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bunny-lily · 5 months

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Tether Me - Chapter 1

Pairing(s): Geto/Gojo/Reader

Summary: “Jesus!” You shrieked and jumped with all the elegance of a newborn fawn, spinning on your heel to find a head of blindingly white hair and pearly canines equally as eye-burning greeting you through a wide grin. Though you couldn’t see the man's eyes behind those curiously round shades of his, you could picture how his cheeks crinkled his hidden hues at the corners.

If any of the Greek or Roman gods were real, he’d outshine every one of them without breaking a sweat.

AN: no particular additional warnings for this chapter. I'll add new warnings for any chapters that might require them (for example, nsfw)

Ch: Prologue | Ch: 1 | Ch: 2 | Ch: 3 | Ch: 4 | Ch: 5 - 1 | Ch: 5 - 2

WC: 15.3k

Seeing your new…home in the unforgiving glare of daytime made you realize that the realtor spent more time photoshopping the box of danger to make it appear appealing than actually selling it. Gave it to the first poor buyer that bit the bait and dashed off.

Said poor buyer was you. Apparently.

A rickety bamboo fence, chipped and scratched by god knows what, wrapped loosely around your property, the pathetic poles clinging to life by threads about as strong as spider silk. Quite the sad barrier. Honestly, you had no idea how it managed to remain upright this long at all.

The description on the site you found it on was very, very vague with anything regarding the building. Even with your prodding, the most you generally got was “well, nobody died in it, and it’s still standing.”

Good enough for you, clearly, considering you slapped the Sold! sign on the damn listing yourself maybe 30 minutes and a glass of wine (or three) after finding the soggy, depressing shack.

Granny was right. This thing was a damn mess. It should have been condemned ages ago.

You couldn’t decide if it was bigger or smaller than you expected. Somewhat disproportionate was the best way you could put it. The terrain surrounding it was much more expansive than the photos showed, the boundaries only sort of marked out by the aforementioned sad barrier. It was considerably isolated, which you weren’t really complaining about, but you noted way too late that taking care of all that overgrown grass was going to be a nightmare on your back. Arms, too. Every part of your body, honestly.

The building itself had certainly seen better days, such as the day it was built, and perhaps the day after, if you were being generous. The agent was very shifty about exact details, but in his defense, this place was basically in the Bumfuck Middle of Nowhere, Japan, in likely one of the smallest countryside villages there was in the whole country.

You were also substantially intoxicated and ready to put down your life savings on anything.

Thankfully, you didn’t have to go that far, but you truly underestimated the scope of this ‘project’. The entire plot needed a fresh splash of paint at minimum. Ideally, you needed to shear the lawn of all those super pretty weeds that you were very tempted to just leave as is because they were so pretty, mhm, would be an absolute shame to get rid of them.

You’d need to clear out the stone path leading from the fence gate to your front door that you quite literally stumbled over last night. Or just toss the stones altogether, because fuck those things and whoever put them there.

The outer walls needed a good scrubbing, and another, and one more for good measure. Quite a few shingles on the roof showed signs of being ready to split your skull open with only a wayward breeze needed to push them off the edge. The hinges creaked horribly on every part of the building, enough so that you were certain the entire village would’ve been awoken by you tripping over yourself to get into the house had you not been a decent 10 or so minute walk from the closest cottage.

And all of this was just what was outside.

That fence, ugly little shit that it was, was either going to become your worst nightmare, or a begrudging friend.

You noted with mild interest that your house resembled western abodes more than Japanese ones.

Maybe if you kept the place rundown, people wouldn’t think to stop by your place unannounced. Ah, what a delight that would be. If you were lucky, nobody knew the property had been sold yet. If you were extra lucky, you could get your shopping done (plus whatever other errands you couldn’t do from home) by keeping your head down, and none would be the wiser to your existence.

Aside from Granny, of course. Kinda hard to hide from that woman now that she’d given you food off her own back. You needed to do something in return, but you set that on the back burner for now.

The interior required basically everything to be fixed up, that was non-negotiable. You refused to sleep on crusty wood floors and old tatami that had long since been glued to the surface beneath with gods know what. At the very least, you needed to somehow clean the floor. Preferably, mend the walls, plug any holes, get the pipes functioning if they weren’t already, and a whole other fuckin’ list of soul crushing deeds that needed completion.

Furniture, while questionably not a necessity for survival, was definitely a need for you. If only so you had something to sleep on other than the basically flat, nylon bag laid out in the corner of the room you gracelessly snored within.

But how?

You planted your hands on your hips and exhaled through your nose. “I wonder if Amazon ships to this place…”

A pipe dream, certainly; but, gods, would it make your life so much easier.

You could try to build your own furniture, but you trusted running with scissors more than you trusted your own potential handiwork. Which meant repairing the house itself on your own was likely a very bad idea.

“Ah, fuck,” you hissed as you realized the other shit you’d need to do aside from creating an actual proper space to live. “I’ll have to learn how to sew and garden and fucking carpent and everything…”

You groaned as you pictured every task that awaited you, and subsequently buried your face in your hands. Maybe you should have just torn the whole fucking thing down, bought a plastic shed from the nearest city, dragged it over, set it up, and called it home sweet home. You didn’t need that much space anyway, right?

“No, can’t regret this now, too late to regret this, you chose this,” your voice was muffled and grit out through clenched teeth. “Made your bed, now sleep in it, idiot.”

“Yeah, kinda dumb choice, if you ask me.”

An unexpected voice originated from behind you, startling the living daylights out of you and shooting your heart straight out of your body.

“Jesus!” You shrieked and jumped with all the elegance of a newborn fawn, spinning on your heel to find a head of blindingly white hair and pearly canines equally as eye-burning greeting you via a wide grin. Though you couldn’t see the man's eyes behind those curiously round shades of his, you could picture how his cheeks crinkled his hidden hues at the corners.

If any of the Greek or Roman gods were real, he’d outshine every one of them without breaking a sweat.

The warming late-spring wind grazed through the fluffy locks of his hair like the delicate touch of a lover’s hands, weaving through the fine strands and carrying his scent to you.

Mixed with the heat of the approaching humid season, you caught faint hints of sweetness, with an underlying minty tone and something you couldn't name. He was too far away for you to pinpoint the exact fragrance, but you had no intention of just skipping right over and shoving your nose against the junction of his neck to get a better whiff.

Or maybe his chest? The way he was slouching made it difficult to gauge his height, but you had a feeling he was a great deal taller than you, and the stout slope you stood on would do you virtually no favors.

The shiver that went up your spine at the thought was promptly ignored.

“Not quite,” the unfairly gorgeous stranger replied with a snicker from where he leaned against the fence, arms slotted between the bamboo sticks. How it held him up without crumbling into dust was a miracle in itself. “But I’m flattered.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you placed your hand against your chest, trying to will the wretched thing to calm down. Handling adrenaline was not your forte, much less from a scare like this. With your eyes narrowed, and only partially because of the accursed brilliance that was coming summer, you glared at the man. He was far too relaxed and cocky for your liking, still sporting that goofy grin that had you feeling things you didn’t want to address now.

Or ever.

“Who are you?” You queried.

“I should be asking you that, pretty girl.”

Your nose wrinkled incredulously. “Pretty girl?”

He chose to overlook your objection, instead nodding towards your house. “Never thought I’d get to witness this shithole get bought by anyone, let alone someone like you. Thought it’d get torn down sooner than have a hundred yen tossed towards it.”

Your eyes rolled. Hard. He wasn’t wrong, it was a shithole, but now it was your shithole. The less reminders about its miserable state of existence you had, the better. “Gee, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Completely against your will, you snorted. He was going to be a wonderful source of entertainment, or he was going to be a thorn in your side, just like the sickly sticks under his arms. The jury was still out on it.

You stared at one another for a few seconds that dragged on too long before you raised a brow. “Weeeell…?” You drew out the word.

His head cocked to the side. “Well?”

“Your name. You never told me who you are.” You knew it was polite to introduce yourself first, but fuck that, he scared the hell out of you. The responsibility was on him.

“Oh, right,” he straightened up, then bent forward with one hand to his chest and the other outstretched sideways in an extravagant bow. “Gojo Satoru, the very one and only. What about you, sweetheart?”

Pet names aside, there was a debate in your mind, an argument between whether you should give the admittedly attractive stranger your real name, or create one on the spot. You had done the latter in your later months of running all over your home country like a chicken without a head under the stupid belief that it'd further separate you from the anxieties clinging to your shins.

You were paranoid. That was easy enough to decipher.

Your conscience had spawned this nerve wracking idea that those you ghosted – from scorned lovers who scarcely got further than kissing you, to the jobs and employers you abandoned suddenly – were after you.

It left you constantly scanning your 6 from over your shoulder with the fear that they’d come chasing you down, eager to dig their claws into your paper-kite flesh and permanently force you down. You could visualize them tearing through your wings, winding layers of rope around your throat and knotting the dangling strings so tightly that not even the sharpest blade could break through the binds, much less let you breathe. So, you frequently lied about your identity as much as you could.

You inhaled slowly through your teeth, not enough to whistle, but enough to ground you. You were on the complete other side of the world, far away from those who would care to snarl and bare their fangs at your heels as they ran faster than you could – if there were any who desired to at all. You were somewhere new, somewhere unfamiliar, a place where nobody knew you, or could possibly know you by any means.

You told not a soul about where you’d gone. You never did. Like ash in the wind, you disappeared faster than anyone could blink, any memory of smoldering embers long forgotten.

Maybe…maybe you were safe to at least slip forth some truth about yourself.

Like most things you did nowadays, you told him your real name on a whim, and hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite you in the ass.

He hummed as he repeated it to you, as if testing it on his tongue, dipping in for a small taste. Then, that stunning grin returned, and your heart fluttered behind your ribs.

You stubbornly stamped your heel down onto it. You didn’t know why it decided to start acting up, but you were not going to entertain it.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he cooed. “What brought you here of all places? So rich you’re bored? Fell for a scam? One of those girly things?”

You scoffed.

“Or maybe you’re running from something.”

The blood in your veins froze over in an instant, your body going rigid as you stared at him. He…he couldn’t have known, right? The way he stated it, rather than asked – like he knew – had you struggling to swallow, to so much as twitch your fingers. There was no way. You– you were nobody, a blank slate, an outsider–

His head cocked to the side playfully, and the spell he had cast on you withered away as quickly as it came.

Finally able to breathe again, you vented out the air you unknowingly held and turned your face slightly away, hoping he didn’t catch your slip-up. “One of those girly things,” you settled, to which he nodded eagerly, as if you just confirmed the existence of a theory of his that ‘girly things’ were real.

Not that he was wholly wrong, technically, as you did have ‘one of those girly things’ urges from time to time. The desire to cut or dye your hair, pick up a new name, rearrange your room, or hop on a plane to the furthest fucking location you could imagine.

“Why’d you choose this…thing then?” Gojo jerked his chin towards the shabby hut.

“It was cheap,” you answered simply.

He bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Where are you staying?”

Your eyelashes fluttered as you blinked at him, your brow knitting. “...Here?”

“...Here.”

“Here.”

There was a brief pause, then he burst into laughter, his arms hugging his stomach. “Oh, god,” he wheezed. Personally, you couldn’t find what was so funny about the situation. “You serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

His finger slipped under the right lens of his glasses, presumably to wipe a tear away as he worked on calming himself down. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Fire flared in your veins as opposed to ice this time. “Hey!”

“I mean, seriously, who in their right mind would stay inside that thing?”

Your lip curled over your teeth in a snarl. “Oi–”

He bulldozed right along, completely ignoring you. “There’s gotta be, like, ghosts in there. Or a shit ton of spiders. Lots of spiders, actually.”

That got your attention. A shudder shot up your back and you squealed in fright, shaking off your hands to rid yourself of the phantom feeling of creepy crawlies on your skin. “Spiders?”

The milky-headed male nodded staidly. “Tons. And, y’know, the other obvious health hazards. I bet there’s asbestos in those walls.”

You opened your mouth to argue that your house had only been abandoned for 20 years, and that asbestos had been cut out of usage some 40 odd years ago, until you remembered that 1) asbestos didn’t immediately go out of use when the dangers were revealed, and 2) you house was abandoned 20 years ago, not built 20 years ago. Who knows how old it actually was?

Given its appearance…

He must’ve seen the panic on your face, because he gave you a piercing smile, an expression you very swiftly understood was one of scheming. “You should come stay with me.”

The world halted around you for the seconds it took your mind to process what he said. “...Hah?”

“I said, you should come stay with me,” Satoru shrugged nonchalantly. “I have spare guest rooms.”

“I– you– stay with– what?”

The grimace he gave your house could only be described as ‘execrating’. “I mean, come on, you’re not really thinking of staying there, are you? You’ll be sending yourself to an early grave like that, you’re too cute to die so soon. Just come stay at my place.”

Was he a murderer?

Your brain finally caught up with a click and you scowled. “Oh, yeah, that’s super safe,” you responded sardonically. “New girl in a new town full of total strangers with who-knows-what motives, lemme just go stay with the first guy that invites me to his home.”

“Come onnnn, you can trust me,” he whined, pouting.

“I literally just met you.”

The ease with which he gave up gave you whiplash, having expected him to keep pushing. “Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “Hey, did you know that your backdoor doesn’t have a lock?”

You paled.

Definitely something a murderer would say.

Your head whipped to gawp at your dwelling with wide eyes, a full on war raging through your head now.

On one hand, yes, he was a complete and total stranger. A hot one, but still an unknown entity who could just be buttering you up. Maybe the reason the house had been abandoned for so long was because anytime a new owner came in, they got snatched up by the handsome boy who invited them just like he invited you, never to be seen again.

He could have been lying about the lock – though it honestly didn’t matter, someone could probably just break through a wall if they pushed hard enough on it.

On the other hand, if he was telling the truth (how did he know that? Why?), he was the only person you knew even a little in this itty bitty isolated village (Granny doesn’t count). Anyone could go through that door at night and there you would be, wrapped up in your shitty, thin sleeping bag, prime kidnapping material. You basically did all the hard work by tying your own limbs right up yourself, easiest catch of the century.

At the very least, you knew Gojo’s name and face. Granted, the first item there was debatable, but he didn’t seem like the type to lie about his name – boast about it, more like. You’d be already acquainted with your would-be assailant, so it’d be nice to know the face of your kidnapper-slash-torturer-slash-killer, if only so you could punch a picture of it over and over in your afterlife, wherever death may take you.

You shifted your gaze to him and crossed an apprehensive arm over your chest, propping your elbow up on it while you pinched your chin in consideration.

There he was, the sly rat, wearing that dumb (cute) (no) grin of his as always, patiently awaiting your answer as if he already knew it. Nothing about him seemed inherently dangerous on the surface, but don’t they say serial killers are charming and charismatic people? He was a bit energetic for a murderer, though.

You weighed your options carefully. You could spend another horrid night in your house with the knowledge that there were likely insects everywhere, and possibly even asbestos in the walls, and who knows what else. You’d have to brush your teeth by using your water tumbler again, and…oh, fuck, you hadn’t even thought about the bathroom yet. How were you going to shower? Wash your face? Do your business?

Then there was your poor excuse of a bed, more plastic than anything even remotely comfy. Same with the pillow, you might as well have been sleeping on the bare ass floor. Your neck ached at the thought. Then there was your food issue, your clothes, your devices…

You sighed.

“What’s the catch?” You questioned reluctantly.

He merely raised his hands in a shrug. “No catch.”

That was way too easy, but the prospect of an actual bed and a tidy (hopefully) homestead was too good to pass up, serial killer owner be damned.

Future you was just getting more and more tasks thrown at her, such as your new objective being to find an inn to live in while you figured out your home issues. And getting a job to afford said inn. But that was for way later, when you weren’t losing your goddamned mind.

“...Fine,” you surrendered. Like a pussy. Weak.

“Yippee!” Satoru cheered, somehow smiling wider. “Good girl, knew ya had a brain somewhere up there.”

Your stomach flip-flopped at the simultaneous praise and insult, confusing your head with emotions (and hormones) that you did not want to unpack. Cheeks reddening rapidly, you hissed at him through a tight jaw, shooing away the kindling something that pooled in your tummy. “You–”

“C’mon,” he interrupted you before you could even start, already turning to leave as he waved his hand over his shoulder, “I’ll show ya the way. Ain’t far from here.”

Flustered, you stuttered indignantly, watching him walk away. You shook your head in defeat and jogged to catch up to him, needing to speed walk to match his ridiculously long strides. “Oi, slow down! You’re too damn tall!”

“You’re just short,” he argued, his hands interlocking as they rested against the back of his head. “Pipsqueak.”

You gasped in offense as if you weren’t at tiddy-sucking height. “I am not a pipsqueak!”

“You totally are,” he purred, treating you like you were some sort of adorable pet. “I bet I could pick you up and throw you if I wanted.”

An unwitting laugh bubbled out of you, and for some reason, you decided to play this frivolous game of his. “I’d like to see you try.”

You immediately regretted it as he reached out for you with a shit-eating expression of absolute delight, making you yelp and race off ahead of him, screeching as he chased right after you.

“Wait, no, don’t!” Your voice rang clear, fright mixed with childlike thrill spreading to your limbs as you scurried down the open road. “I was kidding!”

“Get back here!”

The wind blew past your ears, tangled into your hair, followed the curves of your body as you darted about alongside it. You let it guide you, toy with the fabric of your shirt, cup your face with cool hands. You breathed deeply, and you flew, untethered and free and so overwhelmed.

Somewhere above, beyond the boundless and endless cerulean, a star flickered.

You screamed when you felt his hands pinch your waist, catching Satoru’s devilish gleam as he passed you, and suddenly, you were the one chasing him. He cackled as you tried to catch up to him, taunting you all the way.

Curse his long legs.

You wondered how he managed to keep talking so cleanly and easily while you were struggling to maintain your breath and gait.

All those years of metaphorical running, sadly, did not translate into actual, physical running. Air stung your throat, and you only faintly recognized that you were running after him through the village, more focused on keeping that head of ivory tresses in sight.

Yet, somehow, contrary to how concentrated you were on that task, he managed to slip from your view when he turned a sharp corner and seemingly passed through an invisible barrier of some kind. He had to, because when you turned that same corner just seconds later, he was nowhere to be found.

Slowing your sprint into a trot, then stopping altogether, you bowed over and planted one hand on your knee while the other clutched your side.

“Oh, god,” you groaned, your body aching in several places, both internal and external. “I almost regret skipping gym in school.”

Peeking up through your hair to check around, every part of the street you were on seemed innocuous, normal, without any obvious hiding spots Satoru might have jumped into.

The vertically dominant fucker.

Cautiously, you marched forward, breathing heavily as you took slow steps. The game of cat and mouse had turned into hide-and-seek, and the sucker chose not to warn you. Granted, you would have done the exact same thing, but it was within your right to bitch about it, you were at several disadvantages.

The first alley was clear of anything, even objects. Nothing more than a small gap between two buildings, you doubted he would’ve managed to squeeze in there given how giant he was. Plus, where would he have gone even if he did wiggle into it?

The next alley was the same story. There was more space, but very little within said space, only a couple crates that were too small to hide him. Again, giant.

Everything, you belatedly realized, was completely uncharted territory to you. You should have listened to Granny and explored the village first. But, if you had, maybe you wouldn’t have a real bed to sleep in tonight. Presumably. You were putting too much faith into Gojo being genuine about the bed – and not being a serial killer – otherwise you were sleeping outside.

“Bastard.” The pain in your hip subsided and you righted yourself, inspecting every direction for any indication of white hair. It would be significantly difficult to hide that feature in an area like this, where pretty much everything had a neutral-dark colored theme, and most people had black or brunette hair.

You wondered why he was towheaded. A question for another day.

He was a magician, or trickster, you ruled, rather than acknowledging the fact that he knew this town far better than you did and likely would for a while to come.

Grumbles passed through your lips as you stood akimbo, squinting at everything skeptically. “Where the hell–”

“Boo!”

You swear your soul ascended. You could picture the trail it left behind as it rose into the heavens, pulling with it a choked croak of terror from you. The sound could hardly be considered a shout, you resembled a frog more than you did a goat in the screaming department.

Demented cackling erupted behind you as you leapt forward and clutched your chest, swinging around to glower at the boy in utter disbelief. Twice now he had done this. Twice! Beside yourself, you rushed over towards him and smacked his arm repeatedly, which only fueled his laughter. “Dick!”

“Fuck!” Satoru heaved, reaching his whistle register. “Priceless! Oh, my god, you should have seen your face.”

“I’m gonna kill you!” The threat was far less menacing than you wanted when your own voice was as squeaky as his.

By the time he calmed down, you were both panting – you out of chagrin (and for the sake of your poor heart), and him to get precious oxygen back to his smooth brain.

“I’m serious about that, by the way,” you pouted at him. “I’m gonna kill you for scaring me. Again.”

He beamed at you and reached to pat your head, but was intercepted by your hand, only to dodge around it and manage to get a few head pats in anyway. “Sure you will, sweets.”

You growled and stomped a few steps away, stopped, then whirled back around when you remembered you had no idea where you were going. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and scrutinized you with that stupid, supercilious visage.

“Go on,” he encouraged eagerly. “Ask.”

The inside of your cheek was going to be sore from how much you were chewing it. You were at an impasse; let him win, or try to find his place on your own. With no idea what it looked like. Or what direction to even go.

You imagined you’d have better luck wearing a blindfold if you tried the latter option. Either way, he was going to win, you could acknowledge that. Conceding and requesting his continued guidance meant handing over his victory on a silver platter, or he’d get some decent entertainment out of watching you try to figure out where the hell he lived.

Gods, you were regretting moving here already.

“Show me how to get to your house,” you mumbled.

The tall freak fake-cooed at you. “Aww, come on, you can do better than that.”

If glouting could kill, you would be slow-roasting him over a grill. In the meekest voice you could manage, you muttered, “please.”

“Hmmm?” He canted closer towards you. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

You could feel your sanity draining like sand in an hourglass. Just to get it over with, you spoke properly. “Please show me how to get to your house.”

The jubilant grin he gave you had you reconsidering that blindfold idea you had. “Better! Good girl, come along, now.”

Oh, your insides could just melt.

No, you argued with yourself as you trailed behind him, reluctantly obedient. You are not getting horny over that, you sad sack of potatoes. You’re just pent up. A pretty boy calls you a good girl and you’re a sobbing mess under your pants.

Pathetic.

He whistled a sharp tune as he lazily led you, weaving around the architecture in such a way that you knew you never would have found the damn place on your own – or find your way back, for that matter. He was doing this on purpose to get you confused just to fuck with you, you knew it.

You were placing a lot of stock in him not being a murderer.

“Keep up, shortie,” he waved his fingers over his shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

Taking a (albeit mild) hike up a road traveling up the mountainside was not something you expected nor planned for. Now you were lamenting skipping gym. Not that participating more in exercise over a decade ago would help you currently, but at least you’d be able to believe you were stronger than this.

Satoru watched you with no small amount of amusement as you finally caught up to his still figure, lips curved. “Man, you suck at this.”

“I didn’t exactly study hiking in school,” you grumbled, closing your eyes and breathing deep.

“I’d hardly call a walk ‘hiking’,” he commented, and you wimpishly smacked his arm. “We gotta work on your stamina.”

You could hear the smirk and underlying innuendo without needing to see his stupid, handsome face.

“In your dreams, pretty boy,” you muttered.

“How do you know what I dream about?”

Your eyes popped open to glare at the man as he fluttered his lashes and pressed his fingers to his chest. “You’re a menace,” you scowled, ignoring his faux ‘innocence’ in favor of looking ahead.

And getting the wind utterly knocked out of you.

This grandiose mansion was where he lived?

Balking, you stared up at his house from beneath the arch of the moon gate in front of it, taking in the sheer magnitude and extravagance of it, even from just the outside. A variety of leafy trees, well trimmed bushes, and aromatic flowers decorated it in precise symmetry, each individual blade of grass nipped to preeminence.

There was a garden off to the left, freshly tended to and beautiful with a pond in the center. You couldn’t see what was in it, but you wouldn’t be surprised if koi fish were there as well.

A partially shaded gazebo stood on the other side, right next to a gentle creek that trickled leisurely. A stone table sat in the center, and you could imagine drinking tea in the early morning there, when the sun would hit it at the right angle to warm you up.

The aesthetic was prizewinning; a wonderful, skillful mix between traditional and modern, all incorporated into a house you thought could only exist in one of those style magazines.

How long had it been here? How had it been built so extravagantly? How much did it cost?

All these painfully curious questions, yet, the first thing you thought to say when you opened your mouth…

“You said it was nearby,” you pouted. “This is the other side of town.”

“Eh?” He glanced down at you. “Doesn’t seem that far to me.”

Your index finger flicked the outside of his thigh. “That’s because you’re a walking tree.”

Gojo slapped his thigh in the same spot, beaming at you. “These are good for a lot of things.”

“I’m sure,” the unamused deadpan you gave him had him snickering.

That shit-eating grin was back and he waggled his brows. “I could show you.”

“Pass,” you rolled your eyes, addressing his house instead. “Why is your house so far away from the village? Up the whole ass mountain and everything.”

He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Dunno. It was built here a long time ago. Obviously upgraded over the years, duh, but if I had to guess, it’s because of the hot spring. The rest of the village just built lower down the path for convenience, or they were intimidated by the Gojo name.”

“Hot spring?” You furrowed your brow.

Nonchalant as always, he nodded. “Yeah, there’s a natural hot spring in the backyard.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say you have a hot spring in your backyard?”

Being the rich boy that he was, he cocked his head to the side and spared you an inquisitive peek, as if to say ‘you don’t have one?’ “Yeah? You wanna see?”

“Uh, yes?” You gawked shamelessly.

Satoru grinned and beckoned for you to follow, and you skipped right along behind him, barely managing to remind yourself to hurriedly take off your shoes at the door. You had to force yourself to be careful and line them up neatly. You also used this chance to eye the obviously rich-people footwear. You wouldn’t hesitate to bet that one pair alone was worth more than one of your kidneys.

All worries of him being a potential monster dashed out the window as you let him lead you through the winding halls to a shoji door near the back of his house – you had to guess, you were not paying attention at all. You were too focused on the expensive decor and feeling way out of place.

The scenery that greeted you as soon as the door slid open had you stopping dead in your tracks in shere awe.

He hadn’t been lying, there really was a hot spring in his backyard. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care about his smug expression, mindlessly allowing him to gently push you forward with a hand to the small of your back.

“Close your mouth, you’ll start drooling,” he teased.

Your jaw clicked shut and you shot him a half-hearted glare before your attention returned to the pool of steaming water ahead of you.

The entire area was gorgeous, honestly. Round stone circles created a path along gravel from the engawa to the basin, which was surrounded mostly by rocks with plants growing between cracks and around the base here and there. Massive pines encompassed the entire area, giving you the sensation of safety and protection.

A trail on the side led somewhere else, winding between mounds of perfectly maintained green terra, though that was of insignificant interest to you at the moment.

An instruction was murmured against the shell of your ear, and you wordlessly and thoughtlessly obeyed. “Look up.”

“...Oh.”

High above, between the gaps in the trees, you had a prime view of the sky, spanning across the ring the forest created, deep and wondrous and so…clear. The brightest blue you had ever seen. If the moon got caught just right, exactly in the middle, you believed magic would happen.

The towering pines kept the area shaded and pleasantly cool, and you were swept away by the urge to sink into the hot spring and let everything else fade away.

When you lowered your chin to look at him, you found he was already gazing at you, his grin softened to a small upturn of his lips at the corners. He was just so…divine. Moonflower hair framed his face, cottony and fluffy, and though you couldn’t see his eyes clearly through the indigo tint of his shades, you could feel them. They were piercing, capable of seeing right through your skin and witnessing your heart beating as it stuttered and struggled to regain its footing.

The way he studied you felt so familiar.

An intense watch, pinned directly on you, making the hairs on your nape stand.

You yearned to see his hues without the barrier his dark, round glasses provided, and you wondered if they could rival those of the sky, or the gods’.

“Whatcha think?” He asked silkenly as he leaned forward and tilted his head to be closer to you.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured in response without really thinking, the words flowing out of you without your conscious action. “It’s like a dream.”

You weren’t sure if you meant the eden you were brought to, or the heavenly being beside you. Either way, he smiled radiantly at you and nudged your shoulder lightly with his own.

“Wanna touch it?”

Your lashes fluttered as you tried to come back to yourself and not let your mind wander to places you could not reach. “The hot spring?”

“Mhmm.”

It took a considerable amount of effort to tear your eyes off of him and set them back on the cirque of water hidden beneath mist. Like a siren’s song, you slipped on the outdoor slippers nearby and stepped off the engawa, pacing along the stone path. It was smoother, flush with the terrain, unlike the haphazardous placements of the ones you had at your own home.

The pool was milky, tinted with a rich, capri shade, reminding you instantly of a lagoon, or a salt flat mirroring the zion above that went on as far as the eye could see. A miniscule waterfall trickled placidly from the highest outcropping, following the narrow and shallow path it had carved for itself over countless years.

You resisted the urge to cup it in your hands and drink it like sacred nectar.

At the edge, you knelt down and skimmed the tips of your fingers across the water’s surface. Goosebumps broke out across your arm and you shuddered inadvertently. Heat spread over your palm as steam coiled around you, surrounding you partially in a cocoon of warmth. The temperature bordered on the line between too hot and not enough finely, urging you to crawl beneath the water’s cusp and embrace the cradle of coziness.

“Good, isn’t it?” Gojo startled you as he spoke from where he knelt down next to you. He seemed to be proficient at scaring the shit out of you. This close, you could detect his attar clearly, and the last part of his unique fragrance finally fell into place.

Lemon.

He smelled like sweet lemons and mint.

“Yeah–” you squeaked, and cleared your throat to try again. “Yeah, it’s really nice. Like…perfect, actually.”

He snickered and dipped his hand into the diaphanous liquid, bringing it back up to splash it onto your arm. With a cry of mock offense, you splashed him right back, cracking up as you managed to get a decent scoop into his mouth.

You didn’t know what it was about him. Rightfully, you’d only been aware of each other for less than two hours, but it felt like you’d known him your whole life. The banter flowed easily, the games you hadn’t played since you were so young that you could only vaguely remember, the way he spoke to you, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

No heavy feelings sat on your chest, creaking the brittle bars of your ribcage, filling you with an innate sense of dread and desire to flee and never stop for a second. Nothing of the sort crossed your mind. No rock weighed in the pit of your stomach, no widow’s voice murmured in your ear.

It was just you and him, in a bubble of time where nothing and everything mattered all at once. Every breath you took was meaningless, yet held the weight of the world. Every twitch of his fingers could rest even the weariest souls, or rend the sky apart should he ever care to.

But he didn’t, and neither did you.

This pocket-sized domain of serenity you found yourself in brought forth dormant feelings of ease and comfort.

They didn’t feel like a mask painted on to cover the blooming, spreading bruises under your skin and behind your solar plexus. They didn’t feel like a temporary setup to sate your mind until the panic overwhelmed you all over again.

Rather, they composed a nest of the finest blankets you’d ever touched, let alone slept within. You wanted to crawl in and close your eyes and hibernate, sleep as life passed you by. You wanted to live in this moment forever.

The shoulder of his shirt grew damp where he rubbed his curled lips against it. “Kitty’s got claws, huh?”

“Fangs, too,” your nose scrunched up as you gave him a sly, Cheshire cat smile. “I’ll let you kill me if you let me use your hot spring first.”

“Deal.”

You snorted. “Not even gonna dispute it, huh?”

“I’m assuming the ‘kill’ part is optional here.”

“I won’t push my luck then,” you accepted as you stood up, shaking any excess moisture off your hand. Upon remembering Granny, you pulled out your phone from your purse, tsking at the 47% charge level in the top right corner, then glanced at the time. Midday.

Satoru peeped over your shoulder after he rose up. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”

“Time,” you replied, shooing him away to stop him from being nosy. Not that you really had anything worth hiding.

