayce," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to keep the tears at bay. "I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. But you never let me help."

Jayce’s frustration boiled over. "You just don’t get it," he shot back. "You’re not the one in charge here. You don’t have to carry all the responsibility. Just let me do this my way!"

His words hit her harder than she could have prepared for. It felt as though all the weight of her own battles—the ones she’d fought alone—was being discounted. She had tried, so hard, to be there for him. Yet in that moment, it felt like she was failing. Like she was invisible. Like she was just in the way.

"I’m sorry," Y/N whispered, the words barely audible as they choked on the lump in her throat. "I’m sorry I’m not enough for you."

Jayce’s anger faltered, guilt flashing across his face for a fraction of a second. But the damage had already been done. There was no taking back what had been said. The silence that followed was deafening. Without another word, Y/N turned and fled from his presence, the familiar ache of isolation wrapping itself around her.

She didn’t know where to go. Her heart felt as though it might burst from the weight of her emotions. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be near him when he saw her as a failure, when the very core of her had been torn apart by his words.

=

Back in the solitude of her apartment, she threw herself onto the bed, trying to breathe through the searing ache in her chest. Her hands shook as she reached for the bottle she had promised herself she would never touch again. But the darkness was suffocating. The pain was overwhelming, and the pull of her addiction, the thing that had always been there, whispering softly, calling her back—was too powerful to resist.

She cracked open the bottle, the smell of alcohol hitting her immediately, sharp and familiar. With trembling hands, she took a swig, the liquid burning its way down her throat. The numbing sensation took over almost immediately, washing away the sting of the fight, the shame, and the guilt. She hadn’t realised how much she needed this until it was already too late.

Her telephone rang, the familiar sound cutting through the fog of her thoughts. Jayce. She stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest. She should answer. She should talk to him. But the pain inside her felt like it would rip her apart if she did. She didn’t want him to see this side of her—the broken, imperfect side she’d tried so desperately to hide.

Instead, she let the phone ring before it promptly cut off, and she took another drink. She just needed to forget, to numb the guilt, the sorrow, the crushing weight of feeling like she was never enough. The alcohol worked for a while, but soon the emptiness grew larger, the voices in her head louder.

In a moment of desperate escape, her hand found the small blade she had hidden in her drawer—a blade she had used once before in her darkest times. She didn’t think, didn’t care. The sharp sting of the metal cutting into her skin was a quick relief, a fleeting moment of peace. But as the blood pooled beneath her fingers, the guilt and self-loathing came rushing back in waves. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Jayce. She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

But she was drowning again, and this was all she had to keep her head above water.

=

The hours passed in a blur. The telephone continued to ring, but she didn’t answer. Her head grew heavy, her limbs numb, and the world seemed so far away. She was spiraling, and there was no way out.

Jayce, on the other hand, was frantic. His anxiety was quickly growing into something worse—something dark and suffocating. He couldn’t understand why she had run away, why she was avoiding him. Every gut feeling told him something was terribly wrong.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he entered her apartment, his breath shaky as he searched every corner. His heart dropped when he saw her on the floor, her arm bleeding, her body curled into itself in a desperate attempt to hide from the world.

"Y/N!" Jayce cried, rushing to her side, his voice breaking with fear and concern. "What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?"

Y/N’s eyes were glazed over, filled with shame and pain. She could barely meet his gaze. "I didn’t want you to see me like this," she whispered, her voice thin and fragile. "I didn’t want you to think I was weak."

Jayce felt his chest tighten as he knelt beside her. He gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "Oh love," he said softly, his voice trembling, "You’re not weak. You’re human. I don’t care about your flaws, your mistakes. I care about you."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable. The dam inside her broke, and she collapsed into him, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"I’m so sorry, Jayce," she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Jayce held her tighter, feeling the weight of her pain in his own heart. He knew she’d been struggling, but this—this—was something deeper, something far darker than he had realised. He would never let her fight this alone. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice full of resolve. "I love you. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you. Always. You’re not alone in this."

They stayed like that for a long time, Jayce gently stroking her hair as she cried. There were no words left. There didn’t need to be. He would help her through this. They would face it together, step by step, no matter how long it took.

In time, Y/N would find her way back from the darkness. And with Jayce by her side, she knew she wasn’t as lost as she’d once thought.

VIKTOR

The dim glow of the workshop filled the room as Viktor hunched over his desk, scribbling intricate designs on a yellowed piece of parchment. The rhythmic scratch of his quill filled the quiet space, occasionally interrupted by the soft hum of machinery in the corner. Across from him, Y/N sat on a battered stool, her hands loosely clasped in her lap. She watched him quietly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the faint glow of his golden cane resting nearby.

Her presence usually brought him a sense of calm—an anchor in his chaotic world of innovation and ambition. But tonight, something felt off. She had been distant lately, retreating behind a carefully constructed wall he couldn’t seem to break through. Viktor, ever perceptive, had noticed the signs: the way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking, the way her eyes lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in some distant place, and the way her laugh, once warm and genuine, now seemed hollow.

“Y/N,” Viktor said softly, his voice breaking the silence as he glanced up from his work. “Is something bothering you?”

She stiffened at the question, her gaze darting away as if the answer might be found in the scattered tools and papers around the room. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying her. He knew her well enough to recognise when she was hiding something, and tonight, it was as if her entire being screamed of a silent battle raging within.

“It’s nothing, Viktor,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with shaky fingers. The lie came easily, but it didn’t fool him.

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he pressed, his voice filled with quiet concern. Setting his quill down, he stood, crossing the small distance between them. His cane clicked softly against the floor as he reached her side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

For a fleeting moment, her expression softened, and Viktor thought she might let him in. But just as quickly, something dark flickered in her eyes—fear, shame, perhaps both. She pulled away from his touch, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“I just need space,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door.

“Miláčku—” Viktor started, but she didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him standing there, confusion and worry gnawing at his insides. He sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping through his fingers, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. (Darling)

=

Hours passed, but Viktor couldn’t focus. The designs on his desk blurred together as his mind replayed the scene over and over. He knew something was deeply wrong, but she wouldn’t let him in. He felt helpless—a sensation he despised. The sound of the workshop door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her figure outlined by the dim light from the hallway. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she tried to hide it, and her posture was tense, like a tightly wound spring. Viktor’s heart clenched at the sight of her. She looked fragile, as if the slightest gust of wind might shatter her.

“Y/N…” he said softly, standing. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might break down. But instead, she took a shaky breath and shook her head. “You want to know what’s going on?” she snapped, her voice sharp, though it trembled. “You can’t fix everything, Viktor. I’m fine. I’m just tired of pretending.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pretending? Y/N, I—”

“No!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t get it, Viktor. You can’t just fix me like one of your machines!”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt a flicker of anger rise, though it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “You’re right, I don’t understand,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try. I love you, Y/N. Why won’t you let me help you?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. “Because I don’t need your pity! I don’t need your help! I just…” Her voice broke, and she looked away. “I need you to leave me alone.���

Viktor stepped closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “But I can’t help you if you keep pushing me away.”

“I don’t need your help, Viktor!” she shouted, her voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over. She turned and stormed out of the workshop, leaving Viktor standing there, the weight of her words pressing heavily on his chest.

=

The cold night air bit at Y/N’s skin as she wandered the streets of Zaun, the fight replaying in her mind like a broken record. Shame and anger twisted together in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She felt like she was drowning, and she couldn’t see a way out.

Her feet carried her to a familiar alleyway, one she had hoped never to return to. Her hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small vial. The liquid inside glistened faintly under the dim streetlights. She hated herself for this, but it was the only thing that quieted the storm.

“Y/N.”

Her heart stopped at the sound of his voice. She spun around to see Viktor standing a few feet away, his cane in hand, his eyes filled with worry and pain. He had followed her.

“Viktor…” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Please, don’t do this,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the vial in her hand. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to stop.”

Viktor reached out, gently taking the vial from her trembling hands. His touch was firm but careful, as if he were afraid she might break. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said quietly. “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m here. We’ll face this together.”

The dam broke, and Y/N collapsed into his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. Viktor held her tightly, his hand running soothingly through her hair. He didn’t say anything—there were no words that could fix this—but his presence was enough.

In that moment, Viktor realised that love wasn’t about fixing someone. It was about standing by them, even in their darkest moments. And no matter how hard the road ahead might be, he would never give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

JAYVIK

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the faint hum of the streetlights outside their windows. Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as Viktor and Jayce stood in the adjacent living room. The tension was suffocating, coiling in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“You don’t understand, Viktor!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she snapped, her eyes glistening with frustration. “You can’t keep shutting me out when things get hard!”

Viktor’s expression was guarded, though his fingers gripped his cane tighter than usual. “And you cannot expect me to involve you in everything,” he replied, his voice measured but sharp. “This work is dangerous, Y/N. I do it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Y/N repeated, her tone incredulous. “By pushing me away? By making me feel like I don’t matter?”

Jayce, who had been sitting on the edge of the sofa, stood abruptly. “Alright, let’s all take a step back,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “We’re all stressed, but yelling isn’t helping anyone.”

Y/N turned on him, her voice rising. “And you! You always take his side, Jayce! Every single bloody time!”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce shot back, his face clouding with worry. “I’m just trying to keep this from spiralling out of control!”

“Well, congratulations,” she said bitterly, throwing her arms up. “It’s already out of control.”

The argument escalated, words tumbling out before they could be reconsidered. Y/N’s hurt came out like daggers, while Viktor’s temper, usually restrained, began to flare. Finally, in a moment of uncharacteristic anger, Viktor snapped, “If you cannot handle this, maybe you should leave!”

The room fell silent.

Y/N stared at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Then, without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the frames on the walls.

Jayce let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “Well done, Viktor. That was bloody brilliant.”

Viktor closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “She just needs time,” he murmured. “She will come back.”

But as the hours ticked by, their apartment felt emptier, the tension hanging in the air refusing to dissipate.

=

By morning, the shared apartment was filled with an uneasy stillness. Jayce paced back and forth in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed deeply. He hadn’t slept. His concern weighed heavy, gnawing at him as he glanced repeatedly at the front door.

“She’s never stayed out this long,” he muttered, his voice tight with worry. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and then back to the door, as if willing it to open.

At the dining table, Viktor sat hunched, his cane resting against the edge of the chair. He stared at a mug of tea that had long since gone cold, his fingers twitching slightly as they drummed against the wood. “Perhaps we should go looking for her,” he said at last, his voice soft but tinged with hesitation.

Before they could decide, a sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. Both men froze, their gazes snapping to the source of the sound. Jayce moved first, his long strides taking him to the door in an instant.

He opened it to reveal an enforcer in full uniform. The man’s expression was professional, but there was a hint of weariness in his eyes.

“Is this the residence of Y/N L/N?” the enforcer asked.

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, dread flashing in their eyes. Jayce’s voice was strained as he replied, “Yes. I-Is she alright?”

The enforcer sighed, a slight shift in his posture betraying the unpleasantness of the news he carried. “She’s alright. She spent the night in a cell. Got into a fight at a tavern. She was drunk and caused quite a scene.”

Jayce’s stomach dropped, his heart sinking like a stone. Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Where is she now?” Viktor asked, his voice trembling slightly, though he tried to mask his fear.

“She’s still at the station,” the enforcer replied. “We figured someone would want to collect her.”

=

The walk to the station was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on their shoulders like a weight. Jayce’s jaw was set, his shoulders tense, every step reflecting his inner turmoil. Viktor walked beside him, outwardly composed but gripping his cane with such force it seemed as though it might snap in his hand.

When they arrived, the scene in the holding area was far from reassuring. Y/N was slumped on a wooden bench, her head bowed slightly, her hair dishevelled, and her clothes rumpled and stained. She looked smaller somehow, as if the night had drained the fight out of her.

“Y/N,” Jayce said softly, crouching in front of her. His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

She lifted her head sluggishly, her bloodshot eyes meeting his. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, hoarse and broken. “Great,” she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm. “My knights in shining armour.” She avoided their gazes, looking instead at a spot on the floor.

Jayce flinched at the bitterness in her tone, but he didn’t argue. He simply stood and moved to the counter to handle the paperwork. Viktor stayed where he was, his gaze lingering on her, his heart heavy.

=

Once everything was settled, they guided her out of the station and into the early morning streets. The walk home was just as quiet as before, save for the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane and Y/N’s occasional sniffles. Jayce glanced at her every few steps, his concern etched plainly on his face, while Viktor kept close to her side, his usually steady hands trembling slightly.

When they finally reached the apartment, Y/N headed straight for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her without a word. Jayce and Viktor stood in the living room, exchanging worried glances. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears.

“I’ll check on her,” Jayce offered after a long pause, his voice low.

Viktor shook his head and stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “No. Let me.” He moved slowly to the bedroom door and knocked gently. "Miláčku?"

There was no response. After a moment of hesitation, he pushed the door open slightly. What he saw made his heart sink.

Y/N stood by the dresser, her back to him as she pulled on a clean shirt. Her arms were bare, and the scars were impossible to miss—long, jagged lines running along her skin. Some were faint, faded with time, while others were fresh and angry red, a painful reminder of battles fought in silence.

“Oh, Lásko…” Viktor’s voice cracked, the word barely more than a whisper.

She froze, her hands trembling as she quickly yanked the shirt down. Turning to face him, her eyes widened, glistening with tears that she blinked back furiously. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Viktor stepped forward, his cane forgotten as he reached out to her. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, his voice soft but heavy with pain.

“Because it’s not your burden to bear!” she cried, her voice rising as tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s mine, and I don’t need you trying to fix me!”

Jayce appeared in the doorway, his expression stricken. “Oh, Y/N…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“You weren’t supposed to see this!” she sobbed, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. “You weren’t supposed to know!”

Viktor moved closer, his hands trembling as he cupped her face gently. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his golden eyes meeting hers. “You never were, and you never will be.”

Jayce stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re here for you, Y/N,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes, we’ll get through this. Together.”

Y/N stared at them, her defences crumbling under their unwavering support. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to break. She collapsed into their arms, her sobs wracking her body as Viktor and Jayce held her tightly, their presence a promise that she wouldn’t have to face her pain alone.

And for the first time, Y/N began to believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

VANDER

The Last Drop was alive with its usual buzz, the murmur of voices mixing with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Zaun’s finest and most desperate alike had gathered here tonight, the haze of smoke and the scent of cheap liquor creating a familiar, suffocating atmosphere.

Y/N sat at the bar, her fingers clenched tightly into fists on her lap, her nails digging into the rough skin of her palms. She felt caged by the noise, every sound around her grating against her nerves like steel on glass. Her chest tightened with frustration, a storm brewing just beneath her skin, and she struggled to keep it all contained.

Across the bar, Vander leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders a familiar and comforting sight—though not tonight. He was chatting with some regulars, his deep voice cutting through the din, but Y/N couldn’t focus on his words.

Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the day. A deal gone wrong. Tensions in the Undercity reaching an unbearable peak. And now, this fight.

It wasn’t even about anything that mattered, not really. Yet the way his words earlier had cut through her had set her off, poking at wounds she’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why won’t you just talk to me, Y/N? I can’t help if you keep shutting me out.”

It had struck a nerve, slicing through her defences like a blade.

“Maybe I don’t need your help, Vander!” she’d snapped, her voice rising over the low hum of the bar. Her tone had been sharp, dripping with venom she hadn’t meant to release, but it was too late.

The look on his face—disappointment flickering in his tired eyes, his jaw tightening as he took in her words—was like a punch to the gut.

He’d opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t give him the chance. She’d stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out of the bar before the emotions threatening to spill over could take hold.

=

The air outside was cold, biting against her skin as she stepped into the dimly lit streets of Zaun. The usual hum of the city echoed around her—the hiss of steam pipes, the distant clatter of machinery—but it felt muted, distant. Her own heartbeat pounded louder in her ears.

She walked aimlessly, her fists still clenched tightly at her sides, her breathing shallow. The anger inside her was a living thing, coiled and writhing, demanding release. She needed to let it out before it consumed her completely.

She found herself in a narrow, empty alleyway, far from the crowds. The shadows clung to the walls, the only light coming from a dim, flickering streetlamp at the entrance. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, but it was no use.

The anger bubbled over.

Her gaze locked onto the wall in front of her, and before she could think twice, her fist shot out. The impact was jarring, the rough surface scraping against her skin. Pain shot up her arm, but it was a welcome distraction—a way to drown out everything else.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her punches came harder, faster, the sound of her knuckles cracking against the brick mixing with her ragged breaths. Blood smeared across the surface, her skin splitting open as she continued. She swore she felt something break—a finger, maybe—but she didn’t care.

The pain wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

“Y/N.”

The voice cut through the haze, soft but firm, and her movements faltered for just a moment. Her breath hitched, her vision blurry from unshed tears, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

“Y/N, stop.”

This time, there was a presence between her and the wall—warm, solid, familiar. Vander’s hand caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but gentle. His other hand came up to press against her bloodied fist, shielding it from the wall.

She blinked, her tears spilling over as she tried to focus on him. He was crouched in front of her, his broad frame a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Let me go,” she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Not until you stop,” he said, his tone steady but strained, the worry evident in every word.

She tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t falter. His hand was so much larger than hers, warm against the cold, shaking skin of her wrist. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and the sight broke something inside her.

His brows were drawn together, his expression a mixture of anguish and determination. His blue eyes weren’t filled with anger as she’d expected—they were pained, desperate, as if her own hurt was reflected in his gaze.

Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground, her bloodied hand cradled against her chest. Vander sank to his knees in front of her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid she might shatter at the slightest touch.

“What are you doing to yourself, love?” he asked, his voice breaking. He reached for her hand, but she flinched instinctively. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening even further. “Please. Let me see.”

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, but eventually, she extended her trembling hand towards him.

His jaw tightened as he took it in, his rough fingers brushing over the swollen, split skin. Blood coated her knuckles, and her fingers were bent at unnatural angles. He sucked in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing lightly over her wrist where her pulse raced erratically.

“I… I didn’t mean—” she started, but her voice broke, and the words died in her throat.

“You didn’t mean to hurt yourself?” he asked gently, his voice low and filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “Or you didn’t mean for me to find out?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even look at him.

“Y/N,” he murmured, shifting closer. “You can’t keep doing this.” His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, a rawness that made her chest ache. “You think hurting yourself makes it better? That it solves anything?”

“It’s the only thing that stops the anger,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t. It just hurts you more.”

His hand moved to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was impossibly gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking her further.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. You hear me? You’ve got me. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice was too much. Her walls crumbled, and the tears came in full force, her body shaking as sobs wracked her frame.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt as he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.

SILCO

The Last Drop was unusually quiet that night, the hum of the neon lights casting a cold glow through the damp, smoke-filled air. The faint crackle of electricity and the distant murmur of drunken voices filtered up to Silco’s office, but none of it registered. His sharp, mismatched eyes stared out of the large, cracked window, his gaze focused but unseeing as he paced the room.

The argument still echoed in his head, a whirlwind of barbed words and heated accusations. Y/N’s fiery spirit had always been one of the things that drew him to her, but tonight, it had burned too hot. Her stubbornness against his unrelenting need for control had caused their tempers to flare. He had said things meant to wound, words he regretted even as they left his lips. She had fired back with equal venom, her eyes brimming with tears even as she stood her ground.

And then she had left.

=

He hadn’t seen her since. Hours had passed, and with each one, the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach grew.

The creak of the door to their shared quarters broke the silence. Silco hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him froze him in place, his breath catching sharply in his throat.

Y/N lay sprawled across their bed, her body unnaturally limp and her skin pale under the dim light. Scattered around her were empty vials and syringes, their contents long gone, leaving only the sharp, metallic tang of chemicals in the air. Her chest rose and fell faintly, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible.

“Y/N,” Silco whispered, his voice low and urgent as he crossed the room in long, deliberate strides.

She didn’t stir.

Kneeling on the bed, he leaned closer, his gloved fingers brushing strands of hair from her clammy forehead. He hesitated, his hands trembling for the first time in years. He pressed his ear close to her lips, straining to hear the faintest whisper of breath. Relief washed over him when he found it, but it was fleeting, swallowed by the rage and fear bubbling beneath his skin.

“What did you take?” His voice broke, sharp and laced with desperation. “What did you take, Y/N?!”

Her head lolled to the side, her lips slightly parted as if she were trying to answer, but no sound came.

Cursing under his breath, Silco slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her as though she were made of porcelain. Her body was limp against his chest, her weight unfamiliar and alarming. He carried her to the worn sofa tucked in the corner of the room, laying her down gently.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He checked her pulse, pressing his fingers against the fragile skin of her wrist. It was faint but steady, a fragile thread anchoring her to the world. Relief flickered in his mismatched eyes, though it did little to soothe the storm raging within him.

