#i just saw this and started absolutely cracking up

[marvelstoriesepic]

Your Ghost Knows Me

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: On a mission to dismantle a Hydra base, Bucky’s activation codes are triggered. And what does he do without a kill order?

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: mind control; non-consensual behavior (not sexual but bodily autonomy themes); possessive behavior; gun violence (implied, not graphic); threats of violence; emotional manipulation (unintentional); PTSD; trauma responses; forced proximity; mentions of Bucky’s past; Hydra

Author’s Note: I'll never get tired of a possessive Winter Soldier!! Honestly, I should write about him more often. Anyway, this absolutely iconic request is from my sweet dear!! Thank you so much, and I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

There is always something quiet about Bucky when he looks at you before the mission begins. Quiet in the way thunder is quiet just before the crack. As if he is holding something inside himself too loud for the world.

You always say his name and he would look at you like he’s afraid to blink.

You don’t think you’re supposed to notice the way he hovers at your side. You’re not supposed to feel his shadow, stitched to your steps. But you do. You always do. Because Bucky Barnes does not know how to stay subtle. Not with you. Not when he thinks you might not make it out of this alive.

Your mission is to break into an old Hydra base with heat still humming through the walls and ghosts still hanging from the rafters.

The team drops in like rain. Controlled chaos. Clint on the left flank. Sam from above. Steve on the right flank. Nat somewhere in the dark.

You are light-footed and fast and smart and alive. Bucky stays behind you. Always behind you. Watching your six. He never lets you fall.

And you get the proof of this for the thousandth time when he throws his arm out and grabs your vest to yank you back hard enough to make you gasp. Your heart stutters in your throat. You stumble, twist, spin - and crash into him.

There was a tripwire. You almost walked into it. And Bucky saw. He sees everything.

“You okay?” He breathes, voice low, not quite touching worry but brushing the edges of it.

“Yeah,” you whisper back. “Thanks.”

He nods. Says nothing. Keeps moving.

You press forward into the maze of concrete and metal that is the Hydra base, gun raised, heart playing the drum in your ribs.

Bucky slows.

You glance over at him. “What is it?”

He stares at a rusted door, barely ajar. A soft static pulses from within, like an old radio dying in slow motion. The sound crawls down your spine. Your skin prickles.

“Bucky,” you start, reaching for him. “Let’s move.”

But he’s already walking toward that door with narrowed eyes.

The room is dark. Cold. Frost is on the walls like a memory that won’t let go. A machine in the corner makes low noises. Wires twitch on the floor like veins ripped from a corpse. The air stinks of metal and mildew and something old. Something wrong.

And then it speaks. A voice, thick with static, seeps out of the machine. A voice you don’t understand. Not really. You can’t make out the words, but you know them. You know what they mean.

“Желание. Ржавый.”

You spin around, heart rushing up to your ears, calling his name, but it’s too late.

“Семнадцать. Рассвет.”

Bucky stands frozen.

Stone. Steel. Silence.

His face is slack. That haunted stillness takes over.

He isn’t gone. But he isn’t Bucky anymore.

“Печь.”

His eyes go distant. Flat. His face cracks into something you’ve only seen in nightmares. No fury. No fear. Just absence.

“Доброкачественный.”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart forgets how to beat. “Bucky,” you basically yell at him. Nobody even knew there were still functioning systems here. But they’d been waiting. Planning.

“Девять.”

“Bucky please snap out of this.” You know it’s useless. You don’t know why you say it.

“Возвращение на родину.“

Your hand trembles around the grip of your weapon as you force yourself to jump out of the shock your limbs are locked in. You raise your arm and aim. You pull the trigger. One.

“Один.”

Two.

“Грузовой вагон.”

Three.

Four times.

The machine sparks. Cracks. Screams. A dozen red lights blink and die like stars going out. The voice cuts out, perhaps wanting to give a command, a final breath of Russian strangled by silence. And it slams into the room like a body.

For a heartbeat, for a breath, you think it’s over.

You hope it’s over.

But his name dies on your tongue when you turn back to him.

Bucky doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe like a man. He doesn’t look at you - he tracks you, the way a sniper does. As if you’re a piece of intel.

Sam’s voice crackles over the comms. “Hey. We heard something. Everything good over there?”

You can’t answer right away.

Your voice is lost.

Because Bucky Barnes is gone.

And the Winter Soldier is standing in his place.

It takes you a minute to explain your situation and you hear the tremor in Steve’s voice when he tells you they’re on their way.

You try to breathe around the panic growing like thorns in your chest.

You whisper his name, again and again, as if it’s a spell that might pull him back. But the Winter Soldier does not know your voice.

Does not know you.

And when Steve finally rounds the corner, face pale, shield up, Bucky growls.

Low. Subhuman. A warning without words.

“Woah, woah- easy,” Steve says, holding up a hand. He looks at you. “He’s- He’s not gone. We’ll fix this. We can bring him back.”

You don’t know how promising he tries to make this sound.

But Bucky shifts his body, in front of you.

He plants himself between you and everyone else, like a wall, like a weapon.

Like a threat.

No orders. No hesitation. Just instinct.

He scans Steve’s hands. Sam’s gun. Natasha’s eyes.

Every time someone even twitches in your direction, he angles his body tighter around you, metal hand flexing. His breathing is shallow. Sharp.

He has no words. No explanations. He doesn’t seem to need them.

You try to take a step forward, away from his back. He moves with you. You stop. So does he.

“Please,” you whisper. “Bucky. Come back.”

But he doesn’t flinch.

Not for the begging in your voice. Not for the heartbreak in your eyes.

But you know he doesn’t hear you. He only hears the ghosts in his blood. The machine in his brain. The purpose Hydra seared into his bones.

“Alright, this can’t-“ The moment Sam takes a step forward, Bucky moves.

He grabs you. Not roughly, not violently, but fully. As if the air between your bodies has never existed. As if he’s made of magnets and you’re the only thing that ever pulled him north.

His metal arm anchors around your waist, his other hand at your shoulder, your spine, your hip - everywhere, all at once. He places himself between you and the others again and makes sure to keep you there as if you are a holy thing. His breath is ragged. Feral.

“Bucky,” Steve tries. There is something pained in his tone. Also something warning. “Let her go.”

But he doesn’t listen.

Because there is nothing left to listen to.

No more commands. No more codes. No more voice in his ear.

So he seems to have written a new directive into his mind and that is you.

You are the mission now. You are the purpose, the protection, the last thing left when everything else burns.

His hand is wrapped around your wrist so tightly, it makes your breath hitch. But you don’t pull away. You can’t. There is something in his eyes. Something not Bucky but not nothing either.

Not the soldier.

Not the man.

Just this animal of loyalty. Of violence. Of need.

You try.

God, you try.

You speak to him in pieces. In whispers. In words coming from trembling lips and bruised hope.

“Bucky,” you plead.

Soft. Like maybe softness will do it. Like maybe he’ll come back to the sound of your voice wrapped in love instead of command.

But he doesn’t.

And he doesn’t let anyone near you.

Not Steve, who takes one careful step and ends up with a knife lodged in the floor in front of his foot.

Not Sam, who reaches out and gets a warning growl that raises the hairs on your arms.

Not Natasha, who tries to circle behind, quiet as a whisper - and is met with the barrel of Bucky’s gun aimed clean between her eyes.

You frantically call Bucky’s name.

“Hey- easy,” she says, voice low. “Nobody wants to harm your girl, Barnes.”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t care.

He tightens his grip on you, fingers locking around your arm like a shackle. You try to find a piece of Bucky still breathing in there.

But all you see is possession.

He steps back into the shadows, pulling you with him, shielding you with his body as if the world is trying to take you and he’s the last wall still standing.

No one sees you now.

Because he won’t let them.

He moves you behind crates. Walls. Corners. Shadows. Always putting something between you and them. Always hiding you. Not out of shame. Not out of fear.

Out of possession.

Out of protection.

Out of a command he gave himself.

You are a mission. A precious object. A singular order sculpted into the ruins of his memory.

You hear Steve’s heavy sigh. His quiet and deep voice. The pain in it. “We need to sedate him.”

The next thing you pick up is the click of a safety releasing.

Bucky’s gun is pointed and ready.

He would kill for you right now.

He would kill them.

All of them.

Within the blink of an eye.

For you.

“No,” you croak out, voice breaking. It feels wrong to call him Bucky. It feels wrong to call him Soldat. “Please don’t! Don’t do this!”

You don’t know if it’s something in your voice or something in your tense stance against his back, but he slowly lowers his gun, slowly turns his head to stare at you.

Empty.

Unreachable.

But somehow not cold.

And then his hand rises. Flesh fingers trace your jaw. So gently it nearly breaks you.

It’s not affection. It’s assessment.

He’s checking. For wounds. For weakness. For threats, you might be hiding beneath your skin.

You breathe as if forgetting how to.

You try to shift. Just a little. Just to look behind him. Just to meet Steve’s eyes, Sam’s, Natasha’s, Clint’s - who finally got his ass here as well.

But Bucky moves. Fast.

A hand around your chin. Tilting your face back toward him.

Eyes narrow. Jaw locks.

You know what it means.

He doesn’t want you to look at them.

He doesn’t want you to speak with them.

He doesn’t want you to think of them.

You are his now.

Because something in his mind burned the world down and left you standing in the wreckage, and he needs something to hold onto. Not just anything. Not just anyone. You.

You try again.

Whispers, again.

“I have to talk to them-”

He shakes his head. Once. Sharp. Final.

“No,” he growls. Not language. Not word. Just a sound scraped from somewhere too deep and too far gone.

You flinch and he feels it.

His grip grows stiff.

Your body goes still.

He doesn’t want to hurt you. But he doesn’t let you go.

You catch the glint of Steve’s shield out of the corner of your eye.

They haven’t moved in minutes.

They’re waiting.

They’re watching.

They don’t want to hurt him either. But they will if they have to.

“Don’t,” you murmur. “Don’t come closer. Don’t- don’t try to talk to me, he- he doesn’t want that.”

You hear Sam lower his weapon, just a hair. “We can’t leave you like this.”

You want to cry. You want to scream. You want to pull Bucky into your arms and shake him until something clicks and he remembers you. Remembers himself.

But the Winter Soldier only seems to be remembering his duty. Violence shaped into protection.

And right now, that protection looks like isolation.

You. Alone. Tucked behind crates and corners and silence and his broad shoulders.

You speak anyway. Because you have to. Because he’s in there somewhere. Because he might not hear the others, but maybe he can still hear you.

“Bucky,” you speak. Swallow. “They’re not the enemy.”

His hand twitches on your arm.

“They’re your friends.”

He tightens his grip.

“They’re my friends.”

He releases another deep and gravelly sound.

His body is tense, electric, fury held in the cage of his bones.

“Please,” you say. You hate the sound of your own voice now. You sound like you are shattering in slow motion. “You don’t have to protect me from them. You don’t- I’m not-”

You breathe out shakily.

Your lip trembles. Your eyes sting.

Because he’s looking at you as if he would kill the whole world to keep you safe. And he doesn’t even remember who you are.

You press your forehead to his chest. His body doesn’t move.

He’s breathing faster now. His pulse thrums under your cheek.

But he lets you stay there.

That has to be something.

Behind Bucky, someone whispers your name. Carefully. Cautiously. As though if they say it wrong you’ll be ripped out of this moment and Bucky will hunt them all down.

You lift your head.

Bucky sees it.

Sees the way your eyes pull toward Sam’s voice.

Sees the way you’re still trying to hold onto them. Still reaching.

He doesn’t like that.

He hates that.

His hand finds the back of your neck. He pulls you into him, hides your face in his chest. Your shoulders lock. His body shields you like a fortress of flesh and metal and confusion. As if your gaze is a window, and he is closing the shutters.

You are not theirs anymore.

And he will not let you be.

[annemjw]

It’s a bit of a running joke with my team at work, but any time we have to do icebreaker stuff or meet new folk, my fun fact is that I got to work with The Muppets, and it is the absolute highlight of my career.

A few years ago the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra and Bret McKenzie hosted the Jim Henson Retrospectacle, featuring the Muppets, Fraggles, Sesame Street, and music from The Dark Crystal. My choir, Supertonic, was asked to be the choir supporting this, over the three-show engagement.

When I found out we’d been asked and could I get time off from work to do it, I basically RAN to my boss, I said I’d come in early, work late, take time off without pay, whatever she needed so I could do the rehearsals and performances. She told me to take just normal time off and that of course it was fine 😅

It’s truly one of the best things I’ve ever been able to do, and I’m been singing semi-professionally for about 20 years now.

We were told early on about how there were strict rules about the characters from the different properties not being allowed to be on stage at the same time, that there were strict rules about not touching anything, not improvising, sticking to what the producers needed to have happen.

It didn’t all go out the window (we were all very respectful of the touching! And the entries and exits kept the legal issues sorted for the copyrights or whatever) but everyone was having far too much fun for it to stay serious.

The first violinist who had the solo for The Count’s number had of course played far more difficult music, but the second they decided that they needed to have the batties come out and fly around him while he played his face lit up

The performers were absolutely lovely all the time, and had so much love and respect for what they were doing and the fact that we were all there together

We had foldback speakers as we were up and behind from the main stage (so that meant we could hear the music and the cues from the performers), and at one point one of the Henson people had a hot mic and was backstage - all of us were I think a bit worried that a façade would drop but he was just back there saying hi to people and having nice conversations

We had three sopranos who have incredible, clear, bell-like tones at a high pitch and who had a solo for the Dark Crystal part of the set. The look on everyone’s faces the first time we ran that and they sang - our country’s national orchestra and people who had worked all over the world with incredible performers - whipping around to hear that because it was so beautiful

The did a bit with Man or Muppet where they had had a Bret Muppet made, so you had Bret, Walter the Muppet, and a Bret Muppet - but they needed a Walter human, so they asked our Director of Music to do it, and act and sing with them on the fly (he’s an incredible bass singer, and absolutely nailed the acting, our friends who came to see us lost their minds)

Every performance started with Rainbow Connection, and the lights would fall on Kermit and Bret and the banjo would start and the crowd would collectively gasp and go ‘aww’, and then crack-up laughing that they’d all done it. All three performances!

There was a person working at the venue who was a woman probably in her early 20s, who was running around doing stage stuff and generally just her job - and they literally needed an extra hand for some puppetting (including the batties!) so she got to just. Perform as a puppeteer with The Muppets for a few days

One performance, there was an older gentleman near the front with I think his grandkids, and I happened to look at him just before Big Bird entered for the first time, and his face just transformed to that of a five-year-old’s and I saw him mouth ‘oh, Big Bird!’ at her, which makes me cry even now

Animal (he’s my favourite) got to play in the Timpani section (the percussion but of the orchestra), with a gong, and all the percussionists treated him like a respected colleague and hero - for all I know he was probably an inspiration for them - and we were right above them so they got us to do a bit about the gong being sooooo loud, it was a joy

It was the best thing I’ve ever done, I think. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. They’re a delight and actual magic.

[for some reason my copy edits didn’t save so uh, fixed now, whoops!]

Reblog if, no matter the size of the role, you would agree to work with the Muppets if offered the chance to do so, no questions asked

[httpvomitello]

Secret Crush Confession – Joaquin Torres x Y/N: One accidental slip and years of tension unravel in seconds

I hope you like it ~ ☆

Slip Ups .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: Years of friendship. Years of unspoken feelings. All it takes is one accidental slip—and suddenly, the tension you both pretended didn't exist finally catches fire.

joaquin torres x f!reader

You and Joaquin had always been good at almost.

Almost flirting.

Almost touching.

Almost saying something real.

It was like you both had built this invisible wall between you back when you were just a couple of dumb teenagers, swearing you were "just friends," even though the late-night talks and the lingering looks said otherwise.

And somehow, through college, through careers, through deployments and distance—you never knocked it down.

Until tonight.

It started innocently enough: a gathering at Sam’s place, a few too many beers, and some stupid party game you got roped into when you weren’t paying attention.

You were laughing so hard your sides hurt, arguing about some ridiculous dare Joaquin had been assigned (involving a flamingo pose and a kazoo), when it happened.

You turned too fast—maybe you tripped a little, maybe he caught you before you could fall, you weren’t even sure.

But suddenly, you were there—

Chest to chest, tangled up in him, his arms around you, your hands fisting the front of his shirt like it was instinct.

And you froze.

Joaquin froze, too.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then he whispered, voice rough and low:

"Careful, bonita. You're gonna make me do something stupid."

Your breath caught.

You could feel it—that magnetic pull, that impossible, heavy thing stretching between you, drawing you closer without permission.

Your fingers tightened on his shirt.

"I don’t think it would be stupid," you said before you could stop yourself.

The words were barely a whisper, but you saw the way Joaquin’s eyes darkened, his chest rising and falling faster.

Something cracked wide open between you.

And suddenly, almost wasn’t enough anymore.

He kissed you.

God, he kissed you like he was starving for it.

Like he’d been waiting forever and couldn’t take it another second.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t careful.

It was messy and desperate and absolutely perfect.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, grabbing his face, feeling the scratch of his jaw under your palms, the solid heat of him pressed against you. His hands roamed down your back, pulling you closer, anchoring you to him like he thought you might disappear.

When you finally broke apart, both of you breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, you couldn’t help the breathless laugh that bubbled out of you.

“Well," you managed, voice shaking a little, "guess we finally blew that 'just friends' thing to hell."

Joaquin chuckled against your mouth, the sound low and warm.

"About damn time," he murmured.

You pulled back slightly to look at him.

Years of friendship.

Years of tension.

Years of pretending.

Gone in a blink.

And honestly?

You didn’t regret a second of it.

"You know," you teased softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead, "we’re gonna get so much shit for this."

Joaquin grinned, that easy, boyish grin you’d fallen for a thousand times before.

"I can take it," he said. "Worth it."

You smiled, feeling something inside you settle, like a puzzle piece finally snapping into place.

"Yeah," you said, curling your fingers in the front of his shirt again, pulling him closer.

"Definitely worth it."

And when he kissed you again—slow this time, like he had all the time in the world—you knew there was no going back.

You didn't want to.

[theshiniestgemstone]

hi. i love your work. i’m fiending bc there is about 20 gideon fics total and it is NAWWTTTT enough. anyways pls keep writing idc what just 🙏🙏🙏🙏 like actuallt oml urs is the best i’ve found so far <3

😭😭😭😭😭 YOU ARE SO SWEET THANK YOU

Don't worry, I will absolutely keep writing during the summer. i’ll drop you a little something right now just because you’re being so precious 🫶

You and Gideon had been orbiting each other for years. First as kids with clumsy roundhouse kicks and oversized gis, partners in karate class who sparred more with giggles than precision. What started at age nine as playful jabs and competitive side-eyes slowly twisted itself into an intricate tapestry of memories: bruised knuckles, belt ceremonies, secret snacks shared behind the dojo vending machine.

He always smelled faintly of sweat and cherry Gatorade, and you always rolled your eyes when he bragged about mastering a move before you, though you never missed a chance to ask him to show you how.

Outside of the mats, though, you barely existed in each other’s worlds. Separate schools, different neighborhoods. You only saw each other during those twice-weekly classes, like satellites passing on predictable orbits. Close, but never colliding.

That changed in junior high.

It was the ninth day of seventh grade. You remember because it was a Monday, and you’d already gone through two failed attempts at finding someone to sit with at lunch. That day, you ended up at the farthest end of the cafeteria table, tray untouched, your book cracked open like a shield.

And then, suddenly, Gideon was there.

You didn’t even see him approach, just felt a light tug at the back of your jacket and turned to find him standing beside you, tray in hand, looking entirely unimpressed by the empty seat beside you.

He didn’t say a word. Just tilted his head, jerking it subtly toward the table where he sat. You blinked at him, then at the three boys he was already sitting with other boys from karate, half-recognizable in the harsh glare of school lighting.

Then he shrugged like, Well? And for some reason, you stood up and followed.

You sat across from him that day. He passed you one of his Oreos without being asked. The next day, he saved you a seat. By the third, he started picking at your lunch when he didn’t like his own. You were still sparring partners at karate, but from then on, you were also lunch table regulars.

