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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 2 months ago

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FIREFLIES NEVER CAME ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your seat is close to the heater. that’s the only reason gojo comes there to warm up.

word count; 4.2k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, teen!satoru, set in a canon au, mutual pining, fluff, a little bittersweet (melancholic winter vibes <3), introvert/extrovert, reader is antisocial and dense as a brick (black cat vibes :3), also kind of self-deprecating, satoru is very shoujo manga coded, just lots of puppy love!! feat. wingman!suguru <3

a/n; this wasn’t meant to be a fic …… it was gonna be really short and sweet ……… (T_T) anyway i am very fond of this reader/character dynamic so i hope you enjoy reading abt my emotionally stunted kids 🫶 biggest mwah in the world dedicated to professor logan (@staryukis) for teaching me about physics so i could find a loophole in satoru’s infinity :3c all for the sake of lore-accurate (kinda) fluff <3

”what are you listening to?”

your seat is close to the heater.

it was nothing but a lucky draw, really. yaga-sensei was organizing the desks when you transferred, and so he gave you the first choice; one you had no trouble making, latching on to the chair in the very back, right by the window, right by the sole heater of the room. vital for surviving your chilly winter classes.

so there you sit. a warmth sneaks through your fuzzy socks, tends to your restless legs. your feet tap and tap, on the cold floorboards, in rhythm with your never-ending thoughts, spinning like a planet in orbit.

through the fogged-up, frosted glass of the window to your left, you observe the world. headphones covering your ears, safe and snug, muffling all noise. you watch as snow falls, wholly entranced, eyes stuck on the icy snowflakes descending from the wool-gray sky — blanketing the frostbitten landscape of the courtyard. it’s pretty, all those skeletal trees, glittering and gleaming like they have something to say. sometimes they look like stars.

”… hey. did you hear me?”

gojo is being particularly chatty, today.

out of the corner of your eye, you see him wave his hand right in front of your face. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s rude; he must be used to all eyes being on him, from the moment he speaks.

with a flutter of your lashes, you lift your weary head. meeting his gaze, the blurry shine of your own visage, reflected in his circle-frame glasses. a soft tilt of his head, and then his lips are twitching upwards, just barely, snowy strands gliding across his forehead and falling over his face. like an excited puppy.

”what are you listening to?”

you read the words off his lips, all sound muffled by your headphones. quick to lift one of your hands, pulling one one of the heavy ear cushions away — letting all white noise in the room flood your senses. the snarls of the wind outside, ieiri’s laughter, the scribbling of geto’s pen against paper.

it’s overwhelming, but a small price to pay. his voice is softer than usual, during moments like these; there’s a pleasant lull to it.

gojo tips his head to the right, still awaiting your response. all you can do is stare, watching your own reflection, fingers gripping onto the edge of your desk. as if seeking to ground yourself.

with a spoonful of hesitance, you part your lips.

”… do you like music?”

the words seep out into the air, a softly exhaled breath. gojo watches you, silently, for just a moment.

then he gives you a shrug.

”i guess?” he hums, shifting his weight from one foot to another — hand slipping into the pocket of his uniform. ”that’s more suguru’s thing.”

ah.

your mouth forms around the syllable, as if responding, but not making any sound. gaze fleeing from his glasses, crumbling under their weight, straying towards the frosted window to your left. safe, familiar, rotting trees and twitching branches. snow just as pure as the boy in front of you.

silence overtakes you both, once more.

”... not gonna answer?” he asks, with another tilt of his head, absently rocking side to side as he lets out an exhale. ”is it a secret, or something?”

(it is, you think. but you can’t say it out loud.)

before you can part your lips again, the classroom door slides open — and you know it’s yaga-sensei just by the way his feet hit the floorboards, the decisive weight behind every step. you know even before he’s telling you to get back to your seats.

on cue, gojo stands up straighter, shooting you another glance. bright-eyed, easy-going, every star in the sky leaping out from the glimpse you get of his eyes when he angles his body. two blue pools, flecked with white, like frozen puddles in the street.

and then he’s strolling away.

gojo leaves, and you take off your headphones; stretching your legs underneath the desk. reaching for your ballpoint pencil, flipping open your textbook, and indulging in sleepy blinks, as yaga begins to drone on and on. you stifle a yawn with the sleeve of your blazer, resting your jaw on the heel of your palm. eyes inevitably straying towards a head of white hair.

but your name is called before you can get lost in your daydreams.

”page 27, from the top.”

your chair scrapes against the floorboards, as you sluggishly stand up. holding onto your textbook, flipping the pages until you land on the correct passage. with shaky hands, not enough to notice, you read out loud; voice controlled, almost monotone. all you can think is that you feel his frost-clad eyes on you, from the row straight ahead.

but you continue to speak. you speak until you reach the end of the page, until you’re allowed to take your seat again, happy to feel the warmth of the heater radiate against your legs. it’s this warmth that’s important, the most important thing of all.

without it, gojo wouldn’t bother to stop by your desk.

nearly every recess, as soon as yaga leaves the classroom, he’s waltzing over — leaning against the wall, stretching his arms out, purring contentedly as heat spreads throughout his body. you think he must run cold. chatting with you, just to pass the time, just until your teacher comes back. just to warm up.

then he’s leaving, again.

that’s all it is. a cold boy, and a heater by your desk — a conversation that otherwise wouldn’t have occured. even the strongest is vulnerable to changes in temperature, you suppose.

if warmth is all that binds him to you, it’s bound to dwindle away.

(you’re sure he’ll stop as soon as spring comes.)

the next day, gojo is nowhere to be seen. you saw yaga-sensei drag him out of the classroom this morning; something about a clan meeting, something you weren’t paying attention to.

but now you wish you had.

(it’s quiet, without him around. eerily so.)

with nothing to lose, and nothing else to do — you push your chair away from your desk, and walk up to your classmate, a question on your mind.

”… music? are you looking for recommendations?”

you nod.

geto blinks. caught off guard, you’re sure, surprised that you’d approach him without any prior coaxing. he’s usually the one striking up a conversation with you, like a responsible class president, making sure the weird kid doesn’t feel left out. you’re almost certain he doesn’t realize that it’s patronizing.

”hmm... well, that depends.” he gives you a smile, soft around the edges. it never feels as genuine as gojo’s, but it’s calming. ”what kind of music do you usually listen to?”

…

you glance down at the floor. bundling up the cuffs of your uniform, fingers clawing softly at the fabric, bottom lip trapped between two sets of teeth.

”… what kind of music does gojo like?”

silence. your words are barely spoken, just above a whisper, just like always, but geto picks up on them anyway. you can tell he does, can feel the weight of his keen eyes on your face. analytical.

then he parts his lips.

”… ohhh.” a low hum, ripe with meaning, buzzing at the bottom of his throat. the corners of his lips quirk up into a knowing smile. ”i see.”

heat rushes to your cheeks, blossoms under your skin. if he notices, he’s even more composed than you thought he was, because he doesn’t mention it. only continues to speak, in that soothing voice, crossing his arms in silent thought.

”hmm…” you follow his gaze, out towards the window, the same webs of frost as always. it’s not snowing, but you still can’t see the blue of the sky. ”i’ve never seen him listen to music before, so i wouldn’t know.”

you can’t help but deflate, at that.

geto only smiles. exhaling, through his nose, mildly humoured — though he’s good at hiding his amusement. ”… what do you think that means?”

a blink. your lashes flutter, as you gaze up at him.

”… huh?”

”satoru doesn’t listen to music, but he wants to know what you’re listening to.” he says the words almost coachingly, like he’s listing off a string of numbers. you realize he must have been listening in on your conversation, but it doesn’t bother you nearly as much as his tone. ”what do you think that means?”

…

(you haven’t got a clue.)

geto lets out a chuckle, laced with mirth, no longer trying to hide it. paired with a soft shake of his head, a crinkle to the corners of his eyes. ”why do you want to know about his taste in music, then?”

(… that’s a good question.)

he seems to notice your hesitance, your apprehension, the way your teeth seek to trap your bottom lip; always the victim of your muddled mind. you know the answer, of course you do — but it isn’t something you want others knowing.

thankfully, geto breaks the silence for you.

”i don’t think you need to try so hard, when it comes to him.” his voice is soft, almost sincere, something warmer than usual. glancing away when you meet his eyes. ”… he isn’t worth the effort, anyway.”

but that’s where he’s wrong.

satoru gojo is a special case. a special person. in the orbit of your life, there’s no star you’d rather keep — no one quite as ripe with colour.

geto couldn’t possibly understand, because gojo is always with him — always orbiting around him. he always will, until you graduate, probably even beyond that. geto has him. they’re the strongest, a pair, always matching their steps to one another. but you only have these quiet days, these chilly classes in between never-ending missions — and that’s all.

when the frost outside the window thaws, gojo will surely stop visiting your desk. your lonely little world.

that’s exactly why — you need to find a song. if you just teach him about something wonderful enough, if you can give him something other than warmth…

(… maybe he’ll stay with you even after spring comes.)

”next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?”

geto’s suggestion breaks you out of your thoughts. when you raise your head, to meet the warm pools of amber in his eyes, he gives you a smile. there’s nothing patronizing about the way he’s looking at you now — if anything, you think it may even be slightly fond, but you can never tell what he’s actually feeling. he’s frightening, like that, always a mirror to whatever situation he finds himself in. a chameleon, tilting his head at you.

… though you can’t help but fall victim to the kindness in his eyes. the velveteen purr of his voice.

”i’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

a nervous pit opens up in your chest, an empty space that gnaws incessantly at your heart. will he?, you want to ask, but it feels like the words are made out of lead. you can’t get them out of your throat.

”… okay,” is all you end up whispering, a soft lull of your tongue. ”i’ll try… thank you.”

geto rewards you with a full smile.

”don’t mention it.”

spring is closer than you thought.

it’s all you can think, when you step onto the pavement, when you feel the morning air gnaw at your frostbitten cheeks. it’s freezing, it’s winter, but the signs of changing seasons are still there — a lonesome snowdrop, the crackle of an icy puddle beneath your feet. the frost is beginning to thaw.

in a month or so, spring will be here — there’s no stopping it.

”did you bring your card?”

your headphones rest around your neck, allowing you to listen in on your classmates' conversation. all four of you are together, for once, all first-years, walking towards the nearest konbini — at gojo’s insistence.

it’s been a week since you had that talk with geto, but you still haven’t made any progress with him.

”huh? was i supposed to?”

”… are you kidding me?”

you glance up at the pair. always walking just a little bit ahead, their tall statures obscuring the view in front of you; shoko lags behind, with lazy steps, a trail of tobacco drifting out into the crispy air. all while snowflakes fall from the sky, gently, landing in your hair, on your shoulders, melting on the inside of your palm when you hold it out to catch them. watching as they turn into droplets of water, slip through the gaps between your fingers.

someone taps your shoulder.

geto has snowflakes stuck in his hair. they’re melting, in the strands of ink-black framing his face, matching the colour of the thick polo jacket he’s wearing. a bright red scarf is tied around his throat, and there’s a weighty look in his eyes — something telling.

a silent cue.

he falls back, slowly but surely, into ieiri’s lazy pace. not before murmuring something unintelligible to gojo, and shooting you a wink — one that makes you frown, confused, a low heat blooming at the base of your spine and crawling up your neck.

and then you realize what he’s done.

gojo is looking right at you, through the black glass of his specs. only wearing a baseball jacket, no gloves or scarves to keep him warm, despite the harsh bite of the open air. for a guy who runs cold, he must not put much thought into his clothing.

more importantly…

it’s just the two of you, now.

you blink at him, silent as a mouse. it only takes a moment for him to start moving, for you to follow, taking your place beside him while staring right ahead. if he’s bothered by geto slinking away, he doesn’t show it — only continues to walk.

”… that’s so unfair.”

gojo’s voice breaks the silence. you turn your head to gaze at him, the way his lips wrap around the vowels, haphazardly hanging onto every word he speaks.

”just ’cause i have clan money,” he kicks at a pebble on the side of the road, wisps of white hair swaying with a shake of his head, ”suguru thinks i should pay for our snacks. isn’t that unfair?”

you hesitate. then you nod along, absently.

he seems to take that as a yes, because it makes him brighten — as if gleaming with your approval, standing a little straighter, puffing out his chest with an exhale that turns into white smoke.