Silco didn’t leave her side. The hours dragged on as he sat in the chair beside the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped tightly. His sharp, angular features were etched with an uncharacteristic vulnerability, his brows furrowed in an expression of anguish and frustration.

The neon glow outside began to fade, replaced by the dim, grey light of dawn creeping through the grimy windows. Silco’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, watching every shallow rise and fall of her chest.

=

Finally, she stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dull morning light. Her head pounded, her body ached, and nausea churned in her stomach. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was Silco, his rigid posture and bloodshot eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent beside her.

“Good,” he said, his voice cold but edged with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Silco…” she began, her voice hoarse and trembling.

“No.” He held up a hand, silencing her. “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to tell me why.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t meet his piercing stare, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her like a heavy shroud.

“I— I was angry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We fought, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I… I wasn’t thinking, and they were there.”

“The same people I helped you leave behind,” Silco spat, his tone venomous. His mismatched eyes narrowed, his anger barely restrained. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What could have happened?!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry won’t save you next time,” Silco interrupted, his voice softening slightly but still laced with frustration. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “You can’t do this to me. To us. I’ve fought too hard to pull you out of that pit, and now you’re clawing your way back into it.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N sobbed, her hands trembling as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

“Then don’t,” Silco said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. His gaze locked onto hers, his mismatched eyes burning with intensity. “But if you do… I won’t be able to save you again. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded, the weight of his words sinking in like stones in her chest.

Silco reached out, his gloved hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fire in his gaze.

“I won’t give up on you,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. “But you have to fight for yourself, too. This isn’t a battle I can win for you.”

“I will,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Silco let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. They had a long road ahead of them, fraught with challenges and the ghosts of her past, but he wasn’t about to let her walk it alone. Not this time, not ever.

JINX/POWDER

The Last Drop was as loud and chaotic as ever, the air thick with the sounds of laughter, shouting, and the occasional clink of glass. The atmosphere felt tense, but not in a way anyone could place — it was the sort of unease that seeped in from every corner. There, at the edge of the bar, Jinx leaned back, her posture lazy, arms crossed as her gaze lingered on Y/N.

Y/N was crouched low, attending to a Zaunite child who had scraped their knee. She was focused, her movements careful as she applied a bandage to the small cut, her expression softening with an unspoken affection. The child, a younger boy, watched her with wide, trusting eyes, not even flinching when she gently patted the wound. She always did this for them, making the pain a little less real.

Jinx’s gaze, however, turned colder, narrowing with something darker beneath the surface. Her hands gripped the edge of the bar as she watched. Her voice sliced through the noise. “Why do you always waste your time with them?”

Y/N paused mid-motion, looking up, her frown immediate. She met Jinx’s gaze, trying to read the storm brewing in her eyes. “They need someone, Jinx. Not everyone has someone to look out for them.”

Jinx rolled her eyes dramatically, her posture shifting into something that was almost like a snarl, but she forced it into indifference. “They’ve got other places for that,” she muttered, voice laced with bitterness. “You’re supposed to be my person, not theirs.”

Y/N’s expression softened, but there was something resigned in the way she sighed as she finished bandaging the child. She gave the boy a reassuring pat on the head, watching him scamper off with a soft smile before walking over to Jinx. Her footsteps were light, but the air between them heavy.

“I am your person, Jinx,” she said, her voice steady. “But I can’t just ignore everyone else who needs help. It’s not who I am.”

Jinx’s sharp intake of breath was all the warning Y/N had before she was face-to-face with a storm of emotion. Jinx’s eyes, usually so mischievous and unpredictable, were now wide and wild. She was angry, and the fury was bubbling over. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re too busy playing saviour to remember the people who actually care about you!” Her voice cracked as the words spilled out, the vulnerability there too sharp to ignore.

Y/N’s heart clenched. She could feel the sting of those words more than she’d ever let on. “That’s not fair, Jinx. I’ve been here for you through everything. You know that.”

Jinx's mouth twisted into something almost painful, the hurt and jealousy in her eyes making Y/N’s chest ache. “Do I?” Her voice was quieter now, a tremor of emotion cutting through. “Because it feels like I’m always second place to your little sob stories!”

Y/N’s fists clenched by her sides, the weight of the accusation like a slap in the face. “That’s not true, and you know it!” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. She wanted to reach for Jinx, to pull her close, but instead, she stood still, trying to hold her ground.

But Jinx wasn’t listening anymore. Her fists clenched at her sides, and in a burst of frustration, she threw her hands up into the air, muttering curses to herself. “You never get it, do you? You always think you’re better than everyone else, like you’ve got all the answers!”

Before Y/N could respond, Jinx turned and stormed out, her shoulders tense, her back rigid with fury. The door to the bar slammed behind her, and Y/N was left standing there, the emptiness of her heart settling in like a deep chill. Her hands shook slightly, and she bit her lip, trying to keep herself from sinking further into the storm that raged inside her.

=

The walk back to her flat felt endless. Every step felt like it was dragging her further into a pit, every memory of Jinx’s angry words echoing louder and louder in her head.

Maybe she was right, Y/N thought, her mind clouding. Maybe I have been too distant.

The door to her flat clicked shut behind her, and she leaned back against it, breathing in deeply, trying to steady herself. The usual peace of the small room was shattered, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N didn’t feel safe here.

She dropped to the floor, her back against the door as she slid down, her hands shaking violently. She dug through the drawer beside her, her fingers trembling as they closed around the small, cold object hidden inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she held it in her palm, the familiar weight, the cold steel, beckoning her in. She knew it was wrong, but the relief it brought... it was the only thing that could silence the noise in her mind.

The sting was sharp, cutting deep enough to pull her from the spiraling thoughts, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. The silence that followed was thick with guilt and shame. And yet, it was still the only thing that gave her even a moment’s peace.

=

Jinx had, as expected, cooled off faster than she’d thought. But the guilt gnawed at her like a persistent ache in her chest. She hated herself for saying the things she had to Y/N, especially when she knew how much the other cared. She didn’t want to hurt Y/N. She just... didn’t want to lose her.

By the time she reached Y/N’s flat, her mind was racing. “Stupid fight,” she muttered to herself, kicking at a small rock in frustration. “Stupid me. I’ll just say sorry, and it’ll be fine.”

She pushed open the door without thinking, hoping to find Y/N sitting in her usual spot. But what she saw made her stomach drop.

Y/N was curled up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her face pale and streaked with tears. Blood stained her sleeve, and the small blade that had been the catalyst of her pain lay discarded beside her.

Jinx’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis as she took in the sight, her mind barely able to process the horror in front of her. “Y/N?” Her voice barely registered in the silence that hung heavy around them.

Y/N flinched at the sound, her body going rigid, and her hands hurriedly moved to cover the fresh wound. “Jinx, I—” she stuttered, her voice breaking. She was already trying to hide it, but there was no use. The damage had been done, both physically and emotionally.

Jinx’s heart slammed in her chest. She didn’t think. She didn’t care. She dropped to her knees beside Y/N, her hands shaking as she reached for her, pulling Y/N’s hands away from her arm. Her eyes — usually wild and erratic — softened, the fierce anger that had driven her earlier replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me?” Jinx asked, her voice cracking. She wanted to shake her, wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Not when Y/N looked so broken.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she tried to swallow the sobs threatening to escape. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered, voice strained. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Jinx’s fingers trembled as they touched Y/N’s wrist, pulling it gently away from the wound. “I’m always going to worry about you, idiot. You think you’re the only one who can look after people?” Her voice was low but fierce, her own tears threatening to fall. “I’m your person too, Y/N. You don’t get to do this alone.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, but it was more a choked sob than anything else. “I didn’t want to burden you... You’ve got enough going on.”

Jinx shook her head furiously, her blue hair falling around her face like a halo of wildness. “You’re not a burden!” she shouted, her eyes fiery and wide. “You’re my family, Y/N. You’re my person. And if you’re hurting, you tell me. Got it?”

Y/N nodded, tears falling freely now, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. “I’m sorry, Jinx,” she whispered.

Without another word, Jinx pulled Y/N into her arms, holding her tight, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the need to keep Y/N safe. “Don’t apologise,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “Just... just don’t do this alone anymore, okay? I’m not letting you slip away, not now, not ever. You’ve got me. Always.”

As they sat there on the floor, holding onto each other, Y/N allowed herself to sink into Jinx’s embrace, the weight of her pain lifting just a little. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.

And Jinx, despite all the chaos inside her, held her tighter, silently vowing to never let Y/N slip away again.

SEVIKA

The streets of Zaun were a labyrinth of decay, thick with the ever-present stench of chemicals, rust, and the low hum of machinery. It was a city built on the backs of those who dared to survive the grind, each day just another battle for those born without the luxury of choice. It was the perfect place for someone like Y/N—a Vastaya in a world that didn’t care for the different, the strange, the unique. A city where no one asked questions as long as you could fight, survive, and keep moving.

Y/N wasn’t just a survivor, though. She lived her life like a storm, a force that charged headfirst into whatever came her way, with no fear and no concern for the consequences. She wore her arrogance like armour, keeping the world at arm's length, pushing through the pain, the bruises, the blood. She didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what she wanted everyone to believe.

Sevika, on the other hand, saw through it. There was something about Y/N that tugged at her, something in the way she threw herself into danger, as if daring the world to take her down. It wasn’t reckless bravery. It wasn’t the kind of heroism that drove someone to fight for others. It was self-destructive. Y/N wasn’t just pushing forward. She was pushing herself to the edge, as if she didn’t care if she fell.

Sevika had seen it before—people like her, people who wore their pain like a badge, hiding behind the bravado of their tough exterior. People who wanted to be left alone with their demons. But Sevika wasn’t the type to ignore it. She couldn’t.

=

The first crack appeared after a brutal street fight that had left Y/N bloodied and bruised. They had been cornered by a gang looking for trouble, and Y/N had met them with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Sevika had taken care of the rest, but Y/N hadn’t slowed down—not even when her knuckles split open, not when a fist collided with her cheek, leaving her jaw sore and swollen. When the fight ended and the alley grew quiet, Y/N stood tall, as though she were untouched by the violence that had just unfolded.

Sevika watched her carefully, the concern in her gut growing with each step Y/N took. She was acting like nothing had happened, but Sevika knew better. There was too much blood on her skin for this to be normal. Too much pain buried beneath that stoic expression.

“You alright?” Sevika asked, her voice softer than she intended. Y/N didn’t look at her, but the way her shoulders stiffened told Sevika that her question had hit a nerve.

“Just another day in Zaun,” Y/N replied, her tone dismissive, like the cuts and bruises didn’t matter. But Sevika could hear the hollow note beneath her words. There was something wrong. She just couldn’t place it yet.

Sevika knew better than to push—at least not right away. But the unease remained in the pit of her stomach. Y/N had always been reckless, always pushing the boundaries of what was safe. But this… this was something else. She wasn’t fighting to win, or to survive. It was as if she was fighting to feel something, anything. And that terrified Sevika more than the violent streets of Zaun ever could.

=

Their mission for Silco wasn’t supposed to be complicated. A simple delivery, an easy in-and-out. But as they walked down the familiar, grimy path toward the rendezvous point, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence. An ambush.

Without hesitation, Y/N charged forward into the gunfire, her movements fluid and fast, instinct taking over as she dove headfirst into the chaos. She didn’t pause. Didn’t think. It was as if she had already decided that this was her fate.

“Y/N!” Sevika shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony of gunshots. Her footsteps were heavy as she tried to keep up, pushing through the smoke and the noise. “Get back here!”

But Y/N didn’t hear her. She didn’t care. She was too caught up in the adrenaline, too absorbed in the fight to notice anything else. Her movements were dangerous, graceful, and reckless. She darted between gunfire, taking down enemies with the precision of a trained killer, but there was no passion in her strikes. No hunger. Only a coldness that made Sevika’s heart tighten in her chest.

Y/N wasn’t fighting to protect anyone. She wasn’t fighting for Silco. She was fighting because it was the only thing that made her feel alive.

Sevika’s blood boiled. She had seen this before—people so willing to die that they no longer cared about the world around them. People like her. People who pushed others away because they didn’t want to be saved.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Sevika cursed, her voice low and furious. She saw Y/N dodge a bullet by mere inches, the flash of the shot almost too fast to register. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem to notice.

That was when it hit her. The hollow look in Y/N’s eyes wasn’t just the result of battle. This was something deeper. Y/N was actively courting death. She wasn’t just being reckless. She was numb.

Sevika’s stomach twisted with anger and something else—something that made her fists clench. She couldn’t let this happen. Not to her. Not to someone who had stood by her side through so much. She couldn’t allow Y/N to keep hurting herself this way.

As the gunfight died down and the remaining enemies fled, Sevika pushed her way through the bodies, her eyes fixed on Y/N. The younger woman stood at the centre of the chaos, breathing heavily, but there was no satisfaction in her expression. No pride. Just… emptiness.

Sevika reached out, grabbing Y/N by the arm, pulling her around to face her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice rough with frustration. “You’re not invincible, Y/N. You’re throwing your life away!”

Y/N’s gaze flickered, but she quickly masked it, her cold facade slipping back into place. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice sharp but distant. “I’m always fine.”

Sevika wasn’t buying it. Not anymore. She stepped closer, her tone softening, but only slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What happened to you, Y/N? What are you running from?”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t answer. She looked away, her shoulders tight, her breathing shallow. She was hiding something. And Sevika knew that until she pushed her, she wouldn’t get it out.

But Y/N wasn’t going to let her in so easily. “Nothing,” she muttered, the words cold and empty.

Sevika’s heart clenched. She had been where Y/N was—lost, broken, unable to see the point in anything. She had her own scars, her own demons. But she wasn’t going to let Y/N face hers alone. She wasn’t going to let Y/N destroy herself just because she thought she deserved it.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Sevika said, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, whatever’s eating you alive… you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Y/N’s defences wavered, but only for a moment. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her lips tightened in a grimace. Sevika’s hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, fingers grazing over the fresh cut on her cheek.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t pull away.

“I don’t deserve to be saved,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, a shiver of vulnerability in her words that was too quiet to hear unless you were paying attention.

Sevika’s chest tightened. The words were a punch to her gut, a painful reminder of just how deep Y/N’s self-loathing ran. Sevika’s eyes softened, her resolve hardening. She wasn’t going to let Y/N slip through her fingers. Not like this.

“You do,” Sevika said firmly, stepping closer, her hand cupping Y/N’s cheek. “You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who won’t let you fall.”

Y/N’s walls were crumbling, slowly, ever so slowly. The fierce, self-destructive mask she wore was fading, and for the first time, Sevika could see the woman beneath it. The one who wasn’t just a warrior, but someone who had been hurt beyond measure.

“I’m here,” Sevika repeated, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she reached out, offering her hand. “Don’t push me away, Y/N. Not this time.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flickering between Sevika’s hand and her face. The weight of everything seemed to press down on her, but Sevika’s steady presence was grounding. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N didn’t want to run. Didn’t want to push her away.

Slowly, her hand moved towards Sevika’s, and without a word, she placed her palm in Sevika’s, finally letting someone else in. The fight was far from over. But maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward healing.

[scarletttries]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companions Love Languages (Baldur's Gate 3 Request)

Request: "hi! i loved reading your baldurs gate companions in love headcanons, i wanted to ask would it be okay if you wrote headcanons for what their love languages would be? or just how they would show love to their partner? thank you!"

Pairings: Astarion x Reader, Wyll Ravengard x Reader, Gale Dekarios x Reader, Shadowheart x Reader, Karlach x Reader

Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who sent in requests and reblogged my last Baldur's Gate post! Consider me open for any BG3 requests, let me know if you want to see more pieces like this :)

Astarion:

- Astarion has always had a way with words, and there's no exception in the way he sings his praises of you. He is quick to tell you how you have won his favour, how he prefers you to any of his other travelling companions, how he looks forward to the moment you open your eyes each morning. He will come up with a thousand sweet pet names to lavish you with affection, her purring voice leaving no trace of doubt that he doesn't mean exactly what he says. And he takes a certain sick satisfaction in describing all the things he wants to do for you the moment you are left alone together, and watching the blood rise up to your cheeks, only making you more appetizing.

- After years of what felt like indentured servitude, Astarion always feels himself falling only more deeply in love when you do him little favours and acts of service. He never stops being surprised when you've set up his tent for him because he could tell he was battle-worn this evening, or when you fetch him a cup of wine before he's even realised he was actually quite thirsty. He's never had someone know him well enough to anticipate his needs, let alone selflessly step up to deliver those things wanting nothing in return but to see him happy and at ease. He can feel himself grow more trusting and open of you with every kind task you undertake.

Wyll:

- Wyll has lived a life subject to many stories, and finds himself weaving a new tapestry of tales with his Words whenever he speaks to you. A simple good morning is never enough, he must soliloquise on and on about the way it feels to wake beside you, and how each ray of sunlight captures your beauty in a thousand different ways. He will wax poetic as you stroll through the lands, letting you know exactly what he admires about you, and exactly what your future adventures together would mean to him. He wants nothing more than to tell you the story that he sees the two of you writing together, every sweet word just another reminder that there's never been anything more important to him than you.

- You can show Wyll how much you care about him by just being there and sticking by for all the quality time he needs. This may include a lot of listening to the heartbreaking tale of his father's scorn, and sitting in supportive silence as he tries to let go of some of the weight he has carried on his shoulders thus far. You also need to be willing to put in the time to learn a dance or two, the retracing of steps bringing warmth to Wyll's heart and flooding him with all the brightest memories of his childhood. And when the dances have your bodies twisting closer and closer then Wyll has another idea of how you can spend some quality time together.

Gale:

- While Gale does see himself as a man of adventure, he is first and foremost a scholar of the magical arts and that requires a certain amount of Quality Time spent with his books. As he makes space in his life and heart for you, he views his time with you as equally precious. He loves that you two can sit quietly next to each other reading for hours, or just swapping stories of your adventures. He knows if the gravity of it all is getting on top of him, he can pass an easy day resting his head in your lap while the two of you discuss what the future could hold for you, giving him reason after reason to keep on fighting and never surrender to ache in his chest. On the rare occasions that Gale has to spend the day away from you, prepare yourself for the most dramatic reunion you can imagine when he returns - sweeping you into his arms, ready to cling by your side as he tells you everything you missed while being apart.

- Gale has heard and read a lot of pretty words in his time, knowing they are often not to be trusted in their intended meaning. So rather than telling Gale you care, you find it much more effective to just show him with your touch. He's a needy boy at the best of times anyway, but with a gentle caress of your fingers over the nape of his neck you can render the chatty wizard speechless and completely entranced. It's difficult to overstate how much of Gale's day he spends thinking about when it all grows dark and finally he can retire into your bed roll and feel your skin pressed against his, feeling completely safe and content in your company.

Shadowheart:

- Despite having little to offer and no intrinsic idea of an item's value, Shadowheart finds herself compelled to offer you small gifts and tokens of affection as you travel together. It might be an especially well aged bottle of wine picked up while exploring some abandoned castle, a bottle she hopes the two of you can share as the sun is setting that night. It might be a resilient flower she sees sprouting from a hillside, she can't help but tuck it behind your ear and marvel at the way it draws out the highlights in your eyes. A cup of water from a glistening stream, a smooth pebble plucked from the shore, a sweet handful of berries found deep in a thicket. Her hand is constantly extending out towards you, with some small reminder that you are never far from her thoughts.

- So much of Shadowheart's life has a been shrouded in dishonesty and mystery, so when you speak to her with only kindness and truth she comes to really value those Words of Affirmation. Giving her your honest opinion, and letting her talk through whatever moral quandary is playing on her mind, will strengthen the deep understanding you share and remind her of the way you give her something no one else has before. Let her know you're thinking of her too, that you care about how she's doing, and you like her no matter what version of herself she is becoming, and Shadowheart will continue to open her heart and mind to you again and again.

Karlach:

- Karlach has always been a helpful soul, even if she's been misguided in the past about who she's been helping. So her favourite way to show you she cares is through Acts of Service, doing little tasks for you and reinforcing that your life will just be easier if you keep her around and ideally very close by. She is particularly happy when she gets to do something for you that doubles as an excuse to show off her statuesque build; reaching something off a high shelf, lifting some heavy boulder out of your way, carrying you in her arms when the day has been long and there's still a journey ahead of you. She feels like she needs to improve your life in all these tangible ways in order to let you know just how appreciated you are, even though it would be impossible to ever feel like you were being taken for granted by this loving soldier.