And after that ninth day of school, you never sat alone again.

[shadesofhogwarts]

(5) Poly!marauders as girl!dads where their daughter is lost

Wordcount: 1.9k

It started with Sirius kicking James off the bed.

Literally– one well-aimed shove and James thudded to the floor with a loud “Oi! What was that for?!”

"You were hogging the covers," Sirius mumbled, face buried in the pillow.

James grumbled, rubbing his hip and glaring at the clock. 8:17 AM. Far too early for violence. Or arguing. Or–

His stomach dropped.

“Where’s Daisy?”

Sirius cracked one eye open. "What do you mean, she's in her room, idiot."

“No– she came here last night! Bad dream, remember?”

In the armchair, where he had been quietly reading (because of course he was), Remus froze. His book slid from his hands.

“When I woke up... she wasn’t here.”

The room went still.

Sirius sat bolt upright, hair sticking in every direction. James' heart hammered painfully against his ribs.

They both scrambled out of bed, knocking into each other and Remus, and tore into Daisy’s room.

Empty.

The tiny pink bed was perfectly made, her stuffed Hippogriff tucked under the covers like it was mocking them.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius whispered.

And then came a run through of the whole house with panicked screams from Sirius and "DAISYYYY MY CHILD??? ARE YOU IN THE PANTRY??". No she was not.

Remus ran a hand through his already messy hair, pacing. "Think. Think. She can’t Apparate– she can barely tie her shoes. Where would she–"

Then they saw it.

A trail of black soot, leading from the living room floo container, across the rugs, into the fireplace.

James went cold. “The Floo.”

"She tried to Floo?" Sirius said, eyes going wild.

The next second, all three of them were elbowing each other out of the way to reach the fireplace.

James grabbed a handful of powder, nearly dropping it in his panic, and flung it into the flames, bellowing the first place that made sense. "The Burrow!"

Green fire roared up, and the familiar cozy kitchen of the Weasley house spun into view– along with a very startled Molly Weasley, who dropped a mixing bowl with a clatter.

She barely had time to open her mouth before all three Marauders practically fell through the fireplace, shouting over each other.

"IS DAISY HERE?!"

"WE LOST HER!"

"CHECK UNDER THE TABLES!"

Molly blinked at them, utterly bewildered. "What– ? No! She’s not here! What do you mean, you lost her?!"

James looked half a second away from fainting. Sirius was already tearing cushions off the couch. Remus checked under the dining table with the wild-eyed desperation of a man hunting for his soul.

Molly, realizing the full scope of the emergency, gasped and clapped her hands sharply. "Fred! George! Ginny! Search the backyard! Bill, go upstairs– look in the attic, look everywhere!"

Like a well-trained army, half the Weasley children shot off in different directions, shouting at each other, a blur of red hair and panicked voices.

Molly rounded back on the Marauders, eyes blazing. "Where was she last seen?! What was she wearing?! Do you have a tracking spell on her– tell me you have a tracking spell on her!"

All three men froze.

"...We were going to get around to that," Sirius said very weakly.

Molly looked like she might murder them herself.

Just then, Fred skidded back into the kitchen, panting. "She's not in the garden! George checked the broom shed– nothing!"

The three men exchanged wide-eyed, white-faced looks.

Remus, voice tight as piano wire, asked, "If she’s not at home and not with you... then where the hell is she?"

CUT TO:

Daisy Potter-Lupin-Black, all of six years old, wandering Diagon Alley with a lollipop in her mouth, completely unbothered.

She pressed her face to every shop window, nose smudging the glass, marveling at the twinkling lights and broom displays, smiling a wide mouthful of gappy, missing teeth at every suspicious-looking adult who dared glance her way.

Absolutely living her best life.

...

Back at home, chaos reigned.

James was already halfway into the fireplace, Sirius was pacing a trench into the carpet, and Remus was muttering things that sounded suspiciously like complicated death threats– and not even in English anymore.

"Diagon Alley," James barked suddenly. "We know she's obsessed with the sweet shop there–"

"And the owlery!" Sirius added frantically, grabbing his jacket.

"Alrightyy, here we go– mission: locate Daisy," Remus muttered grimly, heart racing fast.

They practically fell into the Floo, shouting, "Diagon Alley!" and tumbling out the other end like panicked clowns.

...

Meanwhile:

Daisy was having the best morning of her life.

She had already successfully:

- Convinced a group of third-year Hogwarts students she was lost (they bought her a pumpkin pasty and then immediately lost her again).

- Pet three illegal magical creatures.

- Attempted to shoplift a Fanged Frisbee (got caught, flashed her biggest innocent smile, and got a discount instead).

She was currently sitting on the curb outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, swinging her legs and eating a triple-scoop sundae the size of her head.

THAT'S when she spotted them.

Her dads.

Barrelling down the street like three very distressed, very dangerous-looking thunderstorms.

"Daisy Potter-Black-Lupin!" James bellowed loud enough to rattle the windows.

People turned. Owls scattered. Shopkeepers peered put nervously.

Daisy calmly took another spoonful of ice cream.

Sirius skidded to a stop in front of her, dropping to his knees, clutching her shoulders like he was checking for mortal wounds.

"ARE YOU OKAY?! DID SOMEONE TAKE YOU?! DID SOMEONE TOUCH YOU? DO I NEED TO KILL SOMEBODY?!" he shouted in one breath.

"I'm fine," Daisy said serenely, licking her spoon. "I wanted ice cream."

James stumbled up next, nearly crying. "Baby, you scared the bloody hell out of us–"

"Language," Remus snapped automatically, appearing beside them, eyes wild, hair a mess.

Daisy blinked up at them, utterly unbothered. "I left a note."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

"You– you left a note," Remus repeated faintly.

"Yeah," Daisy said proudly. "On the fridge."

Another beat.

"But... you can’t write?" Remus said weakly.

James groaned and buried his face in Sirius' shoulder.

Remus looked like he might actually sit down and weep right there on the cobblestones.

Sirius, ever the dramatic one, threw his hands to the heavens and declared, "We have raised a menace to society."

Daisy just smiled sweetly and offered him a bite of her ice cream.

...

Just as Remus was trying to pull himself together and James was dramatically mumbling about how he was going to need a blood replenishing potion after this, the fireplace inside the ice cream parlor flared violently green.

And out stepped Regulus Black, looking crisp, cold, and extremely judgmental.

He dusted imaginary soot off his immaculate robes, gave a sniff of disdain at the chaos before him, and said coolly,

"I was told there was an emergency involving my god-daughter."

His sharp grey eyes landed on Daisy, happily swinging her legs and still munching her triple-scoop sundae, completely unconcerned by the three frantic men practically collapsed around her.

Regulus blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then he slowly turned his head toward his brother and said, deadpan, "You're all idiots."

James let out a wounded gasp. "We were worried about our DAUGHTER, Reg! She could have been kidnapped!"

"Eaten by a dragon!" Sirius added dramatically.

"Or arrested for grand larceny," Remus grumbled darkly, eyeing the mischievous glint in Daisy’s eye.

Regulus looked skyward, clearly questioning whatever deity had burdened him with such ridiculous family members, before he crouched neatly in front of Daisy.

"You," he said, voice sharp and smooth as a dagger. "Why did you attempt to floo to my home at seven in the morning?"

Daisy beamed at him. "I wanted to show you my drawing!"

She pulled a very crumpled, slightly melted piece of parchment out of her pocket. It was a stick-figure drawing of Regulus (labeled Uncle Reg) holding hands with her (labeled Daisy Best Girl Ever) in front of a massive ice cream cone. All incorrectly spelled.

For a terrifying second, nobody moved.

Not even the air dared stir.

Then–

Regulus' face twitched. The tiniest twitch.

A barely-there crack in his pristine, emotionless exterior.

"...I see," he said stiffly, taking the melted picture with two fingers like it was the most precious royal decree.

James made a noise that suspiciously sounded like an awwwwww.

"You're grounded," Regulus announced coolly.

"You can't ground our daughter!" Sirius squawked.

"She's OUR daughter," James added indignantly.

Regulus ignored them all. He lifted Daisy effortlessly off the curb, wiped a bit of ice cream off her nose with a handkerchief, and said, "Come. I will buy you another sundae before these three incompetents faint from stress."

Daisy squealed happily and hugged his neck.

Meanwhile, the Marauders stood blinking in the street, completely forgotten.

"...Did our daughter just ditch us for Regulus?" Remus asked faintly.

"Yes," Sirius said, voice hollow.

"And betrayed us for more ice cream," James added, equally hollow.

There was a long, solemn pause.

Then all three men nodded gravely at once.

"Respect," said Sirius.

"Respect," agreed James.

"Respect," finished Remus.

They dusted themselves off, resigned to their fate, and trudged into the ice cream parlor after their tiny, fearless traitor.

[voicesunified]

ㅤSheik had, actually, given it a lot of thought before he came here. When he had woken up in Impa's house, a child again and incredibly confused, it had only taken him minutes before he realized that everything he had done in the previous timeline he remembered. All it took was a knock on the door and a single message from a Castle Guard, that his mother had perished in the line of duty. And he knew, he knew, that they were wrong, The memories had been quick to flood his mind, overwhelming in his tiny little body and he hadn't known for the first few days what he was supposed to do with all of that.

ㅤTrying to fill the role that his mother had once occupied was—terrible. He really had tried though, for several years, to train and be at the castle. He worked along side Princess Zelda, he trained as his mother taught him to, he served and lived as a member of the Sheikah tribe doing everything both her and her father wanted from him. But it didn't make him happy. In fact, he had actually been quite miserable working at the Castle. In that same line too, he knew that Princess Zelda was actually quite miserable with Sheik at her side because he wasn't the Sheikah that she wanted.

ㅤAnd when it became to much for him, when he realized how absolutely miserable everyone was, he realized it wasn't worth the effort anymore. What was the point in trying to be something he didn't want to be, when no one else wanted him to be it either? Sheik was good at what he did, but being good at something didn't mean everything. Sure, the King of Hyrule was content to have a useful weapon, but his opinion wasn't everything and it was only going to be so long before the Princess cracked. Before she demanded that Sheik be removed from his post at her side, that she wanted him to be as far from her as possible. And then where would that actually leave him? Just running around killing and torturing whatever the King directed him to?

ㅤWhat sort of life was that either?

ㅤSo he went, he visited the Great Deku Tree, and then he went to the Shadow Temple. In the Great Deku Tree's defense, he had attempted to talk Sheik out of what he intended on doing. He had reminded him that everyone including himself hadn't sacrificed what they did simply so he could give up. But Sheik didn't see this as giving up, he saw it as giving himself a purpose. In finding new means in the world to keep himself going so he didn't give up. There wasn't anything wrong with that, was there? In searching for your place in the world, even if it was a place as dark and horrible as this one.

ㅤ"It was not selfless, you had already made your choice and there was no changing that. You said you had to go home and all I did was respect and honor that decision." It was fine, he had understood. Sky hadn't come to their Hyrule intentionally and he had made it clear from the start his goal was to go home. He was the Hero of his time and people relied on him, he had people he cared about and to whom he wanted to protect back there. It was the way that the world was, the way that things worked. And with how important his own Hyrule was to him, how he wanted to help and was trained to help, he had truly understood what Sky was saying.

ㅤSo when Zelda said that she could send him home, once things were safe enough for her too, Sheik hadn't argued. He hadn't told the Hero to not go because that would have only hurt the both of them more. In begging him to stay that would have been selfish and he wouldn't have done that to Sky, no matter what his heart actually wanted from the other. He doesn’t seeing that as being selfless, because he cares about Sky. He cares and he wanted him to be happy, and the only way to do that was to let him go home like he wanted to. That was just what someone did when they cared about another person. It was natural.

ㅤAnd he had done a lot of very horrible, very difficult, things in his life.

ㅤThe Sheikah gently tugged his hands back from the other's and took a step back, shaking his head at the other man. "You made your choice, and this was mine." The only way Sheik to leave here was if someone else took his place, and there was only one living Sheikah capable of doing that. He won't condemn his mother to this place again, not after finally giving her the freedom she deserved.

ㅤ"Both of you are wasting your time here and you're only going to get hurt, the Shadow Temple isn't what it was the first time around. It's only grown with the repeated fracturing and mending of the timeline. There's no telling what you might encounter if you stay here, and I don't wish to see either of you get hurt because you're chasing a useless endeavor."

Truthfully Link could've made it to where he had met up with Sky in the first place without the use of the Mask of Truth. He had even offered him the safer option to use which Link hadn't accepted. Plus, he thinks, the other had wanted to come punch Sheik which he wouldn't bring up right now... Though he did intend on going through with what he'd told the other Hero he would do if he did hurt Sheik. But he does believe that an evil soul sucking mask should've been the top of his problems, especially after Sky had told him that the damn thing had put a parasite on him that was leeching off him.

Sky had been trying to avoid getting into an argument or, worse, a fight with Link, but he's starting to think that perhaps he should've just taken the mask away when he'd first seen it. However, he cannot change the past, only learn from it. Link is a grown man, Sky did not need to hold his hand during the very beginning portion of this temple, especially when he knew the other would join him once he figured out the song. The platform that he made appear was visible without magical aid and he had killed all the monsters in the rooms he had gone through.

He listens to the two of them talk, though it's more like Sheik talking at Link and things really seem to jump out at him in regards to the other Hero. He's incredibly... Hm. Sky almost wants to say detached from the issues that Sheik is pointing out, from the ones he's also pointed out. The lack of elaborating like he doesn't seem to see a point in trying to explain anything or himself. The question from before about Navi having received a shrug was concerning. He remembers Sheik telling him about the Kokiri a little and how the fairy companions were extremely important to them. Link may not have been a true Kokiri but Navi had been his friend and companion. A constant in his quest.

Where was she?

When Sheik turned his attention towards him, Sky watched him calmly and still smiled at him. The mask being handed over to him, he placed it in one of his pouches where it would be safe and away from Link.

          "I did and it's not a death wish, Sheik," he started softly once he had let the Sheikah finish. "However, Zelda. My Zelda..." Not that Princess. "Managed to help me come here to get you. You had been... incredibly selfless when you told me to live my life, well I can tell you that it wasn't going to work. The moment that portal had closed, I wanted to rip it open again and bring you back with me."

His smile turned sad. He lasted only three days before he begged Zelda to help him.

          "Zelda gave me something to help in getting you out of this place. She had a feeling you were here," Considering that he had told Sheik that she was Hylia reborn as a mortal, hopefully he wouldn't need to be more obvious in what he means. "Please, Sheik...?"

Come back home with me?

The Chosen Hero reaches out and gently grabs the Sheikah's hand, holding it with a tenderness that he normally had reserved for when they were alone. Blue eyes look into lovely ruby ones that he had missed greatly in the last week. To think it has been seven years, maybe eight, since Sheik had seen him.

          "Please, Sheik..." His gaze is pleading as he watches the other, his love and longing pouring through their bond freely for his partner to feel. Sheik has done everything he had been raised to do. He doesn't need to remain in this temple. His mother will be fine with the Princess. The Sheikah before him deserves to live his own life.

[emcapi-gaming]

so are we gonna talk about the fact that there's a fucking huge crater on Mars called the Gale Crater, or

[fingertipsmp3]

I fear I might be getting into star wars

[aesethewitch]

When I was a kid, we moved into a house that had a huge lilac tree out front. It was mostly rotten, and it needed to be taken down before it fell. It took a while, but eventually, it was gone.

Mostly. A couple years later, little lilac babies popped out of the ground in its place. My mom was determined to get rid of them, because she'd planted a beautiful flower garden there, and the lilac trees would overshadow and kill the whole garden. I insisted on saving at least a few saplings. She said fine, but I had to dig them out and put them in pots myself.

So, I did. I spent days digging little lilac bushes out of the ground and putting them into pots. Some couldn't be saved, but some could. When all was said and done, I had five brand-new lilac saplings. Seven or eight years old, and it was my absolute pride and joy.

Three died due to sun scorching, severe drought that no amount of watering could save, and perhaps just being moved from their place in the ground. But two survived, and I was awfully proud of them! I'd go out and talk to them every single day. I watered them by hand and made sure they were fertilized properly. I learned all about their favored environments, and I was determined to make sure they lived.

One of my mom's friends saw what I was doing with the lilacs. She asked if she could have one to put in her backyard, and I agreed on the condition that she take very, very good care of it.

It's now fucking enormous. I'm talking ten feet tall and bursting with beautiful purple flowers every spring. My mom still gets updates each year as they start to bloom, which she forwards to me. And all I can think is, "That's my friend! Thriving some twenty years on, there it is."

The other tree nearly died, too. It lived in a pot for far, far too long. I wanted to plant it somewhere in my parents' yard, but my mom was reluctant. Eventually, we agreed to put it in the far back garden. It grew okay for many years, despite the shade, but in all these years, it's never bloomed.

Last year, the massive tree casting massive shadows over the lilac and the garden cracked in half and fell. It tumbled into the garden, crushing part of the nearby shed and destroying a few plants beneath it.

It missed my lilac by inches.

The clean-up is long done. The rest of the tree has been cut down, and my lilac has full sunlight for the first time in fifteen years. It won't bloom this year, I know. But it's got new shoots up. It's taller than ever. I spent half an hour a few weeks ago praising it for surviving all this time, dreaming about its future and telling it how I believe it'll become the tall beauty it's always been meant to be.

I think next year, I'll see flowers.

[phantomrose96]

So my mom's birthday was this week and I flew down with Patches to visit her for a few days. Patches, while a verified hater of the airport, really loves my mom's place because there are so many more closets to explore and birds to watch and cobwebs to dust with her stupid little face.

My mom also goes to bed earlier than anyone I know, so for the evenings it was on me to monitor Patches' activity. And she's very good. She's 99% good. She's 1% "could use improvement" good and the 1%, which I'd forgotten about, is tomatoes.

Patches will leave most things alone. (And by "alone" I mean she'll absolutely bitch slap them onto the floor, but they will leave the ordeal with just as many or few surface punctures as they had before the encounter started.) Not tomatoes. Patches has it the fuck out for tomatoes.

So when I noticed her batting something around on the ground I realized that my mom had left a sole, roma tomato in the fruit basket on the counter and it was now experiencing the life cycle of a pingpong ball between Patches' paws.

I take it away from her, like a fucking evil woman, and now I'm like "okay actually, where do I hide this." See at home I have an anti-Patches cabinet, which is for things that have no business living in a cabinet but which WILL have business dying at Patches' hands if left accessible. And this is WEIRD to have such a cabinet but it's my own home.

I'm scanning my mother's cabinets going "is this weird here? can the tomato go in my mother's dish cabinet?" And I briefly consider sticking it in the fridge, as a normal location, but the audacity of altering this tomato's ripening process is an audacity I do not possess. So I go with cabinet. I go with the first eye-level cabinet, which is the coffee mug cabinet, which is perfect because the tomato will not be lost to cabinet purgatory there, since my mom opens it every morning for her coffee. I will simply tell her in the morning that the tomato is there.

Next morning. Seeing as my mother goes to bed at the butt-crack of dusk she ALSO gets up at the ass-crack of dawn. This means I trail down like 2 hours after her with my work laptop and Patches. This is also now her birthday. I'm sharing the sofa with her for a good 15 minutes when I think to myself I'd like some coffee, and I remember I put a tomato in the cabinet. I tell my mom as much. I put the tomato in her coffee mug cabinet.

And the look I get is one I can't really figure out on spot. But she says "Chrissy this is the best birthday present you could have given me" which is a very weird response to the already weird statement "Oh you probably saw, but I hid the tomato in the coffee mug cabinet because Patches has it out for tomatoes."

So I do not at all know how this makes for a good birthday gift. My mom tells me how a week or two ago, she came home unloading groceries. At the end of putting everything away she could not for the life of her find her phone. Absolutely nowhere. She pinged it from her iPad and it started singing. From the fridge. She opened her fridge. Her phone was in the fridge.

