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satoruxx · 10 months ago

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PARACOSM OF THE GODS.

PAIRING: gojo satoru x f!reader, geto suguru x f!reader | 11.5k words

SUMMARY: ok here we go, canon au, angst, fluff, best friends being in love, stsg being whipped but unable to express it, reader is clueless as usual, timeskips, canon compliant deaths, bittersweet, longing, mutual pining, emotionally stunted teens, dad!gojo makes an appearance, hopefully that’s it i'm tired of typing

RHEYA'S NOTE: highkey lowkey stressed posting bc this has been sitting in my wips for 4 years now. i honestly didn't have to add much to it i basically just proofread. but yeah when you maladaptive daydream and create a plot where you're a character in jjk and you're also in love with gojo and geto this is what happens. a little sad to let this go but it's time !! plus i can add more parts later. but anyways pls lmk what you think, i'm super curious to know <33

i. the unknown

satoru's first impression of you is anything but kind.

his words come casually, free into the wind without care, and they aren't meant for you to hear. instead, they fall only to suguru's ears, evoking a deep chuckle and a slight shake of his head. his bangs swish a little with the movement, but satoru is too busy eyeing you over the frame of his shades to notice.

you're lucky to have not heard it, because the intent with which it was said would have probably made your brow tick with frustration. he says it without a thought, as if he hasn't the slightest bit of interest in you as hints of arrogance fill his tone.

"who's the rookie?"

satoru and suguru sit outside against the patio railings of the classroom they had chosen for the day. it overlooks the grounds of the school, where they have a clear view of who approaches the main entrance. suguru absentmindedly clicks his lighter—shoko had gone to get another pack of cigarettes.

it is from this higher point that they have a clear view of you. you're so obviously new to this, satoru thinks as he watches how you awkwardly stand in front of yaga sensei.

he already wants to label you as a side character. it's mean, he realizes—cruel even, but he can barely bring himself to care.

"yaga sensei mentioned that there'd be a new student joining us this week," suguru says, fingering the bangs hanging in front of his eyes. they roam over you with only slight interest before uttering your full name, just as his teacher had said it.

satoru repeats it with a hum. "not a big name or anything. a small-sized family of sorcerers i think." he shrugs carelessly. "but honestly i never really paid attention to all those stupid clan and jujutsu family lessons."

suguru only responds with a good-natured chuckle, tearing his eyes away from the scene to look at his friend. "no shit."

the two sit in quiet silence, watching yaga's lips move in structured, emotionless greetings as he shakes your hand. satoru is especially focused on the hunching of your shoulders and the way your eyes nervously dart around.

suguru is the first to interrupt the peace.

"maybe she's strong?"

"are you kidding?" satoru scoffs as he stands up straight, shoving his fists into his pockets. he turns his nose up slightly. "that's not the attitude of someone who's confident in their abilities."

ii. routine

"can i ask you guys a question?"

a cool breeze tickles your skin, goosebumps rising in its wake, and you suppress a shiver. the smell of the air tells you winter is fast approaching.

"you just did," satoru hums, his snowy hair splayed out against stems of green grass. suguru's chuckle reverberates deep in his chest, and you have to push back an exasperated smile.

"another one then," you press, leaning over satoru's face to force yourself into his view. his blue eyes pierce through yours over the dark-rimmed frames of his glasses, and even after seeing them so many times, they still feel as dominating as the first. he hums again, and you take that as your cue.

"what did you first think of me when we met all those months ago?"

satoru sits up quickly, and you can already feel your shoulders dropping when you catch a glimpse of the teasing smirk on his lips. he shifts so that he's directly facing you, leaning close so that the two of you are barely a palm's distance from one another.

"thought you were an annoying little rookie~" he sings and you immediately shove at his shoulder.

"'m not a rookie anymore," you huff, and satoru laughs joyously. suguru only grins, his eyes darting between the two of you happily. satoru moves himself into a proper sitting position, digging his long fingers into your bag of chips and popping one into his mouth. you swat at his hand, even though you don't mean it, because though you complain about gojo satoru all the time, you would give him the whole world if you could.

you and satoru take turns reaching into the bag. you wonder if the sound of crunching disturbs suguru. he's not asleep—he's just doing that thing where he keeps his eyes closed and escapes to his own land of tranquility. you'd like to give him as much peace as you can, so you stay quiet. satoru does too, but you think that's just because you aren't talking to him.

the quiet is nice when you're with them. sometimes silence makes you feel alone—paranoid. it feels like there is some impending doom hovering over your shoulder, and all you can do is wait for it to come. but with them it is different. you know that any danger in the quiet will be caught by the two of them. maybe that's why it's so easy to let your guard down around them. you trust that they won't let you die.

"i thought you were weak," satoru pipes up after a few minutes of silence. "you didn't seem like you were confident in your abilities, and that's a sign of weakness."

after spending so much time with satoru and suguru, the word weak has permeated almost every one of your conversations. later you learned how much more significant it was for them to label someone as strong. you chase after the word—crave it.

"and turns out that wasn't true." suguru adds with a smile, his head leaning back against the trunk of the tree. his eyes are still closed serenely and you wonder if he can feel the way you're gazing at him.

"yeah and now you act like some big hotshot," satoru grumbles, as though he doesn't want to admit to his old mistake, but you can hear his smile. it annoys you, the way his once degrading little nickname has now somewhat turned into a term of endearment. you would rather die than admit that you like hearing him say it.

"well, I'm glad that i was able to prove you both wrong."

the conversation ends there.

shoko returns a few minutes later, tossing you a can of soda and suguru a pack of cigarettes. as soon as she sits down in her spot under the tree you're forcing your head into her lap and kicking your feet onto satoru's legs. you ignore his complaints, because you know that in just a little bit he'll quiet down and his hand will rest over your ankle, fingers soft but firm. they'll occasionally drum some rhythmic tune, or draw nonsensical patterns against your skin.

shoko's fingers thread through your hair, just like they always do, and you know that in a few minutes you'll doze off in her lap, just like you always do. it's clockwork, this thing that you have with them. they make the days keep going—time doesn't stop for you.

a part of you wishes you could freeze time at that moment.

but you can't.

iii. halcyon

"hey suguru?"

"hm?"

"how come you always do your hair the same way?"

suguru glances up from his book. he's seated at your desk, and for a minute, the breeze pushes your curtains so that they block your view of him. satoru groans lightly from your left, turning on his side to snuggle deeper into your pillow, and slumber overtakes him once more. him and shoko remain quiet, faces free of worry as they dream in a land that is so unlike the real world you live in.

"what do you mean?" suguru asks in response to your question. he has an amused smile on his face as he places his book on your desk, though his thumb and pointer finger keep his page.

"well…" you suddenly feel stupid for asking, but he's looking at you so intently now. "you have such nice hair. you could style it in so many different ways."

"are you saying you don't like my hair the way it is?" he frowns.

"no no!" you scramble, shaking your head emphatically. quite the opposite actually you think he's so so attractive—how on earth did you screw this up so badly? "that's not it i just—"

he laughs, tilting his head fondly. "i'm just messing with you, hotshot."

you blanch, before crossing your arms with a huff. "asshole…"

he chuckles, before lifting a calloused hand up to finger the tie that holds his hair in a bun. he glances back at you, before a michevious smile settles on his face. he gives the tie one sharp tug, and the bun falls away. black hair drops, resting on his shoulders, and you stare at him—oddly parched. wind brushes through the open window, tickling your curtains, tickling his now open hair. you had seen his hair down before, of course. in the few seconds after a sparring session when the bun had gotten loose, or when too many strands escaped the tie and fell in front of his face (he always pushed them away with an agitated huff). but now he looks different—good, you realize. he looks good.

"how should i style it then, hotshot?"

his question shakes you out of your daze. you hum in contemplation. "i don't know."

he laughs quietly, as to not wake the other two. "didn't you just say there were so many ways to style it? enlighten me then," he teases, reaching over to grab a small scrap of paper from your desk. he slots it where his fingers are holding place, and then closes the book. he swivels in the chair to face you completely, rolling over so that he's right in front of you.

"well…" you start, biting your lip in thought. "a ponytail maybe?"

suguru bunches his hair into his fist, holding it up against his head. "and? how do i look?"

you grin, eyeing the new style with a stifled laugh. "fantastic."

he laughs again, louder this time, before dropping his hand.

"it looked good though!" you laugh and he rolls his eyes fondly.

"yeah yeah," he dismisses with a wave of his hand. he looks back at you, eyes tracing over your hair before he grins wide.

"i like yours."

you blink. "mine?"

"the way you did your hair today," he points to the half up-half down style you've thrown together. a dark blue ribbon holds the hair in place—satoru had said it matched nicely with your uniform. suguru's eyes gleam as he appraises it. "it's nice. it looks really pretty on you."

something in your chest feels like it fell off a cliff.

"oh—" you stumble, before smiling at him because that's all you can do when he makes you feel like this. "thanks suguru."

"do mine like that," he says quickly.

once again, you blink owlishly and all you can manage is a stupid "huh?"

"do my hair like that," he repeats, getting up from the chair to sit at your feet, back towards you. he crosses his legs and puts his hands in his lap, patiently waiting.

"you can't do it yourself?" you tease, scooting closer to the edge of the bed.

"i can," he replies and you can hear the easy smile in his voice. "but i want you to do it for me."

"okay then!" you laugh before gently parting sections of his hair out. and then you work in silence, putting more effort into his hair than you've ever done with your own.

iv. fragility

"lady riko does not have any relations. when she was young, her family was involved in an accident…since then, i've been her caretaker. so please let her at least spend time with her fr—"

"—so that makes you her family then."

suguru's words seem to stun kuroi, the weight of riko's situation finally making itself clear as her face crumbles.

"…yes."

you listen to the way her voice wobbles, and try to suppress the poisonous lump forming in your throat.

"then we do everything we can to make her happy," you say solemnly, leaving no room for argument. suguru seems to agree and says nothing—some deeper part of you feels something more than thankful towards him.

"you're awfully sensitive for a jujustu sorcerer, you know that?" satoru comments offhandedly. you turn to look at him, meeting his piercing gaze over dark rims.

"maybe," you concur. "is that considered weak?"

satoru seems to ponder his answer, before shrugging, a light smile on his face. "to some people, maybe."

you manage to smile back, and he takes in the expression with an odd look on his face. "say what you want, satoru. but you agree with me, don't you?"

he looks away, eyes gazing out to the distance where you know riko is currently in class with her friends, trying to live the life she wants, and something in them softens considerably.

"we'll do things the way she wants us to."

it's one sentence, said without a smile or laugh, but hearing it fall from satoru's lips makes you beam at him.

that's just your kindness, isn't it, satoru?

your heart leaps when you notice the tips of his ears tinge with rouge.

v. longing

riko's hand is warm against the coolness of your fingers. your body feels hyperaware of your surroundings, toes deep in hot sand and salty air sticking to your skin. for some odd reason, you can't seem to relax. unconsciously, you tighten your grip around the young girl's palm. she glances up at you, but when you look down at her, she's wearing the biggest smile you've ever seen.

satoru's presence makes itself known behind you—his shadow looms over yours in the sand. "it'll be fine," he says.

you can't see his face, nor can you see suguru who stands at his side, but your shoulders drop slightly, and you find yourself smiling back at riko.

"i'm getting in the water!" she squeals eagerly, before dragging a helpless kuroi with her. satoru laughs—a clear, pristine sound—and follows after her. you watch the three of them with a fond smile, something akin to content settling deep within you.

"and what are you planning on doing?" suguru asks. you turn to look at him, watching the way his heavy eyes stay focused on you.

"hmm," you quirk a brow mischievously. "build sandcastles with me?"

suguru blinks owlishly before he breaks out into a good-natured laugh.

"deal." he walks closer to the water's edge, where the sand is damper, and crouches down. he turns to look at you over his shoulder. "don't make me do all the work, hotshot."

you stand there, taking him in—really taking him in. he's just as clear as the sky behind him, and the sun shining on his face makes his smile glow. you want him to continue smiling at you like that well into the future. the waves crash onto the shore, as though the ocean is chasing his radiance, and an overwhelming feeling of unfiltered affection swells in your chest.

your feet carry you forward, and you think that they might always lead you back to him.

the sun rises as time passes, and occasionally you spare a glance at satoru and riko, who are screaming as they splash water at one another. and then you catch a glimpse of kuroi, who stands with her feet in the water, a soft smile on her face.

and in that moment, nothing can be ruined.

"what's wrong?" suguru's voice calls out, and you tear your gaze away from the others to look back at him. he stands behind you with two strawberry ice cream cones in his hands.

"nothing," you hum, a serene smile on your face. "everything's perfect."

his eyes trace your face, stopping to linger on your smile, and they soften. "it is, isn't it?"

he turns to the ocean, watching satoru and riko, and his eyes sparkle. "i hope it stays like this always."

"me too."

he bends down to take his place at your side before he hands you a cone. you take it from him. suguru's eyes drift away from you to look down at his castle.

"i think it looks great," he expresses, before taking a lick of his ice cream.

you roll your eyes with a huff. "yeah, because you made it look so nice. you're unnecessarily good at this, suguru."

he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "no no, we did it together! and yours is nice too!"

"maybe," you grin, looking at his castle. "but yours is extra pretty."

he smiles back, before pointing at a small hole in his sand tower. "see this room? it's yours."

"mine?" you chuckle.

"yeah, all yours," he hums softly. "this is my castle and you get your own room."

"oh? and why's that?"

suguru's gaze lingers on you, and his dark eyes soften considerably. "because you'll always have a place in my home."

you stare at him, speechless—something hammers away at the inner crevices of your chest.

"and this one—" he points to another hole a few inches away from the first. "—is my room."

"well in that case, that room is mine too!" you declare.

"what?" he barks out a laugh. "how does that work?"

"well…" you grin at him, the sun burning into your cheeks. "because my home is wherever you are!"

suguru's cheeky smile fades and his eyes widen. he looks at you, mouth agape, and you're about to say something else before sticky coolness trickles down your wrist.

"ack!" you hurry to wipe away the strawberry ice cream dripping down your skin and you completely miss the red that creeps up his neck and seeps into his ears.

vi. ice bath

shoko's fingers are unbelievably soft. you're grateful that you were unconscious through most of her procedures on your battered body—you don't think you would've handled the pain too well. she's quiet as she works over the large wound that now covers almost half of your torso. the man with the scar on his lip had done quite the number on you, and you don't think you'll ever forget the searing ache of his blade slicing through your flesh. he had left you in a bloodied pile, isolated, and you hadn't seen what had happened to suguru after the man shot riko. you could only lay there, vision swimming as a bitter taste filled your mouth—a reminder of the life you failed to protect.

the pain had been the only thing you could focus on, until satoru was on his knees at your side and tightly gripping your shoulders. your hazy focus was drawn to his lips as he spewed curses and insults at you.

"why didn't you run away, you little shit," he had shouted, a feral look in his eyes. there was something different about him—a change in his very being that you could see even in the throes of death. "shoko's coming, do you hear me? for fuck's sake, keep your eyes open, hotshot!"

you swore you saw his eyes shine behind that look of uncontrolled anger. he had been talking a mile a minute and your focus had waned until you could only see his lips move, no sound reaching your ears.

you've never thought satoru looked more godly than he did at that moment.

suguru eventually found his way into your field of vision—knelt at satoru's side. his large hand had squeezed your limp fingers in a death grip. he was sweating, and his eyes were darting back and forth between your pale face and bloodied torso, something akin to guilt swimming in them. you wished that you had the strength in you to squeeze his hand in return. the last thing you remember seeing is his dark hair falling in front of his face as he turned to shout at whoever was approaching.

now you're awake. disoriented and bleary, but awake, and all you can look at is the way shoko's bangs fall over her furrowed brows. she's taken care of the bleeding, and now all that's left is a dull throbbing, reminding you of how close you had toed the line with death. you don't know this yet, but the scar will remain for the rest of your life, and that dull throbbing will be a permanent reminder of your narrow escape.

shoko hasn't said a word since she noticed your eyelids flutter open. you want to ask her so many things. important things that cannot wait:

where's satoru? how about suguru? i saw them both. satoru's alive, right? and suguru, too? the man—with the scar. where did he go? he said that satoru—riko….where is riko? and—and kuroi…i—i..couldn't save riko. when did you get here, shoko? and why am i the only one who's being taken care of by you?

you want to ask her. but she's making a very odd expression as her hands ghost over your body. you've never seen it before, this odd quirking of her lips. her teeth sink into the bottom one, and she chews and bites and nibbles like it's some kind of nervous tell.

"shoko?"

it's all you can manage to say—all you dare. your voice is dry, shaky, and sounds almost foreign to your ears. you're going to ask more, at least one of those thousand questions you had asked in your head earlier, but you don't get to because she speaks before you.

"shut up," she spits, and the wobble in her voice has you pinching your lips shut and feeling closer to death than you did before.

vii. acid rain

the sound of clapping is deafening. you don't think you've ever heard a sound so horrid in your life before, and you feel as though your ears are bleeding heavily. you can faintly make out the conversation between satoru and suguru, your ears struggling to pick out the tones of their voices.

"no…" you hear suguru say quietly. "it doesn't matter if I'm fine…"

you can feel satoru's eyes roam over your motionless body, watching the way you gaze out into the crowd impassively.

"let's get out of here, guys."

your feet carry you numbly, and you aren't aware of anything except the way riko's arm is swinging in front of you lifelessly. there are no mirrors around—no way of catching the track of tears cutting over your cheeks. the places where the salt touches burn like acid. you say nothing.

satoru's gaze feels intrusive. he doesn't need to ask you anything—he just knows. it's like your body is radiating the emotions tumbling around in your gut.

you're awfully sensitive for a jujutsu sorcerer, you know that?

"do you want to…kill them all?"

the question stuns you, and for the first time, you can shake yourself out of your daze to look at satoru directly. blood is smeared over the left side of his face, cerulean eyes dimmed, as though something had pulled the shine out of them. red seeps into the fine hairs of his restless eyebrows.