”right? they only give it to me because they want me to come back to kyoto, anyway…” he trails off, holding the tip of his tongue between his lips. ”… not that it matters. anyway, i just think he’s oppressive.”

”… mm.”

from this angle, you can see a sliver of his eyes. can see the way he steals a glance at you, without even turning his head — hands slipping into his pockets. there’s a moment of silence, until he’s parting his lips again.

”… i can buy some for you, though.”

(you barely pick up on the words, spoken almost in a whisper — as if an afterthought.)

he clears his throat.

”… if you don’t have the money, i mean.”

you can’t help but blink, at that — lashes fluttering in rapid succession, wondering if you heard him correctly. he doesn’t seem keen on elaborating, though. walking on, ignoring all snowflakes descending from the sky, eager to nuzzle in between his locks. his infinity keeps them out.

”… why?”

it’s all you can say. all you can verbalize.

(in a story like this, why would the brightest star of all orbit around someone like you?)

gojo gives you another glance. his iris cuts into your skin, observes you on what you’re sure must be a molecular level. he lets silence linger, for a moment, tipping his head back to look up at the sky.

gray, and more gray. flecks of white. you’d see the same thing he does.

”hmm…” he lets out a breath, head falling forward again, snowy strands ghosting against the skin of his forehead. ”let’s call it a trade.”

another series of blinks.

gojo turns towards you, then — a fresh grin blooming on his lips. white teeth, pink gums. it makes him look boyish, innocent, just another city boy with too much time on his hands.

”i buy you snacks — and you tell me what music you’re always listening to.” he bends his body forward, tilts his head at the same time, all lanky and charming, like a big cat. ”deal?”

you stay silent.

he’s looking at your headphones, still left neglected around your neck. your gaze falls down to the icy concrete, the thin layer of frost, waiting to be melted by the first sunrays of spring. whenever that will be.

geto and shoko are still behind you — you can hear their low, muffled chatter, smell the remnants of tobacco in the air. and you swear you can practically hear geto’s words, echoing through your head.

(why do you think that is?)

gojo is still looking at you. expectantly, lips curled up into a lazy smile. he’s waiting, you know he is, and you also know he isn’t very good at that. you know a lot of things — what you don’t know is what to say. you don’t know if you can believe in whatever geto was insinuating, don’t know if you can grapple with your own longing to do so.

(next time, why don’t you say what’s on your mind?)

geto doesn’t get it. he doesn’t know what your feelings towards gojo truly look like. doesn’t know that what’s on your mind when he’s around is always something horrifically embarrassing. something like, i want to know more about you, or maybe i wish i could tell you more about me. something awfully cheesy, like — i’m jealous of how bright you shine, but i can’t help but like you anyway.

if i become your friend, would it be okay to say i understand your loneliness? that i notice it, even just by a fraction?

would that be okay with you?

(words that should be left unspoken.)

”… well, it’s not like you have to.” gojo exhales, again, the words a heavy weight seeping past his throat. his shoulders slump, as he turns forward, fingers trailing up to scratch at the back of his neck.

all you can think is that he’s getting ready to leave. that nothing will change, at this rate, that spring will wash winter away. that geto should be more direct with his advice, and that if it’s not the music itself that gojo is interested in knowing more about, then surely —

” — i don’t listen to anything.”

gojo stills. the words have flown past your lips before you can reach out and grasp them, slicing through the open air.

he spins around, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose at the sudden motion, exposing his widened eyes. those white lashes, fluttering softly, like a pair of doves eager to get above ground. you grip onto the insides of your pockets, warm and cozy against your freezing hands — it grounds you, keeps you tethered down to earth, down to him.

”music,” you continue, sputtering slightly, as if your lungs don’t quite know how to work under pressure. winter air seeps into your windpipe, cuts the skin there. ”i don’t listen to music.”

you lift your hands, fingers curling around the soft earmuffs wrapped around your neck, hesitantly meeting gojo’s gaze — an overlapping sequence, blanketing his view. then you’re gazing down.

”it’s just… comforting,” you try to explain, speaking softly. ”to wear them. white noise.. tires me out, so…”

the sentence trails off, unfinished. you feel silly. silly for saying anything at all, for building it up so much. silly for being the way that you are.

but when you look up at gojo, he’s brightened like a star.

white teeth, pink gums, that breathtakingly boyish grin. his blue eyes gleam with colour, almost spilling over the corners, like watercolour paint on a too-small canvas. he tilts his head, looking at you carefully, as if truly seeing you for the first time; absently swaying side to side.

if he had a tail, you’re sure it’d be wagging.

”i see!”

a silent breath spills into the air. your lips part, but no sound comes out, only vapour; heart pumping blood through your writhing veins, warming you up from the inside, a co-conspirator to the heat blooming in your cheeks. gojo continues to speak.

”i guess that counts,” he nods, crossing his arms with a satisfied hum. ”alright. i’ll get you any snacks you want! you can be greedy, it’s okay.”

a murmur of thanks escapes you, although you’d like to tell him there’s no need. something tells you denying him this would be like taking another step backwards, in this budding connection between you.

(… if you can even call it that.)

geto and ieiri catch up to your unmoving figures, finally, and only then does gojo spin on his heel and pick up his previous pace. calling back to you over his shoulder, a smile you can’t see but still hear.

”just don’t give any of it to those two, yeah?”

”cheapskate,” ieiri calls back, lone cigarette hanging between her lips. geto lets out something like a chuckle, his shoulder brushing up against yours.

you watch gojo’s back as he moves forward. unbothered, untethered. you think of him a snowflake in the breeze.

spring is almost here, now. it’s a bittersweet feeling, to know your conversations during recess will surely dwindle out — but at least you’ll have had this. one normal conversation, the knowledge that he was curious about you, even if you may just be the classmate by the heater in his eyes.

you’re too cold to keep him warm all on your own, so there’s no helping it. you’re willing to accept that some stars only show from the surface during winter.

you’re willing to accept this. it aches, a little, but you’ll be okay.

”i’ll take it things went well, then?”

geto is wearing his signature smile, when you look up at him. an expression of carefully concealed composure, lips curled up, but a knowing look in his eyes — something that borders on teasing.

you give him a nod, a bow of your head, to silently convey your appreciation. chameleon or not, you don’t really mind his ways. it’s hard to fake the warmth in his voice, when he speaks.

”i’m glad.”

the two of you watch gojo’s back, like birds gazing out at a body of water. silence lingers.

”won’t that moron get cold?”

ieiri’s voice cuts through the mold of your mind, low and gravelly, right beside you. she’s pointing towards gojo — the flimsy jacket he’s wearing.

you’re wondering the same thing.

geto casts her a glance over your head, before gazing down at you, seemingly noticing your curiosity. he lets out a low hum; reaching a hand out to brush away the snowflakes on his shoulders.

”temperature,” he begins, slipping his hands into his pockets; that familiar coaching tone to his voice, purposefully slow. ”is just a measure of atoms in rapid motion.”

you tilt your head, in tandem with ieiri — looking to your classmate for further elaboration. he seems to enjoy your confusion, lips curling up just a bit. gojo calls out to you, in the distance, waving both his hands, and geto returns it with a wave of his own.

an amber eye flicks towards you, an explanation on his tongue. ”his infinity can regulate that motion.”

… another tilt of your head.

geto lets out an amused breath. it scatters out into the air, a cloud of smoke, almost a chuckle.

”basically…” he sighs. ”he does just fine, in the cold. don’t worry about it. he’ll keep himself warm.”

ieiri mutters something, beneath her breath, something like you could have just said no, but you don’t really hear it. you think your heart must have climbed up, somehow; got caught in your windpipe.

ah.

gojo can keep himself warm.

the thought spins inside your mind, over and over, a realization that makes your inner palms feel clammy. stupid, silly, this pitter-patter of your heartbeat. but what else could it mean? if the cold doesn’t bother him, if he doesn’t run cold, then…

(he wouldn’t need it. he wouldn’t need it here, wouldn’t need it during recess, within the chilly walls of your classroom. he wouldn’t need it to stay warm.

gojo isn’t after your heater. if that’s true, then…)

…

you bury your nose in the soft wool of your scarf. breathing in the fading scent, vanilla and cinnamon, grounding you to earth, lingering in your nostrils. distracting you from the rush of warmth, that blooms in the frostbitten apples of your cheeks.

as if sensing your thoughts, or maybe just noticing your embarrassed expression, geto laughs — soft and breathy, shoulders shaking to your left. you hear it, only nuzzling deeper into the comfort of your scarf. feeling your heartbeat spin out of orbit.

in the distance, gojo continues to wave, yelling out something unintelligible. you could mistake him for a star.

spring is almost here, now. in just a month or so, it’ll be at your doorstep — waltzing right in.

(but you aren’t worried.)

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff

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ahqkas · 8 days ago

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♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS THEY DO . . . without realizing

BRUCE WAYNE

rolling his sleeves

bruce wayne sat at his desk, eyes scanning the papers in front of him with a focus that bordered on obsessive. his brow furrowed slightly as he sifted through the reports, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him. with a sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his broad shoulders rolling as he stretched, the fabric of his shirt straining just enough to hint at the muscle beneath.

he reached down to his cuffs, fingers moving with practiced ease as he undid the buttons. the action was simple, but there was an undeniable smoothness to it. slowly, he pushed the sleeves up, the fabric tugging against the defined muscles of his forearms as they flexed with the motion. the shirt rode up slightly, revealing the veins beneath.

once the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, he flexed his fingers briefly, feeling the weight of the day settle into his body. there was no rush, no hurry. bruce wayne wasn’t just a man who wore suits—he was a man who controlled the world around him.

looking down and leaning in to hear you better

he stood tall, his imposing presence filling the space as he leaned in slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. the difference in height between you made the moment feel all the more intimate, as though the world around you had faded into the background. his broad shoulders, strong and steady, seemed to fill the room with the weight of his silent power. every inch of him radiated control, and yet, there was something almost magnetic about the way he was focused on you now, narrowing the gap between you.

he tilted his head just a little, his gaze softening yet still intense, before his lips parted slightly. with a quiet, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, he leaned closer, his height forcing you to tilt your head back just to meet his eyes.

“sorry, what were you saying?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the words lingering in the air between you. there was no rush in his movement, no hint of impatience—just the steady presence of a man who knew the effect he had, who made every action feel deliberate, calculated.

DICK GRAYSON

stretching

dick grayson towered in the middle of your bedroom, a small stretch escaping him after a long day of training and patrol. with a soft grunt, he raised his arms high above his head, his back arching slightly as his muscles flexed in the motion. the action was simple, but the way his body moved with effortless grace caught the light in just the right way, accentuating the sleek, toned lines of his chest and abdomen.

as he reached upwards, the hem of his shirt lifted slightly, revealing the faint line of his happy trail—dark and subtle beneath the fabric. his abs tightened with the stretch, his posture perfect and confident, yet so natural.

when his arms finally lowered, he relaxed, a small, satisfied smile curling on his lips, unaware of the effect the simple stretch had on your wandering gaze.

running a hand through his hair

he leaned back against the post of your bed, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath after another long night of patrol. he was tired, but not exhausted—just enough to feel the strain of the evening settling into his muscles. his hand moved instinctively to his hair, running through it with a relaxed sigh. the motion was effortless, but there was something undeniably attractive about it. his fingers tangled in the dark strands, pushing them back, only to leave them even more tousled than before.

his hair, usually neatly styled, now fell in messy waves, a little wild and chaotic—much like dick himself. as he scratched the back of his head, his tousled look gave off a carefree vibe, as if he didn’t have a care in the world despite the weight of his responsibilities. the slight rumple only added to the charm.

his lips quirked into a soft, knowing smile as he caught the look in your eyes, momentarily lost in them—so damn predictable. he had you right where he wanted you.