- After decades of burning ultimately hot because of the infernal engine in her chest Karlach has become used to being a certain level of touch-starved. But when you first celebrate her mended heart by throwing your arms over her shoulders, all that need and want come flooding back in a landslide and Karlach is sure she'll never be able to stop squeezing you again. Show Karlach love through physical affection and this fierce warrior will be melting like a puddle into your lap at the slightest touch. Wake her with a hug each morning, let her fingers grip your hand as you explore the treacherous world, squeeze her thigh as you settle round the campfire each evening. Remind her you're there, and let her cling to you in a way she has always craved, and you'll have a very happy Barbarian on your hands.

[merchelsea]

took care of your girl - max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen + fem! driver!(charles' gf) reader

summary: charles is too busy celebrating his P2 to care about your home dnf, but max is not.

author's note: this is my first time writing for tumblr and im so excited!! i cant believe i actually came up with is.

word count: 4k+

PART TWO

"ugh, you're so boring." charles sighed.

he had been trying to convince you to go celebrate his p2 with him for the last five minutes, but you were just not in the mood for a party.

i mean, this was monza. ferrari's and alfa romeo's home race, but your home race too. you had big expectations for this one.

of course you didn't mind ending up 6th, like you thought you would 4 laps before the end. you just wanted to cross the line. but you didn't.

at lap 50, you collided with sargeant, who was trying to overtake. the williams got to the end, and you didn't. you thought it was so unfair, but there was nothing you could do.

you had done an amazing race, managing to go from 15th to 6th. it was more than enough after a terrible qualifying, and you couldn't understand how someone took that from you in a heartbeat.

you were so angry. all you wanted to do was cry. but you still got out there with your best smile and watched the drivers getting to the podium.

first one to get up there was lando, who once again did a great race for mclaren, ending up 3rd after an 8th in qualifying. he was a great driver and everyone could see it.

then they called charles. the man in ferrari red stepped into the 2nd place with the brightest smile. he was really happy, and so were you. you were happy for him, genuinely.

you smiled and applauded just like everyone. you were so proud of your boyfriend. of how he managed to get that thing they call a car from 13th to 2nd.

the tifosi were out of their minds proud, and so were you.

in that moment, just for that one tiny amount of time, all you felt was happiness.

and then they called max verstappen. you sighed and applauded when the men got to his place. your smile never fading, but growing wider. you were beyond proud, more than what words could ever achieve to show. so you just stood there applauding.

you knew it was boring to see the same person win race after race, always getting to step on that ridiculous number one. but he deserved it, and you were delighted to be able to see his dreams coming true. because he was talented, that’s something no one could deny, but he worked his ass off.

you didn't get to watch them celebrate tho. because, unfortunately, someone called you in the garage.

lewis was already there when you arrived, and he was the first to talk to you.

"hey listen, i'm sorry for what happened. you deseved that 6th." he pat on your shoulder and you smiled, thankful.

"it was a great race, just a bad outcome." you sighed after hugging him casually like you always did after a race. "you nailed it today, congrats!" he thanked you and toto arrived, wanting to talk to both his drivers.

"you were absolutely amazing out there today. every person in this team is very proud." he smiled. "of both of you." his eyes fell on you when he said that. he knew you well, and he could tell you blamed yourself for what happened, even if you didn't show. "the incident with the williams was a shame, but you two fought like hell. i am proud of you."

you faked a smile and thanked toto. his words were comforting but they didn't do much. you were still upset.

that's why the first thing you did when you were free was lock yourself in your driver room. letting your body fall into the couch you reached for your phone to focus your mind on something that was not the race.

but after a little, you heard someone knocking in your door.

"mon amour? it's me. can i come in?" you got up and unlocked the door, facing your smiley boyfriend. he greeted you with a wholehearted kiss, showing you how happy he was for his race.

"hey baby." you smiled to him. "you did so good today, i am the proudest girlfriend in the world." you whispered into the tight hug you pulled him to.

"thank you!" he said simply, not even acknowledging your race. you weren't surprised because he never did, but it was your home race. and somehow you thought that changed something. "so, does the proudest girlfriend in the world want to come and celebrate with her man?"

and that is just how you got into this 'fight'.

"i'm not boring. you know that i would go any other day." you tried to explain yourself. it was kind of embarrassing, having to explain that to the person who's supposed to love you and understand you. "i just dnf'ed, charles. in my home country. after a freaking perfect race. that´s not easy."

"aren´t you happy for me?" he asked, looking at you with a fake sad expression.

"of course i am. you know i am." how could you not be? the monegasque deserved this more than anything.

"then come. why don't you make an effort for me? you know how important this is. and i want you to be by my side." he begged.

he didn't understand you. god, he didn't even try to. he was the one who wasn't making an effort here. he never made, and that's what you've been realizing for quite sometime.

"i'm sorry charles. but not today. you go and enjoy for me." his fake expression suddenly faded to give room to a frown.

"fine." he sighed and left, slamming the door on his way out.

you stood in the drivers room, this time not trying to avoid any thoughts. in fact, you were analyzing the race. from the start to the moment you went out.

all of your overtakes were perfect, not once colliding with other cars. you knew that because you were in the car, but you were looking for something to blame, some other touch that could've damaged the car slightly. but you never found it.

so you cried. you cried looking at the roof of the room. you cried your heart out because you were this close to proving people wrong, you were this close to making your people proud.

you cried until you heard another knock on the door, this time around being the last mechanics in the garage, telling you they would go for dinner and would come back later, leaving you alone for sometime.

when they left, you went to take a look at the car. and observing it, you realized what went wrong. but instead of putting your mind to rest, you started to think about what you could've done to prevent it.

"what are you doing here?" you heard a familiar voice, and turned to face its owner. the dutch was looking down at you, who cried with her head between her knees, in front of her racing car.

max had changed into his normal people clothes, whilst you still wore your racing suit.

"it's my team's garage. what are you doing here?" you asked, highlighting the 'you'.

"i was on my way and saw you here. what happened? why are you here on your own?" he asked. genuine preoccupation in his eyes. you could recognize any expression of his. any and every.

"nothing happened. i just wanted to be alone." you lied. straight up lied into his eyes. that was not something you were used to nor something you liked to do. but you did. and you knew he didn't buy it for a second.

"oh yeah. you decided you wanted to be alone, sitting against a wall, crying, for three hours after the race without showering and changing, just for fun? sounds like something i would do." max ironically said.

"look verstappen, i just wanted to be alone. and i still do, so if you could go away i would appreciate it." you said, getting up to walk to your room.

"don't call me verstappen." he says seriously. you never call him verstappen. "and i'm not leaving you alone after today. i know better than to do that." he follows you, leaning in the door frame when you are about to close the door in his face. "where is your so called boyfriend?"

your left eyebrow shot up as your head turned to look at him. his face remained serious, waiting for an answer.

"celebrating his podium. aren't you supposed to be celebrating your win?" you asked carefully, trying to get him to leave.

"maybe." he crosses his arms in his chest as you turn off your laptop and put it in your bag.

"then go." you said simply, collecting your stuff to go home. you wanted to stay there, but alone.

"not unless you're coming with me." he changes his position again to be more comfortable as you sighed, making him know you were getting tired. but that didn't change anything for him.

"leave, max." you said firmly, looking at him. he mimicked a 'no' with his mouth. "why?" you tried to get out of the room, but just as you passed through the door, the dutch caught your arm, making you look up to face him. your height difference was not too big, but it was still noticeable.

"because i know you, and leaving you alone after a dnf here, is a mistake i don't want to make." he let go of your arm, but you didn't move. "a mistake i'm not going to make." you stepped back, and proceeded to pick up your stuff. "go shower and get dressed, i'll get your stuff. if you are going home, i'm going with you."

"no. i don't want you to come." he laughed.

"care to guess who doesn't give a fuck, darling?"

"do not call me darling. and you are not coming, i wont let you in." you threatened, knowing you would never do such thing.

"then i hope you have money for a new door." he was determined, and you knew he was damn serious about not leaving you alone.

"i hate you." you laughed and as soon as the sound got to his ears his mouth formed a big bright smile. oh, what that laugh did to him. it was even better than winning races.

"if that means i get to come, i'm more than happy. now go shower." you did as he said, going straight to the bathroom.

once inside, you never thought about stuff like not giving the interviews you were supposed to, or how charles never once said he was proud of you.

the only thing you thought about was max, in your room, picking up your stuff so that you could go home with him. and the fact that it wasn't strange nor weird, it was fine.

from the beginning, you two had a special connection with each other. that's why you became best friends so easily, and also why you fell in love with him.

but he never showed reciprocity, so you thought it was a one way thing. god knows that if he had gave you one minimal sign, you would've never ended up with charles. the thing his, he didn't.

since your red bull day's, in his eyes you were just friends. or at least that's what you thought.

cause it turns out that the world champion is a way better liar than you could imagine. or you are just blind. because the signs were always there, you just doubted yourself enough to be oblivious to them.

it was the little things. like you being the first person he talked to after every freaking race. or how he was always in his best mood for you, but only for you. how he always said he was proud of you after a race, it didn't matter if you ended up first or last. he always came to you, hugged you tight and whispered "you were amazing, i'm so proud of you".

that's the kind of thing you noticed but never payed attention to. and that's exactly why you are with charles now. because he, on the other hand, was direct and shoot his shot.

he didn't love you and you didn't love him, but you felt good with each other, and it was nice having someone. you both knew it from the start, even if you denied with every thing in yourselves. it was just so obvious now.

you got out of the bathroom with hair still wet, but already dressed in your black sweat pants and your light pink top. max had picked every single thing, leaving your room exactly how you found him.

"let's go?" he asked, after a couple of seconds observing and admiring you.

you nodded in response and tossed your car keys to him.

"you drive, i sing." he picked them and laughed.

"deal." you made your way to your, brand new, white mercedes in a comfortable silence. but when you closed the doors, he broke it. "i don't want you blaming yourself, williams got a 10 second penalty for a reason. you were amazing, i'm so proud of you."

"you always say that." you smiled, looking at him.

"because it's true. i am proud of you."

"i know, and i am proud of you too. it's just that you always say the exact same thing." you noticed. max was sure you never took note of his words, but he didn't know how much they meant to you.

"i guess it became kind of our thing now." with now, he meant the past 3 years. you just nodded and smiled, searching through your phone for a good song.

"hey max?" you called, still unsure if you should mention it. he muttered something you didn't understand due to being focused on your words. "you know you don't have to do this, right?"

"do what, y/n?" he asked, fully focused on the car as he started driving.

"care because he didn't." straight to the point, we can see some improvements.

"omg, you can be so dumb sometimes." he talked, out loud, to himself. you didn't understand, so he might just be right. which is something you'll never say.

"huh?" you muttered, confused. he was indeed right.

"i care. i always do. i would have cared even if he had some decency in that shitty brain of his and had, at least, taken you home. do you actually believed i would have to go through the mercedes garage to get to my car?" he laughed, your face full of confusion, reflecting what was happening inside of your mind. "i was looking for you. i thought charles had took you home, or out, but i had this little thing inside of me telling me to check."

"oh yeah, that was me sending you telepathic messages." you joked. "thank you for coming, max. this is just a very important day for charles."

"whatever helps you sleep at night, y/n. and i would always come, any day and anytime." max took his eyes off the road to face you.

"are you saying racing is not important for him?" you focused on the first sentence.

"i'm saying he would do this on a regular tuesday. and i'm saying i would come after winning at zandvoort if you were needed me." he sighed. "you should stop lying to yourself." now was your turn to sigh. just as he layed his eyes on the road, your right hand went through your hair.

frustration, anger, sadness, loneliness.

"i'm not lying to myself, you don't know him like i do."

"i may not, but i know you. better than he ever will. you don't love him, and i bet my career you never even managed to lie to him about it." ding ding ding, max verstappen, the mr. knows it all was right once again. you are mad at him for knowing you so damn well.

"if i didn't, then why would i be with him?" you tried again. fooling max was getting more difficult by the day.

"we both know why." he said to your eyes, turning his head when he was done talking. damn, max.

the rest of the ride was completely silent, you wanted to say something but you couldn't. you simply could not. you couldn't even put on some music to relieve the tension.

all those questions coming to your head like gun shots "does he really know?" "why didn't he say something?" "does he see me the way i saw him? the way i still see him." every single one of them wounding you, creating a whole you couldn't close.

he was silent as well, his mind a little quieter than yours. that had been stressing his mind ever since you told him about charles, and now he couldn't keep it in.

not when the girl he loved was left alone by her boyfriend for a fucking party. he would've never do such thing, max would've been by her side, letting her know how proud he was, how loved she was.

the dutch was so angry, it took him everything to stay silent in that ride. but he did it, because it wasn't your fault. he was mad at charles, for not being a good enough boyfriend. he was infuriated because the monegasque couldn't make you happy. he was out of his mind because the greened eye ferrari driver took the place in your life that he wanted. that, in his head and heart, was supposed to be his.

the first glimpse of voice came from his mouth, when you were already in your apartment. monza was the only racing place you had somewhere to call home.

"come here." he opened his arms, when you looked at him. you expected him to talk, you wanted him to talk, but that was the only thing max said. the only thing he wanted in that moment was to feel you close, feel like he was protecting you from every bad thing.

of course you went, you would always go. his armes embraced you almost immediately and you closed your eyes, trying desperately to feel him closer. you could try to deny it but you missed him more than anything.

"i'm sorry." you apologized. none of you knew what you were talking about, yet at the same time, you both knew exactly what you meant.

max didn't respond, not with an "it's okay" nor a "not your fault". he simply kissed the top of your head while stroking your hair, and you knew it was okay. everything was fine between you two.

maybe not fine, but they were okay for now.

"break up with him." he half advised you half asked you. everyone knew that was the right thing to do, but he wanted you to do it for other reasons too, not just because it was right.

you chuckled into his chest, causing him to push a little just to face you.

"you talk like it's easy." he stepped back, separating the two bodies completely.

"breakups aren't easy, but yours, particularly, is. it's as simple as it sounds." he went back to the serious features.

"it's still a break-up."

"breakups only hurt when you love each other. do you love him?" you stood silent as he stepped closer. you watched as he brought his hand to your chin, caressing him once there's contact. "tell me. do you love him?"

"i don't." you let out as a sigh. instead of smiling, like you expected, max's face did the exact opposite.

"then why are you with him?" he asked in a low, tired voice. he was trying to find an explanation where he was not in the middle. he wanted to know that he was not involved in the why you weren't happy.

max knew, deep down, that you felt something for him. he always had that feeling. but, in his defense, you didn't make it easy for him. hiding it, locking the feelings in a deep part of your yourself, where no one could find them. bringing up some made-up-boy whenever you felt like you where being to obvious, constantly telling him he was like a big brother you could talk about that sort of thing. you had covered up the truth pretty damn well.

but even with all of that, he knew. something in him just knew. and all he could think about now was how he could've changed something, how you wouldn't be with someone who didn't deserve you if he had just done something.

he had tons of opportunities to ask you out on a date, or tell you how he really felt. it was just hard to believe you would feel something for him sometimes, so he waited for you. he waited until it was too late.

"i like him." you lied again. it was the second time you lied straight into his eyes in such a little time. that pissed him off. you should never feel the need to lie to him.

"bullshit. we both know that you're with him because i never risked losing you for how i felt. i never got to shoot my shot, and he did. that's why you are with him."

you lowered your head, both hands going to your face immediately. you felt like crap.

"what do you expect me to say?" you asked, raising your voice. your eyes finally fell on his.

"i don't expect you to say anything. i just want you to cut this thing you two have going on." his gaze never left your face, not even when you weren't looking at him. "you don't deserve this. you deserve to be happy. to be treated right. you deserve to be loved right."

another sight and then silence filled the room. no one could say anything.

"just..." he started, leading your eyes to look for his. "do you still..?"

"yes, max" you shot automatically, your voice sounded like a cry, but that didn't matter.

he sighed, relieved. and then stepped closer again, pulling your body to his, in a hug. he let you cry against his shoulder, while he cried silently against yours.

you pulled away to look into his eyes, smiling silently. even being like this, you had just found out that this was no 'one way thing', he felt the same.

"stop smiling. i'm fighting over here not to kiss you." you laughed, that was the best thing you could've heard that day.

"don't." you searched for his hand, taking it into yours once you've found it.

"i would love to, believe me. but as much as i want this, you have to be fully single first." his eyes were so bright that you were sure they could glow in the dark. you always loved his eyes.

"i love you, max." you whispered with the biggest smile on your face.

"i love you too." he whispered back. your smile growing impossibly wider.

max kissed the top of your head before leaving your room. it was a bit past 4a.m. and you had just finished watching a rom-com movie you liked.

it's fascinating how you two fit so perfectly. it's like you've been handmade for each other.

of course that, on his way out, max had to find charles coming. because that's just your life.

the dutch and the monegasque spent a little of time just staring at each other.

"what are you... what did you do in there?" charles asked breaking the awful silence that had been installed. you could hear everything from the inside of the room due to the paper thin walls.

"i took care of your girl." you would pay to see charles’ face that moment. "not so yours anymore, i guess." max said with his most serious face. he definitely won the idgaf war.

"not so mine anymore? mate, what are you talking about?" his confusion was deeply amplified by the alcohol in his system.

"i don't know man, figure it out." the world champion responded and walked out.

he knew that the moment he walked out charles would enter that room and lay in the same bed you were. but he didn't mind, he trusted you fully. and on top of everything, he knew that no matter what, he was the one you loved.

so when he closed that door, he had a smile on his face, knowing damn well he would open her soon.

[kiwriteswords]

Between Almost and Always

AN: This one got away from me! I meant for it to be, like...a few thousand words, but now we're at over 10k...so...

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female!Reader

Word Count: 14.2k !!

Rating: Mature

Tags/TW: Canon-typical violence, canon-typical themes, angst, fluff, kinda fade-to-black smut, read-between-the-lines-smut, happy ending...but it takes some time to get there!

Summary: You and Aaron Hotchner share a bond that runs deeper than either of you dares to acknowledge. Caught between the demands of the BAU and the unspoken pull toward each other, you both struggle to balance your feelings with the fears that keep you apart. As fate and duty continue to intervene, Hotch's silent sacrifices and your unrelenting hope create a tension that neither time nor distance can dissolve, leaving you both to wonder if love will ever break through the almosts and become an always.

The BAU had been your home for as long as you could remember. The team wasn't just a collection of brilliant minds and seasoned agents—they were your family. Together, you moved through darkness, confronting the most twisted parts of humanity. You learned to trust each other with more than just your lives; you entrusted one another with your secrets, your flaws, your fears.

And then, there was Aaron Hotchner.

Hotch was more than just your boss; he was the still center of the storm that raged around you all. He was the steady force that pulled you back when the horrors of the world threatened to consume you. You could always find him standing in the eye of the chaos, unyielding and calm, eyes that spoke of experience, wisdom, and a profound sadness he rarely allowed anyone to see.

But with you, he was different.

From the start, there was something unspoken between you—a magnetic pull that neither of you dared to acknowledge, yet both of you felt with every fiber of your being. It was in the way his eyes lingered just a heartbeat too long, the softening of his voice when he said your name and the brief touches that seemed to hold entire conversations in their warmth.

In quiet moments, when the rest of the world faded, you’d find yourself stealing glances at him, and he'd catch you, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as if you were sharing a secret no one else could understand. You knew there was something more—something that danced just beyond the reach of words, beyond logic and reason. A bond that went deeper than friendship, stronger than mere attraction. Yet despite the simmering undercurrent, despite all the things you never said, the timing was never right.

Hotch had always been a man of unwavering principle. After Haley’s death, he’d sworn to himself that he would never let his personal life interfere with his work. The guilt he carried from losing her was a shadow that darkened even his brightest moments. It wasn't just the fear of losing someone he cared about—it was the dread of watching the life he touched crumble under the weight of his own demons. He vowed to protect those he loved by keeping them at a distance, believing that his presence was a curse rather than a gift.

But you slipped through his defenses, inch by inch. You, with your unwavering loyalty, your quiet strength, your ability to see straight through his carefully constructed walls. You were the one who saw the Aaron behind the Agent, the man behind the mask. The way you looked at him—like he was not just the leader of your team but a man worthy of being loved—made something inside him soften, something he thought he'd lost long ago.

And maybe that was why he yearned for you. Because you made him believe in a life, he thought was no longer possible for him. You made him dream of stolen moments in a world that wasn’t constantly closing in on him, of lazy Sunday mornings and the warmth of a hand that never let go.

But he was afraid. Afraid that the darkness within him would eventually touch you, hurt you, consume the light you brought into his world. He convinced himself that walking away was the only way to protect you, even if it meant tearing himself apart.

There was an unspoken understanding between the two of you—a silent thread that bound you to Hotch from the moment you joined the BAU. It was the kind of connection that didn’t need words, a gravity that even the team couldn’t ignore. 

JJ, ever the quiet observer, would offer you soft smiles of encouragement, always ready to be your confidante if you ever chose to cross that invisible line. 