Most of the pictures on your phone were photos you’d taken of the outside world during your trips, random things that meant something at the time you snapped the pic, but meant absolutely zip now, or blurry images of animals that refused to stay still for you.

“Granny wanted me to explore the town to get more familiar with it, then stop by for lunch,” your phone locked with a click as you stuffed it back in your bag and continued your explanation.

He whistled. “Adopted by Granny, and on your first day, too? That’s impressive, means you’re special.”

“Eh?” Your brows furrowed in confusion. “Why? She seems like she’d be a nice person to everyone.”

He chuckled as you both headed back into his house. “Granny’s a prickly lady. Don’t get me wrong, she cares about everyone in the village,” he reassured you as he let you step in first and slid the door shut behind him, “but mostly in a ‘I-will-throw-my-shoe-at-you’ kind of way.”

“Huh,” that didn’t sound too far off from Granny, given what you knew, but you had also only met her that morning. “She gave me free food and told me she’ll have a list of handymen when I go back today.”

“Wow. She won’t even let me steal a candy bar from her store, and I’ve known her my whole life. Must mean you’re really special.”

“There’s a difference between buying and stealing, Gojo,” pausing in your steps, you frowned as contemplation came over you. “...Do you think she thinks I’m incompetent?”

“Probably.”

“Gojo!” You hissed at his lackadaisical response.

His hands raised in surrender. “Kidding, kidding! I think it just means she likes you. C’mon, I’ll show you around town.”

Following his actions, you tugged your shoes on while you thought aloud. “I didn’t even do anything. Walked around her store like an idiot and nearly ran into her.”

You stepped out of the house behind him, waiting for his response. You had expected him to laugh and indeed confirm that you were an idiot (which would be twice that day, if you were keeping proper track), or come up with another quip to taunt you with, but he was quiet, pondering something.

“You have this…aura about you,” he eventually responded. “You’re different.”

“In what way?” You approached the topic carefully, wondering if that was a good or bad thing.

His shoulders lifted and dropped. “Dunno, I’m not good with words. You’re just different. You’re easy to like.”

The incline down from his house back to the village was easier than going up it, a slow slope that followed a mild curve. The road was smooth, free of cars. Those you had seen were parked along the streets below, and not often used from what you could tell. The walk gave you time to consider his words.

You’d heard them before, but nobody ever clarified how you differed from others. He said you were likable, so you chose to believe he meant it in a good way. You’d try to pry more information out of him at some point to sate your cautious curiosity.

“How long have you been here?” You asked instead to change the topic, then winced, remembering that he mentioned his family had been here for a long time.

“Eh,” he tilted his hand side to side a few times. “Maybe 15 or so years, including my baby years.”

Oh. Turns out you were…wrong?

“You weren’t born here?”

“No, I was,” he corrected. Ah, so you were. “I just spent a few school years in Tokyo before returning not too long ago.” Sort of.

“Oh, I see,” mindlessly, you took his hand when he offered it to help you step over a gap at the bottom of the hill. His palm radiated warmth, one you missed when he pulled away and continued leading you along. “Why’d you come back?”

“Missed home.” Your gaze met his when he shot you a glance from over his shoulder. “What about you, sweets? Where'd ya come from?” Upon your answer, he nodded. “Came a long way to get here, huh?”

It’s probably best if I don’t tell him why I came here. Not yet. Not ever. “You could say that,” you responded, stopping when he did. You were grateful that he didn’t push the topic.

He pointed towards something, and you angled forward to see around his body, listening carefully as he explained what was where as he guided you through the winding streets.

“Doctor lives there,” you raised a brow at the full body shudder he experienced. “She can get scary when she’s mad. Otherwise, chill person.”

“Noted.”

While you were curious about the doctor of this village, you had no intention of meeting her by ending up in her clinic after doing something moronic, like tripping on those stupid stones outside your front door. Or walking in purely to introduce yourself. That’d be weird.

As he pointed out various family homes, stores, and miscellaneous locations, he listed off names you definitely weren't going to remember anytime soon. You found it endearing that he knew everyone and shared some tidbits of gossip with you – “Auntie Furiko lives there and she totally has a grudge against Mirio-san for stealing her man.” – and he even imparted some knowledge about a few historical places and things in the village, such as the bridge over the river having been built some 400-odd years ago.

“It was originally built as a passage that only allowed humans through,” he explained. “Back then, cursed spirits were a common thing, so the founders here created a path that had a sort of invisible wall that cursed spirits and objects couldn't get through. Like a curtain.”

“Huh,” you responded plainly as you examined the bridge. “Couldn't the spirits just go through the river?”

His candytuft hair fluffed as he shook his head. “The veil goes around the entire village, the bridge was just there for convenience's sake,” he cocked his head towards you. “But those are just legends and stories. There's plenty of tales about jujutsu sorcerers that could see the cursed spirits and eradicate them. Some people still believe cursed spirits and sorcerers are a thing, and blame disasters, like earthquakes and tsunamis, on them.”

You raised a curious expression. “Do you believe in that?”

Satoru shrugged. “To me, it’s like believing in ghosts or demons. Even if they are real, there's no way they'd beat me,” of course, he said that last bit with full-bodied, unadulterated confidence. “I'm the best.”

A fond snort escaped you. An egomaniac as a new friend(?), that seemed exactly like the kind of trouble you'd get yourself into.

Your eyes shifted over to peer at the Wayo Kenchiko edifice situated higher up, reminding you of the wonder you felt when you first saw it.

You turned fully towards it and tugged on Gojo’s shirt to draw his attention to it as well, your interest taking precedence as you regarded it. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Hm?” He followed your line of sight. “The temple?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s technically a shrine,” he clarified. “It was built when the settlers first got here, dedicated to the wolves of the mountains.”

You squinted at him. “Wolves?”

He nodded eagerly. You never would have guessed him to be somewhat of a history buff. “Yep. Wolves are like…guardian dogs. They’re long gone now, but way back then, it's said they hunted alongside the settlers. Wolves are seen as messengers for mountain gods, so people would pray to them for safety, good hunts, and good harvests.”

You nodded as you followed along. “So you guys primarily farm here, then?”

“More or less. Though we do get a lot of imported stuff from the neighboring city, like the things in Granny’s store. We do mostly exports there. It’s where a lot of the people in this village work.”

“Really?” You frowned slightly. “Isn’t that city, like…an hour or so from here?”

He acceded and tilted his head to the side. “Yeah, why?”

“Just seems like a far way to go for work.”

Gojo shrugged as he started walking again, leading you further into town. “Keeps our village alive and well. We gotta keep up with the times, ya know?”

“Suppose so,” you acquiesced. “What do you guys farm here?”

“Ehh, rice and soya, I think,” the teasing twist of his lips had you preemptively rolling your eyes. “Surprised you didn’t know that, girlie; moving to a new place you know nothing about seems risky.”

“I didn’t exactly spend my time digging into the dirt of every single person here, y’know.”

He snickered. “I have dirt on everyone. You want some gossip?”

You huffed. “I’d rather meet someone first before you air their dirty laundry to me. I wanna have an unbiased palate.”

“Oh, so you want to meet the people in this lil’ valley of ours?”

“No,” you replied automatically, then pressed your lips tightly together at your minor flub. “I meant– it’s not– I’m just not–”

His boisterous laughter cut you off, simultaneously making your eye twitch and relief flood you.

“Relax, pretty girl,” he patted your head and you scowled. “I’m just teasin’ ya.”

“I’m seriously going to kill you.”

“Cute,” he crooned, and you groaned.

By the time you two walked up to your kind-of-not-really-grandmother’s shop, you were starting to become familiar with this particular section of road. From here, you knew how to get ‘home’, something you were dreading a touch. You weren’t looking forward to seeing the catastrophe that awaited you.

“And this is where I leave you for now,” he stopped with you in front of the store.

You frowned minutely, an uncomfortable pang of disappointment settling in your chest. “You’re not coming in?”

“Nah,” Gojo shook his head. “Got stuff I need to do. I’ll have someone pick you up from your house later, once you get your stuff. Gimme your phone for a sec.”

Your brows knitted together as you pulled out your phone and unlocked it for him. His fingers grazed yours as you passed the device, causing you to shiver at the temperature difference. They were so warm – or maybe your hands were cold. The touch lingered on your skin, your mind clinging to the tiny wisp of sensation.

The screen of your phone coming back into your line of sight brought you back from mildly zoning out. Almost uncertain, you took it back from him and peered at the screen to see what he did.

You snorted.

He set up his own contact in your address book, making it extra flashy and everything, too. ✨❤️Satoru❤️✨ graced your sight, and you couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t the first time he had done this, the flamboyant clown.

“There,” he grinned. “Text me when you’ve got your stuff from your place.”

Stuffing the device back into your purse, your moue returned. “You want me to bring my shit to your house?”

His brow raised in response. “Uh, yeah? Were you just gonna leave it in that drab hut?”

“Well, I just thought I’d get a room at an inn or something tomorrow, so I don’t have to bother you.”

The usually bright expression on Satoru’s face fell somewhat, his voice taking a earnest tone when he said your name. The back of your neck tingled at the chime of your name passing through his lips. “You’re not a bother. Seriously, I have more space than I know what to do with. You can stay at my place as long as you need, I insist.”

His change in demeanor threw you for a loop. There was something lying under the surface of his countenance, hidden under layers of a façade wrapped too tightly around his inner being for you to ever hope to see what was beneath. The switch from goofy to sincere struck you as odd, and while you could have jumped back on the ‘he’s a psycho’ train of thought, his insistence didn’t resemble that of a hunter panicking about losing his prey.

Rather, it stemmed from a genuine offer made out of concern for your wellbeing. Sure, he could have been hiding some intentions (he definitely was), but he did show you the path to his house, convoluted as it was, at least some of its interior, and even the hot spring carved behind it. When you mentioned Granny, he seemed amused, rather than worried, and showed you around these confusing and interesting backwoods.

Thinking about the whole mess you had gotten yourself into, what with buying a house in a province you knew nothing about, and your limited funds, an uneasy heaviness sat in your gut. If he was suggesting an option of solace and shelter while you figured your shit out, you had very few reasons to decline.

A bit too readily, perhaps, you set aside any preconceived notions you had about him being suspicious and nodded. “Alright. Thank you, Gojo.”

“Just Satoru is fine,” that smug visage returned, all earlier signs of sobriety fading as quickly as they came. He turned back towards the way you came from, waving over his shoulder lazily. “See ya later, sweets.”

You spied on him for a while, until he disappeared around a bend, and sighed. Considering everything that happened so far, you surmised you were in way over your head.

The doorbell to Granny’s store pinged a sweet tune as you stepped in, finding the familiar scene nearly untouched from before. The air inside was pleasantly cool compared to outside, encouraging you to relax.

“Granny?” You called out as you stepped further in, glancing down the first aisle. “Are you here?”

“Ah!” The woman you were searching for called out from a separate room, appearing through a door you hadn’t noticed at the back of the store before, carrying a bento box. “Perfect timing, I finished that list for you.”

She beckoned you towards her as she rounded the counter, setting the bento box down on top of it and digging around for something under the tabletop before straightening and holding out a sheet of paper for you to take. Your fingers closed around the yellow notebook sheet and you peered down at the writing.

You silently thanked her for having a neat hand, as you were a tad rusty on your hiragana.

A row of names spanned down the paper, along with numbers next to each one. She had also included their specific occupations, making your life that much easier.

“Those are some folks in this village that can help you out. Unfortunately, most of them work in the city, so I fear you might not be able to fix up your house so soon,” Granny noted solemnly as began untying the beautifully designed furoshiki wrapped around, presumably, your food. “Let me call up a friend to find you a place to stay for the time being.”

“Oh, n-no, it’s fine, Granny!” You raised your hands in front of you. “I actually found somewhere to stay.”

She raised a brow at you. “With whom?”

The nervous laugh you let out was meek and not very reassuring. “I, uh…ran into Gojo Satoru, and he offered to house me. I was gonna find an inn, but…’

A perturbed expression morphed her stern features. “Really? Little Satoru offered to house you?”

Little was a gnarly stretch on her part, considering Satoru easily dwarfed both of you. “Is that bad?”

Granny sighed and shook her head as she finished undoing the cloth. “Not necessarily. He’s a troublemaker, that one, but…well, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him invite someone who isn’t one of his close friends to stay with him before.”

“Huh,” Your lips curled downwards. Were you actually so unique that he treated you differently than others? “He’s a bit…” You fumbled with your words, trying to find the right description. “Dramatic, for lack of a better word, but he showed me around and said he’ll have someone pick me up later.”

Her movements had slowed as she kept her eyes on you while popping open the box, studying you. She grabbed the pair of chopsticks in the lid and held the food towards you, which you took without fuss and with a quick ‘thank you’. The length of silence was beginning to unsettle you, so you tried to cover it by taking a bite of the katsu she prepared for you.

And maybe groaning tacitly because, fuck, was it good. Astounding, otherworldly, you would bet easy money that no 5-star restaurant could compare to Granny’s cooking.

Eventually, she spoke again, albeit puzzling you. “It’s no wonder you caught their attention. You are a beautiful, bright young woman.”

Your chopsticks hovered mid-bite. “‘Their’?”

“Mhmm,” the older lady nodded and tsked fondly as she grabbed a hand towel and wiped down a portion of the already spotless surface under her hands. “There’s two of them.”

A pin could drop in the room and it’d be deafening with the silence created by your shock. “There’s two Gojo’s?”

Her amusement turned into full blown laughter. “No, but there might as well be.” she corrected herself. “Those two are stick at the hip–”

The jingle of the bell over the door and the call of someone cut her off. You turned to watch as an attractive woman with mid-length brunette hair stepped into the room, carrying a box in her arms. Were all the people in this town contemptuously stunning? “Granny, I got the–” she stopped promptly upon seeing you. “You’re new.”

You nodded and your pseudo-grandmother introduced you.

“I see,” the brown-haired girl said with a nod. “Well, nice to meet you. I’m Ieiri Shoko, your local doctor and mortician. Just call me Shoko.”

So, this was the doc– wait, what?

Your eyes widened. “...Mortician?”

“Correct,” Shoko grunted as she dropped the hefty box on the floor with a grunt. “Which means you shouldn’t do something stupid or piss me off unless you want to end up in my morgue.”

Now you had two reasons to fear her, counting Satoru’s warning. “Duly noted.”

Your gaze followed her as she reposed against the nearby wall, crossing her arms over her chest. “When’d you get in?”

“Last night.”

“Helluva place to settle,” she commented. “What brought you here of all options?”

Settle.

I’m not so sure about that.

You chewed another piece of katsu and swallowed before answering. “Population. I’m not a very big people-person.”

A smile lifted her lips and she exhaled through her nose. “You and me both, girl. If you wanna be as far away from mass civilization as possible, this is the best place to be. Second only to going nomad and living in a forest alone like a witch.”

She sighed wistfully, and you had the sneaking suspicion that part of her yearned for that kind of lifestyle. “Looks like you’ve thought about it before.”

“I have, but this town is full of idiots that need me, or they would have died a long time ago.”

“Shoko, be nice,” Granny scolded half-heartedly, though you could spot the amusement in her eyes.

“What? I’m not wrong,” Shoko averred as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

Just as she went to open it, Granny swatted her hands and gave her a scathing glare. “Not inside, Shoko. Really, go outside, at least.”

The doctor/mortician grumbled as she stuffed the box back where it came from, giving Granny a weak stink eye. “Anyways, welcome to this miniature province of ours, girl.”

“Thanks.”

“Mm,” she acknowledged, then began a lecture. “Avoid the west trail that goes past the village boundary and up the mountain. Nothing bad there, just has this weird smell to it. Probably haunted by some shit,” Shoko informed you. “Also muddy half the year. Grandma Ai can and will talk your ear off if you stop for more than a second. Good luck getting away from her if she ever catches you.”

You munched slowly as you listened to her advice intently. In any of the cities you stopped by, there weren’t really any communities – not like this, anyway – so you were fascinated by the dynamics these people displayed.

Yes, you were wary, sure, but learning about the town’s intricately interwoven families and neighbors didn’t mean you were getting close to anyone. If anything, it meant you could avoid attachments.

…Right?

Yes. Right.

“–Wednesday is trash collection day, but you might have to bring your trash closer into town if you’re too far out. Oh, and don’t go to the park on Thursday nights–”

You blinked yourself back into full awareness. Your safe haven the park was off limits now? “Wait, why?”

She humbled you with a deadpan that had you straightening your back, imploring you to obey. “Aoi and her boyfriend like to fuck there on Thursday nights.”

“Tch,” Granny clicked her tongue, glaring at Shoko. “Don’t be so crass. We have a guest.”

“Ah, don’t worry,” you waved off her concern. “I don’t mind. I appreciate the forewarning. Besides,” your lips curled into a playful smirk aimed towards Shoko, “I like when people are straightforward.”

She returned the grin with a sly one of her own. “You and I are gonna get along well.”

Similarly to Satoru, speaking to Shoko was easy. It felt like you were reconnecting with old friends – friends you knew when you were unfledged and barely remember anything about, but the link was there.

She nodded as your conversation concluded and pushed herself off the wall, evidently needing to return to where she came from. “Well, if you need me, you know where to– ah, wait, you don’t.”

Shoko patted down her body, presumably in search of her phone or a notepad, but you reassured her hastily. “No, it’s fine! I do, Gojo showed me around earlier.”

Her head whipped up so quickly, you worried she might have snapped it when you heard it crack. “Oh, god, you already met that idiot?”

The short laugh you let out was undignified. “Yep. He’s very noticeable.”

“You can say that again,” she grumbled. “Please don’t tell me he did something dumb and embarrassed himself, or weirded you out. Don’t pay attention to him, he’s just like that.”

“Well, he said I could stay at his place since the house I got is in…less than favorable condition.”

She stilled on the spot, her brows slowly coming together in a visage of utter confusion. “...What? He said you could stay with him?”

“Is he a murderer?” You questioned, only half joking. “I knew it.”

“No, no, he’s not, he’s just…” She turned her gaze to Granny. “Did you know about this?”

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Granny responded.

Your tummy shifted uneasily. “Is…that a bad thing?” You knew Granny said it wasn’t earlier, but you had to ask again.

“No, not really…” Shoko was not easing your nerves whatsoever. “Just unusual.”

“How come?”

She pulled her lips to the side in consideration. “Gojo Satoru is someone who…likes to hide things.”

“Oh, so he is a murderer.”

She demurred at your conclusion. “Last I checked, no. Regardless, he can be kind of a dick sometimes, so don’t take any of his more outlandish shit to heart, yeah?”

You bobbed your head loosely, your mind already off creating heinous conspiracy theories about your benefactor. “Yeah. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Mm, it’s no problem,” she approached you and held out her hand. “Gimme your phone, I’ll give you my number. You can text me if he tries to pull some shit with you.”

Getting a strong sense of déjà vu, you handed her your phone and watched as she punched in her number, then called her phone to get your number as well. Yours was back in your hands in record time, contact set to just her name.

“There. I gotta head off for now, it was nice to meet you, girl,” Shoko waved to you and Granny as she disappeared through the door.

Soft huffing from behind you had you peek at the woman. “What?”

“It’s nothing,” Granny appeased. “Just seems you’ve had an eventful first day here, no?”

“No kidding,” you mumbled, pouting when you saw that you had finished your food. She took the empty box from you, pleased by it being practically licked spotless. “Thank you, it was really delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed your meal,” she nodded. She must have put a lot of effort into it.

A thought occurred to you then. “Granny, do you know where I could possibly get a job?”

She raised a brow at you. “You want to work?”

“Well, yeah,” you scratched your cheek. “I’d try to find a job online, or the city, but I don’t really know what kind of work I can get with the first option, and I don’t have a car or anything for the second one.”

Her fingers cupped her chin in consideration. “How about you work here?”

“In your store?”

“Yes,” Wait, that easily? “I could always use more hands here. I’m getting up there in age, and my hands ache often. You’d be helping me a lot.”

“Are you sure…?” You gave her a concerned mien, subconsciously flicking your eyes down to her hands. “I don’t wanna take from you more than I already have.”

Granny merely brushed away your worries. “Nonsense. I could use the company, too.”

Okay, now you were starting to get suspicious. Things were lining up too well.

Well, you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth, but considered keeping your guard up.

“Alright,” you agreed, if somewhat hesitant. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Granny’s expression was heartwarming. “Wonderful! How about you take a week or so to settle in, then you can come start when you’re ready?”

“Well, I can start sooner. If you need the help anyway.”

“How about a few days?”

Stubborn old lady, you loved her already. “Fine, a few days,” you conceded, soughing. “Thanks again for the food, Granny. And for the job. I should probably get my stuff from my place and bring it to Gojo’s. You’ll be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, dear,” she shooed you away with her fingers. “Go on, now. I’ll see you soon.”

The warm air raised goosebumps up your arms as it swept over you upon leaving. It smelled distinctly sweet, a natural fragrance you quickly became fond of, enjoying it wholly during your walk back home. It had been shorter this time, the transition from defined road to coarse, packed dirt closer to town than you remembered it being.

What you were not fond of was your house, however. Your spite towards those stepping stones leading to the door growing worse as you avoided tripping over them again. The stench upon opening the front door also blew you back, making your entire face scrunch up.

“Why did I do this to myself,” you grumbled as you cynically walked in. Daylight made your perception so much worse. Every flaw was practically highlighted in bright, blaring white.

You mulled over convincing Satoru to just let you live with him and forget this damn thing ever existed to begin with.

Discovering your luggage where you left it, you cringed. It just kept getting worse. The floor was sticky everywhere. With what? Who knows. Did you want to know? Abso-fucking-lutely not. It took you less than a fraction of a second to decide to abandon your sleeping bag where it was.

Like hell were you going to peel it off the tacky wood, let alone use it again. Not like you needed to if you had somewhere to stay anyway, right?

Since when did you become such a wastrel?

Ugh.

With a shake of your head, you rescued your suitcase and luggage bag, letting them feel the same fresh air you could. It was the little things in life that made you so grateful for this pristine oxygen. And the bigger things in life that made you extra grateful, like Gojo Satoru and his stupidly large house.

Bless him for giving you the opportunity to sleep in an actual bed, rather than suffering in the outdoors. Him being a sneaky skunk notwithstanding.

Welp, here goes nothing. You tapped his contact, then the bubble under it. You were just going to assume he knew who was texting him.

This is the start of your conversation with ✨❤️Satoru❤️✨.

You, 16:24

Got my stuff

Alright, now you just wai–

✨❤️Satoru❤️✨, 16:24

(＾▽＾)

give it 10

The fuck.

Emoticon aside, the instant reply caught you off guard. Didn’t he say he had things to do? The day was just full of wonders, huh?

Ten minutes went by fast when you pulled up some random bad fanfiction to scroll through mindlessly. Your attention was drawn away from the half-written mess when a black sedan rolled up in front of your property, and you whistled low.

Why the hell was a rich boy like Satoru living in the sticks and not in some penthouse in the middle of Tokyo?

A spindly figure climbed out and bowed at you politely, hands clasped together in front of him. His voice was wispy, light and reserved. “Pleasure to meet you, miss. My name is Ijichi Kiyotaka, Gojo-san requested I bring you to his residence.”

Ah, he seemed so nervous. Poor guy.

You nodded, choosing not to comment on it. You were intimate with the feeling and didn’t like others pointing it out, you figured he wouldn’t, either. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

He shook his head as he popped the trunk and helped you tuck away your luggage. “It’s no trouble at all. Though, admittedly, it is nice to not have to drive far out this time.”

“Oh?” You questioned as he opened the back door for you and oh, my, were those leather seats? The car was lavish both inside and out, and probably cost more than you and your shoddy lil’ shack combined. You waited until he got into the driver’s seat, taking the extra few seconds to admire the car that you definitely should not have been in as it was clearly too high class for you, before continuing. “Do you usually have to drive to the city?”

“Yes,” Ijichi confirmed, starting up the car with a smooth purr that you barely heard. Leave it to the wealthy to find the best of the best in any category, uncaring of prices. “I’m normally just a chauffeur for the Gojo household.”

You bobbed your head in understanding, peering out of the tinted window to watch everything move by. The traditional architecture was beautiful, something you admired. It made your house stick out a bit like a sore thumb, considering the more western design; you pondered why it was built like that.

The twisting road leading up the mountainside began and ended all too soon, the whole trip lasting less than 5 minutes total, your destination completed with Ijichi parking outside of the mansion.

Ever the gentleman (though, he might have been resolute in helping you with your belongings directly due to fear of some kind of punishment looming over his head), he took your things and led you into the house. “This way, please. I’ve already set up your room for you.”

“Oh, thank you,” you murmured, taking this chance to gawk at everything more properly. Frankly, it smelled rich inside, you didn’t want to think about how expensive even just the vase on the coffee table was.

The sliding of a door signaled your journey’s end. Ijichi bowed and ushered you inside first, though you kind of wished he went in before you, because you were positively floored and most definitely seemed like an idiot with your jaw hanging open. What the fuck? Satoru said this was a spare room? You were expecting maybe, oh, I don’t know, normal guest room things?

Not the epitome of a deluxe hotel for fuck’s sake. The room was at least twice the size of the one you slept in yesterday, the bed was glamorous (queen size, too, Christ), the bedding laid so nicely that you debated sleeping on the ground a second time, just to avoid messing it up. Especially because the fluffy rug at the foot of the frame was so downy, you wanted to drown in it.

There’s no way this was real. Someone had to have been playing a joke on you. You spun to watch Ijichi as he carefully set your suitcase and bag against the wall by the door, waiting for him to rip the proverbial, and likely not fluffy, rug from under your feet.

Instead, he bowed once more, eyes closed. “Should you need anything, you may call for me. The restroom and bathroom are on the right when you exit. Please, feel free to bathe, if you wish. Make yourself at home. Gojo-san is out right now, but will be back by evening.”

You barely stuttered out a semi-coherent thank-you as he left, sliding the door shut behind him and leaving you in this splendor.

Surely this was a joke. You dreaded the inevitable turn, expected the door to open to a cackling Gojo Satoru as he wheezed his lungs out and pulled some ‘I can’t believe you fell for it!’ bullshit.

But it didn’t happen.

For however long you stood there, staring holes through the closed entrance, nobody came to reveal this was all an elaborate joke, with you playing the unsuspecting and dumb victim. You laggardly let out the breath you had been holding and poked around the room with cautious hope. It really was spectacular, but you truly wondered how long Gojo would let you stay here.

By the gods, you were tired of thinking, though, and a shower would be heavenly. You could worry about everything after you were scrubbed dirt-free.

…Assuming you wouldn’t get jumped in the shower instead of the bedroom.

“You’re being paranoid,” you scolded yourself under your breath as you opened your suitcase to grab a change of clothes. But, really, could anyone blame you? You were sure someone else would have felt the exact same way you did.

Unless they were a professional freeloader or something.

Your soap and tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner were so sad compared to everything else around you. You should have checked if Granny’s store had any bath products.

The bathroom was just as luxurious and fully stocked as everything else in this damn estate. Dark, rich wood encompassed the room; a sink was to your left with a sparkling mirror above it, an open shower to your right towards the back, and the chef-d’œuvre of it all: the sunken bathtub at the end. A frosted glass window was situated behind it, shades partially lowered to allow natural light in through the bottom.

Fuck, you were so out of your depth.

But were you going to deny enjoying such riches at least once in your life? Hell no.

You turned to set your stuff down on the counter space by the sink, glancing towards the row of very expensive bottles of different types of cleansers lined up against the wall, and the note in front of them.

Grasping it, you saw it had your name on it, written by hand. You flipped it over to see the short message left behind.

These are yours, use them as you please

~Satoru ♥

Ohoho, fancy products you could only ever scowl at forlornly at the store whenever you saw them, fantasizing about using them, though ultimately being shunned by the price tag? Fuck feeling apprehensive, you were damn well going to use those and indulge in feeling and smelling like a queen.

You’d never stripped faster in your life. You barely had half a mind to fold your clothes somewhat neatly and set them on the counter, rather than scattering them all across the floor as you stumbled out of your socks and hopped to the shower on one foot.

Even the millions of knobs and stall-less design couldn’t deter your avidity, each one subjected to random twisting until you figured it out.

As soon as the bottles were on the recessed shelf under the showerhead, you loped under the hot water and groaned, planting your forehead against the cool wall whilst it poured down your back. You practically turned into putty, all your sore and tense muscles unwinding noticeably. The shower pointed out exactly how sleeping on the floor in your own house jacked up every part of your body, because ow.

You honestly believed you could stand there forever, reluctant to leave, but that bathtub was calling to you.

So you grabbed the body wash first and flipped it over to read the label.

Oatmeal and almonds. Mmmh sweet fuck, you could dissolve into a puddle. It smelled heavenly, and you were giddy out of your skin knowing you were about to smell like that, too. It felt so silky-smooth on your palm, the perfume automatically coating you as you rubbed it in and savored the sensation. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to go back to normal, poor-person soap without lamenting the loss of this.

You can’t miss what you don’t know, and boy were you going to miss this if you had to leave it behind. Satoru did say it was yours to use and keep, though, didn’t he? Maybe you could yoink them when your place was all fixed up and you had to leave.

Suds coated your body in a thick layer of iridescent, white bubbles, flowing down the planes and curves of your figure with the water, rinsing every bit of your body to superb asepsis. Your hair had never known such extravagance when your fingers glided right through your locks, leaving them soft and addicting to touch. You understood now how Satoru’s was that fluffy.

You wanted to touch his hair, too.

Shaking your head to shoo away any very wholesome thoughts, you squeezed the excess water from your hair and turned off the shower, shivering at the sudden chill now that the perpetually toasty mist wasn’t surrounding you anymore.

Careful to avoid slipping, you tip-toed over to the tub and knelt down beside it, reaching for the handles. Hot water burst forth from the tap, rushing to fill the basin, and you noted how deep it was, contemplating if your knees would peek out from the surface if you sat with them bent. You had to be extra vigilant to prevent falling asleep in it and drowning.

You could drown after you got to take a dip in the hot spring in the backyard. Of course, you’d prefer not having to drown at all, but if you had to choose, you’d opt for the hot spring.

Daydreams of swimming in it played behind your eyes as you sank into the tub with a delighted sigh. What tranquility, lucking out like this. You didn’t know what god to thank, if any, but you’d happily grovel on your hands and knees to show your immense gratitude. Just getting a chance to live (well, bathe) in splendor for a single day was enough to fulfill some innate, deep desire you had inside.

Now that you had a moment away from the hectic day, you let yourself recount everything that happened, and question how the hell you got here.

Not 24 hours ago, you had arrived, a poor fool that nearly kicked the bucket on your own front porch, and since then, you were sort of adopted by a grandmother that fed you instead of throwing her shoe at you, met an eccentric, wealthy man who took after a deity ripped straight from mythos, and landed yourself not only a place to stay, but a place with said deity.

“What the hell…” You mumbled to yourself as you lowered yourself until only your eyes remained above the water, blowing bubbles.

How did you get here?

Was this some sort of punishment? Give you a taste of the blest, then wrench it away from you? Karmic cruel and unusual castigation?

You grumbled underwater and lifted your head back up to breathe. Of course, you couldn’t help being paranoid, all of this was way too good to be true. Like some sort of game show–

Oh, god–

You sat up pin-straight and covered your chest, scanning the bathroom ceiling and walls for any hidden cameras. You scoured every surface, squinting extra hard to spot potential blinking lights or unusually-reflective circles.

Nada.

You went boneless, lounging against the back of the tub as you exhaled heavily.

You had probably been in the bath too long. Your fingers were starting to get pruny, and your brain all jumbled up with anxiety and skepticism.

Sluggishly, you pulled yourself out and dried off while the tub drained, pulling on your clean clothes with a relieved hum. You couldn’t remember the last time you treated yourself like this, if ever.

You heard someone speaking from beyond the hallway, so after dropping off your old clothes in your room, you ventured out through the living room, where you found none other than your savior, chatting away with someone on the phone. He turned to you and instantly lit up.