JASON TODD

leaning against a doorway

jason todd stood in the doorway, his posture relaxed yet undeniably intimidating. his arms were crossed over his chest, biceps flexing slightly with the movement, a stance that spoke of quiet confidence and a hint of defiance. his shoulders were broad, his body leaning casually against the doorframe, but there was an edge to him—something hard and unyielding beneath the surface. the way his weight shifted ever so slightly to one side gave him an almost effortless air, as if the world had to adjust to him, not the other way around.

his dark eyes scanned the room, taking in everything with a sharp focus, though he didn’t seem to be in a rush to move or speak. the leather jacket he adorned hung from his frame, the subtle creases and folds of the material giving it an air of worn-in familiarity, like it had seen too much for too long. but his gaze—intense, guarded—never left your figure, as if he was watching for something just out of reach, something that only he could sense.

the way jason held himself in the doorway, arms crossed with a hint of tension in his posture, felt like a silent challenge for most, though there was nothing overtly aggressive about it. it was just the quiet power of a man who was used to being underestimated, a man who didn't need to say a word to command attention.

wearing a shirt that fits just right

he moved through the motions of his training with practiced precision, the rhythm of his strikes steady and controlled. his black shirt clung to his body, the dark fabric stretching over the defined muscles of his chest and back as he moved. the fit was snug, highlighting the sheer strength in his frame, the subtle curve of his biceps flexing with each punch and kick.

swaet began to bead on his forehead, trailing down his temple as he focused on his technique, his breathing steady despite the exertion. the shirt, stretched tight across his shoulders, rode up slightly as his arms reached high, the lines of his stomach momentarily visible as he performed another series of rapid, forceful punches. his torso flexed, muscles tightening and releasing with each movement, and the shirt seemed to accentuate the sculpted definition of his body.

as he paused, catching his breath, the shirt clung even tighter, the movement of his chest beneath it noticeable with every rise and fall of his breath. jason didn’t seem to notice—or care—how the fit of the shirt left little to the imagination. his focus was on the work, on pushing himself further, but the way the fabric outlined his form only added to the unspoken intensity of his presence. even when he wasn't speaking, his body did all the talking.

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kisskuni · 5 months ago

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pet names

↳ pet names that the demon brothers like to call you by. [all brothers x gn!reader]

tags: just fluff! + pet names lol. ‘doll’ is used once, i wouldn’t consider it feminine but take it as you will. otherwise gn :)

notes: first fic on this blog heheh. reblogs are super appreciated, please and thank you <3

lucifer ━━━

a gloved hand runs through black hair, the eldest brother glaring at the paperwork covering his desk. you wonder for a brief moment if he thinks the look he’s giving it will force it away.

“stressed?” you ask him, a teasing tone to your voice.

he hums in discontent. “something like that.”

you straighten from your spot leaned against the door frame and walk over to him. your hands come up to his shoulders and rub at the muscles there, hoping to bring him some sore of relief.

“need any help?” you ask.

“i’m alright, darling, but thank you.” though still clearly stressed, he offers you a small smile.

mammon ━━━

“you will not believe what i just got!”

mammon walks into your room previously unannounced, dorky smile painting his face. he holds up two slips of paper, waving them in front of your face. it takes you a moment to read the writing.

“ooh, are those tickets? for that movie i wanted to see?”

he beams at your excitement. “i’m the best.”

“yeah, you are,” you smile and reach for the tickets in his hands. “thank you so much.”

“anything for you, doll.”

leviathan ━━━

“hey, can you—“ levi speaks to you, but frowns at his game. “no, i can’t heal you. there are two other characters who can.”

you watch him curiously, watch as he rolls his eyes at the person he’s playing with. “what’s up?”

he takes one side of his headset off. “i’m sorry. can you grab me my water? it’s on my nightstand.”

“oh, sure.” you reach over from where you’re tucked comfortably into his bedsheets and grab the water bottle on his nightstand. “here.”

he turns around him his chair to grab the water bottle you toss at him. he catches it easily and smiles at you. “thank you, honey.”

satan ━━━

“are you comfy?”

you sit upright with a small yelp. you look around, gathering your thoughts back. what was supposed to be a quick lie-down on the couch in satan’s room turned into a nap, apparently.

“i- uhm. yeah.” you answer quickly. one hand comes up to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“you can rest if you’re tired, my love. i have some reading i wanted to catch up on anyway.” satan says, moving to sit beside you.

you take a deep breath and ponder the offer for a moment. instead of responding, you simply lay back down and use his lap as a pillow. he’ll get the idea eventually.

asmodeus ━━━

the squeal asmo let out was beyond exstatic. he clasped his hands together, smiling ear to ear.

“ah, i’m so excited.” he said, running off to some corner of his room.

“is it really that exciting?”

asmo frowns at you rather dramatically. he feigns a look of offense and continues to his closet, you following a few steps behind.

“oh, i love how this would look on you, cutie.”

you smile fondly at the nickname and continue to watch as he picks out various clothes for you to try on.

beelzebub ━━━

“y’know… doesn’t matter how strong i am, you’re a demon and i really don’t think i’m capable of spotting you at the gym.” you say.

you know he likes to work out, but him lifting weights worried you sometimes.

“it’s alright. i promise i’ll be fine, sweetheart.”

you glare at him. you know he will be, but a little voice in the back of your head won’t let you stop worrying about him. you suppose its a good thing.

belphegor ━━━

“good morning,” you tease, nodding toward the alarm clock that read 4:38 PM. “nice of you to rise so early.”

he grumbles at you, wiping sleep from his eye. he takes one of the pillows he’s been snuggled up with and tosses it at you, playful smile making its way onto his face.

you bat the pillow away, smiling back at him.

“you are so mean.” you claim, though still smiling.

“mhm. whatever you say, lovely.”

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pinkslaystation · 8 months ago

Text

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

#call of duty #cod #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #john price angst #john price fluff #task force 141 #captain price

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syluslnd · 2 months ago

Note

Hello. I just want to say your stories are amazing ❤️🥺 can you please write sylus × y/n where sylus pushes the reader away for some reason and later on regrets it ( full angst to fluff ) thank you 🥺❤️

sylus pushing you away because he’s an idiot

Sylus sat behind his desk, eyes scanning through an endless stream of reports, his brow furrowed in deep frustration. The tension in his body was palpable; nothing seemed to be going right today.

The missions were falling apart, the data was incomplete and the pressure to resolve it all was suffocating. He hadn’t eaten, hadn’t rested and every small problem felt like a spark waiting to ignite the fuse.

Then, the door to his office suddenly burst open.

“Hey, Sylus—”

You barely made it past the threshold before Sylus snapped, his sharp gaze lifting from the desk to you in an instant. His voice, usually calm and measured, came out harsh and cutting. “Who do you think you are to be barging in here without knocking?”

You froze in place, the words hitting you like a slap. Sylus rarely ever raised his voice at you and when he did, it was never like this. Shocked, you stammered, trying to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Leave.” The word came out cold and dismissive. His eyes narrowed, his tone biting, leaving no room for argument. “Just go.”

Your heart sank. You hadn’t meant to interrupt him, only to check if he needed anything. You always looked out for him, especially when he was drowning in work.

But now, standing there, your presence felt like an inconvenience. You muttered a quiet apology, backing out of the room, closing the door softly behind you.

For a while after you left, Sylus didn’t move. The anger he had let loose still simmered beneath the surface, but it was slowly being replaced by something heavier—guilt. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his silver hair.

Hours passed and Sylus tried to refocus but your absence gnawed at him. You always popped by to bring him food or just to make sure he was okay and now the silence in his office felt suffocating. He hadn’t eaten all day but without you, even the thought of food made him feel sick.

Eventually, he gave in, reaching for his comm to call you. It rang once, twice… but you didn’t pick up. His stomach twisted. He waited a few minutes, trying again but there was still no answer.

“Damn it” he muttered under his breath, tossing the comm onto the desk. The realization hit him harder than he expected: he had pushed you away. Again. He was always doing this, keeping people at arm’s length. But you… you were different. You were the only one who saw through his walls and instead of letting you in, he’d shoved you out.

Days passed and Sylus felt the weight of his mistake grow heavier. Without you around, he was a mess. He hadn’t eaten properly, his sleep was fitful and work had become unbearable. He kept expecting to hear your voice, see you bring him something to eat or just feel your presence nearby. But there was nothing and it was his fault.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt gnawed at him until he finally decided to go to you.

Standing outside your door, Sylus hesitated. He wasn’t good at apologizing, never had been. Words got stuck in his throat, his pride and guilt twisting together in an uncomfortable knot. But he couldn’t leave things like this. He knocked softly and waited, feeling his heart pound in a way he wasn’t used to. When you opened the door, your expression was far from warm.

“Sylus” you said, your voice flat, arms crossed. “What do you want?”

He stared at you, his usual confidence faltering. He hadn’t expected the bitterness, though he probably deserved it. “Kitten…” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I… came to talk.”

“About what?” You raised an eyebrow, clearly still upset. “Yelling at me and kicking me out of your office?”

He flinched at your words, guilt surging through him. He had hurt you, more than he thought. “I shouldn’t have done that” he mumbled, his voice quieter than usual. “I was… frustrated but that’s not an excuse.”

“Frustrated?” you echoed, clearly unimpressed. “That’s all you’ve got?”

Sylus sighed, his hand falling to his side. Apologizing was harder than he thought it would be. “I know I screwed up, alright? I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just… I wasn’t thinking.”

You frowned, still not satisfied. “You didn’t think to call me either or at least check in after you threw me out like that.”

“I did call” he admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “You didn’t answer.”

You blinked, surprised for a moment but quickly masked it. “Maybe I didn’t want to answer.”

The silence between you stretched, tension thick in the air. Sylus felt like he was sinking deeper into his guilt, unsure how to fix this. He’d never been good at dealing with emotions, especially his own but now, seeing the hurt in your eyes, it was killing him.

“I missed you” he finally muttered, the words almost foreign to him. He looked down, avoiding your gaze, feeling the weight of his own failure press down on him. “You’re… the only one who gives a damn about me and I pushed you away. I haven’t even eaten properly since you stopped coming around, sweetie.”

You bit your lip, torn between being angry and feeling sorry for him. Sylus was always like this—closed off, pushing people away, even when he didn’t want to.

“I didn’t mean it” he added quietly, his voice rough with guilt. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, with a sigh, you stepped aside, letting him into your place. “You’re an idiot, Sylus” you said, though there was a touch of softness to your words now. “But come in. I’m not letting you starve just because you don’t know how to say sorry.”

Sylus walked in, the relief evident in his eyes but the guilt still hung heavily over him. He sat down awkwardly, watching you move around the room, unsure how to make things right. But for now, he was here, with you. It was a start.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus x reader #sylus #sylus x you

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slytherinslut0 · 1 month ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 11th. blaise - mirror sex, body worship.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: writing this was detrimental to my health. blaise is a man. a MAN. you’re having a terrible day, your boyfriend knows what you need to make it better.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, SMUT, PIV, fingering, multiorgasm, teasing, begging, doggystyle, dirty talk, praise so much praise, body worship, soft dom blaise, pet names, the usual nasty shit you'll find this month.

"Yeah that's what I said...he didn't listen to me, though. Of course."

Parchment crinkled under the weight of your hand, quill scratching faintly as your boyfriends voice hummed in the background—an effortless drawl that filled the room like low music. You barely caught the words, caught up in the mechanical rhythm of your writing—but that didn't stop him from droning on, stretched out like a relaxed cat on your bed—one leg bent, both hands tucked behind his head, his gaze lost somewhere in the ceiling's quiet expanse.

"And? What happened?" You asked, finally letting the quill drop, grimacing at the ink smudged across your fingers.

"Detention," he said, clearly amused, "cleaning rat barrels for a week."

You managed a smile, but it was small, fleeting—more like a shadow of the real thing. Blaise noticed, of course he did, but he let it linger undisturbed, as if waiting for the right moment to ask what was really wrong. His stories were always an offering, an attempt to pull you from the depths of a day that felt as heavy as the sky before a storm—which usually helped, but today, even he couldn't shake the weight entirely.

You rolled away from your desk, chair wheels creaking until you reached the mirror. There you were, reflected back at yourself—no makeup, hair half-tumbling from the ponytail you'd given up on hours ago, the lines under your eyes telling a story you didn't want to read. You sighed, lifting a hand to touch the flyaway strands, knowing it wouldn't help. You were a bloody disaster.

"What're you lookin' at, baby?" Blaise was behind you before you even realized it, his warmth filling the space behind your chair, his arms snaking around your waist with the same natural ease as breathing. "Did I tell you you look beautiful today?"