"right now, i probably wouldn't even feel anything," he continues, staring at you listlessly.

you think satoru might be feeling just as numb as you are. you don't know what happened to him yet. the last you had heard, gojo satoru had been killed by the man with the scar. he had boasted about it to you before he attempted to kill you too. but then satoru was at your side again, completely alive as he ran your battered body to shoko like a crazed man.

you'll find out later who the man with the scar on his lip was, and what kind of legacy he had left behind. but for right now, all you see is a teenager with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you know your answer.

satoru could help the pain go away; he'd be able to make the clapping stop—maybe then your ears wouldn't bleed anymore. but you couldn't ask that of him.

"forget it. it's pointless," suguru mutters, and you're glad he's on the same page as you. not because any of these people deserve pity, but because satoru deserves a break—one less burden for him to carry.

you hear suguru say more, but you can't focus. you continue to listen to the sound of the clapping, and once again lose yourself as you stare at riko's bloodied fingertips.

"pointless, huh?" satoru mumbles in response to suguru's answer. "does there need to be a reason?"

"of course. it's important," suguru's voice doesn't carry the same pleasant tone it always does. instead, it sounds strained, and tired beyond belief. unsure. "especially as jujutsu sorcerers."

satoru doesn't respond, but you know that he's measuring the weight of his friend's words. that's how it was with the two of them. they both balance each other out—their moral compasses influenced by one another. but then you feel satoru look up from riko's body and turn to you. suguru follows suit, and before you can wonder why, it hits you: satoru had asked you both.

you suck a deep breath in, feeling unusually breathless. the flesh of your stomach tingles with a painful reminder of what might've been, and you make up your mind.

"killing them won't change anything," you say, breaking your silence. the tears on your cheeks have dried, but they leave a rigid trail in their wake—a trail that still stings. "let's just leave it at that."

viii. fever dreams

satoru lies next to you.

a few nights have passed since riko's death, and you've chosen to stay holed up in your room. you're not sure why—death has always played a big role in your life. you don't understand why it's different this time.

tonight is different as well. while you've maintained a distance from everyone since that day, save for classes and passing by people on school grounds, today you've decided to let someone in. satoru's the lucky one, mostly because he would've pestered you until you opened your door for him anyway.

it's strange though. he had knocked over and over, and when you finally opened up with a snappy jab at his annoying personality, he had brushed straight past you and laid across your bed. he hadn't said a word since then, and you've found yourself lying next to him in silence for quite a while.

his hand stretches out in the darkness and you can feel his fingertips brush over the skin of your arm. it's delicate, like he's testing his limits, but you understand. it's just to ground himself—to know that you're still here, with him. to be sure that you're still alive.

you think the scar that goes down your body bothers him a lot more than it bothers you.

"'m here," you mumble sleepily. your fingers reach up to bump against his knuckles, and you hear him inhale deeply. his voice is throaty when he replies.

"i know."

ix. doubt

satoru learns that you've never been kissed before and he teases you for it.

not in a mean way, but in a way that has your cheeks heating and your eyes avoiding his. suddenly it feels like the gap between ages 16 and 17 is huge. he's barely even a year older than you and you're in the same year, but it feels as though he knows so much more about the world than you do. you want to ask suguru if it's bad that you've never had a kiss, but you don't. suguru rarely talks these days. sometimes he'll have conversations with you but won't look in your eyes when he speaks.

"hey listen, hotshot. if you don't get a kiss by…" satoru hums, an eager smile on his face as he swings an arm around your shoulders and contemplates his words. "…let's say 27, then i'll give one to you!"

there's an odd note of glee in his voice.

"shut up, toru," you groan, heat flooding your cheeks. "quit joking around."

he laughs loudly, pulling your cheek teasingly. "aw, i'm just playing. it's not a bad thing i promise!"

your shoulders relax slightly as the snowy-haired sorcerer continues to speak.

"i just thought that you would've kissed someone by now," he shrugs. "wasn't there that one guy you went on a few dates with? the one you met when we went to yokohama?"

there's an almost sour expression on his face as he speaks, but you're too frustrated to care. "just because i went on a couple of dates with him doesn't mean i kissed him!"

a broad teasing smile appears on satoru's face. "is that so?"

"ugh, i'm only 16!" you hiss, shoving him away from you. "besides i'm saving it for someone special!"

"good," you hear suguru speak up, and you turn to look at him. his fingers are interlocked, elbows resting on his knees, and he's staring down at his hands like they hold the answers to some deep questions he has. "it is something irreplaceable after all."

x. shadow

satoru's grin is proud as he stands before the three of you, his loose shirt billowing in the summer breeze.

you stare at him, heart thumping as shoko lets out a confused gasp. "huh? what the hell was that?"

"did it automatically choose the target for your technique?" suguru asks.

"yep!" satoru stresses the word, spinning the pencil suguru had thrown as he explains. "though i am the target. i've pretty much automated what i used to have to do manually."

your head is spinning.

"now i can tell an object's danger levels based the strength of its cursed energy, its speed, mass, velocity, shape—whatever. i want to be able to discern poisons too but that's pretty hard right now." satoru's voice is even when he explains, though you can make out the hints of pride that permeate his tones. you think his voice has gotten a little deeper too. "basically this is gonna allow me to keep my limitless technique active all the time!"

"that's gonna fry your brain!" shoko interjects, shaking her hair out of her eyes.

"yeah but i can do it while i continuously generate energy on my own. that way my brain stays fresh."

you can't help but let out an amused scoff. "what brain?"

satoru chucks the eraser at you, and you laugh as it bounces off your shoulder harmlessly.

"i've been working on shortening my hand signals so i can activate red and blue simultaneously." he continues, lips twitching upward as he gives you an exaggerated glare. "after this the only things i need to work on are domain expansion and long-distance teleportation. which i should be able to do if we set up some training courses here at school."

you think if someone examined you closely, they would see the stars in your eyes when you look at satoru.

"shoko~" he calls out, grinning eagerly. "think you could get me some lab rats?"

shoko groans as satoru bounds over to pester her more emphatically. you watch him, thinking you've never seen a person quite so magnificent.

god personified into a 17-year-old body. and yet it is a body that stays so close to you—well within your reach. maybe there's nothing so godly about that at all.

"don't you get tired of getting stronger and stronger, jeez?" you complain, crossing your arms as you raise a brow at him. satoru wets his lips as he throws you a smug smile.

"don't worry hotshot, you'll catch up to me someday!" he gives you an exaggerated wink over the frames of his glasses, and you shake your head somewhat fondly.

"no way! i never want to be at your level," you huff. "i'm very comfortable living in your shadow, thank you very much!"

a strange look passes over his face, almost puzzled, but the dip in his brows melts away as he approaches you. "well—" he slings an arm over your shoulder. "if my shadow makes you happy then you're more than welcome to stay there."

you don't have time to reply. pale lashes flutter at you—a backdrop of cerulean. you think white and blue may be the prettiest combination of colors in the world.

"suguru?" satoru's voice is casual, yet the amusement has dropped from it. his arm is heavy around your shoulders. "have you lost weight? are you okay?"

you look up, seeing tired eyes behind dark stands of hair. suguru's cheekbones are prominent, and you have the sudden urge to reach out and trace your fingers over them.

his lips twitch upward weakly. "it's just the summer heat…"

his lavender eyes drift to your face as he says it, and he tilts his head as he scrutinizes your worried expression. "…i'll be fine."

xi. hellfire

you hear suguru before you see him.

his breaths come loud as he pushes the door to the morgue open, the metal clanging heavily. his eyes bore into your back, taking in your clenched fists and raised shoulders that seem to tremble.

you wonder who told suguru you'd be here. maybe nanami, who was here not long ago, and had sent you a text that merely said: the mission went badly.

or maybe it was satoru, who had been chatting with you near the entrance of campus when he saw the myriad of emotions pass over your face as you read the text. he had probably called suguru as soon as you left.

it doesn't matter—you can't bring yourself to care.

you can only think about the way haibara had smiled at you before he left that morning.

now that smile is covered by a dirty white sheet, and you can't tear your eyes away from it. the taste of blood and vomit is heavy on your tongue.

suguru says your name quietly. you can't even look at him—you're scared that you'll cry if you do.

you don't ever want to cry in front of him. or satoru—so weak in front of those who are so strong.

"he asked if i wanted to go with them and i said no because i was lazy," you hiss, teeth clenched as you spit out the words with venom. "if i had just stopped thinking about myself for a second—"

your fingers dig into the flesh of your palms—deep, deep, deeper.

you hear suguru click his tongue, and his hands wrap around yours. he yanks your fingers apart fiercely, thumbs smoothing over the bloodied indents you've made in your own skin. you tear your eyes away from the body to finally look at him.

"don't—" his breath catches as his thumbs still over your flesh, eyes going hard as he takes in the blood.

he blurs in and out of focus. his head whips up when he hears you sniffle, and his lips slant ruefully. "you—"

"i'm fine," you interrupt, blinking pointedly and taking a deep breath. "it's fine—i mean it's not fine—but i c—"

"stop." suguru grabs your shoulders, giving you an even stare. you don't know how you didn't notice it before, but he looks thinner, older. there are dark circles under his eyes—poison seeping into his skin. "you need to rest."

you stare back at him silently, but you don't feel like you agree. something about this is making you feel restless, like there is so much you need to make up for. his grip tightens, before he's wordlessly leading you to take a seat—he finds his place next to you.

"satoru took over the mission." he stares at the lifeless body on the table as he speaks. you lower your gaze.

"and nanami?" your throat feels like it's closing. suguru inhales deeply.

"he went back to the dorms."

"okay."

you try to figure out if there is any meaning in having this conversation. despite everything, weren't you expected to wake up tomorrow morning and head out on a mission once more? and when you return, you're sure that there'll be another faceless body taking haibara's place.

the cycle continues—clockwork. it scares you, just how replaceable you are.

haibara, nanami, you, another, nameless—interchangeable.

not like satoru. not like suguru. not like the strong.

you lean your head against suguru's shoulder, fingering the hem of your uniform skirt. the fabric is cool to the touch—it seems darker, heavier. heat radiates from the body next to you, and there's something about him that's making your stomach churn with nerves. "suguru?"

his voice sounds far away. "hm?"

"are you okay?"

he stiffens and you suddenly fear you've said too much—nosy, intruding, out of place. you stumble. "it's just, we haven't talked much lately."

"i'm fine," he answers, and you can hear a smile in his voice—whether it's real or fake you can't tell. "just a little tired."

you know there is truth to this. but it scares you, how this tiredness of his has lingered for months. you don't know how to tell him that.

"okay…" your voice is barely a whisper, heavy with unspoken words that you don't know how to formulate. somehow you find that silence has always been your only option.

but like usual, silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable.

haibara's smile burns behind your eyelids.

"it should be a relatively simple mission. if you're not doing anything today senpai, would you like to come with us?"

his voice tickles your ears.

"that's alright! i'll get going then! oh right, today's mission is a little farther than usual, so we'll probably be back late! what would you like me to bring back for you?"

hypoxia crushes your lungs, your blood burns. selfish selfish selfish. you've only ever cared about yourself.

suguru's arm curls around your shoulder before you even realize you're crying. his palm is warm as it smooths over your hair, and all you can worry about tainting him with your ridiculous tears.

you don't ever want to burden him—just want to quietly live in his shadow.

"i don't—" you internally cringe at the throaty rasp of your voice, swiping a hand at your nose. "i shouldn't be so sensitive about—"

"it's not your fault." he quietly hushes you, grip tightening imperceptibly. through your tears you can see him adam's apple bob, and for some reason that makes you feel worse. you're too scared to look at his expression, even though his voice is resolute. "none of this is our fault."

something has changed in the way he speaks now. something has settled, a confirmation of some idea that has been brewing for a long time now.

you don't say another word, but somehow he manages to sear himself into your very being. he's warm, and fuzzy, and he smells like sandalwood and incense.

you don't know how long suguru let's you pathetically sob into his shoulder.

but you think you're embarrassed that he has taken pity on a wounded animal's cries.

xii. split

he looks different, but also the same. you've seen him wear that sweater before. it's plain black, no patterns, and you know that there's a loose string on the inside of the left sleeve that he was always too lazy to cut. you've always liked that sweater—always liked the way he looked in it.

you liked it so much that you've even stolen it a few times yourself.

but now it looks different. older and dirtier—as though soiled by some unknown curse.

that's what everything came down to, right? curses.

suguru stands in front of you, almost no trace of emotion on his handsome face, and his expression makes you want to turn and run. you miss the calm serenity that normally graced his features, wishing that you had some kind of cursed technique that could turn back time. but you aren't blessed like that—you wonder what sin you might've committed in a past life that made you so unlucky in this one.

"you look confused," he comments. you reel at how casually he speaks to you, like it's just another afternoon sitting under that stupid tree. like he's leaning his head back against the trunk and watching you and satoru bicker with that fond look in his eye.

"suguru," you speak, an odd strain in your voice. you struggle to comprehend this odd turn of events. you've had time to understand that he's now a different person than the one you once knew. you know that he's responsible for killing 112 innocents, including his own parents. you know that he's now an enemy to jujutsu society and you know that you should kill him right at this moment.

but he looks so much like suguru, like your suguru, that you can only manage to stand there, frozen in place. his eyes drift over your body, taking in your pajamas, the bath towel in your hands, and the small drops that trickle from your hair, and you can see the familiarity settle in his expression.

"why are you here?" you choke out. you feel an overwhelming sense of danger in your gut, knowing that your family is just a few rooms over from where he stands now.

"at your family home, you mean?" he asks casually. a small, almost amused smirk appears on his face. "you said i was always welcome."

you did say that. sometime last year or the year before, when you had invited satoru, suguru, and shoko over to visit during one of your quick holidays. suguru had sat across from you at your dinner table. he complimented the food and your father smiled one of his rare smiles. you had chewed quietly to hide your grin.

you don't know what to say to him now.

"everything they said about you," you whisper, taking a step toward him. he remains rooted in place, but his eyes follow your movements. they shift when he catches your fingers gripping your towel tighter. "is it true?"

"do you think it is?" he asks, and you gulp. it feels like he's baiting you into some kind of trap.

"i don't want to believe that it is," you answer, voice shaking. "that you would ever do something so…"

the sentence hangs in the air, and he tilts his head imperceptibly. something in his eyes changes as he focuses on the drops falling over your shoulders.

"well i'm sorry to squash your hope," he raises his arms in a shrug. "but everything you heard is completely true."

your head aches, but you're not surprised by his confirmation. "why would you…?"

suguru hums, a dark look falling over his face. "do you remember the conversation we had after haibara's funeral? do you remember what i told you when he died?"

anger flares in your gut at the mention of haibara, and the bath towel crumples in your hold. "don't say his name," you hiss through gritted teeth. "don't act like he's the reason—just…don't bring him into this. please."

suguru licks his lips, eyes going soft before he tries again.

"everything used to make sense back then," he sighs. "back when the strong existed to protect the weak. but it's not true."

"suguru—"

"the reason why we suffer is because of them," he interjects evenly, though frustration is clearly evident in the curve of his brows and the volume of his voice. "we clean up their messes. they create problems and we die for it."

you're stunned into silence, at the way he's raising his voice at you, at the way he's speaking so firmly about this horrible topic, at everything. he seems to realize the effect of his speech, and he quells his anger to speak quieter. "that's why i'm doing this. i'm going to create a world without non-sorcerers, so that sorcerers like you and i can live peacefully."

a lump forms in your throat because god, he's right. he's so right. your life would be a thousand times better without curses. non-sorcerers were the reason curses existed. but the way he's going about this…

"suguru," your voice shakes, but you press on. "i get it. i really do—"

"i know you do," he interrupts. "you always have. even back then…"

he takes a step closer to you, reaching out to finger the towel in your hands. "but you don't agree with the way i'm doing it, right?"

you bite your lip, and he smiles at the sadness in your expression. "you're so easy to read, hotshot."

you ignore the way the nickname stings. "i just—how could you kill innocent people like that? your own parents, suguru."

he looks away from you, steely resolve in his eyes. "if i made exceptions for my parents, that would kinda make me a hypocrite, wouldn't it?"

you don't know what to say to that. he doesn't seem to have anything else to add either.

he looks around your old bedroom, eyes sparkling as they catch a picture of the four of you from your first year. satoru's arm is slung around shoko. the dark-haired female has her elbow resting on your shoulder, her tongue sticking out playfully. you're clinging to suguru's arm, and satoru's free hand is squishing your cheeks together. the four of you are laughing.

nobody has laughed in a while now.

you tear your gaze away from the picture frame to look at him. he's so unbelievably close, and he's gazing down at you with this foreign look in his eyes, the picture forgotten behind him.

he slips his fingers into your hair. his palm is large enough that it can brush the side of your face, and you wonder why your body doesn't flinch away from those bloodstained hands.

"it's okay," he mumbles, a faraway look in his eyes. they remain trained on your hair, but it feels like he's looking straight through you. like you're nothing more than a ghost he wants to erase. he's so close—you can count his dark lashes as they brush against his cheeks. "it's difficult. i don't expect you to understand."

his words incite a sudden flare of anger in your gut. it burns something fierce, and in that moment you hate him.

"no, i don't," you reply indignantly. he pauses, now really looking at you, and his brows quirk upward in what seems to be surprise, because—well, he's never seen you make such an expression at him before. "you never tried to help me understand. you just left."

a strained silence follows. his fingers twitch against your cheek.

"this doesn't concern you," he says finally. "i don't need you to understand my actions."

you recoil, as though he's physically hurt you, and your expression falls so hard that it almost makes him regret saying it. almost.

"if it doesn't concern me, then why are you here?" you ask again, and you see suguru's shoulders drop. "you know that i have orders to kill you. i might not be able to because you've always been stronger than me. but you know that i'll…"

go down fighting you, is what you want to say, but the words leave a nasty taste in your mouth. but suguru seems to know what you're implying because a wry smile appears on his lips. his fingers twirl a strand of your wet hair.

