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highvern · 5 months ago

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Drive Me Crazy

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x f!reader

Genre: smut

warnings: strangers to lovers, virgin!JK, dry humping, oral sex, cum eating

Length: ~3.7k

Note: yes i'm insane. no i won't be taking further questions. thank u @gyuswhore for chaperoning my descent into JK madness

summary: You're not the only one with a shitty dating life. Your driver seems to be having a worse night than you can imagine. But things take a turn for the better in the backseat of his car.

m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

“Uber for Y/N?” you ask, stumbling into the backseat. “Thanks. God, you wouldn’t believe the night I’ve had.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the man, Ian according to the information on the app, gasps.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” You’re a wreck; makeup running, clothes damp from the rain peppering on the window. The last thing you want is some hot guy as your driver for the short journey back to your apartment but at this point you can’t muster the energy to care.

“Uhhh—”

“You probably don’t want to hear about my shitty night.”

“Well that and—” he starts, cut off before he can say more by your tipsy motormouth.

“Where does a man get off telling me he isn’t interested in gold diggers when he’s a public school teacher? No offense but what gold?” you ramble. “Not to mention, when I told the waiter to split the bill he asked if I thought he didn’t have any money. Like make up your mind dude.”

“What the fuck?” he asks lowly.

You nod in agreement, hands thrown wide in exasperation. “That’s what I’m saying!”

“That’s fucked up.”

The thickness of his voice doesn’t register in your mind, a broken edgy scratching at the edges of your brain but it doesn’t signal any significant interest “Oh, that's not even the worst part.”

“There’s more?”

“He said ‘I asked too many personal questions.’”

“Like?”

“What he liked to do for fun, if he’s originally from the city, do you like dogs or cats? Literally anything I could think of because apparently he’s allergic to carrying a conversation.” In your hand, your phone rings with an unsaved number. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your Uber. Did you mean to cancel your ride?”

“What?”

“Ian from Uber? I’ve been circling the block and haven’t found you and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“Oh! I’m sorry I’ll just—cancel. Yep. Bye.” You stare at the equelly unease expression on Not-Uber Driver Ian’s face, muddled brain racing. If he isn’t your driver that means you got into the car with a random man.

“Who the fuck are you?” you scream.

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells back.

You fiddle with the door handle, unable to grab a hold with shaky hands. “Oh my god, you’re a kidnapper.”

“I’m not a kidnapper!”

“That’s what a kidnapper would say!” You fumble for the pepper spray in your bag only to find it absent. It’s not your usual bag. It’s the nicer one that barely fits your phone and chapstick. Damn it.

“YOU GOT IN MY CAR,” he argues.

He makes a good point. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I tried but you talk a lot.”

Another good point.

“Oh my god, what the hell,” you gasp. “Why are you sitting here with the doors unlocked? I could have robbed you.”

“I used my last five bucks to buy this ice cream. Just kill me instead.”

You balk. “That’s so sad.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.”

“You’re a horrible kidnapper.”

“And you’re a pretty shitty carjacker so I’d say we’re even.”

If he was dangerous he's had plenty of time to prove it. Instead, when he looks back over the center console, all you see is the red rimmed eyes of a kicked puppy with a bird nest for hair. A ridiculous expression for a man of his size but you pity him nonetheless. He’s harmless. Pathetic. But harmless.

There’s a story about him and you’ve always been curious. “Okay, not-Ian, why are you sitting in a parking lot eating ice cream on a Friday night? Kidnapper thing aside, this is just sad.”

He’s hot. Even in nothing but sweats and his own misery. The intimidating kind of handsome that people, men and women, pine over. Hand themselves over on a silver platter if he so much as asked.

“Thanks,” he grunts, going for another spoon of ice cream.

“So why are you upset?” The rain outside intensifies, setting the scene to bare your souls in his cramped Toyota.

“Ugh…” he hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I don’t think it can be any more embarrassing than what I just went through.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Why not? If it’s more embarrassing then I won’t steal a bite. Is that chocolate?”

“Cookie dough,” he corrects. “This girl I’ve been talking to ditched me.”

“Because?”

He prepares with a deep breath, steeling himself against whatever motive his fling had. “I’m a virgin.”

“What?” you ask dumbly. Virgin.

Chin tipped back, he swipes at his face in embarrassment. “I told you it's embarrassing.”

“You’re eating your feelings because you’re a virgin?”

“Yes.” He waits for your interjection. When it doesn’t come he hesitantly continues. “And the last person I told laughed in my face and started hooking up with my roommate. So…”

“What a bitch.”

“Yeah. People just assume I’m some kind of man whore.” He explains, head banging against the wheel. “But I’ve never done anything besides… ya know?”

“I have no idea, complete stranger.”

“Like hand stuff.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely a virgin,” you snort. “Move over, I’m coming up.”

Shimmying into the front seat takes more coordination than you’re prepared for. The hem of your dress rises to brazen heights, a draft curling around the edge of your panties. Its a feeling you assumed would be happening with your date and not in the car with a random stranger. But beggars can’t be choosers. At least it’s good ice cream.

He pointedly avoids looking anywhere close to your legs. Polite. Innocent. Virginal. How cute.

“Thank you. That makes me feel so much better.” His eyes roll as you settle into the passenger seat, snatching the container and taking a bite from the same spoon he’d been using.

“Sorry,” you say after swallowing. “Is it because you don’t want to? Because that girl can go fuck herself then.”

“No, I just, I don’t know. I get nervous? They’re expecting someone who knows what they’re doing and I have no idea. And then all I can think about is what if I’m bad at it which makes me more nervous and then I feel like throwing up.”

“Please tell me you haven’t thrown up on a girl.”

“Ew, no,” he laughs, taking a bite for himself. “I just make an excuse to slow down and then leave.”

“Okay. Well…” You try to think of something, anything, that could make him feel better. It’s not everyday a stranger spills their guts about lacking sexual experience. “So what if you’re bad? It’s not like you can’t get better.”

“Okay, but what girl wants to sleep with a guy who’s bad in bed?”

“How do you know you’re bad if you’ve never even tried? It’s different if you’re bad and you don’t care. Just tell whoever you're with you’ve never done it before. If they don’t jump at the chance to teach you then they can fuck off.”

“Well, Mina rubbed my face in it—”

“Oh fuck her. She seems like a bitch.”

“You’re not wrong,” he says.

Rain drizzles on the windshield, obscuring the lights into messy streaks. A flood of memories surrounding your own virginity rush to the forefront.

Your college boyfriend, Jimin, wanted to wait. It was cute. High school sweethearts going to the same school, taking similar classes, holding hands in the library. You thought he wasn’t ready and you respected it, found it endearing that he wasn’t like most of the guys your friends dated that couldn’t wait to do it.

Or you did until you decided to surprise Jimin for his birthday with breakfast in bed and got your own surprise. A girl, naked in his bed, Jimin’s own clothes scattered around the room.

You broke up with him right there. Two days of crying later, you invited your lab partner, the one Jimin couldn’t stand, over.

It was Yoongi that sent a selfie of you two cuddled up in bed to Jimin. He still likes to cash in on that favor whenever he needs a dog sitter.

Yoongi knew there were no feelings involved. A simple favor in the form of revenge against a shitty ex. Maybe not-Ian is your chance to pay it forward. By the looks of things, you wouldn’t be suffering.

“Ya know, some girls like guys who are inexperienced. It’s hot knowing you can teach someone how to be good in bed. Like an ego boost.” You shrug. If he wasn’t looking at your legs before but he sure is now. Pink ears and round eyes, his fingers twitch in his lap as you suck the spoon clean. At least the hour spent shaving your legs isn’t going to waste. “Besides, you obviously care how the other person feels, which is more than some dudes.”

“Why would someone not care if the other person feels good?” he asks, tone laced with disgust. “That seems like the entire point.”

“The world is full of mysteries.”

“My name is Jungkook by the way.”

Jungkook. Fitting somehow. It tastes good on your tongue. Like the cookie dough ice cream.

“Y/N.”

You end up in his lap in true stereotypical fashion. A too long silence, his eyes on your mouth and yours on his. Someone leans forward and now you know Jungkook is a great kisser with even greater upper body strength.

His inexperience shows in the fine details: shaky hands, hesitant tongue, waiting for you to take the lead as not to offend. It’s endearing. Someone as big as him treating you with such gentleness. But it means he’s thinking about messing this up and that’s the opposite of what you want.

You kiss him deeper, a grip on the side of his neck that he eagerly surrenders too. Your other hand wedges between your chests. Teeth nipping at his lip, you rock against him, palming against the soft cotton sweats until he’s plump in your hand.

“God,” he chokes. His own hands busy themself on your body, one at the seat of your ass, teasing the edge of your dress where bare skin peaks out while the offers a tight grip at your chest, pinching your nipple in desperate retaliation.

“Feel good?” You rut again, a tease for your own pleasure in the form of Jungkook’s heavy breath. It’s decent contact on your core, not enough to get you off but plenty for right now.

Kissing is well in his realm of experience. Obvious from how quickly he finds his bearings, licking behind your teeth. It’s good. Better than dry humping his thigh in the front seat should be. Vision dark from his hands frantic at your ass, thighs rising to meet every torturous curl against the heat of his lap.

You fall into his shoulder, drool staining his sweater as you pant. “Ever had your dick sucked?”

“No.”

A vein raises across his neck and becomes your new guidemap. Your hand at his crotch squeezes, his cock twitching at the action. “Do you want to?”

“You don’t have to,” he hisses.

You squeeze his cock again, enough for a needy drive of his hips in response. “I want to.”

“Seriously?” he marvels.

“If it’s cool with you.” You nose along his jaw, teeth scraping red over his skin. His stomach dips under your hand. “Get in the back, I don’t need to get caught with your dick in my mouth.”

“Holy shit, don’t say that.” He kisses you again, firmer this time.

You crawl back through the narrow opening between the front seats, ass on full display for Jungkook’s eyes. The heat of his palm ghosts over your legs but he doesn’t touch. The deliberate arch in your spine isn’t enough to break his self control just yet.

He comes next. The struggle is endearing, half stuck between the seats and wiggling forward. “I think I’m stuck.”

“Why didn’t you just go around?” You snort, grabbing around his arms and pulling to no avail.

“Too late now.”

You're both laughing. Breathless because Jungkook is lodged between the seats with zero hope. “Why are you so heavy?”

He wiggles through with your help, nearly elbowing you in the head in the process. But he’s in the seat with his lap as prime real estate. You try to commandeer the space once again but Jungkook stops you. Instead, he settles between your legs, weight pinning you into the door. Broad shoulders block out the light but you take it in stride, fisting the back of his sweater as he finds your pulse.

“Can I go down on you?” He nuzzles down your throat, mouthing the spots he’s learning make you putty in his hands.

“Yeah, sure,” you hiccup. “That’s fine.”

Jungkook crams between your legs, bending in half on the floor like a contortionist. The sparse kisses across your thighs would be a blatant tease if nervousness wasn’t rolling off him in waves. He’s eating pussy for the first time and acting like it’s open heart surgery.

“Calm down.” You brush a hand through his hair, attempting to be comforting.

“I am calm.” A bold faced lie. Even in the darkness of the backseat the signs of his impending nerves are obvious.

“You’re shaking,” you say. “I’ll tell you what feels good. You’re not gonna mess it up.”

An open mouth on your core kiss leaves you sweating with a weak hum. At least he knows where the clit is. Or has a vague idea of its presence. Jungkook presses his face further into the cotton, suffocating himself without realizing.

“O-oh,” you hitch.

Humiliation brews from such a visceral reaction to something as basic as a kiss over your panties. But Jungkook is out of his depth here and any reaction will stroke his confidence.

He ducks away, watching you with rapt attention. You’re the teacher and he’s a student eager for whatever validation that may fall from your lips. “Good?”

“Yeah, do it again,” you praise.

He nods before diving back in, throwing your legs over his shoulders for better reach. Your pulse jumps with juvenile eagerness. Like it’s the first time you’re left with a boy unsupervised and his hand is the first real thing to touch you between the legs. It makes you feel dirty. Has your hairline sweat and tongue go dry. A bold wash of his tongue couples the next kiss, hot and wet as he laps against the fabric until your own arousal mixes with spit.

"You fucking liar,” you croak. The back of your head knocks against the window, hips rolling into his mouth.

"What?” Jungkook asks, leaning back but just barely. His breath fans over your skin, a shiver crawling up your spine. “Did I do something—"

“It’s good. So good,” you praise. “Touch me more.”

He jumps at the chance. Your panties tear down your thighs, out of the way with some rough maneuvering. Bare for his eyes, Jungkook takes more than a fill before diving in for another taste. But not until he spits on your clit and rubs in the mess with his thumb. Your thighs spread wider to accommodate a hard pass of his mouth, more wet kisses burning your cheeks.

“Jungkook, fuck,” you sigh. “When you said ‘hand stuff’ what did you mean?”

“I’ve touched a vagina before if that's what you're asking.”

You swat his hand. “Don’t say vagina, it makes me feel like I’m at the gynecologist.”

“Sorry, a pussy.”

“Don’t say it like that either, weirdo. Have you fingered one?”

Pointed silence is answer enough.

“It’s okay. I’m not gonna make fun of you. Just don’t put a finger in my ass and you’ll be fine.”

He doesn't laugh at your poor attempt to cut the tension but he releases a weighted sigh, muscles sagging an inch. Better. Instead, he focuses on stroking you to life between your folds, fingertips nudging your bud teasingly.

“Use your mouth some more and then finger me too,” you beg.

“Uh—how many? I don't wanna hurt you." He’s unsure despite the obvious twitch in your thighs. It burns depravity through your veins. His innocence is hot. Jungkook doesn’t even realize how fucked up he has you from some softcore porn level touching.

"All of them. I don't care, I’ll tell you if it’s too much."

One hand firm on your stomach, keeping your dress out of the way as he spreads your insides with two. The first strokes are meek. Nothing to scream over but he’s learning and that’s what's important. Seconds tick by and Jungkook finds a hesitant rhythm. Wet noises echo with each slow sheath, reserved but stretching you all the same. The wet strokes of his tongue are there too, placating just in case. A soft curl of his fingers makes your hips cant into his mouth.

The fogged windows are a dead give away to what's playing out in the backseat. If anyone stumbles down the sidewalk then you’re both dead but Jungkook’s mouth is distracting in the worst way.

And then he licks between his fingers, tongue slipping past his knuckles for a pure taste of your arousal. You go fuzzy at the edges, thighs squeezing tight until he’s forced to keep them spread or risk having his head crushed.

“Oh–fuck me, god.”

It’s not fair. For him to be good at this so quickly. To delude himself into thinking he could possibly be bad, trying to convince you he’d be bad. Complete unfair how ill prepared you were for Jungkook worshiping your pussy like he’s never tasted anything better.

He really needs to be more confident because, in the cramped back seat of his car, you’re losing your mind and it’s barely been ten minutes.

“Can I—” he asks around your clit.

“Do whatever you want, just don’t stop,” you ramble. “Jungkook, fuck.”

A hand of your own sinks into his hair, angling his chin for better access. Wet echoes fill the car, sharp mewls from your lips adding to the noise. Nerves blazing, your ride his mouth for all its worth. Eager slippery circles of his tongue against your clit intensify, built on praising moans of his name.

“Fuck. Tastes good,” he grunts. A squeeze of your hand, the one not pulling his hair and then he’s finding your chest, blind groping until you guide him to your nipple and curve into the sting of his grip. He twists it. Hard.

You want to cry. The sweat suck of his mouth, fingers confidently curling it that spot that makes the air thinner in your lungs. Moans die between your teeth. Too quick into the next sensation to revel. There isn’t a thought other than Jungkook, Jungkook, Jungkook.

“Jungkook!” you cry, grinding into his fingers. Your teeth clench as a third one stretches that extra inch. Stiff in the thighs, you force yourself down into the friction. His tongue hardens, perfect for use as you hump his face weakly.

Your legs kick, scrambling under the sharp pleasure. He’s got you melting into nothing right on his carseat. Jungkook doesn’t lean back to ask for more confirmation; just takes the signs for what they are and keeps going with renewed stamina at the promise of your pleasure.