You exhaled as he rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes meeting yours in the glass—

"Don't lie, Blaise," you muttered, the exhaustion making your voice heavier than it should've been. "I look a mess."

"Not a lie," he whispered back, his lips so close you could almost taste the mint on his tongue. His hand lifted, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before trailing down the side of your face like it was something sacred, like you weren't just a tired girl with too many thoughts. "You're always beautiful...so, so beautiful."

The heat from his words bloomed in your chest, a slow burn, even as the weight of the day pressed heavier. It felt as though the reflection was mocking you—this version of yourself you could barely recognize, worn down by everything that had gone wrong.

"I can tell when something's bothering you," he pressed on, his voice drawing you back, patient and unhurried. His fingers made soft circles on your stomach, waiting, coaxing. "Wanna tell me?"

"Nothing's bothering me...I just.." you shook your head, the words coming out on a breath, too small to carry the weight of what you meant. "I just had a bloody terrible day."

He hummed, thumb grazing your skin. "How terrible?"

"The kind that makes you feel like the universe is against you," you whispered, gaze falling, unable to look at him while your voice cracked. "I'm sorry—I know you wanted to go out tonight, but I just—"

"Shh—hey, don't do that," he interrupted, his fingers tilting your chin, forcing your eyes back to his in the mirror. "I don't care about going out. I care about you. We don't need to be anywhere else. I've got everything I need right here, baby. Okay?"

Merlin—your heart clenched, the ache reminding you just how easy it was to fall in love with him—and how you managed to do so, all over again, every single day. Blaise always had this way of making you feel like the center of the world, even on days when you felt like you were disappearing from it.

A small, trembling smile ghosted across your lips, and you nodded. "Okay."

"Yeah?" He nudged your chin gently, brushing more stray hair from your face—he never once took his fucking eyes off of you. "You're so fucking beautiful, babygirl...how are you all mine..."

A sigh escaped your lips as his fingers moved to massage your shoulders, his lips finding their way back to the curve of your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses along your skin. The tension in your body began to melt, replaced by something warmer, softer.

"Messy hair, no makeup...you're a fucking dream," he whispered. "Every morning I wake up...and I still can't believe..." his hands trailed down your arms, a slow blaze of fire, grazing over your belly before they curved up your chest. "...that all of this...is all for me..."

Your head tipped back, a soft whimper slipping from your lips as he pressed himself closer. One of his hands slid back up, fingers curling around the base of your throat, his thumb stroking the side of your neck. He groaned softly against your temple, other hand still pawing at your chest.

"Look at you," he rasped as his eyes met yours again in the mirror. You could feel his gaze tracing the outline of his hand wrapped around your throat. "Tell me you know you're beautiful."

Your heart was racing, breaths coming in shallow bursts as the intensity of his touch, his words, filled the room. He was crowding over you, pressed against the back of your chair, his hands insistent but not frantic, like he had all the time in the world—

"I know," you whispered. "You tell me every day..."

He hummed, the sound vibrating in his throat. "Mhm…and I'll keep telling you…because I don't think you get it yet...just how truly beautiful you are…”

Your lashes fluttered, eyes heavy beneath the weight of his gaze as his fingers moved lower, the buttons of your shirt parting effortlessly, baring the delicate lace underneath.

His jaw clenched, hunger flickering behind his eyes, his touch roughening with it. “…and just how lucky I am... to get to touch you like this."

Your head lolled back onto his shoulder, your back arched, baring yourself to him with a shivering sigh. His hand around your throat tightened, not too much, just enough to remind you he held you, that in this moment —this skin—belonged to him.

His other hand moved across your chest, teasing your nipples through the lacy fabric, kneading, coaxing your heart to race under his palm.

"I'm a better man because of you," he whispered, lips ghosting over the pulse at your neck. “...because you make me want to be."

Your whimper came unbidden, warmth flooding your veins as his eyes never left yours—devouring you through the glass. This wasn't just about touch. It was something Blaise always made sure you felt in this relationship, the thing tethered between you—the fulfilment of a need to be seen and a need to be known.

"Look at you." His lips tilted in a breathy smile, dripping with reverence, with something sacred as his hand roved over your chest, taking his time. "Perfect. So fucking perfect."

Both big hands fell to massage your tits now and a small, broken sound escaped you—helpless against the onslaught, your body betraying your efforts at control. You closed your eyes, biting your lip to stem the flood, but it was useless. Blaise, like this, was unrelenting, determined to make you remember this moment, every whisper, every touch. His voice was an echo you'd hear in your dreams.

"Blaise..." his name fell from your lips in a breathless whisper. “Gods.”

"Open those pretty eyes for me, babygirl..." he purred as his teeth grazed the curve of your neck. You obeyed with a shiver—your reflection pure chaos — a mess of need and want, heat pooling low in your belly, an ache between your legs you couldn't ignore. Blaise hummed. "I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what I see."

His hands slid lower, skimming the curve of your hips and settling on your thighs. You watched as he moved with deliberation, savouring the way your skin shivered beneath his touch. He shifted your legs wider, pushing the fabric of your skirt higher until it bunched around your waist. His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you weren't sure who was falling apart faster—him or you.

"Fuck," you moaned, barely holding onto the sound, feeling it slip past your lips like a breath. "Blaise.."

With a satisfied smile, his eyes flicked to yours and you noted the way his breathing shallowed—admired the way his fingers slipped along the insides of your thighs, tracing the soft skin without haste. The sensation made your breath hitch, and you bit down on your lip, fighting to keep your eyes open.

A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest as he pushed your skirt up further, exposing your underwear in the reflection.

"That's my girl,” he murmured, his voice thick with adoration. "These thighs...mm, fuck...so soft.."

His fingers dragged back down, agonizingly slow, tracing your thighs again.

You shuddered. You knew just how needy you sounded but gods—"Blaise, please..."

Blaise knew too, and of course he just chuckled, lips grazing the curve of your shoulder, his teeth catching on the fabric there. The nip was gentle at first, but just enough to make you gasp, your hips jerking reflexively—and you watched his eyes flash, lashes fluttering—

"Fuck...these hips," now he was growling, his nails biting into your skin. "The way you roll them...torture, pure torture... just to make me give you what you want..."

Your breath hitched again. You were a squirming mess, now—each fucking word a slow burn that licked at every nerve.

"Is that so bad?" You whispered, though the words barely left your mouth before a soft moan interrupted them. "Making you…give me what I want...?"

His laugh was rougher this time, his breath searing hot against your ear. One hand moved again, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear—and you realized you were holding your fucking breath—meeting his gaze in the mirror, wide and wanting, the tension between you thick enough to choke on.

"Not so bad...when I want to give it to you..." his fingers danced over your clothed cunt—light, taunting, threatening to give you everything you craved but holding just shy of it. Your hips rolled again, involuntarily. "But absolutely disastrous," his fingers traced higher, the ache of wanting made your pulse thunder. "...when I'm trying to make you wait."

You whimpered, snuffing a groan in your throat, and he smiled—watching the effect, his jaw falling open when he grazed over your clit through the fabric and you moaned loud—shameless.

"Gods—Blaise, please—" you were so fucking desperate now. Heat scorching your skin. Eyes squeezed shut. He was going to kill you, you were sure of it. “No more teasing—“

"Eyes open." He husked, bringing one hand back up to cup your jaw. "You close them and I'll stop. Keep being good for me, baby..."

You whinged—meeting his dark eyes in the mirror, lust blown pupils swallowing his irises. You watched yourself—his arms curled around you, strong and firm—long, slender fingers finally, fucking finally, giving you what you want—slipping under your underwear, fingertips kissing the sensitive lips of your throbbing cunt.

"Good girl...so good for me..." he muttered, slicking a single digit between your folds, grazing your clit. That did it—blinded with relief, you whinged, moaning deep in your chest. "Oh fuck, you're so wet...you need this, don't you, baby..."

"Yes—Gods—" you held his eyes in the mirror, hips jerking toward his touch. "Need it...need you..."

"So sensitive f'me..." he whispered in your ear, brushing the bundle of nerves again, earning another shuddered groan. He kissed at your jaw. "I'll never get tired of hearing you say that...that you need me..."

"Fuck—I do—always—" the words bled out, unfiltered. "Always need you."

Blaise shuddered, you could feel his hips rocking gently against the back of the chair as his fingers found your clit, indefinitely this time, and began drawing tight, frantic circles over it. Your back crested, your head falling back just slightly before you remembered what he said and returned your gaze to his in the mirror—he was watching you, body crowding yours like he was preparing a meal—and you spread your legs wider, noting the entire mess he'd made of you in minutes.

"Beautiful," he cooed, jaw tensing as you gripped his wrist—one hand shifting to grope your chest. "Messy girl...m'dying to get inside you..."

You cried out, your pussy clenching, craving to be filled by him. "Blaise—baby—please..."

Wetness soaked your thighs—coated his fingers as he dipped lower and pushed two inside you, crooking them deep. The reaction was involuntary—you cried out, ground your hips into his palm, fucking yourself on his digits, wanting—no, needing more. He groaned, squeezing your breast harder than you're sure he'd intended—teeth sinking into your shoulder in a futile attempt to compose himself.

"Fucking hell—that's it, baby—" his thumb twirled your clit, fingers driving deep—bliss burned your eyes, and you moaned. "Soaked and still so fucking tight...fuck.."

"M'gonna—I need you—" you were babbling, lost in sensation, coherent thoughts banished to the perimeters of your mind. "Inside—pleasepleaseplease—need you—"

"Cum first," his hand on your breast slipped up, tangling through your hair and nudging your face toward his—his lips found yours, soft and tender. "Wanna' make you feel good..."

Pleasure flooded you, muscles collapsing as you succumbed to it—Blaise kissed you again, holding you there, tongue delving into your mouth while he rubbed your swollen nub faster, pumped his fingers deeper.

"I...oh, Gods—already feel s'good..." you moaned into him, and he jerked you harder to his body, tongue massaging yours while his plush lips worked over your mouth. "Mm—fuck—s'good—"

He groaned. "Mhm—cum for me."

And then you did—every nerve in your body ignited at once. The obscene, wet sounds of him pumping his fingers into you filled the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic pulse in your ears. His mouth smothered the desperate cries of pleasure that fought to break free as your body convulsed, writhing against him. Your hips bucked, helplessly seeking more, fingers digging into his wrist like anchors as your entire world spun wildly out of control. He was both your rock and your undoing—keeping you tethered to earth while hurling you into the stars.

It felt like you were suspended in that ecstasy forever, the air leaving your lungs in shattered gasps, until, at last, your breathing found its rhythm again. Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, his own breath shaky, eyes dark with hunger. He brought his slick-coated fingers to your lips, pressing them past, and you groaned as you took him in, suckling greedily.

"You like that?" His voice was a low rumble, vibrating against your spine. You moaned in response, your tongue swirling around his digits, eyes fluttering shut at the taste of yourself. His other hand moved, urgently, his belt coming undone and echoing through the room as he freed himself, groaning, "Fuck."

Blaise had lost his composure completely—you didn't need to look at him to know it. In an instant, you were on your feet, his hands pulling you up as he kicked your chair out of the way, rolling into the wall with a thud. You turned your head to look at it but his lips crashed into yours, both hands cradling your face as he sank to his knees, dragging you down with him. The hardwood floor beneath you was cold, but his touch—his touch was a wildfire, scorching every inch of your skin, setting your blood to boil.

You moved instinctively and gasped as your fingers found him, warm and hard in your palm, twitching at your touch. He growled low in his throat, his hips jerking involuntarily as you stroked him, kneeling together on the floor, breaths mingling in the heated space between you. The moment stretched, unbearably tense, until with a swift motion, he spun you around, turning you to face the mirror.

His hands were everywhere—on your hips, sliding down your thighs, grazing the curve of your waist—pulling your skirt higher as he met your eyes over your shoulder in the reflection—

"Look at yourself," his fingers tightened on your hips, guiding you back against him, his length slicking between your thighs, grazing against your heat. "See what you do to me."

You gasped, melting into him, tightening your thighs around his shaft, fighting to keep your eyes on his in the mirror. Blaise exhaled, cranking your throat to the side and snatching a breast before biting the meat of your shoulder, cock pulsing when you whinged in delighted pain.