"i'm here to say goodbye," he says finally. another tense silence fills the space between you both, and suguru can see the way your fingers shake between the folds of your towel.

"you're a little bit late for that, aren't you?" you choke out, a strange tilt to your voice as you break eye contact with him. "you left school weeks ago, and you didn't say a word to me then."

"better late than never, right?"

the softness in his tone makes you turn to look at him again, and you desperately want to ingrain the features of his face into your head. the gentle slope of his eyes and sweetness of his smile. he almost looks like the suguru you once knew, and you suddenly have the urge to mourn his death.

his face becomes blurry, the edges becoming less pronounced, and you can see the way his expression falls.

"i didn't come all the way here to make you cry." his hand drops from your face and he takes a step back. your fingers hurry to wipe at your waterline, and you shake your head.

"'m not crying."

suguru smiles ruefully, and his eyes suddenly look devoid of life. he takes another step back—your heart plummets.

he says your name once, quietly, and it hangs in the air as you wait for him to say more.

he doesn't.

"you know that I'm not supposed to let you leave alive, right?" you mumble, fingers toying with the towel in your hand. "but i can't—i mean—"

"hm," he chuckles. "still as sensitive as ever, huh? s'okay…"

he moves toward you again and his hand gently cups the back of your neck. "i think it's your best quality. makes you better than most people in our world."

he presses his lips to your forehead tenderly, and you feel your eyes widen behind your tears.

you probably could've stopped him, because you're aware that he's now suddenly behind you, and that he's raising his hand. you can stop him, but a part of you thinks that if it's death at suguru's hands, maybe it's not such a bad way to go.

you accept your fate then and there.

you'll find out later that suguru never had the intention to kill you then. perhaps he was waiting for a more opportune time, waiting for there to be a meaning behind it. you're not sure. but when you wake up tucked in your bed cozily, you'll feel the remnants of him lingering around you.

he was warm, and fuzzy, and he smelled like sandalwood and incense.

xiii. sanctify

satoru's at your door again.

you've memorized his knock patterns. he always knocks three times, then leaves a pause, then twice more. for someone so erratic, he can be quite predictable.

"what's up, satoru?" you call out, not looking up from your busy hands. there are a couple of empty cardboard boxes open on your bed, and you've been placing things into them all morning. things that should've been put away a long time ago. you pause on one of your old test papers, and in suguru's dark, blocky handwriting you read:

YOU GOTTA STUDY MORE DUMBASS.

underneath it, satoru had scrawled:

hotshot failing class now huh? :P

and shoko had added:

both of you stfu you're failing too

you had drawn a heart next to her name.

"whatcha doin'?" a familiar voice chirps. "spring cleaning?"

satoru stands directly behind you, peering over your shoulder. you can practically feel his aura shift when he notices the items you're putting away.

"cleaning of some sort," you sigh, before turning to look over your shoulder. "i've been…putting it off."

he doesn't move—just continues to stare down at the paper in your hands. you think maybe you shouldn't have let him in. sometimes you forget that satoru might have his own sensitivities—you've always viewed him as the strongest.

a few strands of his hair tickle your cheek, and you scrunch your nose in response. he then turns to you, eyes blinding as he studies you over the frames of his shades.

"want help?"

"please." you don't intend to sound so needy, but the way you whisper the word has him immediately grabbing your wrist and sitting you down next to him on the bed.

"how are we sorting this stuff?" he asks, his voice oddly calm. he hasn't let go of your arm yet, and some quiet part of you is grateful.

"i was putting our old school stuff in that box. books, papers…" you answer softly, and satoru nods in understanding. "and in the other box…"

you inhale deeply through your nose. satoru waits, strangely patient. you're not sure if you're imagining it, but you think he squeezes your wrist.

"…are all of suguru's things."

there's a moment of silence—a quick mourning for what is no longer there.

"it's stupid stuff that he left behind, you know?" you chuckle, even though nothing is funny. "some old shirts from when you two would sleep over, his old textbooks, a few pictures from our holidays��shit like that."

satoru hums. he's not looking at you—instead he's staring at the box, a frown on his face.

"i guess he didn't really need those things for where he was going. or for wherever he is now," you mumble.

"guess not."

you're not sure what's going through his head. satoru's reaction to suguru leaving had been chaotic at best. it was so hard to tell how he felt about it. you knew he was angry, confused, betrayed. but he never showed things like that. you think it might have to do with being the strongest. you're not sure though—you never were strong like him.

you wish there was a way to tell him that he could share his feelings with you, but you can't think of a way that won't be awkward.

a ticklish sensation crawls up your wrist and you look down to watch satoru's first two fingers tap against the inside of your palm. his thumb brushes against yours as he lets out a heavy exhale.

"let's get started then, hotshot."

he looks down at you as he says the words, and you think you might cry. but you want to be strong, like him, so you offer him a smile. he gives you one in return. you realize there isn't that much warmth in it, not like it used to have—you're sure that yours isn't that warm either.

but it's enough for the two of you.

"you look tired, toru," you chuckle wryly, reaching up to brush a few strands of hair from his face. his eyes flutter at the touch, and you honestly think this might be the most vulnerable you've ever seen him.

"so do you."

"i am," you admit honestly.

"'s okay," he mumbles. his fingers tap against your palm once more. "'m here."

"i know," you answer. you always are.

nothing more is said as satoru stands up. he makes his way over to your desk and pulls one of suguru's old sweaters from your chair. you watch him fold it neatly, smoothing out the creases with care, before placing it into the box—you smile once more.

you think the scent of sandalwood tickles your nose, but it's gone in an instant.

both of you work in relative silence, sorting through the things in your room quickly. you're surprised at how bare it looks as you're nearing the end, as though there's nothing more to your life than old high school recollections.

you finish putting the last few polaroids into the box when satoru speaks up.

"hey."

you look up and find him staring at you, so you turn to face him completely, giving him your full attention.

"zenin toji—" the name sends a painful tingle up your body. "—left something behind."

you frown. "what are you talking about?"

"a kid. he's got a kid. and i was gonna go meet him today," satoru shrugs. you try to read his emotions, but as usual, he's giving you nothing. "the old man said something about the zenin clan buying up his kid before i killed him. i was gonna go see if there's something i could do about that."

you sigh before raising a brow, an amused lilt to your voice. "and why have you kept this a secret?"

satoru's trademark smirk appears, and he walks over to sling an arm around your shoulders. "who knows?" he quips nonchalantly. "guess i was waiting until we were bored. we need something to do now, don't we?"

you glance at the packed boxes on your bed, and then look around your empty room. everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

"i guess so," you grin. his eyes shine, and for a second you see a familiar teenager at the beach, and then a familiar teenager under an old tree. you think you hear waves, and the crinkling of a bag of chips.

"good," he chirps, walking you to the door, the arm around your shoulder secure. "his name's megumi, and we're gonna make sure he gets strong."

xiv. idyll

it takes you a little over four months to get used to megumi's eyes. they aren't unsettling or invading, like a certain snowy haired sorcerer, but they do give you chills when you first notice them. chills and a fleeting feeling of metal slicing up and down through your flesh. you just have to steady your breathing and remind yourself that the son is not the father.

tsumiki is an angel. you didn't think that kids that age could be so emotionally competent, but she's a pleasant surprise. she had been awfully protective over megumi, fidgeting with a firm hand on his shoulder as you and satoru invaded their space and upturned their lives. even after they had settled into the humble apartment satoru had purchased, tsumiki was still so overly cautious. it was obvious she still didn't trust either of you, but you thought it was admirable of her, and you relay this thought to satoru one day.

"think they hate us?" he asks, squishing his cheeks between his lithe fingers as he eyes the different milk cartons over the rims of his glasses.

"i'm pretty sure they just don't trust us that much," you reply, placing a few packs of instant ramen into the cart. "can you blame them? we're just random strangers who came up and basically kidnapped them."

"i'd like to say adopted!" he points out with a grin, before he sighs. "but we've already proved we're just doing this to help them. but they still barely talk at all."

"they're just being careful. megumi's still a little young and he looks like he doesn't give a shit about most stuff anyway," you chuckle as you remember the expression on the first grader's face as he spoke to your cocky friend. "and tsumiki's being cautious for both of them."

"she doesn't need to be cautious of us!" satoru dramatically whines, pulling out a carton of whole milk and placing it into the cart. you shiver as the cold air hits your skin, eyeing the sorcerer with an exasperated smile. he shuts the door with a huff. "i've been such a good dad!"

you roll your eyes, shoving his arm as he starts pushing the cart down the aisle. "she definitely should be cautious of you, you creep."

satoru looks down over his shoulder, appalled, though his eyes sparkle with mirth. "and why do you say that?"

"have you seen yourself? crazy 19 year old man that kidnaps kids," you mutter somewhat sarcastically, falling into step with him like it's normal. satoru grins at that—amused.

"i think it's pretty cool of her to be that responsible though," you continue, voice going softer as you think about them, and satoru hums in what you think might be agreement. you suddenly grab his arm, stopping him in his tracks and he turns to look at you.

"you think we should get another carton of milk?" you question, tilting your head at him. "megumi's been drinking it every day after he comes back from school and tsumiki said she wanted to try making milkshakes."

satoru blinks at you, eyes widening before an amused chuckle escapes his lips. you're about to ask what is so funny but he gestures back down the aisle. "go get some."

he waits for you as you go grab another carton, leaning against the cart easily. when you make it back and place the extra milk in the cart, satoru slings an arm around your shoulders. you raise a brow, but he just continues to push the cart with his free hand and says nothing.

so you don't say anything either.

the two of you continue shopping, trying to remember the things you've noticed the kids enjoying because you know they'll be too uncomfortable to outrightly request them. for every sweet snack satoru puts into the cart, you add something that can pass as somewhat healthy, and he hides a teasing grin behind his fist each time.

when you're almost done, satoru motions to the shelves of snacks, raising a brow at you. "what do you need, hotshot?"

you look up from where you're analyzing the contents of the cart. "hm? oh i don't wanna buy anything for myself. i'm good with the stuff i have back at the dorm."

"great," he shrugs with a subtle shake of his head. "except you're not buying anything this time, i am. so pick something."

"what?" you frown, walking over to him. "we're supposed to split groceries for the kids."

"we can split next time." satoru rolls his eyes at you, as though annoyed by your insistence. "i just got paid yesterday and i wanna waste money. pick something."

you groan. "but there really isn't anything i want. if you're gonna pay yourself then let's just go. i think this is good enough."

satoru looks unamused, his eyes boring into yours—bright, dominating, mesmerizing. "oh really? nothing you want?"

you stare at him in confusion as he walks over to the frozen section and opens the door. after a few seconds of rummaging, he pulls out a box. "not even this?"

your shoulders drop. he's holding a tub of strawberry ice cream.

he casually places it into the cart, eyes trained on your expression as he bends down. "it's your favorite, isn't it?"

your voice comes out throaty, and you wet your lips nervously—his eyes follow the movement at lightning speed. "how'd you know?"

satoru scoffs out a haughty chuckle, reaching up to knock a knuckle at your forehead—it's cold. "i know everything about you, hotshot."

he moves to grip at the cart's handle, standing close enough that you can feel the energy radiating off of him. the side of his hand touches yours, still cold. "now we can go."

he sticks by your side, pushing the cart towards the counters as he casually looks around the store. you briefly realize that his shadow doesn't cover you when you're at his side like this. the thought both scares you and pleases you in a way you didn't think was possible.

"thanks toru," you mumble before you can stop yourself. his gives you a sidelong glance—assessing.

his lips twitch. "it's just ice cream."

"no, it's a lot more than that." you're not really sure why you say it so tragically, and satoru inhales sharply. you notice that his knuckles have turned white as he grips the cart's handles. once again, his eyes dart rapidly over your face—between your eyes and then further down.

then he lets out a hushed laugh, nudging your shoulder with his. "as long as you share with me, hotshot."

everything is always changing, but satoru is constant.

you can't help but smile. "always."

you two don't say much as you head to the counter, taking turns placing all the items on the belt. you quietly watch satoru dig into his wallet, feeling oddly content doing so. you think the stars in your eyes will never disappear.

the clerk eyes you both, and suppresses a fond grin. with your close proximity, shared cart, and satoru's easy going smile, you realize that she's probably misunderstanding, but you don't really know how to correct her. satoru says nothing—he just continues smiling, oddly pleased.

he smiles all the way to the car. you catch yourself doing the same in the rear view mirror.

xv. retribution

the first thing you notice when you kneel in front of suguru is that he's bleeding all over the place. you have the strongest urge to scramble and grip his fingers tightly, just as he had done for you so many years ago—but you don't dare. you're too scared that touching him will ruin you completely.

he says your name quietly, and yet it's the loudest thing in the universe to you—crashing over your ears until you've lost all sense of self.

and then he leans forward, his gaze heavy, and his hand comes up to tangle in your hair. his palm rests on the side of your face just like it did when he visited you at your family home. the last time you saw your geto suguru.

except this time he moves further—crosses a line. presses his lips to yours.

he tastes like blood. you don't pull away.

the feeling of his lips shocks you though, and you stay permanently frozen in place as you feel your eyes glaze over with something you can't put into words.

suguru kisses you slowly, deeply, like he's been waiting but wants to savor it. maybe you've been waiting too. you're not sure. you're so confused.

you don't even process the way his tongue slips past your lips, tasting almost eagerly like your mouth is some kind of conquest he's trying to claim.

it's intrusive, but not unwelcome. slow, but not gentle.

you whimper quietly, feeling acid sting down your cheek as he pulls away and his eyes flutter open. he takes in your expression, and a million emotions pass over his face.

a quiet chuckle. "that bad, huh?"

you shake yourself out of it and try to push away the flush creeping up your neck. "w-what?"

"you're crying," he announces, his furrowed eyebrows paired with a sweet smile that makes him look so unbelievably tragic. "the kiss was that bad?"

your face burns, and you raise a shaking hand up to your cheek—it's wet.

"it wasn't—i didn't—" you struggle. "i mean—"

he smiles ruefully. "i'm sorry. you were saving it for someone special, right?"

there's a charged silence that follows as you scour your brain for the conversation he's referencing. when you find it, your heart sinks.

"you've always been special to me, suguru." your voice comes out quiet, but he hears it all the same. his eyes widen fractionally and you can see a light pink dust his cheeks before he laughs. it's soft, hushed, and looks like it's painful, but he lets it run its course.

it reminds you of a laugh from so long ago, at a beach, with childish screams echoing against the sound of waves. you think you can feel strawberry ice cream dripping down your wrist.

his laughs die down and he's left smiling softly at you. his lavender eyes sparkle with mirth as he tilts his head. "i'm glad. that you were the one i gave a room to."

you can hear waves in your ears, crashing crashing drowning. sand is in your hands, in between your toes, in your eyes.

he coughs, and his palm shakes against your cheek. you wonder why he doesn't just let go already dammit suguru.

you inhale sharply, trying so hard to breathe because what is that stupid thing that's clogging your throat and preventing you from speaking? there's so much you have to say to him. so many questions. so many things left unsaid. your words are failing you.

but silence with suguru has never once been uncomfortable, right?

you raise a shaky hand to press against his where it lays against your neck. "do you regret it?"

he licks his lips, smiling faintly, as though he's enjoying the new taste of you on them. "no."

"why not?" you whisper. your body unconsciously shuffles closer to him, chasing his warmth because gods is he warm. he's always been so warm, even now, in the throes of death.

"my feelings are still the same. i still hate the monkeys for everything they've done, all the crap they cause." he shuts his eyes, smiling that serene smile. you wish he was leaning against a tree trunk. "i still have no resentment to those at jujutsu tech. and you, i still…"

he doesn't continue. you don't think you want him to. there's a flush crawling up his neck, the faint pink a stark contrast to the red of blood. it makes you nauseous.

another deep inhale, and his thumb slides over your jawbone, before brushing under your bottom lip. he stares at the flesh heavily, letting his finger press into it. his tongue swipes over his own lips, eyes darkening further.

and then something shifts in his face, and he smiles mirthlessly. his hand drops from your face—broken contact.

he doesn't tear his gaze away from you, committing your face to memory. it's almost like he wants to say something, but decides against it at the last minute as he slumps further into the wall behind him and shuts his eyes.

when he speaks again, you know that it is all over.

"you're late, satoru."

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achilles-rage · 3 months ago

Text

Cherry

summary: after putting out a small kitchen fire at a bar, the bar owner offers buck a night of fun. when presented with his girls, he chooses you.

word count: 4.5k (oops)

a/n: this idea came to me in a dream after i read @spidermans-l-o-v-e-r ‘s glory hole fic, and i wrote this in one sitting. i have no idea what came over me but i was feral for this idea. thank you for posting your fic, it was delicious and i loved it<33 i had no intention of posting something today because i’ve already posted 2 days in a row and have more coming the next 2 days, but i felt the need to share this immediately after i finished. enjoy<3

warnings: smut, big titty reader (self indulgent, sue me<3), mentions of abuse (nothing graphic), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

MDNI- 18+ Only!

Buck has absolutely no idea how he got here; how he got messed up in all of this. He’s standing in the large back room of an old bar in downtown LA, with ten women presented in front of him. His choice.

Earlier in the week, his team responded to a call here. When they finally put out the small fire in the kitchen, the owner had told him to come back later in the week for free drinks and a good time, and who is he to turn down free drinks?

He wasn’t expecting this, though; ten of the owner’s “girls” standing in a line in front of him. “Free for the night,” the owner had said.

His eyes had immediately been drawn to you when you walked in with the rest of the line. You were much different than the rest of the girls. While the rest had their heads up, giving him bright, flirty smiles, your face remained angled towards the floor. When they all stopped and faced him, you kept your head down; he could hardly even see your face.

Even so, he was drawn to your plush figure.