“I’m gonna—oh, god. Yessss,” you hiss. Nails sharp against the back of his neck, Jungkook buries his face in your cunt.

You go rigid, voice breaking into a desperate whimper. Jungkook has the sense to keep going, lashing at your clit over and over with each desperate pulse of pleasure through your veins. Flashes flare behind the darkness of your eyes squeezed tight. You make a few more desperate noises, lurching in his hold before falling lip and worn.

“Fuck, okay. Okay,” you whine, pushing him away from your core before the stimulation becomes too much.

His mouth is drenched, cheeks and chin smeared with your orgasm. A flash of tongue collects some of the mess but you drag him into a kiss before he can go for seconds. First time eating pussy and he’s one for one. If that doesn’t help his confidence then nothing else will.

“Give me a second and I’ll blow you,” you pant into his lips.

“I-it’s okay.”

You pout at the brush off, a deep kiss as you invade his space. “I promise I want to.”

Your hand goes for his pants just to be captured with his own. His fingers are still soaked from your insides. “No, I…I came too.”

“Really?” you ask in awe.

Jungkook is embarrassed again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. That’s hot.” You kiss him again with a gentle suckle along the curve of his lower lip. Jungkook drinks it in, crowding you back into the door again like you aren’t a pile of mush. Your back hurts from hunching over for so long but you let him keep you tangled up for a little while longer just to feel the shuddering exhale from his nose across your cheek. “Can I see?”

He swallows thickly before rolling down his sweats. The thin fabric of his boxers are wet, sticky under your shaky hand. You dip below the waist band, fingers grazing the limp ridge of his cock. He’s stuck in the inbetween of soft and hard but still hot and heavy in your hold. Your core throbs in interest at the feeling.

Jungkook shivers as you swipe at the slit, collecting a bead of cum. You want to get your mouth on him but he looks like he might cry if you keep playing with it.

When your hand retreats, rising to your lips for a taste, his eyes round, mouth gaping over silent words. The pink of your tongue comes out, lapping at the thick mess coating your thumb.

“Is it okay if I get your number?” he asks after the initial shock wears away.

“Yeah,” you snort. “You can have my number. You can give me a ride home too. And we can do that again in my bed.”

The glee on his face is worth the disgusting mess between your thighs. “Hell yeah.”

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

@gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire

@missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @writingbarnes

@dokyeomkyeom @christinewithluv @minwonfairy @idkjustlovingbts @wobblewobble822 @futuristicenemychaos

@seungkw1 @horanghaezone @jespecially @scoupsjin @isabellah29

@luvseungcheol @crisle19

#ksmutsociety #kvanity #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #JK smut #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #svt x reader #🫡 highvern

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rufflebuttercup · 7 months ago

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romance analysis unit | spencer reid

summary: you like spencer. spencer likes you. somehow, you're the only ones on the team who can't see it - and that calls for some BAU intervention.

a/n: i had a bit of an impulsive moment and decided to delete my old blog (vintagecarat) because i wanted a redo, so if you've seen a variation of this fic before, it’s not been stolen - i promise! this is my favourite x reader i've ever written, so i had to rewrite it, of course!

enjoy the fic, and have a fantastic day! <3 requests are open!

note(s): gn!reader & no pronouns used, mention of alcohol, mention of canon-typical violence, reader gets hurt, mentions of blood, one bed trope

word count: 5,173

One year, seven months and sixteen days. That's how long it had been since you'd started working at the BAU.

One year, seven months and nine days. That's how long it had been since you'd realized that you had a sickeningly huge crush on Spencer Reid.

It had been a long time since you'd had a crush. The last time had been in elementary school, and you'd been convinced that you were in love with the boy who sat two seats to the left of you in class. He’d gone on to marry your best friend and leave you with a broken heart. In hindsight, though, you were only five.

You'd fallen for people before, and you'd had a string of partners in the past, but it had been such a long time since you'd felt the way you did when you looked at Spencer. Seeing him smile made your heart thud erratically in your chest. Hearing him ramble made you smile in the giddiest and most euphoric way possible. Feeling his fingers brush against yours whenever he handed you your morning coffee made your brain turn to mush and left you unable to form a coherent sentence for at least ten minutes. You were trying your hardest to break that last habit, though.

Your crush on Spencer quickly became a topic that you knew you wanted to keep a secret from the rest of the team. The last thing you needed was all of your progress as the newest team member to be weighed down by a crush that made you blush and giggle like a child.

During a particularly wild night out with the team, though, your plan to keep your crush on Spencer a secret went flying out of the nearest window, along with any shred of dignity you had remaining after drinking one too many shots. It had been a miracle that Spencer hadn't been there at the exact moment the words spouted from your lips. At least you had your drunk self to thank for something, you supposed.

Penelope had been the first one you'd told. Definitely a foolish move on your part, but you were too drunk in the moment to make any logical decisions. Emily and JJ had gone to the bar to get more drinks - "another round of shots", Emily had screamed before dragging JJ away - leaving you and Penelope alone to guard the table in the corner. She was the one who'd brought up the conversation, and naturally, you'd followed along without a care in the world. If there was anything good to come of the situation, then it was the look on Penelope’s face. You wished you’d taken a picture of her expression as the words tumbled from your mouth.

Penelope couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and once she knew, it was only a matter of time before Emily and JJ knew. She’d screamed so loudly that you’d almost gotten kicked out of the bar for causing a disturbance.

"Place your bets," Emily had shouted over the pounding bass music, slamming a twenty-dollar bill onto the table, "How long until Garcia tells Morgan?"

It barely even took an hour. Emily ended up winning her own bet.

Derek had practically cornered you at your desk the next time he saw you in the bullpen, failing miserably to hide the smirk on his face as he showed you his phone and the babbling, completely unintelligible, texts from Penelope.

With the alcohol out of your system and the devastating hangover a painful memory, you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole. Maybe you could quit, or request a transfer, or simply disappear to the other side of the country and become a recluse in the wilderness. Wishful thinking, of course.

From that moment on, you noticed that the rest of the team was messing with you. You didn’t have any proof, but you were sure of it. You’d enter the conference room to find that the only seat remaining was next to Spencer. You’d find yourself paired up with Spencer more often during cases. You and Spencer would frequently be the last two members left in the bullpen at the end of the day.

It wasn't as if you particularly minded. You and Spencer were best friends. You had been from the moment you'd walked into the bullpen on your first day and immediately made a comment about the book he was reading. You were used to being around him more often than not, but it was a lot harder to act as if nothing had changed when you were on edge 90% of the time. You were always wondering if he knew anything about the crush you had on him, or if someone else was about to blurt out the secret that you were trying so desperately hard to keep hidden. You couldn't bring it up because you'd either out yourself or you'd be forced to have a conversation that you were sure would end in rejection.

It was an endless cycle, and you hated it.

You were in the bullpen with Dave, perched on the edge of your desk as he rattled off his famous carbonara recipe. You’d always wanted to be a better cook, and Dave had promised you that he'd teach you, even though he really didn't want you burning his kitchen down to the ground.

“Okay, so, do you add the cheese and the egg together, or separately?”

“You combine the egg first, and then you add the cheese.”

“Oh. Right. So…”

It was at that moment that Derek decided to sidle over to the conversation, perching himself on your desk beside you with an all-too familiar smirk on his face.

“Since when have you been interested in learning how to cook?” he gave you a not-so-subtle nudge.

You shot Derek a glare, “Derek. Don't.”

"Unless you were planning a date for pretty boy over there.”

He nodded his head in Spencer's direction, and you couldn't help but follow his eyes. It was automatic. The sight of Spencer pouring pretty much the entire jar of sugar into his coffee made you smile, but it was definitely an expression you wiped off your face when you heard Derek's laughter.

“I swear to God, Derek…”

“Guys,” JJ interrupted, entering the bullpen with a case file in hand, “We've got a case.”

“Is it bad?”

JJ simply grimaced.

“Of course it is,” you said with a sigh, hopping off your desk. Derek was still failing to hide his laughter beside you, and you swatted at him, “Shut up, Derek.”

“I didn't do anything.”

“You didn't have to.”

It didn’t surprise you at all to see that the seat beside Spencer was the only one available. As you slid into it, you caught Emily smirking at you from across the table, though she was clearly trying to hide it. You shook your head at her, though you couldn’t stop a tiny smile from ghosting over your lips as you focused your attention onto the case file in your hands.

ꨄ︎

It always seemed as though every case at the BAU was worse than the last one.

You’d all been called to a small town in Wyoming after a frantic call from the police department. Three victims had been found in the town’s frozen lake with anchors tied to their ankles to keep them below the surface. A fourth victim had gone missing, and there was no doubt that she’d end up like the others if she wasn’t found. It was a horrifying fact that everybody knew, but nobody wanted to admit.

It was later, almost 11 pm, and you were no closer to solving the case than you had been when you’d first arrived. It was as if the unsub was always three steps ahead of you, and it was frustratingly annoying. You’d spent a good portion of the afternoon scouring through decade old case files. The lead detective was convinced that it was related to a similar case that had happened in the 1990s. You hadn’t found any striking similarities between the two and you were beginning to wonder if there would be any at all. He was clutching at straws, desperately trying to close the case as quickly as possible. You couldn’t fault him for that.

Just as the words on the case file were beginning to blur into one large amalgamation, a gentle hand landed on your shoulder, “Hey,” JJ said, “We’re all heading to the hotel.”

“You go ahead,” you waved dismissively, stifling a yawn, “I’m going to finish looking over these files, and…”

“Hotch’s orders,” she cut you off, “You need a break. We all do.”

You looked to the doors of the precinct and saw the rest of the team ready to leave, muttering amongst themselves in a tired conversation. Aaron raised his eyebrows, almost expectantly, at you.

“Alright,” you didn’t bother trying to hide another yawn, “I’m coming.”

JJ smiled softly at you, almost dragging you to your feet because of how exhausted you were. It didn’t really feel as if your brain was in control of your body as you padded after her. You’d been so caught up in the details of the case that you hadn’t realized how tired you truly were. The sudden rush of air that hit you as you exited the building made you even drowsier.

“You look exhausted,” Spencer chuckled as he helped you into the SUV with a gentle hand on the small of your back that almost made you combust right then and there, "I've seen you tired, but this is another level."

You simply made a little grunt in response. You didn't have enough energy to come up with one of your usual witty comebacks. You clumsily collapsed into your seat, and you leaned your head back against the headrest as your eyes fluttered shut.

It wasn't too long of a drive to the hotel, but that didn't stop you from catching a quick power nap during the brief moment of peace. You couldn't get Spencer out of your head. Or, more specifically, that hand on the small of your back. He'd never touched you like that before. Ever. It was sending your brain spiraling, to be honest.

“We’re here,” Spencer’s voice filtered into your ear as he gently shook your shoulder, “Wake up.”

Your eyes snapped open, and you glanced to your left. After a moment, your eyes came back into focus, and it hit you that your head was leaning on Spencer’s shoulder, “Oh,” you quickly sat up, though you almost choked as the seat belt snapped you back against the seat, “Sorry.”

You were so very glad that most of the team weren’t in the same SUV as the two of you because they’d never let you hear the end of it. The only other person was Aaron, and as you caught his eye in the rearview mirror, you could tell that he was trying not to uncharacteristically laugh at you. You did your best to ignore him, which wasn’t exactly easy when your face began to burn with a familiar wave of heat that you’d grown accustomed to.

That chuckle of Spencer’s that you loved so much and made your heart do flip-flops in your chest echoed in your ears, “It’s fine. You clearly needed it. And I do make an excellent pillow.”

You snorted out a laugh, and you gave him a shove as you climbed out of the car beside him, “Shut up.”

The rest of the team were all waiting beside the front desk with their bags as you and Spencer entered. Even though you made sure to look in any other direction, you definitely saw the subtle smirks Derek and Emily were shooting you out of the corner of your eye.

Aaron finished his hushed conversation with the receptionist, and with a curt nod, he moved back over to the rest of the team with key cards in his hand, “They don’t have enough rooms for all of us. Looks like we’re doubling up.”

If Spencer noticed the subtle smirks and side glances from the rest of the team, he never mentioned them.

Instead, he nudged your shoulder, “We’re sharing, right?”

“Of course, we’re sharing. I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you took the key card Aaron was holding out to you, and you couldn’t help but notice his lips twitching up into a tiny little-half smirk. You brushed it off, though, “I’m sleeping on the bed nearest the window this time.”

“That’s not fair,” Spencer followed you as you made your way to the elevator, “I like sleeping near the window.”

“No. Not happening. You slept near the window last time.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as the elevator shot up to your designated floor. Your eyes wandered around the small space, and you found yourself looking anywhere other than at Spencer. You weren’t an anxious person, and it wasn’t as if being alone with Spencer was a new thing to you, but your mind was racing. All because of that one small gesture. His hand on the small of your back. You couldn’t stop thinking about it, and you wished you could because it was making your cheeks burn.

“Even the elevators are fancy,” you muttered, casting a quick glance around the elevator’s plush and yet miniscule interior, “For a small town, they sure do have nice hotels.”

Things really were dire when you started making small talk. You were the type of person who could make a mountain out of a molehill with how much you talked. You almost rivaled Spencer with how much you could babble on. Small talk wasn’t your thing at all.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Hm?”

“You hate small talk,” Spencer said, and you bit back a laugh at that. It was as if you and Spencer were on the same wavelength sometimes, “And you’re picking at the hole in your sweater. You only ever do that when you’ve got something on your mind.”

You immediately glanced down at your hands, dropping them from your sweater as if it burned. You hadn’t even realized you’d been picking at the hole until Spencer mentioned it. You hadn’t even realized that there was a hole at all. Your bottom lip jutted out in a quick pout, “I love this sweater.”

Spencer chuckled at that, “So,” he continued, “You’re clearly nervous about something. And it’s not the case, because cases never make you nervous.”

“Really?” you said, a hint of laughter creeping into your tone, “You’re analyzing me?”

The elevator reached your floor, and the doors opened with a loud ding, “I’m not analyzing,” Spencer stepped out, “I’m simply making an astute observation.”

“Okay, well stop astutely observing me,” you followed after him, “Don’t worry. I’m fine. You know I’d tell you, “ it wasn’t necessarily a lie. Maybe you’d tell him. Eventually.

Spencer glanced back at you briefly as if he didn’t believe a word coming out of your mouth, but he never said anything. Instead, he took the keycard from you and held it against the lock, waiting for the light to turn green before pushing open the door, “Oh.”

“What?” you sidestepped around him, “Oh.”

There was only one bed. Sure, it was a double, but it was still tiny. It was in that moment that you decided perhaps becoming an unsub wouldn’t be a lost cause.

“I’ll take the couch.”

“I can sleep on the couch.”

You and Spencer finished your sentences at the same time, and you turned to look at each other. As soon as you locked eyes, you both started to laugh at the stupidity of the situation.

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch either,” you argued, “It’ll kill your back, Spence. You’re way too tall.”

“It’s not fair on you, though. You’ll…” Spencer was about to argue some more, but he stopped when he saw the look on your face. Spencer couldn’t argue his way out of a wet paper bag - when it came to you, at least.

“Look, Spence. It’s fine,” you dropped your bag onto the couch before he could protest, “There. Easy. No harm done.”

Spencer frowned, but he reluctantly put his own bag on the bed, “Fine. We’re swapping tomorrow night, though,” he told you, almost ordering you, “You’re not sleeping on the couch the entire time we’re here.”

“Deal,” your lips curled up into a smile, and you sat down on the couch, “See. I told you I’d be sleeping near the window.”

Spencer laughed at that.

ꨄ︎

From your space on the couch, you could faintly see the glowing green alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. A strange commodity for a hotel room. It almost looked alien.

2:32 a.m.

You couldn’t sleep. You had a bad enough sleep schedule at the best of times, but the injury on your side was making things worse. It still burned, and if you gently put pressure on the area, you could still feel the deep wound through the layers of bandages.

You were almost three days into the case, and you’d finally had a solid lead. It had taken a lot of digging, but Penelope had discovered the unsub’s hunting ground; an old speakeasy hidden so deep in the town that nobody had been able to trace it. Since you were the closest in victimology, you’d agreed to go undercover to catch the unsub once and for all. All you’d ended up with was a knife embedded deep into your side as the unsub escaped once again.