"Blaise—fuck—please..." your cunt clenched with anticipation, heat at your cheeks as you watched yourself in the mirror, desperately trying to tip your hips so he'd slide in. "Please, fuck me—"

Your voice was ruined. Music to his ears. Blaise could never deny that begging.

"Shit, baby..." he pressed in, leaning you forward until you were resting on your elbows in front of the mirror—seething as his girth stretched you open—splitting you wide in a way that made your eyes roll. He pulsed at your entrance, taking his time, letting you bask in the drag of your walls along his swollen length. In his reflection, his were lips parted, chest working with broken breath. "So goddamn tight..."

"Fuck," you moaned, unbridled, his hands bruising your hips as he picked up the pace. "Yes—mm—Gods, yes—"

The power of his thrusts stole your breath, quaked your bones, your cries of pleasure hiccuped by the rapid strokes of his hips. Blaise was the most patient man you'd ever met, until he wasn't. He groaned, his eyes trained on your ass, skin smacking skin with loud slaps—you were captivated, unable to think or speak or do anything other than watch—fire stoked by the sheer eroticism of watching him fuck your pussy. A hard, vicious plunge—you shrieked, and you could see him smirk to himself before gracing your ass with a soft smack, piercing your cervix.

"Sexy little thing. All fucking mine." He wound your hair in his fist, popping your neck back to hunch over you. "You like that, hm? Watching yourself get fucked?"

You whimpered, neck aching with the force of his grip, nails digging into your palms as he drilled you. The switch in his demeanour was dizzying. His dick was hollowing you out, rending you wide—you could hardly focus on his words—

"Yes!" You managed. "Fuck—yes—"

He groaned, fucking faster—his gaze ravaged you, wandering over every inch of your reflection before stopping at your jiggling chest. His hand slipped down from your hair to grasp a breast—squeezing and kneading the soft flesh in his huge palm, his other hand snaking down around your thigh to swirl over your clit, and you choked—a noise wrenched from your lungs far louder than you'd have liked.

"Fuck—fuck—" his hips moved erratically. He was getting close. So were you. "Tight—squeeze me s'good—"

You whinged. He swirled his fingers faster. "Blaise—m'gonna—cum—"

It descended upon you—the promise of oblivion—as you found one breath, another breath, and then found yourself in the mirror, skin gleaming, expression wrought with pleasure, entire body shaking with the pistoning of your boyfriends hips.

His eyes were still on yours, reverence inside them, worship.

He grunted. "Yes—fuck, cum on my cock, baby—let me feel you—"

It was a command that shattered all thought, a primal cry of ecstasy that ripped through you, overtaking every nerve, every vein, every muscle in your body. Your limbs trembled, thighs shaking as the pleasure coursed through you, molten, burning under your skin. You were less than halfway cognizant of what was leaving your mouth—barely picking up on your boyfriends groans and moans in your ear as you squeezed and milked his cock through your climax, fucking you deep until he couldn't take it anymore and erupted as well—pouring his cum into you, rolling his hips until he was empty.

Swallowing hard, you collapsed onto the floor, your chest heaving as he pulled out, leaving you breathless and trembling. His hands, still warm from the heat of your skin, gently held your arm as he sank down beside you. Without a word, he tugged you against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a calming rhythm against your back. His fingers threaded softly through your hair, untangling the remnants of tension as the two of you lay there, catching your breath.

After a few moments, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, the touch so tender it made you melt all over again. You tilted your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile curving your lips, all the stress that had plagued you earlier dissipating into nothing.

"Maybe I should have bad days more often." You smiled through an exhale.

"If this is what it takes to fix them," he murmured with a smirk, his voice deep and gravelly from exertion, "then I'm more than willing to be your remedy, anytime."

You hummed, a huff of a laugh slipping out as you traced lazy shapes on his chest—inhaling his scent with each breath. You loved this man. Loved that he never failed to make you feel so goddamn beautiful, so special, so needed.

"Seriously though," you whispered after a while, your cheek pressed to his chest, "thank you. For this. For knowing exactly what I needed."

His fingers stilled in your hair, a quiet hum of understanding in his throat.

"I always know what you need, baby," he said, his voice soft, filled with something more than just desire, something warmer. "And I'll always be here to give it to you."

#SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER👻#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #harry potter #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #slytherinboys #blaise zabini x you #blaise zabini x reader #blaisezabini #blaise zabini #blaise x reader #blaise zabini smut #blaisezabinismut #zabini #slytherin smut

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luveline · 1 year ago

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Badass!reader in the verge of crying but still pretending like she isn't? Spencer doesn't even try anything and he just lets her be until eventually she cries? Just some hurt/comfort :)

If it's a no please feel free to ignore this! Have a lovely day jade <3

tysm! hope this is okay angel ♡ fem!reader, 1k

"Irresponsible, sloppy, and pig-headed." Spencer winces. "I expected more from you. I'm extremely disappointed."

Spencer winces worse. You can take a scolding. You can take a beating. But disappointing the people you care about, and disappointing Hotch? His chest hurts for you.

He pretends to have been reading as the door to Hotch's office opens and you step out, glancing up as you take the stairs down into the bullpen. Your desk is adjacent his and Morgan's, crowded by case files you nearly send flying as you hurry into your chair.

Spencer takes his computer mouse and clicks on the work contact page. Your instant messaging is still open, the last message he sent you glaring and awkward, hey, think hotch is going to call you in for cincinnati. don't stress.

You'd opened it but not answered. He peeks around your monitors to analyse you. You're staring hard at a single spot. The longer he looks, the glassier your eyes become.

He sighs and cracks his knuckles, thinking. The last thing you want is for him to make a big deal of this, he knows that, but he needs you to know that he's here for you.

"Did you want to get dinner tonight?" he asks without raising his head.

You respond eventually, two seconds too slowly, "Where from?"

Your voice is fraught with the weight of your upset. Spencer ignores it for now. "Luh Bem?"

"If you want to."

"What I want is a cup of coffee." He stands, still without staring at you —an impressive feat of self control— and begins toward the office kitchenette. Predictably, you follow him. He's already putting a second mug beside his own when you step into his reach.

"So, did you want to go?" you ask.

Spencer nudges your hip with his gently. "Duh. What else would I wanna do on a Friday?" He makes your coffee exactly how you like it without asking and leaves it billowing steam by his own as he adds his five sugars.

Bringing his coffee to his lips and turns, he leans on the counter. You do as he does, murmuring a thank you as you pick up your mug. Spencer lets his arm rest on yours, ever so slightly taller, more as your back begins to slouch unconsciously. There's no point in asking you if you're okay, because you'll say that you are. There's no point in trying to comfort you, because, despite your affection for him, you're not someone who cries easily in front of others. It would have you pushing him away.

You're a nice girl under all your hardened exterior, and Hotch's disappointment hurts. You try very, very hard not to cry, swallowing and taking little sips of your hot coffee.

You press your coffee into his hand and turn your body toward the cabinets, away from the office. Spencer waits, and waits, his relief immeasurable as you finally hide your face in his shirt sleeve and sniffle. Even though his heart breaks for you, he's glad you're giving in. You need to let stuff out before it eats you alive.

He puts the coffees down behind him one at a time so as not to disturb you. Hands free, he lifts the hand furthest from you to your arm. If you were somewhere more private he'd hug you to him by the small of your waist. For now, he rubs a short line down to your elbow. Up, down.

"He was being harsh," Spencer says quietly.

"Sorry," you whisper.

He can't imagine how mortified you are. You won't sob or even shake, but these hot and fast tears aren't unfamiliar to him. Theyll be followed by an abundance of remorse.

"What are you sorry for?" He pulls you in closer, a squeeze of a hug. "You're okay. It's okay, he's just– he's mad about other stuff, he's upset about Beth. It's not just you."

"He's right, I messed up," you say, your breath hitching.

"You messed up," he agrees. "It was an accident. You'll be better next time."

You sniffle rough and lift your face, wiping your tears with a cruel hand. Spencer takes your wrist in his hand to stop you, turninh to cover you from any nosy eyes. His fingertips are as soft as his voice wiping the rest of your tears away as he laments, "Please don't cry, don't get upset." Your face is hot to the touch. "Don't be embarrassed."

"I'm not crying," you say, a last teardrop streaking from the corner of your eye.

He wipes it away. "Okay."

You pout at him like you want to cry more, and Spencer wouldn't mind, he'd stand here wiping your tears for hours if you needed it, but that's your worst nightmare.

"Are people looking at me?"

"Nobody's looking," he answers honestly. "You're only making a scene for me."

You laugh but quickly cough. Spencer takes his opportunity to hug you and pats your back, considers kissing the side of your head but can't make himself commit to it.

"Do you still wanna get dinner?" you ask weakly.

"Yeah, I do. I really do. I'll get you whatever you want."

If it were Morgan offering, you'd step on his foot. For Spencer, your clear and evident favourite, you nod into his chest, your hand slinking low on his back.

He hugs you so hard he feels his ribs.

"Wanna sleepover and watch Golden Girls?" he asks, prepared for rejection. You're the type to lick your wounds alone.

But maybe in the privacy of Spencer's apartment you'll let yourself be upset properly, so he can comfort you appropriately. It aches how badly he wants to rub the tight space between your shoulders, tell you it's fine, you're fine, and one mistake doesn't define you, it never could.

It's evidence of your affection for him that you agree. "Could we get the dinner to go?" you ask.

Spencer tries not to look to triumphant. He's going to coddle and comfort you half to death, and by the looks of you, you're happy to let him. "Absolutely. Whatever you want."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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ccraccz · 5 months ago

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Hello! I'm I wanted to ask you if you could make a Wind Breaker boys react to childhood friend! Reader moving to or returning back to Makochi and seeing them again?

Or like how are they with a Childhood friend! Reader? (Specially for Sakura, he is my favorite character!)

Only if you want to, obviously!

Characters: Sakura Haruka, Umemiya Hajime, Kaji Ren x GN!Reader

TW: bullying, a wee bit of angst, assault (?), fighting (duh)

FRIENDLY REUNIONS

Sakura Haruka

You were unlike anyone else when he was in his home town

You didn't tell him that his hair was weird

or yell at him that he was a freak like the other kids

He never had a reason to have to defend himself against you

He saw that you tried to constantly play with him, pointing out at the park and asking your guardian to play just for a minute

if they would let you, he would see you attempt to beeline towards him only to be pulled away before you could reach him.

during school over at his home town, students would pick on him and teachers would treat him differently

but you didn't

you stayed indifferent even if it meant getting beat down and having to come back to school to a desk filled with degrading words and a bruised up face and body

He would defend you as much as he can when he sees you get picked on by other students due to you helping him

but right after beating them, he would constantly tell you that he "doesn't need your help", and that "you stop defending him"

Hell... he didn't even know your name...

so when he left, it felt like a a breath of fresh air, the weight of having to protect someone else being lifted off of his shoulders

so when he saw you in Pothos, talking to Umemiya and Kotoha

it was as if ice water was dunked on him

seeing you, a scar on your beautiful face, the same hair style, the same eye shape and color

"SAKURA-KUN! HEEEY!!!" Umemiya calls out when the bell rings, announcing a new customer coming in. In front of the whitehaired male, you sat with an order of fried onigri in front of you and a cup of {drink}, a small blush on your face.

You turn around in your chair. 'That name.. It can't be...' Your eyes are wide as you stand up quickly. "S-Sakura..."

The same two toned hair color, the same heterochromatic eyes, the same pout and blush he had on his face when he saved you for the last time. He still looked the same...

You rush towards, him, being careful enough to not let the chair fall behind you, before tackling him.

"GUH!-" He grunts in response, holding your body to not send you both to the ground, his face bright red, nose bleeding slightly form the fight he just came from, eyes shaking from the sudden affection. He can't comprehend.

"Oh my goodness, Sakura!!" You call out, tears brimming in your eyes, hands gripping tightly "I didn't think I would see you here! Last time I saw you was when..." Your ranting fell on deaf ears as Sakura.exe overheated.