While the rest of the girls were slimmer, showing off lots of skin, you had opted for a pink long sleeve shirt. You were wearing a black miniskirt, and some god awful heels almost identical to the rest of the girls that the owner of the bar had told Buck “really shows them off,” and a pink long sleeve shirt low-cut enough that Buck could see your large tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He almost feels bad standing here. He’s never done anything like this before, but who is he to turn down a warm cunt for the night?

“So, who will it be?” the owner asks, a smirk on his face as he watches Buck taking in all his girls.

Buck begins to walk towards the girls, hands behind his back as his eyes travel the length of the line up. Then, he stops in front of you, but once again, you keep your head down. Surely he wants one of the girls beside you.

You’re surprised when he uses a finger to gently raise your gaze up to his, and your knees almost buckle. It’s the softest anyone’s touched you in months.

“You wanna come with me, sweetheart?” he asks you in a soft voice, and you swallow quickly before nodding your head. He’s gorgeous.

“Yes.”

He grins, then takes your hand and pulls you back towards where he was previously standing beside the owner of the bar. He gives him a smile while you stand almost behind him, eyes trained on his broad shoulders and muscular back.

“You sure you want that one?” the owner says, and you blink slowly, trying to fight back tears threatening to spill as you force your eyes down to the floor again. He’s always treated you like this, but you don’t have any other choice but to stay.

“Positive.” Buck replies smugly, fighting the urge to glare at the man’s condescending tone. He looks over his shoulder at you, and all he sees is a sweet little thing that he’s not sure he’s going to want to let go at the end of the night. How could the other man see anything different?

With that, the owner of the bar waves a hand, and the rest of the girls file out and go back out to the main area of the bar to pick up men, and Buck leads you out of the bar with his hand on the small of your back.

“Are you okay?” he asks once you’re out on the street and walking towards his car parked down the street. You furrow your brows, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head, raising a brow before his eyes move down to your feet. You’re almost limping in the heels you’re wearing, but they’re what you have to wear, so you shake your head quickly.

“Oh, I’m fine. Part of the uniform.” you try to joke, but he isn’t having it. It almost pains him to see you in pain. In one swift movement, he pulls you towards him and lifts you into his arms, one arm under your legs and the other behind your back. You squeal, and you can’t help the giggle that escapes your throat. He looks strong, sure, but you didn’t think he'd actually be able to lift you. You didn’t think he’d actually do it, either. It’s not like he has to be nice to you.

Once you’re in the car, he drives you to a hotel not too far from the bar. He doesn’t want to scare you by taking you to his house; as much as he wants to see you sprawled out on his bed, so he opts for the nicest hotel close to the bar.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see the hotel he’s chosen. You’re not used to anything like this. You’re used to dingy motels, or the bathroom in the bar, or if you’re lucky, the backseat of a nice car. But never this.

He keeps an arm around your waist as he pays for the room, and he kisses the back of your hand when he grabs it to lead you up to the 3rd floor, keeping your hand firmly in his the whole way up.

When you get to the room and the door is firmly closed behind you, Buck steps further into the room, setting the key card, his wallet, and his keys on the dresser. You follow behind him slowly, then in one swift movement, lift your shirt over your head. You know what you’re here for, as much as his sweet actions make butterflies swarm your tummy.

His eyes widen when he turns back to you, his eyes darting down to steal a quick glance at your large tits practically teasing him in your see through lace bra. He closes the distance between you, grabbing your hands as you let go of your shirt and let it fall to the ground.

“Hey, no, wait. If it’s okay, I wanna talk first. Haven’t really done this before.” he tells you, his admission coming out a little softer than the beginning of his sentence. He feels a little weird about what he’s walked himself into, and he wants to know more about you before splitting you open on his cock.

“Sorry.” you tell him sheepishly. You bite your lip as you watch him shake his head.

“Don’t apologize, baby. Here, let’s get you out of those shoes first, yeah?” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he gets down on one knee, kneeling in front of you and placing his hand on the back of your calf to urge you to raise your leg. You hold one of his shoulders as you lift one foot off the grounf, feeling your whole body heat up as you watch him take one shoe off, and then the other.

You let out a sigh when your feet hit the soft carpet, thankful to finally be out of those damn shoes. He smiles when he stands up, noticing that you’ve already relaxed a little more.

“What’s your name?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper. You give him a sheepish smile, shrugging as your eyes move down to your chest.

“He calls me Cherry.” you murmur when you look back up at him, a hint of a frown on your pretty lips. He tilts his head to the side, and he almost laughs at the name, knowing exactly where it came from.

His eyes glance back down at your heavy tits, getting a better look now that he’s standing directly in front of you. He can see the beginning of a cherry tattoo beneath your bra, right in the valley of your breasts, and he sighs. From the way the owner of the bar was treating you earlier, he’s half convinced that he’s made you get that tattoo, and you’re not very happy about the nickname.

“What’s your real name?” he asks softly, eyes darting back up to meet yours. His hand moves to your cheek, caressing it gently, and you chew the inside of your cheek nervously as you hesitate. No names. That was one of the first rules he had given you. But even so, your name is on the tip of your tongue, threatening to fall from your lips.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to tell me, it just doesn’t seem like you like that nickname very much.” he urges you gently. His eyes search yours as you stay quiet for a moment, and then, you tell him. Your voice is barely audible, but he heard you loud and clear, and a smile breaks onto his face.

He repeats it, and you nod, a small smile forming on your face.

With the way he’s looking at you, you can’t help but feel admired, and beautiful. That’s why you’re not surprised when the next words that tumble from your mouth are “kiss me, please.”

He smirks before he brings your lips to his, a hand cupping your jaw as he tilts your head up into the kiss and the other on your plush hip. His thumb gently moves across your hip as he kisses you gently, and while his grip is firm on your jaw, his kiss is soft and tender, which makes your head spin.

As his tongue pushes past your lips and begins to explore your mouth, you kiss him harder, teeth clicking together and breathing becoming heavy as both of your hands move to his cheeks. When one of his hands slides down to your ass and squeezes, it’s like a switch flips, and you’re quick to flip him around and walk him back towards the bed.

You break the kiss as you push him to sit on the edge of the bed, and then you kneel in front of him, hands going to his pants as you keep your eyes on his. Another rule: make sure the customer is pleased. When you’re at a motel and it’s clear he’s in no rush, use your mouth first, and then let him fuck you.

You’re surprised when his hands come out to stop you from undoing his belt, and your eyes are wide as you look up at his face.

“Whoa, wait a minute. What are you doing?” he asks, and you furrow your brows. He’s surprised by your sudden switch up, and while his cock twitches at the thought of your mouth around him, he sees the way your face changed. He notices the way your eyes almost become glossed over and unfocused, almost as if you’re on autopilot, like this is merely a job for you. Of course, he knows it is, but he doesn’t want you to wrap your lips around his cock unless you actually want to.

“Isn’t this what you want?” you ask, a little unsure. You’re feeling a little self conscious now. You’ve never had a man turn something like this down, and your insecurities from earlier about why he would choose you enter your mind again.

“Honestly, all I want right now is to taste you.” he tells you earnestly, and you look down, trying to hide the smile on your face. “But first, I want to ask you a question.”

You look back up at him, nodding slowly. He can see the insecurities inside of you, they’re practically written across your face. It’s the same look you had back at the bar.

“How long have you been doing this?” he asks. He hopes he hasn’t crossed a line, but with the way you don’t look away, he’s sure he hasn’t. Of course the answer doesn’t really matter to him, he’s just curious.

“A few weeks.” you reply with a shrug. He smiles, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“And how many times has someone picked one of the other girls over you?” He can’t fathom someone picking another girl over the soft, sweet thing kneeling in front of him. He had his pick, for Christ sake; all of the girls looked eager to leave with him, and he still picked you.

“A couple.” you admit sheepishly, feeling embarrassed at your admission. It’s happened more than a couple times, but you don’t want to admit that to him. Most of the time, it seems like the men want one of the more experienced girls, or one that’s easier to throw around.

“Can’t imagine why. You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” he murmurs, eyes studying your face as a smile erupts on your face. “Can I taste you now? Please?”

You nod, and that’s all it takes for Buck to stand up, help you to your feet and then push you onto the bed, in the same position you just had him in.

He yanks your skirt and panties down in one go as you lift your hips off the bed, and then he puts a large hand over your soft tummy, pushing you to lay back.

He spreads your legs enough for his broad shoulders to fit between, and then he begins placing feather-light kisses to your inner thighs as his arms loop around your legs to hold you in place.

You watch him with a heaving chest as his lips make their way to your dripping core, sitting up on your elbows to ensure you have a view of him between your thick thighs.

As soon as he makes eye contact with you, he gives you a smirk, then dives into your cunt, licking and sucking greedily as he lets out a low groan.

“Taste so sweet, baby. Like heaven.” he moans against your folds, although you can barely hear him. You fall back down onto your back, your hands gripping the sheets as his tongue darts in and out of you slowly, his nose nudging at your clit deliciously with each movement.

He grunts as he notices your hands beside you, and he unhooks one arm from your thigh to grab your wrist, moving your hand to the back of his head. You whimper softly as your fingers weave through his hair, but you don’t pull it; you’re not sure what exactly he wants.

His arms loops back around your thigh again, keeping his face pressed as close to you as possible as he switches between suctioning to your clit and drawing lazy circles around it with his tongue. When he notices that your hand is merely placed on his head, however, he grunts again, unlooking his arm from around you and diving two fingers into your dripping cunt. You moan loudly as he curls his fingers against that spot inside of you, you back almost lifting off the bed as you squirm. Your grip tightens on his hair as he sucks on your clit at the same time, and when he lets out a low moan, you realize that he likes when you pull his hair.

You pull his hair a little harder, and you can feel the pit in your belly growing bigger as you get closer and closer to the edge.

In a few moments, you’re falling apart against him, whimpering loudly as he continues his movements, working you through your orgasm. When he finally pulls away, he straightens up, beaming at you as you raise back up onto your elbows, chest heaving.

“So good for me, sweetheart.” he purrs, and you watch him as he stands up, towering over you. “You think you can take my cock now?”

You nod quickly, and he smirks as his hands move down to his belt. You notice the tent in his pants as he undoes his belt, and then his jeans, and your eyes widen at the size of him as he pulls his pants and boxers down.

Your mouth is watering as he steps out of his pants and then lifts his shirt over his head, and he feels his ego soar as he takes in your eager expression.

He wastes no time crawling on top of you, letting you move up the bed to rest your head on the pillow as he goes. He kneels between your legs as he straightens up, now that you’re where he wants you, and grabs your hands to make you sit up. Once you do, one of his hands moves to the back of your bra and unhooks it easily. He slides the straps down your shoulders and moans when your heavy tits bounce slightly, finally free from your bra.

“If I didn’t want you so bad right now, I’d fuck those pretty tits first.” he purrs. You whimper softly as you bite your lip, looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

“Please.” you whisper, and he lowers himself back onto you, holding himself up with his hands on either side of your head as he begins to grind against you.

“Please, what? Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” he tells you, and you trail your hands down his chest, desperate to feel him.

“Fuck me. Please.” He smirks, giving you a chaste kiss before he reaches down to grab his cock. He looks down as he lines himself up with your entrance, then slowly pushes past your folds, groaning as he feels your greedy cunt stretch around him.

“God, baby. So tight.” he murmurs into your ear, his face beside yours and his lips grazing your neck. You whimper as he stretches you out, feeling slightly overwhelmed as he keeps bullying himself further into your sopping cunt, inch by inch.

Once he’s buried himself to the hilt, he moves his hips back and then snaps them back against yours, testing. When you throw your head back in pure ecstasy, he repeats his actions, thrusting into you eagerly as he kisses your neck. You keep a hand on the back of his neck as he fucks you, fingers finding the hair on the back of his head and pulling it gently.

He whispers sweet praises as his lips continue down from your neck to your collarbone, and then to your tits. He kisses around one breast, then brings your nipple into his mouth, using one of his hands to roughly squeeze and tug on your other breast.

“Such gorgeous tits, baby. Beautiful girl.” he whispers against your skin, and your back arches off the bed at all the attention he’s giving your body.

His thrusts are strong, and when he uses one of his legs to hike your leg up to his waist, you whimper loudly, your fingers tugging on his hair as he hits the spot that makes you see stars.

“How many times you say they’ve picked another girl?” he asks in a low voice, and in your bliss, you barely even register what he’s asking.

“A lot.” you answer truthfully, too cock drunk to lie.

“God, they’re missing out. Such a sweet little pussy. And all mine, isn’t that right?” he asks, lifting his head and looking down to see that you’re struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Yes.” is all you can get out, but that’s all he wants to hear. He continues with his rough thrusts, and after a couple more, he’s twitching inside of you, balls tightening as he teeters on the edge.

“You gonna cum with me, pretty girl? Cum on my cock?” he asks, and you nod as your hands move to his shoulders. You can feel your high quickly approaching, and your nails dig into his shoulders when his fingers start to rub circles over your clit, sloppy and eager.

He feels you clench around him, and he groans, having to close his eyes before he cums too soon.

“Cum for me, baby.” With these words, you’re squeezing your eyes shut as your body goes tense. He tuts, bringing his hand away from your clit and tapping your face lightly, urging you to open your eyes.

When you finally do, he cums hard, hot white release filling you up and threatening to leak out of your pulsing cunt.

You look up at him as he lets go, watching his face contorting in pleasure, and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth. He practically collapses on you as you both try to catch your breath, and he presses soft kisses to your neck and chest as you both come down from your high. A few minutes later, he pulls out with a groan, watching your mixed releases drip down your thighs and onto the clean sheets.

He gets up and goes to the bathroom, then comes back with a damp cloth, cleaning up what’s dripped out of you and onto the bed. He throws it to the side, then lays beside you, urging you to lay your head on his chest. For a minute, you both forget the situation, too blissed out to do anything but revel in each other’s company.

“What’s your name?” you ask, your mind finally coming back into focus. Usually, you couldn’t care less about the man’s name, but now, you need to know.

“Evan. Buckley. Buck.” he says slowly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You hum, nodding against his chest, but don’t say anything else. You’re perfectly content with laying her with Buck for as long as he’ll let you. You’re afraid that if you disturb the silence, he’ll tell you it’s time to go.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks after a minute of silence, and you nod.

“How did you get into this?” You shrug, thinking for a moment. You’re not sure you should tell him.

Another rule: no personal details shared.

Even with his rules echoing through your mind, you feel like you have to tell him. He’s been so sweet, and you don’t think you can hold it in any longer. You haven’t told anyone else this.

“He’s my boyfriend. The owner. Thought he loved me, and I asked him for money to help pay rent because I lost my job. He gave it to me, but when I couldn’t pay him back quick enough, he told me to pay him back like this.” you tell him softly. His body tenses at your words. What the hell kind of boyfriend would make you do something like this to pay him back? He wants to storm back into that bar and beat him to a bloody pulp, but he knows that’s not exactly a good idea.

“How much?” he asks you softly, trying to keep his voice calm as he rubs your back gently.

“$800.” He scoffs at your words. $800 and he’s making you do this? You’ve been working a couple weeks; that’s what you said, and he can’t believe that you haven’t made him that money back yet.

“You’ve been working for weeks, and he still doesn’t have that money?” you sigh again, shrugging.

“There’s a place near the bar where he makes me live with some of the other girls. He takes the money I make and uses it for that too, so when I do make money, almost all of it goes to that.” You’re sure you’d be better off if you were more outgoing; more willing to go up to men in the bar rather than letting them come to you. You’d get much more money, probably. You’re much too shy to do that though, and you’re still not used to what you do.

He wants more than anything to get you out of this situation. He can tell that you’re less than happy about it, but he doesn’t know what to do. Then, an idea comes to him, and he speaks in a hopeful tone.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, and you smile, raising your head off his chest and looking up at him as you nod.

“Of course.” you reply, and he grins, leaning down to kiss you deeply.

You both fall asleep not long after that, and in the morning, he drives you back to the bar, but not before he gets your number.

Your arrangement goes on for months. You meet him once a week, sometimes twice, and after a month, you let him take you to his apartment. He’s easy to trust; and you know what he does for a living, so you don’t feel nervous at all when he pulls you into his apartment and pins you to the door, kissing down your neck.

He gives you money after each time too, far more than what he’s meant to pay you, but he insists. You try to argue, try to tell him that you can’t charge him anything, not when there’s feelings involved, but he doesn’t want to hear it.

He figures if he can give you enough money to pay back the $800 plus your current housing, you’d be able to leave and be with him, for real, sooner rather than later.

He’s surprised when there’s a knock on his door late one night, and his eyes widen when he sees you, teary eyed and a cut across your cheek.

“He won’t let me leave.” you whisper, and he’s quick to pull you into the safety of his apartment. He pulls you into a hug, shushing you as you cry into his chest. His body is tense as he thinks about your boyfriend, who he has just learned is now your ex as you babble into his chest about what happened, but he’s more focused on you.

He pulls you to the couch, and he listens as you restart your story, sniffling softly here and there and finally calming down now that you know you’re safe.

He listens to you tell him that you confronted him, asking him how much you still owe him, and about how he laughed in your face. He listens as you tell him that your ex boyfriend told you that your debt has been paid, but you’ve become good at what you do, and you bring in too much money for him to let go of you.

He clenches his fists as you tell him that when you tried to argue, he tried to force you into submission; pushing you against a wall and slapping you, resulting in the cut on your cheek.

He vows to protect you, that you’re safe with him now. He brings you up to bed, undressing you gingerly and pulling you against him as you both lay in bed. He kisses the back of your neck as you fall asleep, your back pressed tightly against his chest.

You’re never going back there again, he’ll make sure of it. He’ll find out where your things are, and go pick them up when your ex isn’t there, and you’ll stay with him from now on. You’re already his anyway, pretty much, so you’re his to protect. He’ll help you land on your feet, and when you’re ready, he’ll let you find your own place, but he hopes to anyone that will listen that you’ll stay with him. Forever.

the prequel

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reiding-writing · 10 months ago

Note

hello!!!! could i get a continuation fic for "breaking the ice"? this time it could be like after a hard case and reader actively seeks out spencer for comfort (CONGRATS ON 1K FOLLOWERS!!! <33)

BREAKING DOWN [CLIMACTERIC]

/ˈbreɪ.kɪŋ daʊn/

spencer just wants to be there for you when you need him, but you get overwhelmed by his constant worrying and push him away, only to crawl right back into his embrace when you really need it.