You’d been in the hospital for hours after that. The knife had gone in so deep that it was close to catching something vital, and the doctors had told you that you were lucky to be alive. You’d spent most of that afternoon in a hospital bed, listening to the monotonous sound of beeping machines. After a concerned lecture from Aaron - he’d told you not to follow the unsub but you hadn’t exactly listened - you were bandaged up and sent on your way.

Spencer had told you to take the bed. He’d almost forced you into it at one point. But you’d seen the way he’d tried to discreetly stretch out his cramp throughout the day, and you were far too stubborn, so you refused his offer and tried to sleep on the couch for the night. It wasn’t working, though.

You huffed in pain, shifting uncomfortably in the hopes of finding a better position to sleep in. Every movement made your bandages rub against the wounded area. You finally thought you found a comfortable enough position and you tried to settle down, but then you felt a dampness seeping through your bandages, and you cursed under your breath.

“No, no, no,” you muttered, pulling your shirt up and surveying your body. Even in the darkness, you could see the dark spot where the blood had begun to soak through, “Goddamnit.”

You pushed yourself off the couch and tip-toed across the room. You didn’t want to wake Spencer, especially not in your current state. You kept a hand tightly pressed against your side as you slowly moved. You didn’t want to get blood on the carpet. The staff seemed lovely, and you didn’t want to ruin their day with your mess. Every single step made you wince as a sharp pain shot straight through your body, and your breaths came out as sharp little puffs of air.

A muffled noise from the bed caught your attention, and you saw Spencer begin to stir. He gently mumbled your name as he sat up and stared at you with bleary eyes, “What are you doing?” he looked you up and down, and then his eyes settled on the blood, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you told him, though you clearly weren’t, “I think the stitches came undone or something. It’s fine,” you tried to wave his worries off, “Go back to sleep.”

Spencer did the opposite. He clambered out of bed and turned on the light, lighting up the room so that you could both see each other clearly. Your heart started to thud a little faster when you saw that the shirt he was wearing to sleep in was a little undone towards the top. You’d never noticed that before.

“You’re not fine,” his eyes were laser focused on the blood as he took a step closer to you, “You’re bleeding.”

“Good observation skills, Spencer,” you laughed a little, though you grunted in pain as it aggravated the injury, “I told you, it’s fine. I’ll redress it, and…” you paused when you saw the look in his eyes. It was a look he’d never given you before, and it stole your breath for a moment.

“Let me see.”

“Spencer...”

“It’s obviously hurting you,” his sentence was almost demanding, and yet there was a soft and concerning tone to his voice, too, “Let me see it.”

You sighed. There was no way you could refuse when he spoke to you with that tone of voice. You gingerly lifted your shirt high enough for him to see it, “It looks worse than it is.”

Spencer gently pulled away the loose bandages and inspected the open wound, his eyes never leaving your body, “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered, “You’re not redressing it yourself, and you’re certainly not stitching yourself back up.”

You barely had a chance to respond before Spencer had darted into the bathroom, and he came out moments later with a roll of bandages the hospital had given you.

“Here. Sit,” he sat back down on the bed, and he patted the space beside him, “You’ll have to go back to hospital tomorrow. I’ll help you rebandage it for tonight,” his eyes darted between your own eyes and the blood that seemed to be pooling on your side, “Please.”

You hesitated for a moment, “Spencer…” there was no point in arguing with him, you knew that, and your wound hurt the longer it was left open, “Fine.”

You sat down beside Spencer, curling your legs up under you as you turned your back to him. Your hands gripped the hem of your shirt, holding it up high enough so that it wasn’t dangling in the way. This wasn’t the first time that Spencer had patched you up after an injury in the field, but this was the first time where you were definitely feeling a little light-headed.

“Ow.”

“Sorry,” Spencer’s voice was a gentle whisper against your ear. You hadn’t even realized that he was practically leaning his head on your shoulder, “Sorry.”

Spencer’s hands were so gentle on your skin that it was almost as if he wasn’t even touching you at all. The only indication that he was even helping you was the bandages around your torso since he wrapped them so tightly that they felt like a strangely comforting hug.

“There,” Spencer said, almost proudly, and he gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Done.”

You glanced down at your body before dropping your shirt. The wound didn’t even seem to hurt any more. You became very aware very quickly that Spencer’s hands hadn’t left your hips, “Thank you.”

You shuffled around until you were facing him, and when your eyes locked, it suddenly felt as if time had come to a standstill. That look was back in his eyes; the one that you’d never seen before that made you feel as though you were melting on the inside. You weren’t entirely sure what was racing faster; your heart or your mind.

And suddenly, before you could really comprehend your actions, your lips were on his. Your body acted before your brain could catch up. Your hands tugged slightly on the collar of his shirt as if you were trying to pull him closer to you. The kiss was tender, and yet it was so full of obvious desire. Warmth flooded your entire body as your stomach seemed to explode with swarms of butterflies. This was a moment you’d thought about for a long time, and once your brain caught up, you couldn’t quite comprehend that it was happening.

It may have only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours. You pulled away, and it was only after you saw the startled expression on Spencer’s face and the faint blush that crept up his neck that you realized what you’d done, “Spence…” your mouth opened and closed, but now words came out for a good few seconds, “Spencer. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Your panicked babbling was cut off as Spencer pressed a quick kiss to your lips, “Shut up,” he smiled, and he pressed his index fingers where his lips had been moments ago, “Just shut up for a minute.”

If this were any other time, you’d be rather offended that he told you to shut up, and you’d keep talking. In this situation, however, you were happy to keep your mouth shut.

“You didn’t mean to, what? You didn’t mean to kiss me?”

“No. I mean… Yes, but also no, but…”

Spencer raised an eyebrow with a faint smirk, “I thought I told you to shut up.”

You pressed your lips together in a fine line, “Sorry.”

Spencer’s hands left your hips, and he took your hands in his own. He squeezed them gently, and his thumbs began tracing soft little circles onto your palms, “You kissed me.”

You were more than ready for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Spencer seemed to notice because his grip on your hands got a little tighter as if he knew you’d go run, “I’m glad you kissed me.”

There was no stopping the surprised squeak that escaped your lips, “What?!”

Spencer chuckled at that, and the pink blush had spread up to his cheeks, “I’m glad you kissed me,” he repeated, “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time.”

“You… You…” your mouth was hanging open, and your eyes were wide. You must’ve looked like an absolute idiot, “You have…?”

“Of course, I did.”

This conversation was going in an entirely different direction to how you’d assumed it was. You’d never seen Spencer look or talk with so much affection before. Spencer said your name with so much love in his tone that it snapped you out of your shocked state, “I like you.”

For a single moment in time, it felt as if the world had stopped spinning. You simply stared, unable to do much of anything else except feel a sharp tug at your heart, “You… You do…?”

“Are you capable of putting a sentence together, or not?” Spencer laughed, and he interlaced his fingers with yours, “Yes, I do. A lot, actually,” he smiled at you, and there was a hint of teasing, “I might be a genius, but even the dumbest person in the room could figure you out right now.”

You cracked a smile, and your shocked expression gave way to a relieved and delighted one, “I really like you, too.”

“Do you? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Shut up,” you giggled, and you never giggled. You knew this crush was childish, but this was on another level entirely.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you giggle.”

“I’m not giggling.”

“Oh, you absolutely are. You’ve always been a terrible liar,” Spencer grinned at you, and then his lips connected with yours.

The kiss seemed more affectionate than earlier, and a lot more passionate. Your hands wound around his neck, and his hands found a comfortable resting place on your waist. Your lips seemed to perfectly fit together like two puzzle pieces. It could’ve been seconds, or it could’ve been minutes. You weren’t entirely sure how long it had been, but you eventually pulled away from each other, and you were both a little breathless from the intensity. Intense was something you never expected from Spencer. You liked it, though.

You let your forehead rest against Spencer’s, “I hate to ruin the mood and everything, but…” your eyes flitted back and forth to the couch, “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep on the couch anymore?”

“Absolutely not,” Spencer pulled you a little closer, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. Especially not now.”

“Good,” you curled into him as he pulled you closer to his side, letting your head rest against his chest with a gentle sigh, “The bed has better company.”

Spencer maneuvered the two of you until you were lying on the bed, and he tucked you that tiny bit closer into him. You’d imagined him hugging you plenty of times, but this felt better than any imagination could. He kissed the top of your head, and he ran a gentle hand up and down your back, “Sure does.”

ꨄ︎

“Penelope Garcia! I’m going to kill you!”

You stormed through the BAU and entered Penelope’s office, slamming the door open with such a bang that it made the walls shudder.

Penelope grinned as she spun around in her chair to face you, “Ah, my sweet angel,” she spoke with a beaming grin on her face, “Do you require my assistance?”

“You little…” you stepped a little closer, but it was hard to look even slightly threatening with a goofy grin on your face that you were trying to hide, “You gave me and Spencer the only room with a single bed?”

“I did no such thing.”

“I spoke to everyone else, Pen. Everyone else had a bed of their own.”

Penelope continued to smirk at you, not even trying to hide her laughter, “It worked, didn’t it? I haven’t seen you as happy as this in weeks.”

You faltered at that. She wasn’t wrong. Ever since you’d gotten back from Wyoming, you’d been happier than anyone had ever seen you. Of course, everyone knew about you and Spencer, and it didn’t take long for the good-natured teasing to pick straight back up, “Yeah. Okay. It worked, but…”

Penelope held up a manicured finger to cut you off, “Besides, my sweet,” she continued, leaning forward in her chair as if she had a secret to tell you, “I was the one who booked the rooms, yes, but I wasn’t the one who handed out the keys, was I?”

Another pause. The words slowly sunk in, and then your mouth dropped open in a mix of shock, humiliation, and a little bit of gratitude, “You… You don’t mean…”

Penelope grinned. She could practically see the gears turning in your head, and it made her laugh, “Oh, I mean exactly what you think I mean, my love.”

“Hotch set us up?!” you didn’t even wait for Penelope’s response. You turned on your heel and marched out of her office, leaving Penelope laughing to herself behind you, “Aaron Hotchner! I’m going to kill you.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader

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juniperskye · 2 months ago

Text

That’ll Show Them.

Based on the following ask: 🥰 yay!! Okay. (Deep breath), so the idea was basically either preschool or elementary school setting. Hotch being a sexy single dad has most of the single (and not!) Moms drooling over him. Y/N or Reader is a single mom, not one of those drooling but definitely sees that he's attractive. But her kid (girl or boy) happens to quickly become Jack's BFF and this causes natural interactions and conversations between her and Hotch over the next few weeks which makes the other moms salty and jealous, and she overhears them at one point speculating that she probably told her kid to befriend Jack just so she could get closer to Hotch. I didn't really think of an ending for it but just had an idea of a scene where she's trying to remain calm and unaffected while overhearing them talking about her and giving side eye. Maybe Hotch hears it too and comes to her defense? Or makes them even saltier by asking her out in front of them? 😈 @nyxwolph thank you for requesting this! I did adjust a little bit, so I hope you like it!!

Aaron Hotchner x Single Mom! Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 3569

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

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, reader is a single mom, mention of divorce, school moms being shitty, mention of Hotch’s ex father-in-law being ill, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than being shorter than hotch, reader is mentioned/implied to own a shop (no details), gay best friend, Hotch starts work at 8am (idk what the BAU hours are lmao) let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

The moms were ruthless. You were barely three months into the school year and already you had been completely ostracized from the “mom group.” Part of you had assumed it was because the majority of these moms had all caught wind of your very public, messy divorce. The other part of you, however, knew that the main reason you’d been exiled was him.

Aaron HOTTIE Hotchner, as the other moms called him, had taken Ms. Jenson’s third grade class by storm. Meet the teacher night had been a frenzy of horny moms all praying their child ended up in the same class as Aaron’s son. There were hushed conversations and giggles, and hair flips all night long, you had felt bad for the teachers since their presentations had fallen second to the gossip travelling through the halls about the hot single dad.

“I heard he works for the FBI!”

“I heard he’s a widower. Could you even imagine?”

“Wow. He must be pretty amazing, a single dad and working for the FBI!”

“Can we be real for a moment and just admire how hot he is?”

“Did you see his hands?”

“Yes! Did you see his suit? I love a well-dressed man.”

They were vultures, every single one of them, and Aaron was their newest victim. He, of course, had been completely oblivious to the blatant flirting – he returned every advance they made with a kind smile or polite nod. And listen, you weren’t going to deny that Aaron was hot…you just weren’t trying to be like those other moms and gush about it at meet the teacher night.

Your being excluded by the class moms had only gotten worse since Jack and Millie had become friends. Millie had told you on the first day of school, that a boy had pushed her down on the playground, and before you could panic, she told you that a different boy…one named Jack…had helped her up. She said after that, they sat together at lunch and read aloud.

You could barely contain you excitement. Since the divorce, Millie had been having a tough time making friends – mainly because the moms told their kids to stay away. Your ex had been quite cozy with some of the moms at Millie’s last school and you had eventually found out he was sleeping with one of them. Once the divorce was finalized and you had full custody, you’d moved and that meant a new school for Millie.

Realistically that should’ve been the end of the drama, but it just so happens that the girl who your husband slept with…well her sister’s child was in the same class as Millie. He of course was the kid that pushed Millie down on the first day of school.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, their constant whispers…but it had you seething. This was an everyday occurrence now that you drove Jack home. The moms all waiting for dismissal engaging in hushed conversations about how desperate you must be.

“I bet she told her daughter to befriend his son.”

“What a sad way to get his attention.”

“Well, I mean, her ex did cheat…so she’s probably desperate.”

“She’s ridiculous if you ask me.”

This new development has begun exactly two weeks ago. Jack and Millie had been on their sixth playdate – this had been the first one Aaron had been able to host (due to work obvi) which had led to you staying and the two of you talking about how demanding his work schedule must be. He had told you it kept him pretty busy and that his sister-in-law had been extremely helpful, but with her father falling ill, she was growing increasingly busy.

“You know, I could drive Jack. If you’re comfortable with it.” You offered.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you!” Aaron panicked.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t ask��I’m offering. I already have to drive to the school to get Millie, I could grab Jack and the two of them could hang out until you are off work. And if your sister-in-law ever can’t watch him while you’re away, know that I am more than willing.” You punctuated with a kind smile.

“What if I take them to school, I don’t need to be at work until eight, and then you could pick them up? That way it is even. Obviously when I’m out of town, which wouldn’t necessarily be possible, but I could coordinate with Jess and…” Aaron was spiraling.

“Aaron. If you want to take them to school when you’re in town, that would be great. That would allow me the time I need in the shop before opening. When you are out of town, if Jack is staying with me, I will take them to and from school – if he’s with Jess, she doesn’t have to worry about Millie okay?” You suggested.

“You’re a godsend. You know that?” Aaron said, a smile growing on his face.

“Yeah well, Jack has been an incredible friend to Millie, and I would love for them to spend more time together. Plus, the house has been so quiet and, I don’t know. It would be nice to have the kids there.” There was a slight cringe that was brought with the insinuation of your divorce.

“I appreciate it either way.” Aaron gently nudged your shoulder.

So, for the last two weeks, Aaron had been driving the kids to school and you had been picking them up. He shockingly had yet to be called on a case…but you knew it was only a matter of time.

Aaron was called away a few days later, he had let you know that Jess would be watching Jack. That had sent a tinge of pain right to your heart. In truth, you were attracted to Aaron, and the more time you spent with him, you were starting to fall for him. You tried not to focus too much on the fact that he’d sent Jack to stay with Jess…chalking up to the fact that Aaron probably didn’t want to burden you – even though he could never.

You didn’t hear from Aaron until nearly two weeks later.

A: Hey, we just got back from this case. I’ll pick Millie up in the morning for school. Are you good to pick up Jack after?

Y: Hey! Yeah I can pick them up tomorrow. I have to take Millie to get her cleats and shin guards for soccer, is it okay if Jack tags along?

A: I totally forgot soccer starts next weekend. If I sent some money in Jack’s backpack could you pick up his stuff too?

Y: Of course! Will you be late tomorrow?

A: Probably, after a case like this, there’s a lot of paperwork to be done. I will try to be there by 7pm if that’s okay.