Umemiya Hajime

You always played with him and the rest of the kids in the orphanage

and you didn't judge him like other did when his hair started to turn white due to the stress and trauma he had to g through when he first arrive to the orphanage

Your parents donated a lot of their things when they where going to leave to the orphanage, which meant that you donated a lot of your own things, like your favorite nightlight because you where no longer scared of the dark, or the large amounts of books you had in your room

he was sad that you had to leave, and so where the other children.

but he believes that YOU were the most sad of them all

the memory of you, sobbing into his small shoulder when you told him that your father got a new job opportunity in Yokohama and that you had to move still replays in his mind when he misses you

the cute nightlight that you gave the orphanage was still beside him, using it for when he's awake late at night and reading

so when he gardening around on the rooftop, the last thing he expected was a call from Hiragi talking about how some "Citizen wanting to meet him"

So he has Hiragi and his group bring you to the rooftop of his school for a small meeting

what he didn't expect is to see you

Standing beside Hiragi, you huffed in exhaustion, the amount of stairs taking a toll on both your legs and your lungs.

"So... how do you know Umemiya?" the blond haired teen asks, hand on the nob of the door to the roof.

"Oh! We were friends when we where younger, but I had to leave for Yokohama because my father got a better job opportunity!" You explained, your words being enough to let him twist the knob and open the door to the roof top.

Walking behind him, your tummy churns in nervousness, anxiety running through your veins. Your hands are behind you, not wanting them to express your emotions unlike your eyes.

"Umemiya, here they are," Hiragi speaks up, rubbing the back of his neck with a large grimace on his face. Umemiya was crouched down, a small, blue, towel on his neck collecting the sweat that beaded around his neck and dripped down his face from the beating heat. He turns around when he hears Hiragi's voice, looking behind the male with a large, close eyed, smile on his face.

"Hello! Where you looking for me?" Umemiya asks loudly, before he open his eyes again and see you.

"Haji... I'm back..." Your eyes are wide. The small boy you were friends with was no longer shorter than you, his hair was no longer white atop of black, his smile was brighter than ever, and he was built.

Instantly after the nickname was dropped from your lips, his menacingly large form was in front of you, arms wrapped tightly around your waist as he lifts you up into the air with a squeal of exitement.

"[name]!!! IT'S BEEN SO SO SO SO SO LONGGG!!!" he calls out in happiness.

From behind him, Hiragi takes a two gaskun-10's, watching the white haired male lift you and twirl around in happiness.

Kaji Ren

You were his first friend in elementary school, being his neighbor had his perks

he would save your when you were bullied, and you would help him calm down when he got a little to heated

he would hold your hand when you both would walk back home and you would bring him extra food from your home when he needed snacks

so when you came over for your weekly play date crying, he was really angry, wanting to know why you were crying

having to move to another city was scary, especially when you don't have your best friend there to save your from the possible bullies you might gain in the new school

So when you left, he was way more irritable and much more stressed, not having you near him to calm him down with your constant affection or words

When he met Hiragi and the rest of the main group that helped him out, it always felt like there was a small piece missing

and the guys could tell that there was always something off. but they couldn't tell what it was

you coming back to your home town in Makochi after years away from it was like a breath of fresh air

what you didn't expect is to be cornered by a group of highschoolers wanting to cause trouble

and he didn't expect to see you again, saving you the same way he used to when you both were younger

It was that same move, that same hairstyle, those same angry but alluring eyes. He was annoyed seeing some stupid group taking advantage of a innocent person, Kusumi and Enomoto right beside him.

"Those damn, fucking..." Kaji mumbled under his breath, standing in front of he gang leader and wiping his face with the back of his hand, Enomoto right beside him. Kusumi stood in front of you, blocking your body and maybe even your view, his frizzy hair catching your eye.

Kusumi quickly types something on his notes app before showing you.

'Are you okay? You seem quite frazzled ( ;´･ω･`)'

You smile lightly, nodding before turning back to the fighting, watching every move your childhood friend did. Every move he did in front of you now was a more refined version of what he did back then. It was fascinating, and almost mesmerizing.

"Yeah, just..." You mumble "reminiscing the last time Kaji saved me when we where younger." Kusumi looks at you before looking down again and taps away at his phone.

'Yk Kaji? ('_'?)'

You chuckle, "Yes I do, we were neighbors-"

CRASH

You sigh. "We were neighbors when we were younger, he used to save me constantly when we were in school!"

'PLZ THAT'S SO CUTE! ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡'

"What'rrrr you guys gigglin' 'bout overrrr therrre?" Enomoto asks, his tongue rolling each 'R' in the sentence.

'She was just explaining that Kaji used to save her constantly when they were younger! ( ;´･ω･`)'

You nod along before looking at Kaji, who is frozen looking at you. The stick of his Chupa Chups almost falling out of his mouth as he looks at you. You, who has changed, matured, but also you who is in constant trouble but know that you'd get help. He walks slowly, getting closer to you, almost as if if he were to move too fast, you would run away.

"[name]?" He mumbles, before being hugged tightly.

"I'm back Ren," You say, voiced muffled because of his hoodie.

[Kusumi and Enomoto look at each other before giggling and turning away from the affection you're giving their grade captain.]

A/N: THIS IS ADORBS! LOVED WRITING THISSSS HHHHH I truly truly hope that you all enjoy reading this as much I as I loved writing this!!! (I might start writing for enomoto and kusumi, they're so so so so cute, i just wanna bite them-)

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lethalhades · 11 days ago

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The sins of one were the sins of all

(Honestly I wrote this because my girl just needs a fucking hug and IM TIRED😭🙏🏾)

Themes: jinx x fem reader, hurt and comfort, we braiding her hair twin.

Didn’t proof read this or nothing I just cooked.

Navigating the dim, twisting pathways of the underground wasn’t how you planned to spend your day, but finding Jinx was all that mattered now. As you searched, a place suddenly came to mind. a spot she’d likely retreat to, a familiar hideaway.

Without hesitation, you picked up the pace, heading straight for the Last Drop and slipping in through the back door.

Your footsteps reverberated off the walls as you climbed the narrow staircase toward Silco’s office. In the past, just approaching this door would have made your skin crawl, the weight of his presence heavy and unsettling. But now… that feeling was gone, vanished with him the night he was killed.

All that remained was an empty silence behind the door, where his shadow used to linger.

Your fingertips lightly grazed the door before you pushed it open, the creak echoing in the empty room, confirming what you already suspected…Silco’s office was vacant.

You’d hoped to find Jinx here, but a part of you knew it was a long shot. Still, as you stepped inside, your eyes fell on the desk, where a map lay scattered with Jinx’s chaotic scribbles, a sign she’d been here recently.

Almost on instinct, you reached for the map, lifting it carefully with both hands, including the hexcore-tainted one. You usually kept it hidden beneath your cloak, the sight of it stirring a mix of frustration and shame. Someday, you knew, you’d have to accept it. but for now, it stayed mostly in shadow, a reminder of what you’d become.

“This is the first time I’ve seen your hand in years.” The voice jolted you, and before you knew it, you’d hurled a dagger in her direction, missing the blue-haired woman by barely an inch.

Catching your breath, you glared. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you, and now you decide to show up?” Annoyance laced your words. She slid smoothly off the beam, landing on the desk. That’s when you noticed her long hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders and onto the desk—no braids, just a cascade of untamed blue.

She caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “I was trying to braid it back, but… Silco always did that for me.” Her raspy voice betrayed no hint of vulnerability; it was like a wall she always kept up around you.

You hesitated, almost tempted to ask why she kept her walls up in the first place, but you knew better than to press her boundaries.

Jinx stared at the ground, her eyes shadowed and distant, tracking your movements as you stepped behind the desk and eased into the old, creaking chair. When your fingers brushed her hair, she flinched, jerking back just slightly. You couldn’t help but wonder if, beneath that tough exterior, she was still afraid.

You’d known each other since she went by ��Powder,” before the undercity had forced both of you to grow hard and cold.

You’d come to Zaun after being cast out of Piltover, your family’s sins leaving you no choice. You weren’t like them, but in Piltover, the sins of one were the sins of all. Survival in the undercity was brutal, especially for a kid, and you still remembered how close you’d come to losing your life again and again.

But then, like a spark in the dark, she had come barreling into your life. small but fierce, her blue hair a shock of color in the dim streets. Powder, a kid with more guts than anyone you’d ever known. And on that night, she’d been your savior. A little bomb in her hand, tossed without hesitation, scattering the men who meant to hurt you.

That tiny blast had done more than drive them off. it had bound you and Powder together, two lost souls in the chaos of Zaun.

Back then, she was just another lost kid who had found purpose under Silco’s wing. The pain in her eyes had been unmistakable, a pain you recognized all too well. It was the same haunted look your mother had worn the day she brought ruin upon your family.

If you were being honest with yourself, you’d only decided to toughen up that day because you couldn’t stand the idea of being outdone by someone younger, someone with less to lose. She was three years your junior, but her boldness had sparked something in you, forcing you to swallow your fear and find strength you didn’t know you had. Unlike her, though, you’d never bent the knee to some ruthless leader. You carved your own path, becoming a gun for hire, bound to nothing and no one.

Over the years, you’d killed without hesitation, Piltover elites and undercity rogues alike. Survival demanded sacrifice, and you were willing to make it.

Every now and then, your paths would cross, and you’d catch glimpses of the girl who once called herself “Powder,” now transformed into Silco’s weapon. Meanwhile, you had grown too, honing your skills and eventually joining the Firelights, giving your life a new sense of direction.

Now, with the undercity on the brink, chaos breaking loose at every turn, you looked up from your thoughts to find jinx’s back facing you, her head slightly turned seeing her violet eyes sharp and curious. “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

“Braiding your hair, if you’d just sit still,” you replied, fingers deftly weaving through her loose blue strands. Her hair, soft but tangled, For a moment, she held still. watching you work with an expression you couldn’t quite read, letting you bring order to just one small piece of her wildness. You were lucky you still had some skill in this, after all the times you’d braided the younger kids’ hair back in the Firelights’ hideout. Your hands knew how to be gentle, even if the rest of you had learned to be anything but.

As you worked, Jinx’s voice broke the silence. “Every day, he had me making something for him. Or doing that stupid eye thing of his, even though he could’ve done it himself,” she muttered, bitterness edging her words as she thought about all the things she’d done for Silco.

You could see the weight of his lies on her, the way they’d sunk deep. She’d believed him completely—why wouldn’t she?

“My mother expected perfection from me,” you said softly, finding a rare thread of common ground. “One slip, one failure, and I was nothing but a disappointment to her.” For a moment, it felt like you and Jinx were standing on the same edge, each of you marked by different scars but both shaped by people who’d held you to impossible standards.

Both of you had been praised for your minds, raised to rise above, only to lose it all. And when you needed someone most, they had all turned away.

“You were just some Piltover rat. You don’t know a damn thing about what it takes to survive down here.”

You met her gaze, the old anger simmering beneath your words. “I know more than you think,” you replied, voice steady and unyielding. “I lost everything before I even got the chance to hold it,” you added, memories of that day, of watching your family fall apart, still as raw as ever.

Jinx scoffed, crossing her arms. “Why are you telling me this? You think I care?”

“No,” you said, fingers deftly weaving the last of her braids. “But I thought you’d understand.” You secured her signature pigtails, then took a step back, crossing your arms as you faced her. “You followed him because you had nowhere else to turn, no one else to show you the way. But he’s gone now, Jinx. And yet, you’re still clinging to his ghost, acting like he’s still here.”

She bristled, eyes flashing. “I’m not mourning him! That’s the last thing I’d ever do for him.”

“Then prove it,” you challenged, voice calm but firm. “Find something real to fight for. Not for a man who only wanted control and used your loyalty to his advantage.”

Jinx took a step forward, her violet eyes sharp and angry as she glared up at you, defiance sparking between you like a fuse ready to ignite. You held her gaze, searching for the truth hidden beneath her rage. In those eyes, you saw things she would never say aloud.

confusion, anger, the scars of betrayal.

It reminded you of that night at the Last Drop, the night you’d tried to pull her away from Silco’s grip and convince her to join the Firelights. She’d laughed it off, but you’d seen the hesitation, the crack in her armor. That night, things nearly went south between you. one wrong word, and a bullet could’ve ended it all. Now, standing here again, that same tension lingered in the air, fragile and sharp, like the calm before a storm.