WARNINGS: fem!reader, reader is mean to spencer in the beginning but apologises later, child death, guilt, reader having an emotional breakdown, angst to hurt/comfort

spencer x cold!reader | hurt/comfort | 2.4k | climacteric event

a/n: hit two birds with one stone for this one, god sometimes i forget how much i like writing characters suffering man-

this fic is a continuation of ‘breaking the ice’, but can be read as a stand alone!

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ cold!reader masterlist!!

climacteric event masterlist!!

You felt like an idiot the first time Spencer caught you crying, failing to compose yourself in the office bathroom for no good reason and looking like an absolute wreck because your brain had just decided it wanted to ruin your day.

There’d been a few times since then when he’d caught you on the brink of a breakdown, but you’d masked them better the more he tried to look into your psyche.

“It’s okay not to be okay sometimes,” He said those few months ago. “I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

That was all said and good but it didn’t mean that you wanted him to be there whenever you were overwhelmed or emotional. Sometimes you needed the space to work through your emotions on your own.

“Reid. Leave me alone.” You turn to him sharply, impatience written all over your features.

He’d been asking you about your emotions for the past fifteen minutes after noticing you turn down one of the sugary treats Garcia had brought into the office and using the small amount of favouritism you had towards him as leeway in terms of you not getting angry.

But you had your breaking point even with him.

The harshness spilling from your lips wasn’t something that was ever directed at him, so much so that it actually took him a second to register that it was him you were snapping at and not some invisible person standing behind him.

He didn’t even have time to respond to you. You were already around the corner by the time he’d come back to his senses.

He didn’t bother you after that.

At all.

There was no small talk at the beginning of the office days, no conversations on the jet between cases. He stopped waiting for you before leaving the office and picking you up coffee on days he knew you’d be late.

It threw you back in time to the first few years of working with him. And it seemed that the rest of the team was feeling the inherent ‘nostalgia’ as well, and not in a good way.

The small lingering glances and silent conversations you’d engage in had completely disappeared, and not having Spencer has the bridge of proper communication between you and the rest of the team made merging your psychological profile with the main behavioural profile for your most recent case three steps longer than it needed to be.

Because he was basically refusing to speak to you. Following your instructions to a T.

It didn’t help that it was a child case either. You always seemed to have issues with those. You worked twice as fast, but also made twice as many mistakes, and without someone like Spencer to filter your thoughts through to make sure that they were all objective it meant that your profile was lagging behind.

The child you were looking for died before you found him.

And by the time you’d reached the jet to fly back to Virginia, you’d already internalised his death as your fault.

You kept yourself together through the airport, through boarding and take-off and until you watched your team members fall into a blanket of uneasy sleep as everyone tried to brush off the emotional wreckage that they’d seen over the last few days and detach themselves from the child they’d failed to save.

You were usually pretty good at that part.

Separating yourself from your work came naturally for you, and it was something you were extremely grateful for when getting rest after a particularly hard case. But children were different.

They always were. Especially when it felt like you had a personal hand in their death.

With an internal sigh you accepted your fate of staring at the beige walls of the jet’s cabin until you inevitably couldn’t take it anymore and barricaded yourself in the bathroom for the remainder of the flight.

Now’s about the time where you’d probably distract yourself by starting Spencer on a tangent. Getting him to talk about something that was completely unrelated to the case you’d just sat through to drown out the voices inside of your head and allow you to rest peacefully despite yourself.

But you couldn’t do that right now.

Half because Spencer was already asleep and half because you’d pushed him away.

And now you had to lie in the hole you’d created for yourself.

You didn’t even end up making it into the bathroom.

You curled your legs up into yourself in the corner chair you’d bagged yourself, rested your elbows on your knees, and covered your face with your palms as the tears started a steady flow down your cheeks.

It was honestly one of the worst feelings in the world. Curled up into yourself with your hands cupped over your mouth to keep your staggered breathing quiet enough to not wake the other agents sleeping around the cabin.

As you sat there, the weight of your emotions pressing down on you like a heavy blanket, you couldn't shake the feeling of regret for pushing Spencer away.

His concern was always genuine, his presence a source of comfort even when you didn't realise you needed it. Now, in the silence of the jet cabin, his absence felt like a void.

Each tear that slipped from your eyes felt like another weight added to the burden you were already carrying.

The familiar ache in your chest threatened to consume you as you struggled to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill over and wake your teammates.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at your bones, sleep remained unobtainable, lost in the emotional maze of regret and self-blame that you’d managed to lose yourself in to the point where you couldn’t even stand up to give yourself some privacy.

You felt utterly alone, isolated by your own actions in every sense of the word. Each passing minute stretched on for what felt like hours, dragging you deeper into the abyss of your thoughts.

You weren’t quiet enough apparently, and you hear a small shift from the long sofa to your right as your emotional breakdown seemingly catches someone’s ears to the point where they’ve woken up.

“…are-” Spencer’s voice is quiet and mildly groggy as he wakes from the sounds of your internal anguish, and he cuts himself off before getting his whole question out.

You wanted him to leave you alone.

“sorry…” He shifts onto his side until his back is facing you, not wanting to pry if you were uncomfortable with it but also not willing to watch you break down if he knew he couldn’t do anything about it.

“I’m not okay Reid…” Your words are caught in between stunted breaths and shaking movements. “I need help-”

Your words sent an ache right through his heart that made him think it was going to split in two. He can hear the tremor in your voice, the shakiness in your tone as you force yourself to be vulnerable with him. And it makes him want to join you in a fit of tears.

If you were actively reaching out like this, it had to be bad.

“I know…” His voice is barely above a whisper as he slowly turns his body, still hesitant to look you in the eyes but wanting to see your expression.

He doesn’t know if you want comfort or advice, but he knows which he’d prefer to give as his eyes land on your face and take in the sight of you, curled up into yourself with tear stains tracking down your cheeks in the cabin’s low lighting.

“But I don’t know how to…” The silence is the worst part of the conversation from his end of things – a silence that was deafeningly loud. His eyes dart between the cabin door and you.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t get up, or get closer. He just stays put.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“Tell me how to help you…”

“I don’t-” You barely get the chance to start speaking before your crying renders you effectively mute, your throat filled with sobs that leave your mouth into the palm of your hand as you attempt to silence yourself and not ruin anyone else’s slumber.

He can see your fingers trembling as you hold back the noise. From across the aisle, Spencer watches the way you shake until his stomach ties in a knot just from seeing you distressed.

But there’s nothing he can do.

“Can I try something?” He murmurs his words softly, like he’s afraid of frightening you further as he pulls himself upright on the couch seat to plant his feet firmly on the floor.

You answer him with a nod, too unstable to even think about trying to answer him verbally under the threat of breaking down further.

He pads across the aisle deftly, taking a seat in the chair beside your own and deftly bringing his arm across the back of your shoulders to rub lines against your back.

It’s a somewhat pathetic pat, a mix of fatigue and hesitation mixing in his movements and making his attempt at comforting you feel clumsy and mildly awkward.

But he was trying, and that was the main point.

The awkwardness really held no ground under your inherent need to just feel comforted in the moment, and you take no note of it as you turn your head into Spencer’s shoulder with your hand still cupped over your mouth as you tremble under his arms.

His hand becomes a little more confident once you accept his attempts.

He didn’t know how to help you.

He didn’t know how to soothe you.

And the thought of not being able to save you from yourself was tearing him up inside.

But the least he could do was this.

Spencer’s touch is gentle as he places his other hand onto the back of your head, fingers brushing along your hairline as he encourages you further into his embrace.

There’s nothing he should say right now, nothing he could say right now.

Whatever would come from him would be a string of false assurances he wasn’t sure he would even believe himself.

Instead, he settles for the soft touches, his gentle fingers and trying to soften your breathless sobs into something less heartwrenching.

It felt mildly awkward to be the source of someone else’s comfort — he’d usually been on the receiving end of it — but it was working, and he could slowly feel your shoulders relax under his hands, your sobs reducing to small sniffles as you calmed under Spencer’s influence.

“Breathe…” He whispered the words quietly against the top of your head, making a show of taking deep breaths that you could feel against his chest as a silent instruction for you to mirror.

The rise and fall of his chest underneath your hand was crucial in helping you slowly regulate your breathing to match his, the remnants of sniffles that caught in your throat slowly dissipating until they were non-existent.

The peak of your distress slowly eludes you as you sink down to a gradual calm, and the harsh beating of your heart against your sternum was slowly regulating itself as well until it was soft enough that it didn’t ring in your ears.

Spencer remains quiet as he continues to rub gentle lines over your spine. If he kept you him his grasp like this for long enough, your fatigue might catch up to you and make you fall asleep. And that would be alright with him.

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you for trying to help me,” You air out your half-apology once you’re confident enough that speaking won’t send you down another spiral, your words muffled slightly against his shirt.

It’s a sudden break to the small pocket of silence you’d created, and Spencer’s hand pauses for a fleeting second before continuing to trace its path over your back. “You were stressed and I pushed a limit, it was understandable…”

He wouldn’t lie to you and say that everything was alright and he didn’t take it personally. It did hurt for you to be so harsh to him, but hearing you try to apologise made it feel a little better at least.

“I just wanted to help…”

“I know…” You turn your head further into his shoulder until your face is hidden in the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry,”

Your apology, voiced properly this time, elicited a small sigh from his lips, and he adjusted his arm around you to accommodate the new position you were in.

The feeling of somebody leaning on him, relying on him so much for comfort was a rather novel experience. He liked his distance, his personal space, and his preference for not being touched always trumped anything else. But this was different.

“Don’t apologise…” Spencer shakes his head against yours as he murmurs out his words. “Just rest…”

You give him a small hum as your only indication of acknowledging his suggestion, letting out a small yawn into his neck as the consequences of your emotional breakdown catch up to you and riddle your body with fatigue.

You were practically melting into him by now, your weight resting against his side, but Spencer wasn’t complaining.

It made you seem so vulnerable, so small and relaxed and different from how you usually presented yourself to the world.

Once your yawn reached his ears he knew your body was preparing to slip into unconsciousness.

But he couldn’t bring himself to move away from you.

He’d seen you fall asleep before; he’d seen the way your mouth had parted slightly right before a small snore left your lips, the delicate rise and fall of your chest as your breathing evened out and the way your eyebrows furrowed when you fell into a dream.

He didn’t want to interrupt his comfort by moving away. So he didn’t. It wouldn’t hurt to hold you for a little bit longer.

#✎𓂃climacteric。#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #mgg #climacteric 🪶#asks 🫶

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sceletaflores · 1 year ago

Text

A Small Favor.

part one!

pairing: mike schmidt x afab!reader

summary: the stress of his new job is taking a toll on mike. he did such a good job helping you out, so you decide to repay the favor.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: 18+! MDNI! oral sex (m!receiving), vaginal fingering, handjobs, heavy on the praise, munch!mike always.

authors note: the heavily heavily HEAVILY requested part two is finally done. (quite literally wrote this instead of listening to my bio lecture) i still can't believe that fic has gotten so much traction, i hope this one measures up! it got waaaay more angsty near the end than i thought it would hehe also i decided to include everyone commenting under part one requesting part two in the taglist of this fic so you're welcome lol mwah <3

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It had been one week and three days since the couch incident, which is what you’ve lovingly taken to calling whatever happened between you and Mike. One week and three whole days of Mike dancing around you and the elephant in the room.

The morning after the couch incident he practically ran out the door taking Abby to school when you tried to bring it up. The next time you attempted to have “the talk” he stuttered out an excuse before retreating to the safety of his bedroom, so you gave up.

You know that there’s something between Mike and you that crosses the line of just friends, you both felt something change that night, but getting him to face his feelings and actually admit that will take work.

It's another night of sitting on Mike's couch mulling over what to do about the whole situation when you hear the front door open. You're shocked at first, usually you're asleep by the time Mike gets home. Sure enough when you check the clock it reads 6:33 in bulky red characters. Apparently, time flies when you're obsessing over how to get your friend turned complicated-accidental-one-night-stand to admit they have feelings for you.

You try (and fail) not to listen in on every move Mike makes in the kitchen, fighting to keeping your gaze trained on the TV as he makes his way to the living room.

In your eyes peripheral vision you see him begin to make his way to the couch, but he hesitates when his eyes fall on you. He awkwardly hovers between the two rooms for a few seconds until he takes a breath and walks over to the couch.

Mike sits next to you on the couch with a soft grunt. You wrestle with the need to look at him fully, but you can see out of the corner of your eye he's taken off his work boots and vest. His hair is sticking out at weird angles, curls frizzy and unruly. Your hand twitches against your thigh with the want to run your fingers through them.

You can feel your heart beat faster, struggling to sit still in the thick tension surrounding the two of you. You flick your eyes back to the TV in a vain attempt to focus on anything other than Mike.

Eventually, you lose the fight with your screaming inner monologue and chance a sideways glace in his direction. You're beyond surprised to find him already looking at you.

You stare back, a deer caught in headlights. The dim light coming from the TV highlights his eyes. Mike opens his mouth to seemingly break the silence but he stops himself short of actually speaking. You can see him fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt.

It’s silent for a beat before you decide to speak up.

“Hi.” You say, it's a whisper but you might have well just yelled with how it cuts into the air between the two of you. Mike lets out what might be laugh, it sounds forced. "Hi." He replies stiffly.

"Home later than usual." You point out, fidgeting with your nail. Mike's home a little after 6: everyday, him being home 30 minutes late is odd.

Mike nods, he lets his head fall onto the back of the couch allowing his eyes to slip closed as he does. "Yeah," He replies, the position of his head allows you to get your greedy fill of his sharp jawline. "Jobs been hell."

You don't respond, but you know. Mike's been haggard recently, and not just because of the couch incident. The bags under his eyes have gotten worse, he's been forgetful, not to mention how much more neurotic and paranoid he's been.

Mike has been a wreck these past couple of days, and you want nothing more than to help him feel good. If not for just a few minutes.

You take a chance, and move to let your hand rest over his jean clad thigh. Mike tenses up immediately but doesn’t move to run or push your hand off.

"I could help you,” You say quietly, forcing yourself to keep eye contact. Mike's wide eyes flit rapidly between your eyes and lips. “Help you relax…” You trail off, voice barely above a whisper.

Your offer hangs heavy in the silence that settles. Mike just stares at you, after a while you start to regret making such a bold move. There’s an apology’s on the tip of your tongue, but when you start taking your hand off Mikes thigh he quickly grabs your wrist.

Your eyes snap back up to meet Mikes. His pupils are blown out, black encompassing warm brown. His tongue comes out to swipe across his bottom lip.

“You can...” Mike says simply, guiding your hand back to his thigh. Only he places it much higher up, high enough that you can feel the rough metal of his zipper brushing against the tip of your pinkie. "I need it." He breathes out desperately, eyes big and pleading. You allow yourself a second to just watch Mikes face before you start to move with a purpose.

You snake your hand lower, finding the already hard length of his cock through the rough material of his jeans. Mirroring what he did to you those ten days ago, you start to grind the heel of your hand against him.

Mike shudders, eyes fluttering shut at your touch. You can physically see tension slowly exit his body, leaving him slack and relaxed enough to sink deeper into the couch cushions.

The sight of him at ease and comfortable lights a fire in you. You feel a deep primal need to care for him, to make him feel good.

Patience wearing thin, you reach for the button of his jeans. Even in your arousal induced haste, you take a beat to appreciate the swell of Mike's cock pressing up against the denim. If this was any other time, you'd want to draw it out. To tease Mike until he can't take it anymore, but now is not any other time.

You pop the button to Mike's jeans, dragging the zipper down swiftly and pulling the flaps of his jeans open to frame his lewdly tented boxers. You can hear Mikes breath hitch, unable to keep from squirming under your intense gaze. The thin material leaves nothing to the imagination, the length and girth of him on display. There's a growing wet patch near the tip that's turned the light blue fabric dark and slick. An ache starts deep in your core, anticipation making you feel warm all over.

Slowly, you tug his boxers down enough for his cock to spring free and smack up against his stomach. "Ah! Shit," He hisses, hands balling up into fists by his sides.

Mike's dick is perfect. A nice length and girth you know will have your jaw aching in the best way later. The tip a soft pink color, and steadily leaking a stream of pre-come.

"I want to blow you," You say softly, getting close to Mike so your lips brush over his ear with every word. He shivers, mouth dropping open in a quiet moan. "Will you let me?"

Mike nods his head frantically. "Please," He pants, chest rising and falling quickly. "Please, I want it."

His begging is music to your ears.

You slide off the couch, kneeling between Mike's spread thighs. His straining cock makes your mouth water in anticipation. Holding the base in your hand, you lean forward to lick a board stripe from root to tip. Moaning at the heady taste and velvety feel of him on your tongue.

"God." Mike groans at the feel of your tongue.

You pull off with a slick pop, breaking a small thread of saliva trailing from the head of Mike's dick to your lips with your tongue. You lave over the tip, looking up to find Mike staring at you flushed and dark-eyed. You keep the eye contact as you sink back down, beginning to build up a rhythm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mike raise his hands before hesitating, and dropping them back down to the couch cushion. You can tell he wants to touch you, but he’s unsure of himself. You take his hands in yours, and place them on the top of your head.

At first he just sort of holds your head, overthinking what to do even with your permission. You’d laugh if you weren’t so busy preening over the feel of his unfairly big hands holding your head delicately, like he might break you.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Mike whispers, his words trailing off as he watches your lips work over his throbbing cock. His confidence grows, finally allowing himself to run his fingers through your hair and gather it in a loose fistful. Your moan of encouragement has him tightening his grip just a touch.

“Jesus,” Mike breathes quietly, you give him a lick underneath the head of his cock in response. "Fuck. Feels so good.”