Y: 7 is fine, we will get homework done and I will feed them and have Jack all ready for you!

A: Thank you. Seriously I don’t know what I’d do without you.

The next day you arrived at the school at 2:45 pm to pick up the kids. You parked your car like always and stood in wait with the other parents. You were checking your phone to see where the nearest sporting goods store was when one of the dads approached you.

“Hey, is Millie ready for soccer to start?”

“Oh, hey Scott! Yeah she is so excited! What about Macy?” You questioned.

“She’s nervous, but she told me she was glad Millie and Jack were playing too. Michael was really bummed that the girls weren’t in a class together this year.” Scott explained.

“I was too! How is Michael? We should all have dinner some time!” You suggested.

“He’s good, and I am sure he would love to have you and your new beau over for a meal – I will talk to him when we get home!” Scott beamed.

“New beau…what are you talking about? Do you mean Aaron? He and I, we’re not…” You stuttered.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay! You should be bragging to all those bitches that you bagged the hot DILF! Don’t let them spoil something good for you hon.” Scott gently squeezed your arm.

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, the kids came running out. Macy ran to hug her dad while Jack and Millie made their way to you. Both kids hugged you and then said their goodbyes to Macy. You moved to grab their hands and guide them to the car, but not without catching the glares from all the moms. They must’ve heard Scott and you talking…and while you and Aaron weren’t dating, it didn’t hurt to let them believe it for a bit.

After getting the kids soccer gear, you took them home and got them started on their homework and gave them some apple slices. You checked a few emails, changed the washer and dryer, and wrote up your grocery list in the meantime.

When they were done with their homework, you checked their work and then quizzed them on their spelling words. By then it was nearly 5:30 pm, you set the two of them up in the living room with a coloring book and some Legos while you got dinner started. You made some grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans – for the kids, you added some cheese to the potatoes and cut up the chicken – setting that on the table for them alongside a glass of chocolate milk.

“Kids, time for dinner!” You hollered.

“Coming mom!” Millie called.

You were about 10 minutes into dinner when a knock sounded from the front door. You excused yourself and walked over to let Aaron in.

“Hey, we were just having dinner, can I get you a plate?” You offered.

“Oh, as long as it’s not an imposition!” Aaron replied.

“Aaron, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s not an imposition. I like having you around.” You stopped abruptly, embarrassed that you’d let that slip. “I mean, you know, it’s nice that Millie and Jack are friends…I uh. I…”

“I know what you mean. And I like having you around too.” He said, finally stepping fully into the house.

Aaron placed a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the kitchen. You plated him up some food and he joined you at the table, sitting right beside you. You couldn’t help the growing heat that bloomed on your cheeks as his arm brushed against your own. The room was filled with the playful chatter of the eight-year-olds that sat across from you, giggles escaping them as they recounted the events of their day at school.

Glancing over, you noticed the joy radiating from Aaron’s expression. You hadn’t seen him this genuinely happy in all the time you’ve known him, and you wonder if it is because he doesn’t get to relax like this often. The thought allows your mind to drift even further – splaying images of cooking for the four of you all the time, of late nights cuddled with Aaron and even further into the future, welcoming a new child to the family you’ve curated…only it's all in your head.

“You alright?” Aaron whispers. His warm breath against your ear causes a chill to cascade across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, just lost in thought.”

“Hey mom, is Jack’s dad going to be my new dad?” Millie posed, causing you to choke on the bite of chicken you’d just taken.

“Woah, sweetheart you’re okay, just breathe!” Aaron patted your back gently. “Here, take a sip of water.”

Taking a swig, the chicken makes its way down. “Mills…baby where did you get that idea?”

“Well Rain said that his mom said that you were moving in on Jack’s dad, and I thought that if we were moving in, then that would make him my new dad!” Millie smiled.

It was Aaron who choked this time, only it was on his water, causing some of it to certainly escape through his nose. He pulled his napkin to his face as he coughed in an attempt to clear his airway.

“Aar…breathe.” You returned the favor of patting him gently on the back. “Are you okay?”

He answered with a nod and allowed a chuckle to escape his mouth before looking up to meet your gaze. Aaron wasn’t ignorant of the fact that the other moms had been eyeing him since the beginning of the year, he just hadn’t realized that they’d gone after you due to your budding closeness.

“Millie, Rain’s mom is just kidding. Jack’s dad and I are becoming good friends, like you and Jack, and they don’t like that, so they’re saying some not so nice things.” You explained.

“Oh…okay.” Millie said, a small pout gracing her features.

A pout that pulled on not only yours, but also Aaron’s heartstrings. He allowed himself a glance in your direction and took careful note of the hurt and disappointment that flashed across your own features briefly. Was it possible you felt more than you were letting on?

Six days later you received a call at four in the morning. It hadn’t been the thing to wake you up, but it came as a surprise, nonetheless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I just got a call about a time sensitive case and Jess is dealing with her dad. Would you mind taking Jack while I am away?”

“Aaron, of course! Do you need me to come and get him?”

“No, I will get a bag together for him and drop him off on my way to the office. I am going to leave you with a key to my place just in case Jack needs anything. Thank you for doing this, seriously it means a lot.”

“It’s really not a problem, I will have a bed made up for him by the time you get here.”

“Thanks sweetheart, see you soon.”

With that, Aaron hung up, and for the second time you were taken by surprise at the pet name he so casually referred to you by. You had to remind yourself not to swoon. It wouldn’t do you any good to get into your thoughts about the meaning behind his slip of the tongue.

Jack Hotchner was the most wonderful child you have the privilege of knowing – aside from Millie of course. He was polite and he listened with no pushback. He helped Millie with her chores (cleaning up her toys and putting her clothes in the laundry basket), he didn’t complain, and he just exuded this kindness and joy that brought an extra bit of warmth to your home.

You could see Millie becoming attached and you feared her heart would break once Jack had to go back home. You only hoped that she’d understand that although Jack’s presence isn’t currently permanent, they’d still get to see each other all the time.

Jack stayed with you for five nights, Aaron surprised you all by showing up with a pizza on Saturday evening.

The three of you had been cuddled up on the couch watching Inside Out 2 when the doorbell rang. You shuffled over to the door in your sweats and fuzzy socks to see Aaron standing there in a quarter zip and jeans. Good God, he’s never looked so good.

“Aaron!” You couldn’t hide your excitement.

“Surprise! I brought pizza, I hope cheese is okay.” He inquired.

“Cheese is perfect.” You confirmed. “Kids, dinner is here!”

“Dad!”

Jack ran to embrace his father. Millie, however, stormed off to her room. You were quick to throw Aaron an apologetic glance, before following her down the hall.

“Mills…what’s wrong honey?”

Millie replied with a grumble in her pillow and a shake of her head.

“Baby, I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s not fair. Jack doesn’t have a mom, and I don’t have a dad. But when you and Mr. Aaron are together it feels like a normal family. How come you guys can’t just be together?” Millie cried.

“Oh, honey. It’s not that simple bug. Mr. Aaron, well he’s a busy man and I just…” You trailed off.

“Don’t you like him?”

“Mills, yeah I like him, but like I said, it’s not that simple. Even if he liked me back, that wouldn’t just make us a family, it would take some time for us to get serious and then we’d have to decide if that was the right step for us.”

“It is the right step! You guys like each other, and Jack and I get along…mommy it’s perfect! You could be Jack’s mom and Mr. Aaron could be my new dad.” Millie said matter-of-factly.

“Oh honey, is this about your dad?” You pulled Millie into a hug.

“No! He wasn’t nice to me like Mr. Aaron is. Mom I want Mr. Aaron to be my dad.” She whispered as tears stained her cheeks.

“I know honey, me too…me too.” You pressed a kiss to her head. “Baby lets go have some pizza and enjoy our time with Jack and Mr. Aaron, yeah?”

“Okay.”

That night, something shifted. Aaron and you had begun spending more time together, going to soccer practices and games together, taking the kids to the park, the movies, pottery painting places, dinner at your house, game night at his. Aaron had also exclusively been asking you to take Jack while he was away on cases – claiming Jess’ father was getting worse.

Two months passed like this, and things had started to feel very domestic. Millie was asking more and more about Jack being her brother and Aaron her father and you had to explain that even though they weren’t related, even by marriage, that friends could be considered family too.

Once again you were taking care of Jack while Aaron was out of town on a case, only this time it was a little different. Your car was in the shop, so Aaron had let you borrow his car, and today was the last day of school before winter break. The schoolyard was buzzing with anticipation of the final bell, parents were discussing their vacation plans with one another while waiting.

You has been talking to Scott and Michael when Becca approached you.

“You know, I think it’s a sick thing you’ve done, using your daughter to help you prey on a vulnerable man.” She hissed.

“Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?” You shot back.

“Aaron. You had Millie befriend Jack and for what so you could trick Aaron into going out with you? It’s truly despicable behavior. He’s a good man and he deserves someone who is genuine.” Becca spewed.

“I don’t know where you get off, talking to me like that, but I can assure you – ”

“Becca, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t speak to my girlfriend that way. She is the kindest most genuine person I have ever met, and every day she shows me how much she cares for and loves Jack and me. So back off, and maybe don’t speak on things you don’t know anything about.” Aaron bit as his arm snuck its way around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I KNEW IT!” Scott shouted.

Becca stormed off with a huff and you turned around to see Aaron wearing a shit eating grin. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with disbelief at the fact that Aaron was here right now, he’d stuck up for you, and he’d called you his girlfriend. Yeah, you were fairly sure your brain had short circuited.

“Girlfriend?” Your gaze lifted to meet his.

“You know, I’d been meaning to ask.” He grinned down at you. “What do you say?”

“Yes! Of course!”

Aaron closed the gap between you and captured your lips in a kiss. All the while the moms scoffed and huffed in disbelief that you truly had taken Aaron HOTTIE Hotchner off the market. And before you had a chance to pull away, Jack and Millie came bounding over just in time to catch the last bit of your kiss.

“Does this mean Mr. Aaron can finally be my dad?” Millie asked.

Aaron leaned down to Millie’s level “Mills, I would love nothing more than to be your dad, but we have to take things slow okay? Your mom and I have a lot of grown-up decisions to make before that can happen, so I need you to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

“I can do that!”

You leaned down in front of Jack, wanting to ensure he’s included in all this. “What do you think Jack? Would you be okay with me and your dad being together? It means you and Millie will be together a lot more often.”

“Will you eventually be my mom then?”

“If your dad and I choose to get married eventually, then yeah, I’d be your stepmom.” You explained.

“I think you’d be a really good mom.” Jack wrapped his arms around you.

Aaron and you may have only just made things official, but in the last five or so months, you’d both fallen for each other. Sometimes, things are just right, and all the pieces fall into place naturally. And for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t wait to see where this leads.

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dyaz-stories · 3 months ago

Text

casual (1) || gojo satoru x reader

chapter 1: i like the way you kiss me

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count: 9.5k

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits

warnings/tags (chapter): fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), takes place ~5 years before jjk0, teacher!reader, sorcerer!reader, canon-typical violence, mild angst, smut (semi-public sex, fingering [fem receiving], vaginal sex, sorta dom!gojo, corruption kink if you squint), mentioned slut shaming (not the sexy kind), gojo satoru is a little shit

A/N: This is quite the Behemoth of a first chapter, I'm sorry to say. I love really long chapters, but I can only hope you all do too and this isn't too intimidating! This is a fic I've had in mind for ages and finally got around to start an outline for and actually write it. There are actually a couple of drabbles here and there on my blog for this couple already, happening at various points of their relationship.

I really hope you will enjoy this first chapter!

‘Make use of Satoru Gojo however you see fit.’

Such are the first words spoken to you by the higher-ups, at the end of an exhausting recruitment process. You nod sharply at the instruction.

“Duly noted.”

Truth be told, you don’t see why they need to specify it. You had assumed that went without saying from the very beginning.

The job offer had, at first glance, been for a strategist who would work directly under the higher-ups for the region of Tokyo. Devising teams, advising the council, and assigning missions were supposed to be the main tasks you would have to fulfill.

‘Supposed’ because, when you were one of only three candidates left, the higher-ups had revealed that there was, in fact, a second role you would be expected to perform. One that you had not imagined would be available for decades.

A new teaching position at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School was opening up, though you couldn’t understand why for the life of you. You had no connection to the establishment yourself, having left Japan as a child and trained abroad your whole life, never returning for more than a couple of months at a time, yet you knew, as did the entirety of the sorcerer world, that Satoru Gojo had been appointed there less than a year before. Well, rumor had it that he had appointed himself, and you had to wonder if that was why they were keen to have a more… traditional teacher by his side, since firing him was an option.

In that case, your lack of ties to Satoru Gojo, Masamichi Yaga and to the Jujutsu Headquarters could explain why your name ended up being the last one on the ballot. You were the best placed to be an independent monitor.

The distorted voice keeps going, bringing you back to the present.

“Unless stated otherwise, always send him to battle first.”

You school your face so you do not let any emotion appear, though the statement surprises you. You have to assume that they don’t mean for any mission you receive, because that would be catastrophically ineffective. Then again, sending him on Grade 1 missions, if he is available, makes some sense.

“Report to us if you encounter difficulties with him,” the voice adds before falling silent without elaborating.

You understand, from the finality of their tone, that you have been dismissed, and bow your head, your movements polite and sober.

“Thank you for the trust you are placing in me. I will not disappoint you.”

“We know you won’t,” another sepulchral voice answers.

In the dark, candle-lit room, it sounds sinister enough to chill you to the bone. You wait just a second longer, in case something needs to be added, before turning on your heels and walking away. No one calls you back, and you’re more relieved about leaving the room than you would like to admit.

Outside, the summer sun is high and bright. You tilt your head backwards and close your eyes to let its rays warm your face. It will take a while before the cold instilled in you in that meeting room dissipates.

You’re expected in Jujutsu Tech by the end of August. Being a teacher there is as close to the ideal position as it gets, for a sorcerer. The pay is excellent, the risks minimal, and it commends great respect from the society at large. You have no doubt that, had the offer been for that position in the first place, numerous sorcerers far more qualified for teaching than you are would have thrown their hats in the ring. You wouldn’t have made it past the first interview.

You got lucky. Just this once, you’re going in the right direction.

You inhale deeply. For the first time in a long time, you no longer envision your life as an endless successions of missions, countries, and houses that never become homes.

For the first time in the long time, you think you have a future.

There is a spring in your step when you make your way down the stairs, away from this freezing place and the ghouls that haunt it.

Behind you, the Headquarters; ahead, Jujutsu Tech.

Masamichi Yaga is a cautious man. His handshake is warm and firm when he greets you, and though his voice is calm and steady as he guides you through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, he remains evasive. He provides all the information you might need, answers any question you have when you ask them without missing a beat, and yet you can tell he is guarded, keeping you at arm’s length.

You cannot determine why that is with certainty, though you have a handful of hypotheses. It could just be that he isn’t used to the presence of strangers. Dealing with a total stranger is a rarity within sorcerer society, even more so in Japan. You doubt that he would know anyone who could talk about you, let alone vouch for you. You understand why that would make you a suspicious character.

Another option is that you were forced onto him as a member of his staff by the higher-ups, though you haven’t heard anything about that. With you being a complete outsider, he would not have any valid reason to outright reject your presence, not when his only teacher is frequently gone for days at a time, but that would not mean that he’d be pleased with it — or view you as trustworthy, for that matter.

The third possibility, of course, is that he just finds you off-putting.

‘Cold’, that’s how you are often described by the people around you. You don’t do it intentionally, but you also cannot pinpoint what it is that you do ‘wrong’. Something about your tone, your expressions, or lack thereof, your cold eyes, the way your mouth naturally curves downwards.

That and, of course, the trail of bad omens that you bring with you everywhere you go.

These don’t tend to be active problems when it comes to sorcerers. With normal humans, now, it’s a different story. Oh, there are exceptions, who find that this all makes you intriguing, but it typically makes it hard to build actual connections with other people. You wouldn’t normally care, but in a situation where you have to collaborate with others, you could see that becoming an issue.