“Why do you keep acting like you know me?” Jinx’s voice was sharp, bitter, violet blue eyes wild with frustration as she shoved you. “Like you have any clue what I’ve been through!” She pushed you again, harder this time, her finger jabbing into your chest. “You don’t know anything!”

Her anger flared, and she kept pushing, shoving you back again and again until you finally reached out and caught her wrist.

She tried to pull away, struggling against your hold, but you pulled her closer, wrapping your arms around her, holding her tightly. Her fists came down hard on your back, each punch sharp with anger and pain. It hurt, but you didn’t let go, not even as her punches weakened, not even as her shoulders slumped against you.

The room grew quiet, save for the small, choked sobs that broke free as she stopped fighting and finally gave in. Her fingers gripped the back of your cloak, holding on like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

Her cries were raw, almost hollow, filled with a pain you knew she rarely allowed herself to show.

You just held her, steady and silent, giving her the space to release what she’d been holding back. You didn’t hate her, not for her choices, not for her mistakes. Somehow, despite everything, all you’d ever wanted was to help her find her way back from the darkness.

As her breathing slowed, she didn’t say a word, but her quiet acceptance in your arms told you everything. In that fragile silence, you knew that, at least for this moment.

you were exactly where you needed to be.

#jinx #jinx lol #jinx x reader #jinx x fem!reader #jinx arcane #jinx league of legends #jinx needs a hug #comfort #oc mention #we love her #jinx posting

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paisleypens · 6 months ago

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dinner’s almost ready | spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer asks for some homely comfort after a case

Spencer Reid trudged into the office, the heaviness of the latest case pressing down on him like a weighted blanket. The gruesome details and tragic outcome had left him emotionally drained, his usually sharp mind dulled by exhaustion and sadness. He collapsed into his chair, staring blankly at the stacks of case files on his desk.

He picked up his phone and dialed your number, his fingers trembling slightly. You answered on the second ring, your voice instantly soothing to his frayed nerves.

"Hey, Spencer," you said, a smile evident in your tone. "How's your day going?"

He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping. "Not great," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "This case... it was really tough."

"I'm so sorry, love," you said softly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

Spencer closed his eyes, imagining your warm, comforting presence. "Could you cook for me tonight? I really need something comforting right now."

"Of course," you replied without hesitation. "Come over as soon as you can. I'll have dinner ready."

He felt a small spark of relief at your words. "Thank you, Y/N. I'll be there soon.

An hour later, Spencer stood outside your apartment door, the familiar scent of your cooking wafting through the air. He took a deep breath and knocked softly. You opened the door almost immediately, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Hey, Spence," you greeted, stepping forward to wrap your arms around him. He melted into your embrace, feeling some of the tension begin to dissipate.

"Hi," he whispered into your hair, holding you tightly. After a moment, you pulled back slightly, looking up at him with concern.

"You okay?" you asked gently, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek.

He nodded, though his eyes still held a shadow of the case. "I am now," he replied softly.

"Come in," you said, guiding him inside. "Dinner's almost ready."

He followed you to the kitchen, where the table was set with two plates and a steaming pot of your famous homemade soup. Spencer's stomach rumbled at the sight, the first sign of hunger he'd felt all day.

You ladled the soup into bowls and placed one in front of him, sitting down across the table. He picked up his spoon and took a tentative sip, the warm, savory broth instantly soothing his frazzled nerves.

"This is amazing," he said, giving you a small, grateful smile.

You reached across the table and took his hand, your thumb rubbing gentle circles on his skin. "I'm glad you like it. It's good you asked."

Spencer nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You don't have to go through this alone, Spencer. I'm always here for you."

As you both ate in comfortable silence, Spencer felt the heavy weight of the case slowly lifting from his shoulders. The warmth of your presence and the simple act of sharing a meal together made him feel more grounded, more at peace. For the first time in days, he felt a glimmer of hope. No matter how tough the cases got, he knew he could always come home to you. And that made all the difference.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #paisleypens

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ephie-om · 30 days ago

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I know I said I had Dialuci stuff coming but that was before I got a HELL of a migraine so here's a lil self indulgent fic. Also this is not in age order it's the order I thought of them first so if you want to find a specific brother just look for their color x

The brothers reacting to you in their bed with a migraine

Leviathan had seen you toddle unsteadily into his room about an hour ago, but amidst his online matches he couldn't exactly turn around and talk to you. When he finally swivels his chair around and gets up to stretch his legs, you are nowhere to be found. His slit pupils narrow, looking for any sign of movement. Were you trying to prank him? Did you think that otakus were easy to scare? He finally spots a small movement from- his bathtub?! Where he sleeps? He slowly creeps up, lifting the blanket with two fingers and- you were asleep? Were you trying to kill him?? Steadying his breathing, he resolved to make you as comfortable as possible for as long as you stayed. He dims his lights, shuts off the tinny electronic music leaking out of his headset, and sits cross-legged with his Devilswitch next to the bathtub, determined to keep watch and make sure none of his oafish brothers would barge in and wake you.

Beelzebub is fairly used to coming home to a groaning lump underneath his blankets, whining at him to turn the lights off. He isn't used to the voice belonging to his human. Switching off the lights quickly, he makes his way to you and sets his bag on the ground quietly. You're startled by a large, warm hand on your shoulder. "Is everything alright?" he asks, concern etching the lines of his face. You try to shake your head and immediately realize that's not the best idea, so you quickly type out a message on your D.D.D. with the brightness at the lowest setting. 'Very bad headache'. He squints at the words, then rises to open the large chest at the end of his bed. You feel a massive weighted blanket draped slowly over your body and his large hands tuck you in. You hear his footsteps retreat again, more rummaging, then a straw pokes at your mouth. Confused, you take a sip and find something bubbly, sweet, and probably caffeinated. You give him a small, grateful smile, and his hand returns to your shoulder as you fall asleep.

Belphegor is used to being the lump under his blankets. So when he comes home after a long day of Satan kicking him under his desk, insisting that this bit was interesting, he's none too pleased to find a not-him blanket lump. He prods the lump and is rewarded with a low noise. Pulling the covers unceremoniously down from your face, he nearly tries to climb on top of you. "Move." He's halfway into bed when he sees your eyes flinching shut from the pain of being tossed around, and it finally occurs to him that it's not too common for you to be in his bed. He frowns and furtively checks over what little of your body he can see. Even with no surface wounds, he knows enough about humans to understand that there are plenty of injuries or illnesses that can't be seen. Sighing, he drags himself up from the bed to pour you a glass of water and rummage through Beel's side of the room for a snack. "Hey," he whispers. You open your eyes a crack. "These are here if you want them." You give him a minute nod and he takes that as a success. He settles down again, much more carefully this time, and ever so gently strokes your hair until your breathing slows again.

Mammon bangs open his door. Some idiots at RAD had tried to get on Levi's nerves, which got on his nerves, which got on Lucifer's nerves. He grumbles threats under his breath as he slams his bag into the floor and nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears a groan from his bed. "W-what? Hello??" When no answer comes, he decides he must be in a horror movie and turns to leave. Until he hears another noise that sounds suspiciously like his name. "Treasure? That you?" He walks back to his bedside and sure enough, his human is lying there. His heart swells and his eyes shine yellow as he grins. "Did ya miss me that much?" For some reason, instead of smiling at him, you slowly place your hands over your ears. Huh. Wait. Did somebody hurt you? Does he need to find whoever did this? He coaxes your hands away from your ears and checks for blood. You give him a weak smile and mutter out something he barely deduces to be "my brain". Oh, your brain hurts. That he can understand. He settles down beside you and tucks you in a little more securely. If humans can get their brain hurt so easily, then they must need a strong demon to make sure they were ok while they slept, he told himself. No other reason.

Lucifer makes the short trek from his study to his office late at night. He takes the walk slowly, ensuring that his shoes make as little noise as possible. His hand reaches for the doorknob to his bedroom, but he freezes. He swears he had left the lights on, but there's only darkness through the gaps in the door. He readies a shield spell in tired fingers, convinced this must be another one of Satan or Belphie's tricks. He braces himself, walks through- and all is quiet. Except for the faint sound of breathing. He flips on a lamp and he can see your pretty eyes wincing away from the light. "What are you doing in my bed? Surely yours can't be that uncomfortable," he teases. You pout up at him wordlessly. Thankfully, he's raised six demons and one angel, which makes him particularly good at figuring out what's wrong with a creature who can't speak. He decides that whatever it is, the lights and the noise must be making it worse, so he goes to shower as quickly and quietly as possible. You're nearly asleep when he comes back, so he tries to settle his aching bones on the opposite side of the bed. You crack open your eyes and glare at him with all the impudence you can muster, and he chuckles softly. You close your eyes as he wraps you in his wings, and he watches as you fall asleep with a smile on your face.

Asmodeus is very proud of his bed. It has more hidden tricks than a demon could find in a lifetime, and he's poured hundreds of Grimm into making it equal amounts beautiful and comfortable. But when he imagined coming home to find you in his bed, usually he imagined you in that one pair of lacy panties and a sultry lipstick. He certainly didn't imagine you in sweatpants, blinking up at him blearily as he peeks under the blankets at your cute face. "Couldn't even wait until I got here, darling?" You give him a pained groan instead of a smile or a laugh, and that's when he realizes something really is wrong. He places a gentle kiss to your forehead, leaving you smelling faintly like strawberries. "Are you sick?" he pouts. You try to whisper something but give up and tap your head with a finger. "Oh sweetheart... I can help, I promise. I'll be right back." A soft lavender scent wafts through your nostrils and you feel a warm, damp towel on your forehead as he coaxes you to lay on your back. He straightens the sheets around you and presses small kisses to you wherever his mouth ends up. He winds his body around yours and decides that even if this was unexpected, he'll never be disappointed by a chance to spoil you.

Satan is fairly certain that there are very few demons, even amongst his brothers, who would dare to enter his room without asking. He's already deduced, with his incredible detective skills, that it could only be you who has the sheer audacity to climb into his bed when he wasn't there. He knows that you've mentioned that you suffer from migraines before, but he's never seen you during one. This will be a fantastic learning experience, he thinks. You open your eyes to look at him and his smile drops as he realizes how much pain you must be in. He mentally flips through pages and pages of research on human medical conditions. Water, plain food, and rest? Is that really all he can do? He huffs in annoyance, wondering to himself how humans have survived this long. He roots through a few piles of books before finding some stale crackers and concluding that he needed some better resources. He rushes downstairs, using his tail for balance to quiet his steps, and retrieves an armful of food and water. Your eyes glint in the dim light as you watch him, amused. The demon busies himself with arranging everything on his nightstand so that you can reach it with minimal movement. Your hand reaches out and he smiles to himself before it finds not a glass or a snack, but his wrist. You give him a gentle tug before he understands. Gingerly he lowers himself into bed beside you, almost afraid to get too close. You bury your forehead into his side and he laughs softly. He keeps watch over you as you sleep, in case any other part of your body decides to turn on you in the night.

#obey me #obey me swd #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me mc #obey me satan #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me mammon #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me fluff #ephie writes

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nectardaddy · 6 months ago

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late nights - inumaki toge

Your head rested calmly on the young man's shoulder as your heavy lidded eyes fought against the sleep that so eagerly wanted to take you. Your legs on either side of him as he sat in a chair at his desk, comfortably straddling him as he sat with his attention pulled elsewhere. You felt the muscles in his arm move and flex under your cheek, a sensation you never knew would be comforting until you started dating the cursed speech user.

His pale face, completely uncovered, reflected the vibrant colors of the screen he gave his attention to. The sound of the game he played turned off completely as he'd rather listen to the soft music he played instead. You did this often with the young man, cuddling into him as he whisked himself away into a game or two. Arms wrapped around the man's torso, you held tighter as you took a deep breath, finding peace. A small kiss was placed on your head, and your ears pricked at the sound of a controller being gently placed on his desk.

"Hey," he murmured to pull your attention towards him. Blinking hard to fight your tiredness, you lifted your head with a yawn to look up at him. "Tired?" His question a bit exaggerated, but he articulated thoughtfully in regard to his speech. If not posed as a very obvious question, he feared he might knock you out completely. He knew the risk in speaking to you, but found it near impossible to restrain himself. He needed to. With every fiber in his soul he craved to speak to you.