You hum in response, working Mike's cock faster to draw out more of those whimpers that he can't hold in. Hollowing your cheeks and sinking down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slick slurping sounds.

Mike's noises have gotten progressively louder by the second, you can feel his pulse beating wildly against your tongue through the vein running up his cock. You know he's close, and you're desperate to make him come.

You give him one long languid suck, swirling your tongue over the head as you pull off. His cock is slick with your spit, pulsing warningly. You use the wetness of your saliva as a makeshift lube to start stroking over him slowly.

"How's it feel, Mike?" You purr sensually,

When you sink back down, you don't break eye contact. Mike's eyes roll back into his head, the way his lips part on a sharp gasp, how his back arches off the couch, how his fist tightens even more around your hair.

Above you, Mike grunts, "Oh fuck, baby," His back arches, a rough gasp torn from his throat. The hand in your hair tugs sharply as he chokes out, "Gonna come, shit, gonna fucking come."

Mike shouts hoarsely, hips stuttering as he starts to come. His cock gives one final twitch in your mouth before he pumps load after load of warm come into your mouth. You moan loudly at the taste of his release coating your taste buds, swallowing what pools on your tongue routinely.

You continue to work your mouth over his cock, bringing Mike through the aftershocks of his orgasm, reveling in the broken sounds he keeps making. You lave your tongue over him savoring the taste of him, until he's tugging at your hair to pull you off his sensitive cock.

"C'mere, c'mere." He whines desperately. You’ve barely come up for air before Mike is bodily dragging you into his lap and kissing you like he needs it more than air.

His hand darts down your body and into your sweats. Mike moans in your mouth at the feel of your lacy panties absolutely soaked with your arousal. He wastes no time in finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over it with his thumb drawing a loud moan from your lips.

"Shit," You exclaim, nails digging into Mike's forearm. Your hips buck up into his touch, chasing his touch. "Mike..." You whine, needing him to do more.

"You drive me fucking crazy," He whispers roughly against the side of your face, sliding his pointer finger through the slick wetness of your folds. "I can't stop thinking about you."

“Oh god, Mike.” His fingers feel amazing, rubbing you in all the right places, his words lighting a fire in your stomach.

Mike gathers your wetness before pushing his thick middle finger in your tight heat. Your own moan gets drowned out by his guttural groan at the feeling of you clenching down on his finger.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He moans, thrusting his finger in and out of your aching pussy slowly. "You're so perfect, so perfect for me." Mikes lips trail kisses down your jaw as he adds a second finger into your dripping pussy, brushing against the spot inside you that sends white hot sparks of pleasure zinging up your spine.

"How's that feel?" He asks roughly, throwing your earlier teasing back in your face. You moan wantonly, hips moving grinding down as you ride his fingers in earnest.

Mike angles his hand in a way that lets his fingers thrust into you, hitting your g-spot all while the palm of his hand grinds into your clit

“I’m gonna come, Mike,” You whine desperately, hips stuttering as you tip over the edge. “I’m coming.”

"Yes, come for me." Mike whispers, lips brushing over your cheek.

Your chest heaves as you come down from your orgasm, collapsing against Mikes chest. You're an absolute mess, thighs shaking and sweat dripping down your back. A hiss escapes your mouth as Mike eases his fingers out of your twitching pussy. "Sorry." He whispers softly, kissing the top of your head tenderly.

You allow yourself to lay on his chest with his strong arms around your waist, keeping you close. So close you can feel his warm breath puffing out against your neck.

You don't want to let it, but reality sets in. "Are you gonna run away in the morning?" Your voice is so quiet you don't know if Mike even heard, and you can't force yourself to look up at him.

It takes him a second to register your words, you don't have to look at him to know he's wincing. "I," Mike starts, trying to find the right words. "I don't know." He admits, lips brushing against your hair.

The anger mixed with shame and embarrassment is quick to come, you scoff pushing off Mike's chest so you can go home. "Of course." You spit bitterly.

"Wait!" He rushes out, arms tightening on your waist to stop you leaving.

"What?" You bite out bitterly, whipping your head around to stare daggers at Mike. It backfires on you almost immediately, forcing you to stare into his big sad dumb eyes. He falters, mouth opening and closing as he fumbles to say anything.

You can't help that the look in his eyes tames your anger ever so slightly. The way he's silently pleading with you to stay, his brows drawn in concern and lips pulled down in a frown. Your steely resolve crumbles pathetically.

"What?" You repeat quietly. Mike flounders for a second more, before he finally gives in. "Please stay." He exhales softly, hands planting themselves on your hips, giving them a light squeeze..

Maybe it's your shitty resolve, maybe it's the post orgasm afterglow clouding your judgement, maybe it's the earnest look in Mike's eyes that keeps you from pushing out of his grip and out the door, but you just can't bring yourself to leave.

You stare back at him wrestling with your thoughts, but it's a losing game and you know that.

"Okay," You whisper slowly, settling yourself back down into his lap. "I'll stay."

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i could NOT figure out how to end this, but maybe i could do a part three? would literally anyone want that?

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @mfdxz @mikeschmidtgf @lee-inthebox @sunny-deary @ncqari

extra taglist!

@ballorawan740 @slasherluvrrr @importantgalaxyrunaway @iwantsleepplz @theaterhoefornewsies

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

Text

05 — enchanted

summary: “please don’t be in love with someone else”/“please don’t have somebody waiting on you.” pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, no use of (Y/N) warnings: alcohol (reader gets drunk lmfao), jealousy, slight miscommunication, austin (aka: bartender girl from s4), special mention to special people wc: 4.9k a/n: everyone say thank you @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH ilyvm zara <33 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Although you haven’t been a part of the BAU for more than one year, it didn’t stop you from maintaining the connections that you had in all your years of working there. Sure, the scheduling times could be better, but that didn’t stop the team from spending their rare day off to spend time with you. After all, the adjustment of seeing you every day to once in a blue moon was a difficult one to make.

O’Keefe’s has been the main victim of the team’s shenanigans, its doors open for the seven members of law enforcement, all eager to get their hands on some well earned rest and relaxation. Drinks are passed around the booth and you can’t help but laugh as you watch Derek get his ‘groove thang on’ with a few girls in the bar. Today is one of the rare occasions when the team didn’t have a case, an even rarer day when the team didn’t have to take on any new or incoming cases.

“How’s life treating you?” Emily asks cheerfully, sipping at her strawberry daiquiri. You gather that tonight is one of those nights.

You smile, sipping at your own beverage of choice. “Good! Way less stressful than working at the BAU, that’s for sure. And the hours are good, too.”

JJ snorts from beside you. “Yeah, well, can’t say I’m not jealous. How’re the kids?”

“I can’t say much because of confidentiality and all that, but they’re doing well. A lot better, thank goodness but it just goes to show the aftermath of the things that you guys deal with. I mean, I still think about all the victims we’ve helped and it sucks that we can’t do anything to help them further.” You finish your tangent with a long sip of your drink before leaning back against the booth. “Anyway, how are you guys?”

Penelope comes shuffling past carrying a series of cocktails, her absolutely monstrous platform heels not aiding her in her slightly tipsy task. “Do not even get me started on work. No work! None! We’re having a fun day. Ergo, no work talk.”

You laugh in response, moving to the side to allow her room to sit in the booth. “No, Penny, you’re right. No work talk.”

The drinks are dispersed and your gaze shifts to where Spencer is standing, laughing awkwardly as he tries to follow along to Derek’s dancing and socialising. He looks incredibly out of place in his brown argyle sweater vest, navy tie and freshly pressed slacks, and he pulls at the collar of his shirt.

“Nah, Spencer could definitely be a ladies’ man if he plays his cards right. And I mean that literally,” Emily says, bringing you out of your daydream.

Your head snaps in her direction, trying to calm your facial features and microexpressions. Regardless of your attempts, after a year of not practising, you don’t do as well as you hope. “What?”

JJ grins at you, her eyes lighting up knowingly. “We’re just talking about who’s the biggest hotshot in the BAU.”

“Wouldn’t that be David?” You ask meekly, your finger swirling along the edge of your glass. You had met David Rossi on occasion, once by accident when you were having a night out with the girls and the other during a proper introduction two weeks later. “Didn’t he have, like, five wives?”

“I had three thank you very much,” Rossi intervenes swiftly, holding his glass of whisky on ice.

“Sorry, my bad,” you respond jokingly, snickering as he shakes his head and stalks over to where Hotch is sitting and drinking his rum.

Penelope lets out a loud laugh. “I think we’re forgetting the obvious: our very own Chocolate Thunder.”

“Well, fine,” Emily drawls, waving a hand dismissively, “but Spencer has that innocent vibe to him, y’know? The kind of guy women go crazy over.”

JJ clicks her fingers in remembrance. “Didn’t a bunch of prostitutes try to pick him up in that one case?”

“What?” You ask again, albeit a little shrilly as you try to dismiss the surprise in your tone.

“He didn’t take them,” Emily says quickly in an attempt to ease your discomfort. “But he did pick up a girl a few months ago. Austin?”

Penelope nods at that, putting down her cup. “Oooh, yes! I remember her. He showed me a picture. She’s pretty.”

“I mean, he did pick up Lila too.” JJ reminds the team, shooting you a sly smile. “You remember her, don’t you?”

You force out a laugh and bite the inside of your cheek in the process. “Yeah. Who’s Austin?”

“I think I still have a picture!” Penelope says, brandishing her phone from her coat pocket. She types something in before sliding it in your direction. “Pretty, right?”

Austin is certainly pretty, even in the uncoordinated selfie Penelope shows you of her and Spencer. He’s slightly out of frame, his lips set into a sweet smile while Austin practically glows. Her brilliant green eyes flash in the camera and her dark hair frames her face perfectly. She and Spencer are close in the photo, with him holding the phone clumsily and she has a hand on his arm.

“Uh huh,” you murmur distractedly, averting your gaze from the photo as an ugly feeling creeps into your chest. “Really pretty.”

Emily looks at you curiously. “You didn’t know about her?”

You shrug in response, the smile on your face insincere. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about Spencer.”

The group exchange a couple glances at your tell-tale body language, watching as you scoot past Penelope and out of the booth, making your way to the bar. You’re all too grateful for a reprieve from the teasing as you order another drink and take a seat, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. Your mind goes through all the interactions you’ve had with Spencer over the years. Were you really that foolish to think that he would feel that way for you? Maybe you were reading too much into it, you try to reason, running your fingers through your once styled hair. Maybe, in some stupid and twisted way, all of Spencer’s interactions were platonic.

You scoff inwardly to yourself. Right. Because picking someone up at two o’clock in the morning is entirely platonic. Sleeping in the same bed as someone because of nightmares is totally normal between friends. In any case, you could have sworn that he–

“Trouble in paradise?”

An unfamiliar voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin, and you turn to the man who takes a seat beside you. “Uh… something like that.”

The man hums, a smile on his handsome features. His dark brown hair is fluffy and, in its own charming little way, suits him. He reminds you a lot of Spencer, with the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles along with the timbre of his voice. He’s also very different to Spencer, especially with his sweater that has a bright orange pumpkin on it, paired with a matching orange scarf. A pair of red tinted sunglasses hang on the neckline of his sweater, and you doubt that it would do much good to block the sun.

“I’m Matthias,” he says good naturedly, beaming. “I’m with my sister, Laura,” he explains, gesturing to a lady sporting dyed auburn coloured hair, and she waves with a matching smile.

You introduce yourself, pointing to the booth. “My friends are over there.”

Matthias nods, undeterred by your company on the other side of the bar. “Let me buy you a drink.”

***

After what felt like hours of dancing (it was really only fifteen minutes), Spencer and Derek make their way to rejoin the group. The feeling of sweat matting his skin is one of many reasons as to why Spencer hates dancing. That, and the fact that there were far too many people on the dancefloor. What’s worse is the fact that he’s sure that none of them have ever heard of the word ‘deodorant’. He cringes at the thought of all the germs that could be festering on his skin as he sits at the booth, his eyes shifting to wear your bag lays haphazardly on the red cushions.

“Where is she?” He asks instantly, turning to Emily and placing your bag so that it’s in a safer and less hazardous position.

She hums, pointing in the bar’s direction. “Getting a drink. She’s just cooling off.”

“Cooling off?” Spencer echoes, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean she’s ‘cooling off’?”

Penelope offers an apologetic smile, fiddling with the buttons on her coat. “We… might have told her about Austin?”

“You what?” Spencer can barely believe his ears as he looks at the group incredulously. “Why would you do that?”

“We didn’t mean anything bad by it,” JJ says hastily. “We didn’t think she’d react like that.”

“React like what?” Spencer’s voice is strangely stern, his eyes narrowing as he turns to the rest of the team. “I don’t like Austin. She’s nice but I don’t like her.”

Derek’s brows lift in surprise and confusion. “Did you go out with her after the case?”

Spencer’s ears burn in embarrassment and he turns to his friend in offence. “I asked her for help. I don’t like Austin like that. I needed advice.”

“Advice,” Emily repeats, turning in the direction of the bar. “You mean about…?”

Spencer doesn’t stay long enough to head the rest of Emily’s sentence or to answer it, making his way over to you are. Part of him wishes that he stayed put, especially when he sees what you’re doing. In an instant, his nose is scrunched up in distaste as he spies the random stranger chatting you up. His eyes lock with yours and he relishes in the way they light up as you wave him over.

“Hi,” he breathes, standing beside you.

“Hi!” You gush, beaming at him. “Saw you on the dancefloor.”

“You’ll never see it again,” he says honestly, stealing a sip of your drink. It tastes like vodka and the strawberry lipgloss you use (he only know what it tastes like because of its very on the nose packaging: a giant strawberry. He wishes he knew for other reasons).

You laugh, bright and loud, before you gasp excitedly. “Oh, Spencer, this is Matthias! He’s been keeping me company.” Then, you lean closer to him, your voice a very exaggerated whisper as if the person you’re talking about isn’t in the seat next to you as you tell Spencer, “he’s a director.”

Matthias waves off the statement, chuckling along. “Nothing famous though.”

“He’s a liar,” you tell Spencer enthusiastically. “Did you know he went to New York University? Crazy, right? Like, the school of arts or something. Oh! And he’s also from Vegas! You two are so alike.”

Spencer nods half-heartedly as he tells you, “you know, I went to MIT and CalTech.”

“Well I know that, silly!” You say with a drunken laugh, poking at his cheek. You turn to Matthias with a proud grin before reaching for a shot. “Spencer’s a genius. He’s a super smart genius.”

“That’s what ‘genius’ means, angel,” Spencer reminds gently, prying the little cup away from you. “No more. You’re drunk and we don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Your face falls and your lips curl into a frown. “But Spencer I’m thirsty!”

“You have water in your bag,” he prompts, squeezing your shoulder and helping you off the barstool, not paying this Matthias person any mind. “Okay? Let’s go back to the others.”

You nod eagerly, stumbling a little as you wave goodbye. “Bye, Matthias!”

“Uh huh,” Spencer dismisses, leading you back to the table by the small of your back. He leans a little closer to murmur in your ear, “why did you leave the others?”

You shrug dismissively, leaning into his side. “Doesn’t matter.”

“No, angel, it does,” he says carefully, “tell me?”

You huff in your own clumsy drunken way. “You should ask Austin. Or go pick someone else up. Emily says you’re turning into a ‘ladies’ man’.”

Spencer resists the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. “I don’t like Austin,” he tells you in earnest, holding you close to his side as you stumble back to the booth. “I mean it, angel.”

“Bet you call everyone angel,” you grumble under your breath. “Bet you let everyone call you ‘Walter’ too.”

“No,” Spencer says immediately, a hand on your waist. “I only call you that. Besides, why would I let someone call me by my middle name if it isn’t you?”

You huff again, slumping in the booth as Penelope shuffles inward to give you more room. Your arms cross over your chest in annoyance and frustration and you turn away from Spencer’s direction. He doesn’t need to be a profiler to know that you’re pissed off at him. Somewhere in your hazy drunk mind, you’ve made it out as him being the bad guy.

Spencer shoots the other girls a pointed glare, gesturing at you as if to say ‘This is your fault’ because, in reality, it is. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t be mad at him. If they didn’t mention Austin, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself drunk with some random guy who went to New York University. Spencer mocks Matthias in his head. Stupid Matthias and his stupidly good hair. Spencer runs a hand through his own growing locks, grimacing when he realises that it reaches his shoulders now. Maybe he should get a haircut later.

“Angel,” Spencer tries again, kneeling down next to your chair. “Let’s get you home, alright? Please don’t be mad at me?”

You mutter something incoherent, not bothering to look in his direction.

“I’m not in love with Austin,” he tells you, his tone a mix of firmness and gentleness. “Really, I’m not. We’re just friends, angel, I promise.”

“Liar,” you mutter under your breath as you get out of the booth. JJ guiltily passes you your bag and you take it out of her hands as Spencer grips your arm with one hand, the other on the small of your back.

“Not a lie,” Spencer says, walking you to his car. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this. Not after Lila.”

“Lie-la,” you say bitterly as you get into the passenger seat. “Stupid actress.”

He laughs at that, getting behind the wheel. “Yeah, angel. Stupid actress.”

“You kissed her in a pool,” you continue as you fumble drunkenly with the buckle of the seatbelt. “You don’t kiss me in the pool.”

Spencer’s cheeks burn at your words as he puts your seatbelt on, his fingers grazing yours. “It never came up. Besides, I hate pools, you know that.”

“Germ-y,” you respond knowingly, a silly giddy smile on your face. “I know you the best.”

“Exactly,” he hums as starts the car, his words flowing smoothly as he considers how drunk you are. There’s no way you’d remember this, right? “Why would I find another girl when I have you who knows me best?”

Your cheeks glow with pride at his words and you laugh. “Exactly.”