You had seen that coming, of course — it wasn’t like it was new information to you. As a result, you had made sure to be on your very best behavior from the moment you’d stepped foot within Jujutsu Tech grounds. You had nodded with interest, you had reminded yourself to smile, you had asked all the right questions, and yet you could feel that you had not once managed to turn yourself into a likeable person.

Ah, well. Not being likeable would not stop you from doing your job right.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of teaching staff,” Yaga announces, his voice deep, as he reaches a new door. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when he stills, turning to look at you. “Are you ready for this just now? They were both students here, but I assume this can all be overwhelming for a newbie.”

That is a kind sentiment.

“I’m okay.” Then, because answering in monosyllables is not what likeable people are supposed to do, you add: “I read the files available to familiarize myself with the school grounds before coming here.”

His eyebrows jump up behind his glasses, but it’s followed by a hearty chuckle.

“You’ve come prepared.” He nods, appreciative. “Good. It will be nice to have someone who takes their job seriously around here.”

You don’t have the time to question the sentence before he opens the door.

The room is small and reeks of cigarette smoke. In the middle of it, a desk, and behind it, sprawled on an elegant black chair, a white-haired man that you recognize at first glance. You let your eyes slide over him. You wouldn’t want to look too, um, curious, just yet.

The brown-haired woman with the long white coat who is perched on a window sill, doing her very best to look inconspicuous, is the one responsible for the smell. You identify her as Shoko Ieiri, school doctor and reverse cursed technique prodigy. Next to you, Yaga sighs.

“Shoko,” he protests with a paternal disapproval, “I thought you’d quit smoking?”

“I did,” she answers, staring at him, her eyes dark and tired, “and then I had to regrow a lung. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to regrow internal organs?”

A light laugh comes from the man in the middle of the room, and you consider that this gives you permission to look at him without coming off like you’re gawking.

He has his feet propped up on the desk, and he’s using them to push himself backwards in a precarious balance. White hair spills on the dark leather, long arms hang on both sides of the chair, and he hasn’t bothered to so much as glance in your direction so far — or at least, you don’t think he has, because white bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Even without being able to spot their signature blue, you know who he is. There isn’t one sorcerer in Japan, nor in the whole world, who doesn’t know his name.

Satoru Gojo, in the flesh.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way through medical school, it would be easier, don’t ya think?” he asks Ieiri with fond familiarity.

“Don’t—” Yaga takes two steps into the room, kicks the legs from underneath the chair. “—sit at my desk, Satoru.”

Effortlessly, Gojo jumps off the chair before it hits the floor and lands on his feet, facing Yaga. He is just as tall as the Principal, and from the wide grin on his face, it’s obvious that he is thrilled to have gotten a rise out of him.

“Then get me my own office already, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ll see which one of you gets an office first,” Yaga sniffs, and it doesn’t sound like Gojo is at the top of his list. “First, there is someone you need to meet.”

Ieiri has been observing you since you’ve walked into the room, not looking away when you had met her eyes. Yaga’s words have Gojo finally directing his attention to you, though, and something in the room shifts. You can’t see them, yet you know his eyes are on you, dissecting you and your cursed energy, collecting every possible bit of information on you. He walks past Yaga, burying his hands in his pockets as he approaches you. He has an easy smile placated on his lips, but you know when you’re being judged.

Behind him, both Ieiri and Yaga are still, tense. Yaga’s jaw is set, and Ieiri fiddles with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, clearly itching for a new one. Ah, so this is the real test.

You don’t back off, staying rooted in your spot. He towers over you easily, and you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. You’d heard he was a handsome man, but you hadn’t expected it to be so obvious, even with the bandages on. He studies you, sharp jaw clenching, before the dazzling smile returns.

“Right! You’re the substitute teacher, aren’t you?”

His voice is light and airy, the previous tension completely absent from it. You blink.

“She will be teaching instead of you when you’re away on missions,” Yaga intervenes, “but that doesn’t make her a substitute. C’mon, Satoru, we’ve had this conversation already.”

On that last sentence, his voice turns into a threatening rumble.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo dismisses him without looking back, “and you’re the one who will be giving me missions as well, right?”

He keeps his tone cheerful, makes it sound like he’s just trying to have a conversation, but there is an edge in his voice, a bite. You cannot tell what he is trying to achieve with the question, though, or why he is being hostile, so you choose not to engage.

“Indeed,” you answer, bowing your head politely. “It is an honor to be meeting you all.” You make quick work of giving your name and briefly mentioning that you hadn’t grown up in Japan.

You’re met with silence, Gojo’s lips pressed together as he tries to read you. You do your very best not to give him anything to sink his teeth into.

“Your family’s known for their precognition, aren’t they?” Ieiri asks from the other side of the room.

“Foresight, yes”, you reply. Your answer is rehearsed, polished. Your family has somewhat of a reputation within the sorcerer world, but fortune tellers are a dime a dozen, even among non-sorcerers, and the results vary greatly — it’s not an ability that inspires trust, even for a legitimate sorcerer like you. You don’t wish to reveal too much of yourself just yet. “I look forward to working with you.”

A smile finally forms on her lips.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I won’t be seeing too much of you. Would be a shame if I had to patch you up. If you want to go out drinking though, just let me know. I know all the best bars in the city!”

“She does, and she’s banned from half of them,” Gojo chimes in. Now that his focus is back on her, his tone is softer; teasing, still, but no longer harsh. “She could use an actual designated driver instead of exploiting her kouhais though, don’t you think, Shoko?”

She laughs at that, sincerely, her eyes creasing.

“Fuck you, Gojo,” she answers fondly.

“I apologize for these two,” Yaga says, wincing at the coarse language. “We’re very happy to have you here. I’m sure it will do the kids some good, having someone serious to take after.”

“Hurtful,” Gojo protests, pouting. “They’re good kids,” he adds, directing his attention back to you. He sounds proud now, no trace of his earlier defiance left. “They’ll be great soon. They just need a little push to get there.”

At that, you nod.

“Of course. I’ll do my very best to help them on that path.”

There is a second, between the moment when you finish speaking and the moment when a wide smile splits his face. In that second, his lips part, and you feel his eyes plunge into you, digging into the very core of your being. He doesn’t look pleased. No, he is sizing you up, and you doubt you measure up to his expectations as well as you should. You’re the only one facing him, though, and when he smiles, just a little too late, it all vanishes like it never happened.

“Good to hear! As long as that’s the case, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”

It’s said differently, but it’s as threatening as the higher-ups’ last words to you. Still, behind Gojo, Yaga heaves a relieved sigh and exchanges a look with Ieiri that tells you just how worried he’d been about your arrival. To him, it looks like the situation is resolved.

“Why don’t we all go and get a drink together to welcome you properly, if we’re done here?” he asks, walking over and slapping Gojo in the back.

“Sounds good to me,” Ieiri hums.

“As long as we go somewhere with good desserts, I’m in,” Gojo declares, intertwining his fingers at the back his head.

“You better be, Satoru,” Yaga grumbles, “you’re paying.”

“Not sure the Gojo clan has enough money for your appetite,” he sighs dramatically, “but I mean, I can try.” Then, eyeing you, “You coming or what?”

“Of course,” you say, swallowing around the unexpected knot in your throat. “Thank you for having me.”

You follow them cautiously, keeping quiet as the banter continues, hands held behind your back, observing. You had not expected to feel welcome here. You could have done without Gojo’s strange hostility, but with your track record, you had expected far worse.

“Let me know if Satoru makes your life harder, alright? I’ll talk some sense into him,” Ieiri tells you, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“And I’ll beat it into him if I have to,” Yaga adds, snatching it from Ieiri’s mouth and crumpling it between his fingers.

“I’d love to see you try,” Gojo grins.

“Noted,” you answer, “but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

This last part is a lie. Even as he’s joking around with everyone, you know he is still observing you, courtesy of the Six Eyes, watching your every move, waiting to find a fault somewhere so he can figure out what to do with you. You can’t blame him. You will be the one sending him into action, after all, even if the higher-ups would review missions assigned to grade 1 sorcerers and special grade sorcerers. Of course he’d need some time to figure out whether or not you’re trustworthy.

Not that his opinion on the subject matters to you. You’re not the type of person who needs other to like you. You don’t even need him to trust you. All he has to do is let you do your job.

Everything else is futile.

It is no surprise that the first few weeks at your job are slow. The end of summer and the beginning of fall are always quiet periods for sorcerers, and as a result, you don’t have many missions to hand out just yet. The few, low-level ones available in Tokyo are systematically claimed by Gojo before you can look into them, as training for his students.

“Kids gotta learn somehow, right?” he tells you with a grin the first time it happens.

He’s just waltzed into your classroom and he’s leaning over the desk, elbow conveniently resting on the mission files. You try not to think about how brazenly handsome he is right now, even when he is openly provoking you. You stare at his bandages, right where his eyes must be. He may be smiling at you, but there is no sincerity behind it, no joy, and that wasn’t really a question.

You shrug.

“Alright.”

The smile falters.

“Yeah? That’s alright with you?”

“Certainly. If you think these are good exercises for them, and if you plan on being there to supervise them, I don’t see any issue with it. Just return the files if there are any they can’t clear, and I’ll transfer them to the appropriate person.”

He tilts his head. Watching. Assessing.

“You should join us!” he exclaims cheerfully, smile back in its place, clapping his hands together. “The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?”

Oookay. He is testing you. The infuriating part of that is, you have no idea what he is testing you for, what he wants you to display — or fail to display. Trying to see if you’re good enough of a teacher? You have nothing to prove here, certainly not to someone who has been on the job for such a short time. Then again, you don’t see any harm in humoring him.

“No problem. Just let me know when you intend to take care of them, and I’ll be there.”

His smile widens, but you’re not sure if it means you’ve succeeded or failed his test.

“Good,” he hums. “I’ll be taking that, then.”

In one swift movement, he retrieves the files from your desk, and he walks away with them before you can say anything.

You roll your eyes — this whole song and dance are so unnecessary — but you don’t see any reason to stop him, so you just watch him leave. You catch him stopping in the doorway, turning back to look at you. The smile is still dancing on his face, all edge and teeth.

“You’re not what I expected.”

You stare at him just a moment longer, brow furrowing, before he vanishes and you’re left with nothing to look at.

‘Not what he expected’. You turn the sentence over in your mind a couple of times, trying to conjure up an image, a personality that would fit better for the role you’re supposed to play, but nothing comes up. You have two roles: teaching the future generation of sorcerers, and assigning missions. If doing one task can facilitate the other, there is no reason not to do it — and you find it even harder to comprehend why he wouldn’t have expected you to do just that.

You shake your head, willing his words out of your mind. You’ve never felt the need to meet anyone’s expectations, so why should you start now?

Taking kids to a cemetery for a mission seems in poor taste, but that’s not what you tell Gojo when he announces it as his first choice.

“The mission is for a number of grade four curses and a couple grade three,” you state instead, “but considering the spot, it’s likely more powerful ones went unnoticed. Are you sure that’s appropriate for first-years?”

“Well,” he answers, hands casually in his pockets, towering over you with all his height, “it will be good to see how adaptable they are and their abilities in the face of danger. Plus, they’ll have two guardian angels looking after them, won’t they?”

There’s that toothy smile again.

You still don’t know what it means.

“As long as you’re here, it will be fine, I guess” is what you end up answering him with a shrug.

This time, he doesn’t say anything as he leaves, doesn’t stop to look at you.

You suspect that you said exactly what he was expecting from you.

Contrary to popular belief, cemeteries don’t typically harbor powerful curses. The smaller ones are numerous, born out of loss and grief, but the bodies of non-sorcerers don’t take the pain they endured with them in the grave. They leave it all over their houses, leaking through the walls and ceilings, seeping through the cracks in the floor, cursing their loved ones.

Cemeteries remain clean.

The exception to that rule is a notable one. In any place where cursed energy accumulates for long enough, there is a risk for it to congregate to the point where strong curses can emerge. This slow growth means they learn to better hide themselves, and it makes them harder to spot and eliminate. In an ideal world, there would be a sorcerer expedition every other decade to ensure nothing big can develop, but sorcerer numbers being what they are, that is impossible to ensure. There is also a high likelihood that it would be useless anyway, a waste of time and resources, far too much firepower for the bunch of fly heads sorcerers would find.

Still, you keep an eye on the three, baby-faced first years, and chew on the inside of your cheek as they start to make their way through the alleys.

You don’t like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Gojo says lightly, next to you. “You’re a grade one sorcerer, aren’t you? There’s nothing more powerful than that here. I’d know it if there was.”

“My evaluation took place in Europe. I don’t know if I would have ranked that high, had I taken it here.”

“Aw, c’mon, if even you think you’re that weak, who’s going to believe you’re strong?”

The sentence surprises a chuckle out of you. A grade two sorcerer is nothing to turn your nose at, but you can’t say you’re shocked that the Satoru Gojo would equate that status to weakness. He is so far off the scale that he would break it altogether if it wasn’t for the convenient, murky ‘special grade’ title.

You look at him, find him already turned in your direction. His lips are parted in surprise. You don’t realize it, but you have somehow managed the feat of getting Gojo’s undivided attention. The Six Eyes are focused on you, dissecting you, taking you in. This is— new. People are predictable. It’s not always a bad thing, though it gets a little boring. You— you keep catching him off guard while doing things that seem completely natural to you.

For once, you’re the one who is smiling, and he’s stunned into silence.

“It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not people think I’m strong. All I care about is—”

Teeth reflected in a pupil. Muscles like lead. A hand raised in defense. Flesh that turns into mist, there one second, gone the next. Clicks like a laugh, coming from behind. ‘Morino Iori — 1954-2010’, splattered with blood. A curse with its head thrown back, an arm coming out of its open mouth, disappearing when it swallows. Tears dripping down from the chin to the ground, barely diluting the puddle of blood that has formed there.

The rest of your sentence is lost when you turn around and take off running.

There is a string of cursed energy pulling you in the right direction, one that found its way to you, one that the cursed technique engraved in your brain knew how to decode. You’re old enough not to question it, not to struggle with the vision, and following it comes as a second nature. Just as you get there, you see Sota rounding the corner slowly, looking around, squinting, searching for something he isn’t finding. Your fingers close around the weapon at your waist, withholding your cursed energy — for now.

To a non-sorcerer, you would appear to be holding nothing but a stick. A sorcerer would know it’s a cursed weapon, though most would not be able to figure out its use.

At least, not until the curse emerges from the fog, only two steps behind Sota. In a flash, you let cursed energy irrigate your weapon, and a blade of sheer energy appears. The stick is now a scythe.

It’s in poor taste, in a cemetery, but you don’t linger on that.

You’re between the boy and the curse before he can turn around. The curse’s abilities must allow it to hide its presence, would allow it to disappear back into nothingness a mere moment after the kill, but you don’t give it the opportunity to do that. The scythe cuts through it like butter, splitting it in two. The two halves haven’t yet hit the ground that you’ve already lowered your weapon, emptying it from cursed energy as soon as you’re done.

“Are you okay?” you ask Sota, turning around to face him as you anchor it back to your waist.

“Um,” he says. He doesn’t look scared, just mildly surprised. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“What happened to seeing his abilities in the face of danger?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Gojo. He is standing atop a headstone, balancing without any struggle and watching the two of you with unmistakable amusement.

“He freezes in the face of danger,” you answer.

Sota’s eyes go wide, and he turns away from you, shaking his head. He isn’t doing it for you, though, but for Gojo.

“That’s not true! I’ve exorcised curses before, you’ve seen me do it!”

He’s desperate to prove himself to his teacher, and something sinks within you. You don’t need a vision to tell you what will happen next.

“The kid’s got a point,” Gojo lets you know. “That precognition thing of yours, how accurate is it?”

There was a time when those words would have sent you reeling back. Even now, when you’re expecting them, you feel the blood withdrawing from your face as he speaks them. But you swallow, school your features. You know better now. Fighting now will only delay the inevitable. Gojo was standing next to you anyway. With the Six Eyes, he must know for certain that you hadn’t activated any sort of cursed technique when you took off running. That alone would be enough to make him suspicious, if he didn’t already doubt you.

Cassandra’s Bargain. Tell the truth, and save only those who believe you.

Unlike others, explaining the workings of your cursed technique doesn’t make it more effective — it makes it useless. If you try to tip the scale in your favor now, you will all pay a high price for it later.