A couple days later she lost Ash's collar. Spent three days looking for it. Couldn't remember where she'd taken it off or what she did with it. Showed up in the grass when she remembered she took it off to let him play fetch in the lake.

And then this morning, her birthday morning, she came into the kitchen, made her pot of coffee, opened the cabinet to fetch her coffee mug, and found... tomato. Singular. Tomato in the cabinet. Tomato she had no memory of placing in a cabinet. Tomato she could not possibly fathom having a reason for being in the cabinet.

She was like Chrissy I cried. She was like this is it, time to send her to pasture. She's a harebrained old lady now and there is no coming back from this. She's the lady who accidentally puts tomatoes in the cabinet. Awake before God, standing in the kitchen, signing her life away over this tiny roma tomato. (Roma tomato with little cat vampire teeth marks in it).

I was like oh. No. I put it there. Because Patches was going to commit war crimes against it. I put it there because I did not stop to consider "Will finding a single tomato in the coffee mug cabinet somehow be the very specific thing that undoes my mother this morning?" I put it there out of careful consideration for the life of this tomato, and with no consideration for the extremely esoteric way that a tomato in the cabinet could be received like a horse head in the bed, Godfather style.

We made a salad with the tomato. Happy birthday Mom.

[kismetlotts]

cw: soft love, soft sex, sexual content, mentions of rough sex but none at all, Simon cant help but get emotional, crying, cheek kisses, mentions of Simons military scars, soft touch, love, riding, comfort

Simon Riley who cries during sex- but not in a broken submissive way. Not because you’ve teased him, treat him and took him like the good boy he is. Not because you’ve made him beg and yearn for you so hard and so much he can’t help but sob.

No, Simon Riley who cries because no matter how humid the room is, how wet the sheets are from the both of your sweat and love combined, no matter how dark- lights on and off, only one thing comes to his mind when you settle yourself down on him.

How beautiful you are.

Hearing your murmurs, whines- moans and breaths. Hearing you ask him if everything is okay- if you were okay- if you were fucking ‘good’ for him. It pissed him off because you were perfect in every single way. Even when you accidentally gripped him a little too hard, or bit down or wriggled in a way that makes him hiss- every little fault and fail was perfect because you made it. And it made him emotional. Made him feel.

He’d try to be brave, to be calm- to shake and swallow down them emotions. An SAS soldier crying during sex? What an absolute loser! He didn’t want you to catch him like that, his large hand gently fisting the back of your hair before pushing your face down into his shoulder. Watered eyes, staring up at the ceiling as tears leaked from the corner of his eyes and dripped either side of his head.

“Am I doing alright?” You would breathe out to him. Raising your head from his shoulder while moving your hips to match his rhythm. The duvet to the double bed the two of you shared draped over your shoulders, concealing you both together. Together; the two of you- Simon wished he could live in this moment forevermore.

“Of-” He would start but pause as his voice cracked and lip quivered, choking back the tears that threatened to break. The dark hairs of his eyebrows furrowed in irritation as he scolded himself mentally. Throat was jammed, his heart a mix between bursting open and falling into his stomach. For once he felt vulnerable. He shouldn’t be acting this way- sex was supposed to be full of hunger and desire.

You reached your hand down, placing it over his own that fell attached to the skin of your waist. It was so natural to you, you didn’t even notice you did it meanwhile Simon almost broke apart at the gesture. Inhaling sharply and getting hold of himself.

“Of course you are. Perfect in every way.” His voice a croaky whisper and he pressed his chapped lips against the soft skin of your cheek. Kissing you with such passion and care.

The scars of his fingers brushed against your skin while he pushed your hair to the side with his free hand. The two of you locked like that while you both orgasmed. Skin to skin, chest to chest; his molten warmth flooding you with admiration and affection. It was real, he felt purpose with you.

Moments passed and the two of you would move to get comfortable, he’d move his arms letting you climb off of him before immediately rubbing his eyes clear. You wouldn’t miss the redness and the way his nose sounded all snotty as he breathed in; but if you were ever to ask he would just tell you he was feeling tired.

You couldn’t miss the times you heard a whimper slip that was a pitch to high to be from pleasure alone, the times you’d seen the skin beneath his eyes shine- of course it could just be sweat- however deep down you knew otherwise and he was fully aware you knew about his ‘tearful tendencies’. He saw it in your eyes as you searched his face.

You didn’t push him, though. You didn’t tease him or tell him that he shouldn’t be embarrassed. You didn’t try to comfort him and you did not pester him about it. You never mentioned it once because sometimes words aren’t needed to communicate. Dark eyes fluttering shut as your fingers trailed the muscles and veins of his arms, soft strokes against his harsh, worn skin: your touch spoke volumes to him.

You understood that, even if he knew that you knew, he didn’t need the confirmation: just the comfort to barricade himself out his head.

And that was another reason he loved you.

[wonderthor]

your neighbor sukuna who lives in one of the apartments upstairs may be a rough and dangerous man, but he’s funny and nice to you, so you become friends anyway. you even develop a little crush on him, and when he calls you little pet names like sweetheart and doll, you start to think he might like you too. one night you decide to go out for drinks, and as he drinks more he lets out more about his past and you learn he is a little more dangerous than you thought. he talks about how he broke into people’s houses at night all the time to steal their things and when he finally did get caught and locked up, he had probably broke into over 200 people’s houses by then.

“that’s crazy, but you wouldn’t get that lucky with me though”

he sets his beer down, raising his eyebrow at you in question.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean that im a very light sleeper, always have been. and there’s no way you couldn’t break into my apartment without me knowing it.”

he picks his beer back up and takes a swig before looking back at you with a smirk.

“you sure about that?”

you confidentially smirk back at him.

“oh absolutely. i get woken up if the wind blows a little too hard against the window. i even woke up that one time i had a mouse in my apartment and i could hear it scurrying across the floor. i would definitely hear you open my door and walk around.”

sukuna taps his fingers against the bar counter with his head in his hands and his eyes still on you, thinking.

“how about we make a bet.”

“a bet? on what?”

“if i can get into your locked apartment and into your bedroom without waking you up, i win. if i do, you win.”

“and what do i get when i win?”

sukuna chuckles at that, almost like a villain’s laugh.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

you roll your eyes at him.

“oh please, you sound way to confident in your impossible chance at winning.”

he laughs at you again.

“i am. there’s a reason i was able to break in so many people’s houses while they were still in there without getting caught. it’s kind of my specialty.”

you take another sip of your drink and lean back.

“your specialty, huh? and you still haven’t mentioned what we get if we win.”

“what do you want?”

his tone caught you off guard for a second, getting deeper and more serious without you expecting it.

“u-um, i don’t know. you can pick.”

he smiles at you again, a devious smile this time as he leans in closer to you.

“if i win, i get to do whatever i want to you. if you win, you get to do whatever you want to me.”

time stops for a minute and you don’t realize that you’re just staring at him until after several seconds.

“what do you m-mean by that?”

he leans back to hold his beer and his playful demeanor is back.

“well according to you, you won’t have to worry about that, right?”

a couple of days went by and you were still on edge. you mentally slept with your eyes open and even kept your bedroom door cracked, just in case you really couldn’t hear him come in. even though you knew it was just a bet and a silly little game, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest. maybe because you still didn’t really know what he said meant. and there was also the eerie feeling that you were essentially waiting for him to break into your apartment, like a real robber. like the robber he used to be. and even though you knew he wasn’t dangerous to you and wouldn’t hurt you, you were still admittedly a little scared. you truly didn’t know what to expect.

it had been a couple of weeks now and you were sure sukuna was fucking with you. whenever you saw him in passing, he was his normal playful and flirty self, and mentioning nothing of the bet. you were starting to think he was kidding, just making that up to scare you and mess with you. or you also thought he could have just forgotten, since he was drinking a little and couldn’t have forgotten all about it.

but little did you know that you were playing right into his hands. he was waiting on you to lose your edge, to slowly get comfortable enough again to slip into deep and dream-filled sleeps. that’s why you didn’t expect it, why you didn’t expect to lose.

when you woke up one night, you felt your heart fall out of your body and your eyes almost jump from their sockets. there he was, in your apartment, in your bedroom, on your bed, leaning over you on his hands and knees. when he saw that you were awake and too stunned to speak, he smirked and leaned in closer to you until his face was just inches from yours.

“guess i win, sweetheart.”

[nezuscribe]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

summary: once childhood friends with the crown prince, you find yourself in a troubled situation when he calls for you to help him around with his daily duties as the king to be. he seems to have forgotten everything, forgotten who you even were. but as the palace's most loyal servant there's only so many things that you can tolerate, including the prince.

warnings: 18+ mdni, slight angst misunderstandings and just not talking shit out, minor panic attack/overall anxiety (with comfort), eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, gojo is a certified munch

word count: 14.1k (sorry)

note: i can only write gojo in a royal setting now so that’s that. i really liked writing this fic so comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

jjk masterlist

it all started with that night.

when the air was biting, cold and harsh. the moon offered so little of her light as you ran across the open foyer, feeling your tear stained cheeks more than you had back in the ballroom as you could barely feel your heartbeat, not stopping until you were out of the grand double doors, running as fast as you could through the gardens until you were sure everything and everybody was far behind you. 

you continued for a little more, finding yourself at the foot of the rose gardens, your chest heaving up and down, sweat dotting your forehead. you were sure the rouge that you had so carefully dotted onto yourself was ruined now, but that was the least of your worries. 

you place a hand on your chest, catching your breath, looking behind you to make sure that nobody had followed you outside. most nights, such as ones like this, you enjoyed the freckles of stars above you, but now, all that filled your mind were the events of moments ago. 

the staring, the judgment. 

“is everything all right?” 

your head snaps around, your eyes wide in shock as you find a man standing behind you, a careful feet away so as to not startle you even more than he already had. you couldn't make out his face in the darkness, but with your blurry vision, you doubt you could make out your own reflection.

you nod feverishly, trying for a smile that was shaking and quivering as you turn away for a second, patting your cheeks dry as you try out for a weak laugh. 

“yes, t-thank you,” your voice cracks, your lips trembling and your breathing heavy. your uniform and apron was sticking tightly to your skin and everything seemed as if it was tilted on an axis. you felt like the world was spinning in the opposite direction, and had it not been for the strong  hands behind you that steadied you upwards, you were sure you would’ve fallen down. 

“miss, are you sure everythings alright? surely i can call for a-” the man stops when you shake your head quickly, just realizing how much trouble you were going to be in if your superior ever saw you missing from your post. 

“no, thank you, i, i have to go,” you try to stand up again but stumble, grateful that he still had a steady hand on your elbow, “i apologize, i don’t know why i’m so dizzy.” you say, holding your head in your hands, trying to ease your temple with the thumping it was doing. 

“would it perhaps be because you ran through the entire courtyard in a matter of seconds?” his voice is low yet teasing, and you should be embarrassed and mortified that somebody saw you, but you feel beside yourself tonight and laugh, nodding along.

“perhaps,” there’s a small smile on your face, but the gentleman chuckles along, helping you stand comfortably, making sure you didn’t need him until he was absolutely sure you wouldn’t topple over. 

“are you not enjoying the festivities?” he remains a good distance away from you, though you’re glad he’s given you some space. 

you swallow thickly, rubbing at your eyes and cheeks to rid them of the tears but they just seem to be non-stop. 

“the festivities aren’t the problem,” you sniffle, hiccuping as you laugh wetly, “i just seem to be too sensitive for the likes of them.” you say the last word with some weight.

you thought that after all these years, after all the times you proved you’re more than your lineage, somebody always manages to bring it up. 

he doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, the only sound that you can hear is your shuddered breathing. 

“take in a deep breath,” his words are soft, but your head snaps up, confused. 

“it’s a breathing exercise,” he explains further, gently, “one in, one out,” he places a sturdy hand on your back, one that was too close for if a chaperon were to ever see you in such a compromising position you would be ruined, “we’ll do it together, i’ll count.”

your eyes are squeezed shut, but you mimic your breathing to his rhythmic breathes, your mouth open as small puffs of air fill your collapsing lungs. it takes a while for this sort of breathing pattern to take effect, but it helps you to calm down a bit. your nerves are still erratic, but it’s better than before. 

“there you go,” his voice is soothing, calming, something you’ve never heard before, something you’ve never known you’ve needed.

there’s a few beats of silence, your eyes squeezed shut until you finally open them again to get a good look of who this stranger was. 

“i have to thank you…” you trail off, your breath catching harshly in your throat when you're met with those familiar eyes, the same ones you see in the paintings you are set to clean each and every day, the same ones that look at yo with childish joy when he used to chase you around the courtyard when you were children. the infamous white hair, a tale telling of his lineage, and the countless medallions on his suit.

you don’t know what to do, and you take a tentative step back. all the feelings of fear, of embarrassment, of dread coming rushing back, but ten times worse. 

“sato…y-your highness, i,” you stagger backwards, “i…” you’re at a loss for words, your breaths coming out erratic again. 

he reaches his hand out for you to take again, his brows furrowed in confusion with you sudden change of emotions, growing into even more confusion when he gets a better look at you, memories rushing back at the strange familiarity of your face, but you don’t know as you scrunch your uniform between your fingers, muttering some unintelligible words under your breath as you bow hurriedly, brushing past him as you speedily make your way back to the palace, breaking about every protocol you have been taught since your first day there,

blissfully unaware of just how much your life was about to change.

—

the life of a palace maid is a bustling one, full of daily duties that fill your time from the moment you wake up to the moment you put your head down to rest. dusting the staircases, making sure the royal portraits are in tip-top shape, and, of course, tending to any of the needs the royals themselves need. 

you were lucky in your position, not too close to the top where any slight mess up could be your undoing, but far up where you could enjoy the more tedious and rewarding of tasks that others, such as the kitchen workers or the stables servants, may not have the luxury of having. you count your lucky stars every day that you’re not stuck cleaning fru-fru’s (the king's prized horse) droppings. 

“there really are no breaks,” lydia muttered under her breath, folding the freshly cleaned linen sheets as you gave her a look from under your lashes, warning her to be careful with her words, never too sure of how alone you two could be, “what? it’s just the truth.” 

you snort, not disagreeing with her because it was the truth. there had been royal balls upon endless balls, countless gala’s and feasts for the past couple of months. the prince was finally rumored ready to take on a wife, and all the eligible bachelors and their mamas have flocked to the scene, ready to become part of the gojo family. 

the last one had been all but two weeks ago, the same one where…you couldn’t think of it too much, glad that nobody else was there to witness your trivial breakdown. all except the prince, of course, but you hadn’t been beheaded yet so you never mentioned it to anybody. 

but, despite the last social gathering being so recent, another one was about to take place in a week. everybody could feel their hands splitting raw at the thought of cleaning the palace once again, but it was all in a day's work. 

“though i must say, you always seem to find a way to entertain yourself through all these surely grueling events,” you tease, a knowing look in your eyes as an unmistakable blush takes over her cheeks. 

“well!” she exclaimed, laughing under her breath as she fanned herself with her gloved hand, picking up another sheet to fold, “if a young man displayed his notable affections towards me, i would only be mad not to entertain them.” 

“you’re such a flirt,” you giggle, careful to keep your voices quiet so that nobody would come and break the two of you up. you were fortunate enough to spend most of your time with your closest friend, but if anybody ever got a whiff of just how much the two of you enjoyed folding bed sheets or tidying up the king's study. 

“there have been countless events, and yet, there is no wife,” she says this more as a statement rather than anything, “do you think it’s because the prince is cruel?” 

she was right about this, too. it was more often than not when lydia was wrong.

it had been a couple months of trying to set the prince up with his rightful match. women from corners of the earth, places you’ve never heard of, have found their ways to these balls and galas. of course, the palace did all they could to quell the rumors on why it was taking their beloved prince so long to find a wife, and yet, they could do so much. the rumors were beginning to grow, and none in his favor.

you laugh uncomfortably, hoping that nobody could hear the two of you in this closet. 

“the prince? cruel?” you shrug, feigning indifference. 

he wasn't cruel when you met him. 

and he never was crue all those years agol, or at least from what you could recall. 

because before there was lydia, there was satoru. 

so many years ago, you and the prince were childhood friends. he somehow introduced himself one of the days you were cleaning the castle, your uniform still so large seeing how it was made for a teenager and you were yet to reach six, so you were swallowed by it. but he didn't seem to care much about who you were, rather the fact that he was able to find somebody around his age, happy to have a friend that didn’t have to practice fencing with. 

the two of you were close, as close as a prince and a young maid can get. 

you never had a semblance of a normal childhood, but for those few years that you had known him, he offered you some normality that you would've never expected from the crown prince. at nights, when the two of you would meet up in a spare closet, he’d unravel a satchel full of bread and sweets, things he had stolen from his dinner table, knowing that your meals were often far smaller than his. 

he didn’t seem to forget you, even as he grew in his adolescence. he’d still find you wherever you were, a bright smile on his face as you gave yourself a quick break, running around the gardens with him as you squealed, trying not to get caught by him as he tried to push you down into the river nearby. 

but, you tended to be more level-headed than him, and easily foresaw the day that came when his advisors found out he had been befriending the servant girl, more specifically the daughter of the town courtesan, and before you knew it, you had been swept away, promised to never mingle with him again. they couldn’t strip you bare of your position at the palace, knowing that you worked for far less than others asked for and longer than most did, but they changed your place, your rooms, and you barely saw him again. he soon forgot, and you counted yourself lucky that you were still able to have a memory to latch on to. 

“or perhaps he’s unlikely to even take a wife. he may prefer his time spent with multiple women, if you get what i mean,” she continues, your thought coming back into focus as you suddenly realize what she just said, swatting her with one of the towels while saying such an unbecoming thing about her prince. 

“or maybe he’s taking his time,” you give her a pointed look for being so crass, “he might be holding out for a love match.” you say, your gaze focused on your nimble fingers as you fold the sheets as if it were second nature, your body moving faster than your mind was. 

she snorts, rolling her eyes at your romantics. 

“you can’t-” she goes to say something but is crudely cut off by the doors behind the two of you swinging open. 

your necks snap around as you are instant to stand, bowing deeply to whoever it is that walks in, looking up only after a brief pause. 

a part of you tenses upon seeing the housekeeper, miss lottie, entering in. her graying hairs were pulled back in a tight bun, the uniform that all the maids wore ironed to perfection. though she may not be as in her youth as she once was, her face was void of wrinkles, a feat, considering her position. 

two men who you had never seen before walking in behind her, standing on either side as she motions for the both of you to introduce yourselves. lydia bows once again, saying her name, and you do the same. 

“these are the last of my girls, gentlemen,” she starts with a sigh, massaging her temple, missing the confused look you and lydia shared as she offered no explanation for what was happening, “these are the only other maids in my department that wear this uniform.” 

the two guards look at you and lydia top and down, their eyes racking over your features, your postures, your faces. you felt sweat prickling at the back of your neck, your hands growing clammy as your mouth dried. 

surely, it can’t be.

“her,” one of the guards raised his gloved hand to you. 

“her?” lydia cries out loud, earning a disapproving look from miss lottie, but the old woman seems to be just as confused as you and lydia. 

“come with us,” the other one says, opening the door further, not seeming to care about your stupified state as you grip onto lydia’s wrist as tightly as you could.

you couldn’t speak, couldn't breath. you felt like you did that night, the same dreadful feeling that filled your veins and your lungs, keeping you from taking in the air you so desperately needed. 

“gentlemen,” lydia takes a step forward, trying to shield you with her body, “i’m sure whatever it is you’re after, she,” she points her head over to you, “is certainly not it.”

this is it, you tell yourself, they’ve finally tracked you down. 

the two guards don’t pay her any mind, don’t even address nor speak to her as they push her aside, wrenching your hands away from her as they try to move you forward, trying to move you away. 

“miss lydia, please,” miss lottie almost seems to beg, has her brows furrowed in puzzlement as to what was happening, her mouth agape as she watches them take you away. 

you feel your mind go hazy, your vision turning blurry as you dumbly follow the guards out of the room, the muted shouts of your friends growing softer and softer behind you as you walk through the halls you[‘ve been walking through for nearly your entire life, 

not knowing if it would be your last. 

