#my heart is pained in every way when i look at every table for every league i'm peeping on....

[insidekatmind]

HYDRA- BROCK RUMLOW

Wearning: +18,angst, smut.

Request: yes!

It was an ordinary day or at least it seemed that way. The sunlight filtered through the blinds in your room, drawing streaks of light on the floor. You stretched lazily, your body still wrapped in the warmth of the bed. Brock had kissed you goodbye quickly that morning, leaving with an excuse about an emergency at work.

“Don’t be late,” you had said, your voice still heavy with sleep.

“Promise, Y/N,” he replied, a smile he could never quite hide completely.

You never thought too much about the fact that he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., even though his position was shrouded in secrecy. "Protocol," he would say whenever you asked about his work. And you, trusting him, never pushed too hard for answers. But that evening, everything changed.

You were in the living room, immersed in a book, when an unusual sound from Brock’s phone caught your attention. He had left it on the table before heading out, something he never did. The persistent vibration and the words “Operation Herald” flashing on the screen piqued your curiosity.

“Strange…” you thought.

Biting your lower lip, you hesitated between ignoring it and checking. Curiosity won out. Swiping the screen quickly, you found a cryptic message:

“Mission compromised. Eliminate Y/N if necessary.”

The blood froze in your veins. You must have read it wrong. You reread the message, hoping it was a mistake. But no, it was there, clear as day.

When Brock returned that evening, your heart was pounding. You tried to act normal, but he knew you too well.

“Everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he took off his jacket.

“Yeah, sure,” you lied.

But it wasn’t so easy to hide your nervousness. During dinner, he watched you in silence. Every now and then, his eyes seemed to scan you, as if searching for something. After clearing the dishes, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Brock,” you began, your voice tense, “what is Hydra?”

He froze. The spoon he was drying stopped mid-air. His eyes pierced through you, cold as ice.

“Why are you asking?” he replied slowly, with a forced calm that sent shivers down your spine.

“I found a message on your phone.” You were direct. There was no way to sugarcoat the truth.

The tension in the room became palpable. Brock set the spoon down and approached you slowly, as if afraid you might run.

“Y/N…” he murmured, his tone low and menacing. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Shouldn’t have done what? Found out you’ve been lying to me this whole time? Found out you’re… you’re one of them?”

His face twisted for a moment, then his demeanor changed. The mask fell, revealing a man you had never seen before.

“And if it’s true?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I am Hydra, does it change anything? Am I not the same man you love?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You have the nerve to ask me that? You’re a traitor, Brock! Everything we have… is it a lie?”

“Not everything,” he countered. “I love you, Y/N. That’s real. But there are bigger things at play. Hydra is the future. And I want you to be part of it.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “I can’t believe what you’re saying. I can’t…”

Brock stepped closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Don’t make this harder, Y/N. Come with me. I’ll protect you. No one will hurt you.”

“Protect me?” you shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. “From the world or from you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Brock stared at you, the conflict clear in his eyes. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Then you’ve made your decision,” he said, his voice icy. “What a shame. I would’ve liked to have you by my side.”

You didn’t wait for him to say more. With one last, pained look, you ran out the door, your heart shattered and only one certainty left: the man you loved was your worst enemy.

But you knew this wasn’t the end. Brock Rumlow would find you. And this time, you’d be ready.

---

Five months had passed since that event and you now lived alone in a small studio apartment.You walked into your apartment and placed your bag on the couch and felt like you were being watched.

Sitting in a darkened corner, a tall, built silhouette watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your form.His gaze burned through the shadows, observing your every move. He was like a statue, still and silent, but his presence was suffocating, filling the room with a tension that sent shivers down your spine.

Brock Rumlow had found you, just as you had expected. The question was, what would he do now?

You turn on the light and there's Brock sitting there. "What are you doing here?" You murmur without moving closer to him.

Brock doesn't move, just keeps looking at you intently, his icy gaze fixed on your form."Isn't it obvious?" he says in a low voice, tilting his head slightly, his eyes roaming over your face. "I had to find you."He stands up slowly, and only now it's clear how imposing he is. He's towering over you, his muscular frame like a wall of muscle, his presence suffocating.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze never leaving your face.“You look good,” he says finally, his voice a low, almost growl. “I missed you.”The confession hangs in the room for a long moment, like a dagger pointed straight at your heart. But you don’t let the emotion show on your face, keeping your expression neutral, guarded.

He takes another step closer, almost closing the distance between you. His eyes roam over your body hungrily, taking in every inch of you.“You’re still wearing the necklace I gave you,” he says, his gaze suddenly fixing on the small charm that hangs around your neck. It’s a delicate silver heart, a silent reminder of happier times.

Instinctively you touch your necklace, averting your gaze and moving away a little.

He notices the gesture, and a smirk twitches on his lips.“Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me.”Brock follows you, closing the distance again in a few strides. He’s now standing so close that you can feel his body heat, his presence overwhelming.

He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck.“I know you better than you know yourself, Y/N,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “I know how your body reacts when I touch you. Here…”His fingers trail down to your collarbone, caressing lightly. You shiver involuntarily under his touch.

“And here…”His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer with an almost effortless strength. Your body responds without consent, your pulse quickening. You try to hold back, but it’s harder than you thought.

"What are you doing here Brock?" You whisper, looking at him.

“I told you,” he says, his voice a guttural whisper, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “I had to find you.”

Brock leans down, his forehead touching yours lightly, his hands still on your waist, holding you firmly. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his aftershave so familiar it makes your heart ache.

"Why?" you try trying not to give in and hold him tight.

“Because I couldn’t let you go like that,” he responds, his voice filled with an odd mix of anger, hurt, and something else you can’t quite place.

Brock pulls you closer, his body nearly molding against yours. He’s holding you tight now, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands are on your back, his fingers pressing into your skin almost possessively.

You lean into his chest and sigh, closing your eyes for a second. "How did you find me?" You murmur into his chest.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead nuzzling his face into your hair. He breathes in the scent of you, committing it to memory.“I have my ways,” he finally says, his voice rumbling in his chest. He pulls back slightly, looking down at you. “You can never hide from me, Y/N. You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

His words send a chill down your spine, the possessive tone stirring up a mixture of emotions. You pull back a little, looking up at him.

“I’m not yours, Brock. Not anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You made that choice when you lied to me, when you chose Hydra over me.”

His jaw clenches at your words, his eyes darkening.“You make it sound so simple,” he retorts, his voice taking on a harsher edge. “But it’s not, Y/N. It’s not simple at all.”

He steps back, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He’s clearly struggling, some inner conflict playing out on his face.“I never wanted to lie to you,” he says finally, his voice quieter than before. “I needed to protect you. I still do.”Brock looks at you with such intensity that it’s almost overwhelming. He’s silently pleading for understanding, for forgiveness, but you’re too hurt to give it easily.

You look at him biting your lip. “Did you kill anyone?”

He hesitates, his silence speaking volumes. When he finally answers, his voice is low, rough.“Yes,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering.

You can see the weight of his words hanging in the air, the reality of what he’s done sinking in.“Why?” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “How many?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes going distant as if remembering something. After a moment, he looks at you, his face hard.“Enough,” he says, his voice cold, emotionless.

His silence is maddening, each unanswered question hanging between you like a heavy cloud. This isn’t the man you knew, the man who held you close and whispered words of love and comfort. This is someone else, a stranger wearing the face of the love of your life.

"Would you kill me too if they asked you?" you ask, looking at him.

He flinches at your question, the hurt in your eyes cutting through his cold exterior.“No,” he says, his voice suddenly ragged, the coldness seeping away. “I couldn’t, Y/N. I wouldn’t.There’s a desperation in his voice, a frantic edge that betrays his inner struggle. He takes a step closer to you again, his hands coming up to cradle your face tenderly.

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes.He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you firmly. He buries his face in your hair, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into your hair, his voice low and rough. “I’m sorry for everything, Y/N.” Brock repeats the words like a mantra, holding you tightly, as if afraid you’ll slip from his grasp.

You melt at his touch and his words and decide to forgive him. You hug him tighter and rub his back.

He lets out a deep sigh, his body relaxing as he melts into your embrace. He buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.“I missed you so much,” he murmurs, his voice muffled. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that you haven’t seen before, the facade of the stoic field agent slipping.

“you too” you whisper.His eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if seeing you for the first time. Then, without warning, he claims your lips in a passionate kiss, crushing you against him.

He kisses you desperately, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. He tastes like you remembered - a mix of cigarettes and coffee, a flavor that was once so familiar that you almost forgot it. His hands roams over your body, as if trying to remember the shape of you, the feel of you.

You kiss back, holding onto Brock as you kiss him more passionately.He moans into your mouth, the sound a low, guttural rumble. He backs you up until you hit a wall, pinning you there with his body. He’s everywhere - his hands, his mouth, his breath, the solid bulk of him pressing into you. The world outside seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you in a moment of raw, desperate passion.

His lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses. His hands slide under your shirt, caressing your skin as he kisses down to the hollow of your collarbone. He’s everywhere, all around you, his touch sending electric shivers down your spine.

You moaned at his touch and kisses and gave him more space as you closed your eyes in pleasure.He grins against your skin at your noises. He’d always loved the sounds he could get out of you, and hearing them now only fueled his desire. His lips continued their path down your neck, nipping and sucking, leaving a trail of small, dark marks on your skin.

His hands were everywhere, roaming over your stomach, your sides, your back. He was rough, almost greedy, as if making up for lost time. He pushed your shirt out of the way, his mouth blazing a path down your chest, his breath hot against your skin.He pressed you more firmly against the wall, his body trapping you there. You felt vulnerable under his touch, exposed, but also desired in a way that only he could make you feel. He nipped and sucked at the soft skin of your chest, leaving more marks, his body pressing into you with a mixture of possessiveness and need.

Brock immediately takes off your jeans and did the same with his and then picked you up and carried you to your bedroom.He carries you with ease, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He pushes open the bedroom door and deposits you onto the bed before climbing over you, his body trapping you again. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and something else, something deeper, darker.

“Brock,” you murmur as you take off his shirt.He helps you undress him, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of his bare chest sends a shiver down your spine, the taut muscles and tanned skin so familiar yet so new at the same time. He leans back down, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin against yours like fire.

He takes off his boxers and pulls down your thong to enter you. While doing this he kissed you passionately.He kisses you hungrily, as if trying to convey with his lips all the things he can’t say out loud. He’s rough, his hand gripping your hip possessively, but there’s also a tenderness in the way his lips caress yours. He pulls you closer, molding your body to his, as if he can’t get enough of you.

You moan through the kisses feeling his strong movements.He responds to your moans, his movements becoming more intense, more desperate. He’s holding nothing back, every thrust driven by a primal need to claim you as his. He’s lost in you.“I missed this,” he grits out, his voice ragged and low. “I missed you, missed being this close to you, missed the way you feel under me.”

You moan at his words and cling to him. “Me too Brock, I missed you so much” you whisper.He growls at your admission, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against him. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice a hoarse whisper against your ear. “Tell me you missed me.”

“I missed you so much” you say moaning feeling his thrusts get stronger.Brock groans, the sound deep and primal, as if he’s holding on by a thread. He kisses you, hard, his tongue tangling with yours. “You have no idea how much I need to hear that,” he mutters against your lips. “How long I’ve needed to hear you say it.”

He kisses you again, deeper, more hungrily, as if trying to consume you. His body is moving against yours in a primal rhythm, the raw need between you building with each passing second. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive. “Say it.”

You moaned at his possessiveness and his thrusts that became more and more animalistic. "I'm yours, all yours Brock".The words seem to unleash something in him. He grips you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin almost possessively. “That’s right,” he mutters, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go again. Never.”

He starts to move faster, the pace more frantic, more desperate. He kisses you again, as if he can’t get enough of your mouth, of your taste. “Say it again,” he says, his voice ragged and low. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You moan at his thrusts and scratch his back. "Yours, only yours".His body tenses at your words, his muscles rippling under your hands. “Damn right you are,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of desire and something darker, something possessive. “You’re mine, and I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

He moves faster, more urgently, his hands roaming over your body, as if caressing every inch of you. He kisses, bites, and sucks at your skin, marking you as his, everywhere he can reach. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice thick and ragged. “No one else’s.”A sense of almost frenzied desperation seems to take over, fueled by months of separation and the weight of what he’s done. There’s an edge to his movements, a fierce need to claim you, body and soul. “Mine,” he repeats, a primal growl in his voice. “You’re all mine, Y/N.

Always.”You moan and hold onto him. "I'm coming".He moans, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “Come for me,” he mutters, his voice tight and ragged. “Come for me, and say my name. I need to hear you.”

His thrusts became harder and you screamed louder and louder. “Brock” you yelled as you came.He grunts, his body tensing as he responds to your release. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Say it again,” he growls, his voice rough. “Say my name again.”

You screamed his name louder and louder as he came inside you.He groaned as he came, his body shuddering against yours. He buried his face in your hair, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. “Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough and ragged. “I… I…”

He trails off, seemingly lost for words. The raw emotion in his voice is clear, a rare vulnerability showing through the gruff exterior. He stays there for a moment, his body still pressed against yours. He seems suddenly young, like the boy you fell in love with so many years ago.He pulls back slightly, looking down at you. His eyes are dark, still filled with need and desire, but there’s something more there now - a depth, a vulnerability. “I love you,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N. And I always will.”

You smile softly at his words and kiss his cheek. “I love you too and will always love you Brock” you say sweetly.His expression softens, something like relief flickering across his face. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing tenderly over your skin. “Damn,” he mutters, his voice a rough whisper. “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile and stroke his hair.He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes roaming over you as if trying to memorize every feature. “I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. “I never deserved you. But I’m never letting you go again. I need you too damn much.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you possessively. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly fierce again. “Every part of you, completely mine.”

[wendichester]

is it okay if I request a sam x reader where sam is secretly in love with you but reader is dating dean and music and personality wise reader is a lot more like sam?

₊˚⊹ ᰔ happier,

summary. maybe you've picked the wrong brother. sam thinks so.

pairing. unrequited lover!sam winchester x reader ft. dean winchester

wordcount. 662

notes. this honestly broke my heart a little. i am not okay ˙◠˙

The bunker’s library is dimly lit, the warm glow of a desk lamp casting shadows across Sam’s face as he flips through an old book. The faint sound of your favorite song hums from the kitchen, where Dean is cooking—or attempting to. Sam knows you must have convinced him to play it.

He doesn’t look up when you walk in, but he knows it’s you. Your scent—something faintly floral and sweet—fills the room before you even say a word. You’re always here, hanging around Dean, but it’s Sam you seem to click with when it comes to conversation, music, and shared interests. You’re like him, and it’s something he tries to bury deep down.

“Hey, Sammy,” you say, plopping down in the chair across from him with a grin.

Sam’s heart skips a beat at the nickname you’ve claimed just for him. Dean calls him “Sammy” too, but it’s different when it’s you. When it’s you, it’s softer, sweeter, like you’re letting him into a part of your world you don’t share with Dean.

“What are you working on?” you ask, tilting your head and leaning forward, your elbows on the table. Your loose flannel—Sam’s flannel, lent to you during a cold night in the Impala—is unbuttoned over a tank top, your tattoos peeking from beneath the sleeves.

“Just researching,” he says, his voice carefully neutral as he slides the book toward you. “Possible lore on the hunt.”

You nod, eyes scanning the page. You’re so focused, biting your lip like you always do when you’re concentrating. It’s one of the many little things Sam has noticed about you, the small quirks that make you who you are, that make him fall a little more every day.