Morgan, on the other hand, would tease with that trademark grin of his, throwing out playful jabs to lighten the weight of the tension, hoping his humor might just snap the taut string between you and Hotch. 

Penelope, never one to miss the signs of a budding romance, was less subtle—her eyes practically sparkling with mischief each time she saw you together. 

But it was Reid’s comments that surprised you the most; when even he, with his logical mind, started to speak of soulmates and fated bonds, you knew the connection between you and Hotch wasn’t just something in your head—it was written all over your lives for everyone to see.

It was Seattle, but it could have been anywhere. The rain fell in that relentless way it does in the Pacific Northwest as if the sky itself was unburdening its sorrows. The case had been brutal, a sickening reminder of the cruelty humans are capable of, and though you were all seasoned in darkness, this one had taken a toll on the team.

The unsub had left behind a trail of devastation, each victim a silent cry for help that no one had answered in time. You’d felt it gnaw at your spirit, the failure, the grief, the knowledge that no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t save them all. The team had dispersed after the long hours of paperwork, retreating to their rooms, each of them carrying the weight in their own way.

But you and Aaron Hotchner—you never went to your rooms. You both sought out the solace of the hotel bar, that quiet space where the world could blur at the edges, where reality was softened by the amber glow of dim lights and the low hum of meaningless conversation. You sat side by side, both of you holding drinks you barely touched, more for the comfort of their warmth than the promise of their escape.

Hotch looked different in the dim light—more human somehow, less like the unshakeable leader who never flinched in the face of terror. The lines etched in his face seemed deeper, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. He was a man who carried the world on his shoulders, and tonight, it was almost too much to bear.

You’d been through enough with him to know that silence was sometimes the best language, that the quiet between you could speak volumes. You didn’t need to fill the air with words because everything you could have said was already there, in the spaces between your breaths, in the way your hands rested on the bar, inches apart but worlds away.

Then, in a voice that was softer than the rain outside, you said, "Aaron."

It was the first time you’d called him that—not Hotch, not sir—just Aaron. His name felt like an invocation, a secret on your tongue, like you were stepping across a line that you could never uncross. His name tasted like honesty, like the beginnings of something that had been simmering for so long you’d almost convinced yourself it was only in your imagination.

In this moment, you knew everything you wanted to say--all of those stolen looks, touches, and feelings that were so powerful between you two--was written all over your face. Written so clearly not even a profiler was needed to decipher your looks. Yet, here he was, the best known to man.

He turned to you, and in his eyes, you saw a flicker of vulnerability, a glimpse of the man beneath the armor, the man who had been shaped and scarred by his past. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to pause; the weight of a thousand unspoken words filled the air between you.

"Sometimes, I think about how different things might be if I wasn’t who I am," he said, his voice barely a whisper, like he was afraid the confession might break something sacred between you.

He wasn't just talking about the job; he was talking about the man he had become because of it. The man who had lost his wife, who carried the guilt of her death like a second skin. The man who was both the protector and the prisoner of his own choices. You knew what he meant because you had seen it in his eyes so many times before, that yearning for a life untouched by tragedy, a life where he could love without fear, without the shadows of the past lurking in the background.

You opened your mouth to tell him that none of it mattered to you—that you’d take him as he was, battle-scarred and beautiful, that you’d hold every shattered piece of him and never let go. You were ready to say that you didn't need him to be anything but himself, that you’d seen all his flaws and loved him not despite them, but because of them.

But then, his phone buzzed, its vibration cutting through the fragile moment like a knife. You saw the shift in his eyes, the way the warmth turned to a kind of resigned acceptance. It was Jack, his son, his anchor to the real world. Jack was the reason Hotch still fought and still believed in goodness even when everything around him suggested otherwise.

He looked at you, and in his gaze, there was a depth of regret that you felt in your bones. An apology for the life he couldn’t lead, the words he couldn’t say. An unspoken I wish things were different, echoing louder than any spoken declaration ever could.

You forced a smile, swallowing the ache in your throat. "Go," you said gently. "He needs you."

And as he stood to leave, his hand brushed yours, a touch so fleeting yet so full of longing that it nearly undid you. It was the softest of goodbyes, a promise wrapped in sorrow. You watched him walk away, the rain outside blurring into streaks against the window, and all you could think was that love wasn’t supposed to feel like this—like reaching out in the dark, only to find that the light you’d longed for had slipped through your fingers once more.

You were left sitting there, alone in the bar that smelled faintly of smoke and regret, with the knowledge that sometimes the cruelest thing about love is knowing it exists but remains just out of reach. You knew, even then, that no matter how many almosts there were between you, fate would always find a way to keep you apart.

Because Aaron Hotchner was a man bound by duty and sacrifice, and you were a dream he could never quite allow himself to have.

From that quiet night in the Seattle hotel bar, time seemed to stretch out like a thin, fraying thread—pulling taut with every stolen glance, every touch that lingered just a second too long. You and Hotch fell back into the rhythm of your work, the familiar dance of chasing monsters and saving lives. Yet, something between you had shifted, a barely perceptible change that echoed louder than words.

In the weeks and months that followed, you found yourself noticing the small things—how Hotch would watch over you during tense moments in the field, his eyes always tracking your movements as if to ensure you were safe. The way his hand would brush against yours as he passed you a file, the touch so brief and unintentional, yet burning like a brand. There were times, in the quiet of the bullpen, when you’d look up from your desk to find him already watching you, his gaze softening in a way that he never let slip when anyone else was around.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining it, that you were reading too much into the way his voice grew softer when he spoke to you, or the way he always seemed to stand just a little too close. But then there were moments that shattered that illusion—like when your laughter would ring out in the middle of a tough day, and his eyes would light up, his guarded expression slipping for a fraction of a second, as if you were the only thing in the room he could see. The unspoken words hung between you like stars on a cloudy night, visible yet just out of reach, a constellation of almosts that never entirely formed a complete picture.

And through it all, you both remained silent, bound by your own hesitations, afraid to name what was so painfully obvious. For Hotch, the shadows of his past and the weight of his responsibilities were chains that held him back, making him believe that to love you was to invite disaster into your life. He buried his feelings under layers of duty and self-sacrifice, convincing himself that he was doing it for your sake, that by keeping his distance, he was somehow protecting you from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

So you carried on, both pretending that the universe hadn't already decided for you—that fate hadn't already entwined your lives in a way that neither of you could untangle. And yet, as much as you tried to ignore it, there were those fleeting moments when the world seemed to fade away, and all that was left was the space between you—the space that felt like both a chasm and a promise, waiting for one of you to be brave enough to cross it.

It was in that aching silence that the night at Rossi’s found you, once again surrounded by your team, the people who could see more clearly than you could what was hidden in plain sight. And though you tried to bury the truth, to tuck your feelings into the corner of your heart where they couldn’t hurt you, you knew. You both knew. The gravity that pulled you toward each other was unyielding, relentless—a force that neither time nor circumstance could weaken, even if it was never enough to bring you fully together.

The evening at Rossi’s had a kind of stillness that only follows a storm. The team had just closed the book on a case that left its mark, one of those that burrowed under your skin and lingered in your thoughts long after it was over. The shadows of the day seemed to melt into the twilight as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of amber and rose. Fireflies blinked like tiny lanterns, and the warm breeze carried the scent of pine and summer grass.

The team was scattered across Rossi’s backyard, laughter ringing out beneath the string lights that swayed gently in the evening air. You were there, surrounded by your found family, your laughter rising above the hum of cicadas, infectious and free, as Garcia told some outrageous story that made you double over with mirth. Your joy was like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and for a moment, the weight of the world seemed lighter.

Aaron Hotchner stood on the outskirts of the gathering, a glass of whiskey cradled in his hand, his eyes fixed on you. He didn’t join in the laughter, but his expression had softened, the hard edges of his face smoothed out by the glow of the setting sun. There was something in the way he looked at you—something almost tender as if he were memorizing the way you threw your head back when you laughed, the way your eyes crinkled with genuine delight. At that moment, he wasn’t SSA Aaron Hotchner, leader of the BAU; he was just a man standing at the edge of a life he wished he could have.

Morgan, always the perceptive one, followed Hotch’s gaze, shaking his head with a knowing smile. He stepped closer, clapping a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, breaking the spell for just a second.

"Man, you’re hopeless," Morgan said with a chuckle that was both amused and sympathetic. "We all see it. You look at her like she’s the only thing that matters. When are you gonna do something about it?"

Hotch’s eyes never left you, but the smile that touched his lips was small and tinged with sadness—a bittersweet acknowledgment of everything he wanted but couldn’t have. His voice was quiet, almost resigned, as he finally spoke. "I can’t, Derek," he said, his words heavy with a truth he could never quite shake. "She deserves more than the life I can offer her right now. She deserves someone who can give her the world, not a man whose world is constantly at risk of falling apart."

The admission was laced with more than just sorrow—it was drenched in regret, a painful awareness that his love for you would never be enough to protect you from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went. Hotch knew better than anyone that love wasn’t just about wanting someone; it was about knowing what you could give them in return. And he feared that all he had to offer was a life shadowed by danger, weighed down by the ghosts of every case that stole another piece of his soul.

Morgan opened his mouth to argue, to tell him that love didn’t wait for the perfect moment or the perfect person, but he stopped himself. He knew that when it came to matters of the heart, Aaron Hotchner was a fortress of caution and restraint, too afraid to let the cracks show, too afraid to believe he could have something beautiful that might one day break.

And you—you didn’t hear the words exchanged between them, but you felt the gravity of Hotch’s gaze, that unguarded moment when his eyes met yours across the yard. It was the kind of look that pierced right through the armor you both wore, a silent confession in the space between heartbeats. He looked at you like you were the axis his world revolved around, like every laugh, every smile you gave, was a flicker of light in his otherwise dark universe.

Your breath hitched at the intensity of his stare, and for a split second, you thought that maybe—just maybe—he might finally cross the line he’d drawn so carefully between the two of you. But then, as always, you saw that familiar wall go back up, the flicker of vulnerability snuffed out by the burden of his unspoken promises and his own fears.

You turned away, laughter still ringing in your ears, but your heart was heavy with a sadness that you couldn't quite shake. You knew he was holding back not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. And it ached, that knowledge—that you were both standing in your own way, two people reaching out from opposite sides of a canyon that life and circumstance had carved between you.

As you walked away, you felt the weight of his gaze on your back, a tether that pulled at you even as you drifted further apart. You wanted to turn back, to tell him that you didn’t need the world or some perfect life. All you needed was him—flawed, guarded, and broken in all the ways that mattered. But you knew he wouldn’t believe you, wouldn’t let himself believe that he could be someone’s happiness without also being their ruin.

And so, you let the moment pass, another almost in a series of almosts, knowing that sometimes love wasn’t about grand gestures or perfect endings. Sometimes, it was about the quiet moments in between, the ones where two souls recognized each other even when they were too afraid to meet halfway.

After that evening at Rossi’s backyard, the dynamic between you and Hotch seemed to settle into an unbearable kind of stillness, a delicate balancing act of emotions held just beneath the surface. 

He’d let his guard down for a fleeting moment, letting you glimpse the ache he tried so hard to hide, only to pull it back up as if regretting that he’d ever let it slip. 

You went back to the familiar routine of the BAU, solving cases and chasing unsubs, but something between you both had shifted—like a door that had been cracked open only to be slammed shut again. Each day felt like another opportunity slipping away; another chance lost to the silence of everything that went unsaid. The weight of his unspoken words hung in the air, suffocating, and you could feel time pressing in on you like a vice, the years ticking by with no promise of change. 

You tried to convince yourself that maybe this was all it would ever be—glances that lingered too long and conversations that always stopped just short of the truth.

So when a kind, reliable man came into your life, someone who was willing to build a future without hesitation, you let yourself be swept into the idea of a relationship that wasn’t built on waiting. 

You told yourself you couldn’t spend your life pining for a man who stood so close yet always seemed miles away, a man who looked at you like you were his entire world but still refused to reach out and hold it. 

And with that, you let go—at least on the surface—even though a part of you would always belong to the moments you’d shared with Aaron Hotchner, the almosts that could never quite become enough.

The day you started seeing someone new was the day you felt the invisible thread between you and Hotch snap—an agonizing, almost audible break in the connection that had always existed between you. 

You hadn’t planned on it happening like this, hadn’t intended for your heart to be caught between what could never be and what felt like a practical choice. But you were in your late twenties, and the ticking clock of your life seemed to grow louder with each passing year. You wanted a family, stability, a love that wasn’t constantly waiting in the shadows, and when he came along—a man who was kind, steady, and good on paper—you thought, maybe this was what you needed.

The team noticed almost immediately. You’d see their eyes dart toward Hotch whenever you mentioned your new boyfriend, a flicker of sympathy crossing their faces as if they knew what was happening but didn’t dare voice it. You tried to ignore it, tried to convince yourself that you were doing the right thing, that this man who wasn’t Aaron Hotchner was exactly what you needed to build a life you could actually count on.

But Hotch—he changed in a way you never expected. The warmth that used to live in his eyes when he looked at you vanished, replaced by something colder, something that felt like stone. He started keeping his distance, treating you with the same detached professionalism he gave to the world outside of the BAU. The touches that once lingered were gone, the secret smiles erased as if they’d never existed. He barely spoke to you unless it was about a case, his words clipped and precise, stripped of any softness.

It was a cruel irony, really. The more you tried to move on, the further he pulled away, until it felt like the bond you’d shared—the bond that had carried you through late-night stakeouts and whispered conversations in empty corridors—had disappeared entirely. It was as though the universe had taken back every promise it had silently made between the two of you.

One evening, you caught him watching you across the bullpen as you spoke on the phone with your boyfriend, your voice soft and your laughter genuine, or at least you tried to make it sound that way. You could feel Hotch’s gaze burning into you, a raw, aching sadness in his eyes, but there was something else too—something darker, twisted with regret and jealousy.

He turned away before you could meet his gaze, his jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck tight with restraint. And later, when you tried to approach him, to bridge the widening chasm between you, he was cold, distant in a way that sliced right through you. His answers were short, his tone indifferent, as if you were just another colleague, just another piece in the puzzle he had to solve.

“Hotch,” you said one evening when the distance between you became too much to bear, when you needed to understand why he’d turned his back on you so completely. “Why are you shutting me out?”

He looked at you then, his eyes hardened, his face a mask of stoic control, but there was a flicker of something beneath the surface—something that looked like hurt. "I'm not shutting you out," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I respect your choice. You made it clear that you’re moving on, and I’m just...following your lead."

The words stung more than you thought they would, like a slap to the face disguised as an apology. You wanted to scream that it wasn’t about moving on—it was about not being able to wait forever, not being able to live in this limbo of almosts and what-ifs--That you were tired of loving a man who wouldn’t allow himself to be loved back.

How could you move on when he could never take the leap of faith to even admit he felt what you were feeling so deeply inside. 

But you couldn’t say those things to him. Because deep down, you knew that your new relationship was a compromise, a safety net you’d cast beneath your heart to keep it from breaking any further. This man you were seeing—he was everything you thought you should want. He was stable, he was kind, he was willing to build a future. But he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner.

And maybe that was the cruelest part of it all—knowing that no matter how hard you tried to move forward, your heart would always circle back to him, to the man who stood just out of reach, the man who’d chosen duty and sacrifice over a chance at happiness. The man who watched you from the shadows, yearning for a love he could never let himself have.

You turned away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back, the ghost of what you could have been haunting every step you took. And as you walked out of the bullpen, you couldn’t shake the feeling that with every step you took towards a life without him, you were leaving a part of yourself behind—the part that knew, no matter how good on paper anyone else might be, they would never be Aaron Hotchner.

The offer came quietly, slipped into Hotch's hands like a whisper of a storm—an undercover mission, months long, treacherous, the kind that could pull a person so deep into darkness that they might never find their way out. It was the sort of assignment that made sense for a man like him, a man who thrived on control and strategy, who was willing to sacrifice anything and everything to keep the world safe, even if it meant losing pieces of himself in the process.

You heard the news from someone else, the rumors swirling through the BAU like a slow poison. Hotch hadn’t come to you, hadn’t even asked for your opinion or told you he was considering it, and that omission cut deeper than any of his words ever could. When you finally confronted him, it was late in the evening, the bullpen mostly empty, and the quiet hum of the building seemed to amplify the anger simmering just beneath your skin.

"You’re really going to do this?" you demanded, your voice trembling more from hurt than from anger. "You’re considering risking your life on a months-long mission without even telling me? Without asking how I feel about it?"

He looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face before it quickly hardened into that mask of stoic control he wore so well. "It’s my job," he said simply, his tone cold and clipped as if that were all the explanation you needed. "I don’t need anyone’s permission to do my job."

"That’s not the point, and you know it," you snapped, the frustration boiling over now, your hands shaking. "This is about you making a decision that could get you killed without even thinking to talk to me about it. Do I really mean that little to you?"

For a moment, something vulnerable flashed in his eyes, a crack in the armor that you almost thought might break open, but then he shut it down, shut you out. His face hardened, and when he spoke, his words were like ice—sharp and cutting, each one landing like a blow.

"You have someone else in your life now," he said, the bitterness in his voice barely concealed. "Why would my decisions matter to you? You made your choice to move on, to be with someone who can give you what I can’t. I’m just following your lead, remember?"

You stared at him, disbelief turning to anger, your voice trembling with the force of emotions that you could no longer hold back. 

"My choice?" you repeated, the words laced with bitterness and hurt. "How can you stand there and talk about my choice when you never even gave me the chance to choose you? You kept me at arm’s length, Aaron. You decided from the start that I didn’t get a say in this—in us. Every time I got close, you shut me out before I could even show you that you were the one I wanted." 

The raw honesty in your voice cut through the air, and you could see the moment the truth of it struck him, a flicker of pain crossing his face, but he said nothing. He just stood there, silent, letting the distance grow between you like he always had, because it was easier to act like he was protecting you than to admit that he was protecting himself.

"You need to stop looking at me like I’m something I’m not," he continued, his voice steady but softer, almost as if he were pleading with you to understand. "I’m not the man you want me to be, and I’m done pretending like I could ever be enough for you. I’m going on this mission because that’s where I belong—in the field, doing something useful. And maybe when I’m gone, you’ll finally stop waiting for something that was never going to happen."

You stood there, stunned, the sting of his words ringing in your ears. It was like he’d taken everything between you—all the almosts, all the shared glances and whispered moments—and tossed it aside, reducing it to nothing. He was pushing you away, cutting the ties that bound you both, but not because he didn’t care. He was doing it because he cared too much because it was easier for him to hurt you now than to let himself believe in a future that could never exist.

"Fine," you said, your voice cracking despite your best efforts to hold it together. "Go on your mission, Aaron. If it’s so easy for you to walk away, then maybe you’re right. Maybe I was wrong about everything."

He flinched at that, just barely, a shadow of pain flickering across his face before he forced it away. He gave you a stiff nod, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, and then he looked at you with those dark eyes that used to hold a world of unspoken words, now empty and closed off.

"It’s better this way," he said, but the words sounded hollow, even to him. "For both of us."

He turned back to his desk, the finality of it crashing down between you like a wall that could never be scaled. And in that moment, you knew—you knew that he’d made up his mind, not just about the mission but about the two of you. The bond that had once felt unbreakable was now shattered, the pieces scattered like ash in the wind.

As you walked away, your vision blurred with unshed tears; you couldn’t shake the image of him sitting there, rigid and unmoving, the weight of his own choices pressing down on his shoulders. You knew that this wasn’t just a job to him—it was his way of escaping, of punishing himself for wanting something he thought he didn’t deserve. And maybe, in the end, it was easier for him to go on that mission, to risk his life in a world of shadows, than to face the light of what he could have had with you.

And as he watched you leave, he knew he was making the only choice he thought he could live with—the choice that meant hurting you now to save you from the heartbreak he was certain he’d cause later. So he resolved to go on that mission, to bury himself in the danger and the darkness, where feelings didn’t complicate things and yearning for something he could never have didn’t make him feel so much like a man who’d lost his way.

In the aftermath of the confrontation, the tension between you and Hotch became palpable--especially leading up to his departure--a crackling silence that echoed through the bullpen. 

The rest of the team felt the shift immediately; they had seen the glances that used to pass between the two of you, the unspoken words that lingered in the air, and now, the cold distance that had replaced it was impossible to ignore.

Morgan was the first to approach Hotch. He found him in his office, staring out the window as if searching for answers that would never come. “Hotch,” Morgan said, his voice softer than usual, no trace of the teasing smirk he usually wore when talking about you. “You know you’re screwing this up, right? Whatever you think you’re doing to protect her, all you’re doing is pushing her away. And from what I’ve seen, she didn’t want protection—she wanted you.”