“Ha-hey!” Satoru grinned and waved you over after quickly ending his call, laughing through his greeting. “You got here safe?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, moving to sit beside him at the kitchen island. “Ijichi-san is good at his job.”

The towheaded boy snickered. “Good, or else I would have flicked his forehead.”

“So, you’re the reason he looks so anxious all the time,” you scolded him, then apologized. “Sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to drag you out of your conversation.”

“Bah,” he brushed it off. “No big deal, wasn’t anything important. So, settling in okay? Seems you already got familiar with the soaps ‘n’ stuff I got you, yeah?”

You nodded eagerly, lifting your arm to sniff at your wrist. “They smell so good, where did you get them?”

He planted his chin on his palm. “Nowhere you can afford.”

Your eyes narrowed into a sharp, unamused glare. “Wow, thanks.”

His cheeks crinkled his hues, and you realized he was still wearing his shades indoors. The glare of the sun no longer turned them into mirrors, allowing you to partially see through them, but the deep ocean hue of the lenses prevented you from deciphering the exact color of his irises.

What an abnormal choice of glasses. You knew people wore circular shades – they made them for a reason – but all the people you’d seen wearing them could never pull off the style.

Satoru was different, though. They suited him flawlessly; refined and dignified, yet boyish at the same time, just like the bearer.

“Let me know when you run out,” he said. “I’ll get you more.”

You jolted in surprise. “Oh! No, no, it’s fine! I’d feel bad using them all up, I don’t want to imagine the price tag…”

He pouted at you. “Why? You saw the note I left you, didn’t you? They’re yours, I got them specifically so you could use them.”

You worried your bottom lip. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t do anything I’m not sure of.”

Well, that’s all you needed to concede. “Alright. Thank you, I like them a lot.”

His moue instantly turned into a brilliant, cheek-aching smile. “I’m glad! Had me worried I picked the wrong stuff.”

His giddiness was contagious, making you giggle. “No! Not at all, I’m just– I’ve never seen the brand before.” It being a Japanese brand notwithstanding.

“Well, duh,” he rolled his eyes as he hopped off his stool and sauntered over to the fridge. “They don’t sell this kind of stuff in normal stores.”

“Where’d you get them from, then?”

“Made Ijichi fetch ‘em.”

You sighed heavily. “Poor guy. You work him to the bone, don’t you?”

He humphed as he withdrew something from the fridge – bento boxes, you recognized. He placed one down in front of you, and took his spot at the island back. “He’s fine. Gets paid well. It’s not like I make him go to the city for every little whim I have.”

You huffed as you pulled off the lid to your box, your mouth instantly salivating at the food within. You barely had the conscious thought left to clap your hands and murmur ‘itadakimasu’, as well as mentally slap yourself when you recalled that you had forgotten to do the same with Granny.

You were able to restrain the moan of delight this time, unlike in front of the old lady, but damn was it hard to.

“Fuck…”

Gojo cackled beside you. “It’s good, I know.”

“Who made this?” You questioned, hand covering your mouth as you chewed. Ijichi must have been a good chef, too.

The man gave you a cocky smirk. “I did.”

…Hah?

You regarded him flatly, disbelieving. “Funny.”

“I’m serious!” He glowered. “Is it so hard to believe I can cook?”

“A little,” you confessed around a bite of sausage. “Rich boys don’t usually know how to cook.”

His gaze pierced directly through you, brooding as he stuffed his mouth. “I’m never gonna cook for you again, just for that.”

Oh, so he was gonna do that?

Hm, might as well play along.

You set down your chopsticks and turned to face him, slapping your hands together as you lowered your head to beseech his mercy. “Please, O’ Honored One, Gojo Satoru-sama! Forgive this witch her foolish words!”

He lifted his chin, judging you through his round shades with the pretense of a king adjudicating his subject’s worth. A few seconds passed before he nodded in approval. “Better. You’re forgiven.”

“Yay,” you laughed, immediately going back to eating. “It is really good though, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he responded, virtually inhaling his serving – not that you were any better.

“Where’d you learn how to cook?”

He swallowed and paused, speaking a fraction softer. “My mom taught me.”

Maybe a touchy subject. You noted it as something to not approach, instead choosing to compliment them both. “She taught you well.”

The boxes were empty in the blink of an eye, and you were both saying ‘gochisousama’ with a satisfying puff.

He grabbed the chopsticks and both boxes, placing them in the sink and filling them with water. “So you did research Japan a bit, eh? Knowing our customs.”

“I believe it comes with the territory of learning the language, yes,” you hopped off the stool, reclining against the counter. You winced minutely when your spine popped.

“How long have you been speaking Japanese?”

“Ehh,” you tilted your hand diagonally a few times. “I learned it a while back. I was studying abroad at the time. Didn’t really know it’d come in handy now, though.”

He dried off his hands with the hand towel nearby and cocked his head to the side. “Oh? You weren’t planning to move here?”

“Not…really,” you shrugged and rubbed the back of your neck. You had to tip-toe this line of conversation carefully.

He grinned, leaning forward to meet your gaze head-on as if he had just hit some sort of jackpot. “So you are running from something after all.” Fuck. “Well? What is it? Mafia?” No. “Loan sharks?” No. “Robbed somethin’ big?” No. “Exes?”

…Sort of.

“Let’s go with exes.”

“You’re quite the mysterious woman,” he chuckled low, voice taking on an evil little rasp. “Makes me wanna open you up.”

You batted your eyes, your brain lagging as your cheeks heated up because what the fuck, real men weren’t supposed to be this hot, and you were not supposed to be this asthenic in the knees just because he had a handsome face and an absurdly attractive voice that decided to say the most deviant shit.

“And you’re a terrible, terrible man, Gojo Satoru,” you admonished to cover your nonplussed emotions.

“Mhm, mhm,” he nodded in complete agreement. “I’m a terrible, terrible man that decided to take you in out of the goodness of my heart.”

You sighed. “You’re going to use that against me, aren’t you.”

“Absolutely, I’m never letting you live this down.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, earning yourself a smirk hidden poorly behind an offended scoff. An oddly domestic sentiment perched in your center, just beneath your breastbone. A decent meal and the slow end to an intense day had you yawning behind the back of your hand.

He yawned after you, the action infectious, and moped like a kid that wasn’t ready to go to bed.

The emotional weight of everything was coming down on you, and you craved for nothing more than to pass the fuck out under those incredibly plush and cozy looking blankets.

“Think that’s our cue,” you grumbled and rubbed the corner of your eye with your knuckle. “Or mine, anyway. I’m ready to conk out and sleep for, like, a century.”

He chuckled lazily, the noise husky and low. It wasn’t particularly late, no, but you felt like you’d been struck with a bus filled with mental and physical tax collected over a great deal of time. He waved you off, turning to strut down the hall opposite of the one you came through, and left you with a still cheery farewell.

Finally.

You well-nigh sprinted back to your room to nab your toiletries and sped through your simple nightly routine, impatient and antsy to dive into that queen-sized mattress. It’s not that you disliked Gojo’s company, quite the opposite, actually, but you were tired.

Usually, you tried to put off sleep until your body gave out in the early hours before morning, uncaring for the dreams that inevitably spawned, no matter how little or how much sleep you got.

But now?

Those sheets were hailing you.

You couldn’t brush your teeth quick enough. Your face was practically still damp with your moisturizer as you dived under the duvet and keened. You’d never known such opulence in your life.

Your legs kicked with glee as you snuggled in, squeaking and curling on your side and clutching the fabric of the blanket tightly in your hands to ensure it went nowhere while you pranced around in dreamland. Heaven. Pure and simple. Heaven with the fragrance of new pin laundry and your body wash, that held your head on the coziest lap, that hugged your form and incontinently coaxed you under the waves of hypnotic slumbering.

Comfort surrounded you. The mattress underneath you was the ideal level of firmness, the blankets were warm without being overbearingly hot, and being in such a neat environment swiftly lulled you into a far easier and more satisfying sleep than you’ve had in a long time.

banner by cafekitsune ♥

#Tether Me #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #satosugu x reader #chimera writes

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reidingrainbow · 5 months

Text

momentarily breaking out of my absence to participate in this month's cm fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins :3

i've had a wip cooking for over a year and even though it's still not done, i'd like to at least post this first chapter for the prompt!

Night Changes

[ Rated M for minors keep out ] 4038 words | moreid, mostly case-fic?

CW: trans male pregnancy (specifically spencer), nausea/emeto warning, canon typical violence, mentions of homophobia

summary: morgan and reid find out they're expecting in a... less than ideal fashion

Friday nights are always a treasured time for Spencer and Derek. After a long week at work, all they can think of is coming home to one of their apartments and falling into each other. It usually entails a delivery from their favorite local restaurant, a cheesy television show, and Clooney sitting at their feet waiting for them to drop something for him or curled up on the sofa with them.

But other nights, nights like this, they need a little extra time to themselves. Nights like this involve Clooney being nowhere to be seen, some movie they’ve seen a thousand times, and maybe a glass of wine.

The only sounds to be heard in the room are the low drone of the television and Spencer’s soft gasps, his little hitches of breath and whimpers as Derek’s lips lave over his neck and collarbone. Derek eases the thinner man out of his lap and lays him back on the couch, his lips slowly traveling down his chest and abdomen and stopping to nip at his sharp hipbones. Spencer whines and attempts to buck his hips up into the touch, but Derek effortlessly keeps him in place with one hand. The other busies itself with unbuttoning Spencer’s pants, fingers moving deftly while he captures Spencer’s lips in a passionate kiss. Derek’s fingers slip inside Spencer’s boxers, inching closer to his throbbing–

On the kitchen counter, their phones chime in unison.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Spencer mutters, forehead still pressed to Derek’s. Above him, his boyfriend chuckles and presses an apologetic kiss to his lips before crawling off of him. They redress themselves and make an honest attempt to not look like they’d just been called into work in the middle of what was almost sex, but in the back of Spencer’s mind he knows they’ll probably figure it out anyway. He shimmies his binder back on and tucks in his shirt. While he buttons his pants back up, he notices that they definitely feel more snug than they did the week prior. He thought he’d been imagining things when he began to struggle closing his pants over the past few weeks, but now his growing waistline is undeniable. He sucks in his stomach to button the closure and lets out the breath as a sigh. “I think I need to lay off the take-out,” he says to Derek, following him into the kitchen to find his cardigan.

“Oh yeah?” Derek says, already at the door putting his shoes back on. “You and me both, pretty boy. I’m not sure how much longer we can eat like we’re in our twenties.” He pats his stomach for emphasis, as if he doesn’t have the world’s most glorious set of abs hidden beneath his silk button down.

Spencer huffs a laugh and buttons his cardigan back up. “Maybe I should cook more.” He pads over to the door in his mismatched socks, where Derek is holding his bag for him.

Derek smirks. “So we can live off of ramen? I’ll take my chances with Thai every night.”

“I can cook more than ramen,” Spencer insists. “Rossi taught us how to make his spaghetti and you even said yourself I did a really good job.” With his shoes on, he takes his bag from Derek’s waiting hands and follows him out to the driveway.

“I thought we were gonna stop eating like college students! Can you make anything that isn’t pasta based?” Derek says as they climb into his car. Spencer scrunches his face up and shakes his head as they buckle in. “That’s alright, next time we go visit my family my mom might be able to teach us a little somethin’.”

Spencer smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

Spencer and Derek step out of the elevator for the second time that day, only two hours after leaving for the night (precisely two hours, thirteen minutes, and forty-five seconds, but who’s counting) and enter the bullpen to meet the rest of the team, where JJ is lamenting about her similarly ruined evening. Derek makes a quip about “dusting off the cobwebs” that earns him a swat on the arm from Penelope, and soon enough the team is called up to begin the briefing.

Any lingering thoughts of the evening’s earlier activities are thoroughly squashed within the first 60 seconds of the round table meeting. Spencer blames the crime scene photos, the images of the deep, cross-hatched cuts on the victims’ backs, for the wave of nausea that washes over him and sends a shiver down his spine. He flips through the rest of the file in hopes that averting his eyes will untangle the knot in his stomach. It doesn’t. He breathes deeply through his nose, trying his best to stay focused on the details of the case.

He drops a hand below the table and lets it flap at his side; he needs to stim through the feeling but the thought of calling attention to himself is only serving to make the sickly feeling even worse. He manages to make it through the meeting without incident and no one seems to have noticed anything was off about him. Some part of him, distantly, wonders if anyone would check on him if they did notice. He squashes the thought before it can fester.

The meeting can’t be over soon enough. As soon as Spencer stands, his body suddenly feels infinitely heavier. Exhaustion has crept up on him and taken him by surprise. He brews another cup of coffee before they take off in hopes of making himself feel slightly less like a zombie.

The coffee does, in Spencer’s professional opinion, absolutely fuckall. He finds himself drifting off during their second debriefing, trying in vain to fight off sleep but his eyelids feeling heavy regardless. Aaron gives them their assignments for when they land and suggests that Spencer lie down. Spencer opens his mouth to insist he’s fine, he can just make more coffee, but before he can manage any words he’s overtaken by a yawn. Defeated, he retreats to the couch at the back of the plane. He refuses to lie down, insisting he’s not that tired. When he closes his eyes and leans back, it’s just to rest them for a moment.

“-ise and shine, pretty boy, we gotta get movin’,” comes a voice above him, Derek’s. Spencer wakes slowly, scowling up at Derek while he comes back to himself. He’s fully lying down, not sitting up like he remembers, and there’s a pillow under his head and a blanket draped over him. “Come on Reid, don’t make me carry you.”

Spencer sits up, finding he doesn’t actually feel better after his nap; he feels worse, actually, like finally sleeping made him realize how much he still needed to sleep. He reaches a hand up to Derek and he takes it, pulling him off of the couch and onto his feet. He ruffles Spencer’s hair, smiling fondly when he sleepily attempts to bat his hand away. “Let’s get to the hotel, you can snore in my ear all night.”

Derek starts moving and Spencer quickly grabs his bag and follows after him. “I do not snore,” he insists. He hears the older man chuckle in front of him. “I don’t!” It only serves to make Derek laugh harder; he definitely doesn’t mind the teasing, then, if it means he can hear his love’s laugh.

“You do, but only when you’re exhausted,” Derek says. “What’s got you so tired?”

Spencer shrugs and follows him to pick up their luggage. “I’m really not sure, it just snuck up on me. I was fine all day, even earlier tonight,” Spencer flushes a little, despite his exhaustion. “I even had coffee and still almost conked out during the meeting.” Derek hums in acknowledgement, patting him on the back and letting his touch linger, only for a moment, before he turns to head to the waiting SUVs. Spencer sighs, longing for the warmth of his hands on him again, before following after him. The faster they reach the hotel, the sooner he can rest in his arms.

Spencer wakes up the next morning still feeling absolutely wiped of energy, despite spending the night snoring in Derek’s ear as predicted. He trudges through the morning, only just alert enough to be coherent but nowhere near his usual self. The trip to the local bar is helpful, at least, and provides some useful insight into the town and its residents.

When Spencer and Derek arrive at the police station, Spencer briefly greets the sheriff before hightailing it to the coffeemaker. This time the coffee does help, if only a little, and soon Spencer can feel the fog lifting from his brain. Within no time he’s back to his usual self, putting his 20,000 words per minute to use going through all of the case files and relaying any useful information back to the team. They hit a stride in their investigation, working for a few hours and making good progress.

Spencer feels his stomach lurch, feels a shiver run up his spine, and he blanches. Oh God, he thinks, please not here, not now. These waves of nausea have come and gone sporadically for the past few weeks, but this is the closest he’s felt to actually throwing up. The thought of it makes him anxious, which in turn makes him more nauseous, which worsens the anxiety, effectively locking him into a hellish negative feedback loop.

He mentally cycles through everything he’s had to eat today to figure out what could possibly be disagreeing with him this strongly. He comes up empty, recalling only the two cups of coffee he had right there in the station.

(He wonders, then, if he should have taken up Derek’s offer and taken a few bites of the granola bar he’d had for breakfast. The train of thought is quickly derailed by his disgust at the thought of biting into someone else’s half eaten food, and it does nothing to quell his nausea.)

Whatever it was, it isn’t sitting well now. Spencer peels off his cardigan in an attempt to stop sweating, but to no avail. His stomach lurches again, dangerously, and he shoots up out of his seat. He barely mumbles out a “Need some air,” to the rest of the team before he bolts out of the police station. He distantly hears a familiar set of footsteps falling in behind him, but he doesn’t pay it any mind until he’s outside. He takes a deep breath of fresh air, one hand cradling his sensitive stomach and the other flapping nervously at his side.

“Everything alright, Spencer?” Derek asks, laying a hand on the small of Spencer’s back. Spencer isn’t facing him but he doesn’t need to to know those thick eyebrows are drawn up in concern, eyes soft in the way they always are when they’re on him. His hand is warm, large, easily spans over his lower back. He’s rubbing a gentle circle and oh- that feels good, Spencer hadn’t even noticed how much his back hurt.

Spencer swallows thickly and nods. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just felt a bit nauseous for a minute there, I didn’t want to puke in the bullpen and those bathrooms…” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “ I’d rather take my chances out here.” He turns and gives Derek a small smile. Derek returns it with a grin of his own and Spencer wishes more than anything they weren’t on duty so he could lean over and kiss him.

“I told you, you should’ve had a bite of breakfast,” Derek says, his grin never fading. “You can’t run on coffee alone, pretty boy, you need actual food.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, laughing despite himself. He turns to fully face Derek, the other man’s hand sliding from his back to loosely hold his hip. “You wanna test that theory?”

“No, I just want you to eat something,” Derek teases. “Maybe your body is trying to tell you something.”

“Like what?”

“That you should stop being so hardheaded,” There’s no bite behind it, and Derek brings the hand on Spencer’s waist up to gently pat his cheek. Spencer instinctively leans into his gentle touch, only barely, before the door to the station slams open behind them. Derek stiffens and rips his hand off of Spencer like he’s been burned and Spencer himself takes an almost comically large step backwards, far enough that he slams into the railing behind him, and shoves his hands into his pockets. Officer Vicky, overenthusiastic and perky and so, so nosey, looks up at them expectantly from the doorway.

“Everythin’ alright out here, agents?” she asks, her voice clipped. Her eyes dart up and down their bodies quickly, trying to catch them out. This isn’t their first time in the bible belt and it won’t be the last; they know how to snap their masks back on quickly, instantly switching back to coworkers whose closeness falls well within plausible deniability.

“We’re fine, thank you,” Derek says, returning the officer’s plastered on smile with one of his own. “We’ll be back inside in a minute.” Over his shoulder, Spencer presses his lips into a line and gives a small nod.

Officer Vicky takes the hint (for once) and heads back inside. Derek and Spencer sigh in unison, then chuckle a little.

“You sure you’re alright, sweetness?” Derek asks, once more because he can’t help it.

“I’m fine, really, don’t worry about me. I’ll even try to eat lunch today,” Spencer replies. Seeming satisfied with that answer, Derek relaxes and they head back inside.

They take their seats at the table, Spencer’s being on the table, and dive back into the case files. “Alright, where were we?”

Spencer likes to pride himself on his excellent planning skills. He goes through every step of the operation, analyzes every possibility, tries to think of everything that could possibly go wrong.

He does not, however, consider the possibility of being shot in the neck tonight.

It’s funny, he thinks, how he always knows that someday, something horrible could happen to him on the job. It has, in fact, quite often. Being kidnapped and drugged, watching his girlfriend die in front of him, being infected with anthrax. These things happen; hazards of the job. And yet, every time something does happen to him, he’s blindsided by it.

He’s not thinking any of that, though. He’s not thinking much of anything as he crumples to the ground. Distantly, over a whistling kettle and the gunfire and the ringing in his ears, he hears Derek scream his name. Hands are on him, whose hands, he knows these hands. Before he can identify them, he’s propped up into a sitting position. Everything is blurring together – all the sounds, his vision is dark around the edges. Someone is holding his neck, Alex is there. She’s telling him to keep his eyes open, which is very unfair, because he’s never wanted to close them more in his life. She’s telling Ethan to stay with her… Ethan? That can’t be right, he could’ve sworn his name is Spencer. Who is Ethan? Spencer is cold… and tired…so tired. He closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, he’s staring right into the sun. No… it’s a light. He’s in an ambulance. The sirens… They remind him of the tea kettle noise he heard earlier.

“What?”

It’s Derek’s voice, coming from his left. Spencer’s hand reaches toward him before his eyes follow. “Do you hear it?” he slurs, his tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth to form the words. He’s dizzy, and everything is far too loud, and he’s about to close his eyes again when Derek grabs his hand and holds it tight. Spencer squeezes back, weakly, but it eases the concerned crease of Derek’s brow minutely.

“Spe-Reid.” Derek says, catching himself. Last names only while in the field. “Reid, you gotta stay with me, eyes on me-” The EMT says something that catches Derek’s attention, but he quickly redirects it back to Spencer. “That’s good, stay with me.”

Spencer closes his eyes.

When he opens them, he’s in a hospital bed surrounded by figurines and Alex and Penelope are there, making an honest attempt at pretending they haven’t been staring at him.

To say the rest of the night is a whirlwind would be an extreme disservice to the word “whirlwind.” Spencer doesn’t know the probability of being shot twice in one night by two different people, and he could almost definitely calculate it if he wasn’t so tired. He’s been up all night; between being stirred awake for check-ins every hour and the multiple attempted murders, he hasn’t had much of a chance to do more than doze off.

Penelope has stepped out of the room, stating that she needs water and the room still smells like gunpowder and she desperately needs to be where the gunpowder smell is not, leaving Spencer and Derek alone for the first time since that morning.

Spencer shifts over in the bed, motioning for Derek to come join him. The older man lowers the guardrail on his side of the bed and climbs in. Spencer immediately turns to face him, slotting his body up against Derek’s like they’ve done countless times. Derek’s strong arms wrap around him, one hand coming up to stroke Spencer’s hair while the other remains free for Spencer to hold, interlocking their fingers and resting their hands in the space between their chests. They don’t share words, as they often do when they cuddle, but instead opt to silently enjoy each other’s presence. Both men are worn out, exhaustion seeping into their bones, and this little moment between them is enough. The calm quiet, Derek’s warmth, the sound of his heartbeat… it’s enough to nearly allow Spencer to sleep properly.

“Knock knock,” comes a voice from the door, in time with the actual knocks on the glass door. Spencer’s doctor – his real doctor – is standing in the doorway, clipboard in her hand. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you guys, but I need to check in with you after that whole fiasco.”

Spencer reluctantly pulls away to allow Derek to slip out of the bed and give the doctor room to work. She works quickly, taking his blood pressure and checking his breathing, and as soon as she’s completed her examination she moves out of the way so Derek can take his seat on the bed with Spencer.

“Alright,” she says, thumbing through his chart. “Everything looks good, I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” She moves to leave but turns back to Spencer. “Did I have a chance to go over your bloodwork with you after the surgery?”

Spencer shakes his head and Derek glances between him and the doctor, thick eyebrows upturned with concern. “No, you didn’t go over it with me… are my levels abnormal?”

“There’s nothing urgently wrong, aside from your incredibly low iron. Try to get more iron into your diet, you’re in danger of becoming anemic – but that’s not what I wanted to bring up with you.” She switches her attention to Derek, where he’s perched on the end of the bed, looking more anxious by the second. “Are you his partner?” Derek nods, and she turns her attention back to Spencer.

“Doctor Reid, are you aware that you’re pregnant?”

A beat. Another beat. A beat, that’s actually Spencer’s heart coming to a complete stop, scientific improbabilities be damned. “I-” He’s having every possible thought at once, he’s sure of it. “The-” Derek whips his head to look at him, expression unreadable. Spencer’s face is surely cycling through expressions at random, like the five stages of grief in roulette. “I’m…” His heart is pounding in his ears, he’s never felt every emotion at once before and it’s all so much. “Baby?” is what his brain finally settles on as a response.

Spencer barely processes that he’s moving, slowly sitting up and reaching a hand towards the doctor. “May I see my chart?” He asks, his throat suddenly going dry. She nods and hands him the folder. He flips it open and Derek leans over to read along with him. He quickly gives up, however, because he can’t keep up with Spencer’s speed reading. Spencer’s finger moves across the page, his lips mouthing along with his reading. He soon finds what he’s looking for and freezes.

Pregnancy Test – Positive. 60-62 days [9 weeks]

Spencer blinks at the paper. Blinks again, like what he’s looking at will change. “Nine weeks?” He asks quietly. He’s not sure who exactly he’s talking to. Is he really so disconnected from himself, obsessed with his job, that he didn’t notice anything was off? For over two months?

The doctor nods, keeping her expression neutral in line with their reactions. Spencer hands the folder over to her and she slips it into the pocket at the end of the bed. “I’ll leave you two to discuss this privately. You should be ready for discharge soon, a nurse will come by later with some forms for you.” She leaves, and Spencer barely processes it. His mind had stopped moving the moment he was given the news.

Spencer is distantly aware of Derek reaching out to him, taking his hands in his own. They cling to each other like a lifeline because, in this moment, all they really have is each other. Spencer’s whole body feels numb, and he’s sure his face is reflecting it, but when he looks at Derek… he still can’t tell how he feels. He looks… scared. That look in his eye, a look of fear and uncertainty, it looks out of place on him.

Derek takes a shuddering breath. “What are we–” He’s cut off by his phone ringing, his work ringtone. He sighs, suddenly looking so, so tired, and reluctantly lets go of Spencer’s hands to check it. “It’s JJ… I don’t have to go, I can stay here with you. They’ll be okay without me.”

Spencer opens his mouth to reply and finds nothing comes out, no matter how hard he tries.

[It’s okay,] he signs. [Go, the team needs you.]

Spencer briefly wonders why, even now, he can’t say “please stay, I need you” just this once. He chooses not to examine it.

Derek sighs, looking down at his still ringing phone. “Alright, pretty boy. I’ll be back soon, I promise. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, after we’ve both had some good rest.” He stands up, leaning over to place a kiss on Spencer’s forehead, then his nose, then his lips. Spencer’s whole body visibly relaxes, and he presses his hand, middle and ring fingers touching his palm and his remaining fingers up, into Derek’s chest. “I love you too,” Derek murmurs against his lips. He pulls away, and Spencer watches his demeanor switch from that of his doting boyfriend back to the FBI agent.

Penelope returns right as Derek is leaving, and Spencer must do a much worse job at hiding the fact that he’s having a crisis, because she is immediately at his side asking him what’s wrong. To be fair, his inability to mask has caused countless uncomfortable situations in his life, but nothing prepared him for the sheer panic that fills his body while trying to come up with a believable lie to tell the only person who always manages to see through his excuses (who simultaneously cannot keep a secret for more than a few hours). Penelope must pick up on his shift in mood, however, because she stops questioning him and takes her seat next to the bed. Spencer crosses his arms over his stomach and curls in on himself, facing away from her.

Penelope watches Spencer, all furrowed brows and bitten fingernails and nervous energy, and sighs. She knows prying will just agitate him, but she’s getting stressed out just watching him stare into the middle distance and chew on his fingers, not unlike his mother. She’s not sure how to make him feel better, which she hates, because making people feel better is, like, her whole thing.

Maybe more jell-o will help.

#i named the fic based on the whole thing not just this chapter so the title might not make sense sorry #mentioningmargins #moreid #spencer reid #derek morgan #my writing #cm challenge #criminal minds fanfic #spencer read fanfic #derek morgan fanfic #moreid fanfic #mpreg #criminal minds mpreg

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wambsgansshoelaces · 9 months

Text

Turmoil; Chapter 7

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: catch the easter egg hehe

Word Count: 2.60k

Just one day, you tell yourself. One day to forget about all the bullshit in your life and just enjoy yourself. It is a party in your name, after all.

After some moaning and groaning from Roman, you manage to drag him out of bed and get him ready. You stand, hips touching, as he messes with his cologne and you put in your earrings.

“You know some shit is going to happen today,” he mutters.

“Why would you say that?” you chide. “We should be relaxed. It’s our last night here.”

“Murphy’s Law, Y/N.”

“I didn’t know you were smart enough to know what that is.” He smacks your shoulder lightly. “What? I’m being honest,” you tease, smoothing out the wrinkles in the dress you’d picked out a few days before.

“I’m extremely intelligent, just so you know.”

“Sure, Roman.” You laugh.

“I’m the one who got Connor’s watch. And…,” he says conspiratorially, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “I got someone’s personal bank records.”

“I love it when a man commits federal crimes for me,” you say faux-dreamily, smiling at him.

“Y/N, it’s not illegal, if I, er, found them.”

“We’ll talk about it later. I want a stress-free night.”

“Murphy’s Law,” he repeats. “What can go wrong will go wrong.”

“Is it too much to ask of your father to keep his opinions to himself for one night?” you ask, sighing. You perfect your look in the mirror before stepping away form Roman.

He follows you out the door, his fingers subtly intertwined with yours. He’s warmed up to your touch- not that he’s ever not liked it. Kissing, apparently, is still out of the question. You’d realized when you tried giving him a peck good night before bed the other day.

You can’t even begin to count all the people in attendance tonight. You don’t know most of them, as you’d expected, which makes your job more difficult. You have to make yourself look good- and Logan.

You mill about, doing what Roman refers to as ‘standing there and looking so damn pretty’, watching the crowd. He’d scuttled off in the name of finding desserts, leaving you to yourself and your thoughts. Logan had spared no expense for his son- chandeliers were lit, servers were flitting here and there, tables upon tables of food were laid out.

While your situation is less than ideal, you’re able to appreciate nice things when they come.

You idly sip from your glass, letting your gaze rake over the crowd. Logan is sitting by himself off to a corner, seemingly trying to gather his strength to even get up. You wonder where Marcia is, and you briefly feel a pang of sympathy. Only briefly.

Shiv is more than likely flirting with some random guy, you tell yourself, Kendall probably asleep in a separate room. Connor is entertaining his own circle of guests, in his element. He makes weird flapping motions with his arms, and you’re thankful you weren’t pulled into that conversation. Greg is happily munching on an assortment of treats. You’re delighted he’s gotten a break. He’s a good man; he deserves it.

Your gaze snags on a strangely already-balding young man. Before you’d left for this party, Roman had shown you a headshot of the accountant Connor was working with. He seemed freshly out of college, but both his face and certain records you’re sure you’ll be able to dig up say otherwise. If anything, he was suspicious.

To your dismay, he makes his way over to you. You hope this won’t be a repeat of the charity gala- you don’t think you’ll be able to control yourself this time. This guy has a punchable face, anyway.

“The future Mrs. Roy,” he says heartily. You lazily raise your glass to him. “I’ve been keen to meet you.” He talks like an old man, too. “I’m the one who directed my client to you when his things got stolen at the hotel.”

You straighten slightly. “Were you, now? I thought it just came with our… familial ties.” You flash your engagement ring at him.

“I mean, of course that’d be the natural course of thought. Regardless, I had to make sure he went with the best, and you’re the best.”

You’re certain he’s trying to kiss your ass. The question is why. You fold one of your arms over your torso and regard him. “Who are you, again?”

He straightens his blazer and extends his hand out to the one you currently have holding your glass. Jerkily, he puts it back down by his side and says, “Peirce Thompson. Thompson & Thompson Accounting and Banking.”

“What a firm name,” you say blandly.

“My brother and I started the thing up from our bedroom way back when, and the name’s just stuck.”

“So you’ve been around a while, then?”

“Oh, ages, absolute ages.” He dusts off an imaginary bit of lint from his shoulder. You press your lips together.

“Why haven’t I heard of you, then?” you ask carefully.

“Psh, your type of law and my finance rarely collide,” he says condescendingly. “We’re in two different worlds, sweetheart.”

Trying not to recede into yourself, you give him a strange look. What he’s saying is bullshit- you know your way around economics, and you run your own firm. Clearly, you have a handle on finance. “If you say so.”

As if Connor’s shenanigans couldn’t get more confusing. This accountant banker bitch reeks of fish- both figuratively and literally, unfortunately.