“You’ve got that look,” you tease, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“What look?” he asks, his voice slightly defensive.

“The ‘I’m overthinking everything and carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders’ look,” you say with a smirk.

Sam chuckles softly, shaking his head. “Guess it’s hard to hide.”

You reach across the table, your hand brushing his briefly as you slide the book back toward him. His skin burns at the contact, and he hates himself for the way his heart aches.

Dean strolls into the room then, plates of food in hand. “Dinner’s ready,” he announces, setting a plate in front of you. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple, and Sam forces himself to look away.

“Thanks, babe,” you say, smiling up at Dean. Your eyes light up when you’re with him, and Sam can’t blame Dean for falling for you. He just wishes he’d had the chance first.

As the three of you eat, you and Sam inevitably end up in your usual rhythm—talking about books, dissecting song lyrics, and trading inside jokes Dean doesn’t quite get. Dean doesn’t seem to mind; he’s used to it by now, but Sam wonders if he notices how much easier it is for you to talk to him than to Dean.

Later that night, when the bunker is quiet and Sam is alone in his room, he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.

You’re with Dean, and Sam knows better than to get in the way. Dean’s his brother, his blood, and he’d never betray him like that. But the way you fit so easily into Sam’s world, the way you laugh at his dry humor and share his taste in music—it feels like the universe is mocking him.

He pulls out his journal, the one no one knows about, and writes down a single thought before closing it and setting it aside:

“She would be so much happier with me.”

Sam sighs, running a hand through his hair and leaning back in his chair. Loving you from afar is torture, but it’s a pain he’ll endure if it means seeing you happy, even if it’s not with him.

For now, that will have to be enough.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @nervoussystemss ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @defnot-svnshine ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

Is there someone else?

(Satoru gojo xreader angst)

{i used chat gpt to fix my grammer)

Is There Someone Else?

The rain poured relentlessly, cascading down the large windows of your shared apartment. You sat on the couch, your phone clutched tightly in your hands, waiting for a message-any sign from him. But Gojo Satoru, ever aloof and unreachable, was silent once again.

He’d been distant lately. His playful demeanor remained, but something felt off. The way he avoided eye contact during conversations, the way his smile didn’t reach his eyes anymore—it gnawed at you like a persistent shadow.

Tonight was the breaking point. You had waited for hours for him to come home, dinner growing cold on the table. When you finally called, it went straight to voicemail. Not that it surprised you. Satoru’s life as the strongest sorcerer was unpredictable, but this wasn’t about his missions anymore.

It was about her.

Her name was uthaime. She had always been a presence in his life, confident and alluring. You told yourself it was paranoia, but the little things added up. The whispered phone calls, the inside jokes they shared, the way his face lit up when she walked into a room—it was unbearable.

When the door finally opened, Satoru stepped in, his hair damp from the rain and his blindfold hanging loosely around his neck. He looked exhausted, but the sight of you froze him in place.

“Hey,” he said softly, but the warmth in his voice felt rehearsed.

“Where were you?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to sound calm.

“Out,” he replied, evasive as always.

“With uthaime?” The name tasted bitter on your tongue.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Why does it matter?”

You stood up, the pain bubbling into anger. “It matters because I feel like I’m losing you, Satoru! You’ve been so distant, and every time I see you with her, it feels like you’re slipping away.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re overthinking this. Uthaime and I work together. That’s all it is.”

“Then why don’t you ever tell me where you’re going? Why do you avoid me?” Your voice cracked, betraying the hurt you tried so hard to hide.

“Because I don’t want to fight about this every time!” he snapped, his usual playful tone replaced by frustration. “Do you think I don’t notice the way you look at me, always doubting me?”

“Can you blame me?!” you shouted. “You never let me in, Satoru! I don’t even know what we are anymore.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the sound of the rain. His gaze softened, but it wasn’t comforting. It was filled with something that looked like guilt.

“Do you love her?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He froze, his expression unreadable. “What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me.”

He hesitated, and that pause was enough to shatter whatever hope you had left.

“I care about you,” he said finally, but his words felt hollow.

You laughed bitterly, tears streaming down your face. “That’s not what I asked.”

He stepped closer, but you took a step back. “Don’t, Satoru. Just… don’t.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said softly, his voice filled with regret. “You mean so much to me.”

“But not enough,” you replied, your heart breaking with every word.

The gap between you felt insurmountable, a chasm filled with everything left unsaid. Without another word, you grabbed your coat and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice.

“Somewhere I can breathe,” you said, not looking back.

As the door closed behind you, the rain outside mirrored the storm inside your heart. You didn’t know where you were going, but one thing was clear—you couldn’t stay. You didn't know if you'll be back or not.

And somewhere in the empty apartment, Satoru stood alone, his hand still reaching for the door, wondering if he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 60

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,660ish

Summary: Life continues to move along, as does Logan's feelings.

Notes: Things are moving along! Please share reactions! 

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

“So, where are you thinking of applying?” You asked Laura as the two of you got ready to bed.

“Columbia and NYU,” Laura admitted, though you could hear her hesitation.

“Those aren’t far.”

“Well, I’m not willing to go far.”

“Laura—“

“No, mom. I want to go to college so I will, but I will not be going too far from you.”

Your heart swelled with pride. Yes, you hated that you felt like you were holding Laura back, but you were so proud of the woman she was becoming.

“I’m also thinking of getting a job,” Laura continued. “I don’t want all of my tuition to be on you.”

“I don’t mind, kiddo,” you told her. “You’re my daughter and I’m here to help. If you want me to be able to let you help me, you have to do the same.”

“Okay.”

You pulled her in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, mom… I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

You kissed her temple as you pulled away. “Wanna have a slumber party tonight? Whip out a movie?”

“I’d love to. I’ll get the popcorn started.”

“And I’ll get the bed together.”

~~~

Logan had never been this nervous before, but for some reason he kept checking to make sure he looked presentable as he headed for your work. It was Logan’s turn to walk you home and he hadn’t gotten a chance to since he had started feeling different or enhanced emotions towards you. He didn’t know what these feelings meant or how to even handle them. He’d never felt emotions like these before, even with his original you.

With his hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, Logan made his way down the street with a long stride. He wanted to get to the bar before it closed to help you clean up. You had been taking better care of yourself as well as letting others help you, no matter how hard it was for you. But Logan could still see the pain shining behind your eyes and he would do what he could to help.

When he entered the bar, Logan’s eyes immediately found you standing behind the counter. Though you were worn out from a long night of work, Logan felt like his breath was taken away at the sight of you. That had been happening more and more lately, how he found you gorgeous in every situation. Logan finally got his feet moving again, heading straight for you.

“Hey, doll,” he greeted, slipping into a stool in front of you.

“Logan,” you smiled at him. “You’re early.”

“Wanted to give you a hand in closing.”

You shook your head. “You don’t need to. I can do it.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

Your chest tightened at the idea that Logan just wanted to help you. It wasn’t something new. He had done that basically since the day you met, but you would never get used to it. Especially after the years you had spent talking care of everyone else. Not that you minded taking care of others, it was just different to remember how to let others help you.

“What can I help you with?” He asked.

“Uh, I guess, uh, can you grab a rag and wipe down the empty tables?”

“Of course.”

“They’re back here and there’s cleaner with them.”

“Okay.” 

Logan slipped off the stool and quickly got to work. You finished up helping the last few customers, closing out their tabs, and then locking the door and turning off the open sign. 

“Do the chairs and stools need to be stacked?” Logan asked, wiping them down as well as he moved from table to table.

“Yeah, on the tables and bar,” you replied.

Logan nodded and began putting the stools and chairs up. You focused on closing out the register and doing the dishes while Logan finished wiping everything down, sweeping, and mopping. Your closing duties were done in half the time, which you were grateful for.

“Thank you for helping me,” you told Logan as the two of you headed back to the apartments.

“Anytime, doll,” he answered.

You bit your bottom lip at the term of endearment and focused your attention on the path ahead. “How was work today?”

“Fine,” he shrugged.

“Yeah? Make any friends yet?”

“Don’t need to. Just workin’ on cars.”

“We’ve had this discussion, Logan. Friends are good for you.”

“I have friends, just not at work.”

“Who?”

“Wade.”

You laughed. “I can’t believe that you’re admitting that.”

“Better not find out that you told him.”

“Yeah?” You looked over at him with a hint of mischief. “And what would happen if I told him?”

“I don’t think you want to know, darlin’.”

You hummed. “Well, maybe I’ll just have to tell Wade and see what happens.”

“Try it.”

“Okay.” 

Suddenly, you were running down the street. It took a second for Logan’s mind to catch up with what you were doing. 

“Hey! Wait!” He shouted after you. “Y/N!”

You laughed. “Gotta catch me before I tell Deadpool that Wolverine thinks they’re friends!”

Logan was able to catch up with you quickly, hooking his arms around you and pulling you back into him. Both of you were laughing in front of the apartment building as Logan held you close to him.

“Got you,” he chuckled, his lips brushing against your ear.

The close proximity had you catching your breath. Your laughter slowly faded as you tried to recall the last time you laughed and felt relaxed the way you just did. It had been far too long.

“You alright?” Logan noticed the shift and reluctantly let you go.

“Nothing,” you shook your head, unwilling to meet his gaze. “I’m fine.”

His brows pinched together as his concern grew. “I don’t believe it, darlin’. Talk to me.”

You sighed, keeping your eyes down. “It’s just… thank you.”

Those were not the words that Logan was expecting to hear. “For what?”

“For taking care of me and Laura. For making me smile and laugh. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this relaxed… like I’m not surviving, but… living. You’ve been a big part in that. And I just need to thank you.”

Logan thought he could melt right there. Everything he had ever done for you was always worth it, but now he felt like it was worth it times a million now. He was actually helping, making a positive difference, and it was for you.

“You’re, uh, welcome,” he mumbled, nervously. “But it’s all really no big deal.”

“It is to me,” you responded.

The two of you stood there, a thick awkward silence falling between you. Neither of you knew what to do or say next. Logan suddenly broke the tension by clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck.

“We should, uh, get home,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” you nodded. You took a step forward and winced.

Logan was quickly at your side, a hand to the small of your back. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Are you hurt?”

“I guess that I shouldn’t have ran like I did. Haven’t done that in a while.”

“So you’re in pain?”

“It’s not bad, Logan. I can— ah!” Logan swept you up into his arms and headed into the apartment complex. “I can walk.”

“Not until we get some medicine in you, darlin’.”

You sighed, allowing yourself to relax against him. It wasn’t worth arguing with him. Logan carried you to your apartment.

“I need you to put me down now, Logan,” you said. “I need to unlock the door and I don’t want to worry Laura.”

“Fine,” he huffed.

Logan set you down but kept a hand on your back. He leaned over and pushed the door open as soon as you unlocked it. Laura was working on the laptop at the kitchen table when the to of you walked in. She had taken to staying up, waiting for you, too. 

“Hey, mom,” she greeted. “Logan. Thanks for getting her home safely.”

“No problem, kid,” he responded with a nod.

“I’m not a child, you know,” you commented, rolling your eyes. “But I am tired.” You turned and set your hand on Logan’s arm, rubbing your thumb against his jacket. “Thanks again, Lo.” You turned and walked to Laura, kissing her head. “Goodnight, kiddo.”

The two watched as you disappeared down the hall and into your bedroom. 

“Do you need anything, kid, before I head out?” Logan wondered.

“I heard the two of you,” she stated quietly.

“What?”

“The window was open. I heard the two of you laughing.” Logan nodded, opting to remain silent to let Laura continue. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh before like that… But… be careful. Don’t hurt her.”

“I’d never do that.”

“That’s what my father said, yet he still did.”

“What do you mean?”

Laura sighed. “Please don’t tell her I said anything… He left her and took Charles when he had his first seizure… Mom told me that he promised that she’d never be homeless like she was before everything. She ended up homeless and alone until she found him again… All I’m asking is for you to not make promises that you can’t keep. Don’t make promises and then walk away. She won’t be able to survive it again.”

Logan was taken by surprise. He clearly didn’t know your whole story, which was fine, but he had put your husband—the other him—on this pedestal. Though it was clear that he had even let you down at one point or another. He wasn’t going to let himself to the same thing.

~~~

“Alright! I’ve got the popcorn!” Wade exclaimed as he plopped down in the chair beside the couch. 

You were already sitting down, curled up with a blanket with Laura on one side of you. Logan walked into the room and noticed that there was an empty spot on the other side of you. He wanted to sit by you but he didn’t know if he should.

“Peanut!” Wade shouted as he reached over and patted the open seat next to you. “Saved you a spot.”

Logan’s eyes flickered your way to see you already looking at him with a soft smile. Tension eased from his shoulders as he walked over and sat beside you. He squished himself into the arm, trying not to overcrowd you.

“I’ve chosen the best movie for tonight!” Wade continued. “It’s a love story. There’s a bit of time travel. And a handsome hunk of a man.”

“What’s the movie?” You giggled at Wade.

“Kate and Leopold.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s probably trash,” Laura commented. “Wade never picks good movies.”

Wade gasped dramatically, hand falling over his heart. “You wound me, Little Wolf! I only choose masterpieces! And you will see that this is no exception.” 

Wade quickly clicked the movie on and flipped the lights off. You glanced over at Logan, noticing that he seemed to be awkwardly pushing himself into the corner. You leaned over.

“I don’t bite,” you whispered.

“What?” Logan’s head snapped to look at you.

“You’re sitting so far away. Relax. I’m not scared of a little touch. Here.” You tugged at his arm and he moved closer to you. Then you untucked the large blanket that was laying on top of you and Laura and laid it on Logan’s lap. “There. All better.”

“Thanks,” Logan muttered.

The four of you fell silent as your focuses fell to the movie. You were enjoying the movie, but you couldn’t help but think that the actor playing Leopold—Hugh Jackman—was cute.

“Hey!” Wade suddenly interrupted. “Don’t you think that that Hugh Jackman guy looks like our Peanut here?”

“Oh my gosh,” you mumbled, eyes widening.

“What?” Logan questioned, confused. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Yeah, okay, he has less hair in this and is definitely skinnier, but the two of you could be twins!” Wade continued.

“I’m sorry, Lo,” you said, placing a hand on his arm. “I’m afraid Wade is right.”

“See!”

“Whatever,” Logan scoffed. “Just watch the movie.”

The movie continued with Wade’s comments here and there. Your eyes began to grow tired and your bead began to bob. Logan noticed. His arm slipped onto the back of the couch as he leaned close to your ear.

“It’s okay, darlin’,” he whispered. “Just relax and fall asleep.”

“I’m not tired,” you mumbled, words slurring.

Logan couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “Bullshit. Just lean back and fall asleep.”

After a moment, you nodded and allowed yourself to lean against Logan. It didn’t take long before you were sound asleep against him. Logan kept his arm along the back of the couch until your body began slipping and he quickly wrapped his arm around you to keep you still. You needed your sleep, Logan knew that, and he wasn’t going to allow anything to get in your way.

You slept through the rest of the movie, snuggled into Logan’s side. When the movie ended, Laura got up and moved to stand in front of you.

“I can take her,” Laura offered quietly.

“I got it,” Logan responded. He carefully maneuvered you into his arms and stood up. Laura led the way as Logan carried you to bed. He tucked you in and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, doll.” 

Logan walked out, wishing Laura goodnight, and headed for the roof. He lit a cigar and let it sit between his lips. It was beginning to dawn on him that the emotions he was feeling and the thoughts he was having meant that his feelings for you were growing more romantically. Logan didn’t want to push you into something, especially as it was clear that you were still dealing with the love and loss of your husband. Your wedding ring never left your finger and the dog tags rarely left your neck. He also hated the idea of losing your friendship. The two of you were finding something new in your friendship and Logan was enjoying it. 