Hotch didn’t turn around. He kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, his shoulders tense, jaw clenched. “It’s not that simple, Derek,” he replied, his voice a low rumble of frustration and resignation. “I’m not the man she needs. She has someone who can give her a real future, not just a life spent waiting for me to come back in one piece. She deserves more than this.”

Hotch was just as surprised to hear his honesty come out to Morgan, as Morgan was surprised to hear the vulnerability pour out of Hotch.

Morgan let out a slow breath, shaking his head. “Man, you’re lying to yourself if you think this is for her sake. You’re afraid of getting hurt, of losing something else that matters. But you can’t live your whole life like that, Hotch. You’re gonna lose her either way if you keep this up.” 

Down the hall, hours later, there was a different conversation happening with you. As you sat there in the break room, the warmth of Garcia’s hug lingering on your shoulders, doubt started to creep into your thoughts like a slow-moving fog. You bit your lip, your fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, trying to steady the swirl of emotions that threatened to pull you under.

“Maybe he’s right,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “Maybe I’m just fooling myself. What if I’ve been making something out of nothing this whole time? What if he never felt the same, and I’m just… delusional?” You laughed, but it was a hollow, shaky sound that betrayed the insecurity you’d been fighting to keep at bay. “I feel like I’m going crazy, holding onto every little look and touch like they mean something when maybe they never did.”

JJ’s eyes softened with understanding, and she reached out to cover your trembling hands with her own. “You’re not crazy,” she said firmly, her voice leaving no room for doubt. “I’ve known Hotch for a long time, and I’ve seen him shut everyone out, even when he didn’t have to. But with you—it’s different. He lets you in more than he ever has with anyone else. He cares about you in a way he doesn’t know how to handle.”

Emily, who had been listening quietly until now, leaned forward, her expression a mix of frustration and compassion. “Hotch isn’t the kind of guy to wear his heart on his sleeve,” she said, her tone sharp with conviction. “He’s terrified of getting close to someone and then losing them. But trust me, we’ve all seen it—the way he looks at you, the way he lights up when you walk into a room, even if he tries to hide it. He’s not fooling anyone but himself.”

Garcia nodded fiercely, her eyes blazing with determination. “Honey, you are not crazy,” she insisted, shaking her head. “He has feelings for you, and we all know it. He’s just too stubborn and scared to admit it to himself, let alone to you. That man looks at you like you’re the reason he keeps breathing. If he’s pretending he doesn’t care, it’s because he’s protecting his own heart, not because there’s nothing there.”

You felt the tears welling up, but this time, they weren’t just from the hurt. It was the relief of knowing that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t been imagining things. That all those lingering glances, the stolen moments, the softness in his eyes when he thought no one was looking, they were real. You weren’t crazy, and you weren’t alone in this.

“But what if he never lets himself admit it?” you asked, your voice breaking, the vulnerability laid bare before them. “What if I’m just waiting for something that’s never going to happen?”

JJ squeezed your hand a little tighter, her smile gentle but determined. “He’s afraid, yes, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost to you. He’s hurting, and he’s hiding, but deep down, he feels it too. Sometimes, the right thing is the hardest thing to do. But he’s worth fighting for, and you are worth more than settling for half-truths and what-ifs.”

Garcia nodded in agreement, and Emily reached out, her hand warm on your shoulder, grounding you. “You’re not crazy for loving him,” Emily said softly. “He’s just scared of letting himself love you back. But one thing’s for sure—we’re not letting you give up on yourself, and we’re not letting you give up on him without a fight.”

You took a shaky breath, nodding, the tightness in your chest easing just a little. Because if they could see it—if the people who knew Aaron Hotchner better than almost anyone else believed in his feelings for you—then maybe, just maybe, there was still hope. Even if he was too afraid to see it, even if he was about to walk away, you weren’t as alone in this as you thought.

Hotch left quietly, like a whisper that faded into the darkness before you even realized he was gone. One moment he was there, stoic and silent in the bullpen, his eyes never quite meeting yours, and the next, he was just...gone. There was no goodbye, no last look, no chance to say what you’d been holding onto for so long. Just an empty desk, a hollow ache in your chest, and the knowledge that he’d chosen to walk away without a word.

You found out from Rossi, of all people, his expression grim yet resigned as he broke the news that Hotch had accepted the mission. The words felt like they echoed in slow motion, each syllable another crack in the fragile hope you’d clung to. Hotch had left for the dangerous undercover mission without telling you, without even giving you the courtesy of a goodbye. The hurt was immediate and sharp, slicing through the fragile shield you’d built around your heart.

He hadn’t come to see you, hadn’t given you a chance to plead with him to stay, and you knew why. Deep down, you knew that if he saw you one last time if he let himself look into your eyes filled with all that unsaid love, he wouldn’t be able to leave. He was running from the feelings he couldn’t control, from the bond that scared him more than any danger in the field ever could. He was a man who would rather face death head-on than confront the possibility of losing you.

But knowing his reasons didn’t dull the pain. It hurt like hell, like a betrayal you couldn’t shake. It felt like he’d taken the easy way out, choosing the mission over you because that was simpler because that was what he knew how to do. It felt like he was giving up on everything you’d never quite let yourself believe in.

That night, when you sat across from your boyfriend, the man who had tried so hard to make you happy, you felt a heaviness in your chest that you couldn’t ignore. He was everything you thought you should want—steady, dependable, willing to build a life with you without hesitation. But he wasn’t Aaron Hotchner, and that truth settled into your bones like the weight of something that could never be lifted.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you said, the words heavy with exhaustion and resignation, your voice cracking under the strain of holding yourself together. “It’s not fair to you, and it’s not fair to me. You’re a good man, and you deserve someone who loves you the way you deserve to be loved.”

He looked at you, confusion and sadness clouding his eyes, and though he tried to mask it, you could see the hurt there. “I thought we were building something real,” he said softly, the disappointment lacing his words. “Was it always him?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, to say that it wasn’t about Hotch, but the words died on your lips because that would have been a lie. Even though Hotch had walked away, even though he had chosen his mission over you, your heart was still tangled up in him, in the idea of what the two of you could have been if he’d just let himself believe in it.

“I don’t know how to love someone halfway,” you admitted, tears brimming in your eyes. “And I’m sorry, but my heart is somewhere else, with someone who might never let himself love me back. I didn’t want it to be like this, but it is, and you deserve more than I can give you right now.”

He gave you a small, sad smile, nodding as he accepted the truth, even though it clearly hurt. “I hope he’s worth it,” he said quietly, a hint of bitterness in his voice, and you couldn’t blame him for that.

As he walked away, leaving you alone in the quiet of your apartment, you felt the full force of your heartbreak crash over you. Hotch was gone, and you were left holding onto pieces of a future that never came to be. All you had now were memories, unspoken words, and the hollow ache of knowing that, in the end, he chose to walk away when you would have chosen him every single time.

The night Hotch left for the mission, Rossi insisted on driving him to the airport. It was late, the kind of late that makes the world feel hollow and deserted, and the car ride was quiet, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the distant lights flickering by. Hotch had barely spoken a word since they left the office, his hands gripping the envelope in his lap like it was his lifeline, even though he knew he would never allow himself to deliver it.

Rossi watched him out of the corner of his eye, his seasoned gaze taking in every detail—the way Hotch’s jaw was clenched, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly around the edges of that letter. Rossi knew his friend too well, knew that look on his face wasn’t about the danger of the mission ahead but about the danger of something much closer to home.

“Don’t suppose you’re planning on actually giving that to her, are you?” Rossi asked, his voice soft but pointed, breaking the silence with a tone that brooked no argument.

Hotch’s eyes flickered over to Rossi, a flicker of surprise quickly masked by his usual stoic expression. “It’s not for her,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a kind of resignation that came from making hard choices. “It’s better this way. She’s better off without knowing.”

Rossi let out a slow, frustrated sigh, shaking his head as he pulled the car over to the curb just shy of the airport’s main entrance. He turned in his seat to face Hotch, his eyes sharp and filled with a kind of exasperated compassion. Without a word, Rossi reached over and plucked the letter from Hotch’s hands so smoothly that Hotch didn’t have time to react.

“Dave, don’t—” Hotch started, but Rossi cut him off, holding the letter up between them.

“You think you’re protecting her by keeping this to yourself?” Rossi asked his voice a low growl, softened only by the underlying empathy in his eyes. “You think walking away with all these words stuck inside you is some noble sacrifice? All you’re doing is making sure she never knows how much she meant to you. You’re making sure she never gets the chance to choose you.”

Hotch’s defenses crumbled just a little, his face tightening as he swallowed hard. “I’m doing what’s best for her,” he insisted, the words sounding hollow even to his own ears. “If I give her that letter, if I say these things out loud, it’ll only make it harder for her when I’m gone. It’s my job to keep her safe—even from me.”

Rossi leaned in closer, his eyes boring into Hotch’s, unwavering. “You’re a damn fool, Aaron,” he said, his voice softer now but no less fierce. “She’s not some damsel in distress who needs you to protect her from the truth. She’s strong, and she’s got a right to know how you feel. And if you walk away from this without giving her that chance, then you’re not protecting her—you’re just protecting yourself from getting hurt.”

Hotch opened his mouth to argue, to say something—anything—that might justify the fear that kept him chained to his own doubts. But he couldn’t. All he could do was watch as Rossi tucked the letter into the inside pocket of his jacket, his expression unreadable yet determined.

“Dave,” Hotch sighed, his voice cracking under the weight of vulnerability he could no longer mask.

“No,” Rossi replied simply, shaking his head. “I’m not letting you get on that plane with unfinished business. You can be mad at me all you want, but someday you’ll thank me for this. She deserves to know that you loved her enough to be afraid and that you were man enough to admit it.”

Rossi’s words hung heavy in the air between them, and for the first time in a long while, Hotch didn’t have a comeback. He didn’t have the strength to fight the truth he had been running from—the truth that he was terrified to lose something he never really had the courage to hold onto. And in that moment, as he watched Rossi’s car pull away, he knew that this mission wasn’t about risking his life for the job; it was about trying to outrun the love he was too afraid to face.

As Rossi drove off, he knew exactly what he had to do. He would wait until the time was right, and when Hotch was safely away, he would give you that letter. He would give you a chance that Hotch had never allowed himself to take—a chance to understand the truth that had always been hiding behind his stoic gaze, the truth that he loved you too much to let you see him break.

The mission was supposed to take months, long enough for everyone to settle into the idea that Hotch would be gone and that life at the BAU would continue without him. But something went wrong in the field--something unpredictable and chaotic that pulled him out of the operation sooner than expected. 

The whole team was gathered around the screen at the BAU, watching in real-time as events unfolded like a nightmare they couldn’t wake up from.

You watched in silence, your heart lodged in your throat as Hotch risked his life in a split-second decision to save the mission’s integrity. 

You knew he was trained for this, that he was capable of facing danger head-on, but seeing it happen right in front of your eyes, seeing the bullets fly and the chaos ensue with Hotch at the center of it—it tore something inside you apart.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms as a mixture of fear, anger, relief, and heartbreak churned within you. You hated that you still cared so much, hated that watching him put himself in danger made you want to scream at him, to tell him he had no right to scare you like this after everything he’d done.

When it felt like the scene from a horror movie had ended on the scene, and Hotch was declared safe, a wave of relief swept through the room, followed immediately by a heavy silence. 

The rest of the team exchanged glances filled with sympathy and understanding, but you couldn’t look at them. You couldn’t look at him. You turned away, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over, feeling betrayed by your own heart.

Hotch returned to the BAU not long after, weary and haunted, but alive. And when he stepped back into the bullpen, his eyes searching for you, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. The hurt and betrayal were too raw, too fresh. He tried to speak to you, to offer some kind of explanation or apology, but you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving him standing there with the words dying on his lips.

Rossi watched the scene unfold with a frown, his hand brushing against the letter still tucked away in his jacket. He’d thought the mission would last long enough to give Hotch the chance to come to his senses, to see the truth he’d been too afraid to confront. But now, as he watched the unspoken agony between you and Hotch, he knew that the letter might be the only way to bridge the chasm growing wider by the day.

The tension between you and Hotch was suffocating as you stepped onto the jet for your first case back together. The team tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, their conversations forced and awkward as they pretended not to notice the icy silence between you and Hotch. But the pain was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

As the jet cut through the sky, the two of you could barely put your differences aside long enough to discuss the case. Every exchange between you was clipped, your voices low and sharp, each word laced with unspoken accusations. Hotch’s usual calm demeanor was replaced by a tightly controlled frustration, and you could feel your own anger boiling over, fueled by the fear and hurt of watching him almost die and then come back as if nothing had changed.

When he snapped at you over a minor detail, something in you broke. “You don’t get to do that!” you said, your voice rising despite the presence of the team. The pain in your voice was unmistakable, the hurt you’d been holding back finally spilling out. “You don’t get to act like everything’s fine and then snap at me like I’m the one who’s out of line. Not after what you put me through, not after you left without a word.”

Hotch’s eyes flashed with something between guilt and anger, his own control starting to crack. “I’m doing my job,” he said, his voice clipped and colder than you’d ever heard it. “We have a case to solve, and I need you to focus.”

The words stung, cutting deeper than any blade. “Focus?” you said, incredulous, your voice trembling with barely contained emotion. “I watched you almost get yourself killed, Hotch! I watched you risk your life without a second thought, and now you expect me to just sit here and act like none of that matters? Like you leaving didn’t tear me apart?”

The rest of the team exchanged uneasy glances, shifting uncomfortably in their seats. Morgan looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to, while JJ’s eyes were filled with empathy for both of you. Emily stared down at her hands, biting her lip, and even remotely through a screen, Garcia seemed to have lost her usual words of comfort.

Hotch opened his mouth to respond, but whatever he was about to say died on his lips. He couldn’t meet your gaze, couldn’t face the truth of what he had done--the loss of your trust, the pain--and that made you even angrier. The silence between you was thick--heavy with all the words left unsaid, the accusations that neither of you was brave enough to voice.

Rossi had been watching everything unfold, his gaze steady and knowing, his years of experience seeing straight through the walls both you and Hotch had built. He’d seen the way you fought on the jet, the way your voices trembled with hurt and frustration, each word a thinly veiled cry for something that neither of you knew how to reach. He knew that you were both hurting in ways that went beyond words, that the love and the pain you shared were tangled together like a knot neither of you could untie.

He’d hoped that Hotch would find the courage to say the things he’d written in that letter, that seeing you again and almost losing his life would finally push him to confront his feelings. But as the days went by and the distance between you grew, Rossi knew that the time had come to step in. He could see that Hotch’s stubbornness and your heartbreak were tearing you both apart, and he could no longer stand by and watch.

One evening, after the team had returned to the BAU from the case, Rossi found you alone in the dimly lit kitchenette. You were leaning against the counter, staring into your coffee cup like it might hold some kind of answer to the mess your heart was in. The rest of the building was quiet, the hum of the lights the only sound in the room. This was the moment—private, away from the eyes of the team—when Rossi knew he had to act.

He approached you slowly, his footsteps soft against the tile floor. You looked up as he entered the room, your eyes red-rimmed and tired, and for a second, you tried to force a smile. But Rossi knew better; he saw right through it.

"Y/N," he said gently, his voice softening with the kind of understanding that only years of watching lives unravel could bring. "I think it’s time you knew something. Something he should have told you himself."

You furrowed your brow in confusion, but before you could ask, Rossi reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out the letter, the envelope worn from where his fingers had traced over it time and time again, waiting for this moment. He held it out to you, your name scrawled across the front in Hotch’s precise, careful handwriting.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of it, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. "What is this?" you whispered, though you already had a sense of what it might be, the truth of it hovering just beyond your grasp.

“It’s from him,” Rossi said quietly, his gaze never leaving yours. "He wrote it before he left on that mission. He never meant for you to see it, but I think you need to. You need to know what he’s been holding back all this time."

Your hand shook slightly as you reached out, taking the letter from Rossi. His fingers lingered for just a moment as if transferring not just a piece of paper but the weight of all the unspoken words that Hotch had never been able to say. You could feel the letter’s weight, heavier than you ever imagined a piece of paper could be.

Rossi’s voice was low, almost a whisper, as he said, “Read it, Y/N. It’s time you knew the truth he’s been too afraid to tell you.”

You stared down at the envelope, your fingers trembling as you traced the letters of your name, written by the man who had torn your world apart—the man you still loved, even after everything. The rest of the world seemed to fade into the background as you turned the envelope over, slowly breaking the seal, your breath catching in your throat.

And as you began to unfold the letter, your heart racing with every inch of paper revealed, you knew that whatever was written there would change everything between you and Aaron Hotchner—forever. The truth that had been hiding in the darkness was finally coming to light, and you braced yourself for the impact of words you’d been waiting to hear all along.

The world seemed to fall away as you stared down at the letter in your hands, the one that Hotch had written in a moment of unguarded honesty. His handwriting, precise and steady, almost mocked you with its calmness as you unfolded the paper, knowing that the words on it held the power to either heal or shatter you all over again.

Your hands shook slightly as you began to read, your eyes scanning the lines that laid his soul bare. The letter was filled with the words he could never bring himself to say—the truth he’d hidden behind layers of stoic professionalism and self-sacrifice. He wrote about how he had fallen in love with you so completely that it terrified him, how every time he saw you smile, it felt like the light was breaking through the darkness that had wrapped itself around his life.

He admitted that he had left not because he didn’t care but because he cared too much. He was afraid that if he stayed, he would put you in danger, that the chaos of his world would consume you, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything ever happened to you because of him. He wrote that he was a coward for not letting you in, for not giving you a chance to love him back, and that leaving was the only way he thought he could protect you from himself.

But the most painful confession was how much he regretted not being brave enough to stay. How every day away from you felt like he was living half a life, pretending to be fine while his heart was still tethered to you. He poured out all the vulnerability he’d never let himself show, the raw edges of his love and fear, and by the end, you could barely see the words through the blur of your tears.

You felt your heartbreak and heal all at once, the anguish of his departure mixed with the overwhelming relief of knowing that you hadn’t imagined it, that he did love you—he always had. And yet, there was still anger, still hurt that he could be so selfless and so selfish all at the same time.

You felt reactive, but you knew this moment needed privacy, a space where you could let the raw hurt and anger spill out without holding back. That’s why you found yourself standing in front of Hotch’s apartment door, your heart pounding in your chest, the letter clutched tightly in your trembling hand.

You had rehearsed what you were going to say, how you would confront him for all the pain he’d caused, but the moment he opened the door, everything you’d planned to say disappeared in the face of his shock. He stood there, eyes wide and startled, his hair disheveled, looking as though he’d been caught in the middle of a moment he wasn’t ready for. When he saw the letter in your hand, his face went pale, and you saw something crack in his expression—fear, regret, the realization that there was no more running from this.

“Why?” you demanded, your voice shaking with the weight of everything you felt. You stepped into his apartment without waiting for an invitation, your eyes blazing as you faced him. “Why would you write all of this down, admit that you love me, that you were too afraid to stay, and then just leave? How could you walk away when you knew how much it would hurt me?”

Hotch looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out at first. He looked down at his hands, then back at you, his eyes glistening with a vulnerability that broke through his stoic facade. “I—I didn’t want you to read that letter,” he said finally, his voice raw and unsteady. “I thought if you never knew how I felt, you could move on, be happy without me holding you back.”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head, feeling the tears you’d held back for so long start to spill. “You still don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice cracking with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “You never gave me a choice, Aaron! You decided what was best for me, like I was some kind of problem you needed to solve, without ever asking me if that’s what I wanted. You left me here, broken, thinking that I wasn’t enough for you, that you didn’t care, when all along you were just too scared to let me in!”

Hotch’s face crumpled as he took a step toward you, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out, only to stop himself. 

“I thought I was protecting you,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, filled with the kind of pain you’d never heard from him before. “I thought if I stayed, if I let myself love you the way I do, that I’d put you in danger, that I’d ruin everything good in your life. But I see now that I was wrong. All I did was hurt you.”

You looked at him, your eyes blazing with hurt and love all at once. “I was ready to fight for you, Aaron,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, each word trembling with the force of your emotion. “I was ready to take on the risk, the danger, all of it, because I loved you that much. And you never even gave me the chance to choose you back.”

Hotch’s breath hitched, and you saw his eyes fill with unshed tears. For the first time, his stoic mask slipped completely, and he looked like a man laid bare, all his defenses shattered. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I thought I was doing what was best for you, but all I did was run away from the one thing that mattered most. I didn’t trust myself to be the man you deserve, and I was a coward for that.”

The apartment felt too small, the walls closing in around the two of you as you stood there, your heartbreaking and mending all at once. You wanted to yell at him, to shake him and make him see just how much he’d hurt you, but you also wanted to reach out and hold him, to tell him that you understood, that you were just as scared as he was.