—

the three of you walk for a while, and it doesn't help that nauseous and sinking feeling that you have growing in the pit of your stomach. your eyes darted around, your cheeks heating up in an uncomfortable flush when you caught the glances the others servants and maids gave, the way they began instantly whispering behind their gloved hands or one another as to what could be happening. 

you quickly looked down, watching your steps. if you weren't ruined after whatever this was, the gossip that was to circulate about you surely would.

they lead you up a spiral staircase, through the east wing, and after some time, the walls and the floors begin to grow unfamiliar to you. these are the places that even you weren’t authorized to clean, places that only the most trusted and known people were allowed to be. 

you peek around through the corners of your eyes, trying to take it all in one last time. there is more gold encrusted into the painting, the wall decorum, the ceiling. it’s more grand than you even thought the palace could be, and had it not been for your doomed fate, you would’ve tried to savor it more. 

the guards in front of you suddenly stop in front of a door, and you almost bump into one of them had you not stopped yourself milliseconds before. 

one of the guards raised his fist, knocking once, letting his hands fall behind his back. 

you wait with baited breath until you hear a muffled, “come in,” from behind the door, and the other guard turns the knob, the door swinging wide open. 

the two men come in before you do, their bodies hiding the view. you stay outside, your hands shaking, waiting until further instruction. 

the guards are speaking to the person inside, their voice mixing with each other in your muddled head, and you feel your eyes begin to wet. all of your hard work, all the sacrifices you’ve made along the way, every sleepless night devoted to securing your rank and your future were now going up in flames. 

“why didn’t you tell her to come in?” the first voice grows a little louder, “come in, miss,” he calls out, and you take in a deep, shaky breath. 

you take a slow, tentative step inside, and then another one. your feet pad in quietly, your head ducked down in respect but also because you couldn't have these people seeing you like this, it was mortifying as it was. 

you bow, knowing that you were in the presence of royalty from just the atmosphere of the room alone. you go down as low as you can, almost kissing the floor with your nose. 

“you men can go now,” the voice, an all too familiar one, says. 

you hear their heavy footsteps behind you, the door shutting with a thud. 

“you can stand,” the prince says, his voice less loud and commanding. 

you slowly rise, still keeping your head down, your eyes meeting a desk, some papers, and when you finally look up, the prince. 

his smile quickly drops when he sees your face, quickly moving away from his seat as he rounds the table, making his way over to you as you quickly wipe away at your tears. it was breaking your etiquette protocol for how you were to act if you were to ever come face to face with royalty, but you don’t see any point in acting in such a way when this is somehow quite similar to your first encounter. 

“are you hurt?” he quickly asks, standing a foot away from you, his eyes darting around your body as you quickly shake your head, sniffing as you stand as perfectly still as you could. 

“were my guards rough with you?” he looks behind himself at the door, “i will have a word with them immediately-” 

but you shake your head again, swallowing thickly as you dip your head down once, going to speak. 

“it was not the guards, your highness,” you feel like time is stopping as he stares intently at you, “i just have an apathy for being too emotional at times.” you try to joke, but with the way your heart was beating so loudly and erratically, it drowned out any humor you may have been trying for. 

“is it perhaps because you’ve been called to the prince's study with no reason or explanation?” he jokes, his eyes look at you from beneath his long lashes and you laugh wetly.

“perhaps,” you accept the handkerchief he gives you with a small thank you.

you wipe at your tears, quickly composing yourself with taking a couple of more steady breaths, and you were glad that the prince was at least giving you this time to look a little more presentable until he sentenced you to your punishment. 

“right, well,” he claps his hands together, a small smile on his face as he inches backwards until he’s able to sit on his desk, not caring for the slue of papers underneath, “i’m glad i was finally able to find you.”

find you?

you don’t say anything, your eyes taking him in for the first time, and for the first time, the rumors were correct. 

he was positively gorgeous. 

the veil of night hid a lot of his features, leaving only the more pronounced things for you to see. not only that, but you had been sworn to keep away from him, the last time you were really able to see him was years ago. 

but now, illuminated under the light from the large windows to the side of him, you can see him as clearly as you possibly could. his eyes were striking and stark, a blue that you could only get if you looked at the sea and saw all the colors mixing around together. his lips were plump and pink. his jaw was sturdy, but that could’ve been said along with the rest of his body, no longer looking like the lanky little boy that you were used to envisioning. though he donned a simple white button up, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing just how strong he was. everything about him exuded radiance, the spectacularity that only comes with being the crown prince. 

you try to focus yourself again, and try not to melt under the way he noticed you staring too hard, his smile turning into something far more teasing.

he wets his lips, sitting up a little bit straight, pushing himself off the table just a bit so that he could be closer to you. 

“my name is satoru,” he extends his hand outward, and you stare at it. 

oh, a part of you sinks, he doesn't remember you.

“shake, please” he says as if reading your mind, “my hand isn’t infected with a fungal disease if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

you quickly nod, feeling sheepish as your hands slowly raise from where they were resting on your crumpled apron, fingers gently and barely there as they glide against his palm until your hand is enclosed in his, fingers curling around his as you shake. 

his palm is soft, unlike yours which had grown rough and riddles with scratches and cuts from over the years. he shakes firmly yet gently, not too harsh unlike the other men whose hands you’ve shaken before, making it somewhat a point to not only bruise your skin but to show off their strength as you look at them with a sneer. 

you don’t let go until he does, not wanting to seem rude or improper, and your hands quickly fall back down to your sides. you’re aware of the stains of food and dirt on your white apron, the way it is held together through stitches and intricate sewing. it’s a stark difference to what he’s wearing, even if simple, but the quiet opulence is what differentiates the two of you so easily. 

he waits patiently and you suddenly realize that he’s waiting for your name. you said it quickly, your eyes darting to him as you bow your head again.

“as i said,” he continued, his head turning as he looked out the window, taking in the scenery, “i have been trying my best to find you ever since, well, i’m sure you remember.”

“i was told by…miss marla scott, is it?” he asks, and you nod, miss lottie, “that you are one of, if not, her best girls.”

you nod again, not knowing what to do. he was going on about this as if all those years ago were a figment of your imagination, as if your childhoods weren’t linked together the way you recall them being. that could be for the best though, seeing how you could be in trouble if anyone were to remember. 

“i’ve recently had to do away with some of my valets, they didn’t meet my expectations.” he scratches his jaw, looking back at you, his eyes simmering as you look at him from beneath your lashes. 

“i would like for you to be my maid.” he finally said, his fingers playing with the ring on his middle finger, twisting it back and forth as it caught and reflected the sunlight. 

there’s a beat of silence, a moment in which the two of you just look at each other. 

you almost laughed in shock, your brows shooting upwards in surprise, hands interlinking themselves as they rested on your queasy stomach. 

“p-pardon,” you swallow dryly, “pardon me?” 

he waves it off, his eyes playful, obviously understanding that you weren’t expecting this and he runs a hand through his arctic hair. you intently watch his every movement, waiting for him to burst out into laughter and to say that this was all one big joke, one meant to set you up into a trap. 

“you’d have to make my bed every day, make sure my room is clean. my office,” he motions to the room around the two of you, “as well. anywhere i am, you are. i’m not a particularly messy person, but i like the assurance a maid provides.”

“your highness,” you breathe deeply through your nose, a puff of air coming out as you smile shortly, “i am more than honored, but i’m not sure i’ve been trained the way a personal maid has been trained. i would hate to disappoint you,” you chose your words carefully, but he waves it all off with his gloved hand.

“you will be taught. after all, you are the best, are you not?” his eyes crease around the edges, waiting for you to simply nod once again, and you do, slowly. 

“but, your highness, i…” you trail off, failing silent and running out of words as you find yourself sputtering under his gaze. you’re usually one who’s easily composed, your back straight and shoulders pressed backwards, but you feel it all slipping away. 

“why me? i surely couldn’t have made a favorable impression the first time we met, your highness.”

he looks at you for a moment, brief, fleeting. 

“you’re human, it happens,” he simply says, his eyes flickering a different shade, “my mother always tells me that we forget to exhaust the capabilities that connect us together,” he rubs in between his brows, soothing the crease, not going any further into his explanation when he looks up at you, his smile debonair, “now, do you accept?”

you suck in a breath. 

one nod. 

yes. 

—-

you were quickly swept away from your normal routine of things to become the princes maid, something that you could barely even get out once lydia was able to ask you about what had happened. you can remember the looks you received after walking to your new quarters, a private room for the first time in your life, by the people who judged you the first time around, feeling a little victorious with your single back packed with the three changes of clothes you owned. 

you spent days going over what was to be expected of you, and it all felt like it was a joke. 

it was too simple, too easy of a job with an even simpler explanation from the prince as to why you were even here. 

“his highness wakes up early, so you will need to be up before he is,” one of the ladies who was briskly walking around the princes caves explained rapidly, “and his nighttime schedule is, well, hectic, which means you will have to be with him until he goes to sleep.”

you blink, trying to get that all in as you take mental notes of everything you are being taught. 

“and during the day? where should i be?”

she looked up at you as if you were an idiot, as if that was the most obvious question you could’ve asked. 

“by his side, of course, you are to ensure his highness is always comfortable. your role is beyond making his bed or simply cleaning up after him. it’s making sure that our prince is at ease when he is to one day become our king.”

you never thought you would be standing behind the door of the prince's chambers, waiting for him to wake up, but your life always seemed to have a different plan waiting for you than what you’d expect. 

it’s better than you’d expect it to have been, too. at first, it was difficult getting used to the prince and his way of doing things. he would act rash sometimes, acting without thinking of the consequences. he was playful, he loved laughing. there were times when you’d be standing a good distance away from him when he’d be having dinner with families of women who were there to marry him, diplomats that talked just to bore it would seem, and you’d catch his wandering eye, suppressing a smile that seemed to quirk up on his face as well. 

it wasn’t long before you found yourself speaking more freely around him, keeping some of the pleasantries, but regarding him more as a friend, just as you would with lydia. 

he would often spend hours away in his study just talking, telling you about his daily outings and the struggles he was having with finding a wife. whenever you offered your thoughts or opinions he listened thoughtfully, his gaze heavy and caring.

though he may not have remembered your ancient friendship, you did, and an old part of you feels like it’s coming back after all those years. the naive part that was just happy to have a person to talk to, somebody that wouldn’t look at you in disgust or pity. 

but you bring your focus back to now, listening intently, waiting to hear the bed sheets ruffle and the floorboards to creak as he makes his way out of his bed. 

after a couple of weeks of doing this you’ve become somewhat familiar with the prince's way of doing things, and just as you thought he was going to sleep in, you hear the bedsheets ruffle with movement. 

“your highness?” you call quietly, “may i come in?”

there’s a loud yawn, something unintelligible, and then you hear the go ahead for you to go. 

you slowly open the door, making sure not to be loud as you bow politely, closing the door before you as you set the tray of cold water and fruits down on the nightstand near his bed. 

the prince prefers to eat something before he breaks his fast in front of his family and the watchful eyes of the palace, enjoying these small moments he has with himself. 

“good morning your highness,” you greet, lighting the candle as you look behind your shoulder to see the prince groggily running at his eyes, yawning once again as he waves tiredly to you. 

why he chooses to wake up before the sun is even in the sky is beyond you, but you would be mad to question the choices of the prince. unfortunately, he seems to be waking up even earlier than the times you were told, so every morning you find yourself getting up at the crack of dawn to make sure you’re up before he is. 

“did you sleep well?” you walk around the bed, setting down some fresh sheets and clothes for him to pick out, opening the curtains as you watch the sun just barely peek out from the horizon. 

“well enough,” his voice is deep, filled with sleep, and you're glad your back is momentarily turned so that he couldn’t see the way a smile threatened to poke its way on your face. 

“i’m glad to hear,” you turn around, catching him briefly taking a swing of water, savoring its coolness, and you try not to look too long at the droplets that roll down his chin, splattering on his thigh, “would you like me to go through your events set for the day?” 

he glances at you from over his cup, blinking as he wordlessly tells you to continue. 

“today, you are to meet with the king's advisors after you break your fast, but i doubt they should take too long. at noon, you have a lunch meeting set with the lady dower and her daughter,” you quote from memory, “and afterwards we are to swiftly get you ready for tonight's ball.” 

he groans loudly, opposing this, and you smirk, your eyes trained on him as he sets his water down, sniffing as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head. you feel like a fiend, with the way you quickly avert your gaze from his toned stomach, the happy trail of hair that leads…

your eyes shoot up at him, glad that his were still screwed shut, another yawn escaping his lips as he leans his head side to side, cracking his neck.

“i’ve already met with the lady dower,” he almost whines, his nose wrinkling at the thought, “what do they want this time?” 

“a ring, probably,” you mutter under your breath, but he hears, a chuckle falling past his lips as he nods along, tsking as he shrugs. he obviously doesn’t want the dower girl to be his wife, and you could only feel sorry for how tense the meetings going to be. 

he picks up a cube of melon, popping it in his mouth, humming at the sweet taste. he offers the bowl to you, just as he’s always done, but you politely decline, just as you’ve always done. you may have become friendly with the prince, but there is still some semblance of protocol that you’ll force yourself to follow. 

“is this chocolate?” he pipes up, looking at the tray a bit more closely, holding up the little sweet to the light. 

“you’ve mentioned how much you like them, and the kitchen has been making a plethora of them for the ball, so i thought i should snag you some before they're all gone.” you explain, and he turns it around, shooting you a thankful, genuine smile. he sets it down, most likely saving it until the very last moment.

“will you be there? tonight?” he asks, filling up his glass with water once again. 

“not down there with you, your highness-” 

“how many times have i told you to drop the titles?” he chides playfully, cutting you off as you sigh deeply through your nose. you’re terrified of calling him by his name too many times in private, and slipping up in public, knowing just how bad it would turn out for you if that were to happen. 

“not down there with you, gojo,” you say his last name with extra weight, just a little bit of sass, and he rolls his eyes, “i am to help out elsewhere.” 

he nods in understanding. 

“could you be down there?” he picks up a piece of watermelon, fashioned into a sphere, eating it as you sputter, brows furrowing in slight confusion as you open your mouth, shut it, and then open it again to speak. 

“unless i am serving, i would not be allowed,” you explain, following behind him as he moves away from the bed, quickly making the messed up sheets as he makes room for you. you’re supposed to wait until he’s out of the room, but in your growing friendship with the prince, you find it amusing the way he flutters away. 

he makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and you look behind your shoulder to see him deep in thought. 

“i’ll find a way.” 

“what-” 

“i’ll see you later,” he exits his room, shutting himself in his bathroom as the other servants are their, waiting with his bath drawn, leaving you there to gape in silence. 

—-

gojo somehow stuck to his word, finding a way for you to be near him by the time the ball arrived. 

you felt overwhelmed, your senses were going hardwire at the sheer size of everything. it was one thing to be part of setting up the decorations, or to view it from afar behind a pillar, but to be part of it was something totally different. 

there had been a couple balls since you first started your new position, but this happened to be the first one that you had gotten clearance for. of course, you weren’t a part of the crowd, hidden somewhere in the midst of servants and servers, but you were nearer than you’ve ever been. 

they even dress you up in more fashionable servant clothes, knowing that if you were to wear your tattered uniform it would easily give it away that you weren’t one of them. you didn’t have a job for the evening other than to make sure that the prince was comfortable, so you tried everything you could not to let him out of your sight. 

you found yourself searching for lydia in the crowd, but she had told you that she’d be in the kitchens, having to help out with the food they’d be sending out, and so you doubted you would be able to catch a glimpse of her amongst all the chaos that is hidden to their eyes. 

the prince, despite your best efforts, kept getting drowned in by the sea of people and ball gowns. every time he twirled a girl around for a dance he was hidden by a wave of colorful fabrics, and you’d have to squint to see his white hair peeking out.

you tapped your fingers on the railing you were leaning against, trying to soak it all in while you had the chance. you had heard of the royal balls and just how extravagant they truly could be, but you never thought you’d have the chance to see one in its entirety. 

“i don’t believe we’ve met,” 

your head snaps to your left, eyes widening in surprise at the stranger that had somehow slithered their way next to you without noticing.

“i apologize, i didn't mean to scare you,” the man says with an apologetic laugh. you huff out a small sound, shaking your head as you bow your body a little bit, watching as he bows his head in turn.

“no apology necessary, uh, mister…?” you pause, realizing that you actually haven’t even seen his face before, let alone heard of his name.

“fushiguro,” he finishes for you, the scar on his lip quirking upwards as he settles himself on teh railing, looking down at the scene below you as he shoots you a small look, “but i’d prefer it if you’d call me toji.”

you duck your head down, smiling as you repeat your name, feeling heat pricks at the back of your neck. he’s certainly handsome, and most likely higher ranked in title with the expensive material he fills out well. 

you’ve seen him around, most likely from afar. his face is familiar, and you’re sure that he’s had to have at least another one of these balls considering the fact that he’s given up mixing with the ton. 

he surely has to note that what you’re wearing is on par with what the other servants and maids are, but he doesn't choose to comment.

“i’ve started a little bet with myself,” he says, his voice deep and gruff. you take a second to look him over thoroughly, noting the way his hair is messy and looks undone, black as the night. his eyes shimmer green, but turn more olive toned in the light, and he has a smile exudes an air of confidence, “would you like you partake in it?”

you smile, looking at him from the side. 

“i thought they taught you better manners than to introduce yourself with a bet when you first meet a lady.” 

he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes glint. 

“thought i already told you my name?” he’s smooth with it, and you’re not used to this. 

you don’t say anything for a second, your chest moving as you take in a necessary gulp of air. you normally try not to think too much in gojo’s flirtatious personality, because he seems to be like that with everybody he’s ever met. but this is new. 

“see,” he leans in, your arms touching as you both lean a bit over the railing, and he’s lower this voice to a whisper so that nobody else can hear, “i bet that our little prince is setting his eyes on the young lady in the red dress, but i also bet that he may be mulling over the one in the green shawl.” his fingers slyly point to the two of them, and you crane your neck a bit, standing on your toes as you try to get a better look. the man, toji, isn’t incorrect in his observations. gojo has danced with miss corden almost three times at this point, and another two with miss ahura, but you remember that he only favored these two more because they tended not to step on his shoes when dancing. you suppress your smile, choosing to indulge him in his little bet.  

“i say miss ahura has a better chance,” you say and he watches as gojo twirls her around on the dance floor, “her family is far more affluent and i hear that she has riches beyond comprehension in persia.” 

“are you saying our prince is covetous? the sacrilege,” his voice is full of mirth and you hide your little giggle behind a gloved hand, your elbows lightly hitting his as you keep your eyes trained down below. 

the waltz comes to an end, the violinists lifting their instrument off from their shoulders as they prepare for the next piece, the ladies and gentlemens who had just danced bowing to each other as they separate. 

you watch for gojo, watch as he moves to the end of the floor, accepting the drink one of his companions had waiting for him as he delves into conversation. he takes a sip, nodding along to whatever it is that is being muttered in his ear. 

he looks up for a second, his eyes scanning around for something. he’s careful not to attract attention to this fact, but you see him scan the entire room, the different floors, his eyes squinting as he tries to narrow his vision. he looks around for a couple more seconds, looking and looking until he finds you. 

a brief and quick smile takes over his face when he finally sees your face, your own lips tugging upwards as you give him a small wave. his eyes fall to the man besides you, his smile falling as well, and toji grunts. 

“are you familiar with the prince?” he asks, obviously catching this, and you gnaw on your lips in apprehension, confusion. 

“barely,” you mutter, not giving him too many details, watching as gojo looks away just as quickly, as if he had never seen you and you swallow thickly, wondering what brought on his sudden change in emotions. 

or why he even looked for you in the first place. 

“barely doesn’t warrant the prince looking for you,” toji whispers in your ear, “‘think you know him a little better than you give yourself credit for.” 