Despite whatever may come of Logan’s emotions, he knew one thing for sure. Logan wasn’t going to walk away from what he found here with you, Laura, and Wade.

~~~

Logan was tired as he trudged into the apartment after work the next day. When he opened the apartment, Logan found Wade preparing his weapons as he stood in the center of the room with his Deadpool suit on.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Logan asked.

“I have a possible lead on something that could help our Little Flame,” Wade stated, focusing on his task to prepare his weapons.

“What? And you were just gonna leave?”

“Awe, so glad to know that you’d miss me, Peanut. But I did leave a wonderful note on your pillow with a few pictures of me just in case.”

“Wilson. What did you find?”

“Nope, my lips are sealed.” He pretended to zip up his lips and throw away the key. 

“Well then just wait and I’ll go with you.”

“No can do, Peanut. You need to stay with Little Wolf and Buttercup. They need to be watched over in my absence and you, though you are not that qualified, are the only one I trust.”

“Fine. Can you at least tell me what you’re chasing after?”

“You can’t get their hopes up. But I’ve been doing some digging and I’m going back to the TVA. There are more Y/N’s out there and at least one of them has to have dealt with a similar issue. I’m gong to do my research and see what can be done.”

“Wow… that plan’s not terrible.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence, Peanut.”

“Keep me in the loop.”

“I will try. And don’t let our Mama and Daughter Duo get into too much trouble. I won’t be long.”

“Good luck, Wade.”

next chapter >

[richeeduvie]

✭ UNDOING ✭

PART ONE? // The Sickness That is a Daughter

AN ARCANE FIC: JINX AND SILCO (featuring a Sevika who's actually soft for a hot minute??)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

WORD COUNT: 6.8K

Powder gets very sick, but not sick enough to believe she can't help with every little thing. In his frustrated attempts to convince his ward otherwise, he scares her. Sometimes, the idea that Silco only wants Zaun's respect feels like a fantasy, a lie so tasteful that he almost forgets he likes to be feared.

But not in that moment. Never with her.

(Based on the headcanon that Silco only started to wear makeup to not scare Jinx when she was little Powder. Sorry blog regulars had to pop this one out...probably not gonna write more Arcane stuff but I HAD this idea and I needed to GET IT OUT I'M SORRY LALO AND ROMAN LOVERS…tell me what y’all think tho)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Silco never put much thought into how little Powder would feel about his face. At this point in life, people either ignore it or fear him because of it. Sometimes it's a neutral, sometimes an advantage. He makes do with what Vander gave him. The girl only questioned it once, a couple days after he took her in all those months ago. It'll be...

A year and some already. And how he's weakened so readily. There is no guilt in the way Silco came to accept his feelings for her. His child that has so much fire, sometimes he's so desperate to nurture it, but other times, he just wants to watch it burn. It's alright. He'll never go anywhere.

"...What's with the eye?"

He took it as a moment to be cheeky. It wasn't his first day on earth, he remembers what children become comfortable with. It was just...he didn't know why it came easy, the desire to see her, Powder Blue, almost-daughter of brother betrayal, comfortable with him. But it's how he ended up where he is now. An almost father.

He's not going to deny it for the sake of ego. Like his deepening care for Powder, it's not beneficial for him.

If you are to not consider the blooming of his flamed heart and angry, coiling bones beneficial.

"I fell on my cigar."

Silco played it seriously. Powder stared before she giggled. Her knobby arms splayed out on the table as she rested her chin there.

"Come on, I'm not stupid. No WAY you fell on your cigar. Your eye would stink like shit!"

His lips flattened into the first smile he ever gave her.

"Language."

Silco was already natural in his discipline (although with every downward tilt of Powder's head, he finds every consequence for her actions slipping away), even when the corners of himself flashed Vander over him - through the water, holding him down and down and down. And he didn't feel the need to tell Powder the truth about what happened to him, to hurt Vander's blue-haired...scrawny extension. Looking at her toothy smile meant not even a thought of hurting her like that.

Is this what being a parent is? Having someone you never want hurt in a world of fatal things? Why would he do this to himself? Why doesn't he end up claiming it's so he can hone in on her growing, literally explosive talents? Why is it so obvious that it's growing into a braided bond that's noosed around his neck. He'll accept the hanging.

But now...now she's hurt. Sick, at least. In this moment, with the way he's feeling watching Powder tiny in the bed, sweating -- confused, he almost regrets taking her in at all.

How could he choose to feel like he's going to rot and burn all at once at the first, first sight of her in pain? It feels like his own sickness. Who'd choose to feel like death with your body still upright?

Fathers. Even if Silco doesn't think the word yet.

"Powder, where does it hurt the most?"

Silco doesn't blink as Powder turns her body on her side, somehow curled and stretched all at once. Her little, round and bug-eyed - a face he's become familiar with, twists. The familiarity makes a difference with how he wants this over now. He thinks, at least.

"Everywhere."

"Everywhere. All alright. I suppose we'll work with that. When did you start feeling like this, how long was it before you came into my room and told me you weren't feeling well?"

Powder blinks hard, but up at the ceiling instead of Silco. "I was...my throat was sore in the morning, I thought it was gonna go away. It always used to go away when they could find things to make soup. But then I started to get sweaty...even though its cold. Why is it cold? I wanna pull my hair out."

"Your hair is fine where it is. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Why did you wait until you were at your absolute worst to crawl into my bed and make me feel like death is coming onto me instead?

Silco noticed that this morning, or yesterday's morning, the way there was no natural cheekiness or child-like intensity, a searing fire that is Powder. What a terrible thing that is. The years will come to pass and the man wonders if she can twist all the things that she is, all the things that will happen to her into something of normalcy. He doesn't think that ideal, they're - she, they're fine as is.

"I told you, I thought it was gonna go bye-bye, like how everything goes away."

Powder sniffles. Silco does not move for a dragging moment, just until he reaches out his thin, cold palm to press to her forehead.

She's burning from the inside.

"Not everything, little girl."

Powder mms. Is it a whine of pain, or a whine of annoyance at the idea she's being corrected? Silco wouldn't know at this point. Maybe one day, when the whole of her grows into something fiery, invasive, jerking, something so insanely nerved, and something he'll always want to take care of to the point where Sevika will see it pointless to mention how much of a problem the girl is.

Silco sighs, eyes closed, ears pierced at the sound of Powder's pained whimpers.

"We'll find you a doctor."

"...A what?"

Silco opens his eyes, head tilting. What? "A doctor, Powder. Because you cannot go five minutes without throwing up, and I'm afraid you'll sweat off a pound you can't afford to lose."

"I don't know what that is. I don't want one."

That's when the man runs his thumb over the sweat of her forehead, wading in the thought that...this - is this really the world the children of Zaun grow up in? He knows it's a hell he's trying to maintain, trying to change for the better, for all of them - so he very much knows that its people aren't going to have the best access to easy, decent health, but he wouldn't have thought it so far that Powder and others wouldn't know what a doctor is.

Unfortunately, he hopes it's her sickly delirium, making her believe she doesn't know what a doctor is. But if not, this is why he's doing what he does, so Zaun can thrive.

Powder coughs. It's nearly manic, all in her throat. Silco kisses her forehead. He doesn't know what else to do because he's not a doctor and might as well have taken his injector and placed it over his heart with the way he's feeling at the sight of her right now.

"We'll make you soup."

It'll be nothing, he won't put Powder in a life where she has to hope that her guardians are able to find things to heal her. That's not a life this wild thing deserves.

Powder coughs again, it's heavy.

"And you'll see a doctor. Or, a doctor will see you. They can only make you feel better. Unless you try to bite them like you did Sevika when she came to check on you, then they'll put you down."

A false meanness that can only bring her smile, or at the very least, a whine without pain.

Powder jolts upright.

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT???"

Silco shushes, it feels like a smile on his tongue.

"I'm fooling you, little girl. But I'm not going to beg you to behave nicely once they come."

"I'll pull their hair out if I can't pull out mine. And don't ever lie again."

Powder's not teasing, it's an order for Silco. And he understands, being lied to is the worst feeling - next to what his heart wears now.

He wouldn't underestimate the child as if she couldn't. Or wouldn't.

"Alright, I'll remind them and myself to be on our best behavior."

Powder, limbs mangled and sickly face hardened, simply ploofs right back into the bed, coughing again. She nuzzles her head into Silco's pillows. It's only him observing how she's coating his bed with her sickness. He's not angry or frustrated, he accepts it like he accepts the noose.

"I'm sleeping here tonight."

Silco can't place the exact moment when his ward stopped asking for things and started to take them. He's just aware he's never put much effort into stopping her.

"Am I allowed to say no?"

"No."

He already knew that. Powder didn't ask to sleep in his bed when she crawled into it a few hours ago, he had to realize there was a tiny body tossing and turning in his bed at the sound of terrible coughs and snotty sniffles. Silco wasn't dreaming, so it wasn't as if she was a bother anyway, but since she's grow into his home and life, Powder has found the habit of sleeping at his side when she feels like it.

It crosses a boundary he didn't know was there, but with her nightmares, the bug-eyed little face that walks in against the Zaun's night light...Silco can't deny her.

"You already know how to wear an aura of impose, hm?"

"Of course I do. You should know that already, silly. Don't be silly."

Powder's voice goes high, still child-like in its scratchiness. Silco wears a genuine smile that, although small, is one he can't afford.

"I'll be whatever I want to be and you'll be just fine by tomorrow, or the next day."

If Janna wants peace in this world, Powder will be healthy very soon. Silco will come to hurt the things in front of him, against logic, against morals if it means he can release the pit of what he feels looking at his sick child. But he's not in the wrong.

That's only if she doesn't get better. And she will.

"Don't be silly, silly, silly-"

Powder hacks, Silco smile drops. The way she's spilling her words, there's nothing intentional about it. There isn't the intensity that grows with her in weight and height, it's just...sickness. Sickness growing with every droplet of sweat and clammy glance at him.

"Silly. I'm not silly either-"

"One of our people has been feeding our information to enforcers."

He would've known Sevika was coming down the hall a mile away if it were any other night. He only turns his head, hand resting on Powder's ankle.

"What?"

"Everything went as planned...except for the fact there were about two dozens of those fuckers swarming where the trade was supposed to take place. Your paying customer was trapped, it was hell trying to get to him and fuck, I think he was holding his breath the entire time."

Silco looks to the wall. He feels a tiny but harsh squeeze to his hand on his knee. Sevika stands straight, hand ready to point and fist in her incoming ramble.

"You said Piltover's goons would be one less thing to deal with in terms of trading and building all of this now that we have Marcus's dick choked. I believe it, but there is no possible way that what I had to deal with today was a result of the topside's peachy genius investigation techniques. They had to have gotten a tip, I don't think Marcus has the balls to go against you for the sake of his morals yet."

Silco doesn't make a movement, something natural in an attempt to not reveal what he's thinking.

But he squeezes the tiny, clammy hand over his.

"You sound right. So be right. You'll find out who it is and bring them to me, and you'll get your due for today."

There is a sudden boiling of rage at the idea someone is betraying him. Again, only this time, it'll be so much easier to bring whoever the rat is to justice. So, he won't put so much of his feeling, said rat doesn't deserve his anger. He won't rage in front of Powder.

"We need your...recognizable personality. Some locals took advantage of the situation and stole twenty cases of Shimmer."

"Are you-" Silco stifles his own words. Still, the ability to control his anger in situations like this for Powder hasn't come naturally just yet. "Twenty? The enforcers were the problem. The rat is the problem, but also the fact you can't stop addict gutter trash from thieving our supply?"

"Not gutter trash, Silco. A mid-level gang, you could almost call them an organization."

"Who are you calling gutter trash-"

"Powder, rest."

Sevika shrugs harshly, she might as well act like a child herself and roll her eyes.

"...I'm not calling them gutter trash, that's the whole damn point, kid-"

"She's sick, Sevika."

"Yeah, no shit. She's sicker than before. Her immune system has made her even more of a problem for you, who knew-"

Silco stands. His movement is a as quick as an impulse and his fist is as tight as the way Powder held him the day he found her.

"Sevika, do you forget yourself? When did it become so easy for you to allow yourself excuses. An organization? Oh my. What are we to do but...oh, b-but shiver and crawl into our favorite hiding spaces?" He rolls his shoulders. "Will you continue to lessen your failures by blowing up the egos of our competitors? Or will you do your job and burn them in flame and duty to get back what our networking customers have paid us?"

Sevika stares. Her silence means Silco's harsh, teething words were successful. Productive. As the way of a boss. Her hand drops.

"That's why I need you. You don't think bloodshed was my first thought? It's easy, it gets the job done, but yeah...they're an organization. We get the Shimmer back with blood on our hands and we have the issue of their surviving crew coming after us."

The woman, brown-skinned and harsh-eyed, takes a step or two closer. Silco does not miss the way her sights flicker behind him at Powder's coughing.

No, not coughing.

Rasping. Rattling.

Silco turns to Powder in the bed, sitting back down as quickly as he stood up. His palm engulfs the skin of her cheek.

"Powder, breathe. Cough and breathe. What is wrong?"

"...My throat," The little blue one blinks hard, as if her vision isn't quite there when she doesn't. "My lungs are being silly."

She giggles herself into more rasping. Silco's mouth parts, worry flared at the nose and in the way his usually slicked-back hair falls over. Of course, he doesn't have it gelled in bed. Powder likes to pull on it sometimes when she has sleepy questions concerning dreams or memories. Things that frustrate him in the night, things that are answered with "Why don't you go to bed and figure it out yourself?"

But Silco wants to strangle the feeling at the pit of his chest, the feeling -- the need to make sure she doesn't fall asleep. Why would he not want to her to rest when she's like this?

That's only if something this sickly would make sure she doesn't wake up again, and the thought eats away at me, as if she isn't just a girl I took in only a year ago, my life would go back to what it was before.

"Powder. How about you look at me, hm? What's wrong? Will you tell Silco what's wrong? Powder."

No. No, it wouldn't.

"...We don't have the image or the name right now. You know that, you know we can't just kill whoever we want and expect Zaun to fear to the point of submission. We need time for that. We need to play the waiting game. You go into their spot, make a deal of long-term trading for the twenty cases. They'll see that's a better investment than twenty cases now. We play the submissive for now, and then...we burn them. We burn them when your name grows with whatever empire you fantasize about."

Whatever Sevika's saying, suggesting - Silco knows she's right. It's why she's his number one in his mission, his dream for Zaun. But her plan isn't colored right in his head, it's washed out by the little one. He feels no guilt or frustration over it.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Fine. But not tonight."

He can feel Sevika's eyes widen and body shrug up in her own frustration.

"Not tonight? They could scab all the supply by tomorrow!"

"It doesn't matter how many cases we get back, does it?" It's venom on the man's tongue. He won't regret it later. "We'll be selling it back to them in your plan of long-term tradings and dealings. So yes. Not tonight. Sniff out the rat and go. Before I change my mind just to punish your failings of today."

Silco press the back of his palm to Powder's cheek and forehead. If she was a fire just ten minutes ago, there's a hell inside her now.

She whimpers. He shushes.

"When I tell you she's becoming a problem, half of the time, I don't mean that as an insult to her. And you know that."

Silco does, but he won't admit it to the one-armed woman who does mean it as an insult to Powder the other half of the time.

"If her fever's so high to the point where she can't understand what's being said around her, then we should've gotten a doctor hours ago. But you can let her rest. She's not going to die within the three hours you're gone-"

"Sevika. Do not assume what I'm thinking. It isn't smart. Nor needed."

"I can help."

Somehow - and suddenly, Powder's sitting up. She almost falls over, she would've if Silco didn't hold her by the shoulders. He squeezes them, head coming lower.

She can barely hold her own head up, let alone her whole body.

"We can all go. We don't have to wait for a millionnnn years, Sevika. That's stupid. And I do know what's being talked around me. I know because I can tell you that we can just make em' go.....boom."