“Aaron,” you said, your voice shaking but steady, your eyes meeting his. “You don’t get to make these decisions for me. You don’t get to push me away to protect me. I don’t know if I can forgive you yet, but I know that I want to make that choice myself. I want to decide if this is worth the risk if you are.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, his expression raw and pleading. He felt tension both leave his shoulders, but a new weight appear.  

“I promise,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, filled with the kind of vulnerability he never let anyone see. “No more running. No more hiding. I’ll fight for this, for us, if you’ll let me. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the gravity of his promise settle into your heart. The anger and hurt were still there but softened by the truth of his words. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” you said softly, the tears still glistening in your eyes. I’m not saying I’ll forgive you right away. But if you’re willing to stay and fight for this—for us—then maybe we still have a chance.”

Hotch let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a small, tentative smile breaking through the pain in his eyes. He reached for your hand, and this time, you didn’t pull away. His fingers curled around yours, trembling slightly as if afraid this was all a dream that might slip through his grasp.

And as you stood there in the quiet of his apartment, your hand in his, you knew that whatever happened next, you were finally on the same side, facing the fear, the risk, the uncertainty—together. The story between you and Aaron Hotchner was far from over; in fact, it had only just begun.

As the words between you and Hotch settled into the quiet of his apartment, a heavy silence filled the space—not the kind that was strained or uncomfortable, but the kind that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, pulling you both closer to a truth that neither of you was ready to let go of. There was something fragile in the air, something tender that neither of you dared to name, but you both knew it was there. It was the moment you’d both been waiting for, even if you’d never admitted it to yourselves.

You were still standing so close to him, your hand resting in his, and for once, neither of you pulled away. The soft light from the lamp in the corner cast shadows across his face, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes and the quiet desperation that said he didn’t want this moment to end. He was holding onto you like you were his lifeline, like letting go meant he’d lose more than he could bear.

Hotch took a shaky breath, his thumb brushing gently across your knuckles, his touch so tender it almost broke you all over again. "Stay a little longer," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, the vulnerability in his words laying everything bare. "I know I have no right to ask, but please... just stay."

Your heart ached at the rawness of his plea, and you couldn’t bring yourself to leave, not yet. You nodded slowly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. "Okay," you said softly, your voice laced with the same longing that echoed in his eyes. "Just a little longer."

Without a word, he led you to the couch, and the two of you sat down, closer than you’d ever been before. Hotch’s arm rested along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the fabric near your shoulder as if he was afraid to reach for more but couldn’t bring himself to pull away. You turned toward him, your knees almost touching, and for the first time, the distance that had always seemed insurmountable between you felt like it was finally closing.

He looked at you with such intensity, such quiet longing that it made your chest tighten. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering near your temple as if memorizing the way you looked at this moment. "I never thought I could let myself have this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours like he was afraid of what he might find.

You felt the tears well up in your eyes again, but this time they were softer, a mixture of relief and sadness and everything you’d kept locked inside for so long. You placed your hand over his, holding it against your cheek, and closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling the warmth of his touch, the way his thumb traced gentle circles against your skin.

"I’m here now," you whispered, your voice breaking slightly. "I’m here, Aaron. And I’m not going anywhere—not unless you make me."

For a moment, it was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and it was just the two of you in that small, quiet space. Hotch’s forehead touched yours, the breath between you shared and steadied, and in that touch, there was more intimacy than any words could convey. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way his breathing matched yours, and you knew he was holding onto this moment as if it were a lifeline.

He closed his eyes, his voice so soft and broken that it almost didn’t reach you. "I don’t deserve this," he murmured, his lips just inches from yours, not in a kiss but in a closeness that held more promise than any kiss ever could. "I don’t deserve you."

You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze with a determination you hadn’t felt in so long, your voice trembling but sure. "Maybe you don’t," you said, a hint of a smile breaking through your tears. "But I’m giving you the chance to prove me wrong."

Hotch let out a breath that was almost a laugh, a sound so soft and genuine it made your heartache. He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands coming to cradle your face with a gentleness that you didn’t know he possessed like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. "I’m not going to let you down again," he promised, his voice raw and filled with something that felt like hope. "I’ll fight for this—for us."

The two of you stayed like that; the world narrowed down to the space between your breaths, the gentle touch of his hands against your skin, and the unspoken promise of everything that lay ahead. You didn’t need to say anything else, didn’t need to break the silence with words that could never capture what this moment meant. You just held each other, the two of you finally, truly, being—no masks, no walls, just you and Aaron.

Neither of you wanted to let go, but you knew you had to eventually. So, when you finally pulled back, his hand still lingering on your cheek, you let out a soft sigh. "I should go," you said, your voice gentle, though your heart ached at the thought of leaving.

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his thumb brushing one last tender stroke across your cheek. "I know," he said, his voice filled with the quiet acceptance of a man who had found something he didn’t want to lose. "But not too far, okay?"

You gave him a small, tearful smile, your fingers wrapping around his for just a moment longer. "Never too far," you promised.

And as you stood up, reluctantly letting go of his hand, you both knew that something had shifted between you, something irreversible and true. You weren’t sure where this would lead, how much more pain or healing lay ahead, but for the first time, you both believed in the possibility of something real—something worth fighting for. And that was enough.

As fate would have it, just as you and Hotch finally seemed to find solid ground, the world pulled you back into the chaos that had always been your reality. A big case came barreling in like a storm, sweeping the entire BAU into its relentless grip. The details were brutal and time-sensitive, and there was no room for hesitation as you all packed your bags and headed off to the next city to face yet another battle in the war against darkness.

You and Hotch barely had a moment to catch your breath, much less to explore the fragile new beginning you’d carved out in his apartment. The case consumed you both, the demands of the job dragging you into late-night briefings, endless strategy sessions, and the exhaustion that came from running on adrenaline and sheer determination.

But through it all, there was something different in the way he looked at you—something softer, something that made your heart skip a beat even in the midst of chaos. There were stolen glances across the conference room, fleeting touches that lingered a second too long when no one was watching. It was like you were both holding onto a secret, a promise whispered between the cracks of what had always been left unsaid.

It was late—long past midnight—and the case was at a standstill for the night. You were in your hotel room, staring at the ceiling, mind racing with the pieces of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit together when a soft knock came at your door. You knew it was him even before you opened it, your heart pounding as you turned the handle to find Hotch standing there, looking more unguarded and raw than you’d ever seen him.

He was still in his suit, but his tie was gone, the top buttons of his shirt undone, and he looked like he’d been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for too long. He met your eyes, his own filled with something that looked like vulnerability like fear and longing tangled into one.

“Can I come in?” he asked, his voice low and almost hesitant like he was afraid you’d turn him away.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in, your pulse thrumming in your veins. Hotch walked in slowly, closing the door behind him, and for a moment, he just stood there, looking at you like he wasn’t sure if he should say something or stay silent.

"I thought I could do this," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I thought I could keep it professional, keep my distance. But every time I look at you, every time I see you put yourself in danger for this job, it terrifies me. And I can’t keep pretending that I’m not in love with you."

The words left you breathless, your mind reeling, and before you could even think, you closed the distance between you, reaching for him like he was the only solid thing in your world. His hands found your face, his touch gentle but desperate like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

"Aaron," you whispered, your voice trembling with all the emotions you’d kept bottled up for so long. "You don’t have to keep pretending anymore. I’m here. I’m right here."

And then his lips were on yours, and it was like the world stopped spinning. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, almost like he was afraid to believe it was real. But then it deepened, all the years of longing and restraint shattering in an instant, replaced by a raw, desperate need that neither of you could hold back. His hands slipped into your hair, holding you to him like he was afraid to let go, and you felt his breath hitch against your lips.

You broke the kiss just long enough to whisper his name, to look into his eyes and see the love and fear and desire that mirrored your own. "Stay with me," you said, your voice so soft, almost a plea.

He didn’t answer with words; he didn’t have to. He kissed you again, harder this time, more certain, his hands trailing down your sides as he pulled you closer. It was a kiss that spoke of everything you’d both been too afraid to say, everything that had been locked away in silence for so long. He poured himself into it—all the loneliness, the longing, the love he’d kept hidden.

You moved together in a blur of tangled limbs and whispered words, the unspoken promises and all the almosts finally becoming something real. You couldn’t recall at what point whose clothes ended up on the floor first or how it felt like it took no time for your skin to feel on fire under each brush of Hotch’s fingertips against your skin. 

Hotch’s touch was reverent, almost worshipful, as if he was memorizing every inch of your skin, the way you felt beneath his fingertips. His eyes never left yours, even as he kissed a trail down your neck, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.

When he finally laid you down on the bed, his movements were slow, almost hesitant, like he wanted to savor every second, like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here with him. You reached up, brushing your fingers against his cheek, guiding him closer, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

As he hovered above you, his forehead pressed to yours, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes—the love and fear and hope all tangled together. "I’ve never let myself have this," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "But with you, I can’t pretend anymore."

You pulled him down into another kiss, softer this time, filled with the tenderness that had always been between you, even when you were too afraid to acknowledge it. And then you were lost in each other, in the feel of his hands on your skin, his lips trailing fire across your body, the way he breathed your name like it was a prayer. 

It was as if his hands and body knew you already--knew exactly how you ticked.

When he finally sank into you, it was with a sigh that seemed to echo in the quiet room, a moment so full of love and longing that it brought tears to your eyes. You moved together, slow and gentle, the world outside fading away until there was nothing left but the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths and the way his eyes held yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

It wasn’t just about desire—it was about finding each other in the dark, about all the broken pieces of yourselves fitting together in a way that finally made sense. It was about love, pure and simple, the kind of love that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to unfold.

When the morning light filtered through the curtains, you woke up wrapped in his arms, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. For once, Aaron Hotchner looked at peace, his eyes soft as he watched you, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back.

"Good morning," he said, his voice still rough from sleep, a small, tender smile playing at his lips.

"Good morning," you whispered back, feeling the warmth of his smile settle over you like a blanket.

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes filled with something that looked like wonder. "I don’t want this to end," he said softly, his voice filled with an honesty that took your breath away. "I’m done pretending, done pushing you away. I want this—I want you."

You leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. "I’m not going anywhere, Aaron," you said. "Not anymore."

And as you lay there in each other’s arms, the promise of everything you’d both been too afraid to dream of was finally within reach. No more running, no more hiding. Just the two of you, facing whatever came next—together.

When the case was finally over, thee unsub was in custody, and the tension that had bound the team so tightly for the past few days had begun to loosen. You and Hotch had done your best to remain professional throughout the investigation, maintaining a careful distance despite the undeniable connection between you. Every stolen glance and fleeting touch during the case had only reminded you of the night you’d shared together, the secret that seemed to hang in the air between you.

Now, as the jet hummed quietly on the journey back to the BAU, the rest of the team settled into their seats, some rifling through case files while others engaged in quiet conversation. There was a sense of relief in the air, the kind that came after a job well done, but you could still feel Hotch's gaze on you, lingering with something softer, something unspoken that only the two of you understood.

Hotch was sitting directly across from you, his posture as calm and composed as ever, but the way he was watching you betrayed the quiet storm of emotions he was trying to keep in check. He shifted slightly, then cleared his throat, drawing the attention of not just you but everyone around.

Your name slipped from his lips, steady but tinged with a hint of vulnerability that made your pulse quicken. "I was thinking," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, his eyes locked on yours, "when we get back, maybe we could have dinner sometime." He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze never wavering. "A real dinner. You know, a date."

There was a split second of silence before Morgan let out a low whistle, his face breaking into a wide, knowing grin. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms over his chest as he shook his head in amusement. "Well, damn, Hotch. I didn’t think you had it in you," he said with a teasing smile, his eyes twinkling with genuine happiness for the two of you. "Took you long enough, man."

JJ and Emily exchanged quick glances, both smiling like they’d just witnessed something monumental. JJ’s smile grew wider, and she gave you a look that was equal parts supportive and relieved. "It’s about time," she said, her tone gentle but filled with a knowing warmth. "I think we’ve all been waiting for this."

Even Reid, who had been lost in a book just moments before, looked up with a surprised but pleased expression. "Statistically speaking," he said thoughtfully, tilting his head slightly as he processed the scene, "the odds were always in favor of you two ending up together. It’s good to see that probability playing out."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, a mix of embarrassment and joy coloring your cheeks. Hotch, who rarely let his guard down in front of the team, surprised you again by not hiding his smile—a real, genuine smile that lit up his face and made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"So," he said, his voice lower now, meant just for you even though the whole team was listening. "Is that a yes?"

You nodded, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. "Yes," you said softly, your eyes meeting his with a warmth that spoke of everything unspoken between you. "It’s a date."

Hotch’s smile widened just a touch more, and you saw a flicker of relief in his eyes, a quiet kind of joy that made your heart swell. It was such a simple thing—a date—but it felt like a promise, a beginning, a chance for something real outside the chaos of your lives.

As the moment settled between you, the jet full of your colleagues who had become your family, Morgan let out another chuckle. "Just remember, Hotch," he said, grinning as he looked at both of you, "we’ll all be expecting a full report."

Emily smirked, giving you a playful nudge with her elbow. "And we’ll be rooting for you guys," she added, her eyes sparkling with genuine happiness. "All the way."

You felt a warmth spread through you, not just from the support of your team but from the quiet certainty that you were finally on the same page with Hotch. This was more than just a fleeting moment; it was the start of something that neither of you was willing to let slip away this time.

As the jet continued its journey through the sky, you could feel the shift in the air, a sense of hope that was shared by everyone in that small space. It wasn’t just about the kiss you’d shared or the night you’d spent together. It was about a future, a chance for happiness that you both finally believed in.

And it all began with a date, a new beginning that held the promise of everything you’d both been too afraid to dream of—together.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1060

@khxna

[gay-dorito-dust]

HEYYYY

Soo I'm here to rq another Damian x reader(platonic). But real quick, I'm sorry if I'm requesting too much or being a nuisance. Pls lmk if I am so I can stop! It's just hard to find somebody that writes for him like dis.

Anyways, basically the same thing were theyre friends but this time it's a diff scenario. So Damian n reader are obvi friends but theyre also complete oposites. Like Damian is intelegent, focused and meanwhile has reader is a bit dumber, daydreams too much, and kinder. They also get walked over a lot.

So he invites reader over to the manor and she meets his brothers n dad. It's all fine n dandy but they can't help but notice how diff they are.

Bonus points if reader talks positively abt him to his brothers and they're all like "fym he's nice?" And readers all like "fym he isnt?" (They're just not used to being treated like a normal human being) ‼️

Honestly I love writing for platonic! Damian. So pls don’t apologise for anything bc I’m having so much fun rn. 🦦plus I don’t know if this will read well as I’ve written this late at night when o should probably be in bed.

‘Am I seeing things or has Damian finally made a friend.’ Dick whispered to Jason, his eyes unable to tear his eyes away from you and Damian followed Bruce through the manor.

‘Nope, I’m definitely seeing it too.’ Jason replied also looking at you and Damian as if he was looking at the human personifications of night and day.

‘The fact that the demon spawn managed to get a friend sure is…something.’ Tim piped up, having overheard his brothers conversation from standing in between them. ‘I can only hope he didn’t kidnap the poor soul.’ Dick added as he was quick to click onto how Damian kept a hand on your arm, tugging and pulling you along when you stop to stare at a painting in awe for a little too long, gently encouraging you to keep up with him and Bruce by promising to go back to the painting later. Jason then looked over at Tim, ‘any ideas on who they are?’ Tim shrugged. ‘Only the fact that they go to the same school as Damian, share the same art classes and is known for being a little bit of a daydreaming pushover, but despite all that they’re still a kind person.’

Dick smiled sympathetically as his heart ached for you. It wasn’t easy being nice in a city like Gotham, if anything nice ever wandered into the accursed city it seemed as though Gotham itself would stop at nothing to see it destroyed, decimated and become as miserable and as bleak as the city itself; So it was rare to find someone who genuinely could still bring it in themselves to smile whilst in a city like this. And for that Dick had to give you props for being brave enough -and strong enough- to be kind in a place that would gladly take pleasure in stepping over and on you at any inconvenience. For it was truly a sign of bravery at its finest.

‘That kid is sure brave.’ Jason signed, knowing that people like you don’t last in Gotham but it was people like you that Gotham needed the most, but how could a retched place like Gotham heal when it’s always been a rotten city since it’s very conception? He didn’t believe it could be possible but there were always solutions to fighting the problem that seemed impossible to overcome. So who cares if you weren’t the brightest bulb at school? The education system in Gotham was shit anyway the last time he checked and he doubted much had changed when he…well you know…

Tim was silent. He was too busy recognising the protective measures that Damian was taking specifically for you; mainly the hand tugging at your arm anytime he thought you were getting distracted or wandering off elsewhere and muttering about how you need to keep or you’ll get left behind, despite the fact that even if you did Damian would allow himself to fall behind just so that he could walk besides you. While he might be part of the majority that didn’t think he’s ever see the day that Damian brought a friend home, never less a friend who was the total opposite of him. He couldn’t help but feel a sort of relief that Damian finally found a friend, and he knew that both Jason and Dick felt similarly from the looks upon their faces, silently observing how you interact with one another.

The one thing that Tim was confident in was the fact that Damian needed you as much as you needed Damian because you were a beacon of opportunity for his younger brother in many ways that Tim was certain you weren’t made aware of just yet. So while he and his brothers may tease and take this piss about how different you were from Damian, they mean well and express their happiness the only way they knew best; teasing and taking the piss.

‘This library is beautiful Mr Wayne! Do you have any fantasy books?’ You could be heard asking down the hallway, followed by the sound of Bruce softly laughing as he showed you the grand library. ‘This library has any book you can think of and please call me Bruce, it’s not often that Damian brings anyone home for the weekend.’ He says as you looked the Damian confused and a little betrayed. ‘You’ve got friends other than me?’

Damian groaned. ‘No. I don’t, you’re the only friend I’m willing myself to have.’

You smiled and gripped his hand. ‘Aww Dami! That’s so sweet of you to say, despite how brash and blunt you may come across, I’m glad to say that you’re the only friend I’m willing to have too!’ You said without shame. ‘Everyone else isn’t a nice as you are.’ You trailed off while a rare solemn look appeared upon your face as Damian was quick to squeeze your hand reassuringly, Bruce smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m not smart like your son mr Wayne, I can’t help it if things don’t come to me as easy as they do others but I try! I try really heard to do my best at every test but…but people tend to laugh of me because to them I’m either slow or thick.’ Damian’s jaw clenched and his brows furrowed upon being remembered of what people tended to call you.

He hated it and whenever he saw it happen, he was quick to utter some threatening words before taking his usual position as your pseudo-bodyguard for the rest of the school day. At first he wasn’t bothered but when you became restless in your pursuit of being his friend, he remembered vividly how people were mocking and making fun of you for trying to be his friend, that he often regrets not accepting your friendship sooner if it meant being able to be there when it counts.

‘When will you get it that Damian doesn’t want to be friends with someone like you.’ One person said.

‘Then I’ll just have to keep trying.’ You rebutted, still smiling somehow.

Another person scoffs. ‘Get fucking real. You’re a weirdo, no one wants to be friends with a weirdo who so fucking slow at everything.’

You merely shrugged, even when someone’s insulting you, your brain doesn’t recognises it as such. ‘I’m sure he won’t mind.’

‘God you’re so fucking useless that I’m surprised that anyone bothers with you. Let me say this in a way you won’t have to try so hard to understand dipshit. Damian. Will. Never. Be. Friends. With. Someone. Like. You. Ever.’ A third slowly spoke and Damian had heard enough and within a blink of an eye had laid them out flat. You blinked before looking at Damian with a bright smile. ‘Hi Damian! Did you hurt these guys, that’s not very nice.’

‘They insulted you and yet you defend their honour.’ Damian asked incredulously as you both walked down the hallway, leaving the three bullies to groan from their injuries. You shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘They were insulting you.’ Damian reiterated. ‘They insulted your intelligence and your abilities. People like them often hide bigger insecurities than others.’ Damian replied, finding your ability to keep smiling after such things both annoying as it was admirable.

‘Are we friends now?’ You asked innocently enough and Damian knew he had sealed his fate, and so he sighs and looks up to the ceiling. ‘Yes, we’re…friends.’ He mutters and doesn’t do anything to stop you from dragging him to art class.