A silent nod was all that Toge needed from you, hesitantly getting up with you in his arms and putting you to bed. He found it endearing the way your hands clutched onto him once he rose, fingers grabbing at his shirt is a lethargic manner. His lips parted only to promptly close them, hovering over his words in his mind before wishing to speak. He couldn't utter such words he wanted aloud.

The mattress squeaked from the weight shift as he gently set you down, and he accompanied by sitting next to you. 'Get some sleep,' he signed, pale hands moving slower than usual as he knew you were groggy. He could feel his heart melt at the sleepy smile you gave him, finding himself so infatuated with you all over again. 'I'm not tired yet, so I'll join you later.'

Hearing you huff at his signed words, he felt your cool hand touch his wrist. Fingers wrapping around the skin before ultimately grabbing at him, pulling him towards you with a tired, silly smile. "Too bad," you murmured. Successfully pulling him down towards you, you watched him roll his eyes but give in quickly regardless. "You're joining me now," you added, wrapping your arms around the man so he couldn't return to his desk.

'Whatever you say,' he signed with a faux sigh. 'I need to learn to say no to you, you've gotten spoiled,' rolling his eyes as he heard you chuckle.

"Don't act like you don't love this," you spoke softly with a yawn. "You practically throw a fit when you can't touch me," your tone teasing as the words left your lips. "Such a hypocrite," you added.

A chuckle passed his lips, the embedded marks that etched the corners of his mouth crinkling as he smiled. He shifted himself in bed as to lean closer to you, but kept his hands free if he wished to speak. A habit you had grown accustomed to, as the man didn't hold you until you were already asleep in case he wished to talk to you. 'Go to sleep already, silly.' Placing a small peck to your forehead before pulling you closer, 'if you don't, I'll tell you to.'

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #inumaki toge x reader #toge inumaki x reader #toge inumaki #inumaki toge #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk toge #jjk inumaki #gender neutral reader #drabble #fluffy toge #toge inumaki headcanons #inumaki toge headcanons

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hoe4hotchner · 5 days ago

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Hi, i love your writings!! Can i request a reader x hotchner where reader has a panic attack and hotch calms them down? Preferably with fem!reader but i'll leave it up to you.

Steady Hands | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | WC: 0.5k | CW: Panic attack, angst + comfort

You barely registered the spiral beginning — one second you were fine, and then it was as if something heavy crushed your chest, squeezing tighter as each breath desperately clawed its way out. You felt trapped, frozen to your chair, helpless against the flood of panic ripping through you. The world felt like it was closing in, sounds warping and fading, and your vision blurred as tears pricked at your eyes.

Your fingers dug into the edge of your desk, knuckles white, as if holding on would somehow stop the dizzying storm inside. You bowed your head towards your lap as you tried to steady yourself. Your breaths were shallow, coming too fast, yet it felt like there was never enough air for a single breath that was deep enough to truly snap you out of it. Your heart thundered so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else around you.

And then, a warm, steady hand closed over yours.

Your mind barely had time to process what was happening, and for a brief second, your chest tightened even more in fright. But a familiar voice, low and soothing, broke through the haze. “It’s me. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

It was Hotch.

He was crouched beside you, his eyes soft and full of concern, studying you with such care that it hurt. His fingers laced through yours, grounding you, pulling you back from the overwhelming part of your brain.

“Aaron…” you managed to gasp, but your voice was thin, choked.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, leaning closer, his thumb running gentle circles across the back of your hand. His touch was so warm, so present, and it made your heart flutter. “I’m right here. Just breathe with me, okay?”

You wanted to respond, to tell him you couldn’t, that it was too much, but he was already breathing — slow, deep, steady breaths. One, two, three, four. His voice was like an anchor, and you focused on the rise and fall of his chest as he coaxed you to follow along. “In…hold it…now let it out.”

It was hard. Every inhale felt like a battle, like dragging yourself out from the depths, but his eyes never left you, making sure that you were following him. Hotch kept talking to you, his voice a soothing murmur, reminding you that you weren’t alone, that he was here, and that you were safe while staying calm and quiet as to not rile you up.

Slowly and painfully, the fog began to clear.

As your breaths evened out, his hand never left yours. “You’re doing so well,” he whispered, his words were gentle and full of pride. “I’m so proud of you.”

The words hit harder than you expected, filling the emptiness left behind by your panic with something comforting. A few stray tears slid down your cheeks, but this time, they weren’t from fear.

Aaron’s thumb brushed one away, his hand cradling your face with the same tenderness he held in his gaze. He waited until your breathing was fully steady — until your hand stopped shaking in his. “I’m right here,” he repeated softly, and you felt the sincerity of every word, like a promise he’d never break.

You took a shuddering breath, the weight on your chest finally lifting. “Thank you, Aaron,” you whispered, your voice was raw, yet steadier than before.

He gave you a small, gentle smile. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he replied, his voice just as soft. And in his steady hands, you knew you were safe.

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mysindividual · 21 days ago

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(Unknowingly), his unspoken wish | Aaron Hotchner

*can be read as a standalone but is a bonus scene for the Unknowingly series in honour of celebrating Aaron’s birthday🥹

MASTERLIST

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!reader

summary: your boss is drowning in paperwork when you burst in with a birthday cake and a cheerful serenade, determined to rescue him from his serious face. Your playful spirit turns the mundane into a mini-party and the weight of his responsibilities fades. In that small, cozy space, laughter and connection blossom, transforming an ordinary night into a memorable celebration filled with joy and unspoken wishes. Who knew paperwork could come with cake and a side of chaos?

warnings: boss x subordinate, mutual pining, some fluff and flirting, of course

Aaron Hotchner sat alone in his dimly lit office, the clock ticking softly in the background, marking the late hours of the night. The weight of paperwork loomed over him like an unwelcome cloud, his loose white shirt hanging comfortably around his neck, the collar slightly askew. His tie lay abandoned on the desk, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that hinted at both strength and exhaustion. The flickering light from the desk lamp cast soft shadows across his focused expression as he scribbled notes on a report.

You peered through the slightly ajar door, a smile breaking across your face at the sight of him buried in work. It was a familiar scene—one you had come to appreciate. There was something about seeing him so immersed in his tasks, yet so human in his dishevelled attire, that made your heart flutter. The way he concentrated, the faint lines of stress etched on his brow, made you want to lighten his burden.

You pushed the door open wider, stepping inside with a piece of cake held delicately in your hands, a single candle flickering atop it like a beacon of cheer. Taking a deep breath, you began to sing, “Happy birthday to you…” Your voice echoed softly against the walls, a playful melody breaking the stillness.

Aaron’s head snapped up, confusion flashing across his face for a split second before it transformed into a genuine but tired smile, softening the stern lines of his jaw. He looked at the unexpected sight before him, momentarily caught off guard by your vibrant presence. Weaving your way around the desk and towards him, Aaron turned his chair to face you fully, his brow furrowing in surprise before softening with gratitude. “How did you know?” he asked, the weight of his day momentarily lifting.

“Do you really think you can keep secrets from me?” You set the cake down with a flourish, leaning against the desk, your playful demeanor a breath of fresh air in the still office. “I have my sources,” you replied, your voice teasing and light. “Every birthday deserves a little celebration, don’t you think?” You winked at him, your smile infectious.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, clearly both flattered and amused. “I usually keep my birthday under wraps to avoid… this,” he said, gesturing towards the cake, a hint of bemusement lacing his tone. “I prefer to keep it low-key. Too many people would make a big deal out of it.”

“Good thing I’m not ‘too many people’,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow as you grinned down at him. “Just the right amount of fun for the birthday boss.”

As your gaze locked, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. The flickering candlelight danced between you, casting a warm glow that highlighted the softness in his eyes. “You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent, as if acknowledging something sacred.

“Aren’t birthdays meant for surprises?” you replied, your brows lifting in playful challenge. The candlelight danced in your cheerful eyes, enhancing the intimacy of the moment. “Now, close your eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candle,” you urged, clasping your hands beneath your chin, your heart racing in anticipation.

Aaron sighed, knowing you wouldn’t let go until he did it, knowing too well he couldn’t resist your charm. So he closed his eyes, focusing on the flame that flickered before him. In that stillness, his thoughts turned inwards, settling on a wish that felt profound—a desire that had stirred in his heart for longer than he dared to acknowledge. The truth settled in his heart: you were the source of his joy, the light that pierced the shadows of his long hours.

When he opened his eyes again, he found you watching him intently, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well? What did you wish for?” you teased, leaning closer, your curiosity brightening the room.

He smirked, the playful banter returning, but he felt the weight of his unshared truth. “That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he replied, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “After all, you have your sources.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling plastic forks from your suit’s pocket and offering one to him. As you both shared a slice of cake, Aaron looked up at you, his expression softening. You were perched on the edge of his desk, a playful sparkle dancing in your eyes as you dove into the cake, savoring each bite. But as he glanced back at the clock, a question nagged at him. Why were you really here, choosing him over the festivities? He couldn’t shake the thought. While others were out enjoying the night, you had willingly stepped into the dim light of his office, sharing a slice of cake and laughter instead.

“Shouldn’t you be out with the team, enjoying your night off?” he asked, a hint of curiosity threading through his tone. His gaze flicked to the clock on the wall, the seconds ticking away, a reminder of the lively night happening elsewhere.

“Because,” you replied, leaning in closer, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I’d much rather celebrate with you than be in a crowded bar where no one knows how to appreciate a good cake.”

A teasing smile crept across your lips, surveying the neatly organized office as if contemplating a grand scheme. “I could say I was worried about you, but honestly?” You paused for effect, cocking your head to the side with a playful smirk. “I couldn’t resist the chance to bring a little chaos and cake to your perfectly organized life.”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a satisfied grin creeping across his face as he watched you. It was rare for him to let his guard down in the office, but here you were, radiating a lightness that cut through the heaviness of his responsibilities like a beam of sunshine. You were animated, lost in the joy of the moment, and it reminded him of how much he valued your presence—your ability to infuse laughter and warmth into the often-grim world of the Bureau.

You didn’t just bring chaos; you brought something deeper—a sense of connection, a reminder that even in the seriousness of his job, he wasn’t alone. He appreciated how you lightened his burdens, even if just for a brief reprieve. The laughter and shared cake were small acts, but they brought a brightness that pierced through the usual shadows of his responsibilities.

In that fleeting moment, he felt a swell of gratitude that you had chosen to stay, even if it was just to share a slice of cake. He felt a flicker of hope. Maybe this wasn’t just about the cake; maybe it was about you choosing him.

“Did you wish for another piece of cake?” you teased, breaking the comfortable silence, a mischievous sparkle in your eyes revealing your hidden intentions as you enjoyed your bite.

“No, but I should have,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone as the corners of his lips lifted slightly. “What I wished for might be a little more… complicated.”

“Oh? Now you have to tell me, or I can’t help,” you insisted, leaning closer, your voice dropping conspiratorially. “I have my sources. Was it something about the case? A promotion? Or maybe that I’d bring you cake every year?”

He raised an eyebrow, maintaining a teasingly serious expression. “Let’s just say it was a wish for happiness.” His gaze lingered on yours, and in that moment, a soft connection sparked between you—an unspoken understanding that hung in the air, almost tangible.

You felt warmth blossom within you, the moment stretching as you shared that knowing smile, nodding. “Well, then, I think we have to make that wish come true. Starting with more cake,” you declared, laughter bubbling up as you reached for a fork, your enthusiasm infectious.

The night was far from over, and in that small office, surrounded by scattered papers and the gentle ticking of seconds on the clock, something unspoken began to bloom—a shared wish, yet unvoiced, hanging delicately between you.

As you both indulged in the cake, the storm of paperwork faded into the background, replaced by an easy warmth that enveloped the room. The simple act of celebrating—a birthday, a connection—infused the atmosphere with a sweetness that even the weightiest cases could not overshadow. Each bite of cake felt like a small victory, a reminder that joy could be found in the midst of chaos.

#aaron hotch #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotch x y/n #aaron hotchner x you #unknowingly series #bonus scene #i didnt plan to write this bc i apparently dont know its hotch birthday #i had another part of the series ready to be published tonight but ah well. maybe tomorrow #criminal minds

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