He didn't think he'd have to deal with Powder's need to be needed tonight. The vomit, the rotting fear, and the coil of seeing her sick, something going wrong with the deal? Yes, he could handle and assume all those things would be things to deal with, but the little girl's so sick that Silco didn't possibly think she'd manage to bring up her extreme desire to be useful, to have anything to do if it means her guardian trusts her.

He doesn't know when he noticed Powder's need to be needed, but it's trickled into the business end of his life. Always the little girl asking for him to bring her bombs along just in case they're needed, and she's always hoping things get dire enough that they will be.

Maybe his feelings will change later on, but there's nothing much he feels comfortable with having her do. To pick her satisfaction over her safety is something Silco has done on more one occasion, but not tonight.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Powder, you have to rest for when the doctor comes. And what has happened tonight...one day,"

It feels natural, need to lower his head more and press his forehead against hers. Blue against black.

"One day, you'll set every fire that is needed. But not tonight. That doesn't mean your work is put to waste...but you need to rest."

"...No. I can go. I can bring the bombs I showed you, I can-"

"No. You can't. I think you're aware of that, child-"

Even though she's a sickly sixty-pounder, Silco finds it difficult to hold her down by the shoulders when she fights against him.

"No! I can help, I promise! Do you think I'm gonna-I'm gonna ruin everything?!"

"No, Powder. I don't doubt that you can be of use, but you're sick, and we're not going tonight anyhow."

His convincing feels genuine, it feels like a second talent, but Powder doesn't take. She squirms - Silco's nearly thankful Sevika doesn't take this moment to mutter or sigh, his frustration boils with every weak fist his child throws at him.

"You're lying! You think I'm gonna ruin everything!"

"I never said that, who's the liar now? Is it still me? You-"

He exhales low when trying to put her down into the bed. "You need rest. You know everything hurts, you know you can barely get out of my bed. You're not stupid, Powder, so stop pretending you are."

"You're only not going tonight because of me! I'm already ruining it! I don't want to! I promise I don't! I can stop being sick-"

She's right about why Silco has no thought of leaving tonight. Sevika might agree with the child for the first time since she's taken home here.

"Powder. Enough."

Her head jolts suddenly, off to side...as if something on the bed has interrupted her breaking tantrum. It happens sometimes, she'll be talking to him, it's a conversation that's not turning to be an enjoyable one, and then...she'll be looking past him, or behind herself - like someone's shouting her name, as if she can see ghosts.

Who doesn't? But if Silco were to turn back to see whatever Powder's looking at, he always thinks he'll see a monster of hell himself. That's how real Powder's tension comes to when she's like this.

"Shut up! Shut up! I know I am! I'm trying not to! That's why I want to go! Aren't you listening to me?!"

She breaks free from Silco's grasp, pushing her body back into the headboard. It sounds harsh. All so harsh and pained for a girl who shouldn't even be sitting upright.

What she's never done when she's like this is talk. Silco doesn't think she's screaming at him.

"Go away! Get away from us!"

This girl is so much more than he could imagine. It's the worst thing. The best thing. He'll see. It doesn't matter anyhow.

But here, it's the worst. It's Powder terrified and rageful at whatever's colored the room, whatever she can only see. He can admit it. He doesn't have the faintest idea of what to do. But he needs to see her stop screaming, stop acting like she's in pain.

His heart can't handle it.

"You know what? I'll call a doctor."

Sevika's off in quick, heavy footsteps. Silco runs his hand through his hair, standing up and over Powder.

"Powder. That's enough. Whatever you're hearing, ignore it. You need rest, it's no use..." He couldn't know now. He'll have to learn, and still, he won't regret this. This girl, even if her insecurities kill him with a heartbreak he would have never had in his lifetime. "Arguing with them. It's pointless."

"Just take me with you! Please." Powder puts her hand over hear ears. "Or at least my bombs? Please!"

"No. I told you. I'm not going. That is final. And do not make this about you and your false ideas of destruction. I choose to stay. You are my responsibility. That is not a fault. It is a fact. I get to decide what I prioritize. Not Sevika. Not you. Do you understand?"

Tears fall from her grey bug eyes. It's only his frustration that allows Silco to not turn into a pond at the sight. He stands tall.

The order gets the girl to look at him, it feels like a stand-off. Not just between him and her.

And she's lost when she flinches, eyes squeezing shut with all the frustration her little body can hold.

"SHUT UP! THEY'RE SAYING YOU'RE LYING! THAT YOU'RE A LIA-"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!"

Silco, in the piercing silence, doesn't realize how close he's gotten to Powder's face in his shout. Their noses nearly touch.

Her eyes are open, only to flinch again when she stare back into his. It's not the air she's yelled into. It's him, it's all him.

He's sure of it when Powder attempts to look him in the eyes - the eye again, only to whimper and turn away, like something horrible will happen if she's to stare at it for too long.

It's a fatal whimper, a fatal avoidance of him and the eye, the monstrosity he's come to embrace at his iris, at his soul...it's fatal. It kills whatever strength he had to distance himself from her.

It's fatal to his strength in general. He's hurt. Janna forbid, Janna who hates his soul so, he's hurt at her fear.

"Powder. Look at me."

There was a point after Vander's betrayal, after his recovery that Silco couldn't dare to look at a mirror. He despised what his brother in arms turned his face into, but no...in a way, he can thank the false friend for what he did. The breaking and poisoning of his eye only revealed what Silco was underneath.

A body to be imposing. Feared. Respected. All for the man who wanted to see Zaun freed from Piltover. But for the first time since, Silco can't handle the thought of being seen a monster.

Not with his little one.

It's grating, the growing panic at the way she won't look at him.

"Will you look at the man who wants to give you everything?"

It's the first time he's admitted it by word and not just by thought. He gets down on one knee, inhaling sharp when Powder flinches under his hand touching her shoulder.

She lies flat on the bed, turning over. They sit in the heavy silence for a bit. Silco, smooth in word as he is, can't do much but curse his panic and hurt.

"I want to give you everything. Will you let me, Powder? Will you let the old man give you everything you want?"

She wants to be needed. Trusted. He'll find a way, not knowing that he's never had the same desire - except with her.

"...A doc's coming. One of the...medicinal kind, if you understand what I'm saying."

Silco closes his eyes when he hears the rasping grow from Powder again.

"Did you hear Sevika? Someone's coming to make sure you feel better. You'll feel better, and you'll stop scaring me so, hm? We'll stop scaring each other."

He sighs when the only response is more rasping, his forehead falls against her back. Her shirt is cold with sweat.

The three of them fail to move until Silco half-heartedly decides it's time to fall away from the girl after a waiting minute or so, give her some time alone before the doctor comes. But it's possible she won't be alone, he doesn't know how to fix that. Except to be the real thing in the room with her.

"Those types of healers, they're vials are expensive."

Silco stands and turns to Sevika, already at the doorway with his arms very, very slightly bend at his sides. "That concerns me how?"

"Kids get sick. It's not the end of the world, she might be better by tomorrow if you knock her out right now."

Silco will not accept the word might when it comes to Powder. Never.

"You can go, if you want."

He puts his hands behind his back. Sevika's brow furrows.

"What?"

"You don't need me, only my word. If you want to be fun with it, play it as if you're going behind my back. I'm sure growing drug empires that happen to be made of gutter trash don't appreciate loyalty as much as I do."

Silco leaves her there, no care the woman's in his personal chambers. He needs to be sure the girl will never come to fear him again, because what happened tonight can never happen again.

There's not enough people in his path to bury the rage in if it does.

For now, it's a wall when he turns the corner. He can't know Sevika keeps herself watching Powder's rattling body curled on his bed.

She sighs, walking over. She could know how the tiny, blue-haired soul of sickness and pale-born tragedy blinks in confusion. She knows the weight creaking on the bed isn't Silco's.

"I know what it's like to be a daughter, kid. Most women do. Sometimes...sometimes daughters are problems. You can't beat it. And it doesn't mean anything to the people who love you most of the time. You'll see." Sevika leans forward, elbows on her knees. "What I'll have to deal with that man in the years to come if he doesn't make the right decision of booting you out of our lives is what you'll see so clearly. You'll be so fucking happy. Peached. Watch."

Sevika looks down. Because fathers never make the right decision. They never care about the problem that is a child that latches onto you and pulls down into the water until your lungs drown. They don't even think to regret it when it becomes their end.

It'd be beautiful if it wasn't so stupid.

"I hope when you get better, you make it so you're less of a problem for me. Hopefully, all this sickness is making you feel for a more grateful approach to what you have."

Sevika gets up, bed creaking under her again.

"You better not tell Silco I sat on his bed."

She leaves in silence, both in lack of word and thought. Powder curls.

"I will."

✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・✫ ✭・.・

Silco sits in his chair, holding up the compact. He can't remember the last time he cared to use this. He stares into the orange flame of his eye, blinking at the mirror.

There's no embarrassment when powdering on the foundation. He simply covers the rot of his eyelid and cheek. If this is what it takes for Powder to not be afraid of him, then so be it. It doesn't even matter if it was only because the situation was a cocktail of anger and already well-born fear. He won't take the chance.

Silco can't waste his time remembering when he'd be so strong to have never cared in the first place. He can't trust little Powder to stay strong at the sight of his scar, but he can let her know he is to be trusted. Always.

He patters it along the skin until it almost looks like...the face of an approachable man. Huh.

"Ta-da."

There's no tone but a lack there of in his voice. He stands up, taking his injector out of his pocket and into the hall.

The doctor, the healer said Powder was infected with a quick-acting virus, nothing too dangerous as long as the needed medicine is regularly given over the course of a few days. Silco didn't take it with smiles and praise. No, not when the little one was out of it for the entire check-up. He trusted the doctor to be right, but it didn't change the fact that seeing her so ill meant a loss of logic on his head and heart.

Silco, on his way to his room, stops at the doorway of Powder's. It's a moment that sits with him.

He opens the door, looking at the colored, messy space that is hers. It's decorated with drawings (the walls and papers all over the floor). There's no chance Vander ever thought to teach her to make a bed. Silco's not sure he could get her to learn now.

But the bombs strewn about the floor are what truly belongs to the girl's mind. With every passing day and chance he takes on her, Silco can see the fire of her brain, what destruction she's able to take on with every creation.

"You, you, you, little girl."

It's a prize. Her mind is prize. There is even no even when it comes to Powder and her mind, there is not fault he can accept with a "despite". No, it's just her that he'll watch grow into something bigger than what he could know now.

He picks up one of her bombs, studies it in the light of Zaun. The room's getting cramped, he'll have to find her a space for her toys.

The one he's picked up is pink, butterflies and monkeys doodled all over what could kill an entire building of people with a pull of its string. What's under his shoe is a drawing.

Of him. Or he thinks. It's obvious her true talent lies in her explosives. But it's a man suited in red and black, one eye bright with orange and hair pushed back.

Silco does not smile, he just picks the drawing up. He folds it into his pocket. He leaves Powder's room, her bomb in one hand and the injector in the other.

"Janna! Silco, sorry."

Sevika's always in a hurry, she's nearly slammed into him on his way out into the hall.

"Gonna get rid of the kid with her own stuff? I never mentioned to be that cruel-"

"I tell you. Do not forget yourself." The woman stills, licking her lips. It's defeat on her face. "You are going?"

"Yeah. I'm going. And I thought about your jab. It works. If I pretend this is me going behind your back, they might feel inclined to not pull this shit again when their dealings gotta be dealt under your nose."

Silco smirks, although half of his face can't give into his knowing amusement. "That is a benefit. Yes. But there's been a change of plans." He hands Sevika the bomb. "You'll play for a moment or two, let them think they're on top. Everyone deserves something like that before they're blown into mist."

Sevika's head jolts in a tilt.

"Wait. No. That's not what we agreed. That goes against everything about what we planned-"

"What you came up with. And it was the best idea of the hour. But I thought on it...you want the name, Sevika? You'd like our image seared into the minds of our enemies, present and eventual?"

Silco closes her palm over Powder's creation.

"You give them a show."

The woman can't bear to look at him. Silco can't bear to care. "We don't need to play waiting games when we have ticking time bombs. Any Zaunite organization with half a brain won't think to do us misjustice after it's shown we’ll blow any wrongdoers to pieces. And if they do end up at the door with all those misjustices...see the previous statement."

Silco's off to his room, there's no argument to be lost on him there. His hand tightens over his injector when he reaches the door.

He does understand wanted to be needed to certain extents. Zaun did not ask for him specifically in their quest for freedom, he put himself in the role of a revolutionary because he had to.

His understanding, his need to see Powder happy is why he turns the injection device over in his hand as he pushes the door open.

He creeps into his own bed, careful not to wake the girl with a bounce and tumble out of it. He leans up against the headboard, hands on his lap with his legs straightened out in his sitting up.

He looks to the sleeping child beside him.

"Powder. I have something for you to do for me."

Silco's aware he's stated that she should be asleep. But assuming a restless little girl is awake instead of off in a dream is the smart thing.

"M' not Powder."

"No? Who are you then?"

Powder, or apparently not-Powder, rolls her head. Maybe she's sleeptalking through her dreams, actually.

"M' a...Jinx. M' Jinx. No Powder."

Silco's head leans back, eyes still on her. "Ah, I see. Or...we'll see about that. Jinx or Powder, I have something for you." He watches her turns over, eyes close, palms rested into a gentle fist.

"Sevika sat on your bed."

Most definitely sleeptalking a dream. He taps her nose. Her eyes blink open. For the sake of his heart, he'll ignore the drying tears.

"Would you like to help me with my eye?"

Powder blinks again, this time in confusion. "Your eye? It looks..."

The man lets head tilt down at her. "It looks what?"

Cleaner.

Powder sits up. "Nothing. I don' know. What about your eye?"

"You've seen me with this before, yes?" Silco gestures to his injector. She nods. "This is what I use to put medicine into my eye. I need it to lessen the pain. I can do it, but lately I've been struggling. These types of device require steady hands, accurate hands. Would you like to do it for me? For tonight?"

He nearly regrets this whole ordeal when Powder jumps up as if her lungs weren't rattling away a hour ago.

"Powder! Calm yourself, this is not what you do to get you better. Do you remember what the doctor said-"

Powder snatches the injector from Silco, studying it over above her head. "Duh! I can help-" She begins to hack.

Maybe this should've been saved for the morning, just like how he won't tell her about the use of her bomb until then. When she can fully take in the praise and pride of the moment.

"Powder. Breathe. This can wait til tomorro-"

"NO!"

Powder sniffles after her short but powered cry, like even she understand that was an intensity she shouldn't have allowed herself.

"I can do it now and then we can go to bed."

We. Silco's lips thin like he'll smile.

"Alright. Come closer, follow my instructions."

She does, her knees press into his thigh. When he's guiding her tiny, still clammy hand over his eye socket, Silco realizes it isn't the brightest idea to give a small child a needle to inject into his literal eyeball.

But it'll be her satisfaction over his safety now, he supposes.

"You place it right here, just let it rest for a bit. And then you'll push this." The man puts Powder's other hand over the end of the injector. "It works as a syringe, if you've ever seen one."

"I used to find them on the street all the time! Vander almost knocked out when I stepped on one and started to feel funky. Turned out it was just something called a coincidence. It was just dinner from the night before."

Huh. Her mentions of Vander have lessened, but not died not. Silco doesn't know how to feel about that.

"You have a habit of making your guardians take care of your terrible illnessness?"

But he will not deny her the mention at this time.

Powder shrugs.

"I guess. Now. Do I push in?"

Silco prepares himself, breathing in. "When you're ready-"

And maybe the girl's never not ready, because she just needled his eye with no hesitation, but it was precise. Silco grips the sheets as the shimmer bleeds into him. He won't scare Powder in his rage or in his pain. He does not grunt or groan.

After the pain subsides, Silco looks to Powder staring up at him. Waiting. Nervous. Sitting on her calves.

"...Did I do good?"

"You did very well. You're a natural."

He goes to grab his injector from the girl, but she pulls it to her chest. She ploofs on the bed, eyes already closing.

"Goodnight, Silco."

Silco blinks. He didn't think to make it a patterned thing for her, just tonight - to make her feel better after his slew of mistakes and whatever her head put her through.