‘I was alone before Damian.’ You admitted as you looked at Bruce with a smile as you squeezed Damian’s hand in kind. ‘But now he’s here and he’s my bestest friend ever!’ Damian honestly wishes that you respect yourself more because you could claim that he saved you multiple times, but you’d never acknowledge the times where you have saved him by being unequivocally kind, sweet and over all a better person then all of Gotham’s civilians combined. ‘I was finding my first week at school horrid before I befriended l/n.’ Damian admitted as you softly cooed. The boy then swallows thickly. ‘Their friendship is much appreciated.’

‘Aww! Dami!’ You cried as you crashed into him, causing you both to hit the floor in a heap of limbs.

While Damian was cursing mom lethal threats and you were laughing, Bruce had already made his mind up about you and was certain to make sure to have Damian invite you over as much as possible. It was obvious for him to see that you and Damian were good for each other despite your vast and glaring differences, however that’s what worked in your favour, the power to have over come all odds was incredible; not to mention the fact that your friendship with Damian had lasted as long as it has was another impressive feet on top of that. Bruce knows it’s been hard for Damian to fit in and find a friend, but he couldn’t have made a better friend than he did in the likes of you.

You were more than defiantly welcomed back to the manor if Bruce had anything to say about it.

‘Get off of me!’ Damian shouts.

‘Damian, I think my foot is stuck with yours.’ You reply, scared.

‘That’s your own foot- how did you manage to tangle yourself up in yourself? You landed onto of me?’ Damian asked incredulously.

‘Sorry.’ You apologised.

‘Don’t be.’ Damian said.

Bruce smiled one last time before leaving you both alone in the library to untangle yourselves, only to be greeted by Tim, Dick and Jason. ‘Can I help you three?’ Bruce raised an eyebrow at the boys.

‘Nope.’ Dick started.

‘Not really, just…seeing how the little scamps are dealing.’ Jason followed after.

‘Damian? Nice? The same Damian who tried to, oh I don’t know…KILL ME?!’ Tim asked, revealing to Bruce all he needed to know, their breathing behind the library door was telling that they were clearly eavesdropping on the three of you. Jason and Dick looked at him displeased as Tim looked back at them. ‘I’m not the only one of us who thought that.’ He defended himself. ‘I mean it’s nice that he’s looking out for y/n but still that’s not something someone casually forgets.’

Bruce merely leaves Tim, Dick and Jason to their own quarrel, he loves his boys he truly does, but sometimes they’re more trouble than what they’re worth. He can only hope that they don’t scare you off from coming back for good because he was already planning your next visit.

[lamnwar]

Rivals in bed // Aomine Daiki x Fem!Reader x Kagami Taiga

MDNI 18+ knb kinktober entry!!

A/N: I can't even say I was horny writing that, I was just being a FREAK (I desperately need to be stucked between aokaga I'm beggiiiing)

Context: You've got a masterplan for your two hot friends and they're clearly not prepared for any of it.

Warnings: Threesome, nipple play, blowjob, pussy eating, double penetration (includes anal), rough sex, multiple orgasms, that's all I think?

For as long as you’ve known Daiki Aomine, he’s always been all fussy when you bring up your long-time friend Taiga. Well, it could be a lot of things, really. You’re well aware that they were rivals during their high school basketball days, but that was years ago so surely Daiki has grown out of it, right? Right?

Well, that’s merely the beginning of it. You know for a fact that all this attitude when you bring up the red head is a screen of smoke, truly, because deep down he does like him to a certain extent. But as if being rivals on the court isn’t enough, he can clearly see the way you are with Taiga. You don’t hide it at all, with your giggles and touchiness, or the way you always sit so close to him. He may not be the brightest man, but Daiki can be observant when he wants to. So, he never hesitates to retaliate in his own ways – the hands on your waist, or the not-so-subtle kisses on your neck. Yeah, it’s not like Daiki at all to let Taiga win.

Not on the court, not with you.

And what about you, in all that? That is the question that neither of these clueless men has ever asked. Unbeknownst to them, that situation might be the best entertainment you’ve ever had. There’s something thrilling with watching this rooster fight, two men who ravel in confronting each other because they have yet to understand that there is no stronger one. They can beg you to choose one of them, but you’d be stupid to. Objectively speaking Daiki and Taiga might be the hottest guys you know, so there’s no logical reason for you to opt out of a situation where you can have both all for you.

It can all be read in the sly smile you sport on your face on this week’s movie night, with your head on one’s shoulder and your legs resting on the other’s lap. You shamelessly tempt the both of them, with that tight tank top that you know Daiki loves to see you in, and the cutest shorts that Taiga chose for you that one time you took him shopping. It can make you laugh, knowing that you’ve got both wrapped around your fingers, waiting impatiently to know which one of them will win you over – and really, the answer is none and both at the same time. Not everything is a competition, that is one fact that can hardly be comprehended by these two thick heads. Yet, here they are, minds occupied by the same thought: who will you choose to fuck, at last?

And once again, the answer is quite simple. It all starts with your soft kisses on Daiki’s neck, making him purr like an animal in need, while you feel Taiga’s grasp on your thigh tighten almost painfully as he watches your exchanges with his rival. How can he sit quietly and let those hands that aren’t his roam your sides and hug your waist?

“Fuck, get a room you two” he groans, his annoyance blatant in his tone.

You chuckle, your feet caressing his thigh with the kind of softness that confuses him. He’s truly baffled by your every move – you want him, yet you don’t. Always lighting a fire in the pit of his stomach but never letting the flames consume all of him. For a man so used to being the in control, it is fairly unsettling to find himself in such predicament. But god, you are such a hot thing that he cannot retreat and let it go.

“What’s that, Taiga? Don’t be jealous” you laugh softly. “I have enough lovin’ for the both of you.”

“Not sharing you with that doofus” Daiki clicks his tongue, which amuses you even more.

You lean away from both, a playful pout painted on your pretty face. How can they not get aroused by such a succubus? Eyes innocent, safe for the mischievous glint in them – it feels like a sin to stare into them, but they both can’t help it. It’s an ache that trails their entire body, all the way to their cocks that just need to feel you, even if it’s just once.

“What if I want you both? Can’t you even do it for me?”

Fuck. You know how to play your cards well, because that’s the one thing that can get both of them to put their egos aside and fold already. It’s almost pitiful how easy you get them to eat right in the palm of your hands, making them puppets that you toy with at your whim. For you? Shit, for you, they’d even jump from a bridge.

“You… you mean a threesome?” asks the red-haired man with a slight blush on his face.

“Uh-huh”, you nod, the sweetest smile on your lips, “call me greedy but there’s nothing that I want more than my two favourite boys.”

“You’re a freak, doll!”

Daiki’s laugh echoes around the room, the grin on his face being anything but a good omen. You’ve figured that he’d be the one who’d be more willing to agree to your plan. From time to time, he only thinks with his dick; and his dick has been in probation for so long waiting for you. So yeah, fuck that, he will have a threesome with his longtime rival if that means he finally gets a taste of you.

“Think of it as a compliment” you point, settling back between the two Adonis. “I literally can’t think of any other guys I want just as much as you two.”

“That’s insane…” Taiga lets out a sigh, but that doesn’t stop you.

You’ve known him long enough to know that the intention is there, and honestly, it was only going to take that long before someone, at last, tap into his freakiest side. It only takes your pretty face and your sweet voice in his ear to work the magic. Kisses at the corner of his lips when you purr your spell.

“Say what you will, I know the idea makes you hard.”

He can’t bother to deny it – he’s been longing for you, so much that the little that you give him is way too much already. You feel your clit ache at the sight of the tent in his loose pants, and it gets worse when you look back at the dark-skinned beauty that stares at you with a carnal smile. He is a hungry man, and you are the meal he’s been waiting for like a man starving.

Here you are, letting your lips do all the convincing with Taiga. He can’t help but fall for your kisses, the taste of your tongue against his. He’s been waiting for so long just to get that much, strong body pushing you back against Daiki. You groan, falling against his toned chest as his hands go straight to your breasts.

“Fuck…”

You’re a dream, truly. The best tits he’s ever touched, soft and warm in his hold. Head buried in the crook of your neck as he gropes you shamelessly, while another man messily makes out with you. You let out a giggle, euphoric from the scene. That might be the result of months of work, trying to get them both so deep into you that they cannot refuse you a thing. Isn’t that the summum of pleasure, being nestled between two men that crave you like flowers crave the sun and rivers crave the rain?

You can’t help the moan that leaves your throat when Daiki tugs at your nipples, his malicious fingers having found the route to your sensitive buds; and feeling Taiga’s erection press against your thigh doesn’t help either. You can only lay back and let them have their fun. Two pairs of hands that roam your body in full worship, taking in every inch, every curve. You grind back against them, panties soaked from the god-sent feeling of two dicks poking at you.

“Babe, you’re making me so fucking hard I might just come from seeing you” you hear a grunt in your ear.

You laugh, taking in the compliment. Who would have thought that it can be so easy to make them fall? You’re amused, shamelessly expressing your joy as Daiki pulls your top over your breasts, letting his hands squeeze and tease them as if he’s never touched a woman before. But what really gets you is Taiga’s hungry mouth, previously on your neck and now wrapped around your nipple to give it a hard suck. You gasp, surprised to even see your body being so sensitive. Daiki sucks his teeth, one of his hands leaving your breast to find the other man’s face.

“D’you really gotta take what’s mine?”

“Like you got all rights reserved on her tits.”

“Should I pity you? Even your dumbass knows it’ll take nothing from me to make her come.”

You sit there, stuck in another one of their childish dispute – although this one might be a new one. You can’t place in any word, watching them fight while they touch you, body squirming and mind confused.

“Bet your ass, idiot” groans Taiga. “I’ll make her come first.”

“You fucking…” strong hands hoist you up by the waist, and before you can even figure what is happening, you find yourself thrown other the basketball player’ shoulder as his rival trails behind you. “Game on, but just know that you can’t beat me on that field.”

You’re thrown on your bed, the two men rushing to strip in an almost comical way before they come back to you. Taiga’s fingers hook in the waistband of your shorts, pulling them down after you give him an eager nod. He watches as you give them the delicious sight of your pussy in those pretty panties, a visible wet spot at the centre.

“Drenched already? That’s sweet.” He chuckles, kissing the shell of your ear as curious fingers run across the spot. “Say, I did that to you?”

You hear a cackle beside you, eyes meeting Daiki’s cock before you get them to look at his face.

“That’s my doing, yeah.”

“Actually – “

Your sentence is cut short by the feeling of the fresh air against your pussy, making you realise that you’ve been discarded of your panties. You look between your legs, finding Taiga’s cheek squished against the plump of your thigh while he looks at your cunt. Gorgeous, he thinks, watching your honey-soaked folds, and that cute hole that begs for some touch.

“Say that you want me to eat you out.”

You nod without hesitation, huffing out an impatient “yeah”, to which he laughs softly. As if it’s not enough that you are the most beautiful and sexy being he’s ever encountered, you have to be the cutest too. You bite your lip, his hot breath fanning over your erected clitoris. Prayers run through your mind for time to pass at once, and let you feel his mouth against your cunt. The first stroke of his tongue makes your eyelashes flutter, head thrown back to meet Daiki again.

“Say you wanna suck my cock, too.”

Damn. How can you say overwise and don’t lie? Your eyes roam over his length, and you find yourself almost salivating at the sight of what might be the biggest dick you’ve ever seen. Thick and long, so fucking hard that it feels immoral not to take care of it.

“Of course I do” you mewl, your hand finding its way to his shaft.

Your caresses are torturous, yet so divine. He swears, unconsciously pushing his hips closer to your face. Your giggles fall on his angry tip, just a mere second before you wrap your lips around it. He swears, pushing into your mouth as slowly as he can, but hell, Daiki Aomine has never been a patient man.

You groan, the movements of your tongue being mirrored by Taiga’s between your leg. You can’t concentrate on either – partly drunk on the taste of the blue-haired man’s cock and partly melting under the red-haired man’s tongue. It’s insane and overwhelming, burying Taiga’s face further in your cunt so he can quench his thirst with your nectar, all while you drool on Daiki’s dick.

You make a mess, saliva dripping down your chin and arousal dripping down your thighs. Taiga can’t even feel a thing except your exquisite taste on his tastebuds and the pain of his erection in his boxers. Oh, how he wishes to get his cock so deep into you that it’s impossible to pull out. It doesn’t help when you squirm and whimper, unable to restrain your upcoming orgasm. He groans against your cunt, sucking on your clit to take you where he wants you to go.

“Fuck! Ah…” you mumble around Daiki’s cock, making him twitch in your mouth.

There’s a blank in your mind for a few seconds, and next thing you know, you’re swallowing a load of cum while you try to get your pussy away from the starving man between your legs.

“D’you come for me? Shit, too soon. I wanna feast on that pussy” Taiga grunts, reluctantly leaving the comfort of being between your legs.

Daiki chuckles, pulling his dick out of your mouth. It’s a drunk laugh, one that doesn’t find any justification. He surprises himself with how much he’s let out down your throat, but nothing amazes him more than you.

“Sweet mouth” he coos, leaving a kiss on your swollen lips, “she’s a swallower, huh?”

Taiga scoffs, finding a land of agreement with his rival. There is no doubt that you are a special one. Your taste lingers on his tongue, a drug that he already craves but he has no choice but to hold back to let you get over your orgasm. You face is a whiteboard on which your sensations write their names.

Pleasure. Desire. Overwhelmed. Aroused. Euphoric. Hungry. Desperate. Please, for fuck’s sake, can they dick you down already?!

You whimper needily the moment Taiga finally leaves his underwear to lay somewhere on the floor of your room, giving you a full view of what God gifted him with. It’s longer than Daiki’s, maybe not as thick, but surely monstruous. Enough to make both your mouth and your cunt salivate. You are high on your lust, hands stroking him as you look between them both.

“Say what you wanna Taiga, but I’m craving that pussy more than you ever can.”

“Fuck off” he grunts when you run your thumb over his tip, “either way we gotta find a way for this to work.”

The other man hums in agreement, his eyebrows furrowed as he seems deep in thoughts. To be fair, he’s never found himself in a situation where he has to share a pussy with another guy, let alone his biggest competitor. For all he cares, he’ll take you right here and now and have things go his way. But this isn’t about him, no, it’s about you. He can see clearly in your eyes that you want both of them to fill you up, and it’ll be incredibly selfish to ask you to choose.

“Can you take both, pretty?” he asks, tilting his face towards his.

The attentive look in his eyes takes you aback – he’s never looked so considerate, yet you can’t help but curse at yourself. Surely, in other circumstances, you would have replied yes to his question. But you have to face the fact that these two have the biggest dicks you’ve ever seen, and it’ll be insane to even try to take both at the same time.

“No…” you shake your head with a pout, “but I have another hole, don’t I?”

Your response gets the two men to exchange a startled look. Have they heard you well? But there is no denying it, you look all serious about this. An incredulous laugh leaves Taiga’s lips as he looks at your face.

“No shit… I’ve always wanted that ass of yours.” He chuckles, fingers running through your hair tenderly. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah. I can take it, not my first time.”

“Hm, I bet it isn’t.”

They smile at you, before you find yourself flipped to your stomach. You’re lost for a minute, wondering what’s going on before you look over your shoulder, finding them both looking at your ass. It is, indeed, a tempting sight. Those cheeks so plump, and that tight little hole that glistens from your arousal that has dripped down to it. It’s so tempting, that it feels like a blessing that you’ve even brought the subject on the table.

“Can I? Gotta prep you if you’re gonna take either of us there.”

“Please…”

Your begging doesn’t happen in vain, as you feel a thick finger slowly push past the rim of your hole, the sensation foreign yet familiar. It’s a particular sting that progressively fades to pleasure, making your back arch and your ass push back to meet the finger that thrusts into you.

“You have lube, pretty?”

You nod, pointing to your bedside table so Daiki can get the bottle out. It’s all a daze before you find yourself lifted on the man’s body, Taiga settling behind you. Two hard and leaking cocks pressed against each of your holes, waiting for the opportunity to push inside of you and make you feel good. You used to be the one making all the decisions, yet here you are one the verge of begging for any of them to stick it in. Your desperate sighs don’t fall on deaf ears, the kisses on your face and on your back easing you up before you finally feel Daiki’s tip push between your folds.

“Ngh! Fuck…”

His moves are languid and slow, the harsh grip of his hands on your hips driving you insane. He can’t help but dig deeper in your tight walls, just so he can see your tits jiggle in his face as you take him. You gasp, your pleasure multiplied when you feel Taiga’s lube covered dick at your other entrance, painfully teasing. You whine, need tainting all your sweet noises and it doesn’t take long before he finally fills your tight hole, watching you moan like a slut from the inches he’s been giving you.

Here you are, both holes stretched like they’ve never been before, as they both ram into you in a lewd song of groans and moans. You are losing your mind, fantasies that you’ve been having for months around your two friends finally unfolding in a reality that feels way better than you could have imagined. Your sweat dripping on Daiki’s skin while Taiga’s hot breath kisses your nape.

“Fuck that Daiki, I’m gonna fill her up” you hear the red-haired man groan behind you.

“Jesus, you’re not the only one… shit, pussy too good…”

“Yeah! Please… want you to come inside of me.”

Your shameless mewl is almost all it takes to bring them both over the edge. You can feel yourself on the brink of explosion, your body aching so good that you might pass out from it. You are properly fucked, impaled on two of the best dicks to ever exist. Meanwhile, it’s a race to who gets to fill you with cum the fastest. You’re quickly washed over by a mind-blowing orgasm, mind lost in an intoxicating fume of lust. You can barely process it that their thrusts become messier. You are squished between their bodies, crying their names when they finally burst inside of you.

The moment is followed by a silence that is only bothered by your tired pants. The moment they pull out leaves you feeling empty all of the sudden. But your heart is quickly filled when they pull you in their arms, sweet caresses to your overworked body as praises fall in your ear.

“So... who won this one?” one of them asks.

You laugh tiredly, leaving two slaps on both of their chests.

“I did, dumbasses.”

[llamagoddessofficial]

The sirens are always rescuing Mc. But what if, for once, Mc was the one who came to the rescue of a siren...?

Amazing commission, courtesy of the delightful @our-brightest-stars. I love any chance I can take to write more arctic-based stuff!

---

You could immediately tell, upon entering the room, that they had been talking about you. 

Despite the sweet smell of coffee, the air was heavy. The chatter you had been hearing through the door immediately stopped, like you were a teacher that’d walked into a room of gossiping school kids. Four of your colleagues were gathered together around the kitchen table, mugs clasped in their hands - Evan, who you already thought was a bit of a dick, put his hand up to his shut mouth and cast a wide-eyed look to Leo and Tom beside him. Antoni, who you considered something of a friend, had her back to you but sank sheepishly into her beige turtleneck sweater regardless.

You bit the inside of your lip. You could tell from their faces what they had been discussing before you interrupted. You had gotten to know their expressions pretty well, after so long occupying the same cramped arctic research station together.

... Yeah, figured they’d find out eventually. If anything, I’m surprised it took them this long. 

You wordlessly made your way over to the coffee pot, shoes squeaking against the rubber floor. You put your rucksack onto the counter, grabbing your flask out of it, skin prickling from their staring. There was still a significant amount of coffee left - a bonus of working with people who were also coffee addicts was they generally respected the ‘never leave the pot empty’ rule. 

You filled your flask. The coffee still had some steam coming off it. Stars, the silence was deafening.

“... Uh... going out?” Antoni asked, plaintively, as you screwed the lid back on and pushed the sealed flask into the mesh on the side of your bag. At least she had the decency to sound ashamed. Leo didn’t do a very good job of hiding his snicker.

“Yeah.” You hefted the bag back onto your shoulders, doing your best to not make eye contact with any of them. 

Evan, clearly, couldn’t contain himself. “Gonna go track down mothman?”

You felt a flush of multiple emotions at the same time. Some embarrassment, some shame, all of it quickly washed away by aggravation. Heat rose to your cheeks, but you held your tongue. You wanted to point out what a stupid fucking thing it was to talk about tracking mothman (a cryptid from West Virginia) in the high arctic, but it was obvious he was baiting you, so you kept your mouth shut.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been made fun of for what you believed in. However... the words stung that little bit more, when it was coming from your fellow scientists. 

“Evan,” Antoni sounded exasperated, “don’t be such a prick.”

Evan raised his hands. “What? So I’m not allowed to ask questions?”

You didn’t respond. You walked past them, headed to the main corridor; you weren’t going to let this spoil your plans. “See you guys later.”

As you left the room, you vaguely heard Antoni and Leo starting to berate Evan in low whispers. Someone definitely called him an asshole, cut off as the door closed behind you.

You sighed. The hallway felt a lot longer than usual. You passed through another set of doors, heavy metal ones, into the cold ‘buffer’ room between the warm research station interior and the outside world. After double checking you had all your gear, you stepped out of the doors, outside into the sun.