You know what Gojo is implying, about your accuracy. Most people who have foresight see a number of futures. If he suspects you saw one in which Sota died, your actions must make sense to him.

“Enough to keep me safe,” you answer, tight-lipped.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s give the kid a fighting chance from now, what d’ya say?”

That’s not how it works, but it doesn’t matter. At least Sota gets to keep his arm — until next time.

What a waste.

“Of course,” you say with a nod.

You would do it again in a heartbeat if you had to, but you no longer feel threads of cursed energy, threads of fate, pulling you in one direction or the other. Oh, they’re all around you, and you’d know much more if you activated your cursed technique, but you know how it functions. That had to be the worst that could happen. Things should be fine now.

“Start running Sota, you’ve got some catching up to do!”

“Yes, Mr. Gojo, sir!” the kid replies, all but saluting. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Gojo’s laugh at that, as the kid takes off sprinting, couldn’t be more genuine.

You lean against the pristine Morino Iori headstone — it’s disrespectful, and you formulate a silent apology, but all you can do is hope they won’t mind. You’re exhausted, and yet the tension is keeping your body in hypervigilance, refusing to go away.

Gojo approaches you, hands in his pockets. The ghost of his usual smile is dancing on his lips. For once, though, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.

“We have to save them if they need us,” he says, voice surprisingly soft, “but it’s as least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.

“I don’t disagree with that.”

This kind of reasoning just isn’t worth losing an arm over.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you, so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a quick breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s much harder to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that you’re in a high-stress kind of and you’re particularly pent-up at the moment. If your skin tingles when you feel his breath against it, it’s because of the cold. Must be. Whatever it is, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and something that you recognize all too well twists, deep in your abdomen.

Desire.

You don’t answer. You didn’t know what to say the first time, and you sure as fuck have no clue now — don’t know what he means, don’t know what you’ve done that you weren’t supposed to, don’t know if the interest in his voice betrays the same feelings rushing through you right now. So you glare at him until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the temple, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear between the tombs, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be inconspicuous, and it’s only once you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to laugh at yourself bubbles inside you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

You’re fully aware of all of that, know it in the deepest parts of your soul, and yet your eyes still trail towards the temple. You could imagine that you’re seeing Gojo’s silhouette there, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

You don’t get a chance to involve yourself in the Kyoto Goodwill Event. With the beginning of fall, files are starting to accumulate. Since you’re still getting your bearings in Tokyo and familiarizing yourself with the sorcerers you can send on missions, that is what you dedicate yourself to.

Or, well, that’s what you’re told.

You know that you’re more than capable of doing several things at once without botching any of them. Masamichi Yaga and Satoru Gojo are the ones who disagree. You’re called into Yaga’s office, and Gojo is already there, leaning against the wall behind him. For once, he isn’t wearing the bandages, but rectangular sunglasses. Even from behind them, you see the faint glow of his eyes, and it takes a lot — a lot more than it should — not to stare.

“The students taking part in this year’s event will be exclusively second and third-years. Satoru knows them well.”

“Yeah, and they’ve been training for a that for a while,” Gojo says without missing a beat. Where Yaga is stern and serious, his voice is relaxed and pleasant, lightening the mood without trying to. “The third-years have already won once, so they know what they’ve got to do for a repeat.”

That’s right. Tokyo won last year, under Gojo’s guidance, for the first time since… well, since he stopped competing himself, according to what you’ve heard.

“Satoru had already started putting this year’s strategy together by the time you joined Jujutsu Tech,” Yaga adds, trying his best to sound apologetic. “So there’s no need to concern yourself with that. It’s already well-oiled.”

As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that’s well-oiled here is this routine they’re performing, all for your sake. You click your tongue, not bothering to hide your annoyance, and watch as Yaga’s fingers curl, as Gojo’s chin lifts and the blueish glow focuses on you. There’s politics in the air, you can smell it, with a role you have to play. So they think, at least. Unfortunately, you lack knowledge when it comes to Japanese society, and you cannot quite identify what that role is.

To be fair, you also don’t care for it.

“Was it really necessary to waste all of our times with this charade?”

“I beg your pardon?” Yaga asks in response. His voice thunders dangerously. He’s warning you not to cross a line.

“If you don’t want me involved, you can just say so,” you answer with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have missions to assign.”

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you to stand up, rolling your eyes once you have your back turned on them. How bland. You’ve never seen the point of engaging with this kind of theatrics when there are such greater things at play. Having you help the kids come up with a strategy of their own, going over the basics of planning, now that could have been interesting and helpful. It’s not that you doubt Gojo’s abilities in that domain, you don’t, but it is your specialty, and you’ve had to learn to survive with resources that are significantly more limited than his. Instead of doing that, in the name of whatever internal conflict is going on here, the kids have been deprived of that experience.

How boring.

Once the door has closed behind you, Gojo lowers his head, shoulders shaking. Yaga turns around, frowning, only to find him quietly laughing to himself.

“Told you she was a weird one,” he says once he’s caught his breath.

“Maybe,” Yaga mumbles, “but there must be a reason why she was placed here.”

Gojo hums. Outside the office, he follows your cursed energy. It has always been diffuse, fickle, fizzling out around you until it becomes hard to tell where it ends — even for him. Must have something to do with your cursed technique, but he hasn’t seen you use that yet. You go straight to your classroom, where you sit behind your desk to work, like you do every day until it’s late in the night.

Yaga is right, of course. There must be a reason. But you’re at least making it fun for him to figure out.

The Kyoto Goodwill Event does not go over well.

Maybe you should get some petty satisfaction from it, but there is none to be found, just a bitter taste in your mouth. Next to you, Utahime, the Kyoto school teacher, does not look up at the screens provided by Grade 1 sorcerer Mei Mei. She has her eyes on her hands, and she is nervously rubbing her fingers. In fact, while a few outsiders who have come to see the game for their own enjoyment exclaim at the students’ impressive moves, there is only one member of the schools who seems to be enjoying himself, and that is Principal Gakuganji.

Kyoto is methodical in their approach. On an individual level, you suspect that Kyoto is far ahead of them, but as a team, they have come up with the perfect strategy — at least against the Tokyo team. They have done their research, know everything there is to know about their adversaries. Then again, having one member of the Zen’in and one member of the Kamo family on their side, even if neither have access to their families’ historical techniques, must have been quite the help to gather that information.

You don’t see them doing anything revolutionary — if anything, a team such as theirs could have been composed hundreds of years ago — but they have no need for it, not with how brutal they are willing to be, leaving devastation in their wake. They’re prepared, efficient, collected. They’re also quick, having adapted to this modified version of capture the flag, one that involves curses, without hesitation.

Tokyo defends to the best of their abilities. They prove themselves especially capable when it comes to improvising on the spot, which means that Gojo’s teaching works on that front is working, at least. The match ends up closer than Kyoto must have been hoping for, but it doesn’t change the end result.

It’s a resounding victory for Kyoto.

“Well,” Gakuganji is the first to speak as it ends, “that was quite the beautiful display of sportsmanship, don’t you think, Satoru?”

You glance at Gojo, who is sitting next to you. There’s real anger in the way his jaw tenses at the question, but by the time you blink, he’s already relaxed it.

“That was really impressive!” he laughs, throwing his head back and clapping enthusiastically. “They’ve progressed so much since last year, haven’t they? I never imagined they would be able to come this far.”

You press your lips together at the barely veiled insult.

“Indeed, that is what realized potential looks like,” Gakuganji replies, stroking his beard. “Such a shame to see your promising pupils crashing and burning… Although that’s not the first time you’ve seen that happen, is it?”

That is the least charitable way of looking at what happened there, but it is impossible to argue with the facts: Kyoto bested Tokyo. You can’t say you appreciate the way he’s talking about your students, but you don’t think it’s your place to say anything.

Gojo’s smile thins.

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to the individual tournament tomorrow,” Gakuganji adds, standing up. “In the meantime, Yaga, I assume you have planned for accommodations, and all this action has given me quite the appetite.”

He leaves the room with an unmistakably pleased smile, Yaga getting up after him. He gestures at Gojo to join them, and he’s not hiding his scowl when he stands up, unfolding his long limbs slowly. The other sorcerers follow suit, Utahime included, though she is sporting a somber expression too. You’re the only one to linger in the room, in no rush to suffer through more of Gojo and Gakuganji’s quips.

When you do leave, you stop by the infirmary, where you find Ieiri cursing through her teeth as she works on the students. Even though several of them are fully healed, they’re keeping themselves huddled up together, shoulders hanging low, eyes on the ground.

Defeated.

“Professor Gojo has already come by,” one of them informs you without bothering to look at you. “We’re fine. We’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” you confirm, and you see flashes of hope on their faces, mistaking your confidence for a prophecy. Truth be told, you haven’t seen anything for the next day, but this is often the best way of using the aura that surrounds you. “But you did well today. They saw a weak spot, and they exploited it. As long as you learn from it, there is no shame in this defeat.”

That deflates them, and Ieiri snickers, glancing at you with a grin.

“Quite the pep talk you’re giving here.’

She’s right. You’ve never been good at this.

“You’re all excellent sorcerers, but even you can be defeated by people who are not as good as you, provided they’ve prepared adequately. That is what you need to take away from today. Conversely, you will be able to defeat much stronger adversaries than you, with the right approach.”

Some look thoughtful at your words — most still look just as dejected as they were when you walked in.

“We’ll work on that once this tournament is over. For now, all you need to do is rest. You’ll prevail tomorrow.”

Smiles finally break on their faces, and you take that as your cue to leave, before you can say something that would ruin it again.

You’re in no rush to join the other sorcerers just yet, so you wander through the hallways, intending to go back to the classroom that’s become your refuge in the school. You’re one corner away from it, when the window that leads to the outside slides open, and Satoru Gojo jumps in, right in front of you. It is the second floor, yet you can’t muster surprise.

He shoots you a smirk that knocks the air out of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. He looks back towards the window, looking displeased, and that’s when you notice voices calling for him — Kyoto students and low-level sorcerers. You’re about to look down when he catches you. He wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you away, presses the other on the wall, next to your head, and you freeze. He’s close, and everything you’ve been feeling for weeks at this point comes rushing back in.

“You know what’s a great way of getting people’s attention off you?” he asks, smirk even wider, if possible.

“Wh—”

Then his lips are on yours.

He tastes sweet, you’re surprised to find.

It’s playful, the way he kisses you, a press of his mouth against yours, stolen, daring. It’s also all you need to admit to yourself how badly you’ve been wanting this. That’s why you’re the one who wraps your arms around his neck, kissing him back harder. He lets out a surprised noise into you, maybe a chuckle, but he certainly doesn’t fight it, even if he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.

He reaches greedily for your hips, pulling you to him and keeping you pressed against his hard chest. When you part your lips, there is not a moment of hesitation on his part before he pushes his tongue in, swirling it against yours. You crane your neck to give him better access to your mouth, all while holding on tight to his neck to lower him towards you. Your back is against the wall, your body arched a way that would be uncomfortable if you weren’t so hot all over, set ablaze by his touch.

When he pushes his thigh between your legs, flexing it so it rubs against you just right, your knees buckle under you. It doesn’t help that, in this position, his semi-hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and that awakens a very special kind of hunger within you.

There is no softness to the kiss or to the way your bodies move together, just pure lust. Wetness is pooling between your legs already, in anticipation for more, more of him, more of his body, more of his touch. He’s so tall, it’s like he’s everywhere, his scent surrounding you, his body caging you against the wall effortlessly, his mouth demanding more and more of you. You roll your hips against his, trapping his cock between your bodies, and he hisses into you, his grip turning bruising — not that you mind.

“Tease,” he manages to mumble as he takes a quick breath.

There’s no room for any more words before he reattaches his mouth to yours, almost biting into you, and fuck it feels good. His lips are soft, but that must be the only thing that is soft about this kiss. He moves your skirt out of the way, one hand coming to grab your thigh so he can lift it up, and that is when your eyes snap open, some reason coming back to your lust-filled brain at last.

“Wait,” you mumble, “not here.” Your eyes dart around the dark hallway — empty, but far too in the open for your liking. Problem is, your body is aching with how much you want him, and, even if it would be the smart thing to do, you can’t bring yourself to stop now. “Classroom,” you conclude, pulling him with you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, but follows. The second the door is closed, he has you against the wall again, this time with his chest pressed to your back while his lips find your neck, teeth pulling at the skin mercilessly before dragging his tongue on the sensitive area to soothe it. You let out a sigh, but it comes out much louder than you’d intended, almost a moan, and you have to lift a hand up to cover your mouth. He snickers, but doesn’t waste any more time on teasing you.

Instead, he snakes his hand into your skirt, and this time, you don’t stop him. Long fingers move past the hem of your panties to brush against your clit and you jump, biting your lower lip to keep quiet. His lips stretch into a smile on your neck.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” he comments by your ear, rubbing his fingers over your pussy lips, purposefully not entering you.

You groan in frustration, and push your ass against his now rock-hard cock. The low moan he lets out in surprise is delightful to hear.

“As if you’re one to talk,” you reply.

“Is that how you want to play it?”

Before you can answer him, he easily pushes two fingers inside you. They’re long and they fill you so well, you have to focus every fiber of you that’s not lost in pleasure on keeping quiet. Gojo’s free to take his fingers out, then plunge them into you once more, and you can’t help clenching needily around them.

“See,” he says, and oh his low voice, the way it makes his chest vibrate against your back, it all goes straight to your core, making you gush around his fingers some more, “that’s expected of me, ‘cause everyone knows I’m sorcerer society’s problem child. Aren’t you supposed to be the good girl?”

It’s no easy task to think with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly, but even through the haze of pleasure, the words make you frown.

“Says— Ah— Says who?”

He uses the heel of his palm to press against your clit, and you’d conclude that he is actively trying to render you speechless if pleasure wasn’t shooting through you like electricity.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d say you’re being pretty good right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you— fuck— would you stop talking and just fuck me already?” you still manage to bite out.

He laughs again, delighted and maybe a little fond, but he stills his fingers inside you. You get some time to catch your breath, and use whatever self-control you have left not to try and fuck yourself on his hand.

“You sure?”

“As long as you’re clean, I’m safe,” you say — maybe not your smartest moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

He pulls his fingers out, and you glance at him over your shoulder. He’s still wearing the bandages over his eyes, but his jaw is uncharacteristically taut, and his movements lack their usual fluidity. You grin. Good to see you’re having an effect on him too. It becomes even more obvious when he pulls out his cock, hard and veiny. You’re not surprised by how big he is, and you find yourself licking your lips, clenching around air at the prospect of what’s to come. Shit, you cannot wait to have it inside you, stretching you out.

“I’ve been wanting to mess up that skirt for weeks,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pushes it out of the way and lowers your panties.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you ask with a click of your tongue. He is still talking way more than he should.

The smirk he gives you should concern you. He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, and then, instead of penetrating you, as you’re frozen in anticipation, slides his length against your pussy lips, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but not giving you what you need right now. You whimper pleadingly, not catching yourself fast enough to keep yourself silent. You worry that he will keep teasing, but it appears he has reached his limits too, because soon he is pushing the tip of his cock inside you, and fuck, it’s even better than you’d imagined.

You hear him grunt behind you as he starts pushing himself inside you at a devilishly slow pace. You expected him to do it all at once, so you turn around once more, ready to throw another quip at him for his relentless teasing, but the words die on your lips when you see his face. His teeth are planted in his lower lip, and his face is contorted in a pleasure that he is clearly trying to reign in, his breathing quick and shallow, his chest heaving. The sight leaves you breathless, so you stay quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he all but whines as he keeps pushing himself inside you.

He bottoms out at last, and he stills for a few seconds, all so you can adjust and not at all because he is going to come too fast if he can’t get used to how warm and welcoming you are around him first. The discreet groans he was letting out turn into a full moan when you move forward, pulling him out of you, then back, sheathing him inside you completely once more. You’d keep moving, but he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging into the flesh, to stop any movement you could make.

It doesn’t last long though, because after that, he starts moving himself, and the pace he sets it merciless. The slapping of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the empty room, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you can barely think, not when your knees are failing you and his hands on hips are the only thing keeping you standing, not when tiny whimpers keep spilling past your lips, no matter how much you try to keep them in.