"I'll need that back at some point."

"No."

Powder doesn't even shift. Silco sighs.

If Sevika wants to go on about problems with Powder, this is the only one, cause he will need it back at some point and the idea to deny her this isn't a strong one.

"There will be days where you won't be able to do it. Nothing wrong with that, but I don't expect you to do it everyday."

"I don't think so. Goodnight."

Her hand tighten around the injector. As tiny as they are, Silco doesn't think he'd be able to take them from her if he tried.

He sighs, putting the deep-red blanket over her.

He kisses the blue of her hair.

"Goodnight, Powder."

Silco goes to lie beside her, a sleep falling on him so quickly and he won't know that's the exhaust of being a father.

He won't know the closed-eyed smile his little one gives besides him, as smirked as his few can be.

[dilucsrevenge]

NEW PRODUCT LOADING; TITLE; NO DEFENSE ZONE CONTENT WARNINGS; LIGHT DOM/SUB UNDERTONES, OVERSTIMULATION (INSINUATED), BITING, AMBIGUOUS/OPEN ENDING, POWER DYNAMICS, MARKING, GUN KINK, EXHIBITIONISM, FEM READER. WORD COUNT; 1,829

minors do not interact. nsfw content ahead.

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The cold metal of a pistol caressed the shape of your jaw, resting just under your chin to lift your gaze from the floor to the man towering over you. Everything about the man screamed danger to you, from the deep red of his eyes to the way his smile turned into something far from kind as his eyes finally met yours. You should have felt something akin to fear as his gun traced the contours of your neck, adding pressure to the hollow of your throat with the slightest bit of force that made your breath catch in your throat. His gaze alone sent shivers down your spine, something he noted with a devious smirk that, for a split second, you thought made his lips look delicious.

“You look at me as if you don’t understand the concept that you are my toy for the evening.” The man spoke with a snarl that raised your flesh into bumps, turning the cold on your skin into yet another shiver as the blunt edge of his pistol tucked strands of hair behind your ear.

For a brief moment you took the time to look at your surroundings, though the room was dark there were several candles lit around the rather large penthouse that you were currently in. The most notable source of light within the room was the wall of windows in front of you, moonlight casting sinister shadows across the tiled floor that danced with every movement as if they worked along with the silver-haired man before you. If anyone were to ask your thoughts on this moment later on, you’d tell them it was as if some supernatural force was keeping you still on the plush chair you were sitting in. For someone toying with you, the care put into the atmosphere almost made the feelings between the two of you seem like something more than what the both of you had intended for the night to be.

A quick chill against your ear brought your attention back to the man before you, that same chill making its way down your spine as you mentally followed the trail of the pistol from your chin down to the thin strap of your silk dress. The garment wasn’t something you’d typically pick for yourself, but Sylus had insisted on you wearing the deep red floor length gown that fit you like it was crafted for royalty. The contrast of the care Sylus put into your outfit and the gun pressed against your flesh inches above your heart was enough to keep your thoughts racing for hours into the night.

Silk brushed down your arm as the strap of your dress finally fell down the slope of your shoulder, a satisfied hum emitting from Sylus as he eyed you with some sort of primal version of approval in his gaze. The cool temperature of the metal of his gun contrasted with the heat of your skin as the muzzle ran along the expanse of your exposed chest, inches away from where you craved for him to touch you instead of the weapon he possibly used to end someone’s life earlier today. 

“Sylus…” your voice trailed off as a shiver shook through your bones when you felt his breath dancing against your neck, the obvious movement of your body in response to him earning a quiet chuckle from him.

”Sweetie, you act as if I couldn’t harm you in seconds,” he whispered into your ear, letting his lips graze against your skin. His voice was laced with desire and sarcasm, his saccharine tone swirling in your mind for minutes after he finished speaking.

”I wouldn’t…” your breath hitched in your throat as his teeth sunk into your skin, his lips following suit to ease the pain of the gentle bite to your neck, “I wouldn’t mind if it was by your hand.”

The edge to your words took him aback for the slightest second, his hands falling to your hips after he gently placed the gun on the table next to the two of you with a tight grip you knew would have an impression lasting for the days to come. His nose nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder, allowing him to deeply inhale to take in the scent of your skin, “your words are dangerous,” he broke the silence between you two, pulling you closer to his body so you could feel how eager he was though he had been the one teasing you. “Putting your life in the hands of someone as dangerous as me is a treacherous path to walk down.”

Just as quickly as he had pulled you close he turned the two of you around so that you were facing the expanse of the floor to ceiling windows, the view of his penthouse overlooking all of the N109 zone. Confusion furrowed your brows as his hands pulled the silk fabric up around your hips, a soft gasp passing by your lips when his hands ran across the expanse of your stomach. The trail of his fingers left goosebumps in its wake, his breath against your neck enticing you to lean closer into his body than humanly possible.

”If I had known how eager you would be to display yourself before the people of my land, I would’ve had you like this sooner.” Sylus’ voice was laced with his ego, he knew exactly how easily you were affected by him just from the heat of your skin that rose with every touch from him.

Before you could speak, Sylus’ fingers dipped between the lace hem of your panties, a satisfied hum emitting from him as his fingers explored your skin and he was made aware just how eager you were. His fingers found their place between your folds, gently teasing your clit with deft movements that had you sighing in pleasure instantly. The small sound you made encouraged him to quicken the movements of his fingers, eventually dipping them down further to tease your entrance.

”Sylus…” you whispered out under your breath, attempting to rock your hips down against his fingers, “please.”

”And to think I thought I was going to have to force you to beg.” He laughs softly, the vibration of his chest against your back relaxing you against him into a place of comfort that you should’ve stayed far away from when it came to someone like him.

It was impossible to retort his words with your mind focused on the pleasure of his fingers thrusting into you, the only sounds coming from you were a mix of his name and whimpers and pleads begging for more. The palm of his hand was grazing your clit with every movement he made, adding just the right amount of pressure needed for your thoughts to completely disappear into a deep foggy haze. A cool touch to the exposed skin of your chest was the only thing able to bring your mind out of the fog, the sensation earning a quiet whimper from you. There was no way to tell how long your eyes had been closed, but upon opening them you were met with the sight of Sylus’ pistol tracing the outlines of your hardened nipple. 

“When I play with my toys,” Sylus’ breath fanned out across your skin, each word emphasized by the graze of his teeth against your skin and the muzzle of the pistol finding its way pressed just underneath your chin, “I do appreciate it if they are looking at me.” 

His tone was final, no arguments able to be made especially with the way his gun lifted your gaze to meet him in the reflection of the window before you. The added danger of his pistol holding your hand up was clearly enough to give you even more pleasure than previously, if possible. Even though his fingers were moving deftly and reaching in places you had never been able to reach on your own, it just wasn’t enough. The rocking of your hips to grind down against the palm of his hand earned a low chuckle that sent vibrations against your skin that turned into chills down your spine. 

“Sylus,” your voice laced with need was nearly unrecognizable, mindlessly trailing off at the end to match the state of your mind, “so, so close.”

It was clear Sylus wasn’t going to be kind to you now that you had told him how close you were, and you had mentally prepared for him to remove his fingers from inside of you altogether. What you hadn’t prepared yourself for, and you didn’t have time to think about outside of feeling empty now that his fingers weren’t inside you, was his gun dropping to replace the palm of his hand against your clit. The sharp contrast between the heat between your legs and the cold metal had your mind reeling, the little chance of coherent thoughts completely gone now.

“Get yourself off on my pistol, Sweetie,” he purred into your ear, resting his chin lightly on your shoulder so he could watch his fun slipping between the folds of your pussy with a devious glint in his eyes.

Despite your reservations, you were quick to pick up a steady movement of your hips to grind against the metal. Sylus was clearly trying to push you close to your orgasm with the way he was occasionally changing the angle he held his gun, at one point even adding the slightest bit of pressure that had the muzzle of the pistol pushing against your entrance. The coolness of the gun pressing against you was the edge that you needed for your orgasm to overpower all your senses.

“There we go…” he whispered out into your ear, peppering kisses against the side of your neck as a symbol of praise.

To ease your mind, Sylus was quick to move his gun away from your body, allowing him to guide you towards the edge of his bed and set you down. From the look in his eyes as he devoured you just with his gaze, it was clear he wasn’t finished with you yet.

“You look simply delicious after riding my gun like it would bring you salvation,” his fingers wandered up the inside of your thighs, thumb brushing against the dampened material of your panties. He chuckled as you laid down on the bed, kisses now following the trail his fingers had just laid down on your skin, “you must be delusional if you think I’m finished with you yet, sweetie.”

The lightness to his voice was clearly mocking you, and even in your state of mind it was easy to tell that Sylus had no plans of taking it easy on you for the rest of the night. Though you were aware that he was dangerous in battle, it was clearly a mistake to believe he would be anything else when it came to your pleasure.

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[yuutryingtowrite]

Yandere!Barista who is the “poster boy”of the coffee shop he works at. It is honestly deserved: he has a pretty face, a charming smile and a playful yet sweet attitude. He is especially popular among the girls…who he keeps rejecting. He is just not looking for something casual, you know? He dates to marry, not to be someone’s eye-candy.

Yandere!Barista who, one day, sees you walk into the store. Is that a Corroded Coffin shirt you have on ? He loves that band! This is what he tells you when it is your turn to order. What do you mean he looks too much like a goody two-shoes to be a fan? Alright, Miss “I am so dark and edgy”, what do you want to order? Black coffee? The banter goes on until he has to shoo you away, with an amused smile, as the other people in line are starting to get impatient.

Yandere!Barista who glances your way every chance he gets. Not only are you fun to talk to, but you also look really cute. Sometimes, between orders, he gets to converse with you. He eagerly returns your small wave when it is time for you to leave. As he goes to your table to collect the receipt, he finds your cup still there. On it, there is a small doodle of him along with your number. A pink hue dusts his cheeks as he brings a hand to cover the side of his face. He is definitely keeping that cup.

Yandere!Barista who saved your number under “Cutie <3”. The more you text each other, the more you hang out together, the more he becomes obsessed. It is honestly starting to scare him. The other night, he had your cup in his hands to look at the doodle. Next thing he knew, he had his lips where yours had been when you were drinking from it. It flustered him so much, he threw the cup in the trash bin afterwards…only to go get it back five minutes later…He is asking you out on a date for sure next time he sees you.

Yandere!Barista who does your coffee with trembling hands. He really doesn’t want to do this, but you didn’t leave him a choice. Today, on your usual table, you are sitting with a man other than him. He can’t possibly lose the only person who took the time to get to know him beyond his looks. The drug should work in about fifteen minutes, five minutes after closing time. This should be perfect, you always wait for him to close the shop and walk home together. He can do this, he can do this, he can do this…You will be happy at his house, you will be happy with him. It is with a heavy mind and painful heart that he gives you your order.

Yandere!Barista who you got pinned against the wall of the storage room, one hand beside his head and the other one holding your cup. He is as white as a ghost. He keeps looking around. He is sweating all over. This couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly know- You firmly grab his jaw and turn his face towards you. “Drink”, you say coldly. What are you gonna do to him after he becomes unconscious? Will you report him to the police? Will you hurt him? He closes his eyes tightly as you bring the cup to his lips. The moment it reaches them, you drop it on the floor and replace it with your lips. His eyes open in shock as you give him a small, tender kiss. “That was my cousin, idiot”, you tell him affectionately. You look at him for a couple more seconds before putting on your bag. He is still frozen in place as you add: “Tomorrow, 6pm, at my house. Alright?”. You leave before he can answer.

Yandere!Barista who slides down the wall until he is sitting on the floor. All that is left of him is a blushing, quivering mess. With shaky fingers, he touches his lips; a small whimper involuntarily comes out his mouth. He is about to combust. He feels so weak, he can’t get up. You scared the shit out of him, but that was so hot ahh…He didn’t know you could be this assertive. And that kiss…he buries his face in his hands and groans. Kissing you is all he has ever dreamed of, yet he stayed still like a dumbass when it finally happened. He is so lame-you make him so lame. Guess tomorrow would be his chance to redeem himself.

[rainintheevening]

They're his children of course. Richard still recognizes them; it's only been two years.

And yet...

Peter is a man. Still six months shy of his draft papers, but he stands, walks, sounds like a man. He always has a pocket knife, he tips his hat to all the females, he sings in a baritone that will only get deeper and richer. The tea he makes is decent, but sometimes he drinks coffee now. He talks about horses and crops and reads Augustine. He can drive a car. He gives orders, and expects them to be followed.

They all look to him, to Peter. Helen calls him to open a jar, Susan questions how her hair looks, Lucy runs to him in tears. As for Edmund, he and Peter are curiously joined, they turn to each other with their laughter, their thoughts, their books and newspapers and letters. As often as his family swirls around him, Richard sees them swirl around Peter, a habit, he knows, born of necessity, but that doesn't prevent it from being strange. Even painful.

Peter moves to take the head of table, catches himself. They both start to say grace, stop, glance at each other. Peter takes the newspaper over breakfast, and is a page in before he remembers. And every time he apologises. Each time he smiles at his father, and it is warm, glad, even benevolent.

One of the first nights, shortly after Christmas, Peter finds him sitting in his old armchair, staring into the fire, after everyone else has gone up to bed. "Dad?" comes the question, and he looks up blinking at the tall man, lamplight crowning him in gold, blue eyes deep and dark with knowledge and certainty.

"I'm not who I was," Richard says, a confession, the kind a father shouldn't burden his son with he thinks immediately, but then Peter is down on one knee, reaching for the mangled hand, tender with the three fingers as he clasps strong calloused palms around them.

"Neither am I, Dad. None of us are." Peter's gaze is earnest, bright. "But you are still my father. And I will always be your son. I am forever grateful for that."

It is as if a great burden rolls off of his shoulders, and he finds no shame in leaning on Peter's hand to rise.

When the holidays end, and the four go back to school, Peter says I love you to each of them at the station.

If Peter is a man now, Susan is a lady.

She sits straight, she walks gracefully, she can cook anything as well or better than her mother. She reads the newspapers with Peter, she scolds Lucy for coming home with twigs in her hair and a tear in her stocking and wet shoes.

She talks less than her father remembers, and there is a woman's sadness in her gazing out the window or into the fire. She is also very admiring of the boys in uniforms, and Richard requests her arm on the way out of church with a father's righteous sense of protection.

But she is also gentler than he recalls, she does not shy away from his injured hand, she takes care of him without making him feel as if he needs care. She sits on a cushion by his feet as she braids her hair in the evenings, leans on his knee as she reads aloud, and Richard thinks, Not my little princess, but a queen now.

At the train station, she kisses him goodbye, and he hugs her close, and there are tears in her eyes as she says I love you.

Edmund is the closest to unrecognizable, the once-obvious four year span between he and Peter seemingly halved. He greets his father wordlessly, all shining eyes and bright smile, and his face is so close to Richard's own it makes his heart break a little.

Ed is no more little boy, he is tall, slim, oddly graceful, but his handclasp is strong. He holds himself the same way Peter does, with squared shoulders and lifted head, but he wears that nobility in a quieter fashion. He's quick to see, quick to hear, quick with a wisecrack that makes Peter laugh out loud. He plays the violin now. He returns the family Bible to the living room with an apology for having kept it since the summer holidays. He reads Agatha Christie as a personal challenge, whispers to Susan in French, and his chess games with Peter are fierce battles of strategy that Richard cannot keep pace with.