“I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you ever personally taken care of many fraud cases?”

“Depends on the kind of fraud we’re talking about.” You manage to catch Kendall’s eyes over Peirce’s shoulder. You subtly widen and release your eyelids, trying to get him to come over.

“Er, tax fraud.”

”Sure I have. Why do you ask?” You turn your gaze back to his.

“Only wondering. Some issues are arising with… clients.”

“Clients, huh?”

Thankfully, before he can say anything, Kendall claps his hand over Peirce’s shoulder. “I didn’t think you’d be here today,” Kendall says stiffly. “Funny you’d show your face after raking up the interest for my dad by ‘forgetting’ to pay his taxes.” You have to keep yourself from laughing. Kendall continues. “You’ve met my sister? Trying to weasel your way into her finances, too?” He shifts to stand shoulder to shoulder with you. Your heart warms when he refers to you as family.

Peirce grits his teeth. “Lies don’t look good on you, Mr. Roy.”

Kendall snorts before pressing a hand to your back and guiding you away. “Thanks,” you murmur to him as you both slip away.

“He makes me want to rip my hair out. I’ve got you.”

You both make your way to a table, taking seats. You’d been standing for so long your feet were aching. Roman finds you and pulls a chair up right next to yours, and when he sits, he makes sure his leg is touching yours.

Kendall takes note, his eyes flickering from you to Roman. “What happened to ‘I’m going to kill her before I let her near me?’”

You laugh. “You said that?”

“I say lots of things I don’t remember.” Roman pushes a plate piled high with sweets towards you. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got you everything.”

You give his knee a pat. “I appreciate you trying, Roman, but that’s way too much.”

“We’ll all share,” he insists. Kendall smiles, taking the miniature slice of German chocolate cake and setting it on his place.

“My wife catered,” he says simply. “She owns that bakery you like, Y/N. The one always open on the holidays.”

You smile softly at him. You’re happy that he’s happy. You and Roman pig out on the sweets, chattering comfortably until his eyes catch someone as they cross the room.

He somehow manages to smack Kendall’s chest from across the table and stares back into the crowd.

You and Kendall both follow Roman’s gaze. You just barely catch Marcia as she slips out of the main atrium, a man in tow.

Kendall must see something you don’t. “Give me your fucking phone,” he says quickly. Without thinking, you hand it to him and he power walks after her. You and Roman follow, albeit much slower because Kendall already looks crazy.

Kendall’s leagues ahead of you at this point, but he’s slow enough that you and Roman can tail him. You wind through the corridors until the three of you have stopped in an eerily empty hallway. Kendall is peeping into the sitting area that dead-ends the hall, and almost immediately doubles back, seemingly sick. He steels himself, then takes your phone and sticks it through the doorway and starts filming.

Peeking over his shoulder, you wince.

Marcia has a fuck buddy, and it isn’t Logan Roy.

As desperately as you want to get rid of the image of Marcia having sex from your brain, you can’t. It simultaneously makes you want to puke but also, disgustingly, elated that you now have something over her- and by proxy, Logan.

After an excruciating five minutes, the three of you had gone back to the party. You and Roman had danced a bit, and he’d admittedly embarrassed you with his extremely out-of-date moves. Despite it all, you’d found yourself laughing and having more fun than you’d had in ages.

Now, you’re struggling to unzip the back of your dress. Roman’s stooped over the sink, aggressively washing his face.

“Rome, you’re going to rip it off. Calm down,” you manage, tongue between your teeth as you continue to attempt to pull down the zipper.

He pats his face dry with a towel. “I’m being thorough.” Without being asked,he comes over to you and tugs the zipper open. “You should wear that more often.”

“I literally just got it.”

“Yeah. Keep wearing it.” His hands go to sit on your hips, gently rubbing.

“What’s with the affection all of the sudden?” He settles his face into your shoulder as you move to put your hair up. “Not that I’m complaining.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Getting more comfortable,” he says into your skin. “I don’t… I’ve never had a relationship like this. Where we genuinely liked each other.” You stay silent, letting him gather his thoughts. “I’m just scared. But we’ve been over that before.”

”You can always tell me how you’re feeling,” you say softly.

“I don’t want to get hurt. I don’t think I’ll physically be able to handle it.” Roman pulls away from you, padding into the bedroom. You quickly change into your pajamas before following him, slipping under the covers by his side. “I also don’t want to hurt you,” he says quietly.

“What makes you think you’ll hurt me?”

“I don’t exactly have the greatest track record with relationships, do I? Behind all that hoity toity lawyer stuff, you’re so horribly kind. It makes me sick, honestly.” He’s facing you, pain flickering across his face. “People have never really liked me for me, you know? It’s always just for my money, or my brother, or Dad. It’s like… it’s like I’m not even here.”

You take a moment before responding. “I see you. You work hard, Roman. I should express my appreciation more.”

You’re right. Despite your consistent bickering in the beginning, Roman was dedicated to what you were trying to do together. Like clockwork, he’d have paperwork on your desk or news articles sent or even a mug of coffee. Recently, too- he’d helped you confirm Connor was lying, and now he apparently has dirt on his finances- and financier.

“Even though you’re honestly a jerk, I think deep down under all of that clownery you’re a good guy,” you murmur.

“You’re so backhanded,” he complains, reaching across you to pull you into him. His arm wraps around your back, the other sitting on the back of your thigh as he shifts you on top of him. You set your cheek on his chest.

“Really, Roman. I think you’re too hard on yourself.” His fingers trace circles into your skin.

“I don’t even know what I’m talking about.” You catch your eyes drooping as he speaks. “I want to try this. Seriously. Actually.”

“You can,” you murmur back. “We can.”

“I want to start acting like a real couple. I want you to trust me, to feel safe with me.”

You sigh happily as his fingers continue their ministrations. “I already do.”

“That makes you kind of stupid, really.” Roman presses a hesitant kiss to your head. “Like you said, I’m a jerk, and on top of that, I’m vain, self absorbed, wickedly good looking…”

“Oh, shut up.” You laugh lightly into his chest.

He does, for a few moments. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

He gently takes your chin, tilting it up enough so he can look at you. You can tell he’s fighting with himself in his mind. Shakily, he presses his lips to yours.

It’s a stiff, awkward kiss, and he pulls away quickly.

“Good night, Y/N.”

☾𖤓

The next morning, you’re leaning against the wall, fighting off sleep. Your flight is bright and early, and therefore so are you. Roman insisted to carry all of your luggage out to the car, so you stand in the foyer, avoiding the outside chill of the morning. You and Greg talk about nothing while Kendall stares into his empty coffee cup, Shiv on his other side, teeth chattering.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to tell you- I’ve gotten a few bank statements I want you to take a look at. Don’t worry about them now, though. I don’t want you stressing until we get back. I mean, I don’t want you stressing at all, and I’m just trying to preserve the peace until we get back to the States. I mean- I don’t know what I mean.”

You give his arm an affectionate squeeze, and he rubs the grogginess from his eyes.

Roman shuffles back in, his breath clouding out in front of him before he steps back into the heat. “Santa took a fat shit outside.”

“How poetic,” you mutter in response. “You have such a way with words.”

He waits for the other three to file out of the foyer before pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Just for you.”

The flight back is lethargic. Nobody wants to get back to work, least of all you. Roman’s sprawled across your lap, and you idly scratch at his scalp. Kendall sits on your other side, slumped against you with his blanket pulled over his head. Shiv once again sits across from you, her legs once again propped up on the side of your lap Roman isn’t occupying. Greg has a sofa all to himself, his legs sticking off the end as he snores lightly.

Logan, again, had elected to take a different flight. It’s for the better, anyway.

“You think I can hire a hit man without getting arrested?” Shiv asks you nonchalantly.

“I want to see you try.” You give her ankle a pat. “You’ll do great,” you tell her sarcastically. “I’ll be so excited to come see you during prison visiting hours. If you get any.”

“Oh, be quiet. I’d execute it perfectly.”

“I really do hope you’re joking. Do you know how stupid people who hire ‘hit men’ are?” you ask, making air quotes with your free hand.

“What? It’d be fun, I think.”

“Stop thinking, then, Shiv.”

The rest of the long flight goes by slowly. When you step off the stairway and onto the asphalt, you take a breath of the smoke-infused air. It’s disgusting compared to the crisp, Norwegian air. Your nose scrunches.

“Fuckin’ gross…,” Kendall mutters as he gently pushes past you, his face mirroring yours. After everyone goes their separate ways, you and Roman are left to each other in the backseat of the car taking you back to your apartment.

The rest of the day is lazy. You spend it curled together on the couch.

#succession #succession fic #succession hbo #roman roy #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #turmoil #roman roy x reader #roman roy x you #roman roy slowburn #I’m back pookies

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sniperjade · 2 months

Text

Open Your Eyes

Draco had been on edge ever since he’d met with his solicitor on Monday night. It felt so much more real now that there were avenues to pursue and options regarding the separation of assets. He hadn’t intended to tell Hermione everything, it was just that when he was there, in that moment, he felt so raw that he couldn’t stop it.

It spilled out of him like a flood and by the end of it, he felt so drained that he floo’d back to Theo’s and went straight to sleep. When he woke up, he spent the rest of the day wandering around Theo’s house like a ghost, completely devoid of thought. It all seemed too hard to consider. Too taxing on his already aching heart. He spent that night haunted by fitful dreams.

The rest of the week was much the same. Theo tried to coax him out of his stupor with wine and fine food, even dragging him to a bar, but his mood remained the same. Blaise was little to no help, his disapproving presence making Draco’s anxiety and guilt even worse. By the time his solicitor called him back into his office, Draco was a mess.

Fitzherbert Selwyn was a serious-looking man. He was thin, wiry and had a significant receding hairline. There was no gentleness to his demeanour, no subtlety to the way he condensed Draco’s life down to galleons and titles. The fact of the matter was, that even though he felt like he was falling apart, the process to divest himself of his wife was fairly simple. At least from a legal standpoint. Throw enough money at the solicitors and they sort it out until you walk away wife-free.

It turns out that the difficult part was the people involved.

No one seemed to be able to tell him how to shield Astoria from the pain of it all. Selwyn had been surprised he even cared.

“Most people don’t,” he muttered dryly. “There are five options, Mr Malfoy. The easiest and the most painless is when both parties agree to separate and live apart for two years. The other options are all less than ideal. You can separate for five years if only one of you wishes to separate. I think it is unlikely that your wife will desert you for two years. Neither do I think she is likely to commit adultery or any other sort of unreasonable behaviour. I suggest you organise the details with Mrs Malfoy to move out as soon as you can.”

“I’ve been staying with my friend Theodore Nott since Saturday. Would that be the official start date?” Draco's hands were sweaty as he twined them around each other.

Selwyn looked over his glasses at Draco. “That would suffice for a five-year separation period, assuming your wife does not agree to the divorce.”

Five years. Five more years of this.

With his heart pounding he looked up at the older man. “What happens if I am the adulterer?”

Selwyn tented his fingers and gave him a very serious look. “It would in all likelihood expediate the process but would certainly not shield Mrs Malfoy from the pain of it. If that is something you still care about.”

Suddenly the cold office with its leather chairs and ornamental ferns felt too stuffy. Draco fought to pull the breath into his lungs. If he had an affair this would all be over. Blaise would probably never forgive him, and it would definitely end up in the newspapers if Daphne had anything to do with it.

But it would be over.

“Thank you, Mr Selwyn. I will consider the options you’ve given me and get back to you soon.”

He was up and out the door before he’d had time to process Selwyn’s parting remarks.

“It would be wise not to do anything rash, Mr Malfoy.”

Read the rest on Ao3

#dramione #tomione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #tom riddle #hpfanfiction #hp fanfic

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jamjumpingjambore · 1 year

Text

Ideals

Who wants to hear me talk outta my ass about philosophy and Trigun thoughts I’ve been forming over two years? No one? Too bad, I’m going to anyway--

Now that season one of Stampede is over, I’ve been seeing a lot of discussion over which twin is “correct”-- which is cool, I like analysis and debate (genuinely) -- but personally I think they’re both wrong. The twins are opposite ends of extremes, neither fully addressing the core problem of Plant use in a substantiable or ethical way.

[ Heavy spoilers for Trigun: Maximum and Trigun: Stampede. ]

(btw forgive me if I don’t use the correct terms, I was an art major, I’m working off vibes and vague definitions.)

Vash is too individualist and altruistic at his own expense. He believes in the best of humans, insistent on his solution of the butterfly-spider paradox being to “save both” and not letting anyone die. He puts up with the cruelest, ugliest parts of humanity just to keep more blood from spilling. Full disclosure, I also believe that humanity is inherently good, but I also acknowledge trauma, fear, and desperation can drive anyone to do horrible things. The people of No Man’s Land are struggling for survival. They were never meant to be here, never meant to live past The Fall, and yet they continue. Humanity always finds a way to prevail and unfortunately the only way they can in this situation is to wring the plants dry for every last drop, fighting over the scraps.

They’re trapped between endless seas of sand and rock, the only non-synthetic food they have access to are massive bugs and blue emus. Luida’s flora wouldn’t be viable without extensive terraforming or construction of more glass domes-- a tall order when most of their manufacturing seams to be stripped ship parts and whatever the plants can fabricate. It makes sense for them to rely so heavily on them, and Vash isn’t incorrect in believing they need to work together to lessen that strain.

But in the past hundred years he hasn’t influenced any real systemic change. He treats the symptoms-- offering aid to individuals, families, sometimes even whole towns-- yet the clock keeps ticking. The child he brings back to their mother can suffer a living hell the moment he leaves, a town he visited before can have their plant break down again. NML has seven cities large enough to have their own governments. Knives basically puppeteers Ju-Lai through Conrad so he has the funds and resources to do stuff like create a whole-ass cult as a front for his plans and keep himself from becoming an active target. If Vash was smart he’d have tried to diplomat his way into a city too, but it feels like he’s too caught up in his complexes and fretting over what Knives is doing to really approach a situation where he’d have to compromise on long-reaching decisions.

Vash has to stop running and dig his heels in on something concrete. The planet will only get worse before it gets better and more plants will shrivel up in the meantime. Not everyone can be saved, no matter how badly he wants it.

Meanwhile Knives is too doomer/anarchistic/nihilistic, he thinks all of humanity is irredeemable, that they’ll just keep taking and taking until the entire planet is a husk. But they’re only taking so much because he caused the crash. If the fleet had succeeded in finding an earth equivalent-- or even landed on the planet intentionally-- the humans probably could have adapted to the ecosystem and utilized the plants more sustainably. They had to have a procedure for colonization, the Earth Federation fleet implies pockets of humanity had settled down comfortably elsewhere while the twins’ was still searching/struggling to survive. Knives also claims to want to protect Vash and their siblings, but he ends up doing the exact same unethical experiments and exploitation that the humans did to Tesla and the dependents. He forces/encourages Conrad to treat human children like lab rats, creating test tube babies like Elendria to eventually replace humanity with more pseudo-plants (which, damn, you can really read some Implications into that if you want), and then strips Vash down to becoming a tool-- a living generator to forcibly create more independents through the rift core.

He does care about the plants, but he has a one-track mind. Knives just wants to fling his pain back tenfold, and he’d be happy sitting on a desolate rock with just his brother if given the chance. If he won, who would tend to the plants still dependent? How would he heal the dying plants if Vash remained a tree? What if some of the new independents were more like Vash and needed to eat? Could he justify making a plant produce again to feed another?

He could gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss himself through it all but he’d still be no different from humans-- and in the worst ways.

Knives also claims the sisters don’t have souls, but really? When they reach out to Vash throughout the flashbacks and on the steamer, do they not communicate? Something is shared in that moment. It may not be verbal but we know they can scream and the twins can hear it. They feel, and that’s enough to prove they deserve a minimum of respect imo.

In the manga there’s brief hints of characterization for the plants. One that sticks with me often is Vash referring to the runaway steamer’s plant as “the selfish little girl:”

[Image ID: Manga panel of Vash, face close-up and covering his mouth with his hand, thinking and looking at the viewer intently. Dialogue: “I see.” “In other words... All I need to do is babysit the selfish little girl?”]

Admittedly It’s early in the series, in the Trigun chapter that first properly introduces them and the volumes that Trigun: Maximum frequently retcons parts of, but I still think it’s fascinating that a version of Vash would refer to one this way. Like he knows/assumes the plant is just throwing a temper tantrum-- and seeming to be correct as calming the plant down keeps it from overloading while the emergency brakes are pulled. Another big one is the flashes of the merged plants’ memories later on in Maximum. Dependents have had positive interactions with technicians and the humans they provide for alongside the cruelness. Knives is visibly shaken when he sees it; proof that unity’s not exclusively a sentiment of Vash’s. He ignores it and continues to decimate No Man’s Land in the last chunk of the story. Stampede Knives writes them off without ever being seen connecting with them.

Knives has never asked what the other plants wanted. Vash has never asked either-- nor relayed any messages between species. Not until the final confrontation in Maximum.

The twins are in a unique position to serve as ambassadors between humans and plants. Rem thought so as well-- but she’s just as overly optimistic as Vash and flawed in other tragic ways. You can easily read her treatment of the twins as being fueled by guilt over Tesla and her clear favoritism towards Vash also contributing to Nai’s worldview in a myriad of little ways. But I think she had the right idea with them potentially emerging as an olive branch. I think a lot of the conflict on No Man’s Land would be helped if everyone could just sit down and talk to each other more often. People barely know plants are alive to begin with.

But Nai is dead and Knives’ most likely going scorched earth in season 2, while Vash is just now dealing with one of his most traumatizing moments of the series. The chance of these two ever reconciling is off the table (for now).

Which brings me to the after credits tease that made me physically throw shit across my room in excitement:

CHRONICA AND DOMINA, BABYYYYYYY!!

[Image ID: Three panel manga sequence of independent plants Domina (woman with shoulder-length, mid-tone, messy hair), and Chronica (woman with long, light hair and parted bangs), having a conversation between their individual space shuttles over radio. Key dialogue from sequence-- Domina: “...Haven’t you already encountered many fused entities in the past?”]

I need you to understand every time I think about them I want to run around in circles like a zooted cat. There is SO MUCH potential with them and it’s a shame Nightow had to juggle their introduction with six other events at once in that breakneck third act with no room to explore their implications (I’ve already griped about Maximum’s ending here and to discord buddies, no need to rehash it again. It still has charm as is).

These two are the only other independent plants we see in the series. They’re part of the Earth Federation crew. Domina is implied to be younger and inexperienced while Chronica is a seasoned member who the ship captain constantly defers to for expertise in engaging rogue plants. Apparently the wacky fusion shit Knives does has happened before to lesser degrees and all current dependents have been genetically altered to be incapable of fusing to prevent it. Vash and Knives are around 150 years old and can fuse with the plants on NML. Their ship had two spontaneous dependent pregnancies within 50 years before the crash. It’s unclear how many fleets left Earth.

This opens a pandora’s box of fuckery that could have happened off-world in the span of 200+ years.

How many goddamn independents do we got running around? What’s the 4-1-1 on how other, successful/space-faring colonies treat their Plants?? Hey, why does it sound like independents consolidating power and being put down isn’t an uncommon thing---

Nightow can’t just drop this worldbuilding on me in the 11th hour and expect me to be normal about it.

The EF are shown to be competent but coldly strategic at times-- the captain almost nukes the planet in a desperate attempt to kill Knives despite his Ark being above the heavily crowded Octovern, the last city still standing after Knives’ assault. The greater good is most important, survival at all costs. Chronica expressly shares this sentiment, going forward with the plan to attack Knives first.

[Image ID: Five panel manga sequence of Chronica and Domina arguing over whether to missile strike Knives over radio. Key quotes-- Chronica: “It is our top priority to gain the advantage through a preemptive strike.” “You must forget they were once a plant like us. Because that thing down there is a massive threat to us all.”]

Chronica acts like a solider. She sides with humans and enacts swift punishment on any threat, including her own species. She’s the worst compromise of the twins’ views, cruelty to protect human lives. Another form of exploitation.

Knives questions her loyalty through a fused Domina and almost forces her to chose between killing her or saving the flagship before Vash cuts his connection, but she never really interacts with them directly or is ideologically challenged again. She tries to take pot shots at the twins as they fly off as revenge for what Knives did to her partner but Livio stops her. Poor Domina doesn’t get to do much either, becoming a pile of feathers for the rest of her scenes. Hell I don’t even know if Vash knows there’s other independent plants running around now. Knives (predictably) just writes them both off as “slaves” and uses Domina like a spy camera from the moment she enters orbit.

I want to know more about them. My pie-in-the-sky hope for Stampede season 2 is they get larger roles and the twins have to deal with their existence more directly. I want to see Vash’s answer to weaponized plants, to grapple with the paradox happening on an intergalactic level and needing real solutions. I want Knives to squirm under the knowledge that an entire generation of plants were metaphorically castrated, that there are other plants like them who choose to serve humanity at every opportunity in spite of it.

I want Chronica to grab the ideological tug rope between them and start yanking them both over the line. Their black and white could be fun with some gray.

Sorry if this was ramble-y, I hope I got my ideas across okay. I have a lot of thoughts about this series and sometimes it’s hard for me to articulate them in a way that isn’t ramming two dolls together lmao

TL;DR: These self-destructive morons can’t hold a conversation and I am begging Studio Orange on my hands and knees, PLEASE let Chronica and Domina have more interaction with the boys and challenge their ideas about how humans and plants can/should coexist. I’m starving for an actually fleshed out Trimax ending.

#rumble ramble #trigun #analysis #long post #every few years I just go off on a subject and my followers just have to deal with it #chronica my wife chronica i wanna see you so bad #I spent several hours writing this help--#it's 3am as i'm queuing this please forgive typos

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superworldunkown · 3 years

Text

Like Father Like Son

AN: Ya’ll, I’ve had this internal argument with myself that despite the overwhelming real evidence that Bakugou gets most of his personality/features from his mother, I am convinced in a relationship he is 100% his father. Like, simps for his partner, lets them do whatever, submissive AF. Sure he’s got his barky attitude, but there is no bite. His partner could walk all over him and he’d grumble at it, but like enjoy it at the same time. What facts do I have to back up my theory, the facts in my mind of course.

Link to PT 2

It is a known fact that Bakguou Katsuki simps for his girl...period (choose your own partner insert here but I’m 100% leaning on my fav power couple Bakugou x Melanin Queen Black reader)

Fact’s I’ve made up that Bakguou would simp hard for his girlfriend

Breakfast in bed: Sure you get up early, but this man is up well before the sun. On mornings when he’s home with you, you wake up to breakfast and a glass of water. And somehow he always knows the exact time you wake up because you’ve never had a cold breakfast in the entirety of your relationship. Sure he gripes about crumbs in the bed, but he’s never stopped serving it to you.

Spoiling your sweet tooth: While you two are an ideal match and compliment each other so well, there is one glaring difference between the two of you (besides the fact that you are outwardly sweet and gentle with others and Bakugou tends to call his closest of friends extras and idiots), you have a big sweet tooth. Bakugou detests sweets on most days. ‘They’re bad for you, dumbass’ , ‘They’ll rot your teeth out’, ‘You have such a terrible appetite’ you’ve heard it all. However, when your stress level is the highest he’s always walking into your apartment, tossing a bag of your favorite candy in your lap without a word. And when you think of complimenting him he always has a witty remark - “Yeah Yeah, I an’t putting up with your attitude to tonight so if this will get ya to calm down, whatever.” That’s Bakugou’s way of saying ‘I hope you feel better babe’

You can be messy...within reason: Bakugou is really really finicky about keeping his personal spaces clean. He always gripes about any time a towel is on the floor or if a couch pillow is out of place. However he get’s super salty when you do a deep cleaning of the house without his knowing and there’s nothing for him to complain to you about. Some would say...he somewhat likes picking up after you.

Nicknames your way: Aside from Midoriya, you are the only one that gets to give Bakugou a nickname. Even if he hates it, he’ll allow it. Currently BoomKat is your favorite and even though he yells about how stupid it is, he always thinks he’s in trouble when you call him anything else.

You always get your way...always:

“Katsuki!” “What?! I’m right here why you gotta yell so damn loud!” “Can you lace up my boots for me?” “Hah? Get lost, lace them up yourself. Shouldn’t u’ve bought them if you can’t even wear them.” “Aw c’mon! I got them because they reminded me of your hero boots...fine, I’ll just change into something else-” It was in that moment you were pushed to a set on the end of the bed and Bakugou knelt in front of you and pushed your foot against his chest “You’re a real pain you know that.” he would mumble while lacing up your shoes in the same manner as his own, keeping his head low so you couldn’t see the prideful blush creeping across his cheeks. “Aw thanks BoomKat...hey while your down there can you rub some lotion over my legs.” “Hell no! ...Fine! where’s the damn thing at?”

Wash Day: We’ve said it before, Bakugou likes to keep his home clean. However, on Wash Day, he lets you do whatever you want and make whatever mess you want. He knows better (from personal experience. the first and last time he gave you attitude about all your hair products in the bathroom you gave him a talking too so harshly he was surprised he still has hearing). Honestly, he’s grown to like the smells that waft through the house and the hums that leave your lips as you pass the time from wash, rinse, blow-dry and braid.

White Boy Wash Day: Yes, you’ve even roped him in to taking care of his own hair in the same manner as you. When you had first begun dating you were ... terrified that this man used a 3-1 on his hair. Every now and then you wrestle him into the shower with you and goad him into a 30 minute wash routine. He argues and protests the entire time but the way your nails hit his scalp when you massage the product into his hair...bless. You really are a queen. His queen.

You both have knees that kill: Sure Bakugou’s studded knees are for taking down villain's. Your knees however, are mostly for taking down Bakugou. Sometimes you don't even mean to do it; when you are feeling yourself, dancing with Mina or when your favorite song comes on when you are in the house, when you roll your hips and dip down and put the knees to work, let’s just say your knees 1, Bakuguou -7

Groceries never touch your wrists...ever: You will not carry a thing in his presence. You bought groceries, he’s got them. You bought that thing he said you didn’t need but you still got...whatever he’s carrying that too.

He’s a puddle when you cuddle: Bakugou is the explosion hero, attitude and all. But, when he’s in your arms, he’s puddin. Anytime you wrap your arms around his waist or curl into his body, he becomes soft. In public it’s a little looseness of the shoulders and exhale. In private, he’s melting into your touch and snuggling back 10 times harder (boy has to be better than you at everything). His favorite is when you two lay on the couch, Bakugou on his stomach with your posture giving him ultimate access to crawl and lay his head on your lap and stomach, allowing him to get lost in your shea butter smells and doze off while your nails would scratch against his scalp and back.

All of this to say...you were a royal pain to this hero, but he wouldn’t have his queen any other way.

#bakugou katsuki #mha #bakugou headcanons #domestic bakugou #bakugou x black reader #boko no hero academia #my hero academia

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gutouhua · 2 years

Text

ao3 / tip jar / comms open

wc: 5.3k+

tags: mentions of lbh & lqg, heavily implied bingqiu, mbj has horns, mentions of eating animal meat, mbj gives sqh bj & hj, some nipple play, mbj slaps sqh's ass like twice, spite & cum as lube, cum eating/swallowing, size kink, some dirty talk, mild urethra play if you squint (nothing inserted inside), multiple orgasms, anal sex, anal fingering, cockwarming, love at first sight for mbj, possessive mbj, we ignore canon and pretend their first time together was amazing, au, not beta read we die like s2 svsss

a/n: don't squint too hard at this, it's just my excuse to write this couple having hot seggs yeah. also i couldn't come up with a good title so here we are with this generic title :3 will probably maybe go back and edit this ;-;

“You are pretty too.” And he was, immensely so. So pretty, in fact, that he was the epitome of perfection in Shang Qinghua’s eyes. He’d never seen someone so much like his ideal type – never wanted to fuck someone so badly.

But he was not going to admit all that.

The diplomatic gala was exactly what Shang Qinghua thought it would be: a matchmaking spectacle with everyone packed onto the floor like sardines and fluffed up like gaudy peacocks.

And he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it.

Shang Qinghua made a beeline for a server with a drink, ignoring the protests of his brother, Shen Qingqiu, and retreated to the corner to avoid human interaction. He most definitely did not want some impressionable young man or woman to think he was interested in them just because he was chatting politely and then have them send a formal marriage proposal along with a caravan of jewels and treasures come tomorrow morning. He shuddered at the thought.

He was about to down his third glass of wine for the night when he noticed a man, or rather, a demon, on the fringes of the crowd. Sapphire eyes and a sharp, aristocratic nose sat on a stony-faced pale blue canvas typical of the demons of the Red Lands. His shiny black hair was braided into a long tail down the back with silver-tipped horns jutting out from his thick mane. In the middle of his forehead was a dark blue demon mark – the mark of a Red Lands aristocrat.

He was stunningly attractive and exactly Shang Qinghua’s type: a pretty face with (what he liked to call it) a refrigerator body.

Mhm, delicious.

Suddenly, Shang Qinghua didn’t think this gala was a completely idiotic idea after all.

But he had no time to consider his gorgeous demon before someone announced that dinner was beginning soon, so he shuffled into the great dining hall and plopped into an ornate seat with his name labeled carefully on the back.

Shen Qingqiu took his seat next to him shortly, sighing deeply with his fan waving in short, quick motions despite the fact that it was quite chilly in the room.

“What took you so long?” Qinghua teased.

Shen Qingqiu only fanned harder, looking at him tiredly. “The banquet has not even officially begun, and I am already being run ragged.”

Shang Qinghua arched a fine brow, already knowing the answer. “The women?”

“And men.” He nodded tiredly.

“Well, that’s to be expected seeing as you’re the most eligible bachelor on the content. Well,” Shang Qinghua paused. “Aside from the demon king. But who would want to marry that barbarous man when you're around?”

“I am glad to see you have so much confidence in your brother, but sometimes I find that Mobei-jun has an easier time and it would be better to be him instead.”

“Mobei-jun?”

“Ah,” Shen Qingqiu amended. “Mobei-jun is the king of the Red Lands.”

“And you are on a first-name basis with him?” Shang Qinghua wondered when his brother got close enough to the demon king to call him so casually.

“A secret,” Shen Qingqiu chided him. “But don’t tell anyone. He doesn’t like to be called by that name, but I do it anyway.”

His brother was insufferable. “Can he not have you killed for that?”

“He loves me too much to do that.”

“Huh, so my brother does indeed have a secret love life that I don’t know about. I’m hurt.”

“Hmph, if only I had one.”

“What was that?” Shang Qinghua asked.

Shen Qingqiu looked away, suddenly finding the design on the plate before him to be very interesting. “Noth-”

“That was not nothing!” He interrupted. “You said–”

Heavy doors creaked open to reveal their dinner host and the room fell to a hush as if everyone had drawn one collective breath and was holding it in. And then he saw him – that beautiful horned demon. Shang Qinghua could not tear his eyes away from him and it appeared that everyone else felt the same.

The demon king made his way to the head of the table and turned his head toward Shang Qinghua’s direction, blue eyes piercing through him. “Shall we,” an icy-honeyed voice rolled through the room, “begin dinner?”

Everyone let out their breaths at the same time: the servants began moving and plating food, aristocrats turned toward their neighbors for conversation, and Shen Qingqiu began fending off the two women seated closest to them.

Shang Qinghua looked down at the table, cheeks burning from the encounter. Was he staring at me? Impossible. Why would he be looking at me? We've never met before and it’s not as if I'm the most handsome man or woman in the room – in fact, far from it. Ah, he’s so hot. I really want to jump his bones, but now that I know who he is…it seems almost impossible for me to do that. And he wouldn’t want me either. By the stars, he’s so attractive though and–

Shen Qingqiu broke off from the women for a moment after he noticed that Qinghua wasn’t eating. “Brother, is the food not to your liking? You’ve never been one to shy away from stuffing your face at banquets.”

Qinghua was too preoccupied to take note of his teasing, instead too focused on trying to stop his cheeks from burning. He was glad that the lighting was dim so that his brother wouldn’t tease him for it. “I think the king was staring at me just now.”