“Couldn’t be even just a little patient, hm?” he asks you. It’s undercut by the gasps that interrupt him, the pleasured moans that escape him too.

This time, you don’t find anything to answer. The angle, with you bent over, hands on the wall in a desperate attempt to stay on your feet, makes you feel so, so full that you can’t think straight. Pleasure is coursing through you with each time he hammers into you, and you clench around him helplessly each time he pulls out. He’s fast, relentless, but if the way his moans keep getting more-pitched is any indication, he’s close to reaching his climax. You’re not far yourself, you just— just need— just a little—

One of his hands abandons your hip, and you would stumble forward if he wasn’t holding you so firmly. His free hand finds its way to your clit, and pinches it expertly, just as he snaps his hips into you harder than he has so far, spilling himself inside you. The orgasm hits you like a thousand volts, and your hips jerk back uncontrollably, whole body shaking, as you ride the wave of it on his cock until it ends. Ah, you needed this so badly that, as it recedes, you can only feel content, the pleasure it gave you still tingling in your body.

For a while, the sounds of you and Gojo’s panting are all that fill the room. Finally, he pulls his sensitive, softening cock out a you with a hiss, and you ignore the squelching sound it makes. He tucks it back into his pants, and you finally find it in yourself to pull your panties back up, readjusting your skirt. Your hair is messy from the kissing earlier, but apart from that, you’re still rather presentable — you hope.

“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Gojo comments. He’s still catching his breath.

“At what point are you going to admit that you’ve just misjudged me?”

He laughs, but the smirk he shoots you, hands in his pockets, standing a few feet away from you, is proof that the distance between the two of you is back to what it was before. You don’t find yourself minding all that much. This is as good a way as any other to release tension, and you’re more relaxed than you have in weeks. The lightness of his voice tells you the same is true for him. Seems like you both got the same thing out of it, and that’s fine by you, even if it doesn’t bring you any closer.

“Once I know I was wrong,” he says. It sounds ominous, but, well, if he wants to keep clinging to that image he’s made of you, that is his problem. So far, you’d argue that it has rather worked in your favor.

You shrug.

“If you hadn’t felt that way, Tokyo would have won today,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

His smile widens.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that next year, hm?”

“I guess we will.”

Silence grows between the two of you. You normally wouldn’t mind. Now, you feel the need to say something.

“This should stay between us,” you finally manage to say. Sorcerer society can be— harsh, on women, to say the least. The last thing you need is for someone to know you’ve fucked your coworker. You’d be branded as a whore, and while you find this all horribly regressive, you’d still rather not have to deal with the fallout.

Gojo hums in agreement.

“I’m not really the type to want all my business out there either,” he tells you in a surprising display of sincerity. It’s ruined when he smirks and adds, “Next time, I think I should fuck you on your desk.”

You scoff, but you know you both hear your lack of denial loud and clear. You’re not opposed to there being a next time, provided this doesn’t get out. By the look of things, it would be mutually beneficial.

You don’t bother to answer him before you open the door, glancing outside. No one in sight. He would have known if that had been the case, of course, but you’re still relieved. You slip outside unceremoniously — it’s pretty clear you’re done here anyway — and he does nothing to hold you back.

Later, after you’ve taken a quick shower in the facilities available at the high school and you’re sat by Ieiri around the dinner table, Gakuganji can barely hide his smugness.

“Where you have been off to?” he asks Gojo, his tone making it clear just how pleased with himself he is. “Licking your wounds?”

“Something like that,” Gojo answers lightly, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on your food.

The conversation fades into the background. Your thoughts move to the upcoming solo tournament, the next day, to your students, to the missions you have to assign. And then, for the first time in forever, you find yourself distracted by something that isn’t work-related. You welcome the respite it gives you.

On your desk, next time, huh?

You could work with that.

thank you all for reading and getting all the way here! interactions are what keeps me writing, so please comment/reblog/send an ask to feed your author and have my eternal gratitude!

tagging people who expressed interest in the first chapter: @sapphiccloud @saccharine-nectarine @calypsothegoddess @aspiring-bookworm @aerismonia

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo angst #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru #my writing

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luvismenu · 15 days ago

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Only When It's Us — JJK ,, index ,, about taglist

Chapter 02 — distraction ✎

fic summary: you both say it’s nothing serious, but with every touch and argument, it gets harder to stay away.

nsfw warnings: smut; lots of kissing, lots of touching lol, oral (male recieving, fem too? kinda), sucking fingers, doggy style, unprotected sex (shes using birth control so yep, be safe!) use of ‘good girl’

wc: 6k

📜 permanent taglist: @lovieku @kyuupii @fluttershypoo @deluluisdasolulu @ddanasjk @mar-lo-pap @jungkooks-wife @diamondjeon @nnybtitts08 @lil0u0 @butnotmontana @fr0ggieth1nk @minimoninini @whoa-jo @lola75111 @iswearimover5feetall @rispwr @leemonis-blog

📜 series taglist: @deepikhaprakash @rjooniesdimples @sweetmimosa28

abt series taglist: send me an ask w the series title !!

“i have to go.”

“why don’t you just come back home? you can start over, and this time, maybe you’ll be more like your brother.”

you sigh.

“mom, i don’t want to be him,” you say quietly, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. on the other end, you hear her let out a soft, disapproving tsk, a sound that always manages to make you feel a little smaller.

“aren’t you clearly struggling with school? if you were here with us, with your brother, we’d help you. you’d be fine,” she insists, as if coming home would magically fix everything.

you roll your eyes.

“i really have to go.”

“___, just listen to—”

but before she can finish, you end the call, staring at the blank screen for a moment.

there’s an unsettling feeling in your chest, one that refuses to fade, no matter how much you try to brush it off. its like a quiet reminder of all the things you’re trying to avoid.

go back home?

after everything you’ve been through to study what you want, to finally live on your own terms. every argument, every latenight fight with your parents, all just to claim a bit of freedom.

you worked so hard to break free from their expectations, to stand on your own.

you even transferred universities just to escape the constant pressure back in your hometown. no matter what you did, it was never enough. every choice was somehow wrong, not ‘their way.’

you can’t go back now.

not until you’ve made it, not until you have something real to prove them wrong. you have to be successful, if only to show them that your way was the right way all along.

“hey, are you done thinking? never seen anyone contemplate cheerios this hard.”

min yoongi’s low voice pulls you out of your thoughts. you look up, finding him behind the cash register, his lips curving into a small smile.

“just wondering if i can actually trust your store’s products. what if you are some sort of cheerio secret agent and you're trying to poison me?” you joke, handing him the money.

“oh no, you figured it out. we’ve been poisoning the cheerios. now how am i gonna explain to my boss that our mission failed?” he dramatically placesb a hand on his forehead as if you revealed his deepest darkest secret. you can’t help but chuckle, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit.

“bad day?” he asks, his gaze softening a bit as he opens the cash register.

min yoongi; your friend.

well, he's more like your senior. he graduated last year and he is working parttime at this convenience store cuz he thinks in this way he could spend some time outside.

you didn't question him about it any further.

you don’t usually come here unless it’s an emergency, and breakfast for tomorrow qualifies as pretty urgent, or so you tell yourself.

“something like that,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

he nods slightly. “well,” he begins, “i’m sorry i can’t give you a discount,” he adds, trying to lighten the mood.

you chuckle, the corners of your mouth lifting. “aw, that’s too bad. i thought i might get these cheerios for free.”

he smiles softly, “maybe some other time,"

you smile back at yoongi and turn to leave. but then you almost bump your head against a man’s chest, stumbling back in surprise.

that was close.

you look up to apologize, but your words get caught in your throat as you take in his appearance.

he’s handsome.

no, that doesn’t even begin to cover it. his face is sculpted to perfection, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline that could cut glass. his dark eyes seem to pierce right through you, and his long, dark hair falls effortlessly over his forehead.

but there’s something else,

he looks... mad?

you quickly gather yourself, your cheeks warming slightly. “sorry,” you blurt out, stepping aside to let him pass.

as you walk out of the store, you catch a snippet of conversation behind you.

“are you still upset about her, jungkook?” yoongi’s voice carries just enough for you to hear.

you try to shake it off, not wanting to dwell on whatever is unfolding behind you. it’s not your business, after all.

you step outside, the cool air hitting your face as you leave the store, and try to focus on the tasks ahead of you.

“it doesn’t make any sense, hyung,” jungkook scoffs, the frustration bubbling up inside him.

“when did she ever make sense?” yoongi replies dryly, not backing down as he meets jungkook’s glare. the tension in the air feels thick, but yoongi isn’t afraid to speak his mind.

“from my point of view, you’re now a free man. free from all the bullshit you’ve been through,” yoongi explains, hoping to lift jungkook’s spirits.

“what bullshit? i was happy. we were happy,” jungkook frowns, his confusion evident. he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, struggling to comprehend yoongi’s words.

“that’s what she wanted you to think,” yoongi replies, his tone serious. “and to be honest, that’s what you always did. you did whatever she wanted. you changed for her.”

“i loved her,” jungkook insists, his voice a bit softer but still filled with conviction, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

“did you? really?” yoongi presses, searching jungkook’s eyes for any hint of doubt. he knows this is a tough conversation, but it needs to be talked out.

jungkook looks away and mutters. “you don’t get it,”

yoongi’s expression softens. he presses his lips together as he looks at jungkook, feeling bad for him. “i’m sorry, jungkook. but you really have to let it go now. it’s been two weeks. it’s time to start moving on.”

jungkook stays silent.

instead of responding, he reaches for a lollipop displayed near the cash register, the bright colors contrasting sharply with his gloomy mood. he hands yoongi some money, more than what the lollipop costs, as if he’s paying for more than just candy.

“do you want the change, or can i keep it as a tip for my great service slash friendship?” yoongi tries to lighten the mood, hoping to bring a smile to jungkook’s face.

and it does.

jungkook’s lips curl into a faint smile, a small but genuine response. “keep it,” he says softly.

as jungkook turns to leave, yoongi watches him go, feeling sad for his friend.

“bad day indeed.”

you're sat on a bench in the park near the convenience store, lost in your own thoughts. the quiet sounds of the evening settle around you, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant hum of traffic, and your own sighs mingling with the cool air.

you’re not really thinking about anything in particular, just letting your mind wander in that aimless way it does when everything feels overwhelming.

then, a loud voice cuts through your thoughts.

“no, i know you're hiding something from me!” someone snaps, his voice taut with irritation. “fine! have it your way then.”

curious, you glance over and recognize him immediately; the same man from earlier at the store, the one you’d nearly bumped into.

he’s pacing as he talks on his phone, one hand running through his dark hair in exasperation. his jaw is clenched, his brows furrowed, and you can practically feel the tension radiating off him even from a distance.

after a moment, he ends the call with an aggravated sigh, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he makes his way into the park, still visibly upset. he barely notices his surroundings as he walks closer to where you’re sitting.

he sighs, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, muttering something under his breath as if willing the frustration to melt away. you can’t help but stare a little, like an idiot.

then his eyes snap open and land directly on you.

“got a problem with me?” his voice is sharp, cutting through the silence between you.

you blink, startled, and stand up instinctively. “excuse me?”

he turns fully to face you, his eyes never leaving yours. “i asked, you got a problem with me?”

“no.” you shake your head, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“good.”

wow. nice attitude.

just as you’re about to walk away, he calls out again.

“never seen you around here before.”

“pardon?” you turn back, surprised.

“you’re yoongi's friend, right?” he asks,

you cross your arms, giving him a wary look. “why do you care?”

he shrugs, almost nonchalant. “my bad, just curious. never seen yoongi smile at a normal customer before, so i assumed.”

“oh,” you reply, softening just a bit. “well, i guess you could say we're friends.”

he raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “you guess?”

you offer a small shrug of your own. “he used to help me when i was still a freshman, and he still tries to whenever he can. i'd say he's like my teacher, in a way. it’s not like we hang out or anything, though.”

he tilts his head, considering your words. “well, consider yourselves friends. trust me, he doesn’t just help anyone.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, still wary. “and who are you, exactly?”

“jeon jungkook,” he says, extending a hand with a surprisingly polite nod. instinctively, you reach out and shake it, his grip firm. “since you're yoongi's friend, i think we go to the same university. though this is the first time i’m seeing you.”

“same, i am ___,” you pull your hand back.

“what are you doing here, in the middle of the night? didn’t your parents ever tell you not to go out alone?” he asks, the way he talks is somewhere between teasing and serious. you can't quiet get what it is but something about it grates on your nerves, like he's playing at being concerned but in a way that feels almost mocking.

“i could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, meeting his gaze head on.

he doesn’t flinch, only tilts his head slightly. “i always come here,” he says, his voice calm, almost like a matterof fact.

“same,” you respond. “during the day.”

he quirks a brow, “so why are you in my night shift?”

you scoff, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. “this isn’t your place or ‘shift,’ you know."

“well, you come here during the day; i come here at night. sounds like shifts to me,” he says with a shrug, and you catch the playfulness on his face.

“guess i’m overtiming, then,” you say, glancing away to hide your own smirk. “don’t mind me.”

he stays silent.

“you’ve got your own shit to deal with, huh?” he says, his voice breaking the quiet.

“why are you talking to me?” you blurt out, catching him a little off guard. “i mean, you don’t even know me.”

he raises an eyebrow, unphased. “i could ask you the same thing,” he replies, mimicking your answer from before.

you narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “i don’t think i want to talk about my problems with a random stranger.”

“problems…” he echoes, looking you up and down like he’s trying to figure you out. “let me guess. got into a fight with your boyfriend?”

“no,” you say quickly, rolling your eyes. “i don’t have one.” for a second, you think you catch a flicker of surprise on his face. “what about you? girlfriend mad at you?”

his face shifts, something almost vulnerable passing over his features before he looks away. “guess you could say that,” he mutters. “since she broke things off with me.”

a silence stretches between you two.

“i’m… sorry to hear that,” you finally say, feeling the awkwardness settle around you.

you didn't expect that.

honestly, the idea of someone like him getting dumped hadn’t even crossed your mind. a guy who looks like that—that intense aura—doesn’t exactly seem like the type to get left behind.

you assumed he’d be the one calling the shots, the one walking away. but here he is, single and clearly dealing with the aftermath of something that’s weighing on him. its surprising.

a thought crosses yourmind.

if someone could leave him, someone who had a place in his life and a claim to his heart, maybe he’s not as perfect as he seems on the outside. maybe there’s something beneath the surface, something that’s harder to deal with than his looks would suggest.

it’s like a puzzle you didn’t even mean to start solving, yet here you are, wondering if there’s more to him than just that handsome face.

but then you shake the thought away. he’s a stranger. a random guy you happened to bump into, quite literally, at a park in the middle of the night. it’s not like you’ll see him again after tonight. or, at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

because, really, why should you care?

whatever his story is, it’s none of your business.

“anyway, hope you figure your problems out.” he says, his gaze flickering away as if he’s eager to dodge any deeper conversation.

“likewise,” you reply.

without warning, he pulls a lollipop from his pocket, holding it out to you. “here,” he says, waiting for you to take it.

you reach out slowly, raising an eyebrow. “thanks?”

he smirks, “again, did your parents never tell you not to take candy from strangers?”

“maybe i like to be a little rebellious,” you say, smirking back at him and he shakes his head smiling.

“well, go ahead, eat it. i don’t want you tossing it away. i spent a lot on that sucker,” he says, a playful grin spreading across his face. despite the oddness of the moment, a corner of your mouth quirks up.

you unwrap the lollipop, examining it with a critical eye before giving him a look that says it all.

he catches it, tilting his head in curiosity. “what?”

“i don’t think i like raspberry flavor,” you admit, holding the lollipop up like a trophy of sorts.

he squints at you, “you’ve never tasted one before?”

you shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. “i don’t like raspberries, so i’m guessing this is more of the same.”

he shakes his head, lips twitching into a smirk. “that’s pretty bold, making assumptions without even trying it.”

“just give it a taste; maybe you'll like it,” he suggests, a teasing smile forming on his lips, clearly wanting you to try it. deep down, he doesn't even like raspberry flavor; he just picked it out randomly at the store.