In discussions of the war and its movements, he is sober and considerate, he meets each of Peter's moods with a balancing counter, he has a way of phrasing questions that pull out stories Richard had never planned to tell.

A few nights before the children return to school, Richard sits up in bed, certain he has heard a faint cry, and he slips away from his exhausted wife to check on his children, remembering how Edmund had suffered from night terrors as a child, imagining little Lucy inflicted with some dark dream.

But all he finds is shadows in the boys' room, and quiet whispers—Peter's apologies, Edmund's reassurance, and allusions to things Richard has no context for. He lingers by the door, an outsider in his home, until silence falls, and he returns with morning light to find them curled together in Peter's bed, Pete with an arm over Ed, and the father's love is bittersweet.

They have fought their own battle over here, on the home ground, Richard reminds himself. In their own way they have each faced terror and learned to conquer or be conquered, but perhaps he can meet them somewhere in between. Only time will tell.

On the train platform, Ed hugs his father tightly, gives him a smile, tells him to keep out of trouble.

Lucy is the least changed, though she too is taller and stronger, and her eyes are deeper. She still sings, still dances, still tries to make friends with all the animals, still smiles and speaks kind and stares dreaming at the Christmas tree.

She still gives fierce hugs, still climbs into her father's lap, though her head comes up higher on his chest, on his shoulder.

But then he finds gaps in his library, and Lucy returns the medical books with a winsome apology, she asks questions about his practices in the field, she winces but does not shy away from the blood and broken things he speaks of.

Then she recites long poems, words spinning off her tongue until they become half song; she dances swift and graceful, she and Peter laughing and stepping and clapping and spinning in intricate patterns to the swing song on the radio; and it is she who, breathless, quotes Byron: "On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined!"

Her comfort is both generous and thoughtful, and she strokes her father's hair with a motherly hand that makes his eyes sting, and he kisses her fingers, looks up at her to whisper, "Don't- don't grow up quite so fast, my darling."

When she hugs him on the platform, Susan waiting for her, the boys already gone, she doesn't want to let go, and there are tears on her cheek, that he wipes away gently. "Be careful, Daddy," she whispers. "Get strong. Take care of Mummy."

"Yes, little mother," he smiles back.

And then they are all gone, and he takes a cab home, weary of his still-recovering body.

He will have to learn his children all over again, he thinks. But he is proud of them still. That has not changed.

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

You land hard, elbows hitting the ground with a jolt of pain, but it’s nothing compared to the realization that someone is screaming—Blue is screaming. The heat in your veins fizzles, your heart jolting. Ghost has already sped off toward camp, pulling a knife from his ankle, and you scramble to your feet to follow.

Your movements are clumsy, your mind replaying the last few seconds, searching for any signs of trouble you might have missed. The air is clear, the trees are quiet, the ground is still. Yet, as you weave through the tall grasses that swipe at your ankles, you finally hear it—muffled voices, unmistakably human. They grow sharper with each step you take. 

Ghost reaches camp first, stopping in a lethal stance. You roll in just behind him, eyes snapping to where Blue stands behind the fence, alive and aiming one of her dad’s rifles at four strangers. Still dressed in an oversized sleep shirt, she juts the rifle through a gap in the fortification. Two of the strangers are mounted on a brown horse, while the other two flank their sides, backs swollen with rucksacks and chests thick with gear. There is no doubt they have weapons.

"D-don't come any closer or I'll blow your heads off! I mean it!"

“We’re not here to hurt you,” one of them says calmly. A man.

“I don’t care why you’re here! You need to leave before my dad…” Her eyes flicker to you. “Dad!”

When their heads turn in your direction, you waste no time arching the knife over your head. You’re not much without your bow, but this is all you have.

In a split second, your eyes land on the burliest of the group, a man with a boonie hat and a dense, brown beard. He was the one speaking. The leader, maybe. You aim the knife for his head, but before you can throw it, Ghost grabs your wrist, wrenching you to his chest without warning, the knife falling to the ground.

"Wait," he says in your ear, his breath steady against your skin. There’s a detectable lilt of surprise in his voice. You try to squirm free, but he holds tight. "Stay here."

He lets go. Confusion reels through you. Everything in you screams to pick up the knife, but you hesitate as Ghost signals for Blue to lower the gun.

He calmly walks over to the intruders, heading to the man you were aiming for. The air feels thick as you watch with parted lips, stance still readied and breath racing. Ghost stops in front of him, and the two stare at each other strangely before the man smiles.

A strong hand reaches for Ghost’s shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, Simon.”

The clanking of metal against ceramic plates and the low murmurs of a fire fill the cabin.

Your spine presses into the wall.

There isn’t a free chair at the table, but you’re not sure you’d sit in one even if there was. Blue stands beside you, hands laced in front of her. She’s silent. You are, too. The cabin feels cramped with seven people in it. It makes your skin itch. 

You can inspect them more thoroughly now that you’re not thinking about who to kill first. 

There are two men—the older one you believe Ghost called Price, and a younger one you think he called Kyle. He’s fine-looking, you figure, underneath the overgrowth of facial hair and grime smudged on his dark skin. He had a tan cap on earlier but now a head of short, black hair is free for him to slick fingers through every now and then. Then there is a woman, some years older than you. She’s beautiful in a raw, Grecian sort of way, with long black hair and a violet undertone to her skin. Lastly, a boy, maybe twelve or thirteen. It doesn't take much to discern he is related to Kyle in some way.

They all look starving, though not as much as you once were. Nevertheless, Ghost is feeding them more than scraps. Canned beans, rice, and rabbit. They shovel it into their mouths. The men have muscles on them, so they can’t have been struggling much. Based on all the supplies they carry and the horse tied to a tree outside, you’ve figured they’ve been traveling for some time. A flurry of questions runs through your brain, but your lips remain in a tight line.

Ghost hasn’t said much yet. He hasn't even explained who they are. Your slitted eyes flicker to him. While the strangers fill up the table, he hovers beside it. His body speaks more than his expression. His shoulders are not tense and lethal as they'd been when you first sat at that table scarfing down food. But they're not relaxed, either; his arms crossed, still exposed from the black tee he'd put on for training, giving way to the slight flexes in his corded muscles that signal even he is thrown off by their presence. 

But he trusts them enough to let them in here. With the way they carry themselves, and the fact that Ghost hasn't killed them, they must've been in the military together. He doesn't seem like the type to have had normal friends. 

Kyle speaks first.

He thrums the pads of his fingertips against the wood and clears his throat, breaking your thoughts. "We were hoping you'd still be here, but it was a shot in the dark."

"I’ve never left," Ghost says, plainly.

Kyle sips from his mug and wipes his mouth, then his eyes shift toward you. You meet his gaze with a hardened look. 

"We're sorry for scaring you."

It takes a moment to realize his words aren't for you. Blue glances to her toes. "I wasn't scared." 

His lips lift. "Of course not. It's us who should've been scared of crossing paths with Simon Riley's kid. You did the right thing, you know. Protecting yourself."

"I didn't realize you knew my dad." She nibbles her lip and looks up. "My name is Blue, by the way. And this is..." Her eyes flick to you. "My friend, Twix."

Your tongue pokes your cheek as you look over the new faces. What are you supposed to say? 

"Hi," is all you settle on.

Ghost clears his throat. "Kid, why don't you clean some more water for them."

Blue nods dutifully, lingering only a second before pouring more river water into the pot over the fire.

"Thank you for your kindness. We haven't had a warm meal like this in days," the woman says kindly.

"It's a strong setup you've made for yourself," Price speaks, one hand stroking his beard while he pushes the cleared plate away with the other. He leans back, boonie hat still cradling his head and casting a shadow over his eyes, but you catch a glimpse of warm brown irises that might've comforted you in any other circumstance.

"It's lasted me this long." Ghost shifts his weight slightly. "Where are you coming from?"

"Near the base by the border, further north."

"Last I heard you were in Manchester."

"Once the radios went out, we picked up my wife," he touches the woman's shoulder, "Nereida, and Kyle's nephew here, Ari, from Newcastle. Made camp with a few others. Served us well for the past five years."

Ghost slowly nods and then drawls, "And Soap?”

Price leans his forearms on the table. "Not quite sure. The base was falling apart, but he stayed back, saying he'd meet up with us once he could. That was five years ago."

You're not sure who Soap is, someone else they worked with, maybe. There is a brief pause before Ghost asks, "Why did you leave?"

"More and more of 'em, Simon," Price replies with a slight shake of his head, emitting a low breath. "Made it difficult to even get food."

"Too many of them, not enough of us," Nereida murmurs distantly. Her hand slips under the table, out of view. You imagine it resting on Price's thigh as she leans into him with a weighted sigh. "They always seem to be moving. Not with a destination in mind, of course, but it was only a matter of time before they ruined our setup. We decided to leave before that could happen."

Kyles adds, "It wasn't an easy decision, but living in anticipation of the worst isn't really living at all."

Your brows lower. “Where exactly could you be headed that wouldn't mean living in anticipation of the worst?” you can't stop yourself from asking, the question burning in your mind. 

Price leans back, those warm brown eyes finding yours. A short heartbeat passes before he answers simply, "Switzerland."

The absurdity of that single word response forces a disbelieving, chuffed breath through your nose. Of all the things this stranger could have said, that would have to be the least expected. You anticipate an equally surprised reaction from Ghost, but he seems unnervingly unfazed. Blue, however, swivels her head from where she sits cross-legged in front of the fire.

"What the fuck is Switzerland?"

"It's another country," the boy—Ari—answers.

Blue glances between him and her dad. "Like... not in England?"

Ari snorts softly. "No, not in England. It's across the channel."

"The channel?" Blue frowns. "That's... far, isn't it?"

"Very far," Nereida confirms with a nod.

The subject is brusquely dropped when Ghost reaches for their cleared plates. "You must want to bathe while you're here. There's a river nearby."

Price clears his throat. "These two can go first." He gestures to the woman and child.

Soon enough, you become irritatingly aware of what's happening; you're being shooed away, along with the kids and Nereida, so the three of them can speak privately. There isn't much room to object as you shuffle out of the cabin, carrying a handful of rags for them to wash with along with the homemade soap that you once used to wash away the grime and earth that caked up from traveling. 

The sun beats hard, the river warmer now that spring has aged. Dried sweat clings to your spine from this morning, but bathing yourself is the last thing on your mind now, not when you're still reeling in the presence of people you don't know. You swing a glance at the cabin behind your shoulder, something in your gut twisting. Ghost doesn't want you there to hear whatever they're talking about. 

"This is a good spot," Blue says, stopping in front of a shallow part of the bank where the water is warmest. She hands Ari some soap and teeters on her toes. You realize why she keeps staring at him like that; he's probably the only other kid she's met in years. She is even more shy than when she first met you. "Twix and I will look away, don't worry."

You and Blue sit perched on a rock as they wash themselves. 

"This is weird," she admits quietly to you.

"Very," you mumble.

When they're done, you offer Nereida the only clean clothes you have at the moment: one of the oversized shirts Ghost gave you and some jeans. An annoyingly strange thought brandishes your brain... you don't like the way the black fabric sits on her bare chest, nipples poking through, and the hem hanging down to her knees as it does on you. You should've just given her the dirty blouse to wear.

She sits at the edge of the river, wringing her soaked hair with a rag. From the corner of your eye, you catch Blue helping Ari rinse his dirty clothes in the water. You want to keep an eye on him; your knife is still nestled around your ankle in case they try anything, though a woman and preteen don't heighten your paranoia as much. 

"How long have you two been together?"

Her soft voice makes you blink. "What?"

"You and Simon."

You're confused until you recall the revelation from earlier—the man you've known the past few months as Ghost, the one whose hard form laid beneath you just hours ago, is actually Simon. Simon Riley. You're tempted to say the name; try it out. But it is hard to reconcile with. It might taste strange on your tongue. The name fits a version of him that doesn't exist in this world now, you suppose. British. Simple. Like John or Kyle. The name of a lieutenant. The bits of his face you've witnessed crosses your mind; his nose, lips, and chin seem like Simon. The damn mask is Ghost, though.

"Jesus... I am not—" You shake your head, the sun even hotter on your neck. "I'm not with him like that. We're just allies." You glance back at the cabin in the distance and you fight a scowl. "If that."

She runs her fingers through ravenous tendrils. "Oh. I apologize for assuming."

You offer a small smile. "It's fine."

"How long have you been staying here then?"

"Um, a few months now. I used to stay with my sister and a friend, but they died."

Her eyes soften. "I'm sorry for your loss."

You shrug. "Everyone has lost important people."

"Doesn't make it easier," she says. "Ari's mom and younger sister used to be with us," she adds quietly with a solemn downward cast of her eyes, as if a memory has taken her for a moment. "They passed two years ago during a really rough winter along with this other couple we knew. Then it was just the four of us."

You inhale through your nose and release, frowning. "No child should have to experience that."

"No," she agrees, nodding. "They shouldn't. Which is why we're looking for a better life for him."

"And you think you'll find it in... Switzerland."

Nereida offers a half-smile, as if reading your thoughts. "We'd heard of a commune there, up in the mountains."

"A commune? Like what, a town?" 

"Sort of. Just... more people, living together. Protected. Greys make awful climbers, and the mountains there are much higher than anything in the UK."

This catches your attention, and the divot between your brows deepens. "How do you know it exists?"

"Well, we can't know for certain. John heard about it at the beginning of the spread, but it was too difficult to make arrangements at the time, especially when he had to help out at the medical site and then come find me. Things were a mess, I'm sure you remember."

"Yeah, I do." You reel in her words, thinking. "That was... years ago, though. Aren't you taking a huge risk going there now? What if nothing is there?"

"Staying in England would be a risk, too," she counters. "There is nothing here except death and hardship. You can't hide from it forever."

You look down at the water. Cicadas fill your ears, the buzzing drowning out your voice. "No, you can't."

You go on a hunt that afternoon, itching for some space to breathe. Deer tracks are harder to spot without the snow, but you find the unmistakeable marks of antlers against a tree and follow them. You glance around the forest. It feels endless and like a cage at the same time. Which way did they come from? If they made it to camp by morning, that means they spent the night here somewhere. You don't like the idea that others could be so close by, like that car.

The sun has turned orange by the time a healthy doe skirts in your peripherals. You stalk it behind an oak. An arrow flies from your bow, but you miss; the deer flees. You return in the dark empty-handed. No doubt, the visitors are fatigued, with Ghost already setting blankets across the cabin's floor for them to sleep on. You offer Ari the couch, figuring an exhausted kid needs it more than you do. He knocks out the moment he lays down.

"Here. For the night." Ghost offers you a heavy blanket and nods to the only bare spot of floor left after they've all settled down. 

You avoid his eyes and accept it. The moment he's disappeared to his room, you slip outside under the starlit night, finding the flattest patch of ground to lay the blanket down, which happens to be only a few paces away from a sleeping horse. It's not the couch, but it'll do for a night or two, and you refuse to sleep in the shed again. 

You're in the midst of standing back up after straightening out your makeshift bed when you bump into something solid. A hand grips your bicep and whirls you around, a pair of darkened eyes glowering down at you.

"What are you doing?" you breathe up at him. "I don't like when you grab me like that."

"What are you doing?" he retorts, voice low and hard.

"Trying to get some sleep."

"Out here?"

You look away and shimmy out of his hold. "Does it matter where I sleep?"

"It's not safe out here."

"You had no problem sending me out here before."

"You have since earned your keep," he mutters, as if annoyed you're even mentioning the past. 

"My spot is taken for the night by your lovely friends, so for however long you plan to let them stay, I will sleep out here."

"There is a spot on the floor for you inside."

"I'm not sleeping in there." With them. 

The whites of his eyes flash as he darts his gaze over your face. His tone softens perceptibly. A mere breath. "They won't hurt you, Twix."