—

after the ball, gojo didn’t speak much to you when the two of you were back in his chambers.

he tended to get tired out by the end of balls, but you found yourself lonely without the endless stories he came to you with, the way he’d relive some of the events just as he was going to bed so that he wouldn’t forget them in the morning. 

but he was strangely quiet right now, didn’t say anything as you helped him shrug off his coat, hanging it up in his closet as you bite your cheek, feeling some odd tension radiate off of him, something you’ve never felt before. 

“did you enjoy the ball?” you asked, standing near his bed as he shuffles around, kicking off his boots as he scrunches his nose in distaste. 

“it was like any other,” he says plainly, yanking his tie off as you grab it from his wordlessly, folding it up so that it wouldn’t crease.

“did you like dancing with miss ahura?” you don’t know what’s going on, why he seems so rigid, “she looked beautiful, did she not?” 

he shrugs passively, not answering as he rummages around his drawers, dropping down his cufflinks in a pile with the rest of his gold ones, not knowing that a single pair of them would most likely feed you for a year.

“would you like a midnight snack? i saved some truffles for you,” you dig into your pockets, bringing some out that you had snagged from the desserts table and had wrapped in a napkin, something akin to what he used to bring you all those years ago, waiting eagerly all night to show him, “these even have some gold on them, i’ve never seen-” 

“i have chefs at my disposal,” he mutters as he unbuttons his shirt, “i don’t need truffles covered in lint.” 

your smile fell at the bite in his voice, the way it seemed to grip it’s claws around your lungs, squeezing the air out of them. you silently pocket the napkin.

“of course…i apologize,” there's a bitter taste in the back of your throat, catching his eyes momentarily. you see the way they shift, how his mouth parts open, and then he shuts them again. 

you can feel his stare as you shove your other hand back into your other dress pocket, this one with a miniature tart that you had so carefully tried to preserve throughout the evening from breaking, and feel a heavy weight settle on your chest. 

“i have your bath ready,” you point to the bathroom, ducking your head down as you bow, “i will see you in the morning, your highness.” 

you left  quickly, feeling foolish as you trekked down the stairs to your own room, feeling your heart slow down as you shut your door, shedding off the wretched costume that had you feeling as if you were something worthwhile for once. 

—-

for a while after that night, the two of you share brief conversations, sentences kept to a minimum as you bring back the cordiality that you had begun to shed off for a while. if he noticed it, he didn’t comment on it. after some days passed, and days turned into a week and a half, he barely even looked at you, and you took it as a sign that he had tired out of the small friendship and was looking elsewhere for momentary entertainment.  

tonight, you found yourself standing in the corner of his office, eyes darting around as you waited in heavy silence as his quill scratched on the parchment beneath him, dipping it in ink every now and then as he mumbled unintelligible words under his breath. 

his head rests in his hands, throwing his head back in frustration at whatever it is the document is telling him. 

his head falls down, his eyes slowly opening as he looks up at you. 

your brow raised slightly in questioning. 

“i need you,” he says, eyes widening slightly at his slip up, “i-i need your help.” he clears his throat harshly.  

he ushers to the papers in front of him, and you inhale deeply, making your way from the corner that you’ve hidden yourself in as you cross the room, your steps careful as you round to his table, standing at the edge as you stay quiet. 

“here,” he bites out, “come here.” he needs you next to him, and you have to control the urge to roll your eyes as you move, shuffling so that you were standing near his chair, looking down at the piece of paper that he’s been mulling over for the better half of an hour. 

you look at it, mouth parting open as your brows scrunch up as you focus, trying to ignore the way his eyes were burning into the side of your face. 

“i don’t understand, your highness,” you finally say, leaning away from him, “what am i supposed to be looking at?”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling as he sets the paper down, leaning back in the chair. 

“it’s a letter of inheritance, who gets what after the father dies,” he explains, “but the signatures don’t match up. does it seem forged to you?” 

you look again, looking at the two signatures laid next to each other, the way the letters curved, which ones swooped, tilting your head, trying to see it from a different angle. the more you looked at it, the more disingenuous the signatures seemed. 

“they might be,” you briefly look at him, his stare burning if you look too long, “but i’m not sure, your highness.”

his face hardens for a second, and you move away, going back to the end of the table as you bow, taking your leave to the back of the room until he speaks again. you pause, looking over your shoulder to him. 

“care to look again? i have a feeling that you have a knack for schemes.” his lips are pulled back in a smile that doesn't meet his eyes, miles away from the usual smile you see from him, and if not for the benign expression, his words surely made you stumble. 

“excuse me?” you bite back quickly, your nose flaring as he scoffs, shaking his head as if he expected this reaction. 

“you’re shameless with it, aren’t you?” he’s alluding to something, and it’s driving you crazy. all the stares you’ve shared this past week, the silent exchange of aggravated words that grow only in size the more the two of you simmer. even when you were young, your arguments were resolved quickly.

“with what?” you snap, the accusations he’s throwing at you with no reasoning swarming your mind, clouding your judgment, your way of carrying yourself as you throw all etiquette out the window. 

“i can only wonder what ploys fushiguro played out for you, but i wonder even more which ones tempted you the most?” 

your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you make a sound in the back of your throat, one of shock, one of clear surprise. was all of his unspoken anger because of…him? the man you met during the ball? surely it can’t be. 

you gape, the candle flickering away in the same beats your heart was going at, illuminating his stone cold face as he stands up from his chair, moving slowly to where you were. you try to stand tall, but you can’t match up to his height.

“you,” your jaw clenches, eyes searching his to see if he was joking, “you’ve been treating me like i’m, i’m,” you stutter, your chest constricting, “the shit you wipe off your shoe because you think i’m scheming with s-some man i met for the first time?” 

his expression flickers for a second, as if suddenly realizing what he was saying.

“as if you don’t know who he is,” he collects himself, a sneer making its way on his face, “as if you don’t know what they’ve done to us-” 

“i don’t!” you cut him off, a shocked laugh escaping your lips, “i don’t know who he is! i just thought he was being friendly!” 

gojo pauses, his eyes searching yours for any traces of lies

“come on,” he scoffs, “you know how the zenin family-”

“who, who’s the zenin family?” you exclaim, watching in real time as the facade and things he’s been convincing himself of aren’t true. 

“the,” he stutters, his face scrunching up in confusion, “the zenin…? how do you not know…?”

“because i’m a maid!” you shout, not caring if others behind the door could hear you yelling at their prince, “because i’ve spent my entire life working here! i keep my head down and i do what i’m told, a-and i keep to myself. forgive me for not knowing about your royal affairs, your highness!” 

he’s rendered silent, lips pulled into a thin line. 

“but you only care about yourself, right? the sacred prince who had everything given to him his entire life,” you continue, feeling your own pent up frustrations spewing out. you know that you’re going to lose everything after this anyways, so you don’t care about the repercussions now. you can’t bring it in yourself to care.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with some unidentifiable emotion as you roll your eyes. 

“i don’t? tell me, do you even remember me?” you hate that you’re losing touch of sensibility and making it personal, personal about your own feelings and how your mind can’t wrap around the fact that he simply forgot who you were or how much he affected you, “or are your cares about the people who work for you so fleeting that you barely know our names? is my replacement coming in a week, two weeks?”

“stop,” he bites out, his eyes dark, a storming brewing on the endless sea they offer, “you don’t know-” 

“what i’m taking about…right?” you finish for him, “because i’m just the simple maid who you took in as your toy because you wanted to poke and prod around at her and see if she cries again? see if you could fix something for once-” 

“stop,” his voice is different, and your hairs stand up because it’s not his. it’s lower in pitch, deep, commanding. you shut your mouth, fingers flying upwards, but it’s too late, you’ve said too much, and there’s no going back. this is it, you’ve finally sealed your fate. 

his head falls down for a second, licking his lips as he looks at you with a look that freezes your blood. it’s not like him, and you know that this was it. 

“get out,” he mutters. 

“i…” you take a step back.

“get out,” his voice is thick, nostrils flaring, cheeks red with underlying emotions that are threatening to leave, “get out and never come back.” 

your eyes shine with tears, tears that you refuse to shed, tears that you don’t know are for what, but you nod once, your lips trembling as you bow down to him, your last shred of respect, and turn for the door, shutting it as you run down the corridor, run for the only thing you think can save you in the moment, and don’t look back. 

—

the wind is biting and unforgiving on your skin as you ride through the night. 

you lean forward on the horse, hoping it can go faster as it sprints through the open field, your eyes watering as you shout for it to go. 

you packed what you could, wrote your note to lydia and escaped through the stables, glad  to know that louis was guarding the horses tonight, glad to know that he often drank himself to sleep. 

you knew you were in too deep. you had crossed the crown prince, your ending surely wasn’t going to be good. and so call it what you will, cowardice, fear, survival, or just something you seem to have down to your roots, but you fled. you took a horse and went as far as you could, looking over your shoulder every other minute to see if anybody was running after you. 

they would at some time realize that one of their horses was missing, as well as the prince's personal maid, and easily connect the dots. 

it was late, and you were glad that the night was offering you the darkness and protection you needed. you could hear thunder rumbling a distance away, the clouds looking even more irate than they usually do. rain, you noted, even more protection that you desperately needed.

“please,” you plead, with what you don’t know, “please, hurry.” 

the horse, as if understanding you, seems to pick up its pace, going even faster than before. your cheeks are freezing, your hands going numb from both the cold but from holding onto the reins with all your might, and the sad excuse of a cloak you have on for both warmth and concealing your face, does nothing for its intended purposes. it’s flimsy and the hood is swept by the wind, and you sniffle, tears wetting your chin as you try to compose yourself for just a bit more. 

you feel an ounce of joy when you see the yellow twinge of lights from the valley below, the small town that you once used to live in coming more into focus, and feel some sense of happiness. you would camp there for the night and leave at dawn, going east, north, anywhere away from here. 

or at least that was your plan until you hear the thump of hooves from behind you. 

your heart drops, head whipping around as you see another horse coming in from behind you. you can’t see the rider, but you suspect more are behind them. they’re shouting something, but with the wind roaring in your ears you can’t hear anything. you turn around, whipping the reins again, leaning even more forward as let out a sound of desperation. 

it’s a race to survive now, something that you won't do if you lose it, and you feel your body turning into ice, everything is going too fast. 

the rider behind you is gaining speed, and you know it’s only a matter of time before they finally catch up to you. in a split moment you try to evade them, twisting the reins of your horse in one direction, not seeing the bush that was in front of you. 

in another moment you’re up in the air, losing all of your feelings as you're thrown down with a harsh thud. 

in the next moment, things going to black, your lids flickering as you try to stay awake, one of the last things you see being the blurry face of the rider,

and those eyes that you think about every night. 

—

the next time you open your eyes it’s to a bright light. 

you ground, rubbing at your face as your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, your head ringing as you attempt to sit up, only to feel strong hands gently pushing you down. 

there’s a voice, somebody speaking, but it’s all mushy in your brain, words melting together as you shake your head, trying to get the blinding light away from you. the voice grows a little bit closer, a little more clearer, and after a couple of seconds you’re able to make out what the person is saying.

“please rest, i’ll get the doctor,” the voice is familiar, and you reach out with slow fingers, trying to grab onto something, anything.

“n-no,” you murmur, your voice slurring, “no doctor.” 

“you need a doctor,” the voice says firmly, “wait here.”

“no,” you say again, a little stronger, and the person stops moving, “s-stay…please,”

your fingers reach out, trying to latch onto a piece of their clothing, and instead find their hand. it’s warm, soft, and it quickly closes around your cold one, trying to warm it up. 

you know this hand, know this voice. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and wonder if your voice is even something that can be heard by the human ear with the way it sounds foreign even to you, “i’m, i’m sorry about everything. about what i said.”

his hold on your hand grows tighter, his thumb moving up and down on the back of it in a soothing back as his other hands run across your forehead. 

“no,” he simply says, “you don’t-”

“but i said-” 

“everything that should’ve been said,” gojo finishes quickly, “but i need to go get you a doctor, check if you don’t have a concussion or worse. he checked for…other things,” he swallows thickly, not able to say what terrible words the town physician told him when they brought you into the small inn, the words that turned his skin transparent and nearly ripped the heart right out his chest, “see if you’re doing okay.”

“i don’t have a concussion,” you tell him him, finally able to blink without shooting lights and on your final squint you finally see him, sitting right next to you, his hair disheveled and face clammy, “i’ve had concussions and this isn’t a concussion.” 

his brows furrow but you wave it off, sitting up so that you could rest on the head board behind you, not letting go of his hands. you’re not even sure he would let you if you wanted to, with the way he was grasping on as if his life depended on it. 

you groggily rub at your face, glad that the thumping in your head is dying down, gracefully accepting the glass of water he offers you. you chug it down, feeling the droplets wet the chemise you’re wearing, but can’t find it in you to care.

you look around the room, wondering if you might actually have a concussion because you’ve never been here before, and it certainly doesn’t look like it’s part of the palace. 

“we’re at an inn,” he explains as if reading your mind, “it’s the closest place i could find.” 

you nod wordlessly, looking away from him because it feels raw, the emotions, the events from before, everything. 

he senses your disposition and his hold on your hand loosens for a brief, flickering second. you hate the feeling. 

“i shouldn’t have assumed,” he whispers, your eyes still focused on the patterns on the bed sheet, not knowing what would happen if you looked at him, “i shouldn’t have thought any of it. i just saw you and saw him and…it got in my head. it got a hold of me and for that, i’m sorry.” 

your fingers curl into his hand. 

“but, i, um,” he stammered, stuttering the way he used to when he was a little boy, something they surely worked on seeing how it rarely came out anymore, “i wanted you to know that i do remember.” 

your head snaps up, the bed creaking at your sudden movement, your mouth slightly open in surprise. 

“what?” your question is breathless, akin to the boyish, nervous, and small smile on his face. just like he used to smile when you chased him up a tree, telling him to get down or else you’d be in big trouble as if he were your responsibility.

“you used to wear a uniform that was so huge, you’d trip whenever you’d walk. you loved the fruit pies i’d bring, but you hated the ones with the pine nuts. you’d always call me ‘toru because you couldn’t say your s’s properly and you made me a doll with some fabric you found around the rooms.” 

his thumb rubs on your pulse point, a melancholy smile on his face. 

“you named him fru-fru,” your voice is barely above a murmur, “and you kept him on your-” 

“nightstand,” he nods, “but i had to move him to my study because he was getting too fragile, i couldn’t move him too much.”

you wipe at your cheeks, sniffing as you feel a strange warmth fill your chest, filling an emptiness you didn’t know was there. his eyes shimmer, wet with tears threatening to spill, and for the first time since you met him that night, you feel like you’ve never been closer to somebody than you are now, souls interlinked together, twisting and turned as they grew with time. 

all the emotions you’ve been latching onto or forcing down are coming up at once and you feel overwhelmed, not knowing how to handle them together. 

“why…why did you act like you didn't know me?” you finally ask, wiping at your chin with the palm of your hand as you sniffle, “why are you telling me all this now?” 

“because all this time i thought you had grown to hate me,” he mutters, “you just stopped speaking to me one day and no matter what i tried to do you never responded. i sent you letters and i visited your quarters and i even went to that scary lady,” you laugh wetly, knowing that he was referring to your old head-maid, the one that terrified him as a kid, “but they all acted as if you had forgotten about me. at some point i convinced myself that you left but when i saw you running across that field i just knew, i knew it was you.” 

you shake your head, the tears coming on even harder. all those years when you had to act passive, act as if you didn't know him just so that you wouldn’t lose or jeopardize your position or life, pretending that the one friend that made your days that much brighter was a passing thought to you. 

he leans in a bit, wiping at your cheeks gently with his thumb as you lean into his hand, watching as you quickly wipes at his own reddened cheeks, brows scrunching up together as you whimper.

“they f-found out,” you choke, “about us. and they knew who i w-was and who my mom was and they told me to never speak to you again,” your words come out broken, “and i left little piece of my clothes outside your door at night, ones with drawings or things i thought you’d know but every morning they would be gone. i,” you cry, your voice sputtering as you crawl closer to him, into his open arms, “i could never forget you,” your voice cracks, muffled by his chest, “you were the only f-friend i had,” he pulls you in tighter, his arms around you encaging you in a warmth that you so desperately needed. his chin rests atop your head, and you can see the way he struggles to get his own breaths out, the tears that he struggles to hide. 

“don’t cry,” he pleads, begs, holding onto the last scrap of composure he had left, hating hearing your cries or seeing your tears, “please, please don’t cry,” he pulls himself away from you slightly to look at your face, to dry your cheeks as you hiccup, “you’re killing me tonight, you know that right?” 

you try to laugh though it comes off as a snort, savoring the way his fingers trace your face, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, the corners of your eyes, trying to savor every bit of you as if they’ve been starved for an eternity. 

“tried to run after you after what i said…” he can’t find it in himself to repeat his wretched words, “only to find you gone. you have no idea how much of a mad man i was, ordering everybody to turn each stone inside out until they found you. then that stupid stable boy kept yelling out that a horse was gone and i thought surely you wouldn’t be foolish enough to run away, ‘specially not when a storm was coming but…”

“i ran away when a storm was coming,” you finish for him with a quiet chuckle, feeling your body heating up at the way he broke into an instant smile when he heard the sound. if only you knew the things he’d do to hear it again, to see you happy would be his three wishes if he was ever asked.

“and you were going fast,” he traces your cheekbone, his words filling the large and empty room, “so, so fast. and when you fell?” he takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his chest, setting it on his heart as you feel it thumping quickly underneath your palm, “was about to take you to the doctor and tell him to give you this,” his fingers curl above yours, his forehead resting on yours, your noses breaths away from each other, “it didn’t matter to me anymore, it doesn’t work right without you.”

you feel lightheaded like you need him more than you need oxygen, your eyes falling onto his lips, not knowing that he was mirroring your exact same motions, the two of you working in tandem like a machine and its little bolts, not working without the other. 

“would it perhaps be because you can’t live without the chocolates i sneak in for you?” you try to joke but it falls flat in your head, but he still huffs out a laugh, nose nudging yours as you lean in impossibly closer.

“perhaps,” he answers, his face lit by the single candle behind the two of you, “but it could also perhaps be because i love you so fucking much.” 

and you whine, tired of waiting, moving the single bit you needed to connect your lips together and fall forward on his lap, your hands shooting up to his shoulders to use as much needed stability. 

he groans, a sound from the back of his throat, from deep within him, his hands moving up to hold onto your waist as you move into him, kissing him with such fervor that you felt like you were going to die without feeling his lips on you.

it was so messy, the way your teeth clash against and noses bumped against each other, but it was what you so desperately needed. he was moving fast, his lips kissing against the corners of your mouth, down you chin as they found your neck, his smile growing as you throw your head back, fingering digging into his white strands as you tried to pull him in even closer. 

you let out breathless sounds, sounds that you never knew you could make, but it seems to spur him on, planting wet and sloppy kisses on the column of your neck as she sucked, marking you up so that later people would know that you were his and his alone. 

“gojo, i,” your eyes screw shut at the feeling of him, “feels so good,” you say breathlessly, moving closer up on his lap, feeling his hands tug at the flimsy chemise you have on, fingers slowly tugging it down, giving you time to push him off if you wanted to. 

he looks up at you, his eyes needy, desperate, just as yours, and you nod, needing him to not stop. 

he continues, pulling it down so that you're bare before him, nipples pebbling in the cold air as you go to cover up, suddenly realizing just what is happening, feeling shy, never like this in front of anyone before. 

“we can stop,” he muttered against your lips, pressing a small peck to them, “we don’t have to do this now, we have all the time in the world,” he teases as he tugs your chemise up but you grab his wrist, stopping him as you shake your head. 

“no,” you tug it down a little bit, “i’ve just,” you take in a deep breath, “just never done this before.”

he chuckles, eyes flashing darkly for just a quick second as he kisses along your jaw, leaving your skin shining in the limited light.

“good,” he murmurs, “‘cause i think i’d have to exercise my grandfather's way of handling people if somebody else saw you like this.” you laugh shortly, tugging sharply on some of his hairs as he looks up at you, eyes full of devotion that you’ve only dreamed about. 