People didn’t realise how beautiful the arctic could really be. If you told someone to describe the arctic, they would probably just talk about the ice. And yeah, sure, there was a lot of ice, it would be unreasonable to say someone was wrong for thinking of that. But that was like describing a forest as ‘just trees’. The arctic at this time of year was endless slopes of rugged greens that rolled and swayed and disappeared far away into the horizon and beyond, carved into shape by ancient lakes and glaciers scraping the ground piece by piece once in a millenia. It was a sight to behold. Trees couldn’t take root, only the hardiest shrubs survived, and you were little more than a stone’s throw from the vast sub-zero ocean.

That ocean, a haven for the rarest kinds of sirens, was your goal. 

You tugged your backpack into a more snug position on your shoulders, and continued trudging through the stones and bare grasses. Even now, with the sun high in the air and all but the most stubborn chunks of the ice gone, the arctic was... well, the arctic. It never got warm enough to be comfortable and it was a good idea to just keep moving if you wanted to make it to the shoreline with enough time to actually get some footage before sundown.

You loved your job. Some would call you crazy, for willingly spending months at a time in the arctic circle studying sirens. You’d always been interested in sirens. The mystery and culture wrapped up within them, the inherent danger, so little information could solve so much. Siren studies was one of those areas where even the most fractional of discoveries would be groundbreaking and important.

... Sirens weren’t your true passion, though. Your true passion was what Evan had probably just discovered, and shared with your teammates - why you were lugging such a giant cold-resistant camera kit in your bag with you.

You quietened your thoughts with a swig of warm coffee, and an increased walking pace. 

Would some people call your Youtube channel conspiratorial? Sure. But cryptids were where your heart really lied. Cryptid study, cryptid research, cryptid sightings... you were incredibly proud of the modest following of like-minded people you’d built up online over time - there was no doubt your qualifications definitely gave your word some weight in the tight-knit community. Honestly, you considered your research work simply a way to fund your true passion. Every day when you had the free time, you took your camera out with you, out into the beautiful arctic land. There was so much to look out for. What would you find? You were giddy. If you found something truly incredible, your channel could blow up, and you could do Youtube full time. Today your mission was just to get some footage of the sea for a voiceover section you had planned.

... There was never a small amount of side-eyeing from people you knew, when they found out what you were passionate about. You weren’t sure what was worse; the ones who rolled their eyes and made stupid comments, or the ones who nodded along but looked at you like you were a particularly imaginative child. At least the more aggressive ones were honest about how they really felt. 

Sirens, in a way, felt like they proved that you were right to keep wondering what else was out there. They were incredible creatures, not even fractionally understood, dangerous and magical - they perfectly straddled the line between science and fantasy and there was so much of them that couldn’t be explained by those who (so frequently) brushed you off. How did their songs lure people? How do their bodies consist of such strange combinations of beings? How do they effortlessly sink hunting boats? Why did so many cultures have matching stories of them that perfectly apply to real life? In your world, honestly, the existence of sirens meant that a lot of other cryptids didn’t seem like too much of a stretch.

You had dedicated your life to researching sirens. By studying them, you could follow a path that was suitably scientific enough to shut up the assholes who didn’t take you seriously... but also gave you the time and resources to pursue your real passion.

You had to admit, you took pleasure in people discovering you were a scientist and a strong believer in certain cryptids. The visual erroring on their faces was wonderfully karmic to observe.

There was plenty of time to spare on the arctic research station. Experiments were frequent but didn’t take literally all day. You were left with ample opportunity to do whatever you pleased. Like, for instance... go out and film for your Youtube.

Aside from wanting to take pictures and film some B-roll, you just generally enjoyed being able to be outside. It was all well and good in the spring and summer, but when autumn and winter rolled around you’d be lucky to be able to see out of the windows. There was nothing as endless as the darkness of an arctic winter; the screaming winds, the days as pitch black as the nights, the many weeks cooped up in one place because the outside of the facility was literally one of the most hostile environments on Earth. It was good to stretch the legs - soak up as much serotonin as possible before the winter months came.

After a decent amount of time walking, immersed in your thoughts, you found yourself able to see the flat expanse of the sea poking just over the snow-topped hills. You were finally approaching the shore. Even from where you stood, you could see the massive ‘islands’ of ice floating silently away in the far distance. It was a truly magnificent place to be.

You rifled through your pockets for your hearing protection as you came close enough to the water to smell it, eventually having to pull off a glove for the dexterity. Even just a few metres from the sea you had to be aware of sirensong. Sirensong was always something of a risk but it was an even stronger risk while you were somewhere as remote as the arctic.

... But just before you got your protection into your ears, you heard something. It sounded like scrabbling, a weirdly desperate scratching. You stopped walking, turning cluelessly and searching for the source of the noise.

A few yards to your left, a patch of snow was wriggling.

No. It wasn’t snow. You blinked in surprise; it was an arctic hare, a surprisingly large animal, lean and white and with beady little black eyes. The animals this far north were always so much bigger than you expected. When it saw you notice it, it scrabbled and flailed in a way that only a frightened animal could, clearly desperately trying to run away. 

Something was stopping it. Upon closer inspection, from where you stood, you could see it had one back leg trapped in a small crack in the ice.

... Huh. You moved nearer, putting your hearing protection back into your pocket. The hare flailed again, wildly kicking its front legs, it reminded you of an injured bird trying to fly. Then it totally stilled; as if it could hide from you after all that movement.

“... I really shouldn’t help you,” you said, dejectedly, to the terrified animal, watching its little whiskers twitch, long ears pinned back against its skull as it tried to act indistinguishable from the ground. “Survival of the fittest, and all.”

The hare’s beautiful eyes stared up at you. You could see its little chest going up and down, heart beating wildly under its soft white fur.

...

You scanned the horizon. There was no one around for a long while. Sure, your GPS tracker told your coworkers where you were at all times in case of emergency. But until they thought there was an emergency you absolutely weren’t being followed anytime soon.

...

You pulled your bag off your shoulders, kneeling down and tugging your ice pick out of its strap holder. 

“No one will know, right?” you told the hare. It was just one hare. Even though leaving it was the logical thing to do, you couldn’t genuinely bring yourself to abandon this animal to die slowly and painfully while lodged in the ground. Besides, it was just one hare, wasn’t it? And it wasn’t like it had been caught by a predator, or something. It must’ve got its foot caught by accident; this was simply a terrible stroke of bad luck. If you freed it, it could go on to be eaten by a fox or wolf. Better that than to just die and freeze solid.

Using your ice pick, you carefully went behind the completely still creature. You were impressed by its dedication to stay totally still even when you were close enough to potentially reach out and stroke its fur. You had to be careful it didn’t spin around and bite you - you gently chipped away at the ice, extremely cautious not to catch its tiny bony leg. The entire time you dug, the hare was as still as the ice itself, unable to shake its instinctive need to stay small.

It really didn’t take long at all. A few careful draws of the sharp end of your axe against the compacted ice... and suddenly, like a gunshot going off, the animal sprinted away from you. Its powerful legs sent up a spray of snow, some of which went straight into your eyes - by the time you staggered to your feet, hurriedly wiped your face, sputtered and looked back up again, the hare was completely out of sight.

... Well. That was definitely a story to tell. You sighed, grabbing your bag and hoisting it back over your shoulder. At least -

- splashing?

Your head snapped toward the sea, in the direction of the sound. Against the total silence of the icy glassy sea, the splashing was loud, loud enough for you to hear it several metres away from the beach. It sounded frantic, almost aggressive. What the hell? What was going on today? You pushed your hearing protection onto your head, and half-ran-half-jogged toward the shoreline. The bare rock, grass and drifts of stubborn snow sloped away into loose pebbles that crunched and slid underfoot, mirrorlike water lapping slowly at the tide line only a few metres away. Lumps of ice, mini-glaciers of their own, floated silently and ominously by. This was water that would easily kill you if you fell in.

You scanned the shoreline, searching visually for the source of the noise you’d heard only moments ago - and soon you caught movement in the corner of your eye, just around a ‘corner’ caused by a rocky outcropping that jutted up a little higher than the rest of the landscape. Behind the outcropping, you could see large ripples spreading out, fast and random like something was fighting just behind where you could see. It was easy to pick up, considering the rest of the shoreline was so millpond still. 

Immediately, you jumped into action, running across the pebbled beach and scrambling up and onto the rock face. You weren’t even sure what you were expecting to see. Was it a person in distress?

... Except you could instantly tell it wasn’t a person, when the hidden section of the beach came into view, and you immediately saw a massive sleek outline that was easily twice as big as a person. It was for sure some kind of animal. But it took you a few crucial seconds of mind-whirring confusion to figure out what it was.

... Oh my stars. You ducked slightly, as if that would help.

It was a skeleton orca siren. A huge one. Partially beached, right there on the shore.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. All the breath left your chest at once. An skeleton orca siren, right before your eyes, bigger than you ever could’ve imagined, arching white markings and strong bones unmarred by any scars that could show a loss. Its sockets were sharpened with frustration - its body was against the shore at an angle, you could tell from how its tail was still able to cause those waves that the sea probably deepened extremely suddenly. It was thrashing, clawed hands digging into the ground, the force of its thrashing sending up showers of both stone and sea. 

Your breaths were controlled. The closest you had ever gotten to seeing a siren before was spotting their distant tiny shapes breaching near your boat, or the blurry low-quality images from underwater cameras. You’d never seen one in person so close you could touch it.

Clearly, you weren’t all that sneaky. Its rounded skeletal face whipped around, and razor-like white eyelights in pitch dark sockets landed on you.

Both of you were the rabbit this time. You froze, all your hair standing on end, nerves prickling. The siren froze too, waves stopping, it glared your way. At least... you felt like it was glaring. It was impossible to tell, its skeletal features were devoid of any of the usual emotional tells you relied upon. Whatever it was thinking, it was definitely staring, claws curling into the ground. Just its arms, twice the thickness of yours, could almost definitely snap your body in half.

Man. Chills spread across your whole body. Good fucking thing you put your hearing protection in, huh? 

You took a slow moment to take it all in. From the shape of the dorsal fin, you could tell it was male; male orca had a tall, almost triangular fin, while females had a much more sloped and curved appendage. Those sharp white eyelights cut into you, he was taking in you just as you took in him, clearly analysing every part of you. There was something so terrifying about his gaze - the eyes of a predator.

He watched you. He seemed... alert. Very very alert. 

...

Your heart was thundering in your ears, the only sound you could hear in your hearing protection. You unglamorously pulled yourself over the rock outcropping, scrabbling down it, and - against all advice you’d read before - approached.

He was beached. You had to at least see if you could help, right? It was one thing to have an inner battle about leaving a hare to die, it was another when the potential victim was a creature just as intelligent and sentient and aware as a person. He was laid at an angle, but still laid, the highest point of his back coming up to about your ribs. He had lost the advantage of movement. You nearly tripped over yourself as you moved closer, nervous feet skidding in the loose rocks.

... As you approached, he seemed to get... calmer? His eyesockets lost their sharpness, his eyelights grew in size. It was the opposite of what you anticipated. He wasn’t any less intimidating, though, no less scary. Your eyes kept darting to his teeth.

“How the hell did you manage to do this?” you asked, though you weren’t expecting a response, unable to hear even your own voice through the protection. “Where’s the rest of your pod, you dumbass?”

Was he smiling at you? Surely not. You dropped your bag to the floor, a few feet from him, digging through it until you pulled out your thick waterproof overclothing. Some other items tumbled out as you removed the gear but you paid them no mind. The waterproof outfit was like a boilersuit, it could be put on over the top of your other items and zipped to create a (theoretically) waterproof layer. Normally, it was a pain in the ass to get on, but you felt that you were on a time crunch and had somehow manifested almost superhuman speed.

You zipped up the suit, now protected in case you got wet. The closer you moved to him, the more you wished you had time to stop and fully admire him. The water on his bones and skin made him almost appear like he was shimmering. 

“... Ok,” you said, despite not being able to hear your own words, “easy big guy. Don’t bite. I’m just trying to help. I’ll get you back in the sea, and then I’ll go back to the land, and we can go on our way.”

He didn’t say anything. Because of course he didn’t, he was a siren, why did that thought even cross your mind? You blinked and shook your head, as if dispelling the thoughts physically. Of course he couldn’t talk. Something about his face felt so intelligent, somewhere deep down you had seemingly decided he could understand every word you said. And even if he did speak, it wasn’t like that’d be of any use to you. 

Something about him was eerily calm, even as you moved around him, coming close enough to his side to be within touching distance. Surely, a stranded creature like him would be thrashing and fighting when you came nearer, just like the hare? Surely he’d be making angry, earsplitting sounds that you’d be able to feel in your chest? The wind was picking up, tussling your hair. The siren stayed perfectly calm. 

“... I’m... I’m gonna need to touch you. Ok?”

...

... You reached out, and traced his skin with the tips of your fingers, extremely gently. It was cold. You immediately pulled back, turning and watching his face.

You expected something. Anything. A jump, a twitch, a lurch. Maybe even an attempt to fight you off. You expected him to swing around; hell, you expected him to even look at you. Any kind of a measurement of his reaction to you. Your legs were itching to leap back and flee.

But there was... nothing. No response from him at all. 

You came in again, this time putting your palm against his back, just beside his fin. It felt like electricity was running up your arm.

Nothing. Like he didn’t even care you were there. He was looking over his shoulder at you with a bizarrely soft look. Like he wanted you there. You felt very, very strange. This wasn’t at all what you were thinking would happen.

It felt like such a naive thing to even consider, but maybe... maybe he knew you were trying to help? 

Well, you didn’t have time to ponder the implications or reasons. You knew he was alright with physical contact. Now, you needed to figure out a way to get him back into the water.

You started by trying to pull - it only made sense, right? It kept you away from his front half, where the damage could be done. You looped your hands around the strong muscular base of his fin, using it like an anchor, digging your feet into the stones and throwing your whole weight backward. There was an extremely faint rocking of his body, literally about as much movement as someone trying to pull a car and only succeeding in making it bounce. Unperturbed, you tried again, pulling as hard as you could -

- the loose stones slid out from beneath your shoes. It kicked up the smell of wet seaweed and salt; if you hadn’t had your hands on his fin, your legs would’ve gone out from under you.

“Fuck,” you said breathlessly.

Did the siren laugh? Your head whipped around, he was looking ahead again. You felt like you saw his body move. 

... It must’ve been some other kind of vocalisation. You stood and turned around, trying again, this time pushing with your hands braced against the same spot. You pushed as hard as you could, nearly forgetting to breathe out, feeling your shoulders and wrists starting to twinge in pain. 

Once again, before you could make any meaningful progress, the force of your body made the slippery stones dislodge. You stumbled, all but falling flat onto his back, regaining yourself last minute and turning and looking over your shoulder at the siren’s head. 

“You just gonna sit there and stare at me?” you asked, breathless and only half joking.

He was looking back. You really really got the feeling he was smiling at you. 

You tried to push again, since it felt more solid than pulling. Yet everything you tried, the stones dislodged. The ground itself was fighting you. Frustrated, you dug your boot into the stones, trying to dig down and see if there was sand underneath, but there was just more and more loose wet rocks. Like the beach was making fun of you.

... Wait.

You thought back to the hare. Chipping at the ice around its leg.

You let go of him, scurrying back to your bag, then returning just as quickly with your pick in hand. The siren cast you a questioning glance, but still did absolutely nothing to stop your nonsense. Quickly, you dropped to your knees by his side, holding the pick by the head and jamming the wooden handle into the pebbles around where his tail met the floor. They came loose, of course.

You dug fast, using big scooping motions to pull the rocks out further each time. When you found a particularly large and difficult stone you flipped the pick and used the sharp edge to hoist it out of the ground. Seawater would occasionally slip into the gap you’d made, as the tide made the most minute waves you’d ever seen.

Excitedly, you ran around the siren, to dig on the opposite side. You didn’t notice how you ran perfectly within range of his arms, yet you dropped to his other side unharmed.

Your knees hurt. You were certain they’d be bruised. But you kept digging, and digging. You weren’t really doing anything more complex than making a ramp underneath him - but you were excited and flushed nonetheless, tired muscles full of hopeful vigour.

Suddenly, his tail splashed, you felt his whole body moving like an earthquake. You jumped away as far as you could, this time successfully falling flat on your ass - just like that, the siren drew away from you, moving backward into the water as he regained his grip and pushed himself. You were shocked by the speed and agility with which his huge body turned... and how he almost instantly disappeared, under the waves.

Holy shit, you thought, heaving, finally letting go of the pick as you stared out into the rapidly calming waters. It was like he’d never even been there. I actually... I actually did it. I just unbeached a siren. I...

Speaking of waves. Exhaustion, like a sudden tsunami, washed over you. Your shoulders sagged and your knees screamed in pain, you lifted your hands up to your face to see you had great crescents of red irritated skin on your palms. You were probably going to get blisters. 

... The cold started to finally twinge at your fingers. You managed to draw yourself up to your feet, but you flopped right back down to your knees once you made it to your bag. 

You opened it up, looking for your gloves, a lovely warm feeling filling your chest.

Amongst the dry kit, you saw your camera bag.

...

Wait. Your eyes widened.

... You forgot to take a picture. 

Welp - that was the lovely feeling gone. Immediately, you let out a frustrated shout, falling onto your back and putting your hands over your face. You forgot to take a picture. What a fucking moron! You’d just been closer than almost anyone ever to a massive orca siren, and you hadn’t even thought to get your camera out. He’d literally been a sitting duck, you could’ve photographed every side of him, every scar and mark, stars you could’ve filmed a segment for your channel. But the idea hadn’t even crossed your mind, you’d been so determined to save him. 

You’d probably never get another situation like this in your whole life. The universe threw the greatest possible chance at you. And you blew it.

... You dragged your hands down your face, staring up at the mottled sky. It wasn’t yet sunset, but you could tell the sun was beginning to inch toward it. If you wanted to film you’d have to do it right now.

...

... You couldn’t tell anyone back at the station about this. You folded your arm over your eyes. They wouldn’t believe you; they discover your ‘conspiratorial’ beliefs, tease you about it, you leave in a huff and then you conveniently come back a few hours later with an elaborate story about how you unbeached an adult orca siren? Yet strangely, you have absolutely no proof of the matter, despite having a camera on your person the whole time? You weren’t even sure if your followers would believe it. Sure, they’d believe you encountered a siren. But unlike what the rest of the world wanted to think, they absolutely weren’t stupid - they’d be hard pressed to believe you RESCUED the animal and didn’t think to record.

Eventually, you sat up. You were really and truly gutted. But there was no point fretting; not when you had daylight to use.

Might as well just get some of that B-roll.

///---///

Looking at the comments was always nice. When you weren’t busy, and couldn’t get outside, your second favourite thing to do was scroll through the comments on your videos. Of course you always got the occasional idiots who called you nuts, but those were few and far between, most were people being sweet or recounting their own experiences that you always read with complete rapture. 

You imagined some might find it hard to believe that being tucked up in your tiny warm station room was your second favourite activity. Walking around in the wind and cold was much more fun. But that, of course, didn’t mean you didn’t enjoy curling up on your desk chair with a blanket and a mug of tea while reading people’s encouraging responses to your passion projects.

You’d only posted your most recent video, the one about your siren encounter, about an hour ago. You scrolled, delighting in the serotonin that came with having an active comment section.

... Eventually, you came across a longer one that caught your eye. You paused sipping your tea to read it.

@bluesaphii1996

I grew up somewhere where we constantly see sirens in our waters. I absolutely believe you saw a siren, because I’m like 99% certain I can see a siren in the sea behind you at 14:51. Look just to the left of your shoulder, about 2/3s of the way between the beach line and the horizon. Its head pops up for a second before it rolls in the water and dives again. Either that or it's a VERY weird seal. But I’ve seen enough sirens to recognise their behaviour. That siren is 100% watching you when your back is turned. Be safe!!

...

You had to read the comment three times over. 

Huh? What? 

Immediately, sitting up and setting your mug aside, you clicked back over to your video and skipped to the timestamp in question. In that part of the video, you had set up your tripod, and you were talking to the camera with the sea behind you. You stared hard at the screen.

... You weren’t really used to looking at the ocean. You were pretty certain that someone who grew up by the sea would be a lot better at seeing strange movements in the water than you were. 

But sure enough, just like the commenter had said, you could just about make out a shape in the water. It broke the surface, then disappeared down again.

You had literally put your hands against that siren. You’d know it anywhere. That was definitely him; watching you from the water, many minutes after you’d rescued him and he could’ve swam far away. 

...

You sat back in your chair. You weren’t entirely sure how you were supposed to feel about that.

... Probably not excitement. 

You just couldn’t help it. A massive grin was spreading across your face. You were absolutely, utterly delighted.

Despite everything, you did get him on camera!