You roll your eyes away from him. "I would just rather sleep out here by myself, okay? I prefer solitude at my most vulnerable. And it's not like my experiences with militant men have been pleasant so far." You keep your tone neutral, but a chill touches your spine at the memory.

Ghost emits a low huff. He suddenly rips the blanket from the ground and turns his back to you. "What are you doing?" you gape at him.

"You'll take my bed," he throws over his shoulder.

[oceantornadoo]

bad day (simon riley x reader, best friends to lovers)

honestly, you should have seen it coming. staying in a safe house with four men who have never ending stomachs? but today, it was the last straw.

“you ate my last cookie?”

soap’s face dropped, jaw open. your voice was on the verge of breaking, tears forming in your eyes. you never showed this much vulnerability in front of the team, and he was flabbergasted. he shot a look at gaz, who was equally as confused. “‘m sorry, bonnie, i didnae ken-“ you pushed your hands on the table, shoving your chair back and out. “it’s ok. gonna take a nap.” you were wiping your eyes furiously, feeling unstable. first you got your period four days early (asking price to add pads to the shopping list was something you never wanted to experience again), then you couldn’t find your heating pad, and now your cookies were out? maybe it was the hormones, but you were done.

“oof.” you had ran into a thick wall. scratch that, the wall was moving. your vision was blurred by tears you refused to shed that you didn’t even realize it was your closest friend ghost. “dove?” you hiccuped. why did he always have to be so nice to you? gruff and mean-sounding to everyone else, but an avid listener and sweet talker when it came to you. “jus’ trying to get to my room, didn’t see you. sorry l.t..” you tried to maneuver around him, but unfortunately a 6’4 machine of a man did not move easily.

“why you cryin’, baby?” shit, simon did not mean to call you that. he did not want to have this conversation right now, especially when you looked like you were about to break down. you were always so strong, having to work ten times harder as a woman in the military, and he was always careful to not undermine you or your struggles. unfortunately, that landed him firmly in the friendzone for the past year, unable to confess his feelings without breaking your trust. he maneuvered you to the closest room, which happened to be his. he sat down on the bed, intending to sit you down next to him, but instead you still stood, walking in between his parted legs.

“‘m sorry, just on my period and everything hurts and it’s all hitting at once.” your eyes were red, avoiding his. he could see you were in pain, and as someone who had endured enemy torture and the hardest forms of training, his heart never hurt as much as it did now. he reached a gloved hand towards your face, brushing away your tears. his other hand came to your lower belly, rubbing circles over your clothes. “shhh, ‘s okay. you wanna sit down?” you shook your head in disagreement. you felt like a child, but you were never allowed to be weak outside of your own room. for some reason today, you let simon riley see you weak.

you walked around his body and laid on top of his covers, curling into a fetal position. he let you get comfy, finding a way to lay down that lessened your cramps. finally, you were done moving. “si?” you never called him that unless you absolutely needed him. he got up and locked the door, not wanting to disturb your peace. “yeah, baby?” might as well use it now, you hadn’t complained. if anything your face softened when he said it, and simon riley would die a thousand deaths just to see a moment of relief on your face. “will you lay with me?”

he eagerly stripped out of his gear, climbing on top of his bed to lay down with you. he placed a hand on your arm, letting you choose where you wanted him. you dragged his hand under your sweatshirt, using it like a heating pad for your cramps. you let out a soft moan of pleasure and he answered it with a low growl, pulling you into him by the stomach. his thumb caressed your bare skin with small circles, memorizing every dip and valley. he strived to commit the moment to memory, not knowing if you’d ever be this vulnerable again. “feel better, dove?” you nodded, finally succumbing to sleep that had evaded you the past night. he smiled under his mask, placing a small kiss to the back of your head.

finally you were at peace, and all because of him.

[moonlightwritingf1]

The Art of Surrender | LN4

❀˖°𓍼♡ summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N, dealing with back pain, reluctantly lets Lando, give her a massage. As his hands work through her tension, an undeniable chemistry builds between them. The massage becomes a turning point, revealing unspoken emotions and desires.

❀˖°𓍼♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

❀˖°𓍼♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 3.1k

❀˖°𓍼♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The evening air was warm as Y/n sat on her couch, wincing every time she shifted. Her back still ached—four days later, and the damn furniture delivery was still haunting her. She’d tried everything: hot showers, over-the-counter painkillers, even a heating pad. Nothing worked. The thought of calling for help crossed her mind, but who would she call? Her friends were busy, and her family… well, they were miles away. She sighed, leaning back into the cushions just as her doorbell rang.

She frowned. Who could that be? Groaning, she pushed herself up and shuffled to the door, peeking through the peephole. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him standing there, his signature lopsided grin and those piercing blue/ green eyes. Lando.

“Hey, Y/n,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing as always. “Miss me?”

She opened the door, trying to keep her expression neutral. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, holding up a bottle of wine in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. “Thought you might need some company. And, let’s be honest, I missed seeing your face.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. She stepped aside to let him in, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered. Stop it, she told herself. He’s just being nice. Lando had been nothing but persistent since they met a few months ago, always finding ways to show up in her life, always making sure she knew how much he liked her. But she couldn’t let herself believe it. Not really. Someone like him? It didn’t make sense.

“You look tense,” Lando said, setting the wine and snacks down on her coffee table. “Everything okay?”

“Just my back,” she muttered, sitting back down on the couch. “I had to move some furniture the other day, and now I’m paying for it.”

Lando’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you call someone for help?”

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Didn’t think of it.”

He shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re too stubborn, you know that?” He moved closer, sitting next to her. “Here, let me help. I can give you a massage.”

Her eyes widened. “What? No, that’s—”

“Come on,” he interrupted, his tone playful but insistent. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Besides, I’ll go get some massage oil or cream. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

Before she could protest further, he was already heading for the door, leaving her gaping after him. “Wait, Lando—!”

“Be right back!” he called over his shoulder, disappearing into the hallway.

Y/n groaned, flopping back onto the couch. This is ridiculous. But deep down, a small part of her was relieved. She trusted Lando—maybe more than she wanted to admit. When he returned, she hesitated again, but the determination in his eyes made it impossible to refuse.

“Fine,” she mumbled, leading him to her bedroom. “But just the back.”

He laughed softly. “Sure, just the back.”

Y/n disappeared into the room, shutting the door behind her. She stood there for a moment, her heart pounding. What am I doing? Slowly, she undressed, leaving only a pair of short shorts on. She glanced at herself in the mirror, biting her lip. This felt… intimate. Too intimate. But she climbed onto the bed anyway, lying on her stomach and burying her face in her arms.

“Ready?” Lando’s voice came from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly.

The door creaked open, and she heard him step inside, the soft rustle of the bag he carried. Moments later, she felt the bed dip as he kneeled beside her. His hands, warm and gentle, pressed against her back, spreading the cool massage oil over her skin. She shivered, not just from the temperature, but from the way his touch seemed to ignite something deep inside her.

His fingers worked expertly, kneading the tension out of her muscles. She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation. It felt incredible—too incredible. Gradually, his hands began to wander lower, skimming the sides of her waist, brushing dangerously close to her breasts. Her breath hitched, and she felt a warmth pooling between her legs.

“Relax,” Lando murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded weakly, unable to form words. His hands continued to roam, moving toward her hips, then down her thighs. Each touch was slow, deliberate, sending jolts of electricity through her body. Her shorts felt damp, sticking to her skin, and she prayed he wouldn’t notice.

But of course, he did.

Lando’s fingers paused near the hem of her shorts, his gaze fixed on the thin fabric clinging to her. He swallowed hard, feeling his own arousal building. Fuck. He hadn’t expected this, but now that he was here, all he could think about was how badly he wanted her.

“Turn over,” he said suddenly, his voice husky.

Y/n blinked, lifting her head to look at him. “What?”

“Your front,” he explained, his eyes dark with desire. “If you want, I can massage that too.”

She hesitated, her heart racing. This was crossing a line—a line she wasn’t sure she was ready to cross. But the way he was looking at her, the heat in his gaze… it was impossible to resist.

Slowly, she turned onto her back, her cheeks burning. Lando’s eyes scanned her body, lingering on her chest before meeting her gaze. Without a word, he applied more oil to his hands and began massaging her stomach, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. Every brush of his fingers sent shivers down her spine.

Then, without warning, his hands drifted higher, cupping her breasts. Y/n gasped, her back arching instinctively. Lando’s thumbs circled her nipples, teasing them until they hardened beneath his touch. She bit her lip, trying to stifle the moan threatening to escape.

“Look at you,” Lando whispered, his voice thick with desire. “So beautiful.”

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. For the first time, she allowed herself to truly see him—the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered, the way his body reacted to hers. Her eyes flickered downward, noticing the obvious bulge in his jeans.

Lando followed her gaze and smirked. “Like what you see?”

She blushed, but there was no hiding the truth anymore. “Yes,” she admitted softly, surprising even herself.

His smirk softened into a genuine smile, and he leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear. “Good. Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as Lando’s fingers traced the hem of her shorts, his touch feather-light yet deliberate. “Should I stop?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his lips still close to her ear. His warm breath sent shivers down her spine, and she could feel the heat pooling between her legs.

She shook her head, barely able to form words. “No.”

His smirk returned, and his fingers slipped under the fabric, grazing the sensitive skin of her thighs. Her body tensed momentarily, but then relaxed as his hands moved higher, massaging the curve of her hips. “You’re so tense,” he whispered, his voice laced with concern. “Let me help you relax.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to sink into the sensation of his touch. His fingers worked their magic, kneading the muscles in her lower back before trailing down to the small of her back. She could feel the wetness between her thighs growing, a testament to how much he was affecting her.

Lando’s hands paused, and she heard him draw in a sharp breath. “Y/n...” he said, his voice husky. “You’re soaking.”

Her face flushed, but she didn’t open her eyes. “I know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He gently tugged at her shorts, and she lifted her hips slightly, allowing him to slide them off. The cool air brushed against her exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from his gaze. She felt vulnerable, yet completely safe in his presence.

His fingers grazed her inner thighs, and she trembled. He continued his exploration, moving closer to her core, his movements slow and deliberate. When his fingers finally reached her wetness, she gasped, her hips instinctively arching towards his touch.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. He circled her entrance with his fingers, teasing her without giving her what she truly wanted.

She whimpered, her hands gripping the sheets beneath her. “Lando... please...”

He chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the effect he had on her. “Please what?”

“Touch me,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with need.

He obliged, sliding a finger inside her slowly, watching her reaction intently. She moaned, her walls clenching around him as he began to move his finger in and out. Her breaths came in short, uneven gasps, and she could feel herself spiraling closer to the edge.

But just as she was about to reach her climax, he pulled his hand away, leaving her yearning for more. She opened her eyes, glaring at him. “Why did you stop?”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers. “Because I want to taste you first,” he whispered before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, mimicking the way he wanted to explore her body.

When he finally broke the kiss, he trailed his lips down her neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses along her collarbone. He paused at her chest, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking and teasing until she was squirming beneath him.

But he didn’t linger there for long. His lips continued their journey downward, kissing a path across her stomach before reaching her inner thighs. He gripped her hips firmly, holding her in place as he positioned himself between her legs.

She could feel his breath on her most sensitive area, and she shivered in anticipation. “Lando...” she breathed, her hands tangling in his hair.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust. “Relax,” he said, his voice soothing yet commanding. “Let me take care of you.”

And then his tongue was on her, licking a slow, torturous path up her slit. She cried out, her back arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through her veins. He lapped at her hungrily, savoring every drop of her essence, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her from squirming away.

His tongue flicked over her clit, and she saw stars, her entire body trembling with the intensity of the sensations. He alternated between swirling his tongue around her sensitive bundle of nerves and thrusting it inside her, driving her closer and closer to the edge.

She couldn’t hold back anymore. With a final cry, she came undone, her orgasm washing over her in waves of ecstasy. He didn’t stop until she had ridden out every last tremor, his tongue continuing to tease her even as she collapsed back onto the bed, spent and breathless.

He crawled up her body, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. “You taste amazing,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

She smiled weakly, still recovering from the mind-blowing experience. “You’re incredible,” she replied, her voice hoarse.

He grinned mischievously, his hand trailing down her body once more. “And we’re just getting started.”

Y/n lay on the bed, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. Lando hovered above her, his eyes dark with desire, a small smirk playing on his lips. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension between them so thick it was almost tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” Lando murmured, his voice low and husky. His fingers traced a slow path down her arm, sending shivers rippling through her. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—for so long.”

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, but she still hesitated, her walls firmly in place despite the intimacy they had just shared. “Lando…” she started, unsure of how to respond.

He leaned down, brushing his lips against hers in a tender kiss that made her head spin. When he pulled away, his eyes locked onto hers. “Don’t overthink it, Y/n. I know you feel it too. This.” He gestured between them, his hand trembling slightly. “It’s real. And I’m not going anywhere.”

She swallowed hard, her defenses crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. “I… I do feel it,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it scares me. You scare me.”

His expression softened, and he cupped her face in his hands. “Why?” he asked gently, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Tell me.”

Y/n took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. “Because you’re you. You’re this amazing, successful, larger-than-life person. And I’m just… me. I don’t want to get hurt if this doesn’t work out.”

Lando’s eyes searched hers, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “Y/n, you’re everything to me. Don’t you see that? It doesn’t matter who I am or what I do. When I’m with you, I’m just a guy who’s completely and utterly in love with this incredible woman.”

Her breath hitched at his confession, and she felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “You mean that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Every single word,” he replied without hesitation. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

For the first time, she let herself truly believe him. Let herself trust him. Her hands moved to his shoulders, pulling him closer until their bodies were pressed together. “I’m in love with you too,” she whispered, the words feeling like a release after holding them in for so long.

A wide grin spread across Lando’s face, and he kissed her deeply, pouring all of his emotions into it. When they finally broke apart, he chuckled softly. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his tone playful.

She rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help laughing. “Shut up,” she said, smacking his shoulder lightly.

He caught her hand, bringing it to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles. “Make me,” he challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Her cheeks flushed, but she held his gaze, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. Slowly, she shifted beneath him, her hands sliding down to his waist. She could feel the hardness pressing against his jeans, and it only fueled her courage. “Maybe I will,” she murmured, her voice sultry.