“beheading people for just seeing my tits?” you’re more crass than he is in some places, a sign of the different language you’ve heard growing up in the circumstances you’ve had, but he doesn’t care, likes it in fact. 

“i’d burn down villages if anyone saw these,” he cups them in his hands, thumb flickering over your nipples as you suddenly arch into him, head falling back, “you’re so perfect,” he whispers into your skin, his lips hovering on the slope of your breasts as he takes time to admire your chest, “so beautiful,” you would’ve smacked him if not for the way he took one in his mouth, leaving you no time to think of anything else as a moan escapes your lips, the first of its kind.

“damn you gojo,” you moan, hearing his chuckle vibrate through your tits as his sucks on your nipple, tugging it with your teeth as you feel your stomach heat up, growing more and more wet as you buck up on his thigh, “you t-talk too much,” you shudder, eyes rolling back when he presses his flat tongue on your areola, his other hand massaging your other tit until he switches, leaving it glistening his his spit.

“yeah? then where do you want this mouth, hm?” he looks up at you with his eager eyes, just wanting to please you, and you feel like you’re becoming an addict, your cunt growing more and more wet as riding his thigh proves to not satiate the hunger. 

“d-down,” you can’t think clearly, “please, need you so bad.” 

“where?” he plays with you, pressing his hand against your stomach, “here?” 

you shake your head, feeling needy and not in the mood to play around, not knowing where your sudden surge in confidence was coming from as you grab his wrist, leading it down to your cunt as you hide your face in his neck, whining. 

“h-here, ‘toru, need you here,” he throws his head back, a sound coming from somewhere in his chest as his name falls from your glossy with spit lips, tugging the ends of your chemise up to your stomach as he stares at your bare pussy. 

he pushes you back gently to lie on the bed, nestling between your legs as he savors the sight.

you cover your face with your hands, hearing him laugh at your expense, keeping your thighs spread wide open with his hands as he presses tantalizing kisses on the insides of them, each one closer and closer to the unbearable heat. 

“wait,” you mutter, confused as to what he was doing, watching the way he snapped up, worried eyes finding your confused ones, following your stare down to his growing bulge. 

“i thought…?” all the stories lydia would tell you didn’t start this way, usually beginning his the man pulling his dick out and being done in a couple of minutes, “do you not…?” 

satoru breathes easy, laughing as he shakes his head, resting on his haunches as his palm rubs against your soft thighs. he looks so pretty like this, with his hair going haywire, some of it in his face, some of it messily pushed back. there’s a pink flush to hit face, his lips plump and shinning with spit. 

“trust me, you have no idea how bad i want to feel you,” his eyes are so dark that you wonder if they’re even blue, “but i’m not going to do it in your condition. i don’t want to hurt you any more-” 

“but,” you whine but he shakes his head, pinching your soft skin as you wince, hitting him with your knee as he rolls his eyes. 

“i promise you’re going to like this,” he rubs softly against where he pinched you, smoothing the skin over, “do you trust me?”

“yes,” you mutter, watching as he breaks into a smile, “better not disappoint me though.”

“fuck, you’re such a minx,” he groans, spreading your lips open with his pointer finger, his dick aching at the sight of the string of arousal that connects them together, at the clear shine and wetness from just how much you needed him, “you’re actually going to be the death of me.”

“then hurry u-up ‘toru,” you say, “don’t die on me now,” your fingers were cutely curling in his hair, and he’d be an insane lunatic if he made you beg any more than you have, diving in as if you were actually his last meal before he died. 

your mouth falls open in a silent scream, the feeling unlike anything. he sucked on your clit, moving up and down from your cunt, wanting to taste your saccharine wetness on his tongue to back up. he was so messy, so loud, and you felt like you were going to overheat, felt like everything was fogging your vision. 

it felt so good. too good. his tongue dived in and out of you in a way that had you gripping his hand and the sheets under you, your leg around around his shoulders as you bucked into his open mouth, your wetness smearing all of his lips and chin as he ate you like a man starved for years. 

“o-oh my god,” you mewl out, eyes rolling back as you felt one of his long, swift fingers slowly pushing into you, his lips still sucking on your clit as you felt like you were actually entering heaven. 

“not god,” his voice is muffled, “just ‘toru.” you would have laughed if you could, your smile instantly dropping when his finger pumps in and out.

your toes curl, leg around his shoulder pulling him in closer if that was even possible. if he were to die right now he’d had the giddiest smile on his face, happy to have you dancing around on his tongue. 

everything about this was shameless and you wondered if all your good deeds were finally catching up to you. 

you don’t even care if the people sleeping next to you, above you, under you, or even at this inn could hear you, because when he put in his middle finger you screamed, back arching off the bed. 

“so good, fuck, ‘toru, i,” you could even form a complete sentence, “feel so good,”

“yeah?” you nod feverishly, “fuck, you taste amazing, love this so much, love you so much,” he’s babbling with his words too, his nose sometimes accidentally rubbing against your clit, bringing you all the much more pleasure.

sometimes when you look down to see him you moan helplessly, your chest heaving at the way he’d rut mindlessly into the bed, his dick hard and swollen and achy from eating you out, about the burst from just your scent alone. 

your stomach tightens and you feel an unfamiliar thing deep in the pit of your body, growing taut with each swipe, each like, each kiss he would give you. it made your moans more breathy, your words less understandable, and you felt like you were slowly going to go insane, losing all sense of reality. 

“‘toru, i, i don’t know,” you’re sputtering, nails raking into his hair, your free hand grabbing onto your tits, the bed sheet, his shoulders, anything to help you ground you back down to earth, “i feel, f-fuck, oh my god, i,” 

“you got this sweetheart,” he encouraged you, his words honeyed, “come on, let go for me, you can do it,” his thumb which had found its way to your clit was speeding up, his tongue and fingers taking turns as they pounded into you. 

you felt that rope getting together and tiger, about to snap at any moment as you whined, tears escaping from the corners of your eyes as your lips huffed out puffs of air. 

“i, f-fuck, i’m ‘gonna, oh…” you whine out loud, the line snapping, your orgasm crashing through you as your mouth falls slack. 

it was mind numbing, the way everything went white, the way you tightened around his fingers which were slowing down. you creamed around him, leaving his skin shiny with your release, your pussy still pulsing seconds after as you try to catch your breath, still seeing white behind your lids as your tits move up and down with each haggard breath. 

he presses on last kiss to your fluttering clit, hands massaging your quivering thighs as you slowly yet surely come back down to reality, each second passing bringing you back down with him. 

“good?” he teases, his smile coy as you cover your eyes with one arm, lightly pushing him with the other. 

“fine,” you mutter, peeking over to see him positively glowing, a stupidly large smile on his face when he sees you finally looking at him, pressing the fattest kiss to your lips as you squeal, eyes fluttering for a second as you taste yourself on him, parting your lips mindlessly to let his tongue slither in.

you whined against his lips, fingers curling around the collar of his open tunic, pulling him closer to your naked body, feeling your tits press up against his chest, everything so perfect that you wondered if you were dreaming. 

“wait,” he muttered, pulling away from you, a string of spit connecting your lips together as you sit uop a little, you brows scrunched in confusion as you watch him sit up from the bed, walking over to the vanity as he rumages around the drawers for something. 

he pulls out a small cloth, holding it up in victory as he grins, walking over to your nightstand as he wets it with soem water, crawling back into bed as he settles back in the middle of your thighs, gently pulling them apart as he starts cleaning you. 

it’s all so intimate and so loving. you feel like melting watching his focused gaze, careful to be soft and slow, knowing that you’re a little stretched out, and pat it as best he could, cleaning around your thighs as well, throwing the cloth to the side as he climbs back up to you, pressing a loving kiss to your temple. 

you shrug the rest of the chemise off, riddled with your essence and sweat, and pull the covers up, feeling the sudden chill now that satoru’s no longer eating you out like both your lives depended on it, and a silence falls over the room. 

“is this a bad time to tell you about my horse laundering scheme with fushiguro?” you ask, your eyes shining mischievously as satoru whines, hiding his face in your chest as he pulls you closer to his body. 

“you’re so evil,” he says against your skin. 

you laugh, the sound going straight to his heart, his smile hidden. 

but you fall silent and when you don’t speak he looks up, his eyes searching yours. 

“what now?” you whisper, your fingers carding through his hair, feeling its softness, “i don’t…” you trail off, biting your lip as every other emotion that you had tucked away comes crawling back. 

his finger finds its way to the middle of your browning, easing the crease that was forming. 

“now you become my wife…if you would like to, of course…” 

you search his eyes to see if he’s joking, but you only see honest sincerity in that sea of blue, his cheeks pink as he blushed. 

“really?” you can barely say it without a giddy smile making its way on your face, one that he glows brightly at. if only he could bottle it, save it for when the universe collapsed and was in need of light. 

“really,” he promises, holding you tightly to him, not wanting to ever let you go again, needing you next to him so that he could make sure his heart was working, to make sure that he was actually alive and that this wasn’t all a dream. 

“i’ve loved you since the moment i saw you, ‘toru,” you whisper, nodding off to sleep as a yawn escapes your mouth. 

“is that because i used to try to swoon you with food?” he whispers, his drowsy eyes finding yours as you sleepily giggle, kissing the tip of his nose as you curl into his heat, a smile on your face when you say the last words before you finally head off into sleep. 

“perhaps.”

[kashverse]

Hey! Not 100% sure if your requests are open, but can I get an SMAU of you doing a double take at a random hot guy the boys and you walk past on the street? Crack would be so funny lmaoo! Thanks, love ur work!😆🤭

read till the end to see choso in cosplay (not clickbait)

it was supposed to be a simple grocery run. a peaceful, uneventful, married couple activity. you and nanami were at the organic section—him carefully selecting the perfect tomatoes, you texting him from two feet away about getting more oat milk. normal. civil. domestic.

then it happened.

a man—tall, broad, effortlessly stylish—walked past you with a bulging bag of groceries. your eyes followed him. your head whipped so fast you swore you heard your neck crack. and beside you, nanami stopped mid-reach for an avocado, eyes slowly narrowing. “really?” he muttered, voice dangerously calm. you blinked at him, confused. “what?”

“nothing.” his jaw twitched. nanami kento, mature and self-assured, was obviously not sulking.

but you saw the way his grip on the avocado tightened. saw the micro twitch in his brow. your dear husband thought you were checking out grocery bag man. except you were not. oh, no. this was far worse. you turned to nanami, eyes wide, voice trembling with despair.

“he took the last loaf.”

nanami’s expression barely shifted. “what?”

“the last loaf, kento. the ethically sourced, imported-from-a-french-village, aged-like-fine-wine, vegan-friendly bread you waited weeks for—he has it.”

nanami’s world shattered. his entire soul left his body.

the betrayal, the injustice, the absolute audacity of that man, casually walking out with his bread like he didn’t just ruin two people’s week. you grabbed his arm before he could start forward. “babe, no.”

his fingers twitched, torn between rationality and primal rage. “he doesn’t deserve it,” he whispered, haunted. you spent the rest of the grocery run in silence. nanami didn’t even flinch when the cashier told him the total. he was mourning.

ah, evening walks. a staple of married life. you and geto, hands intertwined, nodding politely at neighbors like you were the wholesome, friendly couple everyone thought you were.  then you saw him. a man striding down the street, his pants fluttering with each step. the most perfect pair of bell-bottoms you had ever seen.

you grabbed geto’s arm, halting mid-walk. your jaw went slack.

“sugu—”

his expression darkened. his fingers tensed around yours.

“so that’s your type?”

you blinked, confused. “what?”

“oh, nothing.” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. it was a ‘hmm, my love is a traitor’ smile.

you turned back to bell-bottom man.

“he’s wearing the exact pair you’ve been looking for.”

geto froze. the tension evaporated. he squinted. studied. analyzed.

“…cotton blend,” he murmured.

“definitely imported,” you added. you both stood there. staring. geto’s eyebrows twitched.

“i need to know where he got them.”

“we could follow him.”

“we absolutely could.”

and so, two grown adults—former sorcerers, parents, functioning members of society—spent the next ten minutes covertly (not covertly) stalking a man for the sole purpose of inquiring about his pants.

it was a good day. you and toji had just finished at the butcher, a prime cut of steak nestled in your bag, and toji was already humming about grilling it up with butter. then you saw the officer.

your head whipped around so fast toji felt it. his shoulders tensed. his jaw clenched. a cop? a cop? that’s what you were into? he could deal with gym bros, maybe even pretty boys, but an officer?

…he was gonna have to commit a crime.

toji was seething. fuming. trying so hard not to snarl about how he could handle you better than some uniformed pretty boy. then you leaned into him, tugging his sleeve.

“look at his gun.”

toji blinked. “huh?”

“that’s a customized SIG. high-end, lightweight, reinforced barrel—”

oh.

oh.

toji let out the deepest sigh of his life. his entire soul exhaled. you weren’t ogling some officer’s ass. you were checking out his gun.

for the first time ever, toji felt defeated by an inanimate object.

there were three things gojo satoru could not tolerate:

being ignored

being ignored in public

being ignored in public while you were looking at another man

so when he caught you staring—staring—at some guy while he, the love of your life, stood next to you in all his six-eyed, beautiful glory, he reacted in the only way he knew how. loudly.

“are you actually serious right now?” gojo gasped, clutching his chest. “ogling another man? in front of me? your one true love?”

you didn’t even look at him. you were still staring at sunglasses man, an impressed hum under your breath. gojo clutched your sleeve. “babe, look at me. me."

“he’s wearing chopard.”

the air changed.

gojo stopped breathing. his hand went limp. his pupils shrank. his jaw—previously running at a hundred miles per hour—snapped shut.

“ch-chopard?” his voice cracked. you nodded, grave.

now both of you were wailing.

“we could’ve been him,” gojo cried. “we could’ve been walking around dripping in wealth!”

“he looks so effortless.”

“his life is together.”

you both mourned the lack of chopard in your lives, heads bowed in devastation, like you had just witnessed your futures slipping through your fingers. that night, gojo went home and bought three pairs online.

sukuna had seen it. the way your eyes lingered. the way your gaze flickered over some gym bro’s barely covered pecs like you had just discovered the meaning of life. he crossed his arms, seething. “seriously?” you, completely unaware of your impending doom, glanced at him. “huh?”

“you checked him out.”

you blinked. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.”

“read his shirt.”

sukuna’s eye twitched. but fine. he’d play your little game. he begrudgingly looked over, prepared to see some cringe gym brand logo, only to be met with the words:

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER.”

in bold. right across the pecs.

sukuna froze. the world went silent. for once in his entire existence, he felt true, undeniable embarrassment.

“…oh.”

you smacked the back of his head.

the next day, sukuna walked into his gym wearing that exact shirt, except his was customized.

“I ❤️ MY PARTNER MORE THAN YOU LOVE YOURS.”

choso was panicking. he had seen you do it. the double take. the slight pause in your step. the way your eyes lingered on another man. his hands clenched into fists. his heart dropped into his stomach.

his brain? already drafting up worst-case scenarios. his soul? leaving his body. his spirit? crushed.

“please don’t leave me,” he whispered, eyes pleading. you blinked. “what?”

“i saw you looking at him.”

you glanced at the man in question. he was carrying a big shopping bag filled with sanrio plushies.

“…babe.”

choso swallowed. “just tell me now so i can emotionally prepare—”

“babe, i was looking at the plushies.”

choso went silent. the blood drained from his face.

he stared at the bag, then at you.

back at the bag, then at you.

then back at the bag.

“oh,” he whispered. he didn’t sleep that night. he spent hours on his phone.

on valentine’s day you opened the door, expecting something sweet—flowers, chocolates, maybe a heartfelt love letter. instead, you were met with choso.

in a inflatable cinnamoroll costume.

his entire body was swallowed by the plush suit. his face? peeking out of cinnamoroll’s giant, smiling head.

“…choso?”

“do you like it?” he asked, voice muffled through the fabric. you did not know whether to laugh or cry. he shuffled closer, arms outstretched.

“i’m your sanrio plush now.”

[kairoot]

── ࣪ ˖ ❛ 𝓜𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑢𝑝 𝓥𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑠．

‧₊˚ 𝓼𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: they do the voiceover for your makeup routine 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 : enha x 𝑓．𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 : fluff , crack 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 : no 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 : jokes, profanity, pet names, this was shorter than i intended, some of these are kind of inspired by some tiktoks i saw.

— ( 𝓂𝑖𝑙𝑎𝑛’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 ) : pls leave reblogs, they are much appreciated !! ♡︎

✿ member’s headcanons under the cut !!

⊹ 𝓁ℎ𝑠．

asking hee to do this was a piece of cake

he agreed to it immediately

he lovesssss watching you do your makeup

so when you asked him he was like, “well.. yes!”

gonna keep it real with you, he has absolutely no idea what ANYTHING is

he just knows the things that he buys for you and that’s it

flirty mcbirdy over here, he’s barely even watching the makeup, mostly watching you

“hi guys, today i’m doing my girlfriend’s makeup voiceover.” he says into the mic, the video starting with you priming your face as you’ve already did skincare prior to starting the video.

you were next to him while he narrated your routine, holding in your giggles as he began naming the products that you were using.

“okay so now she’s uhm.. damn she’s gorgeous..” he paused for a moment, watching you through the screen as you applied the first product of your base.

you nudged him, urging him to stay on topic as your face began to warm up.

“she’s applying, uh— the— the..” he thought for a moment, the product seemed familiar but he couldn’t think of the name.

it was foundation.

“and then she’s.. wiping it all over her face.” he mumbled, still not paying attention to what you were doing but admiring you instead.

“it’s blending, hee..” you whispered, not wanting the mic to pick up your voice.

expect the comments to go insane about hee’s little flirtatious comments.

⊹ 𝓅𝑗𝑠．

ngl, he’s a bit confused as to why you asked him to do this but he says yes anyway

why does this man actually know what the products are??

quite literally does the whole voiceover better than any beauty influencer you’ve ever seen..

compliments you throughout the video

he’s literally so polite

“hello everyone, today y/n has asked me to do her voiceover, so here i am!” he says excitedly, watching you apply the first product.

“so here, she’s putting some of the foundation in her t-zone.. she has really great skin.” he explains.

you’re sat next to him, shocked at how he’s able to understand the whole routine.

“after she blends, she goes in with her.. concealer, i think.” he was right again.

as you blend that out, jay begins talking about the product that you’re using.

“yes, i pay attention to my girl’s routine.” he says, knowing everyone’s gonna wonder how he could even know all of this. you bite back a smile, his comment making your heart warm.

now the whole internet wants a boyfriend like jay.

⊹ 𝓈𝑗𝑦．

he is very eager to do it. why? because he loves you and is so down bad for you

ummm he knows NOTHINGGG about makeup 😫

another flirty one

count how many times he says he wants to kiss you or compliments your lips challenge (jake is so weak for kisses, you cannot convince me otherwise)

he’s so giggly throughout the whole thing ??

he definitely gets flustered over your beauty, esp your bareface <3

he’s lowkey your hype man even though he has no idea what he’s talking abt

“hey guys, it’s jake! today i’m gonna give you all a tutorial for y/n’s everyday makeup.” he beamed confidently. he watched you start your routine, already giggling at the small things you do throughout the first 30 seconds.

“so she’s gonna start with, um..” his giggles cutting him off. “she’s starting with the putty stuff. it kind of looks like play-doh!”

“jake!” you nudge him a bit, rolling your eyes playfully.

“sorry, sorry!” he laughs. “now she’s putting on.. powder? wait, no, that’s definitely bronzer.”

“yeahh, apply that bronzer, babe!” he exclaimed.

it was powder foundation ??

“she looks so good already, wanna give her a kiss..” he said, watching you pat the product onto your skin.

⊹ 𝓅𝑠ℎ．

bro is so impatient

he can’t think of any of the name of the products that you’re using which frustrates him to the MAX

pls don’t laugh at him, he will sulk 😕

cracks jokes abt how long you take

“now she’s applying.. uhm, glitter?” he tilted his head, watching you apply highlighter to the inner corners of your eyes.

“highlighter, babe.” you corrected him, holding back your laughs.