“uh, no thanks. i don’t want that nasty taste on my tongue,” you reply, scrunching your nose a little . “but thanks, you could have—”

your words are abruptly cut off as he grabs your hand, the lollipop still held tightly between your fingers. in one swift motion, he leans in, wrapping his mouth around it. his tongue swirls around the candy, and then he pulls it out, his lips glistening with a reddish-pink hue that matches the flavor.

you're completely taken aback, eyes widening in shock.

oh what the fuck.

“yeah, you’re right. it does taste nasty,” he says, licking his lips as he releases your hand. “give it to me, i'll just throw it away or something”

suddenly, the lollipop feels trivial compared to what he just did. you stand there, completely speechless, your mind and heart racing as you try to process what jus happened.

“what?” he stares at you.

“you’re good with your tongue,” you say, the words slipping out before you can really think them through.

he pauses, his eyes widening for a second, and he chokes on nothing, almost like he’s been caught off guard mid-breath. “uh, what?” he finally manages, blinking rapidly.

realizing how that might’ve sounded, “i just meant... the lollipop. you seemed pretty skilled with it,” you clarify, though you’re aware it’s not really helping.

what are you even trying to say?

he looks at you, a smirk playing on his lips now. “uh-huh, sure,” he says, teasing you. “that’s what you meant.”

you roll your eyes, trying to play it cool. “don’t flatter yourself, i was just making an observation.”

but the way he’s looking at you now, dark eyes glittering with amusement and something else you can’t quite place, makes it hard to pretend that slip of the tongue didn’t mean more than you intended.

“so, do you want to suck on it?”

“huh?” you blink.

suck on what now?

“the lollipop” he clarifies, a small smile playing on his lips.

oh.

you clear your throat, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “no, definitely not, especially now that you had your tongue all over it.” you try to scrunch your nose, but any attempt at showing disgust falls flat with the heat rising in your cheeks.

“alright then, just asking if you changed your mind,” he shrugs, still holding your gaze.

“i still don’t want it,” you say quickly, trying to sound convincing.

“okay.” he blinks, unfazed.

“okay,” you repeat, awkwardly.

he gestures to the lollipop still in your hand. “uh, so… are you gonna keep holding it?”

you glance down, pulling your hand back. “i’m gonna throw it away,” you declare, though it feels a bit ridiculous now, given everything that just happened.

“i hope so,” he says, one side of his lips quirking up.

why do you kind of like his smile?

you try to shake your thought off, tossing the lollipop into a nearby trash can, trying to act as casual as possible.

“well, guess that's the end of that,” you say, hoping to sound nonchalant. he nods as he crosses his arms.

you raise an eyebrow, mimicking his stance. “do you usually hand out half-eaten lollipops to strangers?”

he laughs, low and soft, the sound surprisingly warm in the quiet night. “only when they look like they need a little distraction.”

you tilt your head. “oh? and what made you think i needed one?”

his eyes meet yours, his expression softening. “just a hunch,” he says, his voice dropping to a murmur. “we all got stuff we’d rather not think about, right?”

a pause.

there’s something unspoken between you two, a quiet understanding in the way you hold each other’s gaze.

he's right.

you are stressing about things you'd rather not think about, things that seem to cling to your mind no matter how hard you try to push them away.

and then there's him, a stranger but somehow not, going through his own mess. you can see it in his tired eyes, the way he keeps looking off into the distance as if trying to shake off whatever weight he's carrying.

you realize you don’t mind it; you don’t mind his company, or even the strange comfort of this shared silence.

both of you are here, each trying to forget whatever it is that’s eating at you. maybe that’s why this moment feels so easy.

”yeah,” you finally say, “guess we do.”

“i gotta go now,” you announce, hoping to put an end to whatever weird tension is building between the two of you.

he doesn't say anything. no goodbyes, no attempts to stop you. so you turn and start walking away, trying to shake off whatever just happened.

but before you can take more than a few steps, his hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist. you stop, surprised, and turn back to face him. his grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to make you pause.

you meet his gaze, and there's something in his eyes—something intense, something that makes your stomach flip.

“would you like a distraction?” he asks, voice low, almost like a whisper meant just for you.

you blink, not sure if you heard him right. “what?” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

instead of answering, he tugs you gently closer. your body stumbles forward, and your hands land on his chest to steady yourself. his heartbeat is strong under your palm, and suddenly, everything feels too close, too intense.

he looks down at you, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s searching for something. “i think i do,” he mutters. “don’t you?”

your mind is racing, trying to make sense of this.

is he asking what you think he’s asking?

he’s a stranger. someone you barely know beyond a couple of conversations and an awkward encounter in a convenience store.

yet there’s something about the way he’s looking at you, something that makes it hard to think straight.

“yes,” you hear yourself say before you can even process it.

his lips curve into a satisfied smile, and without another word, he leans in and kisses you.

the world seems to stop as his mouth meets yours. it’s not hesitant or soft; it’s urgent, as if he’s been wanting this for longer than the short time you’ve known him. his hands slide up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he deepens the kiss.

your fingers clutch his shirt, feeling the heat of his body against yours. it’s messy and impulsive, and he doesn't even care that you’re both in the middle of a park, under the dim glow of the streetlights.

right now, all you can think about is him. the way he tastes, the way he kisses you desperately.

maybe you do need this distraction.

his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his neck, letting the kiss deepen. his lips are soft, and you moan as if you're melting into the kiss. there's something about the way his mouth moves against yours; like he's been waiting to do this.

“wait—” you pant as pull back, your heart pounding against your ribs, trying to gather your thoughts. he looks into your eyes, his brows furrowing slightly as he asks in a low voice, “what happened?”

“we're... we're outside,” you point out, glancing around.

he tilts his head, his brows raising slightly as if that’s the least of his concerns. “so?” his voice is low and almost teasing, like he finds your hesitation cute.

you let out a scoffing laugh, “what do you mean so?wee’re literally in a children’s park.” you gesture to the swings and slides nearby, deserted at this hour but still... it’s a public space.

he pauses for a second, “my car’s parked just over there,” he nods towards a sleek vehicle at the edge of the park, his lips curling into a smile. “we could, uh... relocate or—”

before you can even process that, your curiosity gets the better of you. “wait— you have a car?” you cut in, a little surprised.

he chuckles. “yeah, and it’s a pretty one at that.” there’s a glint in his eyes that says he’s enjoying this back-and-forth with you, like it’s some sort of game.

you sigh, still trying to wrap your head around the craziness of this entire situation. “okay,” you murmur, almost to yourself, deciding to just go with it. what’s the worst that could happen?

he releases his grip on you, but only so he can grab your hand and guide you towards the car. the walk feels a little awkward now, a heavy tension hanging in the air. you're not sure what to say.

what’s the protocol for walking towards a car with a guy you’re about to hook up with?

as if sensing your nerves, he gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “come on, my car’s comfy. don’t worry,” he says with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. the way he’s holding your hand... it’s surprisingly tender, making it feel just a little less awkward.

when you reach the car, he opens the back seat door for you. you hesitate for a second, “you won’t, like, kidnap me or something, right?” you half-joke.

he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “for someone who’s so aware of the things you shouldn’t be doing, you sure do them anyway,” he teases. his words send a shiver down your spine, both a warning and an invitation.

but you ignore that nagging voice in the back of your mind. instead, you climb into the seat and he follows you right away.

“why are you—” your words are cut off as he crashes his lips against yours, the urgency in his kiss making you lose your breath. one of his hands grips your waist, pulling you against him, while the other tangles in your hair, tugging gently to tilt your head for better access.

the way his lips move against yours, hot and hungry, sends sparks shooting down your spine, and before you know it, you're moaning into his mouth, matching his intensity. your hands scramble to find something to hold onto, eventually locking behind his neck as if he's your lifeline.

“are we seriously gonna fuck in your car?” you gasp, your words shaky when he pulls away just enough to start trailing hot kisses down the side of your neck. your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, drawing him closer.

“no,” he breathes and sucks on a sensitive spot just beneath your ear, his teeth grazing the skin before he soothes it with a slow lick. “just couldn’t stop myself,” he admits, voice low and breathy, and then his mouth is back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that makes your head spin.

your hands move restlessly over his broad shoulders, wanting to feel more, wishing his clothes were gone so you could touch him everywhere.

his hands roam your body like he's memorizing it, fingers pressing into the curves of your waist, teasingly brushing against your chest. each touch has you arching into him, wishing he'd just tear your clothes apart already.

it's all too good.

too overwhelming, and before you know it, five minutes have passed with the two of you tangled in each other. when he finally pulls back, panting, his lips are swollen and glistening. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you try to catch your breath, both of you staring at each other in the dim light of the car.

he’s leaning back slightly, his hard on pressing against your thigh. it’s impossible not to notice how turned on he is, and it only makes your own arousal spike.

you're so fucking wet right now.

you’re laid back on the seat, eyes locked on him, watching the way he runs a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing it back revealing his forehead.

“hotel? or my place?” he asks, trying to catch his breath “hotel’s just a minute away, but my place… well, it’s a bit further.”

you can practically see the options laid out in your mind like a checklist.

a) go to the hotel, have your fun, and slip away without looking back. no strings, no regrets. just a quick fuck and disappear like it never happened.

b) go to his place, let him fuck the shit out of you, see if he’s worth all this heat between your thighs. maybe wake up in his bed with his arms still wrapped around you... and if he's good enough, maybe get his number so it doesn’t have to be a one time thing.

you bite your lip, your decision already made before you even realize it.

“yours.”

the drive to his apartment is quick, the tension between you both barely held back. you're glad it’s late at night, because the two of you can’t seem to keep your hands off each other and you don't want anyone witnessing it.

the second you step into his apartment, the door slams shut behind you, and it's a scramble to rid each other of clothing. shirts are yanked off, belts undone, pants shoved down until you're both stumbling towards his bedroom in a mess of heated kisses and needy touches.

“o-oh fuck—yes baby, suck it just like that,” jungkook throws his head back, moaning, his breath ragged. he’s sprawled on the bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets. you're on your knees between his thighs, sucking him hard, your lips stretching around his thick length.

you glance up at him, eyes half lidded, watching the way his abs flex as he tries to keep himself steady. “shit... you look so fucking hot,” he rasps out, voice rough. his gaze darkens, and he pushes himself up, one hand threading through your hair.

“can you take it, baby?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

you know exactly what he’s asking. you nod, barely managing it with your mouth full, and he smiles, almost wickedly, his eyes gleaming.

“good,” he murmurs, his grip tightening just enough on your hair. “tap me if it’s too much.” and with that, he starts moving his hips, fucking into your mouth with slow, deep thrusts.

you gag slightly as he pushes deeper, but you relax your throat, trying to take him in. the room is filled with the wet, obscene sounds of him moving in and out, his groans echoing off the walls.

“fuck—you’re taking me so well, baby,” he praises, his voice thick and raspy, sending a wave of heat straight to your core. each time his cock hits the back of your throat, it forces a choked gasp from him, his hands instinctively tightening in your hair.

your eyes water, tears pooling at your lashes, but you don’t stop, even as your throat aches. your nails dig into his firm thighs, using them for balance as he fucks your throat. you want to show him just how much you can handle.

“i’m gonna—” he grunts, voice rough and strained. a hot burst of his release fills your mouth, and you swallow it all, not breaking eye contact with him for a second. his chest heaves as he watches you, mesmerized, as your tongue slides slowly along his length, cleaning up every drop. his jaw clenches, the sight clearly driving him wild.

“get up,” he orders, voice still a little breathless, and you obey instantly, letting him pull you to your feet. “on the bed, all fours.”

you get onto the mattress, positioning yourself as he asked. there's a moment of stillness as you feel his gaze roam over your exposed body. your heart races, anticipation building as you wait for his next move.

“you’re dripping,” he murmurs, leaning in closer until his breath is hot against your soaked core. he licks a slow, deliberate stripe along your folds, and your eyes flutter shut, a soft, breathy moan escaping your lips. his mouth envelops your pussy, sucking and licking with an rhythm that makes your thighs tremble.

he pulls back just enough to catch his breath before moving up, positioning himself between your legs. his right hand trails upward, skimming over your skin until his fingers brush against your lips.

instinctively, you part them, taking his fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around them. the low chuckle that escapes him tells you just how much he enjoys it.

“you like that, hm?” he asks. you moan softly around his fingers, your response muffled but desperate.

he withdraws his fingers, his lips curving into a satisfied smirk. leaning down, he wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you slightly until your back is against his chest. you can feel his length pressing against your ass, you move your hips a little causing a little friction.

his hands slide over your breasts, kneading them with just enough pressure to send shivers down your spine.

you melt into his touch, your head lolling back against his shoulder as his fingers pinch and roll your hardened nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

“want me to fuck you, baby?” his voice is soft against your shoulder as he places feather light kisses along your skin. he nips gently, his hands never stopping their teasing, and you can’t help the whimper that escapes when his fingers pinch just a bit harder.

“y-yes,” you mewl, voice shaky with need, “fuck me, jungkook.”

he squeezes your breasts harder, a groan rumbling from his chest as he sinks his teeth lightly into the curve of your shoulder.

“yeah? can i fuck you raw?” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a whimper. “p-please.”

his grip on you loosens slightly, and he leans back to look at you, his eyes dark, like he's stopping himself. “you sure?” he asks, one last time, his tone gentle but urgent.

you nod quickly, breathless. “i’m on the pill,” you assure him, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“fuck. okay, bend over.”

without hesitation, you resume your previous position, arching your back and presenting yourself to him. he groans softly at the sight, his hand sliding down to rub slow circles over your entrance.

he teases you, slipping a finger inside, making you moan softly as your walls flutter around him. he withdraws his finger, watching the way you clench around nothing, desperate for more.

grabbing his cock, he taps the swollen tip against your slick hole. you whine, impatience leaking into your voice, “just fuck me already.”

a smirk curves his lips, and without another word, he pushes into you.

you grip the sheets tightly as you take him in fully, your walls stretching to accommodate his thick length. a choked gasp escapes your lips, eyes squeezing shut at the delicious burn that quickly morphs into pleasure.

each inch fills you so completely, leaving you breathless, your body trembling at the feeling.

“fuck,” he groans behind you, his voice low and rough, a sound that makes your toes curl. “you’re so tight, baby... taking me so fucking good.” the words are almost a growl, filled with barely restrained control as he fights the urge to pound into you.

his hands move to your hips, gripping them hard enough to leave marks, steadying himself as he sinks even deeper.

your moans spill freely now, raw and needy, muffled slightly by the pillow you bury your face into. he starts to move, slowly at first, pulling out just enough before thrusting back in, his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside you.

the rhythm is torturously slow, each stroke making you whimper, your back arching even further in a silent plea for more.

“please... more,” you manage to gasp out, your voice shaky. “jungkook, i need it.. need you.”

“yeah?” he rasps, picking up the pace, thrusts becoming sharper, each one driving you into the mattress. “want it harder, baby? want me to ruin you?”

“yes.. yes mmph- more!” you cry, your voice breaking as he slams into you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. your nails claw at the sheets, the friction of his hips against your ass making stars dance behind your eyelids.

his fingers snake around to your front, finding your swollen clit, and he rubs it in tight, quick circles. your entire body jolts, your hips bucking back against him as you let out a loud, broken moan.

“oh, fuck, that’s it, that's a good fucking girl,” he hisses, feeling you clench around him, your walls fluttering as you near the edge.

“you’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growls against your ear, bending over you now, his hot breath fanning against your neck. he bites down on your shoulder, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to drive you wild.

“you're gonna cum like the good girl you are?”

“yes n-ngh.. i’m close.. s-so close,” you whimper, your thighs trembling uncontrollably. his fingers press harder against your clit, his thrusts turning frantic.

“cum with me, baby” he demands, his voice thick and commanding. that’s all it takes. your body shatters. your vision going white as you scream his name. your walls squeeze him so tightly, milking his cock, and with a deep, guttural groan, he loses himself too, spilling inside you as his thrusts grow sloppy.

he stays buried inside you, his chest heaving against your back, both of you panting heavily. he leans down to press soft, lazy kisses along your shoulder.

after everything that just happened. you've made up your mind.

you're definitely going to ask for his number.

a/n: erm.. don't get into random strangers cars !! haha

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