***

It’s late. Far too late and you toss and turn in bed. Your eyes are heavy but your brain won’t shut up, swirling with the memories of the previous night. You’re not really sure what happened after you got to the bar, only remembering snippets of the night. The entire time was a blur: you remember getting upset at the girls (or rather, at the information they were feeding you), meeting someone– Mason? Matthew? You can’t even remember– and then downing three shots. It’s awfully stupid of you, yes but then somehow you got home safe and sound with a note on your kitchen counter from Spencer.

You felt a little silly upon the finding of the note. Of course Spencer would take you home; it’s not like the girls were particularly sober by the time you wanted to leave. Regardless, reading the note made you feel incredibly stupid, more stupid than usual, and you wanted nothing more than to bury yourself six feet underground.

‘Hi angel,’ it read in Spencer’s messy scrawl with chaotic lettering and swirly g’s. ‘You’re probably really hungover right now so there’s a Tylenol on the counter and a sandwich in the fridge. Please drink water; I’m sure you’re also severely dehydrated from the alcohol. I know you’re upset at me but please just forget about what the others said about Austin. I don’t like her like that. Be safe and call me when you wake up.’

The note was fine, nothing out of the ordinary, just Spencer being his usual ridiculously lovely self. You didn’t mind that he took care of you, either. It’s more-so the fact that you genuinely could barely remember what you said that him. You’re betting on it being something exceedingly dumb (you’re making a habit of it, much to your own chagrin), especially considering how much you had to drink that night. Maybe you should start abstaining from drinking from now on, especially if Spencer was in the vicinity.

The note is now pinned securely to your cork board, a pretty lavender thumb tack holding it in place. Your gaze drifts to it for a moment then to your clock and you groan into your pillow. This is dumb. Sleep is dumb. Your clock blinks with the numbers ‘02:01’ in red mocking letters and you resist the urge to scream. After blindly searching for your phone, you step out of bed while rubbing your eyes.

The lingering question keeps you up as you pace back and forth beside you bed. If Spencer doesn’t like Austin, who does he like? It can’t be Lila. You would have known if they kept in contact. Then again, you had no idea who Austin was so who knows what secrets Spencer is keeping? What if there was another girl? What if your entire friendship with Spencer was exactly that– friendship. You slap the palm of your hand to your forehead. Were you really that stupid?

It’s in that moment when your phone begins to ring. The tune plays through the room and you know it all too well; the Doctor Who theme song that you spent a whopping two dollars and thirty-seven cents on to add it as the custom ringtone for Spencer.

“Hello…?” You answer quietly, your voice choking. “Walter?”

“Angel,” he murmurs, and you can hear shuffling in the background. “Why are you still awake?”

You hum, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I could ask you the same question.”

He laughs quietly on the other side of the line, scratchy from the lack of sleep. “Can I come over?”

“Always.”

He hangs up after that and you press the pads of your fingers into the corners of your eyes again. You’re exhausted, far too exhausted to be hosting guests, but this is Spencer. How can you ever say no to him? So, instead of sulking around and spending far too long doing nothing, you fashion yourself a cup of tea and flick the lights on. The book you were reading is thrown haphazardly onto the cushions of your couch but you can’t bring yourself to pick it up.

The jiggling of the door handle brings you out of your little mood, and Spencer lets himself in with the key you gave him, locking it securely and taking his shoes off to reveal his sock choice of the day: one bright green and the other in fuchsia with buttercup yellow spots. He’s wearing a crinkly white t-shirt that hangs over his gangly frame and grey sweatpants. For something so basic, he looks absolutely criminal in it. You pinch yourself as punishment for thinking such a thing.

“Hey,” he breathes, sitting next to you. He runs his fingers through his hair, frowning a little. “Do you think I should get it cut?”

You laugh, almost spilling your tea. “You came to my apartment at two in the morning to ask what I think about your hair?”

“Yes,” he agrees before laughing, “no! Of course not. I just thought of it.”

A hum leaves your lips as you curl a strand of his hair around your finger. “I like long hair on you. Besides, you’d look good in any hair cut.”

Spencer preens at your words, enjoying the feel of your touch in his hair. “You’re a liar. I know what I looked like four years ago. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not!” You insist, beaming at him as you poke his cheek. “You were really cute back then. Like a baby.”

He flushes again at both the compliment and the contact, his mind committing the way you say ‘baby’ to memory. He thinks it again and again; baby, baby, baby.

“I was not a baby,” He tells you, half in jest. “I’m older than you!”

“By a year,” you quip, the sleep deprivation making your head go loopy. “Barely. Doesn’t matter, you’re still baby.”

Spencer scoffs lightly, poking your side. “If I’m a baby, what does that make you? A foetus? A zygote?”

You let out a quiet scream in protest, whacking him over the head with a throw pillow. “Ew, Spencer what the hell?”

He snickers in response, shielding his face with his forearm. “If I’m a baby and you’re younger than me, you must be at an earlier stage of development. So? Which is it, are you a foetus or a zygote? C’mon, angel, you passed eighth grade biology.”

“You’re an ass,” you chastise jokingly, rolling your eyes as you look up at him. Sometime amidst the commotion he must have gotten closer to you. Your noses are almost touching and your breath hitches in your throat.

He smiles sweetly, his own cheeks warm and flushed with embarrassment as he maintains eye contact. “I thought I was ‘baby’.”

What the hell? Is this really Spencer Reid? Silly, awkward, nerdy little Spencer Reid? This must be a very convincing body suit and an even more convincing voice altering machine because this is not Spencer Reid. You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks and ears so quickly that it’s enough to make you go dizzy. Maybe you’re a lot more sleep deprived than you thought.

“Are you drunk?” You croak out meekly as he cages you in, his forearms on either side of your head as he leans you against the couch.

He laughs– he has the actual audacity to laugh– and he shakes his head. “No, angel, I’m not drunk. You know I don’t drink enough to actually get drunk. Besides, I drove here.”

“You drove here,” you repeat, a little dazed from how close he is. “It’s two in the morning.”

“Almost three now but yes,” Spencer agrees, smiling.

“You hate driving,” you remind him, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Especially at night.”

He hums in agreement. “I do. But I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

You kick yourself internally. ‘Oh’? Who the hell says ‘Oh’? This is it. Your life is over. Maybe you should move to another state. Change your name, shave your head, and get a different degree because you’re almost certain that it’s the end of the line for you.

Spencer lets out a soft chuckle. “I missed you.”

“You saw me two days ago?” You say it like a question and you suddenly feel yourself sweating. It definitely got hotter in here.

He murmurs your name, his fingers grazing the skin of your jaw gently. “I’m so glad I met you.”

“I ran into you four years ago and almost gave myself a concussion,” you say, averting your gaze as you tried to calm yourself down.

“I’m so glad I met you,” he repeats softly, his nose brushing against your cheek. “Look at me, angel.”

You wet your bottom lip nervously as you look at him, his hazel eyes a little greener in the low light of your apartment. His legs are on either side of your hips and he brushes his thumb against your chin.

“I want to kiss you,” Spencer says lowly, albeit a little breathlessly, and you can hear hoarseness in his words. “Can I?”

You’re dead. You’re either dead or asleep, that is the only explanation you have for this entire situation. You’re either dead and in heaven or asleep and dreaming. It is that plain and simple.

“What?” You croak out, your nails digging into the skin of your thighs.

“I know you wanted to do it in a pool but I’m pretty sure your apartment gym is closed now, angel,” Spencer says, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “Can I kiss you?”

The only thing you can manage to do is nod, your eyes flickering to his lips for a split second, watching as the corners of his mouth tug upwards. Your brain barely has any time to comprehend the words he said (since when did you say that you wanted to kiss him in the pool?) because in a rush of confidence, Spencer cups your face and presses his lips to yours in a tantalisingly slow kiss. His eyes are closed and his hands are eerily soft, the gentleness in which he holds you reminiscent of one holding porcelain.

He pulls away after a moment, his cheeks burning and a smile on his face. You can’t even breathe as you just stare at him, lips parted in surprise. What do you even say to that?

“Thank you?” You manage to stutter out, heat creeping up your neck.

He laughs again, breathless and beautiful, as he kisses the side of your face. “You’re welcome.”

Spencer brushes an eyelash from your cheek, beaming at you as he does. “It’s late,” he tells you, getting up from the couch and freeing your limbs. “You should get some rest.”

“Uh huh,” you respond, your head spinning. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he says back, trying to hold in a laugh. “I’m free next Friday. Do you want to go out?”

“Go out?” You echo, “we always go out.”

“I know.” He smiles at you again as he makes his way to the door. “I meant– you know. We can go out.”

A beat passes and your head is awfully slow, whether from the kiss or from the sleep deprivation, you’re not entirely sure. “We can go out.”

“Great.” He pauses, taking a step towards you before kissing your cheek. “I’ll text you.”

“You’ll–” you gape at him again as he opens your door to leave. “You hate texting.”

He nods, slipping on his shoes. “I also hate driving at night. Your point?”

“Right,” you murmur, more to yourself than anything. “Text me when you get home?”

“Of course I will, angel,” he promises, “get some rest.”

Get some rest? How the hell are you supposed to get some rest after all that? With one last wave, Spencer leaves your apartment, leaving you hoping that this wasn’t just some thing. Maybe this was the very first page of your story– a very embarrassing start to your story. There is one thing for certain though: Spencer is not in love with someone else.

***

It’s a Tuesday when Penelope calls you. You had just finished up with a client when your phone begins to ring.

“Penny!” You gush, unable to stop the smile from stretching onto your face. “I am stupid, I said ‘thank you’? Who the hell says thank you after someone kisses you?”

“Who kissed you?” Penelope asks, and if you weren’t so caught up in your own tangent you would have noticed that she sounded tearful.

“Spencer did!” You exclaim, slapping a hand to your forehead. “He’s sitting there and he looks amazing and he smells really good and I am stupid.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Penelope says quickly, and you can imagine her waving her fluffy pen around. “He kissed you and you said thank you?”

“Yes.”

“Well that was very polite of you,” she says, trying to sound happy before her voice cracks.

You frown immediately, taking a seat in the wheelie chair in your office. “Penny? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“It’s about Spencer,” she says woefully, sniffling. “He wanted me to tell you something. It’s not looking good, honey, but– but he wanted me to give you a message.”

“Penny–” You stop short when you hear Spencer’s voice. It’s a recording from his phone, and you can only really tell because of the crackling audio on the other side of the line.

“Is it on?” Spencer asks before clearing his throat. He sounds breathless, his words breaking off at some parts and you know that it’s not from the bad audio quality. “Hey, angel, it’s me, Spenc– Walter. It’s your Walter. If you’re getting this then something happened and I just wanted you to know that– that I love you. I didn’t get the chance to tell you that before but I do. I love you and I wish it didn’t turn out like this but I am– I am so glad that we had that moment.”

Through the recording you can hear a shuffle, like the sound of a sliding door being opened, along with a quiet, “Prep the victim for transfer,” before the recording cuts out, leaving you with Penelope on the line.

She calls your name quietly, choking on her words. “Are you okay?”

You hang up.

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mind-intheclouds342 · 2 months ago

Text

Do it for them - Co-captain reader x Curly

Previous - Part 11 - Next

Anya: "Are you sure you want him to accompany you?"

You watched Daisuke, who was excitedly putting on his spacesuit with Swansea's help.

"It's a walk of less than 20 meters, I'll be by his side, I want to give the child the experience."

You smiled at her, putting on your helmet, ready to enter the departure lounge with the boy.

You all had finally arrived.

Upon opening the hatch, the ship was connected to the Pony Express station, having to take a short walk to enter it.

"Daisuke, can you hear me? Don't stay away from me."

Daisuke: "I hear you loud and clear, captain... Woah... This is amazing..."

He murmured with his eyes reflecting the stars of the universe and walking behind you.

You entered the access code you had, and the doors slowly opened, allowing them to enter.

After passing the gravity adjustment zone, you took off your suits for a moment to have greater mobility and comfort to call for rescue.

Daisuke: "Huh, they also have thousands of posters with Polly here."

"Don't stay too far from me, okay? Here we are fine, but this place is huge, I don't want you to get lost or break anything."

You indicated the way to the control room so you could communicate with Pony Express.

A candy vending machine had caught Daisuke's attention, who smiled and headed over to get some treats.

You get inside the room once you found it, looking for the signal that communicated with the station on Earth.

"Co-Captain (Y/n) of the Tulpar speaking, can anyone hear me?"

You spoke into the radio, hoping for a response from the other side, which you got.

"Co-captain, did you had any trouble?"

You almost cried when you heard the voice on the other end, but you kept your composure to respond.

"The Tulpar crashed into an asteroid, we have no way to pilot the ship ourselves, the autopilot directed us here after we were diverted by the impact. Captain Curly has been very badly injured after the crash. We await rescue at station 27-4-33. We have a crew member removed for violating the Pony Express behavior rules."

You sighed with a smile as you said that.

"We received the information about the crash, the cockpit technology alerted us, and a bad practice was made, you caused the crash yourselves."

"...We need a rescue at station 27-4-33"

You repeated it, ignoring what he said, as it didn't seem relevant to you at that moment.

"They will be deducted for all the damages caused to the ship, their salaries will be revoked."

"Do whatever you want with that money! We need you to send a rescue, damn it!"

You were already getting frustrated with the monotonous voice on the other end.

"A rescue ship will be sent to you, it will arrive at the station in about three months, along with a specialized sector for the person who needs to be reprimanded, hold on there. Is the load still intact?"

You were ready to insult them again, but you chose to keep your comments to yourself.

"...No, the cargo has been opened, two boxes have been emptied..."

"That will also be deducted from your crew. Later, we will clarify the individuals responsible for each incident to deduct from the appropriate person. Thank you for your honesty and patience, Co-Captain (Y/n)"

You ended the transmission, not wanting to hear anything more of what he had to say to you, you couldn't believe he cared more about the material damage than the crew.

"Now... All that's left is to wait..."

You moved side to side in the swivel chair, looking at the ceiling, thinking about what was going to happen next.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you heard a loud bang coming from the hallway.

You immediately got up from your seat and ran towards the noise, to find Daisuke with his arm stuck in the vending machine.

"...Daisuke..."

Daisuke: "It didn't give me my toffees!... Can you help me?"

He smiled at you somewhat embarrassed as he said that, you furrowed your brow for a moment and then laughed a little.

"There's no other option but to amputate your arm."

You found his terrified face amusing at your words, but soon you calmed him down to slowly help him pull his arm out of that machine.

Daisuke: "My toffees..."

You looked at the machine, the candy he had selected was stuck, you took a few steps to move away from there.

Daisuke thought they were going back to the ship, until he saw you running towards the machine and you gave it a good kick, breaking the glass that protected the candy.

"Grab as many as you can, we can take them in the suitcase to the ship."

You pointed to a suitcase that was used to carry things from the station to the ship in space.

"I'll look for medicine and bandages, Curly needs a change... I hope their wounds haven't gotten infected... We have been reusing his bandages...

You shook your head, wanting to rid yourself of the bad thoughts, ready to go get the medicine, while Daisuke was happy eating the treat he had chosen.

#do it for them mouthwashing #mouthwash #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #mouthwashing x reader #curly mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #captain curly #daisuke mouthwashing #swansea mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly

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euphemiaamillais · 1 year ago

Note

omg!! i love the idea of sej and coryo being your roommates ✊🏼could you write the reader sending them spicy pics or vids to them while they’re in class?? whatever comes next is up to you <33

mdni | sej and coryo as your roommates (with benefits)

cw: 18+//suggestive videos&photos//fingering//mentions of sex

since you’d dumped your boyfriend and threesomes became a regular occurrence for you all, you found yourself growing increasingly needy throughout the day. while you were on leave from uni, the boys were still attending almost daily, much to your annoyance.

but you found your way of teasing them; and you found when they came home they didn’t even bother putting their things down before one of them was burying their cock inside of you, or kissing their way up your thigh to eat you out.

10:42 am

you: can’t stop thinking about last night :(

sej: yeah?

you: i’m so wet at the thought of you taking me like that again sej

you smirked as you pressed send on a photo of your fingers delving into your pussy, and waited for sejanus to reply. while you were waiting, you began typing a message to coryo. he was harder to get to, often not responding to your texts (but god forbid if he did text you that you took more than 5 seconds to respond).

you: i bet you’re hard right now thinking about how well i took your cock last night

no response, but you were surprised that sejanus had sent you a video, and when you opened the message, he’d left a small caption.

sej: couldn’t help myself

the video made your core burn. sejanus was locked in a bathroom stall, hand gripping his thick cock as he rubbed his length up and down. he was groaning with no shame, and you could see his face contorting with pleasure. he was muttering something about wanting to make you choke on his cock when he got home.

you couldn’t help but bring your fingers to your bare cunt, and you began to rub softly at your achy clit. deciding that you wanted to be courteous and send a video back, you began to film yourself, the sounds of your whimpers echoing against the walls of your room.

you pressed send, but saw that you’d accidentally added coryo to the conversation. he still hadn’t responded to your original text, but there was a time stamp that read ‘seen 10:53’ which made your lips curl up into a frown.

you: need you to fill me up later

coryo: such a fucking slut sending that to me in class. you’re so desperate, aren’t you?

your heart flutters as you see his response, and watch as two typing bubbles pop up on the screen, both boys clearly now vying for which one gets your attention. you can’t believe your eyes when you receive a photo of coryo playing with his cock, hand gripping the base, his long length dripping a little with precum.

sej: you gonna be good for us when we get home?

you: maybe.

you go back to rubbing at your clit, fingers delving in and out of your slickness at the same time as you bring yourself to your conclusion. you need them so bad, and you’re frustrated that they’re not here to help you right now.

coryo: bet you’re fucking yourself right now, aren’t you?

when you don’t respond, too distracted by the image of coryo’s hard cock in his hand, and the video of sej jerking himself off playing in the back of your mind, coryo continues to send taunting texts.

coryo: you know your fingers can’t make you cum as good as we can, princess

sej: gonna fuck you so good when i get home

coryo: oh, i don’t think she deserves it if she’s going to tease us so much.

you feel yourself gush around your fingers, body brimming with desire. warmth pools between your thighs, but you’re left feeling a little empty, wishing one of your boys—or both of them—could’ve helped you out.

when you glance down at the texts, you frown, irked by coryo’s cruelty. he liked to think he could make you cum the hardest out of him, sej, and your own fingers, and when he found you not using his cock or tongue to get off, he always sought to punish you for it.

you: please :(

coryo: oh look, she’s finally replying. too busy wishing it was my cock inside of you?

sej: don’t be so cruel coryo, you know she can’t help that we’re not home

coryo: and yet she can’t be a good girl and wait until we come home to fuck her

coryo: too obsessed with our cocks, huh?

you: please come home soon. need you guys to fill me up

sej: gonna put my cock in your pretty little mouth when i get there ;)

coryo: at least let me bend her over and teach her a lesson, sej. sluts don’t get to cum until i’m satisfied that they’ve learned not to touch themselves without us there

you sigh at coryo’s domineering nature; but your thighs tingle at the thought of him shoving your face into the mattress as he pounds into you.

you: i can’t wait much longer :(

sej: hold on baby, i’ll be home soon

coryo: remember sej, she doesn’t get to cum until i say so

you: you guys are soooo mean ;(

you put your phone down and let out a heavy sigh. the boys loved to tease you, it bordered on cruelty at times, but you still took their cocks willingly each time, and always came back begging for more. who knew that having two hot roommates would come with so many benefits.

that afternoon, they made true on their promises and fucked your cunt full of their cum until you were practically begging to get off yourself. finally, after what seemed like hours of torture, coryo made you cum with his tongue, giving you sloppy head when he was satisfied that you’d learned your lesson.