“whatever it is, it’s very shiny. and she’s putting it on so do whatever she’s doing if you want this look.”

you snorted a bit, finding his impatience hilarious.

“watch as she puts on her favorite mascara that she made me buy her.. because she doesn’t care about my pockets or if i go broke.” he sighed.

you landed a playful smack to his shoulder, scoffing.

“anyways, she takes forever.” he huffed. “she told me she was gonna be ready in 10 minutes but 10 minutes turned into two hours, so i guess im gonna have to wait.”

please don’t ever ask him to do this again.

⊹ 𝓀𝑠𝑤．

like jay, he knows what everything is

he’s actually really excited to do this

he pays attention when you do your makeup and pays attention when he gets his makeup done so

he basically knows what everything is he just.. doesn’t know how to do it

he knows all of your favorite products

count how many times he calls you pretty challenge:

“look at how pretty she is!” he exclaims as you prime your face. “i did her skin care by the way.”

he watched as you applied your concealer, telling the viewers exactly what brand it was and what it did for your skin.

“i’m pretty sure this is her favorite product.”

“okay! next she’s gonna set with this one powder that she absolutely loves.” he giggled.

you chuckle at his excitement, not expecting him to like this as much as he did. you just knew people would want more of him narrating your routines and grwms.

“and now, she’s putting on her blush.. I love this part.” he said, mesmerized by you and your features.

“isn’t she so pretty?”

⊹ 𝓎𝑗𝑤．

he’s so confused

tbh he just yaps the whole time

you don’t know what he’s talking about, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about..

he just knows that he buys some of the stuff

he gives random facts throughout the video ??

“okay, so i’m not really sure of what she’s putting on her face right now..” he said, scratching his head slightly.

“did you guys know that dolphins name each other?”

“jungwon..?” you furrow your eyebrows, looking at him confusingly.

“oh, right! sorry, now she’s applying some.. nose.. stuff?”

you mentally face palmed at his attempt to name the products, which he ended up wrong every time.

“if it wasn’t already obvious, i know none of these things, i just get whatever she tells me to buy.” jungwon giggled, watching you apply your blush.

please DO NOT let him do this ever again 😭🙏🏽

⊹ 𝓃𝑟𝑘．

bro does NOT wanna be here

he doesn’t wanna do it at all 😭

but somehow you convince him (you told him you’d buy him robux)

he guesses everything

some of it he gets right somehow

gets so triggered when you laugh at him 😭

“um, okay, she’s applying concealer.. that’s concealer, right?” he looked over at you, as the video showed you applying the product.

you looked at him, giggling.

“why are you laughing? is that not concealer?” he asked again, becoming irritated.

“yes.. just keep going, ki.” you cover up your laughs.

he rolls his eyes playfully, “anyways, now she’s putting on some powder shit.. i don’t know.”

“and she’s.. beating it on her face..? why are you punching yourself?” he quirks an eyebrow.

you shake your head, sighing at his confusion.

✿

TAGLIST: @haechansbbg @contyynishimura @sasfransisco @kgneptun @jungwonderz @enha-stars @dioll @jakesangel @cupidscourt @violetwitchmcu @haohaoshoe @randomgirl02228 @wonsdoll @powerpuffstuts @flwrstqr @elysianiki — send an ask to join.

[street-smarts00]

Wish You Were Sober

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: The four times you confessed to Spencer while drunk, and the one time you did it sober

WC: 8.0 k

Tags/warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, lot’s of mention of alcohol consumption, regretting things said while drunk, drunk flirty reader, reader is emotionally constipated and doesn’t want to feel her feelings at first

A/N: chat I’ve been sitting on this for MONTHS it’s been marinating in my google docs for a while so hope you enjoy! I lowkey picture this happening in earlier seasons Spence but picture whatever you like ;) Beta read by the lovely @whats-yesterday00

The first time it happened, your feelings were just starting to peek through the surface. 

You tried your hardest to shove them back down. Trying to convince yourself that developing the beginnings of a crush was absolutely not happening. But the alcohol opened the door you tried to close.

The whole team went out for drinks on a friday night. After multiple shots with Derek and JJ, plus the drinks you had before that, you were feeling quite a buzz. A buzz that always left you more flirty and courageous than normal. 

You were busy dancing amongst the crowd with Penelope and JJ. The music was flowing through you all as it blasted throughout the bar. The movement and crowd caused the temperature to rise exponentially. 

You wiped the sweat forming on your forehead and paused your dancing. 

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked. 

“I’m melting,” you answered, fanning yourself. “I gotta go sit down.” 

Penelope blew you a kiss and said, “be back soon!” as you made your way to the table. You of course blew a kiss back to her. 

After weaving through the mass of people, you approached the table housing the rest of your coworkers with a heavy sigh. 

“You done partying already, pretty girl?” Derek teased. 

“No, not yet. I just need a breather. It feels like 1000 degrees right now.” You sat down across from him and next to Spencer. 

Derek’s attention was pulled towards someone behind you. A smirk grew on his face, “Oh Reid look, it’s that girl from earlier she’s back.” 

Spencer’s face flushed at Derek’s remark. 

“What girl?” you asked intrigued. You hated the taste that question left in your mouth. 

“It’s nothing,” Spencer tried to brush off before Derek interrupted. 

“She was flirting with him when he went up to the bar.” 

“She was not!” Spencer squeaked. 

Derek chuckled, “oh yes she was,” his eyes turned back to you. “She was definitely into him. And judging by the fact that she keeps looking over here, I think she wants to talk to him again.”

Spencer hid his face in his hands and quietly groaned.

“Why don’t you go over there? Go talk to her,” you encouraged while silently hoping he doesn’t leave the table.

Spencer lifted his face from his hands. His face was scarlet now. 

“I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but cut himself off. He saw your eyes staring back at him and felt his palms getting sweaty. He swallowed and stuttered on his words. “Because I wouldn’t know what to say. I can’t flirt.” 

Derek leaned back in his chair, dissatisfied with his answer. “That’s bull.” 

“It’s not bull.” That was probably the closest you came to hearing Spencer curse. “I’d probably make a fool of myself and say something stupid.” 

“Spencer, you say a lot of things,” this earned a chuckle from Derek across the table, “But I don’t think you could ever say something stupid.” 

Spencer tried to resist the smile spreading on his face from your compliment. 

“Still doesn’t change the fact that once I open my mouth, she’ll lose all interest in me.” 

A small pout appeared on your lips. “Well, I don’t see how a girl wouldn’t find you endearing.” 

“Really?” He didn’t believe you. 

“Yes! I thought you were so cute when I first met you,” your eyes brightened. “The day we met, I remember you were rambling about something and I just sat there amazed.” 

He swallowed as his ears turned crimson. “You thought I was cute?” his voice cracked at the end of his question.

“Sweetie, I think you’re more than cute,” your voice lowered as you locked eyes with him. 

“Morgan calls you pretty boy for a reason,” you continued with a mischievous glint in your eyes. 

Spencer’s heart damn near stopped. He knew your playful demeanor was from the amount of drinks you’d consumed, but still seeing you so openly attracted to him was making him delirious. 

Morgan, of course, found the whole interaction to be the most intriguing thing he’d seen all week. The growing amused smile on his face was telling enough. 

“Wow I think that girl from the bar has got some competition,” he teased. 

You shrugged in response to his comment. “Maybe,” was all you gave as your answer. You stood up from your chair with Spencer's eyes still beaming at you. 

“I’m gonna go dance some more,” you turned to the man next to you. “You wanna come with, pretty boy?”

Spencer struggled to get the words out for a few seconds. “I can’t. I don’t know how to dance.” 

You tried to hide the disappointment on your face but the gleam in your eyes had dimmed. 

“Maybe next time,” you replied before making your way back to the girls. 

Spencer watched you walk away and disappear into the crowd. He then received an extensive amount of teasing and questions as to why he didn’t say yes from Morgan for the next 20 minutes while you were gone. 

Over the weekend, the hangxiety set in. You layed in bed staring at the ceiling as the memories from Friday night flooded your mind. 

The anxiety followed into Monday as you stood in the elevator. The doors opened to the sixth floor and you reluctantly dragged yourself to the bullpen. 

Your hands tightened around your bag as you approached your desk. Spencer’s eyes lingered on you as you set your things down

“Morning,” he greeted with a small smile.  

“Morning,” you mumbled. 

You fidgeted with your hands and stepped closer to his desk. 

“Listen Spence, about Friday night… l’m sorry I was flirty with you.” 

His cheeks turned a dusty rose at the memory. “It’s alright.” 

This still didn’t ease your worries. “Are you sure?  The last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable around me. Especially because of something I did.”

His eyes softened when he noticed just how nervous you were. 

“I don’t, I promise,” he reassured. 

“So we’re okay?”

He nodded with a small smile and the weight started to lift off your shoulders. 

___________________________________________

The second time it happened was a few weeks later. 

It was Derek’s birthday. The whole team went out to dinner followed by a trip to the bar to keep the night going. 

Spencer stayed behind at the table, watching you order drinks and chat with Emily at the bar. He also tried to ignore the angry green feeling surfacing as the bartender flirted with you. 

“So, are you finally gonna dance with her tonight?” Derek asked the young man as he sat down beside him. 

Spencer sighed as he kept his eyes trained on you. “I don’t know.” 

His friend patted him on the back, “Come on man. Consider it my birthday present.” 

Spencer turned his attention to the man beside him. “I already got you a present.” 

“Kid,” Rossi interjected from farther down the table, “in my professional opinion, when a woman asks you to dance, you dance.” 

This brought out a smile from Hotch. 

“Even if you think you’ll look like a fool,” Rossi continued. 

“Like two weeks ago when that woman asked Morgan to dance,” Hotch teased, which brought out an annoyed expression from the man in question. 

“Hey! I was not that bad,” Derek defended. 

“You looked like a bird doing a mating dance,” Spencer now joined in. 

Derek looked appalled from the younger man’s joke. 

Soon after you approached the table with Emily. “What’s so funny?” You asked the table.

”Morgan's attempts to woo women,” Rossi joked. 

Emily took a sip from her drink and rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh where do I begin?” 

Derek stood up from the table shaking his head and smiling. “Well, I’m gonna go dance with people who appreciate my moves.” He then made his way to the open area where Penelope and JJ were. 

Back at the table, before you could sit down, the speakers of the bar started to play Maneater by Nelly Furtado. You gasped and a bright smile filled your features. 

“I love this song!” You squealed. 

You set your half consumed drink down on the table and looked at Spencer, “Do you want to go dance?” 

He looked at you surprised. “Me?” He squeaked. 

You giggled, finding his reaction cute, “Yes you!”

Spencer started closing in on himself. Before he could come up with the excuse he used last time you said, “I can teach you. It’ll be so much fun!” 

You were oblivious to the knowing looks from your other team mates at the table. Your focus was only on Spencer. Staring deep into his golden eyes and finding nothing but comfort. 

“Okay,” he agreed with a small smile. 

You beamed with excitement, “Yay! Let’s go.” You offered your hand to him. He took it and found you pulling him up from his chair and towards the dance floor. 

He followed you through the people in the crowd until you found an open space to settle. You held onto his hands as you swayed to the beat. 

Spencer tried to follow you but was still noticeably tense. He was also less focused on his dancing because he was too enamored by your movements. Watching you sway so effortlessly with the rhythm. 

“Look at you Spence! You’re getting the hang of it,” you praised. 

He appreciated the compliment but cringed, “I feel awkward.” 

“That’s not how dancing should feel. You should feel free and loose.” You let go of his hands and spun around.

A real smile spread on his lips, “I’m surprised you’re this coordinated with how many drinks you’ve had.” 

“Oh, I guess you missed when I almost stepped on you.” 

He chuckled, shaking his head, “I guess I didn’t.” 

The song ended and changed to Don’t Stop The Music by Rihanna. Your jaw dropped and your face filled with excitement. 

“You like this song?” he asked even though he already knew the answer. 

You grabbed his hands once more and grinned, “Yes!” You resumed dancing with his hands in yours. This time you were mouthing the lyrics of the song. 

I gotta get my body moving, shake the stress away you heard from the speakers and shook Spencer's hands. 

“You gotta shake the stress baby!” you cheered at him. 

He bashfully laughed watching you drunkenly shout. And hearing you call him baby, but that’s beside the point.

As the song played your hips and shoulders moved to the rhythm of the music. He wasn’t as successful as you when it came to swaying his hips but he could move his shoulders and copy you. 

Who knew that you’d be up in here lookin’ like you do?

You took a step back and gestured to him as the song said. Spencer shook his head and pulled on your hands to bring you back closer to him. 

Do you know what you started? I just came here to party

You took him pulling you back as a way to sneak your arms around his neck. 

But now we're rockin’ on the dance floor actin’ naughty 

Spencer’s cheeks started to turn red at the closeness. 

Your hands around my waist, just let the music play

You retracted your hands to grab his and place them on your waist. 

We’re hand in hand, chest to chest, and now we’re face to face 

By the time your arms returned wrapped around his neck, his ears were crimson. With your arms around him your shirt raised slightly. His hands met the gap of your skin that was exposed. 

Even though he felt like his insides were going to melt, he kept his hands on you and kept dancing. Spencer followed the steps you took, the way you moved back and forth. He was finally starting to let the music flow through him. 

You definitely took notice. It only made you more eager to dance with him. 

As the song continued into the next verse you grew more confident. 

Don’t you feel the passion ready to explode? 

Your hands moved to his shoulders. You moved in closer, and with a playful smirk sang along the words so Spencer could hear. 

What goes on between us, no one has to know

Just when Spencer thought the fluttering in his stomach couldn’t get worse, you leaned in close to his ear and whispered the next lyric.

This is a private show

The air between you was magnetic. It felt like you were in your own little world. Like the rest of the bar goers were gone. Suddenly, it was just you two on that dance floor. 

Spencer’s face was inches away from yours. You were so close you could count the freckles on his pink cheeks. 

“You look so cute, all flustered,” you muttered. 

He licked his lips nervously, “I’m not used to dancing like this with someone.” 

“Are you having fun at least?” 

“Yes,” he answered instantly. 

“Well then, we should do this more often,” you offered with a sweet smile. 

As the song came to an end you leaned up and left a kiss on Spencer’s cheek. You took a step back to fully look at him. His eyes slightly widened and his lips parted from your peck on his cheek. 

“I love dancing with you,” you released your hold on his shoulders. The ghost of your touch was still hot on his skin. “Hopefully we can do this again.” 

His eyes shined as he looked at you, “I’d like that.” 

________________________________________

The third time it happened, Spencer got a phone call at 12:04 am. 

He was resting on his couch, nose deep in a book, when he heard his phone buzz. He breathed a sigh of relief at the caller ID revealing it to be you instead of Hotch with a new case. 

When he answered, he heard loud music and faint voices in the back. 

“Hello?” 

You quickly answered back, “Spencer! I didn’t wake you, did I?” Your voice had a higher pitch than normal. 

“No, I was just reading. What’s up?” 

“I went out to a bar for girls night but…I had one too many drinks,” you whined. 

He sat up straighter, “are you alright?” 

There was a pause before you spoke again. “The room is spinning. I’m really dizzy and everything is overwhelming,” you mumbled. Hearing you sound so scared and small made his heart hurt. 

“I didn’t want to bother the girls because they’re having so much fun and none of them can drive right now.” 

Before you could finish your statement, he was already standing up and walking to find his shoes and jacket. 

“Do you want me to pick you up?” He knew the answer. 

“Please. Can you?” you begged. 

Spencer was grabbing his keys and out the door in a heartbeat. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

Ten minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot. He walked inside and looked around the crowded room. A few meters away, a hand rose from a booth and waved him over. 

He followed it and found Emily, JJ and Penelope keeping you company at the booth. You rested your head in your arms, which were folded on the table. 

JJ carefully tapped your arm, “hey, your ride is here.” 

You slowly lifted your head up and beamed at the sight of him. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he said softly. 

“They found me,” you said pointing to your friends. “They said they would babysit me until you showed up.” 

He chuckled and lightly rubbed your shoulder, “You okay? You think you can walk to the car?” 

You nodded and slowly stood up. 

“Text one of us when you get home safe,” Penelope announced. 

You gave a lazy thumbs up in her direction and turned to Spencer, “Can you remind me to do that?” 

The corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. “Of course. Come on, let's get you home,” he nodded towards the door. 

You waved and said goodbye to the girls before Spencer led you through the crowd with his hand in yours. You grasped his hand like it was an anchor in the over-stimulating environment. 

When you stepped outside, the cool breeze caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. The fresh air and dulled sounds were already starting to help you feel better. 

Unfortunately, your balance was still screwed and you managed to trip over air. Before you could fall to the ground, Spencer swiftly reached out and caught you. He helped you stand back up and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. 

“I got you, you’re okay,” he muttered close to your ears. 

Him being so sweet was going to make your stomach twist. 

The rest of the walk to the car he kept his arm around you. Your body instinctively leaned into him and used his frame to keep you upright. 

When you reached his car, he opened the passenger door and let go of his hold on you. You almost whined at the loss of contact. 

“Thanks for coming to get me,” you spoke quietly as he helped guide you into the car.  

Before he closed the door and headed to the driver's seat he offered a kind, “You’re welcome.” 

The beginning of the car ride was quite aside from the hushed music on the radio. You leaned back, slouching in the car seat. 

You watched Spencer’s hands on the wheel instead of the rapidly changing view of the windshield. Your fuzzy mind was trying to focus on anything that wasn't the dizzy spinning feeling that couldn't go away. 

Of course your thoughts were jumbled with images of the man next to you. 

“You’re so nice,” you said with a fond look. 

He looked at you with brief confusion over your random declaration. “Thanks,” he returned his eyes to the road. 

You shuffled in your seat to face him. 

“No you’re really nice,” you huffed, frustrated he somehow didn’t understand the full scope of what your drunk brain meant. “You’re so kind and sweet to everyone. I love it.” 

An amused smile grew on his face. “I try to be,” he returned.  

“You are.” 

He quickly glanced over to see your figure leaning against the seat. Or more like the seat holding you up. Your eyes occasionally felt heavy, leading to your eyelids fluttering every so often. 

“You look half asleep,” he teased. 

“I feel half asleep.” 

“Then why are you so chatty all of a sudden?” 

You shrugged, “I don’t know, just feel like talking.” 

You forced your eyes open to get a better look at him. “I like talking with you.” 

Spencer tried not to think about how your voice was much more soft and melodious than normal. 

“I like talking with you too,” he affirmed. 

He suddenly went down a mental rabbit hole of your previous conversations with him. How often you conversed over coffee early in the morning. All those plane rides home where you both had to stifle your laughter so as to not bother the others. Or the dozens of times he rambled to you about endless topics. 

“I’m surprised I haven't bored you yet with how much I talk.” 

“Oh sweetie, I could never get bored of you.” 

His ears started to turn red at the flirtatious tone in your voice. 

“I could listen to you talk for hours. Even about things I don’t understand. I’ll always listen to you,” you continued.

“Really?” He muttered with a slight voice crack. His heart rate was steadily growing. 

“Uh huh,” you confirmed sweetly. 

His eyes darted to yours for a fleeting moment. You looked completely and utterly enraptured by him. 

“Your voice sounds like honey.”

Spencer's grip on the steering wheel tightened. He kept his gaze trained on the road ahead. 

“We’re almost at your apartment,” he deflected. 

Your smile fell slightly. 

The air in the car was growing stale by the seconds. Neither of you spoke until he pulled up to your building. 

As you reached for the door handle, he whispered for you to “wait one second.” You complied. He got out of the car and walked to your side. He opened the passenger door and held out a hand for you. 

“What a gentleman,” you said with a smug grin. 

He chuckled and made sure you didn’t stumble as you stepped out of the car. 

“I try,” he replied. 

“You succeed.” 

As you walked together to your apartment, neither of you let go of the other's hand. At your door, you fumbled with your keys. Spencer tried to offer to open the door himself but you shooed away his hand and mumbled, “I got it, I got it.” 