The meat on Shen Qingqiu’s silver fork balanced precariously mid-air on the edge of the prongs. “Why do you think he was staring at you?”

“Because his eyes were on me and in my direction? Pupils trained on me?” Shang Qinghua wasn’t some sheltered member of royalty. No, he knew when someone had their gaze on him. Had learned to feel and recognize it.

Shen Qingqiu put the meat in his mouth and chewed while humming. “Perhaps, when he saw you, he thought you the most beautiful person in the room and couldn’t help but stare at you.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Shang Qinghua almost burst out laughing before realizing that doing so would be highly inappropriate in the current situation so he stifled the urge by shoving a piece of lamb in his mouth. “If that is what he thinks, then he must be blind or a fool.”

“Why?”

Shang Qinghua pointed at himself as if it was obvious. “Because I am clearly not the most eye-catching person here. If he thinks so, then there must be something wrong with him. There are plenty of others here that are a hundred, no, a thousand times more beautiful than I am. I'm very plain and have no delusions about my appearance. A five out of ten on a good day. You know this, brother.”

Shen Qingqiu shook his head. “I do not, Qinghua. You must have more confidence in yourself. You are as beautiful if not even more beautiful than them.”

Qinghua knew his brother was trying to cheer him up, but it didn’t really make him feel any better. “That does not count," he muttered.

“Are you saying a king’s opinion is null?”

“Yes, when the king is my brother.” Shang Qinghua argued back while shoving a potato in his mouth.

“Hmph, then shall we ask our dinner host what his opinion is?”

“No!” Qinghua said quickly. “Why would you even ask him? He wouldn’t care about something trivial like this.”

Shen Qingqiu smirked at him. “So you care about his opinion of you? Are you smitten by him?”

“Absolutely not.” His answer was swift. “He looks so stoic and boring, and I want nothing to do with him.” But there was no mistaking the scarlet running across Shang Qinghua’s cheekbones.

“Dear brother, there is no need to fret. I won’t ask him that.”

Shang Qinghua visibly deflated in relief.

“At least in public.”

“What!”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! I’m only asking him for his opinion!” Shen Qingqiu said in defense.

“But I don’t want you to,” he whined.

“It’s a question from a friend to another friend. For curiosity’s sake. After all, you doubt my opinions so I should ask for another king’s opinions, should I not?”

Shang Qinghua groaned. “You are so embarrassing. Then please at least do it when I’m not in your presence.”

“Can’t promise that.” Shen Qingqiu skewered another piece of meat and put it in his mouth. “We’re going to go see him later and that might be my only chance to ask him before we leave.”

“What?” Shang Qinghua almost dropped his fork in his lap, barely catching it before the sauce dirtied his clothes. “What do you mean? You never told me we were going to have a private audience with him,” he hissed.

His brother looked innocently at him. “Did Liu Qingge not tell you? Hm, I should punish him for insubordination.”

Shang Qinghua would’ve bared his teeth at his brother if they had not been in public. “Don’t lie! You’re probably the one who told him not to tell me!” He cut his meat with heated anger, sawing at the poor tenderloin while imagining it to be Shen Qingqiu.

“Be nicer to the meat, Qinghua, what did it ever do to you?”

“Everything,” he seethed while continuing to knife the meat. “You know I hate socializing with aristocrats and now you want me to socialize with a king? And on top of it, with one I’ve never even met before! Are you out of your mind?” But at the same time, Shang Qinghua was hoping that he could somehow get into that demon king’s robes. If only.

“Brother, I just want him to meet you. And like what you said, you’ve never met him before. How are we to maintain good relations with the Red Lands if you never meet their king?”

We were doing just fine before all this, he thought, but outwardly, he agreed – it would probably be one of his only chances of meeting him. “Well, I’ll meet him, but I can’t guarantee I’ll like him.”

“That is enough for me.” Shen Qingqiu primly dabbed his mouth with a napkin, conveniently hiding a feline smile behind the fabric.

Still, Shang Qinghua looked at his brother suspiciously. Shen Qingqiu was oddly acquiescent today, but his appetite was back now so he focused on stuffing as much food in his mouth to avoid any further conversation from his brother and any neighboring aristocrats.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

After dinner, Shang Qinghua was escorted to the king’s study room. His brother had promised to be there later, but if the demon prince Luo Binghe hanging off his arm like an oversized puppy was any indication of what was going to transpire, Shang Qinghua knew his brother had left him to fend for himself.

But no matter. Shang Qinghua could deal with a lone demon king. Probably.

So Shang Qinghua sat in his plush seat before the king’s desk, obediently waiting for the king despite wanting nothing more than to go back to his room and sleep. The food coma was kicking in and combined with the relaxing incense, warm draft, and comfortable seat, Qinghua was about to sleep and–

“Prince of the Black Lands, Shang Qinghua.”

He bolted straight up, turning dizzily to find the source of the deep voice. Blue eyes glowed in the shadows before Mobei-jun seemed to materialize in front of him, a flurry of fur and black robes, ice and dominance.

“D-Demon King.”

Mobei-jun frowned. “So it seems that moniker is more popular than I thought.”

Shang Qinghua tried something different. Maybe he didn’t like being called ‘demon king.’ “My king?”

Mobei-jun showed no indication of his feelings aside from a grunt.

‘My king’ would have to do then. Shang Qinghua certainly wouldn’t dare to call a stranger, who was a king no less, by their given name.

“Where is your brother? I am told I would be meeting the two of you.”

“Ah, he–” Shang Qinghua paused, trying to find a good way to word it. “He was last seen with your brother. I’m not sure what business he has with him.”

“Hmph.” Mobei-jun grumbled. “Your fiend of a brother with that brother of mine who's always so clingy and horny...I know exactly what he’s doing with your brother. Or rather, to your brother.”

Shang Qinghua was pretty sure his jaw would’ve been wide open in shock if he wasn’t in the presence of a foreign king right now. “I-I apologize for my brother’s actions. He’s been known to fall prey to pretty faces. And your brother does have one…”

“What about me?” The question was sudden and unexpected.

“What?”

Mobei-jun repeated himself. “What about me?”

“You?” Shang Qinghua squeaked out. “You want my opinion of you?”

He nodded, looking expectantly at him. It was a command and it was to be answered regardless. Fine. He would tell this king what he wanted to hear.

But he was not going to admit all that.

“Shang Qinghua, come closer.” Mobei-jun's eyes bore deep into Qinghua, so deep that he felt an ache in his soul.

He inched closer to him but kept his distance.

“Closer.”

A scoot forward.

“Closer.” This time there was impatience in his voice.

Qinghua moved so close he could feel the demon king’s cold aura radiate in waves. He shivered when he felt cold winds trail dangerously close to him.

“Tell me the truth,” he murmured. And there it was again, that piercing, cold gaze that seemed to numb Shang Qinghua – and make him want to do anything Mobei-jun said.

“You are indeed very pretty, my king. Very handsome – there is nothing you lack in looks.”

��But there is something I lack?” Mobei-jun was not angry, merely curious.

One would be hard-pressed to find something Mobei-jun lacked. He was the demon king of the Red Lands, after all, with dominion over all in the land and unparalleled powers. His handsome features and muscled physique was not lost on Shang Qinghua either. But if there was something he lacked…

“Softness.” Shang Qinghua ventured hesitantly. “You lack softness, my king.”

“Hmph.” Mobei-jun rearranged his heavy robes and shed the outer layer, perfuming the air with his spicy peppermint scent that seemed to grow stronger with each layer he removed. “I can be soft.”

Shang Qinghua doubted that such a stern-looking demon known for his harshness could be soft, but he did not want his brother to get mad at him for making the demon king angry. So he kept his mouth shut.

Mobei-jun narrowed his eyes. “You do not believe me?”

Shang Qinghua rushed to reassure him. Already, his plan to seduce and appease was failing. “Of course, I believe you, my king!”

“Mobei-jun," he demanded.

“W-what?”

“That is my name – call me that.” It was a command. There would be no room for discussion.

“Yes, my king.”

“Mobei-jun.”

“Mobei-jun,” Shang Qinghua muttered.

The king – no, it was Mobei-jun now, smiled upon hearing his name, revealing white, gleaming teeth. “And I can show you softness if you will allow me.”

Shang Qinghua nodded (for what else was he supposed to do) and kept his eyes trained on those pointed teeth. Mobei-jun brought pale lips and sharp teeth to his face, and Shang Qinghua felt like he was going to faint. By the stars, the demon king was going to eat him.

But what came was not the rip of flesh and hot blood, but spicy peppermint and tenderness – Mobei-jun pressed his lips against Qinghua’s, nipping lightly at the edges while slowly rimming the seam of his warm lips with his cold tongue. The heady combination of Mobei-jun’s spicy scent and cool lips relaxed Shang Qinghua so much that he didn’t even notice when Mobei-jun slipped his tongue in between his, eagerly seeking out Qinghua’s tongue in a tangle of flesh and saliva – as if he wanted to mate their tongues together until they became one.

Shang Qinghua was sure he was drooling at this point and looking very undignified but Mobei-jun tasted too good to let go and who knew when he’d be able to kiss such a delicious man again – if ever? So he gripped his sharp horns, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction when the demon groaned against his lips, tongue faltering ever so slightly in its frantic dance.

Ah, so his horns are sensitive.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up: Shang Qinghua slid his hands down to the base of Mobei-jun’s horns and scratched lightly, causing the king to pull back from the kiss, leaving a light string of saliva in the wake of their passion. They were both gasping now and Mobei-jun’s cold eyes were most certainly anything but cold now.

“D-Don’t touch my horns. They’re very sensitive.” He shuddered as if the thought of it was overwhelming.

Shang Qinghua let out a small smile. “But my king, they are so very pretty – how can I neglect them?”

If he noticed that Shang Qinghua had reverted back to calling him ‘my king,’ he made no comment about it. Instead, Mobei-jun turned, blushing lightly. “Still, for us demons, touching someone’s horns is like…” He trailed off, too embarrassed to say the rest.

“Touching someone’s penis?” Shang Qinghua pretended to guess. He was an avid reader and writer, those words were like child’s play to him. No word was too crude. Just unused and untried. “Dick? Cock?” His smile grew wider when Mobei-jun visibly squirmed under those words.

“Yes,” Mobei-jun mumbled.

“Hm, then I should touch them more, shouldn’t I? Does it not feel good?”

“It does.” He replied with a small pout. Then he paused for a second, looking heatedly at Shang Qinghua with those cold, sapphire eyes. “But I’d rather make you feel good.”

How could anyone have mistaken this demon for being as cruel as his uncle?

Shang Qinghua prostrated himself in mock deference to Mobei-jun with palms pressed against the floor, forehead resting above his hands. “Your wish is my command, my king. How do you wish to have me?”

The demon picked Shang Qinghua up in one fluid motion before setting him down gently on sumptuous silk bedding as if he had plucked a delicate flower and was trying to keep it from wilting. He pulled a pillow over and gently tucked it under Shang Qinghua’s hips while Qinghua began pulling off his many layers of clothing. And when Shang Qinghua was laid bare for his king’s pleasure, Mobei-jun kneeled in between his legs, unmoving, like a beautiful icy statue.

Shang Qinghua was confused. Wasn’t this the part where they would fuck like bunnies until the morning? “What’s wrong?”

“I–” Mobei-jun swallowed thickly. “I want to commit your image to memory. To burn it into my eyes, my mind, my entire soul until you are all I think about, all I see, and all I remember.”

“T-That’s nice,” Shang Qinghua stuttered, brain shortcircuiting from the intense romancing he was receiving today. “But why don’t we focus on other things first.” His dick twitched in agreement.

Mobei-jun pulled his gaze down, focusing intently. “Yes, other things,” he murmured.

The bed dipped low as he lowered himself to the bed and pushed Qinghua’s thighs apart before planting a languid, cool kiss directly on the tip of his cock where precum leaked.

Shang Qinghua's hips rose instinctually off the pillow as if offering himself to Mobei-jun, and he moaned hard. “Ah, my king.”

Mobei-jun decided then and there that he liked it when Shang Qinghua moaned for him so he kissed his cock again, licking the full length in order to not waste any of his Qinghua’s precious seed. Slowly, he lapped at the fat tip before working it into his mouth, savoring and licking each ridge and vein, careful to give the whole length equal attention.

Shang Qinghua’s dick was not nearly as big as his, nor any other demons for that matter, so despite swallowing it whole – so that his nose bumped against Qinghua’s smooth tummy – it did not reach the back of his throat. But Mobei-jun didn’t mind since it was just another reminder of how cute and small his little human prince was.

As Mobei-jun continued to bob his head along Shang Qinghua’s cock, relishing the musky floral scent flooding his senses and the pretty cries of his human prince, Qinghua’s hips began to fervently push against his mouth, moans growing louder. Mobei-jun couldn’t help reaching up to tweak a pinky nipple – it was so perky and hard that it was almost impossible for him to ignore. The way it stiffened in the air was almost as if it was reaching for his attention. He could not ignore it.

Shang Qinghua came as soon as Mobei-jun pinched his nipple, unable to stop himself from spilling himself in Mobei-jun’s mouth from the combined sensation.

“Ha, fuck, that felt so good,” he panted.

Mobei-jun smiled against Qinghua’s cock, pleased with the fact that he was able to make him cum. He swallowed the semen that sat warmly in his mouth – so warm that it almost burned his cool throat – and spit some of it out on his hand, the creamy liquid spiraling with his pale blue saliva to create an erotic mixture of body fluids.

Shang Qinghua looked down in embarrassment and flushed deeply. “You didn’t have to swallow it, my king. You could’ve just spit it out.”

“And let such precious seed go to waste? That would not be a very kingly thing to do, Shang Qinghua.”

There was absolutely nothing kingly about this entire situation, but Shang Qinghua didn’t bother pointing that out.

“And besides,” Mobei-jun continued, as he gently rolled Qinghua over so that the pillow was under his stomach now. “I need it for you. It won’t feel good if there’s nothing in there. It’ll hurt.” He frowned, pondering the idea. “You do know how sex between two men works, do you not, Shang Qinghua? Or is that not something they teach the humans of the Black Lands? Perhaps I should stop for now and–”

“No!” He’d perish if Mobei-jun stopped. “Of course they do!”

Mobei-jun slapped Qinghua’s ass lightly, pale cheeks turning the loveliest shade of pink. He would have to do that more often if Shang Qinghua allowed him. “Then behave,” he ordered.

Shang Qinghua promptly shut up.

Mobei-jun looked at the mixture in his palm – it wasn’t quite the amount he wanted so he spitted into his palm again until he was pleased with the amount before spreading Shang Qinghua’s ass to drip the saliva-mixed cum over Qinghua’s puckered hole. Mobei-jun let out a groan as it twitched as if to suck everything in. He slowly pushed a finger inside, lightly massaging Shang Qinghua’s rim, testing the small space, before he added another finger and then a third, making sure everything was slippery and wet and ready for him.

Shang Qinghua whimpered against the stretch, but it still wasn’t enough for him. “Please, my king, more. I need more.” I need you.

“Wait.” Mobei-jun’s tone was patient. “You are not ready yet.” He ignored his straining cock – rushing things would make the experience unpleasant. There would be opportunities later for him to take Qinghua fast and hard, but today was not the day.

Mobei-jun continued his slow thrusts in and out of Shang Qinghua’s hole until he could comfortably slide his fingers knuckles deep. Already, he could tell it would be a tight fit (demons and humans were not the most compatible), but he knew that his human prince would be able to take him. He slid his fingers out, enjoying the lewd squelch Qinghua’s ass made and used what remained of the mixture to coat his hard shaft, careful to cover every last inch while holding himself in. He was so ready to spill himself, but he would only do so in Shang Qinghua.

“Qinghua,” Mobei-jun said softly, gently prying open his ass cheeks to rest his heavy length against soft, peachy globes. Again, he itched to slap it, to make it blush bright red and see Qinghua twitch – he knows that his human prince would writhe so beautifully before him – but that would be for another time. “Are you okay? Ready for me?”

Underneath him, Shang Qinghua moaned and unconsciously pushed his ass towards Mobei-jun’s hips, seeking friction against his aching hole while Mobei-jun continued to rub his cock between his ass. His voice came out as a shaky breath. “Yes, my king, please, put it in.”

Being at his limit and unable to reject such a desperate request from his human prince, Mobei-jun began to carefully slide himself into Shang Qinghua, gritting his teeth when he felt a vise-like grip around his cock, eyes watering when he filled Qinghua completely with his balls resting against his perineum.

“Ha, Qinghua, you’re so tight.”

Shang Qinghua’s response came out in ragged breaths. “And you’re…you’re so big.”

Mobei-jun smiled and gripped Qinghua’s lithe hips. “Humans are so tiny that there is no helping it. And bigger only means I can fill you better.”

Compared to the veiled riddles that humans often spoke in, demons were so straightforward. Shang Qinghua buried his face in the pillows, trying to ignore the embarrassment he felt – there was nothing to be embarrassed about since they were already in such a compromising situation, but he felt it nonetheless. No one had ever been this straightforward with him before, not even his own brother.

“Just move,” he grumbled.

“Your wish is my command, Qinghua.” But Mobei-jun dragged his thick cock out of Shang Qinghua at what felt like a snail’s pace and thrust slowly back in, continuing like this until Qinghua felt like he was going to go mad if he didn’t move any faster.

“Faster, my king, you move too slow.”

“Oh? Then you have to tell this king exactly how you want it. Go ahead.” Mobei-jun caught Qinghua’s lips in his, sucking his tongue lightly. “Qinghua,” he whispered, voice so honeyed that Shang Qinghua was pretty sure it’d be impossible to deny him anything. “Tell me what you want.”

Qinghua gulped. It was his turn to be shy now. He hesitated. “I want…I want you to move faster. Inside me.”

“What part of me do you want to move faster inside you? My fingers?” He began to pull his length out stopping when Shang Qinghua whined and reached for his hips.

“No,” he whimpered, unshed tears glistening in his eyes. “I want your…cock.”

That’s all it takes for Mobei-jun to slam his hips into Shang Qinghua’s. “Of course, you can have my cock, Qinghua. You can have it in whatever,” he pulled out only to thrust back inside harshly again, “Way you like.”

Qinghua swayed underneath the force, moaning hard when Mobei-jun began to pound rhythmically into him, breath catching when he hit a particularly soft spot deep inside him. He continued to press his face into the pillow, clenching the sheets around him while focusing on the delicious weight above him and the cold hands that circled his waist.

He was getting close, so close – he could tell by the way his cock ached fiercely and hung heavy in between his thighs. He just needed a little bit more to tide him over the edge so he reached down to grip his length, pumping roughly while fondling his sensitive tip.

“Don’t do that.” Mobei-jun panted.

“W-Why?” Even he could hear the ache in his voice. “I’m so close.”

Mobei-jun narrowed his eyes. “Your pleasure can come from no one but me,” he said harshly. “I’ll do it.”

He pushed Shang Qinghua’s hands away to grasp his length, causing Qinghua to jolt at the cool fingers against his hot, throbbing dick. “Ah, fuck,” he gasped. “That feels so good – just like that, keep rubbing it hard.”

Mobei-jun wouldn’t have stopped even if his life depended on it. Qinghua’s cock felt so good in his hands that he didn’t even want to stop. “Does it feel good, Qinghua? Which do you like better? My mouth or my hand?” He lowered himself so that his lips brushed the tips of Qinghua’s ear. “Or my cock?”

Too fucked out of his mind from Mobei-jun’s continuous thrusting, Shang Qinghua could only pant out a haphazard reply. “My king, ah, fuck I–, a-all of them feels good. They all feel good.” Mobei-jun squeezed particularly hard then, pushing lightly against Qinghua’s urethra so that cum seeped out. “Shit, ah, I’m gonna cum, ‘m gonna, gonna cum.”

“Then cum.”

His whispered command made the coil in Shang Qinghua snap, and he came so hard he swore he saw stars. Mobei-jun grunted when he felt Qinghua’s slick pool in his palm and seep through his fingers. Anything that came from his Qinghua was precious though, so he brought his fingers to his lips, taking the time to lick it clean off his hands.

“A-again!” Shang Qinghua flushed deeply. “You don’t have to do that…”

“But I want to.” And he was serious about it. Everything that came from Qinghua was a priceless treasure. And Mobei-jun wanted to rip another pretty orgasm from his Qinghua and find release for himself, so he continued to fuck Shang Qinghua through his orgasm, rutting his hips against his. “Qinghua,” he asked. “Can you give me another one?”

Surely another one would be too much. “I-I don’t think so, my king.” Shang Qinghua clenched hard when Mobei-jun slid deep inside. “I-It’s too much.”

“I think you can give me another one though? I want to see your pretty face when you come undone for me. Will you cum for me?”

Such sweet, warm words from such a cold person. How could Shang Qinghua resist his king? “I–”

Mobei-jun could feel Qinghua’s hole ripple against his hard length, milking him, bringing him closer to release. His Qinghua would only need a little more coaxing.

“You take my cock so well, Qinghua, so tight, so pretty and pliant for me. Will you give me another orgasm? I want to feel you squeeze my cock – only then will I cum. After you.”

Shang Qinghua squeezed his eyes shut. Damn this man and his dirty yet flowery words – he knew just how to get to him. He felt his release a few seconds later, his dick throbbing hard from the consecutive orgasm before Mobei-jun suddenly pulled him up into a sitting position to rest his back against his hard chest.

“Ah,” Shang Qinghua gasped. “What are you doing?” In this position, Mobei-jun sank deeper inside him, so deep that his cock seemed to press against Qinghua’s prostate. “My king, if you do that, I’ll–” Mobei-jun didn’t say anything but Shang Qinghua could feel him get bigger before his hips stuttered and he felt hot liquid spill against his prostate at the same time Mobei-jun bit his neck hard, making Shang Qinghua cum a third time. “I’ll c-cum,” he wailed.

Mobei-jun rocked beneath him, riding out his high while Qinghua lay limply in his arms. “Ah fuck, Qinghua, you felt so good.”

At this point, Shang Qinghua was too tired to do anything. He rested against Mobei-jun’s cool chest while Mobei-jun gently moved him so he was laying down, adjusting the pillows and blankets so they could rest comfortably. He left his cock inside Shang Qinghua the entire time, and Qinghua wondered when he was going to take his cock out, but even when he softened and had settled into the blanket and his breathing slowed, he did not take it out.

“My king?”

“Yes, Qinghua?”

Was this something he could say? Or would Mobei-jun get mad? Shang Qinghua decided he’d say it anyway. “Are you going to take it out?”

Mobei-jun slit his eye open. “Take what out?”

“Your…dick.”

“Of course not, what a silly question.” He shut his eye, dragging Qinghua closer to his chest, and said nothing else – as if the argument was finished.

Shang Qinghua didn’t really mind – he just felt a bit stuffed down there and full (he wasn’t used to it), but it felt oddly good, and he supposed this wasn’t going to be a common occurrence, so he let Mobei-jun be.

“Goodnight then, my king.”

Mobei-jun huffed.

It was only when Shang Qinghua fell asleep did Mobei-jun dare to speak.

“Goodnight, Shang Qinghua.” And then, after a pause, and in a low voice, as if he was afraid someone would hear him, he said, “I have loved you since the moment I met you…eight years ago on that fated night. And I will never let you go now that you are in my grasp.”

red lands & black lands come from egyptian mythology - set ruled over the red lands and Horus ruled over the black lands to balance each other out.

i just realized that i have a terrible habit of making things one-shots but putting tidbits of info that make you wonder what happened to warrant that info & whatnot (like the flashback in my previous chilumi fic *cries*).

anyway, moshang nation come get your crumbs!

come yell at/with me on the bird app (where i'm more active)

#moshang #mobei jun x shang qinghua #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang fic #moshang fanfic #moshang smut #svsss fanfic #svsss smut #svsss fic #danmei smut #damnei fanfic #yaoi smut #yaoi bl #yaoi fanfic #hua!writes

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Text

Draw your swords, pt. 3

Summary: While his bride is exacting her plans from the very first day in Little Palace, the Darkling finds he has a soft spot for the enemy.

Warnings: sexual references, swearing, angst

Part one // Part two

=================================

The last thing Y/N expected upon waking up was to wake up alone. Spreading out in the bed, she huffed a loose strand of her hair off her face. Narrowing her eyes, she stared up at the canopy with her wicked husband on her mind.

After the way he had acted the night before, she found herself wondering what game he’s playing. They were meant to be married in paper only, yet he seems to have a possessive streak that extends to her as well. A part of her wasn’t sure if he truly had a shred of decency within considering he didn’t take advantage of their marital status, but the other part of her wasn’t easily swayed. That part of her remained defiant as it was forged in a fire the Darkling set. Intentionally or not, his actions have damaged her before they ever even met and she wasn’t very forgiving.

Opening the door, unannounced, strolled in the most beautiful woman Y/N had ever seen. Her long, auburn hair was perfectly styled and framed her face without obscuring an inch of her stunning beauty.

Genya, she realized. Even on the other side of the fold, Y/N knew of the empresses’ tailor.

Large, amber eyes fix on Y/N who slowly sat up. She stared at Genya without shame, admiring her appearance.

“Well, from what the general told me, I expected I’d have more work on my hands.” Genya huffs, her hands on her hips as her lips form a thin line.

“I have nothing wrong with me”, Y/N defends, graciously getting out of the bed that was far too comfy considering who she shared it with. “And where is the general?” Raising her eyebrow, Y/N folded her arms. No matter where he disappeared to, she couldn’t let him wander too far in case he tries to break their agreement and attend a meeting alone.

Humming, Genya didn’t try to hide her curiosity as she looked Y/N up and down. “Are you sure you don’t need my services?”

Glancing at the door, Y/N saw the servants waiting in front for a command. “Leave us”, Y/N waves them off, swiftly closing the door behind them. Her eyes settle on a seemingly startled Genya who cocks her head to the side.

“Interesting. So you do need me?”

Inhaling deeply, Y/N nods. Coming closer, her eyes remain on Genya’s whose gaze drifts at first. Once Y/N stopped before her, their eyes met.

“I need you, but not as a tailor.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Genya steps back. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Swallowing thickly, Y/N licked her lips. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you hate the emperor and you’d do anything to make sure he never lays a hand on you?”

Genya’s nostrils flare, her lips drawing back between her pearly whites. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m loyal to my emperor.”

“I know”, Y/N reaches for her hand, “I’m saying if your loyalties shifted, I’d make sure that fat fuck died in agonizing pain.”

Yanking her hand out of Y/N’s reach, Genya stepped back with wide eyes.

Gnawing on the inside of her bottom lip, Y/N wished she was more tactful. Hearing of Genya and her fate, she assumed she’d gladly ally with her in this fight. Not only does she need Genya on her side to fight against Kirigan, but the emperor as well. Genya would have been an ideal ally if only she was willing to hear her out. But she should have waited, befriended the Grisha. She should have been more tactful.

“Does the general know of the treasonous plans you speak of?”

Chuckling in disbelief, Y/N shakes her head, “Do you truly believe I’d be breathing if he did?”

Pursing her lips, Genya turned her back on Y/N, contemplating all the possibilities that could stem from her decision.

“It’s a lot, I know, but I am here with a few secrets of my own.” Y/N takes a step closer, her hand clasping Genya’s shoulder as a show of support. “I realize you barely know me, but we can change that now.”

“How?” Genya whispers, more to herself than Y/N who released a shaky sigh.

“By revealing a secret that would be lethal for me if you shared it with anyone.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Genya’s eyes narrowed at Y/N who felt genuine, more than anyone had been since the day she arrived in the Palace. Despite the initial mistrust, Genya nods.

The guards stationed outside of Y/N’s room only heard a loud gasp behind closed doors, unaware that very gasp was a start of a friendship that would define Ravka’s future.

Meanwhile, the Darkling had spent the morning out in the fields. Riding his favorite horse usually served as a way to distract his mind from ongoing worries, but it had no such effect today. No amount of speed or distance could possibly erase the feeling of Y/N’s hand on his body, much less of her body pressing against him.

He behaved as a pious man, an honorable gentleman with self-restrain of a saint. If he could, he’d have taken her without regrets, but he never crossed that line and doing so with a woman meant to be his wife would set him on a path of no return – of true evil.

The Darkling may have done some heinous things, but they were never without reason. If he had done anything against her wishes, he’d be beyond redemption and he couldn’t help but grit his teeth every time he imagined himself losing his mind around her long enough for her to turn him into the villain she sees him as.

Another thing he’s decided to do is break the rule he knew she expected him to uphold – sleeping in separate chambers was the worst thing for them now. He had to be in her bed every night, regardless if she wanted to let him between her legs or not. He wouldn’t force her, that much would be true, but he wouldn’t sleep in his own room anymore. The room they were given last night would be the one he goes to, stumbles to, crawls to, in order to fall asleep beside her. And though it’s a risk as he could easily find himself with his throat cut, he refused to back down.

Dismounting, he headed to the map room where his subordinates waited for further instructions regarding the war.

“Shall we start?” The Darkling tossed his riding gloves on the desk as he looked at his people. A new face caught his attention, making him do a double take until his dark skies narrowed at her.

“Now that you’ve arrived”, Y/N stands, smiling sweetly. “I believe we can present to you what we’ve discussed while you were off on a joy ride.”

There’s nothing sweet about her, Darkling realizes. Even her smile is coated in honey but laced with poison.

He licked his lips, “Well, if you want my opinion-“

“I don’t”, she stood her ground, “I have my own.”

Chuckling darkly, he leans forth on the table. His nostrils are flared, his hands gripping the edges until his knuckles turn white. “And what exactly is that?”

“We agreed on having the First army general having a vote in the decision making process as you all do, and since I’m his proxy, I’ve decided you will no longer use humans as canon meat.”

Gliding the tip of his tongue over the inner side of his teeth, he stared at Y/N as if she were made of glass he had every intention on shattering. That would be a mistake – glass is only brittle until it breaks, the shards can cause more damage.

“We will train Grisha to protect humans and humans will use their weapons to protect the Grisha in a more effective manner with the emperor’s gold.”

“Gold?” Kirigan says through gritted teeth as she approaches him, her hands behind her back and he has no doubts she’s stashed a weapon in them and the blue kefta she wore. He’d tell her to take it off and never wear one since she’s but a human, yet as his wife, she was entitled to a kefta. Besides, she looked like a dream in one.

“The emperor agreed to fund the First army’s armory during breakfast”, she smirks, lifting her head up to maintain eye contact.

“Get out”, he grumbles.

Raising her eyebrow, she giggles, “Are you that incapable of admitting I may have opinions and capabilities with potential to do better than the ones you brought before the emperor?” Hardening her gaze, she cups his cheek so tenderly he felt a shiver run down his back. “Did I hurt your feelings?”

“GET OUT!” He turns to the others, watching them scramble to leave before he unleashes the darkness everyone feared. Once the last one left, the door slamming behind them, Kirigan locked his eyes on hers.

“Don’t ever try to get inside my head”, he snarled, slamming her against the door. As his heartbeat echoed in his ears, they stayed there with his grip crushing her wrists, keeping them pinned to the wall.

She didn’t breathe, trying to guess his next move. There was a risk she’d push him over the edge and she quite liked herself in one piece, so she waited – waited for him to move first despite the aching pain in her wrists. Releasing a shuddered breath, her chest deflates.

Finally, his eyes soften as he realizes he might have scared her and while he’d usually triumph, he found no satisfaction in being rough with her. He imagined himself releasing her from his grip, cupping her cheeks and asking for forgiveness, but the way she refused to blink made him unsteady. Yet he whispered still, “It’s too dark for you.”

Squinting, Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line. She easily breaks out of his grasp, shoving him against the wall with her forearm on his chest. Trailing her hand lazily towards his neck, she tightens her grip, lightly choking him. Pulling him down, she stands on her tiptoes as well. Leaning in, her lips brush against his ear; whispering, "Darling, you may wield darkness but you don't know the meaning of dark."