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months ago

Note

Hii i’m not sure if you’re taking requests or not but if you areeee

Can you write smth about Ford x reader where they obviously got a crush on each other (but they dont confess they’re shyly dumb) but the crush got bigger bc reader decides to peck Ford on the cheek as a “Thank you” bc he helped them with smth, yanno yanno :33

Ps: I really really love your writing waaa keep up the good work!!

The crush you harbour on Ford and him on you was the least subtle thing ever, everyone could see the way you looked at each other as though the other hung the stars in the sky; you were both smitten kittens but were too scared to admit it for one reason or another.

You didn’t know when exactly you started having a crush on Ford, you merely assumed that was always the case ever since you met the man with the beautiful brown eyes, and you were perfectly content with that but what you weren’t content with was how everyone wanted you to confess.

‘He doesn’t like me like that, I’m not sure he likes anyone within a romantic aspect.’ You’d use as your excuse whenever anyone brings up the fact that you had yet to bear your heart to Ford.

‘Then you haven’t seen the way he looks at you.’ They’d respond and you could only look at them as though they’ve grown a second head. However they spoke the truth as Ford was equally as infatuated with you and would find himself pushing back the work he didn’t think required all his attention, all in favour of spending time with you whether it be star gazing or anomaly hunting.

Ford couldn’t remember the last time he felt light on his feet, head in the clouds and as though he was thirty years younger then he actually was and it was all thanks to you. While he wants to confess he found himself unable to do so when he looked into your eyes and found everything he could ever wish for within them; only to end up speechless as your eyes flickered with multiple emotions at once as he remained stood still as a statue, staring at you with a fondness within his eyes as you spoke random things to fill the silence.

This half attempts to confess -or lack there of an attempt- was enough to annoy the people close to you both as Stanley wants to put his head through a wall, Dipper vowed to himself to never be this bad and Mabel was on the verge of screaming at you both to kiss and get it over with at this point; the slow burn was killing her with how hesitant or chocked up you both become in each others presence.

They just wanted you two to cut the bullshit and start being a couple, solely just to make up for the months they’ve all have to suffer from seeing you both obviously pine for one another.

So currently you and Ford were looking for a so called ‘flying pig that may or may not be waddles parent or ancestor’ as Mabel had said to you both that very morning. So when Ford asked dipper if this was true, you swore you’ve never seen a boy sweat as much as Dipper did when he tried his hardest to convince you both that such a creature exists within the woods; you and Ford shared a look that spoke your unwillingness to believe, before agreeing to go out and look for this flying pig that may or may not be waddles’s ancestor.

‘Even if this flying pig is waddles’s ancestor, wouldn’t waddles also have wings by that logic?’ You asked.

‘Not necessarily my dear as the wings could be a hereditary trait that can skip multiple generations and appear in someone later down the line.’ Ford replied as he pushed up his glasses that were slipping down his nose, ‘however even I have to admit that this flying pig phenomena being real is slim to none despite everything else we’ve encountered here.’ He adds and you couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Then the billboard should read as this: Gravity falls, we’ve got everything to satisfy a diehard supernatural fanatic, just no flying pigs.’ You said in a goofy voice as you playfully nudge Ford in the side as he smiled softly, looking at you and feeling his heart become full; but before he could say anything a demonic squeal echoed throughout the forest causing you both to stop just as the birds stopped chirping.

Ford instinctively stood in front of you protectively as you tried to deduct where the blood curdling squeal came from. ‘What was that?’ You whispered my resting your chin on Ford’s shoulder as he reached for the gun at his hip upon instinct.

‘No clue dearest but I believe we might’ve found our anomaly.’ Ford replied lowly for only you to hear, only for the sound of wings beating filled your ears as a plump silhouette of a winged creature could be seen from a distance. You couldn’t help stop yourself from commenting ‘that could be a thousand things before it could be a flying pig-‘ just before you could finish the sentence the plump silhouette must’ve spotted you as it started flying towards you both at high speed; it was downright frighting.

‘FLYING PIG!’ You screamed the moment the figure got close enough to identify as both yourself and Ford ran began to run away from it as fast as your legs could carry you. ‘And here I thought Mabel had eating too much of that edible glitter and hallucinated.’ You added as Ford quickly took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers as he pulled you with him to hide behind a random tree, pulling you in close to his chest where you could hear his heart against your ear.

The demonic flying pig flew past you and it was them did you notice how massive those wings were for a creature that was of the same size of an average adult pig, but still it was scary to see a pig with teeth as sharp as razors; what was even more scary was the fact that pigs would eat anything and everything. You cuddled up closer to Ford instinctively as he held you close in order to comfort you. ‘It’s okay my dear, it’s gone now.’ He whispered against your head, kissing it as his hands rubbed up and down your back. ‘It must’ve gotten mad that we were within its territory and felt the need to scare us off.’

‘Well consider this officially scared off.’ You muttered against his turtlenecks finding the honest comfort and protection within his scent as you allowed it to invade your senses.

‘We’ll go back home and forget that we were almost flying pig food and watch some movies while drinking hot chocolate. How does that sound my dear?’ Ford asked and before his brain could comprehend what had happened, you had kissed his cheek and Ford felt his cheeks blossom with heat and his eyes widened.

‘That sounds perfect as long as I’m with you to do all of that of course.’ You replied softly as you looked at Ford with a soft, almost pleading expression and Ford felt his resolve crumble to dust as he averts his gaze from you.

‘I would love nothing more my dear.’ He admits and you were quick to clutch his hand in yours and drag him from your hiding place and begin your walk back to the shack, all the while keeping your wits about you in regards to one flying demon pig. ‘Then it’s a date!’ You exclaimed as you could hear Ford choke on nothing behind you, which only made you smile.

You’ll tell Mabel that you didn’t see a flying pig, but got a date out of trying to make up for the disappointment.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanford pines x you #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #stanford pines x reader #ford pines x you #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader

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ln4bub · 10 months ago

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39. we’re not just friends and you know it with max x teammate!best friend! reader. please and thank you!

A/N time for some Max appreciation besties <3

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Max was starting to think he was the most readable person on earth, with every single member of the paddock seemingly pointing out how obvious his crush on you was.

"Dude, your eyes are literally always on them." Daniel laughs, nudging Max with his elbow as they walk. Max feels a blush rise to his cheeks, "Are they? I haven't noticed." He mutters, his eyes glued to your figure as you talk to GP in the Red Bull garage. Daniel shakes his head, following Max's eye line to meet the shape of you, now waving at your best friend. Max breaks out in a large grin, waving back at you before speeding up to join you sooner.

"He's so obvious." Charles says, rolling his eyes at his childhood rival. "We need to get involved." Daniel states, "Let him know that we all know, and to make a goddamn move already before someone else does." Charles nods in agreement, "I'll let Carlos know the plan."

Daniel smiles, "Perfect, he'll tell Lando and then Lando will tell everyone."

"I'll tell everyone what?" Lando asks, appearing from nowhere. "That Max is in love with Y/N." Charles explains, watching Max interact with you. "Oh been there, done that. I told everyone like two weeks ago, catch up guys." Lando explains, leaving the two smirking that their plan was apparently already in action.

It's a week later when Lando brings the subject up to Max. They're out playing padel, and you're sat on a bench with a book, soaking up the sun and attempting to ignore the yells of Lando and Alex. Lando and Max are stood by the net, casually chatting whilst George and Alex get some water. "So, do you like Y/N or something?" He asks, head tilted at Max as he fumbles his words trying to respond.

"Why would you think that? Me and Y/N? What? How could you think that?" He blurts, hand scratching the back of his neck as he avoids eye contact with Lando, eyes glancing over to you to make sure you're not listening. "You keep staring at her like you're in love with her man, all heart-eyes and gross." Lando explains, causing Max to scoff out a nervous laugh as George and Alex rejoin them.

"Are you talking about Y/N?" Alex asks, smiling when Max gets impossibly more flustered. "So you can all tell then?" Max asks, nervousness overtaking his tone. "Yes, you look at her like she created the universe," George says, "And also you look like you want to kill us whenever we speak to her." He concludes, eyebrows raising at Max in an accusatory manner.

"I need to tell her don't I?" He asks, a resounding yes coming from the group.

The thought of telling you how he felt was eating Max up inside, making him cold and distant towards you. Every weekend you could be you were in the Red Bull garage, a large 33 sprawled across your back as you cheered him on. Max barely acknowledge you during these weekends, instead insisting that he's not happy with the performance of the car and needs to focus on being faster. You roll your eyes, "Sure, you've won 8 races in a row but you need the car to be faster. I'm not stupid Max." You tell him before leaving the paddock without him and heading back to the hotel.

Max sits in the garage glumly after you leave, cowering away from the disappointed head shakes that Daniel sends his way after he sees you leave. He doesn't register anything until he finds himself outside your hotel door, hand raised ready to knock. Before he can make contact with the wood of the door it swings open, revealing his very mad best friend, you.

"I know you're mad at me, please let me in and I can explain." Max grovels, eyes wide with sadness as he pleads for you to humour him. You say nothing, stepping aside and letting him walk in, his shoulders visibly relaxing at your kindness. You sit on the edge of your hotel bed, watching as Max paces the room. You want to stand and help him, bury yourself in his chest until he calms down but you need him to explain himself.

"Did I do something?" You ask quietly, Max halting in his movements. "No, no Y/n you could never do anything." He says, standing in front of you. His hand rests under your chin, tilting your head towards him. He stares down at you, an unrecognisable glint in his eye.

"Then why have you been so distant with me Max? I just- I can't do this." You explain, eyebrows crinkling in worry. "Do what?" He asks, thumb swiping gently back and forth against your chin as he forces you to look at him. "I can't lose my best friend." Max's eyes close at your words, jaw clenching. "That word." He murmurs, frustration seeping into his tone, "I hate that word."

"What word? Lose?" You ask, confusion growing by the minute. Max takes a deep breath, "Friend." He tells you, your heart dropping at his words.

"We're not just friends, and you know it." He explains, "You know that you are the greatest thing to ever happen to me, my support system. Yes, you are my best friend, of course you are. I could never picture my life without you by my side, but that's not because you're my best friend. It's because I'm in love with you."

Your eyes widen at his words, smile creeping over your lips. "I knew telling Lando would work." You laugh, "He can't keep his mouth shut." Max looks at you in confusion, "What do you mean?"

"I told Lando how much I liked you, how much I loved you, and he told me to leave to him, clearly whatever he did worked." You smile, watching as Max mirrors the same smile. "You're lucky I love you, je nachtmerrie." You giggle at his words, "Say it again." You request, voice dropping to a whisper as Max leans in.

"I love you schatje."

His pillowy lips meet yours in a gentle kiss, your stomach churning with pleasure as you slip your hand behind his neck. He follows your lead, deepening the kiss and swirling his tongue with your own. You surrender yourself to him, allowing his tongue to dominate your own as he leans toward you. He breaks his lips from yours before attaching them to your neck, sucking and biting as he explores your body.

You feel the vibrations of his soft groans against your skin, relishing in the fact that he can finally touch you the way he's always wanted. "Been waiting so long for this dropje, can I do everything I've been thinking of?" He asks, kneeling down in front of you as his hands slide under your hoodie. You nod, smiling at your best friend as he lifts your hoodie. He licks his lip, trapping at between his teeth with a muted groan as he sees the lack of bra underneath your clothes.

"So pretty, my god." He mutters, lips meeting the soft skin in between your breasts before traveling over the mounds. His large hands encompass your chest, kneading and squeezing your tits as his tongue swirls around your nipples. You whimper at the feeling, expressing your pleasure with a hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to continue. Your nipples are hard from a combination of his tongue and the cool air circulating the room, your back arching at the tingly pleasure shooting down your spine.

His lips trail down your stomach, leaving a wet line cooled by the breeze, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. Max's fingers edge into the band of your shorts, tugging them down. He groans at the lack of underwear there too, evidence that you had showered when you got back from the track. Max places kisses on your inner thighs, smirking when your muscles clench at the feeling of his lips. He admires the way your pussy glistens under the light of your lamp, the sheen of wetness making his mouth water.

He licks his lips before hovering closer to your core, the tickle of his breath causing your walls to clench around nothing. Max groans at the movement, "Are you desperate schatje?" You whine at his question, bucking your hips toward his face.

"Please Max, need you."

He smirks at your whiny tone before flattening his tongue against your pussy, using the muscle to split open your folds. He moans against you at the taste, his tongue swirling around your clit. You watch as he pulls his face away, a string of your juices connecting his lips to you. His eyes have darkened beyond recognition, lust clouding his senses. Max dives back in, tongue flicking and sucking every inch that it can reach.

He pays attention to what makes you moan louder, what makes your walls clench and your thighs tighten around his head. He's certain that he could die a happy man between your legs, drowning in the sweet juices that coat his tongue. He seals his lips around your clit, sloppily slurping and sucking as you squirm above him. The tip of his finger swirls around your wetness, soaked now in both arousal and spit just like Max's chin.

He feels the way your pussy jumps at his touch, slipping his finger in gently, curling it up against your g-spot. The moan you let out his heaven to Max's ears, his cock throbbing in his jeans as he seeks friction for the ache.

"Fuck Max, you're gonna make me cum." You whine, hand raking through Max's hair as you pray he never stops. He groans louder at the force of your hand against his head, doubling his efforts until all that can be heard in the room are your moans and the wet sounds of his tongue between your legs. He flicks his tongue as fast as he can, ignoring the burn in his jaw and the need to breathe as he gets smothered by your thighs. He's rewarded when your orgasm hits, flooding his tongue with the taste of you as your hips flinch in sensitivity.

Max stands from the bed, quickly ridding himself of his clothes. In your hazy state you still manage to admire him, the thickness of his thighs, the bulging muscles in his arms, his toned stomach. But it's the soft smile on his face that you can't help but reciprocate that sends butterflies floating in your tummy and a shiver down your spine.

He clambers back onto the bed, leaning on his elbows above you. Max's lips slot against your own, the faint taste of your cum making its way into your mouth with every swirl of his tongue. Your soft hand wraps around the base of his cock, slowly sliding up before swiping your thumb over the weeping tip. You bring your thumb up to your mouth, sucking it into your mouth and relishing in the salty taste of his precum.

Max's eyes widen at the sight, practically whimpering at the realisation his biggest wet dream is coming true. "You're amazing," he utters, voice thick with desire. "Please tell me I can fuck you schatje, I need to feel you." You barely grace him with a verbal answer, grasping his cock and guiding him towards your entrance.

He thrusts himself forward, his thick tip stretching your walls. Your back arches at the mixture of pleasure and pain, eyes fluttering shut. Max's head drops down to your shoulder, body shuddering with a groan as he feels the warmth of your pussy.

"I've wanted this for so long, dreamt of it so many times," He whispers against your skin, sucking a purple mark as he bottoms out. Your walls encase him like a vice, his eyes practically rolling with every slow grind of his cock into your pussy. Your legs wrap around his hips, encouraging his deep strokes, nails scratching against his muscular shoulders.

You're surrounded by Max, his scent clings to you as he fills you up, feeling him in the depths of your stomach with each thrust. You slip your hand between the two of you, rubbing against your swollen clit as the wet noises of your pussy echo through the room. Max frowns at the feeling of your hand bumping his stomach.

He leans back from his position crouched over the top of you, knocking your hand from your pussy and making you whine. "Max please." You beg, desperate to cum one more time.

"I know, I know, but you have me know you don't need to do that." He explains, splaying his large hand across your stomach, his thumb dipping down to swipe against your clit. His rhythm increases, thrusting harder and faster into you, your arousal spilling out around his cock. "Cum for me schatje come on, not gonna stop until you do." Max mutters, hitting that spot inside you with every drag of his hips.

Your jaw drops and your eyes roll as your orgasm washes over your body, goosebumps covering your skin in its wake. Max barely lasts long enough to prolong your orgasm before he pulls out, stroking his cock until white ropes of cum splash over your stomach. He groans with each pulse, his arm dropping as he struggles to hold himself up.

He slips off the bed, returning with a towel from the bathroom to clean you up. He sidles up next to you, bundling you up in his arms, encasing you in his warmth.

"I love you, always have." He whispers, assuming your deep breaths as a sign of sleep, a smile gracing his face as you cuddle deeper into him.

Thanks for the help, is the text Lando receives before Max goes to sleep

No problem, heard it went well for you, is the reply Max sees when he wakes up.

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