After fighting with the lock, you stepped inside and practically threw your bag on the couch. You were seconds away from falling on the couch yourself before Spencer calmly grabbed your shoulders. 

“Come on, let's get you to bed.” 

You whined but didn’t object. He guided you down the hall to your room. In the dark, he reached for your lamp and turned it on. You plopped down on your bed and yawned. 

“Where are your makeup wipes?” He asked, looking around the room.

You pointed towards the dresser, “In the top left drawer.” He followed your directions and returned to your bed, handing the pack to you. 

“See I told you. You’re so nice,” you complimented while lazily cleaning your hours old makeup off. 

“Why because I got you your makeup wipes?” He joked with a playful tone. 

You giggled in response. The sound made Spencer feel like he was the intoxicated one. He would never get used to the way you laughed. 

“No silly, not just that. The fact that you’re still here.”

You tried and failed at getting your lipstick and eyeliner off. Instead you smeared the deep colors around your face. 

Spencer’s lips formed a thin line, trying not to smile at you smearing your makeup. He grabbed a fresh wipe and kneeled down in front of you. “Here let me help,” he mumbled. With careful hands, he pressed the damp wipe to your face to finish the job. 

“Of course I was going to stay with you,” he acknowledged your previous comment. “I’m not going to just drop you off. I wanted to make sure you were safe and feeling okay.” 

You tried not to smile because his hand was so close to your mouth. Your brain was going to short circuit at the closeness. His face mere inches away. His hand and the skin of your face are only separated by a tiny piece of cloth. 

You watched intently as he used his thumb to wipe off the last bit of lipstick. His movements were desperately slow as he handled you with care. Like you were a fragile statue he couldn’t let break. 

The action made your chest tighten and your heart race. If you had consumed another drink or two back at the bar, you would’ve jumped at the chance to kiss him. 

But instead, you stared deeply into his eyes as he checked your face for any more makeup residue. His pupils were wide. You assumed it was from the dim lighting of the room. 

You may not have been drunk enough to kiss him, but you were drunk enough to joke about it. 

“What if I just kissed you right now?”

His eyes widened and his lips parted in shock. “What has gotten into you?” he questioned in a lighthearted tone. 

“What? it’s not just me! You’re also staring at my lips!” you put your hands up in defense with a mischievous grin. “Just say you wanna kiss me.” 

He chuckled at your antics. “Because I’m taking off your makeup. And what about you staring at my eyes?” 

A grin spread on your face. “I can’t help it. They’re beautiful. Nice to look at.” 

“They’re not that nice.” 

“I beg to differ gorgeous,” you returned with a wink. “I could look at them all day.” 

Spencer smiled as his cheeks turned pink. He looked between your eyes and your lips before his expression faltered for a moment. Like he was mentally stuck on something. 

However, because of your dizzy mind and vision, you didn’t pick up on it. 

He stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You think you’ll be okay?” 

You nodded, “Yeah. Thanks again for … everything.” 

“You’re welcome.” He started walking towards your bedroom door but before he left the room, he paused. “Don’t forget to let the girls know you got home safe.” 

Your jaw went slack and a hand flew to your forehead, “oh my god you’re right.” 

He fought back a grin from your reaction. “Goodnight,” he offered before he left. 

You waved and said goodnight as his frame left your bedroom. The sound of the front door shutting soon followed. 

Before you passed out for the night you texted penelope you got home safe. But you didn’t see her reply until the morning. 

Penelope: yay! 

Penelope: hope you feel better my sweets <3

Thanks :) I have a raging migraine so I better feel better soon 

Penelope: :(

Penelope: oh btw, how’d it go with boy genius???

Ugh 

I flirted with him AGAIN 

Penelope: you’re kidding! 

Penelope: What did you say?

I can’t remember all of it but at some point I said his voice sounds like honey 

Penelope: OMG

Oh no it gets worse

He helped me take off my makeup and I said I wanted to kiss him. And THEN I pointed out how he stared at my lips and I said “just say you wanna kiss me” 

Penelope: oh girlie

Penelope: I think you have to throw in the towel 

Penelope: you love him

You stared at the words on the screen before your hands could even type a reply. Mentally fighting with yourself about the subject. 

No way

I can’t be in love with him

He’s my friend I can’t do that 

Penelope: I don’t think you have much of a choice  

You sighed and turned off your phone. As you reached for the aspirin bottle, you prayed you wouldn’t do something stupid like this ever again 

You were wrong. 

______________________________________

By the fourth time it happened, almost a month had passed since you asked him to pick you up. 

To celebrate the success of a case, his coworkers and friends wanted to go out for some down time. He thanked them for the invitation but kindly rejected it saying he had previous plans to attend some film festival. In reality, he had been on the fence about attending the film festival and ended up spending the evening at home. 

As much as he wanted an excuse to spend time with you, he couldn’t go through another evening of you flirting with him. 

Normally, it’d be his dream to have you flirt with him and call him sweet names. To hear how much you liked his voice, his eyes, and the way his brilliant mind worked. But the more it occurred, the more confused he felt.

At first, he assumed you were just a flirtatious drunk and there was no meaning behind your advances. But as time went on, he saw your actions and affectionate words had so much desire, so much longing that he started to suspect they were based on real feelings. 

Yet, it was only reserved for the version of you that had multiple drinks running through your system. 

He’d almost given up on asking you how you felt. Almost. 

Something that gave him a glimmer of hope was a voicemail he received. 

In an effort to actually get some sleep, he took a late night shower. When he returned to his bedroom, he found his cell phone had received a voicemail. He checked and saw he missed a call from the very person he was anxiously avoiding. 

With new clean pajamas on, he grabbed his phone and sat down on his bed ready for the possible plea for him to pick you up. He clicked the message and lifted the phone to his ear. 

“Hi Spence! I wanted to talk but it looks like you’re busy,” your voice sounded sweet and bubbly. He deduced you might have already gone home at this point given the fact that this time there was no loud background music or voices.

“I missed you tonight. I wish you came with us. I know that isn’t always your favorite place to be, but I still kinda had hope. I love spending time with you. I don’t care if it’s at work or off the clock, it makes me so happy to see you.”

His heart felt warm from the way you talked about him. Your voice sounded giddy and occasionally you would slur your words. 

“It’s kinda silly but when we don’t have work or plans, I will literally count down the days until I get to see you again. Isn’t that silly? I spend like five or six days of my week with you and when I don’t see you, I’m thinking about when I’ll see you again.” 

Spencer found familiarity in what you were saying. For the last few weeks he found his thoughts were constantly revolving back to you. Whether intentionally or not. 

“I pretty much think about you all the time. It’s becoming a bit of a problem. I don’t mean you’re a problem! The problem is how much I like you. I’ve never liked someone as much as I like you.”

There was a brief pause in your message. He almost thought the voicemail was over until your voice returned softer than before. 

“I’m probably falling in love with you.” 

“And that’s really scary to think about because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. You’re different Spence, when I’m around you I feel-“ 

You were cut off by the time limit of the voicemail. Spencer stared at his phone screen with wide eyes. His heart was beating so fast it could’ve jumped out of his chest. 

He finally got an answer to the question that plagued his mind. You loved him back. 

You loved him. 

His whole body was filled with adrenaline. He almost grabbed his keys and drove over to you at that moment. But he knew he had to wait. He couldn’t have this conversation with you while you were still intoxicated and would probably fall asleep by the time he got there. 

Spencer on the other hand, could barely sleep. He was too busy on cloud 9 to come back down and let sleep overtake him. 

The next morning he was practically buzzing with excitement. He got up earlier than normal for work so he could stop by your apartment. 

He nervously knocked on your door. He kept fidgeting by fixing his tie and cardigan while he waited for you. 

When you did open the door he saw you were still in the process of getting ready. You had on dress pants and an old college t-shirt. 

You looked surprised to see him of course since he didn’t announce he was going to come over. “Spencer? What are you doing here?”

Suspicion started to creep its way into his mind. For now he ignored it and pushed on. 

“I thought we could commute to work together. I figured you would be hungover and not in the best mood to drive.” 

Your eyebrows raised and lips turned up. “That is so sweet of you,” you beamed. You opened the door wider, suggesting he was welcome. He followed and walked inside your apartment

“You’re absolutely right by the way. I feel like shit,” you groaned. “My head is killing me, I’m exhausted and I have this massive bruise on my leg.” You waved your hand over your right thigh indicating where the injury was. 

“I have no clue how I got it. I probably fell but I'm not sure. Most of last night is fuzzy, I barely even remember how I got home,” you joked with a chuckle.

The suspicion Spencer felt turned into a pit in his stomach. With furrowed brows he asked the million dollar question. “Do you remember calling me last night?”

You stared at the ground as you tried to shuffle through the vague images of the night before. “No I don’t. What did we talk about?” you asked innocently. 

His grip on the strap of his satchel tightened. “We didn’t. Talk. I couldn’t pick up the phone and didn’t realize you had called me until this morning. That’s why I wanted to stop by. To make sure you were okay.” He topped off his lie with a flat smile. 

”Thanks for checking up on me,” you sweetly replied, not yet aware of the internal mess he was experiencing. 

“It’s no problem,” his voice almost cracked.

“I need to finish getting dressed and brush my teeth but I’ll be ready to leave in like five minutes.” You speed walked back to your bedroom. 

It wasn’t until he heard the door close that he finally let the storm of emotions rip through him. His chest was getting tighter by the second. It felt like he was suffocating. 

You don’t remember. 

You told him you loved him and you don’t remember it at all. The best news he’d heard in months was a blip in your memory. Was late night drunk babbling. 

He felt so foolish. So stupid for thinking you might really reciprocate his feelings. 

One part of himself that was still holding onto hope tried to remember that “drunk words are sober thoughts.” But that’s not always true. 

He knew studies have shown intoxication can lead to someone misinterpreting their own thoughts or feelings. Leading to them impulsively expressing things that they don’t really believe. 

Unfortunately, the factual and heartbroken part of his brain was overwhelming compared to the sliver of hope he had left. 

“Alright, I’m good to go,” you snuck back into the living room. Your voice brought him back to the present. 

You grabbed your purse off the couch and walked towards the front door. As you put on your jacket you noticed the sudden change in Spencer’s demeanor. 

“Spence, you okay?”

”Yeah, I’m fine,” he nodded and answered with a light voice. But you could see right through it. His eyes gave it away. They looked so full of hurt. 

”Spencer-“

”I promise, I’m fine,” he interrupted. He offered you a fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He walked to your door and tightly held his bag. “We should go before we hit traffic.” 

You observed him for a few seconds longer than he liked. The profiler side of you wanted to pry but you knew it was a bad idea to push your friend. 

The drive to work was agonizingly quiet. It was odd for you two to barely speak when in close quarters. Instead, you both let the tension hang in the air, ignored and untouched. 

Spencer sat with his feelings for most of the drive. He didn’t want to be hopeful anymore. He didn’t want to be confused if it was real anymore. At this point, he just wanted to give up. 

Now, he’d have to keep a tight lid on his feelings for you. Leave it to fester and wear away at his heart. 

Like that would do any good though. He couldn’t stop loving you no matter how hard he tried. 

____________________________________

The following days felt like a dream to you. But not in a good way. 

It felt like one of those dreams where you know something is off, but can’t tell what it is. 

Spencer had been closed off ever since he picked you up for work. You couldn't wrap your head around why. He seemed so happy and eager when he arrived at your apartment that morning. 

That was the last time you saw him act normal around you. Now there was an underlying bitterness in the words he spoke. Everytime you tried to ask him if he was okay, whatever excuse he gave you left a sour taste in his mouth. 

You weren’t the only one to notice either. Everyone could sense the air go stale when you entered a room he was in. How his eyes no longer lingered on you. Or how it almost pained him to even look at you. 

His sudden change in behavior was starting to drive you insane. You were overthinking and overanalyzing every single interaction you had with him, leading up to that day in your apartment. Every move you made around him was calculated. You were terrified one wrong word or move would make him hate you. 

“He hates me.” 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Penelope swung around in her chair to face you. “I think it’s impossible for him to hate you.” 

You shook your head, “but still he won’t talk to me Pen. He’s always been so open with me and the last few days he’s been shutting me out. He hasn’t been weird around you guys at all.” 

She twirled a sparkly purple pen in her hands as she watched you sulk. “You said it started on Thursday last week?” 

“Yeah, the day after our last case.” 

Penelope sat back in her chair thinking. “Do you think the case bothered him? Could that be why he went home instead of going out with us?” 

“No, I don't think so. The next morning when he showed up at my apartment he was in a good mood. A great mood even,” you folded your arms in frustration. “But when I left the room and came back he looked like a sad puppy.” 

Penelope tapped her pen against her chin. “Why was he at your apartment before work?” 

“Apparently, I called him the night before but he didn’t pick up so he stopped by to check up on me and assumed I’d be hungover.” 

“Awe, that’s sweet,” she cooed before her confusion crossed her features. “Wait, you apparently called him? You’re not sure?” 

You cringed as you explained, “I don’t remember calling him. I was really drunk.” 

She tried to hide the amusement on her face but failed. “Why did you call him?” 

You stared at the floor trying to piece together what happened after you got home that night. “I remember missing him. I wanted to talk to him, but I’m not sure what about.” 

“It’d pay good money to hear whatever voicemail you must’ve left him,” she chuckled with a cheeky grin. 

“Right!” You started to chuckle with her until vague memories of talking on the phone came to light. Your face fell as your drunk declarations were pulled out of your long term memory. 

“Oh god,” you said barely above a whisper. 

Penelope filled with concern, “sweetie what’s wrong?” 

“I did leave him a voicemail. He must have listened to it while I was changing,” your eyes widened and anxiety started flowing through your veins. 

Before she could ask what you said in the message, you interrupted. “I have to go,” you alerted as you remembered Spencer already left the office. “I’ll text you later!” 

You practically ran back to the bullpen to grab your things and tell Hotch you were leaving for the night. 

The car ride to his apartment was agonizing. You gripped the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turned white.

This was all your fault. He couldn’t stand to be around you and talk to you anymore because you drunkenly told him you loved him. 

You ruined your friendship. 

The least you could do was go to his apartment to try to make things right. Try to fix whatever you have broken. 

You couldn’t lose him. Not Spencer. Not the first man you ever actually truly wholeheartedly loved. Even if he didn’t love you back the same way. You’d rather live with the soul crushing pain of unrequited feelings, than lose one of the most important people in your life. 

The walk to his apartment was even worse than the drive to his building. With every step you took, your heart grew heavier. By the time you weakly knocked on his door, your eyes had started to water. 

When Spencer opened the door, his face fell with concern. 

“I remember,” you whispered before he could ask what was wrong. 

A look of realization dawned on him. He stepped to the side and opened the door wider, “come in.” 

You followed and stood awkwardly in his living room. You’d been here hundreds of times before. But now it feels different. Even though you were welcomed inside it still felt like he was miles away. 

“Spencer, I am so sorry.” 

“For what?” He already knows what you’re talking about, you can see it in his eyes. 

“The voicemail.” 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re sorry for sending it?”

“Yes, no!” you stuttered fidgeting with your rings. “I meant what I said. Every bit of it. I just uh- I wish I had told you all of that when I was sober. Maybe I could’ve phrased it better. Not come off so strong.” 

“Why didn’t you?” he inquired, a hint of desperation in his voice.

He took a single step closer to you. “You could’ve told me.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed at him, “wait, you’re not mad about what I said?” 

He mirrored your confusion, “what do you mean?” 

“All week you’ve been acting weird. I thought you were mad or uncomfortable with me because I said I love you.”

Spencer raised his hand to his face as he realized. “I would never be mad at you for that.” His voice raised slightly in frustration, almost a wine, as he continued, “I was upset because by the time you sobered up, you forgot about it.” 

“Oh,” you whispered —if you could even call it that— under your breath. 

He lied. He listened to the message before he showed up, was going to ask about it, and you forgot like an idiot. 

“You only flirt with me or show interest in me when you're drunk. I couldn’t tell what was real or not,” his expression showed more pain as he spoke.

“Spencer, I promise I really do have feelings for you.”

His lips formed a flat line as he stared back at you. “Then why did you only show it when you were drunk?”

“Because I was scared!” your voice raised. You spoke with your hands as you got louder. “How do you tell your best friend you fell in love with them? You can’t! It just doesn't work. I thought I was going to lose you.”

“I’m in love with you.” 

You deadpanned at him, “Spencer, I’m being serious.” 

“So am I,” he said louder than you. 

The weight of his confession finally settled. Time stood still. The world stopped turning. The hands on the clock stopped ticking. 

His voice was quieter this time when he said it. He spoke in the gentlest tone you’d ever heard from him. Like the words dripped right from his arteries, carrying them away from his heart and to you. 

“I love you.” 

“You do?” 

You don’t know why you asked that. It seemed to be the only thing that could leave your mouth. How could you not believe him when he said those three words like that. Like it was his purpose. That he was put on this earth to love you and only you. 

The realization of what his confession meant started to dawn on you.

“That’s why you were at my apartment. So you could tell me. And I-“ 

You stared at the floor with wide guilty eyes and sat (more like fell) on his couch. The guilt started to creep into your blood. It started to crush your bones. 

“Oh I screwed up everything,” you buried your face in your hands. 

He sat down next to you, “no you didn’t.”

“Yes I did. You have every right to be mad at me.” 

”I'm not,” his hand landed on your back, his thumb slowly caressing you. 

You looked up at him, “really?”

“Yes.” 

You stared back at him, looking unconvinced. 

He surrendered and shrugged, “okay I was kind of crushed about it. But I know now that you really did mean it.” 

“I still hurt you,” you returned meekly. The tears started to return back to your eyes and you blinked them away. 

“I’m so sorry. What can I do to make it up to you?” 

His thumb stopped its movements on your back. With the same hand, he pushed back the hair that had fallen in your face. He looked into your eyes like he wanted to see all of you. See every little crack and crevice of your soul you tried to hide from him in fear of judgment, in fear of him running away. 

He could never run away from you. 

“Tell me everything you wished you could say when you were sober.” 

You sat up straighter and turned to fully face him. After taking a slow deep breath, you said what you’d wanted to say to him for months. 

No liquid courage. Just the pure, raw, unadulterated you. 

“Spencer, I’m in love with you. I couldn’t tell you when I was sober because I was afraid. I was in denial for so long. I tried to convince myself I wasn’t falling for you. And it’s not because I don’t want to have feelings for you. It’s the opposite. I love you so much it scares me.”

You started to play with your rings again. “I’ve never been in love before. I’ve never said it and been sure that I really meant it.”

“I mean it when I say it to you. I know I mean it because I want to spend as much time as I can with you. Doesn’t matter if it’s sitting quietly next to each other on the jet or dancing in a crowded bar. I know I mean it because I’d do anything for you. I’d listen to anything you want to ramble about. I’d drive you anywhere you wanted to go because I know you’re not the biggest fan of driving.” 

You swallowed down the lump you didn’t realize formed in your throat. 

“I always find myself crawling back to you when you’re not near.” 

It was only now you really noticed Spencer's expression. His eyes were soft and dilated so much there was barely any brown left in them. His waterline threatened to spill with tears. 

Before you could even dare to say anything else, he reached to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. His lips mixed with yours in a long awaited dance. 

The kiss wasn’t overwhelmed with passion. But also not too slow and careful. The only way you could describe it was perfect. 

It was perfect. 

He was perfect. 

Every aching moment of yearning and longing leading up to this. 

After kissing for what felt like forever —although you’re pretty sure you could kiss him for forever— you laid down on the couch with your head on his chest. Your arms wrapped tightly around him as if he could disappear at any moment. His one arm wrapped around your waist while the other was playing with your hair. 

“You can stay the night if you want,” he nonchalantly tried to offer without explicitly asking if you would stay over. 

“Do you think we’ll have time in the morning to stop by my apartment to get me fresh clothes?” 

“If not, you could borrow one of my sweaters.” 

You chuckled, “Imagine their faces when we show up to work together and with me very clearly wearing your clothes.” 

He smiled at the thought of you wearing his clothes to work. The image of you proudly showing off that he was yours. “Yeah I can imagine it.”