Stepping away, she raised her chin defiantly and he wished he could grasp it and pull her lips to his until her jaw relented and her mouth opened for his. And that’s when he realized – why would he hold back?

Her eyes drifted up to his and she knew his resolve was gone. His lips captured hers in a hard kiss, driving them apart with the force of it. There was something gentle about it, regardless of the brute strength he used to push her into the door. She felt the door rattle against her back as he shifted, pressing her into it, taking her face between his hands.

When he kissed her, she felt as if she were losing his mind. She couldn’t comprehend why her hand wasn’t holding her dagger at his neck, or why she allowed herself to moan into the kiss as if he had brought her pleasure.

Every thought she once had evaporated as the darkness of lust drew her in, bending all her rules, stealing the last trembling bit of restraint. She tries to pull away, to stand firm and turn away his affection if she could call it that.

“No”, he whispers, bringing her lips back to his.

And when he kissed her again, she wasn’t sure she wanted her sanity back. She slid her hands under his kefta, wrapping arms around him to press him closer. The low groan at the back of his throat, a small, pleading noise set every inch of her skin on fire.

Opening her eyes, they widen as she notes his are closed as he lost himself in their passionate exchange. A single intelligent thought formed inside her mind, sparking others to appear as well. Playing with fire is her favorite hobby, but this wasn’t a game – not when she was losing.

Pushing against him with all her might, Y/N gasped for breath as he stumbled back. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she narrowed her eyes at him. Lifting her chin, Y/N met his gaze decidedly. After all, she couldn’t avoid her marital duty if she allowed him to kiss her like that. He may not be an old, unattractive, undeveloped man she had imagined in her mind, but Y/N still wasn’t quite keen on giving herself to him. She had kept her maidenhood all those years only to lose it to a man who shall never be more to her than a husband in name only. She’d never love him…she promised herself that. She never broke a promise before and he would not be the one who changes that.

“Don’t touch me”, she spoke through clenched teeth.

He looked at her in surprise. There was hatred in her enchantingly cold eyes, her cheeks flushed red. If possible, her anger made her even more beautiful. Never had he felt such a raging desire.

His hand went around her neck, his thumb digging into the soft flesh. “You are my wife,” he said in a low voice. “You are mine!”

“I believe we have already covered that. I’m not yours and I never will be.” Y/N told him with such spite, such determination that he let her go immediately.

“You’re untouched, aren’t you?” Darkling’s voice softened, his eyes holding more understanding than she liked. Had he acted unreasonably and taken her against her will the night before or now, she’d at least be right about his horrid heart and vile mind…but he didn’t. Instead of being a savage she imaged him to be, he offered her gentle understanding.

“I’m sorry I was rough. I’ll try and be gentler. If you don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you.” Running a hand across his face, he leaned back on the table. “I want you…really fucking bad, but I won’t take you against your will.” The Darkling sighed as she stared at him with her doe eyes, seeing confusion pass her features.

“Good to know where you draw your line. Murder – good, rape – bad.”

Rolling his eyes, he squinted as he looked at her again, “We can’t sacrifice Grisha for your men.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Y/N could hardly believe he just forgot the kiss they shared. In seconds, he crossed his arms and the lustful look was gone. The man before her was a general once more, and though he tried to hide it, he was still a man who had a hard-on despite the subject change. She wished she could ignore the evidence his blood is still boiling for a touch, more so because he was fucking right – he wasn’t small at all.

“If you keep wasting human lives, we will stop defending yours entirely.”

Raising an eyebrow, his face hardened, “We’ll kill you.”

Scoffing, she raises her eyebrow to mimic him. “It’s you or Volcra or the Druskelle and Fjerdans or Shu. We end up dying either way.” Stepping closer, she folded her hands behind her back. “We can work together and lessen our losses or you can do it your way and have a massacre instead.”

In less than a minute, her eyes turned from ice to flame and he found himself captivated by the change.

“I’ll agree on one condition.”

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. Was that expression fear? The possibility struck him as so humorous he nearly laughed out loud.

“State your terms”, she snapped, refusing to concede when she’s close enough to do something she’s wanted for years – to protect the soldiers used as a shield for those who are perfectly capable of protecting themselves.

“I plan on getting to know you better”, he leaned in closer. He raised his hand, cupping her cheek just as he imagined – tenderly, enough to show dominance but not quite capable of harming her. “If you let me.”

Heart fluttering inside her chest had made her doubt herself. She stared at him, stubborn and unrelenting. “I’m still not sleeping with you.”

Chuckling, Kirigan drops his hand, noticing her relax as he steps back. With a tightness in his chest, he looked back at his wife, so small, so alone and still so fierce. He would never admit it, but he had already a sliver of love for her and knowing she did not had hurt him.

His smile falls and he nods. Clearing his throat, “How about we go for a ride in a few days?” He took her hand in his and gave her a gentle squeeze, looking up at her weary eyes.

“Does that mean I have the bed all to myself?” Raising her eyebrows expectantly, she squeezed his hands right back, as bold as ever. Genya seemed to trust him, yet Y/N couldn’t understand why. He’s too charming to be trustworthy.

Using his grip on her hand as an advantage, he tugged her closer to him and she found herself between his legs as he remained, leaning against the table behind him. His eyes flicker to her lips, “Better find more pillows, my wife. We wouldn’t want you to be the big spoon again, would we?”

With that, he turned them so swiftly, she had barely blinked as he pulled her up on the table and she gasped in surprise. Heart beating fast, she nearly gripped his kefta and claimed his lips, but he leaned in on his own accord and she had no need for brutish behavior.

The tip of his nose brushes hers and just as she begins to lean in, he takes a step back. Winking, he takes another step back.

“If you want a taste, you’ll have to ask.”

Watching his retreating figure in shock, she remained perched on the table with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

Covering her mouth, Y/N shakes her head. Her mind was right, the heart cannot be trusted.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless @azure23x

PART 4

#the darkling #the darkling x reader #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #shadow and bone #the darkling fanfiction

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lo-frequency · 3 years

Note

Hiiii can I request a iida x chubby! Reader w/ some good good fluff please <3

Hello! Here’s that good good fluff you requested, enjoy 💕

Also, this kinda long, just as a warning...I got carried away as usual lol

Iida x Chubby!Reader

-Class 1A was pretty shocked to find out that their high strung class rep had an s/o. Much less someone as charming as you, but aren’t we all full of surprises?

-Yes, he saw your weight, but to him it was just one of your attributes. He didn’t view it negatively, but rather just a part of you.

-He thought it suited you, anyway, and quickly grew fond of your plump self. He began to associate it with all your other good points, so seeing you always lifted his mood, if his enthusiastic greetings were any indication.

-Thought he was slick, but it’s obvious that he tries to pair the two of you together whenever possible. When he gets called out he comes up with the worst excuses. “I-I have a special grouping system. This was the optimum pairing for us!!”

-Often consults/discusses with you for important decisions. Y’all will form a little huddle whenever something goes wrong and (loudly) whisper amongst yourselves before he turns back to everyone else to announce the new plan (as if they couldn’t hear y’all, lol)

-Was awkward about touching you at first, mostly because he wanted to but knew he had ‘impure’ intentions and felt guilty about it. He brushed your hip by accident once and apologized to you for 5 minutes straight, hand motions and all. (He couldn’t stop thinking about it later, tho 😏)

-Being the traditional gentleman he is, he confessed to you through an eloquently written love letter that he spent a whole week perfecting. Wrote a whole thesis on when he realized he liked you, why he liked you, all your good points, and why he’d be an ideal candidate for your boyfriend.

-Willing to win your heart too, if necessary. He understands his feelings may be one-sided, but he’ll work hard to earn your affection!

-Oohh imagine a kiss from Tenya Iida. He only kisses you when there’s absolutely no one around, and he usually goes for your chubby cheeks. For your first kiss, he was a lil nervous but wanted to be chivalrous about it and announced his desire to kiss you...with your permission, of course. It would’ve been perfect had he not bumped your face with his glasses. Afterwards, he just rests his forehead against yours (ooOoOhh Iida 😩)

-His favorite form of affection are hugs so tight your feet nearly lift off the ground. Sometimes he gets too enthusiastic, but he can’t help himself, there’s no better sensation than your softness against him. In moments of excitement, he’ll pull you into a hug and spin you around (again, while you two are in private lol)

-Likes to hold your pudgy hand too, and sometimes presses a kiss to your knuckles if he’s feeling especially sentimental that day.

-Compliments you all the time, he’s vocal about even the most mundane things you do, from how you pack you organize your book bag to what you eat for lunch. “Y/N, you eat an apple with your lunch everyday, you’re so diligent about getting your proper nutrients, I love you!!” Ok, not the last part, but same energy.

-Please praise him back, he’ll be feeling himself for the rest of the day. You said that about him? To Tenya, it’s the highest form of flattery.

-Cheers for you the loudest during training exercises, you can hear him loud and clear all the way from the stands. Gets you fired up every time lol.

-So proud of you, he talks about you to anyone who will listen. You’re his s/o, and you prove to him with each passing day that he has excellent taste.

-Understands how much of a struggle it can be to find clothes, considering his huge calves, so he’s very patient when you two shop together. Though, do be prepared for his opinion on your choice in clothes...even if you didn’t ask for it. He has good intentions tho, he’s just trying to help 🙃.

-Gets flustered when anyone at school mentions your relationship. He tries to remain ‘professional’ in front of his classmates, so he sputters whenever they tease him about you. (So please, hug him in front of the class and watch him fall apart)

-Despite how he acts at school, Iida is more relaxed when it’s just the two of you. He loves having intelligent (or goofy) conversations with you, and he often makes you laugh with his earnest answers to your silly questions.

-Imagine: Initially you two were just talking about hypothetical villain scenarios in his room, but somehow you ended up acting them out and now Iida was chasing you around the room as you scrambled to get away, squealing. “Foolish Y/N! Don’t you know running is futile? There’s no escaping me!” he yells, launching himself over his bed and tackling you to the ground, tickling you as part of his nefarious plans with a triumphant grin on his face at your laughter.

-He didn’t realize how loud he was until he, the class rep, gets a knock on the door and a noise complaint. Tenya is thoroughly mortified, and y’all keep the shenanigans to a minimum afterwards lol.

-Fussy, he will worry over your comfort constantly to the point where it’s a little overbearing. “Y/n, I really do think you should put on some socks, you’ll catch a cold!” “Here darling, put this napkin in your lap so you don’t drop anything on your clothes” “Are you sure you don’t want to rest a little longer? I don’t want your feet to hurt”

-Speaking of aching feet, imagine if Tenya gave you a piggyback ride to rest your sore toes...while using his quirk:

-“Come on Y/N, let’s head back to the car so you can rest,” your boyfriend said, holding your hand and tugging you along in his usual authoritative manner.

-“But Tenya, wouldn’t we get there faster if I just rode on your back?”

-“Hm” he said, holding his chin, “...I suppose you’re right, darling. Well, onto my back, then!” he says, stooping over and beckoning for you to climb on. Once he was sure you were secure (read: clinging onto him for dear life) he took off, faster than expected.

-Way faster than you could’ve ever expected. You’d never experienced speed like this before, and Iida was just warming up. At the sound of your excited whooping, Iida grinned and sped up until you couldn’t discern the trees from the ground anymore. You gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, marveling at your boyfriend’s power.

-Who needs a car when you have this big, strong man to take you wherever you wanna go? 💙

(Writing this made me wanna date Iida myself, sheesh 😩) anyway, thank for tuning in y'all :)

#chubby reader #bnha x chubby reader #x chubby reader #plus size reader #bnha x reader #chubby!reader #iida x chubby reader #tenya iida x reader #iida x reader #iida tenya x reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha headcanons #bnha fluff #bnha sfw #bnha x plus size reader #chubby s/o

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dysfunctionalcrab · 3 years

Text

cute vets, pets, and boys

Pairing: Quackity x reader

Pronouns: Gender neutral

Description: Tiger needs to go to vets. Over there, his owner meets a cute veterinary assistant (yes, I mean you)

Notes: Doctor Anderson is the name of an actual doctor I shadowed I couldn’t think of anything else okay, leave me alone.

His knee bounced up and down impatiently. The place was unusually packed today.

Tiger sat in his basket, loafed and with his eyes closed. Quackity’s heart ached for the small cat, the poor animal had stopped his regular eating habits. When he filled his bowl, it was only half finished, which was abnormal, since Tiger was usually finished within 10 minutes, and then meowed for some more.

He glanced at the clock, sighing after calculating that he had been been waiting for almost a whole hour, until a vaguely familiar man walked into the room with a clipboard. He was a middle aged man, grey hair and and stubble. He wore giant glasses with black frames. It was only when Quackity’s eyes landed on the name tag pinned to the pocket of his white lab coat, did he realise this was their regular vet.

“Alex!” He called out, looking up from his clipboard and locking eyes with him

Tiger hadn’t been to vet in ages, and when he did, it was usually his mom who took him, so to see him so enthusiastic, or even remember his name, startled him quite a bit.

He stood up, clutching the handle of the cat basket and lifting it off the floor.

“Doctor Anderson?” He tried to play it off as if he wasn’t reading his badge to remember his name.

“How have you been?” The doctor asked him.

“I’ve been good, busy, but good,”

“How are you? How is your mom?”

Quackity tried to be polite, answering all the questions he had. But in reality, he didn’t care about catching up with his vet, especially after waiting an hour of waiting just to even be spoken to while his cat sat miserably in his basket. It had entirely ruined his mood. He just wanted to know what was wrong with his cat.

He was relieved when Doctor Anderson finally ushered him into the room.

The doctor walked in with another man, he looked young. This man was going to be the final patient you assist before finally finishing the veterinary experience course. You took a deep breath and approached them both.

The other guy looked you, not in a weird way, but just to curious to who you were. You offered him a kind smile, and when you started to think wasnt going to, he returned it. Doctor Anderson watched the interaction from across the room.

“This is [Y/N],” he introduced, putting a gentle hand behind your back. “They’ve been shadowing me for the last 2 months, today is their final day,”

Quackity nodded, glancing towards you again, but less soft. Your smile dropped. You started to assume he wasn’t in a good mood today, especially since he probably had a sick animal with you. So, you resorted to standing in the corner of the room, just to observe.

“So then, how can I help you?” The doctor asked him

“I don’t know,” You watched him as he distressedly pushed his hair away, alongside fiddling and adjusting his beanie anxiously. “Tiger just hasn’t been eating lately and it’s been worrying me,”

Doctor Anderson opened up the basket and took out a small tabby cat who you now knew was named ‘Tiger’. Your heart awed at the cat, you loved cats. I mean, you loved animals in general, which was the reason you wanted to help them.

You watched as he started to check the cat, feeling his fur and his body for any irregularities. His face was fully focused, eyebrows furrowing. You could tell the owner was nervous since he was rubbing the seam of his shirt aggressively between his finger and thumb.

“Has Tiger ever-“

The door suddenly swung open with a loud creak. All your heads snapped towards the entrance, another doctor stood there, her face a little sweaty and she was huffing, completely out of breath

“Doctor- we need you please, it’s urgent,” She stated.

The doctor looked at you, and then looked at the cat, and then looked back at you. You felt yourself freeze in fear. You knew what he was asking, and you frantically shook your head, pleading with your eyes that he didn’t leave you alone.

“You’ll be fine,” he whispered, before taking off and dashing out the room,‘following the tinder woman. He accidentally slammed the door a little hard that the noise startled Tiger. He let out a small and scared meow.

You pursed your lips, looking down sympathetically at the cat. You then looked at his owner, he was giving you a blank, expressionless stare, his brown eyes told you he was a mixture of tired, irritated but concerned. You wondered how long he’d been waiting.

Quackity was nervous around pretty people, he was far from confident. After the way you smiled at him, he felt himself heat up. He’d be lying he if he said he didn’t find you cute.

If you weren’t in such a formal environment, he’d be initiating some sort of casual conversation with you to start things going, if he even knew how to. But now, especially since he had a sick cat with him, wasn’t the ideal situation. Your voice interrupted his train of thoughts.

“So,” you gnawed at your lip nervously. “He’s lost his appetite?

Quackity nodded slowly.

You hummed, observing her on the table. He was a cute little cat, his eyes were glossy and wide. You felt a pain in your chest at the poor thing. You had never been left alone with a patient before, so you were anxious to say the least.

“Has this ever happened before?” You asked

He shook his head. “Uh- no. No it hasn’t.”

You stroked her, he immediately nuzzled into your palm. You and him both locked eyes at the adorable moment.

“He’s cute,” You stated.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “He is.”

He picked up a mental note of your interaction with him. It was uncommon that Tiger relaxed at someone’s touch so easily, usually he would do that at-least within a week of knowing or playing with them. He was also quite aggressive, living up to his name.

“You don’t need to worry, you know, I’m sure he’s fine, the worst it could be is like- kidney disease or something,”

His eyes widened

“Not that it is!” You took back, wishing you could swallow your words back up again. “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just saying that he could-“

He raised an eyebrow at you, this time out of confusion of your rambling.

“I’ll stop talking now.” You muttered to yourself

You felt ridiculous, being so nervous. You couldn’t tell if it was from the pressure, or the fact he had a strong gaze on you.

“I’m going to check his teeth, if that’s okay?” You asked

Quackity stepped back abit from the table. “Yeah, yeah, of course, do whatever you need,”

You patted her head before positioning her so you could look at her mouth. You gently held her head and used your fingers carefully to pull her jaw open. It all looked pretty normal, until your eye fixated on one of her canines that were looking black at the root.

You sighed, observing it a little longer. You smiled, thankful that you found the problem. It was funny to you how this guy hadn’t even thought to check her mouth before-hand.

“Well, we’ve found the problem,” you said. Quackity stepped closer and watched to where you finger was pointing. “Just a bad tooth, it most likely hurts when he eats,”

You smiled at him reassuringly and he relaxed. His Tiger was going to be just fine

“So now what?” Quackity asked you, petting Tiger. He quietly purred

You ran your tongue at the seam of your lips. “I don’t know, I guess. I don’t think if it’s legally permissible for me to diagnose anything or 8 anything- I think,” you spoke awkwardly. “It’s better to just wait for the doctor to come back,”

He nodded again. The silence in the room was making it a little uncomfortable for the both of you, the only thing making it less... weird, was the cute little cat laying on the table.

“So, how long have you been shadowing him again?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, he was clearly just trying to make conversation with you to diffuse the awkwardness.

“For two months,” you answered. “Today is actually my last day.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, kind of disappointed actually, this experience has been quite nice. Now it’s back to textbooks and PowerPoint presentations, it’s like being stuck back in high school”

“I get that. Law school is just case after case and it can get boring sometimes,”

“Law school? Holy crap,” you said, before throwing a hand over your mouth, remembering he was still just a patient. “Sorry, excuse the language,”

He giggled nervously. “Don’t worry about about it,”

Conversation with him from then on was easy. It flowed quite smoothly, from talking about about school to other general things.

He liked the way you listened, Quackity knew that he waffled on about certain subjects a whole lot. But you seemed to actually be interested, your face lighting up every time. You found it sweet the way he talked so passionately about things, for a stranger, you were pretty intrigued.

You enjoyed his company for the next 30 minutes, still waiting for Doctor Anderson to come back after rushing out of the door. To be fair, It was nice to have conversation during the day that wasn’t with a fifty five year old man for once.

“But we have restaurants here like Chipotle, or Taco bell!” You exclaimed, now sitting beside him on one of the blue chairs.

“They’ve never been as good as the ones I’ve had in Mexico,” he told you.

“Well then I guess-“

Again. The noisy door swung open. Both your heads simultaneously turning towards it. The doctor walked back into the room, his hair was a little ruffled and messy. He came in as if he was looking for a certain something, and then his eyes landed on you.

“[Y/N]? What are you still doing here?” He questioned, looking at his watch. “It’s past four o’clock,”

You took out your phone from your back pocket. Damn, time really flew by and you didn’t even realise.

“We were just talking about Tiger, he’s got a bad tooth,” you said

The doctor smiled at you. “Good work, [Y/N]!” He said, pride overtaking his voice. “But it’s really time for you to go home. You can pack up your things now and relax! You’re finally finished!”

“Oh-,” you said, feeling the slightest bit disappointed as you looked at Quackity. “Thank you,”

You stood up and hesitantly slipped off the spare white lab coat, folding it up and placing it in on a nearby counter.

You looked at Quackity again, his eyes were almost saying ‘sorry’ for you having to leave.

Quackity watched you leave the room. His mood dropping straight away. He knew he wasn’t going to speak to you again after this.

The doctor started talking to him again, giving him advice for Tiger and how they would deal with the problem. However, the unfortunate problem was, his attention was focused on you. You know sometimes you talk to someone once and then for the rest of the year you constantly think about that interaction? Yeah, that’s how he was feeling. He had no idea why you had suddenly invaded all his thoughts.

Too bad you’d left without so much of a goodbye.

If only he built up the courage and asked for your number.

———

Masterlist

Taglist: @inniterhq @basilly @nite-land @bunnyloo @siriushxney @notphilosopherstudentblog @tinyegg @dreamiewrites @kai-was-here @shiyanchan

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #mcyt imagine #quackity x reader #Quackity imagines #quackity imagine #quackity x you #quackity fanfiction #quackityhq x reader #quackityhq imagine #quackityhq imagines #quackityhq FANFICTION

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libraryofloveletters · 3 years

Text

A June Wedding

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: alcohol and the consumption of

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: idk what this is, I opened the doc and just started typing, so yeah // the flashbacks are set two years ago, when y/n meets Buck. The end is back to the present

----

From B: I was thinking about you.

From B: I miss you.

The phone sat in your hand, you stared down at the message on the screen. It had been months, maybe longer since you met him- 2 years to be precise.

The two of you had a weird friendship to say the least. One of those “will they, won’t they?” kind of things. Everyone seemed to notice how the two of you were in love except the two of you.

Your story starts in a hole in the wall coffee shop two years ago, when Buck comes in after his first shift at the station.

*Two Years Before*

Tired and hungry was a typical look you saw among the folks who came to your shop. It was downtown LA and there were a lot of businesses around including station 118.

Among your typical morning crowd, there were people in suits and ties, the few hippies/skater crowd and your favourite, the fire-fighters.

They were your favourite not because they always had larger orders but they usually left big tips and were super sweet.

It was around 9 in the evening when the bell on the door chimed as it was pushed open. You were closing up for the day but the ‘come in, we’re open’ sign still hung on the window that was ideally supposed to be taken down an hour ago.

Pulling a tray of cookies from the oven, you were startled by the door considering that you thought you locked the door. Peering from the doorway of the kitchen, there was a man by the counter, staring up at the menu board.

“Hi,” you smile, hesitantly stepping towards the counter from the kitchen. He glances down at you and smiles, mumbling a hello.

“Uh, we’re actually closed right now.” you inform him.

His brows furrow, glancing over his shoulder at the window. “But the sign-” “I forget to take it down.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’ll- okay, I'm gonna go.” he looked.. disappointed. He pulls a phone out his pocket and sighs. You take that moment to study him. A grey sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, there’s a hat sitting backwards on his head and a duffle bag tossed over his shoulder. As he turns to leave, you notice the 4 letters written on his hat in bright red - LAFD.

“Hey!” you call out, “You’re a firefighter ?”

The blonde smiles and nods, “yeah, I started today actually. The guys at the station were talking about the coffee shop down the street. I didn’t get a chance to come during the day so I thought I'd come now- but I can come back another time, you’re closed”

Waving off his statement, you pick up a cup from the counter. “Nonsense, I'd never turn away one of the city’s finest.” you smile, he chuckles. “The city’s finest is more of a cop thing.” he tells you.

“Is that so ?” asking, you begin looking through the fridge to see if there was any milk, he hums.

“I think you’re pretty fine yourself” you mumble, standing straight when you realize what you’ve said. Your back was to him, a blush burning up your face.

What you didn’t know was that Buck was blushing too, a pretty person like you calling him fine was surely going to make him blush and that it did.

Clearing your throat, you turn to face him again. He was looking anywhere but at you for the moment.

“What can I get you ?”

“What do you have right now ?”

“Just about everything, except for baked goods. I usually put those in the oven in the morning but I do have a tray of cookies if you’re interested.”

“That sounds good,” he smiles at you. “I’ll take a cookie and uh-” glancing up at the menu, “whatever is your favourite drink”

Humming, you turn and head to the kitchen to get two cookies for him and then begin mixing some coffee and creamer in a cup, along with ice and some caramel sauce. You ended up making two, one for him and one for you.

The man was sitting at one of the stools by the window. He was watching the cars drive past. “Here,” you slide the plate over to him and set the cup beside it.

He smiles, “thank you. How much do I owe you ?” he asks, reaching for what you assumed was his wallet. “Oh, don't worry about it. The register is locked and it’s your first time here, I wouldn’t have charged you anyways”

“You don’t charge first time customers ?”

“Only the firefighters, y’all hold a special place in my heart” you laugh, he smiles once more.

“Are you in a hurry to leave? I can take it with me if you are.”

“No, you're alright. The cookies are warm, I just took them out when you got here.” you sit beside him, taking a sip of your drink. He also takes a sip of his, you watch as his face twists and he smacks his tongue to try and figure out what it is.

“I call it the y/n special” filling him in, his brows furrow. “It’s basically just caramel ice coffee” a small laugh passes your lips as you take another sip.

“I’m y/n by the way.” “I’m Buck” he smiles.

From that day, Buck was a regular in your shop. You made him a regular coffee before his shifts, 2 cream and 3 sugars - you've come to realize he had a bit of a sweet tooth. After work, he’d stop by for an iced coffee and a cookie. You’d always keep some in the back for him.

This became a routine, you asked him for his number so he could let you know when he was on his way to work that way you’d have his coffee ready if he was running late.

Most mornings you’d just get an ‘coming’ or a little fire truck emoji letting you know he’s on his way to work.

Over the next year and a half, the two of you became close. All the guys that came in from the station always teased you about your “boyfriend Buck” although he wasn’t your boyfriend.

The two of you were close, you hung out all the time - when Buck had days off, he’d still stop by the shop for coffee or just to see you even though he lived in the opposite direction. He would also pick you up after work when you could walk home because you lived down the street.

You often stopped by the station when you knew they were on a 24 hour shift. Buck would text you hourly with whatever he was thinking about, especially during the nights when most of his team was asleep and he couldn’t. During those 24 hour shifts, the last few hours kicked their asses, everyone was tired and too lazy to move to do anything about it- those were the days that you headed into the shop early to get some stuff together to take over for them.

Over time, the affection between the two of you became clear to everyone but the two of you.

You only really noticed you liked him after his unfortunate run in with the fire truck and his promotion which you decide to celebrate with him.

There you were, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bag of Thai takeout in the other - the perfect thing to celebrate his new- temporary as he kept reminding you- position.

He had invited you over to watch a movie but life was short as was recently reiterated after Buck’s “getting stuck under municipal equipment” phase as the two of you joke.

“Hey!” he smiles at you when he opens the door, immediately noticing the bottle of champagne in your hand.

“The nice stuff,” he hummed, stepping aside so you could come in. You set the bag on the counter with the bottle before venturing further into the kitchen to find glasses.

“What are we celebrating ?” he watches as you tumble through the cupboards.

“Y/n?” “What ?”

“What are we celebrating ?” he asks once more.

“Do you not own any champagne glasses ? All I can find are solo cups and those ugly ass mugs you have.” sighing, you grab the solo cups knowing his answer already.

“Y/n/n, I'm a 20-something year old guy living by himself-” “What makes you think I have such things?” finishing off the sentence for him which makes him laugh.

Setting the cups down on the counter, you push the bottle over to him. “Would you be so kind as to do the honours?” you hop onto the counter. Buck peels the casing from around the top and then shakes the bottle.

Your brows furrow, “that’s going to make a mess-” before you finish your sentence, the bottle pops.

The cork ends up somewhere in the apartment whilst the very expensive champagne is sprayed everywhere. Buck just so innocently titled the bottle your way, soaking you in the liquid.

Laughing, you pull the bottle away from him. He's standing in front of you when you grab his chin, pulling him towards you. Your left hand is cradling his jaw and leaning his head back to pour some of the champagne in his mouth. You over poured and split it on his shirt.

The two of you were a laughing, sticky mess and the bottle was already half way empty. He held the cups out for you, letting you pour some into each cup before handing you one.

“Okay, now will you tell me what prompted the champagne showers ?” he smiles, leaning against the counter next to you.

“Well, life is short. You’re a fire Marshall now so, I’m here to celebrate.”

Buck smiles at you, he wasn’t the biggest fan of his new job to be honest. Sure he liked it, but he’d do anything to be back out in the field.

Your arm stretched out, “So to you Mr. Evan Buckley, wait should I say Fire Marshall Buckley ? Anyways congratulations my love, you deserve the job but if the power goes to your head, I'm putting you in your place.” laughing, you bump your cup to his.

“To a speedy recovery and hoping for your return to the field soon because you’re driving everyone mad. Cheers!”

Both taking a sip before Buck hops up onto the counter beside you. He shifted slightly, making a gap between the two of you and pulling the bag of takeout to the spot. Dinner was had on the counter, eating straight out of the containers.

“Bobby would be so upset if he saw us right now.” Buck mumbles, his mouth full.

“Mhm but he’s not here. He doesn’t have to know.”

A few moments later, his phone began ringing. He pulls it out and his eyes widen. There’s a confused look on your face, waiting for him to give you some context or tell you who’s calling. Finally he shows you his phone.

Bobby is calling.

“You summoned him!” Buck shouted. You resisted the urge to laugh.

“Answer the phone!”

You watch as Buck answers the phone, holding back his laughter at the conversation moments ago. He looked happy, you loved seeing him like that. The way his eyes glimmered when he smiled that million dollar smile of his, how his curls showed when his hair was wet or if he hadn’t cut his hair in a while.

It was the little things that made you fall in love with him.

He was still on the phone when you decided you’d find something to change into.

He watched as you made your way to the bathroom, coming back out shirtless with a towel in your hand, drying off. He noticed the way you took a step every two steps like he does. He could hear you humming from upstairs, the way you went up in pitch when you saw something you liked or how you’d stop in-between to start whistling. He smiles to himself as he ends the call.

He too had fallen love with you somewhere along the line.

----

You watched as the little bubbles popped up on the screen on and off for the next few minutes.

Today was your wedding day.

You hadn’t spoken to him all day, things had been hectic. You promised to see him before you got married but truthfully, you had been so consumed with planning and making sure everything was ready that you didn’t get a chance to.

Your friend comes in, sticking their head in and smiling at you. “You ready ?” they ask, you hum before taking one more look at the phone.

“As ready as I'll ever be.”

It was a hot summer day in June, you and your fiancé had decided on an outdoor wedding considering you had always wanted a June wedding.

Standing at the end of the aisle, each side of the yard was filled with people you loved and cared about but your love was smiling at you on the verge of tears at the altar.

Resisting the urge to laugh at him, you smile as the music begins playing - your cue to make your way down the aisle. Making it to the end without tripping, you smile at him.

“Hey,” you smile, reaching for his hand.

“You look beautiful” he smiles, he leans forward to give you a kiss when a hand against his chest stops him.

Bobby gives him a disapproving look, “I’ll be fast but you gotta wait to the end to kiss them, Buck.” The statement earned him a laugh from the crowd.

The heat was getting to everyone including the two of you so Bobby skipped over the unnecessary parts, letting the two of you say your vows.

You started, your hand giving his a squeeze. “The day you walked into the shop, I thought ‘damn, I'm gonna die. Why do I always forget to lock the door?’ but little did I know, it was going to be the love of my life walking in. From the moment we sat down and started talking was the moment I knew you were the one- you made me smile, laugh, gave me butterflies but you also made me feel safe, like I could tell you anything and you’d always be there for me. I watched you walk out with the promise of coming back in the morning and I knew then, we were gonna have a June wedding.” you laughed.

“You taught me what love was, how to be happy, to never give up no matter what life throws my way because for the last 2 years, that’s what I've watched you do and I'm so incredibly proud to be marrying you. There’s no one else for me. It’ll always be you.” you smile, blinking back the tears.

“How am I supposed to compete with that ?” he hums, giving you a grin.

“Everything about you is.. perfectly imperfect, in every single sense of the term. You strive for perfection, but you come up with a slightly different version every time and I love that about you- like when you run out of breath while singing you start whistling so you don’t lose the melody, it’s the little things that make me love you. You hold the stars and the moon, you’re my whole world y/n, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You make me a better man and I could never thank you enough for that.” Both of you are about to cry, looking at each other with the most love and adoration in your eyes.

Bobby cuts to the end, both of you now impatient and waiting for him to announce that you were officially a couple and the moment he does, Buck pulls you towards him, kissing you like it was the last time he was ever going to.

The sound of clapping and cheering filled your ears, making you both smile as your made you way back down the aisle officially as the Buckleys.

----

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floralseokjin · 3 years

Text

⤑ made-up love song x (m).

Your first encounter with Kim Seokjin doesn’t go so well, nor your second, or your third… and maybe that’s because it shouldn’t work on paper. You’re an elementary school teacher, never left the country despite hitting the third decade of your life not so long ago, and you’re unable to remember the last time you dated. He’s the dad of one of your students, nearly a decade older than you and divorced. Oh yes, and just another minor detail – he’s a multimillionaire.

Your lives are lightyears apart, yet somehow, your paths having now crossed, things just seem to fall into place…

pairing; kim seokjin x reader au/genre/warnings; strangers to lovers, romance, single dad! seokjin, ceo! seokjin, elementary school teacher! oc, age gap (oc is 30, seokjin is 37), seokjin is a dilf, romance, happy ending, jin has stubble lmao, smut; morning sex, oral sex (f receiving), soft sex, spooning, jin has a thing for boobs this saturday morn, everything gets so fluffy words; 6,243

↪︎ chapter index

chapters; i • ii • iii • iv • v • vi • vii • viii • ix • x • epilogue (+ drabbles)

When you heard the doorbell ring twenty-five minutes later you were up off the sofa in seconds, heart thrumming against your ribcage as you rushed towards the entryway, a nervous kind of excitement flurrying inside your stomach. Yanking the door open, you were unable to keep the smile from your face as you saw Seokjin stood in front of you. He was dressed in sweatpants and a baggy white t-shirt which was slightly creased. His hair must have been freshly washed, soft and fluffy on top of his head, but it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while, hints of stubble growing along his upper lip and along his jawline.

“Hi.” You were grinning by now.

“Hi,” he murmured softly, stepping forward. Immediately you found yourself in his embrace, the familiar scent of his laundry detergent welcoming. You wrapped your arms around his middle, pressing the side of your face to his chest. You felt still, relaxed for the first time in days.

Kissing the top of your head as he pulled away, he took your hands and let out a small chuckle. “I was halfway here when I realised I still had my slippers on.”

You looked down at his feet, giggling as you spotted the blue slip ons. Linking your fingers with his, you gently tugged him forward. “Do you want head to the living room?”

He nodded, letting you lead the way, and you paused by the kitchen, turning back. “Want something to drink?”

“Water, if it isn’t any trouble.” He asked. Classic Seokjin, you thought to yourself, leaving him to sit, too polite for no reason. When you came back, handing him the drinking glass he smiled and said his thanks. You sat next to him watching him take a sip and lean over to place the glass on the coffee table. You didn’t know where to start, you had so much to say, but it seemed like he had been thinking his piece over in the car ride here.

Exhaling, he turned to you with a serious expression. “Just before you say what you need to, I want to apologise.” He paused, seeing if you would let him continue, when you didn’t object he reached for your hand. “I’m really sorry for the way I acted Sunday. It was unacceptable and I’m really embarrassed you had to see me like that.” He sighed then, “I was just so... I was so mad that Nana turned up and spoke to you like she did. I let all my frustrations regarding Arin take over too.” He was staring you straight in the eyes, eager to make you see how sincere he was. “I never meant to compare you both and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

“Everyone gets angry, Seokjin. Don’t feel embarrassed because of that,” you told him. “It was just jarring to see. Plus it was all so overwhelming.” He nodded in understanding and you smiled and squeezed his hand. “I appreciate your apology regarding the comparisons though.” What was done was done, but he sounded regretful. “Have you spoken to Nana since?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, averting his gaze for a split second. He sounded remorseful. “I saw her yesterday afternoon. She wanted to be with Arin this weekend so I finished work early and drove her there. Nana…” He stopped himself and started again. “I know why she was so hurt over everything. We talked it out a little. Barely touched the surface but things are headed in the right direction. I apologised to her.”

“That’s good to hear,” you said. There was no good only apologising to you. Nana deserved an apology just as much, maybe even more. You were glad they’d managed to be civil and you hoped it was a step in the right direction.

“I know Arin missed school but I called Principal Jung.” Seokjin was eager to explain himself. “I didn’t go into details of course, but he said it was okay.”

“That’s fine,” you chuckled quietly. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. It was only one day.” How cute. You didn’t take your job that seriously. At least the mystery was solved though. You had stressed over nothing. He wanted nothing more than for Arin to see her mother, regardless of what his relationship with Nana was like. This extra weekend together meant a lot to not only Arin and Nana, but him too. Harsh words had been shared in frustration and anger, but he hadn’t lost sight of what mattered the most – his daughter.

“I’m glad you talked to Nana,” you smiled, unsure how to voice all your thoughts. What mattered was he’d seen the error of his ways, and hopefully Nana had too.

He nodded sternly. “I was out of order that day.”

You grew serious too, hesitating before you said his name. You knew you had to ask him, knew you had to have this conversation, but it didn’t stop you from feeling slightly afraid. “Seokjin, why didn’t you tell her about us?”

He closed his eyes briefly, shame written all over his face, and he let go of your hand to run a hand through his hair. It draped across his forehead instantly. “I made a mistake.” He was looking straight into your eyes again, chocolate irises pooling with genuine regret. “At first I didn’t know what would happen between us. It was all brand new for me – for you. Letting Nana know was the last thing on my mind, but as things got more serious, I just…” He faltered, gaze falling to his lap. “I didn’t want to burst the bubble. I was so happy. I didn’t want anything to potentially ruin it.

“It was stupid, considering Arin could tell her at any moment. I just wasn’t thinking, I was being selfish. I understand why Nana was so hurt. I would feel the same if I found out Arin had been spending time with a man I didn’t know.” He exhaled deeply. “I took it all to heart because deep down I knew I’d done wrong.”

You appreciated his honesty. “We were definitely in a bubble. I never even thought to ask if you’d let her know. I –”

“It’s not your fault.” He was quick to tell you. “It was my responsibility and I didn’t want to do it. I regret it now and I’ve told her that. I’m sorry to you too, it wasn’t my intention to keep you a secret.”

You were quiet then, unsure what to say. You still had questions, still had things you needed to understand and as if he read your mind, he placed a gentle hand on your knee, tilting his head to watch you. “Y/N, is there anything else you want to know?”

Your fingers picked at your pyjama pants, heart beating rapidly. There was one important thing you needed the answer to, it was a dumb question, you were nearly positive, but yet you knew you needed to ask it.

“Anything you want to ask, I’ll be 100% honest with you.” He gently nudged, sensing your reluctance.

“T-this may seem stupid,” you began, finding courage. He was Seokjin, your Seokjin, he wouldn’t judge you. However, you hoped what you had to say wouldn’t hurt him. He waited patiently for you to continue. You held his gaze. “You’re not just looking for a mother figure for Arin, are you?”

His forehead crinkled in confusion, his hand leaving your knee as he processed your words. “What do you mean?”

You felt a wave of panic. “I know it sounds stupid, but I just need to know if you like me for me.”

He watched you carefully, brow line now creasing in concern. “Of course I like you for you.” And then he took your hand, lacing his warm fingers between yours. You could see the concentration on his face as he tried to find a way to word his thoughts. “I’m not looking for a mother figure, I never was. Yes, I’d love it if Arin saw her mother every day, but I’m not trying to recreate it elsewhere. I was wrong to compare you both. Nana loves Arin, I know that, she’s trying her best, and you’re…,” he took a breath, “I would never expect you to take on all that responsibility. You’re my girlfriend, I would never intentionally put all that pressure on to you.

“Y/N, I’m Arin’s father,” he continued when you didn’t reply. “She means the world to me, so knowing that she adores you makes me happy, as does knowing you adore her. I always thought dating in my position would be really hard – that’s why I never did it. Having to trust someone that much to potentially let them into my daughter’s life, that was such a frightening thought. But it wasn’t with you.” His eyes were wide, pleading as he tried to make you see. As he spoke he used his other hand to cup the side of your face, you softened into his touch.

“There were other worries too,” he continued to confess. “I thought nobody would want a divorced dad as a boyfriend. It’s fine, I understand it’s not everyone’s ideal, but with you it was never a problem. You accepted me and what my life involved and I’m not going to lie, that made me fall for you even harder but I wasn’t using you because I wanted some sort of permanent mother figure in Arin’s life. That’s absurd and it makes me really sad to know I potentially made you feel that way.”

Your chest felt lighter hearing those words. Nothing like the tight, anxious mess you had felt all week. It was good to know your worst fears weren’t true. Your doubts, even though valid, hadn’t been needed. You believed every word he said.

He lowered his hand from your face, sensing you were about to speak, and instead clutched the hands laced together in your lap. “Hearing those things you said to Nana, it made me… It overwhelmed me. Made me think that you’d been expecting too much of me this whole time, or like maybe you’d been searching for something I had no clue about.” You admitted.

You hadn’t liked being used as a weapon. It had made you feel horrifically guilty. You told him just as much, being as frank as you possibly could because he needed to hear it.

“I understand,” he nodded. “I promise I’ll never do it again. All I can give you is my word.”

“And I’ll believe it.” You told him, needing him to know something else as well. “Seokjin, I really do care about Arin. I’m beyond touched that she’s accepted me into her life but my place will always be different.”

Seokjin frowned at that. “You are still an amazing person in her life though. She’s become so much happier these past few months and I can’t deny it and say that’s not partially down to you, even if it’s just a fraction of the reason.”

You opened your mouth to disagree with him, he was being too nice, giving you too much credit, but he wasn’t having any of it. “No, Y/N. You need to hear these things. You make Arin happy too, and I think that’s a beautiful thing.” He felt you relax, smiling when he noticed you do the same. “I fell for you because of many reasons, and yes, one of them was because of how you treat Arin, but it’s not the only one.” His voice was soft as he began to make a list. You couldn’t help but giggle. “You’re sweet, caring, funny, beautiful – inside and out.”

“You’re a real charmer, hm,” you teased.

He chuckled, but grew serious once again, giving your hand a squeeze. “You could have anybody but you chose me, the man whose life is overtaken by work and is struggling to be an OK dad.”

“Seokjin, you’re an amazing father,” you scoffed. If he expected you to listen then he needed to as well. “You work so hard and you’re constantly exhausted but that doesn’t stop you from being one of the best fathers I know. You need to give yourself more credit.”

“Thanks,” he said, plump lips tugging up into a half-smile. You really wanted to kiss him, it had been long enough, so you leaned forward, pressing your mouth to his. Gentle and chaste. When you pulled back he was smiling harder. You couldn’t help but join him.

One of his hands lifted, weaving into your hair as he brought your face to his chest, the hand holding yours letting go so he could wrap his arm around your middle, holding you to him. You were both silent, content for a moment as you listened to his heart beat steadily. It comforted you, let you know that everything was okay.

“I’m sorry if I put pressure on you,” he murmured, chin resting against your hair. “It’s just when the three of us are together it feels so right. It feels natural and I love that.”

“I love it too,” you agreed, your face still pressed into his chest, your palm too. “But Nana is her mother and I don’t ever want to take her place.” You paused, slowly pulling away to look at him. “I want to make my own place. And I don’t know if that means being a stepmom so soon, but it’s definitely moving in that direction.” You’d had enough time to think about everything. You were more than serious about him. “I want a future with you, Seokjin. A future with you and Arin. You both mean a lot to me.”

His mouth slowly spread into a grin, he looked and sounded unbelievably happy. “Do you mean that?”

“Of course. I spent these past few days thinking really hard about us and what we were – what we are. I’m serious about us, and I hope you are too.”

He pulled you into another hug, kissing your forehead. “I most definitely am, but we’ll take it at your pace,” he assured, “and Arin’s pace.”

“And your pace,” you added, moving your head back to look at him, hands resting on his shoulders. “Nana’s too. She needs to be involved because no matter what, she’s still a part of your life.”

It wasn’t about just you and Seokjin, you understood that now, and so did he. “I agree. I really think yesterday was a turning point for me and her. I want our relationship to be better for not just Arin, but you too. I hate that you had to witness all that.”

“It’s okay, Seokjin. Please don’t beat yourself up about it.” He needed to let it go and move forward. You had already.

“Listen, I, er, I’m…” He hesitated, serious once again. “I’m sorry for not telling you why we divorced.”

Oh. In your happiness you’d actually forgotten about that. You waited for him to continue, wanting to hear what he had to say because it had been the source of some of your hurt. You rubbed his shoulders, wanting to encourage him as he struggled to find the words.

“It’s complicated,” he started. “…Finding out Nana had been cheating on me was what triggered the divorce, but it had been over long before then. It’s… difficult to admit this out loud but for the longest time I was embarrassed. I couldn’t believe that she’d cheated on me – it was an ego thing. I didn’t care because I no longer loved her but at the same time it was mortifying and it made me very bitter.

“I didn’t tell you because you’d trusted me with your own story. I learned how cheating had affected you and my situation was completely different. I don’t know,” he sighed, unsure if he was making any sense. “I regret it now because I should have told you.”

“I understand why you didn’t,” you said simply, attempting to process the huge chunk of information you’d just been given. “But I think, regardless of our different circumstances it still affected you in some way. There’s no right or wrong way to deal with being cheated on.” It had obviously left its mark if he was still bringing it up nearly three years later.

He still wasn’t convinced. “But Nana was right, that’s why I got so angry. I couldn’t admit it to myself, not until this week. By sleeping with someone else she gave me a way out. I didn’t want to be the one who ended it because that would mean I was the reason for Arin’s broken home. To ease my conscience I could blame the breakdown of our marriage on her.”

“Seokjin, that doesn’t make you a terrible human being. You need to let all that go,” you told him gently. “At the time you did what you thought was best for Arin. You thought by staying together it would give her a better life but it doesn’t work like that and you’ve realised that now.”

You didn’t want to stick your nose in business that wasn’t yours, but you understood what had happened. By staying together they had become increasingly bitter towards one another and the result was still ongoing. There had been a lot of hurt and that would take some time getting over.

You noticed the slight nod he gave you, a silent agreement. The sooner he accepted his mistakes the easier it would be to forgive himself. “I still should have you,” he whispered.

“That’s not important anymore,” you insisted.

“It is.” He clutched your waist, his eyes glassy. “You shared so much with me about how you got hurt, and I kept something big from you.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “Well, I know now.” You weren’t going to hold it against him, it had obviously been playing on his mind the entirety of your relationship. “That’s all that matters.”

He relented, kissing you softly, just once, unable to help himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking too these past few days. I talked to my therapist. It’s been a while. I’ve just been so happy I didn’t need to until…” Trailing off he gave an embarrassed shrug.

“That’s good you got back in contact with her.” He hadn’t actually spoken about his therapist since your first date and you’d never thought much about it, but it was great that he knew to seek help when he needed it.

“We talked a couple of times about everything. It was helpful.” He rubbed your back with a soothing hand. “I really am sorry my relationship with Nana is like this. There’s a lot of bitterness and hurt left over from all the years we stayed together. Maybe the truth is we should have never gotten married in the first place. We brought out the worst in one another until in the end it turned to hate, but I can’t regret it because she gave me my world.”

“Maybe realising all this is the next step for some type of closure,” you offered. He and Nana couldn’t keep this up. They needed to get along for Arin’s sake. They had to try and salvage some type of relationship if they wanted to continue co-parenting their daughter – their world.

“I think you’re right,” he agreed. “Now that everything is out in the open I feel so much better.”

“I’m glad.” You leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“So,” he hummed, sounding a lot more like himself, “where do we go from here?”

“I think we just carry on from where we left off.” As far as you were concerned everything had been resolved. All your questions and worries had been answered. You were both on the same page now and you could move on together. “When I was waiting for you to come back with that salad.”

“Sounds perfect.” He laughed, wasting no time with kissing you, properly this time, cupping your face to bring you closer. You settled in his lap soon after, his lips soft and warm, each glide of your tongues making you realise that all you wanted to do was be with him. Always.

“There is one change I’d like to make though,” he murmured, pulling away gradually, kisses becoming gentle pecks until he had the will power to stop completely. “I was going to wait until I took you to Paris, but maybe grand gestures don’t mean shit after I thought I’d lost you.”

Your heart flipped inside your chest just from the look he was giving you, the sheer determination in his eyes, and the way he cupped your face firmly. You thought you knew what was coming.

“I love you.”

You were still speechless for a moment though, but it was okay because he was still busy confessing.

“I know it may seem too fast and I don’t want to scare you away but I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you these past few months. I can’t remember what my life was like before you appeared in it.”

“I love you, too,” you gushed, coming to. “Of course you wouldn’t scare me away. Everything you just said, I feel exactly the same way.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” You exclaimed.

“It’s not too fast?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head. You’d been worried it was at first, but you’d been upset and scared. Now everything was clear. “Actually, there’s no such thing because I’m in this 110%.”

He chuckled then, brow line crinkling in the middle. “That sure?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded enthusiastically, hands holding the back of your neck. “Thank you for reversing into my car.”

That made him snort. “It’s no problem at all, but,” he leaned forward, tone serious, “I hate to break it to you, I’m in 1010%.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, ignoring his goofiness to kiss him again. Although this time there was something you couldn’t ignore any longer. “Oh my god,” you complained, itching your lips.

“What?” He was very obviously concerned.

“Your stubble keeps pricking me!” You whined. “What is going on?” You cupped his face, getting a better look at the situation. He did look rather handsome with stubble, you admit, but you’d keep that to yourself. “A few days without me and you forget to shave.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “Isn’t that a thing? When you think you’ve lost the woman of your dreams you have to start growing out a beard, right?”

You snorted lightly. “You’d be there for years trying to grow out that thing.”

He tutted. “Rude.”

“But what, say that again? I’m the woman of your dreams?” You teased, pressing for more.

“I take it back now,” he scoffed.

“You can’t! You’ve said it now.”

“Shush,” he laughed. “Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. “Stop talking and let me love you.”

It took a single press of his lips for you to listen.

You were slow and still sleepy when you awoke the next morning, gradually coming to, your eyes still closed. It was raining, you could hear the soft patter of it against the window as you became more aware, but you found it didn’t hinder the good mood you’d woken up in. Why would it?

Finally opening your eyes, although with effort, a soft focus Seokjin came into view, already awake and leaning over you slightly. He smiled when you saw him, a hand caressing your hip. “Good morning, beautiful.”

You smiled back, rolling into the side of his body, making the most of your sleepy state – and your boyfriend’s warmth. “How long have you been awake?” You asked with a small yawn.

You didn’t actually remember falling asleep last night. After you’d made up (and you were done with all that kissing), you’d asked him to stay over. You’d laid in bed, wrapped up in one another as you talked about anything and everything before your eyes had started to get heavy, Seokjin’s voice and your own sounding distant in no time. And now you were here.

“A few minutes,” he murmured, morning voice always an octave lower. It never stopped being sexy. You tangled your legs in his as he laid back down and realised his were now bare – he must have gotten too warm in the middle of the night.

He cupped your face, wanting you to look at him. “I was using the time to admire you.”

“Cheesy as always,” you chuckled.

“Of course,” he agreed easily, leaning in to rub his nose against yours. “I woke up and thought last night might have been a dream.”

“It wasn’t,” you whispered, getting lost in his eyes for a moment.

“I love you.”

With a soft groan you rolled onto your back. “Not fair, I was about to say that.”

“Too bad,” he laughed, that deep morning chuckle you loved, wrapping his arm around your middle as he kissed your cheek. “You snooze you lose.”

“I wasn’t snoozing.”

“You were – and snoring. I heard you.” He was trailing kisses along your jaw now.

“You didn’t!” You exclaimed. That was something you definitely did not do. “I don’t snore, take that back!”

You attempted to wriggle out of his hold but he wasn’t having any of it, both of his hands beginning to tickle your sides. “Seokjin!” You shrieked, starting to thrust your legs but he rolled on top of you, caging your body easily.

He stilled all movement and looked down, having way too much fun teasing you. “What?”

Before you could even think to reply he was kissing you. Somewhere along the way last night you’d gotten used to the stubble, quite liking the tingle across your lips now, so you didn’t gripe this morning. Holding your face he trailed wet kisses down your throat, teeth gently sinking into your collarbone. You let out a gasp, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pushed against his body, eager for more of his mouth.

His hands soon began roaming your body, slipping under your pyjama shirt to caress your skin. His fingers delicately traced the underside of your breasts, lifting his head up to kiss your mouth once before he spoke his request. “Can I see you?”

You smiled and nodded, watching as he started to undo the buttons with expertise. When you were fully revealed he looked at you with a grin. “Woah,” he stated simply.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen them before,” you giggled.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure they’ve gotten bigger.” He mused, weighing your breasts in his hands.

You snorted, mouth dropping open when he captured one of your nipples between his lips. His used his hand to palm the other breast, pinching the nipple with his fingers and you moaned, arching into his touch. Against your crotch you could feel him growing hard – rapidly.

“Take this off,” you urged, tugging at his t-shirt. Your need for him was rising too, breathing becoming unsteady as Seokjin kneeled upright and ripped the piece of clothing off. You sat up, running your hands across the muscular swell of his chest. “Yup,” you nodded to yourself, “definitely gotten bigger.”

He chuckled quietly – shyly almost, and helped you take your shirt off, kissing across your shoulder as he eased you back against the pillows. Next, he got you out of your pyjama bottoms, kissing his way back up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts as his hand slid between your legs, rubbing you above your underwear. Squirming, warmth flooding you as his mouth found yours, your tongues mashing together in haste, your arms wrapped around him, holding him tight.

He slipped his hand inside your panties and loved what he found. “You’re so wet, honey,” he murmured, playfulness in his tone as he circled your clit with the pad of finger. His touch was so light it was unbearable and you whined, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

He circled your entrance next but didn’t enter, collecting your arousal to rub your clit again. You dug your foot into the mattress, raising your hips to get more. His dick was fully erect now, pressing into your thigh, but he was in no rush, fully devoted when it came to pleasuring you. Dragging your underwear down your thighs, you helped push them off entirely, reaching for him and pulling him into a kiss, although he didn’t stay at your mouth long, kissing across your chest and down your stomach until he met his destination.

He didn’t get very far though, his hot breath making you wriggle about, thighs clamping around his head. “It tickles.”

“Tickles?” He repeated in amusement, nosing your inner thigh. He kissed your bikini line, ignoring your feeble giggles. “I’m not trying to tickle you.”

You held your breath as he placed a testing kiss against your centre, willing yourself not to squirm, but Seokjin took it slow, easing you into it, because your body had suddenly decided to turn hypersensitive in his absence. He continued to kiss your core, his tongue coming out to wash against you too, and soon enough you got used to the sensation.

“Good?” He asked against your clit, the vibrations making you flutter.

You nodded in reply, fingers of both hands reaching to tangle in his hair. He gave you a quick smile and then started to flick his tongue against the bundle of nerves rapidly, making your hips rise in shock as a moan drew from your throat. He gave you no time to recover, sucking on your clit now as he hummed in satisfaction. Body with a mind of its own, you spread your thighs, wanting to feel him even better.

He got the hint, using his hands to plant your feet on his shoulders, legs bent at the knee to open you up even wider for him. He continued to suck you softly, the tip of his tongue flicking back and forth at the same time, the stimulation so glorious you were sure you had tears in your eyes.

“Oh God, Seokjin,” you moaned as he pulled away abruptly, your head falling back against the pillow. You had been moments away from coming, you were almost positive.

He moaned himself as he licked a strip up your centre, pushing your knees higher up your body, exposing your clit even more so this time when he rolled it between his lips your hips jerked around uncontrollably, the pleasure too much. You felt him ease off but begged him not to stop, sounding possessed. “No, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

He continued, his eyes on you as he made your legs tremble and you dug your toes into his shoulders, clutching at his hair. “You gonna cum, baby?” He husked. You whined in reply, hips rolling into his face with desperateness. “Give it to me then.” He told you, once again suctioning his lips to your clit.

Your eyes clenched shut as you concentrated on his tongue, panting loudly as the muscles in your gut tightened. Your release hit you seconds later, lifting your hips up with one last burst of energy as he continued to work his tongue against your thrumming clit, your orgasm crashing through you in waves as you cried out. It was amazing, almost euphoric if you wanted to be dramatic (you did), your whole body satisfied and warm.

Seokjin tried to ride it out as long as possible, but soon you grew sensitive, your hands detaching themselves from his hair to fall limply to your side, chest rising and falling deeply as you tried to catch your breath. He wrapped his fingers around your ankles delicately and placed your legs down on the bed before hovering over your body. He was just as out of breath, your arousal smeared across his mouth and chin, and you kissed him greedily, wanting nothing more. You could feel him rutting against you, attempting to gain just a little bit of relief, and taking pity on him you cupped his erection over his underwear, giving him a squeeze. He groaned at the sensation, breaking away from your mouth.

You started to rub him as best you could as he kneeled between your legs, watching your hand at work. He chuckled in disbelief. “You have me so hard, shit.”

“That is my area of expertise,” you gloated, pulling his dick out of his boxer shorts. You ran your fist up and down it a few times, revelling in the smooth skin, thumb circling the head that was beading with precum.

His patience was crazy this morning, enjoying the way you touched him so much he leaned in to kiss you again, panting quietly against your lips as you sped up your movements, dragging your thumb across his slit in a bid to spread his arousal. He hissed, jerking into your hand, and you just about lost it. You wanted him, no, needed him inside you. Right this instant.

You looked him deep in the eyes, your noses practically touching as you gave him a squeeze. “Make love to me, Seokjin.”

He broke then, unable to deny you or himself any longer. His underwear was gone in a flash, thick cock bobbing as he guided you onto your side, fitting in beside you perfectly. He wrapped his hand around your calf, lifting your leg over his to spread you out a little and then he angled the head of his cock at your entrance, kissing your shoulder as he slowly began to push inside you.

You closed your eyes as you felt the drag, both of you groaning as he continued to fill you, his hand pushing one of your butt cheeks up a little so he could successfully bottom out. You stayed like that for a while, kissing one another, one of his arms hooked underneath your neck, hand cupping your chin, the other caressing your body, tracing across your stomach before softly cupping your breasts. The sensation had you sighing sweetly, pushing back into him and he couldn’t hold off any longer.

He thrusted slowly, practically all the way out just to push back in, filling you up over and over. It was glorious, his rhythm eliciting moan after moan, especially as he played with your chest, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers. You could hear yourself, how wet you were, and you rolled yourself onto your side more, pushing your ass into him in a bid to get more.

He got the message, speeding up as you reached behind and ran your fingers through his hair. He loved that, grunting as he spoke against your ear, “A little faster, baby?”

All you could do was nod and respond with a garbled noise from somewhere deep within your throat, Seokjin’s thrusts gaining momentum as he started to pound against your ass, his laboured breathing blowing hot air against your cheek. One of his hands dug into the round of your ass, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he growled softly, thrusts purposeful, unrelenting.

“Let me see your pretty face,” he panted after a few moments, pulling you into him and cupping your jaw. You twisted yourself, half flat to his sweaty chest as you spread your legs too, letting him thrust up into you. Your breasts jiggled with the force of his movements, his tongue pushing into your mouth, kiss sloppy and everything good.

His breathing got heavier, his movements turning slightly sloppy as he adjusted your body once again so he could kiss and caress your breasts instead. A hand played with the left one as his mouth licked and sucked the right, grunts falling from his lips now as he quickly lost himself. His thrusts got harder and his teeth grazed against your nipple. When you cried out, he loved that, squeezing your boob roughly, tearing another sound from your throat as your walls clamped around him, gripping him for all he was worth.

You knew he was done for when he sought your mouth again, chuckling huskily as you pecked kisses against his plump lips. You felt his dick pulse, thrusts messy as he chased his end, and then he stilled, groaning as his orgasm hit and he started spilling warmth inside of you.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly once it was over, hugging you to his body with even more kisses, both of you panting softly, enjoying the come down. In fact, you didn’t want it to end. Gradually falling soft, he stayed buried inside you and made no attempts to slip out. If anything, he was damn determined to stay there for as long as possible it seemed.

“I love you,” you told him sweetly, sweeping some of his hair out of his eyes, still engulfed by his heat.

He smiled, practically goofy, still drunk off your lovemaking. “I love you too, of course.”

And then it was back to kissing.

You had a week’s worth to catch up on, and an entirety more to look forward to.

*BONUS*

You (10:25am) Seokjin came over last night, we talked it out and made up 😊

Soojung (10:29am) Finally! ILY and I’m so happy for you best friend! But thanks for the heads up, I’ll be giving the house a wide berth this weekend See you Monday 😘

#seokjin fanfic #bts fanfic #bts smut #seokjin smut #fic:mls #floralseokjin:writings

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

I'll Be Seeing You {2}

Nesta x Cassian, 1940′s AU

Collaboration with @tacmc

Summary: After Cassian gets injured in the war, he’s taken to a war camp to be cared for until he gains enough strength to return to his battalion. While he’s there, he falls for a nurse that couldn’t care less about his title and doesn’t put up with his bullshit. Once he’s healed and the years pass by, he finds that there’s only one thing he wants to remember from the war, and she’s only a letter away.

Trigger Warnings: war

A/N: Enjoy a surprise chapter a couple days early, we’re just too excited for y’all to read this story.

Chapters will be posted every Monday.

Word Count: 2336

IBSY Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta was making her rounds as the sun set outside of their desolate war camp.

It had been a long day, one filled with losses. After the ambush two days prior, their tent had become full. Now, there were far too many empty beds.

It never became easier.

With every soul that she attempted to heal that passed from this world to the next, she felt like a failure, even though it was impossible to save every soldier that had been injured in the heart of battle.

There were victories, though.

Those who were left in the tent were improving.

The ambush had brought in nearly fifty injured soldiers, and just over twenty of them remained.

Including Corporal Cassian Nazari, who she was walking up to now, a glass of water in hand.

He blinked a few times against the light of the guttering candle on the table, but after a moment his eyes settled on her. Settled, but still glazed with pain.

“Nurse Nesta,” he said, voice rasping from sleep, attempting to resituate himself in the uncomfortable bed, with one good arm. “Is it time for my sponge bath already?”

She sighed through her nose and closed her eyes, resisting the urge to rub her temples.

Most men in the infirmary were polite, respectful, grateful to be taken care of, especially knowing what befell their fellow soldiers who hadn’t been quite as lucky as they were. The first day she’d attended to the corporal, she’d assumed his inappropriate comment about foreplay had been some sort of unintended joke, something he hadn’t been able to control as he awoke.

But as Cassian slowly healed, Nesta learned those little comments were quite regular for him. And when he learned that they made her blush, or even snap at him occasionally, it only made him say them more frequently.

“I’ll give you a bucket and a sponge and you may help yourself,” she quipped. “Does that interest you?”

He laughed, quietly, but winced as it seemed the simple shaking of his shoulders brought a bout of pain. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

“You joke with me,” Cassian said, shrugging a shoulder. “You joke when you’re in a good mood.”

“I don’t joke,” she replied. “I only give back what is given to me, even though I do it in a far more appropriate way.”

“There are worse things than being inappropriate,” Cassian promised her.

Nesta simply shook her head. “Here.”

He took the pill from her palm and took it, swallowing it with the glass of water she gave him. For a moment, his eyes closed and he sighed, deeply.

“How are you feeling today?” She asked, sitting down in the chair next to the table. He opened his eyes and she reached out to feel his head. He had been feverish the night before, and she was worried about infection setting in.

He was just as clammy as he’d been, if not more so. There was a slight sheen of sweat on his brow, but before she said anything, she wanted to hear it from him. Even if she was fairly sure it would be a lie laced with male bravado.

“Fine,” he replied, though he attempted to sit up with one arm again and winced. “Like I could get back on the battlefields right now.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood. “Too bad that won’t be happening yet.”

She strode for the medicine cabinet in the center of the tent, aiming for an antibiotic strong enough to stave off the infection. His own inability to keep still had led she and Madja to band his fractured arm to his side, but this kept the bullet wounds on his back from airing out. It was about choosing the lesser of two evils with this man it seemed.

Last night, they’d elected to set his arm. Tonight, it seemed he’d go back in the sling and she’d see what needed tending to on his back.

“Are you allergic to penicillin, Corporal?” Nesta asked, coming back to his cot.

“Not that I’m aware of, but I have a feeling that we’re about to find out for certain,” he noted, chuckling, then breaking into a cough fit.

“Alright,” she sighed, and pulled him fully into sitting position. “It seems you still have a fever. I’m going to give you this penicillin. Then, I’m going to take off your bandages and clean your wounds.”

“And then?” he asked.

Nesta blinked, hesitating as she a needle with the drug. “Pardon?”

“After you clean my wounds, what will you do?” Cassian asked, that sly smile remaining. “Because I have a few ideas-.”

“Corporal,” Nesta interrupted. “I am here to heal you, and nothing more.”

Cassian lifted a brow. “First of all, it’s Major, actually. It’s been years since I was a corporal. Secondly, I thought we could play a card game. What was it you were thinking?” Nesta’s cheeks heated and she ignored his pointed question. “My apologies, but Private Hale said—.”

“He knows nothing, which is why he’s only a private.”

She cleared her throat and held out her hand, letting him take the two pills in her palm. He did so, without any commentary, which Nesta took as a blessed relief.

She retrieved the sling his arm had previously been in, as well as fresh bandages, an ewer of fresh water and a bottle of antiseptic.

And a bit to put between his teeth in case the pin became too unbearable.

With a few tugs on the knots tying them together, Nesta unwrapped his arm from his body, not taking a full look at his back yet.

Almost immediately, Cassian tried to stretch out his arm, which earned him a chastising look from Nesta. “It’s tight,” he defended.

“If you move it too much before it’s had time to set and heal, tight will be the least of your worries, Major,” she replied, carefully tying the two ends of the fabric sling around his neck. “Not to mention your shoulder is still too weak as well. Do you want to dislocate it again?”

He grumbled something that sounded similar to No, ma’am, and sat still while Nesta settled his arm into place.

Once she tended to his arm, she prepared herself to examine his back again.

“This isn’t going to feel good,” she warned, taking in the angry, red skin puckering the edges of the wounds. They’d been able to retrieve the bullets while he was unconscious, but they weren’t in the most ideal and clean conditions for a healing to take place. Gently pressing her fingers around the mildest looking one earned a hiss and sudden jerk from Cassian. As well as puss, far more puss than Nesta was expecting. “I’m going to have to clean these out.”

“Can’t you give me more of that stuff that put me under and do what you need to do?”

His words weren’t unkind, but the tone… Nesta knew he was in pain.

She could, of course, but the powdered pain killer was much stronger than what she’d already administered. Not to mention is much, much shorter supply. It was reserved for surgeries, mostly, or life-threatening injuries.

An injury like the major had been brought in with at the time.

Not for a standard, but nasty, infection, unfortunately.

War was unfair, Nesta decided then. She’d known it for quite a while, watching good men die for their lands, but it was evident in that moment as she looked at the man’s ravaged back before her.

“Unfortunately, no,” she said, at last. “But I promise to work quickly.”

He gave her a curt nod and braced himself.

The alcohol burned, she knew that, she knew that it had to feel like fire was being lit to the surface of the skin, but as she poured the alcohol over the wound and began to clean it, the only sense of pain that Cassian showed was his rigid posture.

“Bear with me,” Nesta muttered, beginning to rebandage the wound.

“Got any whiskey?” he asked.

Despite herself, Nesta snorted. “No, I don’t. Is that your drink of choice, major?”

She was trying to distract him, trying to make the time go by just a little bit quicker as she worked.

“Usually,” he said, and huffed. “Every now and then I like to order a simple lager.”

“Lager,” she repeated. “What a luxury.”

“It has been a while,” he agreed.

She worked in silence for a few minutes, having to go so far as to scrape out the bits of skin that were too far gone and only likely to slow down the healing process. But when his breathing became ragged as she started on the worst of the wounds, the one right near his spine, she asked, “What’s the first meal you’re going to have when you get home? What have you been dreaming of since you enlisted?”

Mindless chatter, she reminded herself, was just as effective as a painkiller.

He was quiet for a moment, only hissing as she pressed the alcohol-soaked rag to his back. She had accepted he wasn’t going to answer when he softly asked, “Don’t you mean if?”

She was suddenly very thankful that she was working on his back and was unable to see his face. Playing dumb, she kept him talking. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

“Don’t you mean if I get home?” He asked. His voice was hollow, lacking the warmth it usually did when he spoke. It was unlike what she’d started to grow accustomed to. “This is a war we’re in the middle of, ma’am.”

She cleared her throat, continuing to work. “I think you ought to change your manner of speech, major, or you’ll be more likely to conscribe yourself to believe the worst.” Pressing a clean bandage to his skin to staunch the bleeding, she asked, “Now about that meal, sir?”

Surprising her, he laughed, quietly. “I guess I haven’t thought about it too much. My mother used to make a mean pork roast. With carrots and potatoes. That would hit the spot right about now.”

Nesta couldn’t help but lick her lips at the thought of a nice, hot, homemade dinner. “How about dinner rolls?”

Cassian hummed. “My mom used to make the fluffiest dinner rolls. She used to make me roll the dough. I hated it, until it was time to eat them.”

She smiled to herself. “My sister Elain loves to bake. She makes this pear crumble…” Shaking her head, she sighed. “It’s the best. Especially when she whips cream to put on top.”

“I don’t remember the last time I had a warm dessert,” he admitted, wincing as she applied antibacterial cream to the wounds. Turning to glance at her, he amended, “Actually, I don’t remember the last time I had a hot meal.”

The words hurt Nesta’s heart. The food they had in the med camps weren’t great, but she was sure they were better than rations the soldiers were issued.

“Tell me more about your sister,” he breathed, clearly needing the distraction while she worked.

Nesta sighed. “Which one?”

“How many do you have?” he asked.

“Two,” Nesta said. “Couldn’t be more opposite of one another. Feyre, the youngest, would rather spend her time painting, or outdoors in the woods behind our house, while Elain prefers to spend her time baking, or in her garden.”

Cassian nodded, thoughtfully. “And you?”

“What of me?” she asked, beginning to rebandage his wounds.

“What do you prefer to do with your time?” he pushed.

Nesta’s hands slowed. She wished she had more time to fill as of late. “I enjoy reading, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” he asked, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny about that?” Nesta asked, eyes narrowed at the back of his head.

“You either do or you don’t,” he said, shrugging, and wincing from the simple motion. “But, you suppose.”

Nesta scoffed. “Fine. I enjoy reading.”

“What manner of books?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Romance.”

He snorted. “Of course. Let me guess, a knight in shining armor, coming to rescue a damsel in distress?”

Nesta’s cheeks heated as his guess was nearly spot on of the plot of one of the tattered, well-loved books she kept in the small bag she brought with her from home. “And what’s so wrong with a knight saving a lady who needs help?”

“Nothing,” he replied, trying to shift his hurt arm. She adjusted the sling to hold him tighter. “I just think it’s a silly ideal to hold. Not everyone is going to have someone come save them.”

She was suddenly very aware of the fact that they were in a med camp in the middle of war.

“I guess you’re right,” she mused. “But I don’t see why that should stop anyone from dreaming.”

Cassian huffed and said nothing more.

When Nesta was finished, she asked, “How does that feel?”

“As good as it can,” he answered, in grumpy sincerity. “Although, I still wouldn’t mind that sponge bath.”

“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously impossible you are?” she asked, the words flying out of her mouth before she could think better of it.

Cassian’s smile only grew. “If only you knew.”

Nesta’s chin rose as she tried to make sense of his remark, but she asked, “Can I get you anything else for the time being?” Cassian opened his mouth, but Nesta interrupted with, “Nothing that has to do with sponges.”

He laughed, quietly. “A cure for boredom?”

Just as Nesta was getting ready to reply, a cry came from just outside the tent, and her body was tensing, preparing itself. Madja’s eyes connected with hers, and Nesta’s feet were immediately in motion.

Another body coming in, caught in warfare.

It seemed he would have to entertain himself, as Nesta was once again vividly reminded that no one may ever come to save her.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t save someone else.

#snacmc ibsy #i’ll be seeing you #nessian ibsy #snacmc collab #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

Text

Honest and Truly

Summary: Spencer has his prom 10 years late, but none of that matters when it's with the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female (She/Her)-- Fluff

CW: Minimal vulgar language (PG-13)

Author's Note: This just might be my most favorite thing I've written in a very long time :) Also listen to the song I linked, it makes the title and the ending make more sense! thank you to @spookydrreid and @writhingintheroses for helping me a particular scene!!

Add yourself to my taglist! It makes it much easier for me :)

Honest and Truly

“A prom?” Spencer asks, realizing that the conversation had entered uncharted territory, a territory in which he had not a single clue how to navigate. Spencer, being a preteen in high school, never attended prom.

“Yes, Reid. A prom,” Penelope says, staring at him over the many monitors and stuffed cats that littered her desk, “It’s going to be so much fun!” she says, excitedly.

“That sounds like, uh, I’ll have plans that night,” Spencer tells Penelope, spinning around in the swivel chair as he eats his turkey and cheese sandwich. He usually enjoys their lunches together, but when Penelope gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.

@s“Now I don’t believe that for a second, Reid. The only time that you have plans is when you’re with Y/N. And Y/N is going to be at this prom,” Garcia says, her pink glasses sliding down her nose. She winks at Reid, almost like she enjoys watching him squirm.

“How do you know that she’s going? Did she say she’s going?” Spencer asks, unable to conceal his eagerness that Y/N could be attending. Spencer might hate dancing and those fancy shoes that are too tight on his toes, but all that can be talked away if Y/N is there.

“Yes, she’s going because you’re asking her. That and I’m making everyone go,” Penelope says matter of factly.

Spencer opens his mouth, attempting to talk away Penelope’s suggestion. But Spencer Reid is a smart man and he knows better than trying to argue his way out with Penelope. Especially when it comes to Y/N. He might have an excellent poker face, but Spencer can’t hide his love for Y/N.

“I’m not going to ask her. You know she’ll think it’s because-” Spencer says, prepping for a long winded rant before the door of Penelope’s office swings open.

Y/N, with two coffees in hand, floats into the room like she’s walking on air. Or maybe it’s Spencer’s mind that’s floating when Y/N walks in. He can never tell. Whenever he’s near her, it’s like everything is sweeter, lighter and airier. Wordlessly, she passes the coffee to Spencer. Feeling her fingertips graze his reminds him of how pathetic he must be. He nods, telling her thanks, knowing that he’s unable to fully articulate just how grateful he is for the littlest things.

“Who are you not going to ask and to where, Spence?” Y/N says, leaning against the filing cabinets and sipping her coffee. Penelope, never one to be quiet, silently watches as Spencer and Y/N converse. Spencer looks up at her, feeling that light and airy feeling again. He brushes his hair that falls against his forehead nervously thinking of an answer.

“I- uh, I was thinking of asking my mother to come stay with me for a couple of weeks. You know, she hasn’t seen DC in a couple of years. And I do have some personal days banked,” Spencer says, telling Y/N a small white lie.

“She’s in Vegas, right?” Y/N asks, interested in what Spencer is saying, which is something that he’s still not used to. Spencer nods, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah, she says that she likes the heat,” Spencer says, hating how formal and cold the conversation sounds. It’s normally flowing with easy and familiarity, but something is wedged between them. Penelope, long forgotten by the pair, types rapidly on her keyboard.

“You know, Spence. If you’re up for it maybe we can have lunch or meet at Elmwood Park. I’d love to meet the woman that made my favorite person,” she says, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes. Her stare is so intense that it’s like she’s looking into his soul. He thinks that if she looks deep enough she’ll see her own reflection because his soul belongs to her.

“I-I uh,” Spencer says, immediately thinking that he should actually invite his mother out for a visit, “I think that’s a good idea. She likes the sites and all,” he tells her nervously, trying to ease his beating heart.

He’s her favorite person.

Out of all the people in this city, this world. He’s her favorite person. Spencer, a lover of math, is tempted to figure out the odds of being his favorite person’s favorite person. He knows it’s slim. He knows it’s rare. It’s something magical and Spencer is terrified he’s going to ruin it. He’s terrified he’s going to fuck something up that’s not even his.

“It’s a date,” Y/N says, turning to Penelope, who’s still long forgotten, “Oh, Penny, you need to yell at Morgan for me. He ate my leftovers,” she tells Penelope, who feigns horror, “And now I don’t have lunch”

“How dare he!” Penelope says, her exaggerated response inciting chuckles, “he can get away with murder because he’s pretty,” she says, shaking her head.

He knows that she’s pretending to be disappointed, but he still doesn’t like to see it. Spencer unwraps the other half of his turkey and cheese sandwich and hands it to Y/N. She looks surprised, as if Spencer just handed her a million bucks.

“Spence, you don’t have to,” Y/N says, softly, handing back the half of the sandwich, “It’s your sandwich, I don’t want you to feel-”

“Eat it, Y/N,” Spencer says firmly, looking straight at Y/N, “You need to eat something. We both live off coffee as it is,” he says, hoping that Y/N will take the sandwich.

He’s looking straight at her and she’s looking straight at him. Spencer wonders if he looks deep enough he’ll reach her soul. He dares to think that if he can find her soul, he’ll stare at his face. He’s her favorite person after all, that’s got to count for something.

“Thanks, Spence,” Y/N says, smiling softly, “You make the best sandwiches,” she tells him, taking a bite of the sandwich as Garcia’s eyes flit from Spencer to Y/N. Back and forth, she watches the pair engage in the world’s best miscommunication.

“Y/N, did you hear? I’m throwing a prom!” Garcia says excitedly, hoping that Y/N’s reaction will be more enthusiastic than Spencer’s.

“A prom?” Y/N asks, unconvincingly, “God, I hated my prom. I got punched spilled all over my dress and my date tried to sneak alcohol into the banquet hall. It was a shitshow,” Y/N says, remembering the less than happy memories from high school.

“I didn’t go to prom. You know, between being a 12 year old and a dork,” Spencer says, self deprecatingly, “It’s not the ideal scenario, but I am familiar with the cultural significance of proms in American high school,” Spencer says, speaking to no one in particular, yet looking at Y/N directly.

“Maybe we’ll both get the prom night we deserve, Spence,” Y/N offers, tossing out her wax paper wrapper. She walks past him and it’s like the air is sweeter. He believes in science, but loves magic. Y/N is magic.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, refusing to make eye contact with Penelope, “you know, sorry to uh, cut this short. I have some paperwork to finish. Hotch’s been on me all day about it. So, uh, see you later,” he says, walking out of Penelope's office like a bat out of hell.

He tries to ignore the knowing stares from Penelope and Y/N’s confusion as he ducks out and walks into the bullpen. Spencer doesn’t have paperwork. He finished all his paperwork by 11:12 am. But what Spencer does have is a flight from Vegas to Quantico to book.

And prom shopping.

___

As it turns out, Spencer doesn’t know much about teenage American culture. Sure he’s seen 90s movies that Y/N forced him to watch. But it was quite difficult to pay attention when all he could feel was Y/N’s fingers brushing up against his in their shared bucket of popcorn or her head laying against his shoulder when she got tired.

He doesn’t know much of anything when it comes to romance. But he knows that he loves Y/N— and hopefully that’s enough. He still hasn’t asked her if she’d go with him. Honestly, he’s not too sure why he even has to ask her in the first place. She’s going to be there already, but Garcia and Morgan convinced him that it’s part of the so-called “Prom Experience”

“Spence,” Y/N says, she’s perched on the tall bar stool and rests her elbows on her kitchen island, “did you find a suit yet? I was thinking that we can go to that vintage store on Rock Ave. They have a surprisingly good size selection, and I think that this whole vintage thing fits your aesthetic really well,”

“My aesthetic?” Spencer questions, again lost at sea.

“You know, you’re like nerdy chic. Equal parts dorky and equal parts handsome,” she tells him. He feels his cheeks burn at her words.

Handsome

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” Spencer says, eyeing Y/N over the rim of his hot coffee.

“It is,” Y/N says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like him being handsome is just as obvious as him being dorky, “And get your wallet. We’re going to the vintage store,”

Spencer has a hate-love relationship with weekends. He loves spending time with Y/N where it was so easy to pretend that she loves him as he loves her. He hates the weekends for the same reason he loves them. Spencer knows that it’s all fake. It’s a façade of the truth.

“Spence! You’d look great in this,” Y/N suggests, holding up a gray sports coat, “I think it will match your eyes perfectly,”

“If you think so, Y/N,” Spencer says, nodding his head in agreement. She continues eyeing him as if she’s imagining what he’d look like in the jacket. He has to admit, it’s a very nice jacket.

“Come on, Spence. There’s a mirror over in the corner. Try it on for me,” she requests and not even a second later Spencer finds himself being dragged by the hand to try on the suit jacket.

Y/N holds the jacket open for him as he slips it on through his arms. He’s surprised to realize that it fits perfectly. He looks into the mirror, staring at his face and Y/N, who tugs and smooths the jacket. Spencer can’t look too much longer because if he does the lines between reality and fantasy will be difficult to distinguish. As much as he wants to stare into the mirror all day long, pretending that this is real, he much rather it actually be real. But wishing and dreaming only ends up with battle wounds and broken hearts.

“You look very handsome, Spencer. Very handsome,” Y/N says, staring into the mirror too now. But she’s not looking at the jacket, she’s looking at him. The beat of silence lasts longer than what’s comfortable, “Um, I think, I saw some pants that would look good on you, with this jacket, I mean,” she says, stumbling over her words. She’s not looking in the mirror any more, her gaze is noticeably away from Spencer and the mirror.

“Okay, uh, whatever you think, Y/N,” Spencer says, “I’m not even sure why I agreed to this thing. I don’t dance,” he says, regretting his choice to go to Penelope’s prom, but feeling guilty for maybe disappointing Y/N all in one breath.

“Did you ask her yet?” Y/N asks, holding up a pair of similarly gray colored pants. She must notice his confusion, “You know Austin, the woman you heroically saved. Does any of it ring a bell, Spence?” Y/N teases. Spencer feels his cheeks burn and his heart tighten, that happens a lot around Y/N.

“Oh Austin, uh no. She wasn’t interested in me, after all,” Spencer says, shifting his weight and staring at his converse, “I mean, I should have seen it coming. It’s transference, that’s like Psych 101,” he says, feeling strange. It was odd when Austin broke up with him, even if you can consider it breaking up. He felt a strange sense of relief when it happened, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Y/N clicks her tongue in annoyance as she walks over to Spencer. Tugging slightly on the sleeves of the jacket she says, “well she’s not as smart as I thought she was. You have to be a complete fool to let someone like you go,” she says quietly. She’s standing too close, looking too beautiful, and seeming too perfect for Spencer to not be completely enamoured.

Then it breaks, like shattered glass. The rosey glasses are lifted, leaving only cheeks that sting with nervousness and hearts the yearn for something a little more tangible.

“Stop staring at me and go try it on,” Y/N says, handing him the pair of pants, “Oh and I’m going to look for a vest and a tie to match. This store is unbelievable,” she tells him, pushing him into the makeshift dressing room.

Spencer puts on the pants, which fit, despite being maybe an inch or two loose in the waist. He looks into the tall mirror, which is noticeably empty without Y/N standing with him. A floating hand, belonging to Y/N appears. She holds a burgundy tie and a dark brown vest, both of which are very Spencer. He smiles slightly, strangely happy that Y/N has picked something out that’s perfect for him.

“Tell me when you’re decent,” she says, her voice muffled by the curtain that separates them. He sticks his head out of the curtain, his eyes immediately finding Y/N’s.

“Ohh, Spence, you look amazing. Very handsome,” she says, her hands clasped around the tie, tugging just like she did with his suit jacket before, “What do you think?” she asks, looking at him curiously.

“It’s nice,” Spencer offers, approaching this like he does everything: cautiously, “I do like the texture,” he says, running his hands up and down the sleeves of the jacket.

“You look more than nice, Spence. I know I’ve said it like 30 times, but you look very handsome,” she says. Spencer hopes that she means it. He needs something to be real. Sometimes besides what he feels, because what he feels is the realest thing in the world.

“It’s nice to hear,” Spencer says, “you know from someone who’s not my mother,” he jokes, shrugging off the jacket and grabbing the hanger from Y/N.

“You deserve to hear it,” Y/N says so softly Spencer wonders if she’s saying it all. That beat of silence, followed by the awkwardness is back.

“So, uh, I saw a dress that I’m going to try on,” Y/N tells him, her gaze shifting everywhere but Spencer’s eyes.

“I’ll go pay for this,” Spencer says, walking back into the dressing room and the mirror that lies to his face.

___

Back in Y/N’s car, Spencer shifts in the passenger seat trying to find a way to sit comfortably while holding his suit jacket, pants and vest. Y/N hangs up her dress, that’s wrapped in a gown bag. She wouldn’t let Spencer see the dress, despite her practically picking out his entire outfit.

“So what’s next,” Spencer asks, as Y/N gets into the car. She smiles over at him sheepishly, leading Spencer to think she’s got another trick up her sleeve.

“I’ve got a confession, Spence. And please don’t hate me for it,” Y/N says, her voice coming out a little nervous as she eyes Spencer.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, even if I tried. And I’m certain I’ll never have to,” he says softly, resting his hand over hers on the console. He rubs the back of her hand gently, thinking about just how easy things are with her. If he could only be a little braver, maybe then the mirror wouldn’t be so empty.

“Okay. I knew that things didn’t work out with you and Austin. I overheard you telling Derek,” Y/N confesses, “And I know that it makes me a horrible friend or whatever, but I’m sorry that I eavesdropped,”

“Oh, uh how much did you hear?” Spencer asks, suddenly quite nervous. He can feel his heart drop, waiting for the moment when Y/N laughs at the thought of her loving him. He knows that it’s not fair to her, but then again all is fair is love and war.

“Enough to know that you’re still hung up or or someone else. I left once my conscience got the better of me. Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout,” she says, making the three finger salute that’s common in scouting, “I just wanted to hear it from you, you know you’re my favorite person and all,” she says, a frown forming.

“I think, uh,” Spencer says, “That I was just a little embarrassed. You know how Derek and Penelope and Emily and JJ can get. It’s basically just you and Hotch who aren’t jumping down my throat about being, you know, alone,” he says, chuckling awkwardly.

“They just want to help you, Spence. In their own ways, but I’m always on Team Spencer. You never got to worry about that,” Y/N offers, squeezing his hand.

He considers what she says, not responding verbally, but nodding his head. He hasn’t ever had someone on his “team”, so it’s strange. But a good kind of strange.

“Spence, you okay? I wanted to give you something. To be truthful, I’ve been thinking about how I was going to do this for awhile,”

“Ask me what?” he questions, wondering what she has in store. He watches as Y/N rummages in his bag, clearly looking for something. He’s thoroughly confused when she pulls out a TI-84.

“What on earth?” Spencer says, as she places the calculator in his hands. Her sly grin, beaming up at him only further proves his point: his heart just beats faster around her.

“Just shut and press the on button. You’d think that a genius would know how to work a calculator,” she comments, rolling her eyes playfully.

“You know, I never used these. I can just do it in my head faster,” Spencer says, winking at Y/N when she pushes him teasingly.

“God, Spencer just turn it on!” she demands, very apparently getting more and more impatient.

He turns the calculator on and is brought to a green screen that has a picture of a graph. Spencer raises his eyebrow, as if to ask Y/N for the next direction.

“Press the graph button,” she says, getting quieter as Spencer looks at her.

He presses the button that she said to, waiting for whatever is supposed to happen. Spencer watches as the screen draws four black lines running parallel to each other. A curved line is drawn on the first two black lines, forming the letters “P” and “R”. The screen continues to draw, making an oval that looks like an “O” and the last two parallel lines are joined together with a “v” shape, forming the letter “M”. He takes a second glance, reading the 4 letter word slowly.

P-R-O-M

“Well?” she asks, waiting for his answer.

He’s speechless. Spencer blinks. It’s like his brain has stopped working. It’s a prom, a stupid prom that’s 10 years too late. But it’s the girl of dreams that’s asking him. And that’s the stuff those rom-coms he couldn’t pay attention to are made of.

“I mean, of course. Of course, Y/N,” Spencer says, dropping the calculator into the cup holder and leaning in to hug Y/N.

His heart stops again. Falling into that tricky habit of either speeding up or stopping when she’s around. He thinks he’s ready to implode when she pecks his cheek. Her lips don’t linger, hardly touching his skin for it to be considered a kiss.

“I don’t think I’d want to go with anyone else,” she says, mumbling into his skin. She seals his fate with her lips against his skin. Never again will Spencer imagine what it’s like to have her lips against his skin. Even though it’s a fraction of the time he’d want, it’s tattooed in his mind.

“I’m not much of a dancer, by the way,” Spencer says, reluctantly letting go and sitting back into the passenger’s seat, “so don’t expect too much,” he jokes.

“Oh you better watch it, Doctor Reid. I’m getting you on the dance floor, even if you hate it,” Y/N says, smiling as she backs out of the parking spot and turns into the street.

Spencer looks out the window, thinking to himself that there’s probably nothing he can hate if he’s doing it with Y/N.

Spencer didn’t go to prom in high school. He didn’t do a lot of the traditional things that most former high schoolers reminisce about at his age. He didn’t go to football games or have a best friend to make lifelong memories with.

He didn’t have any of that, until now.

But it’s prom night, 10 years late. His hands are sweaty and his mouth feels dry. Spencer wasn’t this nervous for even his first day at the BAU all those years ago. He tries to fix the burgundy tie that Y/N picked out at the vintage store. It looks crooked and twisted. Nothing like when Y/N tied perfectly in the store for him. He supposes that he can wait till she comes to pick him up.

The mirror, again, is noticeably empty without Y/N standing beside him. He can get lost in there, thinking about her standing with him. He does, because it feels like seconds later when he hears a rapid knocking on his apartment door.

Standing on the other side of the door is Y/N. She wears a sage green dress that looks like it’s made of softest silk. He smiles at her, not sure if he can trust his words. Spencer doesn’t think he’ll be able to do much thinking when all he can focus on is the tiny straps that rest on her shoulders or how the sage green compliments her skin tone.

“You look, god. You’re beautiful,” Spencer says, partly under his breath partly aloud to Y/N, “so beautiful,” he says again, focusing on her eyes.

“And you’re looking very dashing in that suit, Spence,” she says, pushing her way in, “do you need help with your tie?” she asks, looking at the tie he holds in his hand.

“Yes, please,” he says sheepishly. He holds out the burgundy colored tie, but takes his hand back as an idea crosses his mind, “oh wait here, I’ll be right back,” Spencer says, walking quickly to his bedroom.

“Alright,” Y/N says sceptically, “Don’t ditch me, Reid!” she calls out from the living room.

Spencer returns, hiding the new tie behind his back. He places an olive green tie with dusty blue and pink flowers in her hands. He notices her smile grow, realizing that he’s picking a new tie for a reason.

“I might not know much about prom, but I think that we’re supposed to match. You know, since we’re going together,” he offers, “but I need help putting it on,” he says.

“We’re going to match!” Y/N says excitedly. As she unbuttons the first button on Spencer’s cream colored shirt he holds his breath. He can’t breathe when she’s this close. Her fingers are quick and nimble as they feed the tie around his neck and elegantly create a knot. If Spencer wasn’t already in love, he knows that watching her eyes twinkle and her tongue poke out as she concentrates would make him declare it then and there.

“So handsome,” she says, using that quiet voice that makes it seem like she’s talking to herself rather than him, “I can’t wait to dance with you,” she tells him tugging the tie.

“I’m not going to be good, Y/N. I’m going to be a fool,” Spencer says, lamenting already about what an idiot he’s going to look like in front of Y/N.

“That’s nonsense, Spence,” Y/N says, waving him away with a toss of her hand, “You’re going to be the best dancer there,” she tells him rubbing her hand up and down his arm, like she did at the store.

“Would you believe it, if I told you I never danced with anyone?” Spencer says, being the most honest and true he’s ever been.

“We can change that,” Y/N says, stepping towards Spencer and linking her hand in his. She squeezes, restarting and stopping his heart all in one go, “oh wait we need music,” she says, feeling around for where her phone usually is.

“I got it,” Spencer says, stepping away from Y/N. He walks over to the small record player in the corner of his living room. He doesn’t play it too often, the records he has were once his mother’s and they’re too painful to play most days. But Spencer’s sure that he can make every exception to all his rules for Y/N. Maybe he’ll get some happy memories out of it.

“Going old school I see,” Y/N says, teasingly as Spencer walks over grabbing both his hands in hers, “everything about you is very charming, Doctor Reid,” she says, softly swaying to the jazzy tunes of Sarah Vaughan.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Spencer says, following Y/N’s lead as she floats around his living room, carrying him everywhere she goes. She rests her head against his chest and Spencer swears that she’s going to get a concussion from how hard his heart beats.

They’re alone, no audience to witness the moment that Spencer wonders if he can dare to call intimate. It’s intimate to him because every moment with Y/N is intimate. Maybe if someone had told Spencer that dancing like this could bring pure paradise all the way from your fingertips to your eyelashes, maybe he would have done it sooner.

“You’re quite the romantic, Spencer,” Y/N says as the song comes to a close. The record player stops, but they don’t stop swaying, “And you told me you couldn’t dance,” she scoffs lightly, with her head still resting against his chest.

“Is that okay with you?” He asks, “me being romantic,”

“I don’t think that I’d want it any other way, Spencer,” Y/N says, removing her head from his chest and her hand from his. She cups his face, touching him lightly. Y/N holds him like he aches to be held. It’s gentle and tender, yet leaves him desiring more.

“Honest?” Spencer asks, daring to be brave.

“Truly,” she responds.

Spencer shifted slightly, so he can also hold her face in his hands. Y/N drops her hands though, wrapping them around Spencer’s waist to pull them closer together. Spencer’s phantom fingers are like that dance around that dance around Y/N’s skin.

It’s Y/N that initiates the kiss. She moves in slowly and tenuously, looking just as nervous as Spencer is. He’s shaky slightly, the anticipation getting to his head when all he can see is Y/N’s eyes looking into his and all he can think about is how soft her skin is. It’s all he’s ever wanted to think about. Her lips are soft and pillowy.

But it’s more than that.

Kissing her is everything to Spencer. It’s the breathy sighs she lets out as he moves his hands and rests them securely behind her neck. It’s the peachy scent of her perfume that’s so sweet and strong it should be overwhelming when all it is, is intoxicating. Kissing her is dizzying and terrifying, but wonderful and sweet. He can’t tell where his lips start and where her’s end, but it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t open his eyes because he knows he’s facing the mirror. But unlike before, he doesn’t need a mirror to know what he’s looking at. He can look into his soul for that.

“Very romantic,” Y/N says, smiling through the quick kisses she plants on his jawline, “I always thought you’d be a romantic,” he tells him.

Spencer brushes his thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. It’s puffy and bitten from his kisses, but he thinks that it would be a shame to not bite and kiss it some more. He smiles so hard he knows that he’ll wake up in the morning and his mouth will hurt. But that’s the least of his worries if Y/N’s there to kiss it better.

“Honest?” Spencer says, calling back to the song, that’s now their song.

“Truly,”

---

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