Lando’s breath caught as her fingers grazed the bulge in his pants. “Fuck, Y/n,” he groaned, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily.

She smirked, enjoying the effect she had on him. With deliberate slowness, she undid the button of his jeans, then the zipper, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his boxers. He hissed through his teeth, his hands gripping the sheets tightly as she slid her hand inside.

Her fingers wrapped around his length, and she savored the way he shuddered at her touch. “You’re so hard,” she whispered, stroking him slowly.

“Only for you,” he managed to choke out, his eyes blazing with need.

She pushed him off of her with a playful smirk, watching as he landed on the bed with a soft bounce. Sliding between his legs, she locked her gaze with his, the intensity in her eyes making his breath hitch. She smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of his cock before taking him into her mouth. Lando let out a strangled groan, his hand tangling in her hair as she began to move. Her tongue swirled around him, teasing and tasting, driving him wild.

“God, you’re perfect,” he panted, his hips bucking slightly. “So fucking perfect.”

Y/n moaned around him, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through his body. Her hands roamed over his thighs, her nails digging lightly into his skin. She could feel him twitch in her mouth, hear the way his breathing became ragged.

“Y/n…” he warned, his voice strained. “If you keep going like that, I’m not going to last.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “And what if I don’t want you to?” she asked, her tongue darting out to lick a stripe along his length.

Lando cursed under his breath, his grip tightening in her hair. “You’re killing me,” he groaned, but he didn’t stop her when she took him back into her mouth.

Her movements became more fervent, her lips sucking and her tongue caressing him in ways that left him utterly undone. He could feel the pressure building, his entire body tensing as he teetered on the edge.

“I’m close,” he gasped, trying to warn her again.

But Y/n didn’t stop. Instead, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with devotion, and in that moment, Lando felt his control shatter. With a guttural moan, he came, her name on his lips as she swallowed every drop.

When he finally regained some semblance of composure, he pulled her up to him, capturing her lips in a searing kiss. “You’re incredible,” he murmured against her mouth, his hands roaming over her body. Lando’s chest heaved as he pulled her up, his hands trembling against her skin. His voice was rough, still catching on the edges of desire. “I want to fuck you so bad, Y/n. But I need a minute to get hard again.”

Her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile as she shifted her weight, her thighs pressing against his hips. She leaned down, her breath warm against his ear. “I can wait. It doesn’t matter how long—whether it’s seconds or minutes—as long as in the end, I get to feel you inside me.”

His eyes darkened, a low groan escaping his throat as her words sent a fresh wave of heat through him. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his hands sliding up her back, pulling her closer.

She laughed softly, the sound vibrating against his chest. “Good. Then we’ll go out together.” Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch feather-light but electric. “Take your time, Lando. I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled sharply, his body already responding to her nearness, her words, her touch. “Fuck, Y/n,” he whispered, his voice thick with need. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her gaze locked with his, unwavering, filled with a quiet intensity that made his heart pound. “Show me,” she murmured, her lips brushing against his. “When you’re ready, show me exactly what I do to you.”

Lando’s hands tightened on her waist, his breathing uneven as he felt himself hardening beneath her. “I won’t make you wait long,” he promised, his voice rough with urgency. “Not when all I want is to be inside you.”

She smiled, her fingers tangling in his hair as she pressed herself against him. “Then take me, Lando. When you’re ready, take me and don’t hold back.”

[moremaybank]

KISS IT BETTER , jj maybank

── KINKTOBER: PERIOD SEX

"kiss it better, baby." ─ rihanna, kiss it better.

jj maybank x gf!reader

(18+) unprotected sex, period sex, use of a vibrator, praise, extra sweet!jj

your period is ruining your day and jj makes it all better (like only he can)

KINKTOBER , OBX MASTERLIST

the very second jj pushed inside you, you instantly felt at ease. like all your problems and discomfort were melting away solely because he was flooding your senses. you both shuddered when he buried himself all the way. jj's eyes flickered to yours, and he licked his lips.

"love how easy it is to slip inside your pussy when you're like this, baby."

jj had never been shy about period sex. in fact, he made it a point to show you that he craved it. the way your body grew even more responsive. the way the sensitivity of your most knee-weakening spots multiplied. he'd kiss you and you'd mewl for him. pawing at him every few mintues when you needed his attention. needed his lips on your skin and his hands in frisky places.

and also, he had no clue why, but something about it was just so...intimate. and it was crazy becase everyone on the island knew that jj was not the type to use the word intimate.

come on, now.

you were special. you had to be with the way he treated you and eased all your pain like it was second nature to him. he always told you, i got that magic touch, pretty girl. and now, you really, really believed him.

"'n your body's so much more tender, right, baby? almost came when i was licking those pretty nipples, huh?"

jj's hips continued to rock into you with a soothing motion. every inch of him rubbed at your walls, massaging and wringing out every last bit of agony before replacing it with sheer and utter pleasure. your cunt squelched even louder than normal onto the towel laid out beneath you due to the obviously different circumstances, but god, your body was on fire with delight.

even so, you couldn't help the doubts from creeping in. typical hormones.

"j," you whined, though you clawed at his thick shoulders. "s'makin a mess."

jj simply shook his head at you, leaning downward on his forearms. they caged you in while his forehead kissed yours. his eyes never left yours as he spoke. "don't sweat it, mama. focus on me, 'kay? feel that cock slidin' in 'n out..." he smirked with pride when you cried out for him. "yeah...how's that? you feelin' good, my queen?"

"s-so good," you assured him. your lips brushed against his, before you pulled back to look at him with every ounce of desperation you had. "need you, j. need you so bad."

"don't worry, baby. i got you, yeah? gonna make it all better for you. promise."

for a moment, jj's hips came to a halt, and you were left whining in protest. your legs wrapped around his waist securely, just in case he decided to up and abandon you. lucky for you, though, all he did was reach into your night table and grab your vibrator. he switched it on with ease like he'd done many times before, and drew it down the middle of your torso. you sighed as it buzzed down the valley of your breasts, the length of your stomach, and then all the way to rest on your clit. you hissed at the sensation, the sound growing louder as jj started to move inside of you again. he kept himself propped up with his other arm, staring down at you with near heart eyes.

"goddamn, my girl's pretty when she's gettin' fucked."

"fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck. i'm gonna cum, j. shit," you rambled, feeling your high creep in you faster than expected with the added sensation. your tits rose and fell heavily as you panted, tempting jj to go temporarily insane.

"go for it, baby. soak my fuckin' cock." you nodded at his encouragement, limbs clinging to him like a koala while he fucked your cunt. all of your hormonal aches and pains were long forgotten as he talked you through it, showering you with love in typical jj fashion. "s'not fair. love you so much, mama...hate watchin' you suffer. y'deserve to feel good all the time. lemme help you."

[pellucid-constellations]

I'd Answer

You've been gone. Azriel's been broken. Something has to change, and Azriel would do anything.

Part 2 of If You Cared to Ask

“This is for you,” Mor huffed, plopping down a small bouquet of roses onto the growing garden that seemed to have sprouted on the table. “What is that, number twelve?” 

“I don’t know, I don’t count them,” you brushed off, your gaze falling on the gifts for a fleeting moment.

Mor hummed. “Are they doing anything for you?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Your friend shuffled into the small sitting room and gracefully landed in the chair beside yours, her eyes piercing a hole in the side of your head when you refused to look up. She sighed, and then sighed again, making a show of slotting her chin in her palm and looking forlorn. 

The third sigh was your breaking point. 

You placed your book on the table and turned to Mor with your brows raised. “Yes?” 

“Oh, nothing,” she airily replied. “I was just wondering when you were going to give this up. You don’t have to forgive the guy, but at least put me out of my misery and let me tell him where you’re staying. I’m basically a delivery service at this point. He says sorry again, by the way.” 

“Oh, well in that case—” 

“More than just sorry, but I can’t remember everything he said. It was all rambly and his face was all gaunt.” Mor pressed her fingers up to cover her eyes. “I’m not even sure if he’s eating. Rhys had to stop sending him out because he almost fell out of the sky.”

“Is this supposed to make me feel bad?”

You hoped your ruse was believable because hearing that Azriel was doing so poorly did make you feel bad. Your heart lept up to your throat at the prospect of your mate falling from the sky from exhaustion. But he had had so many opportunities to make this right and you weren’t about to give up your anger so easily. 

Mor offered a sad expression that looked authentic this time. “Y/n, he loves you. He’s an idiot and the whole lot of them are mindless fools, but Azriel has never loved anything the way he loves you.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you snorted. “And he shows that love by forgetting me and then arguing when I’m clearly upset over it?” 

“I know. He told me how much of an ass he’s been. But, I promise you, I’ve known Azriel for a long time. He was just—just handling everything with Rhys poorly. He felt so so guilty when Rhys got trapped. You know that.” 

You bit the inside of your cheek and avoided Mor’s gaze. “I know.” 

The lack of vitriol in your tone had Mor perking up. “And you remember how hard he tried to get him back—how broken he was when Rhys sent out his last message. Az feels responsible for everything when it comes to his family.”

You didn’t need the reminder. The tortured way he carried himself over the past 50 years was evidence enough of the truth behind Mor’s words. And you had been there to soothe that pain, to help run the court that Rhys left behind. 

When silence persisted, Mor craned her neck to catch your gaze. “I’m not saying what he did was right, but you know he’s been in overdrive since Rhys returned. He goes off on those missions when Rhys calls, but… y/n, he only leaves without notice when his informants…” 

Mor trailed off. 

Your gaze finally flickered up. “When?” 

Mor bit her lip and winced. “He told me not to tell you this part. He said he didn’t want you to think he was making excuses.” 

“Tell me anyways.” 

“Fine. But you can’t rat me out.” Mor sighed and leaned back in the chair, still facing you. “He does go on every mission Rhys proposes, and that’s… stupid, but he tells you about those ones, I think. When he just up and leaves, it’s because—y/n, it’s because they're about you. You know there’s a slew of people that want you dead for your involvement up in Illyria. He has a team of informants with the sole purpose of listening for you name.

“He goes on Rhys’s missions because he doesn’t want his family separated again, but sometimes, it’s because he just wants to protect his mate.” 

A stone dropped past your ribs and into your stomach. “But, he never told me—” 

“You know these overgrown bats think that suffering in silence is an honorable thing to do,” Mor rolled her eyes. “They overwork themselves fighting the good fight or whatever and seem to forget that the rest of the world is still out there, facing the consequences of their actions. And… I think he just wanted you to feel safe. I think he’s been scared.” 

Something sickly climbed its way up your consciousness. You looked down at your hands as they rested in your lap. 

You hadn’t seen Azriel in six days, and each day had more anger coursing through you, building up a wall that you thought impenetrable. Because you were so angry; Azriel had disappointed you time and time again, left you feeling abandoned and alone, and then he got defensive about it as if you were the one at fault. 

Part of you always knew it was a defense of some sort, but you had thought it a defense of something nefarious. You had tossed around the idea of infidelity a few times, and that rivaled the thought of him simply falling out of love with you. 

But it was this. 

It was him hiding how hard he’d been trying to protect you—however idiotic his tactics may have been. 

“You can tell him where I am,” you murmured clenching your fingers into your palm. “And leave the door unlocked, I guess.” 

Mor had left the small apartment on the outskirts of Velaris before you finished your sentence. 

It took approximately 7 minutes for a tentative knock to sound at your door. 

Mor had left it unlocked, but there was still a knock. 

You took a glance at the pile of flowers on the table before heading to the front door. The old floorboards creaked under your feet, a reminder of the rundown apartment you had sought out after you left. It was a frantic process, searching for a place to stay; you hadn’t cared much for luxury or comfort.  

Opening the door was jarring. Azriel’s wings were half-raised as if he’d just flown down and then forgot how to control them. His face was pallid with dark smudges beneath his eyes. His hair was windswept, expected from the flight, but it looked tugged at and disheveled beyond that. 

“Hi.” 

Maybe you’d been looking him over too long because Azriel’s voice cracked at the single word. He sounded unsure, verging on afraid, and all you had done was pass over his figure with your eyes. 

You tightened your grip on the door handle. “Um, hi.” Your tone was harsher than you meant it to be. 

Azriel flinched. “I’m sorry, Mor said…” 

“No, I—Come in.” 

You stepped back and pushed the door open to accommodate his hesitant steps into your rental. Azriel stood in the middle of the space and wrung his hands as you shuffled behind him, a slight tremor showing in his fingers. You leaned back against the door with your own hands pressed at the small of your back. You watched Azriel’s lingering gaze trail over the flowers in the corner of the room. 

“You didn’t like them?” he meekly asked. 

Something inside of you hurt. 

“They were okay,” you answered. “But I didn’t want flowers.” 

Azriel nodded and his lashes fluttered shut. His hands twitched. 

“I’m sorry—for the flowers, I mean. They were a pathetic reason to send Mor to you. You wanted to be left alone.” 

“I did not want to be left alone, Azriel.” You kicked away from the door, bringing your arms across your chest for some form of protection. “I wanted you. I wanted you to care about me.”

“I do,” Azriel stressed. He took a step forward and the wood beneath his boot creaked. “I do, y/n.  I care about you more than anything—I love you.” 

“Then why couldn’t you show me? Why did it take me leaving, me getting hurt, for you to finally listen to me and see how much I’ve needed you?” 

Your chest was heaving, each word from your lips a choked gasp. Azriel took all of it and absorbed your full meaning, seeming to wince at every insinuation that he didn’t love you. His jaw quivered and he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. 

“Why did you stop talking to me?” you asked, a broken rendition of your anger. “Why—Mor told me… She told me things. Things that make sense. But why does it feel like I don’t matter to you?” 

“My love,” Azriel stressed. Yearned. He rushed forward, abandoning all reservations and gathering you into his arms as tears began making headway down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I can’t—I’m so so sorry.” His words were almost lost against your temple as he held you, each apology a whisper of a kiss against your skin. 

“You weren’t there and Devlon—he—” 

“I know, angel, I know and I’m so sorry. Had I known… Had I listened.” He pulled you back from his chest, crouching down to meet your eye and wiping tears from your cheeks. “All I’ve ever wanted to do was keep you safe. I thought I was doing that. I don’t know what Mor told you—” 

“She told me everything. She told me you’ve been following leads about me and taking on too much. She told me you’re scared.” 

Azriel breathed and it sounded anguished. “I am terrified. We lost Rhysand and now you are in the throes of a society that almost killed me. I—I wake up every morning and everything is good and I am so afraid to lose that. I thought I was protecting you, protecting us. But I almost lost you and—” 

You let out a breathy cry. “You could never lose me, Azriel.” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, the wetness of his cheeks now apparent. Azriel’s hands were firm on either side of your head and his fingers laced up into your hair. 

Gods, you missed him. 

You missed him and everything hurt. 

“I’ll do better. I’ll be better. Just please—please, don’t leave again. Please come home. Let me fix this.”

The want was overwhelming. It would be so easy to say yes, but it would be just as easy for nothing to change. 

“You can’t do that again, Azriel,” you stressed, shaking your head and causing your mate to draw back. Only a breath was left between you. “You have to tell me what’s going on. You can’t—you can’t leave me in the dark. You can’t make me feel like that.”

Azriel’s head shook in desperation. “I won’t. I promise I won’t.” 

“I need to know I can rely on you—trust you.” 

“You can, angel.” 

“I need to know that you love me.” 

A pained sound escaped Azriel’s throat. He licked his lips and reaffirmed his hold on your face, locking his eyes with yours in a beseeching gaze. 

“I love you more than life itself, angel. I couldn’t breathe when you were gone. I can’t believe I made you think that I don’t. You are my life. Let me show you. Please, let me show you.”

You tracked your eyes between both of his. “Okay, Azriel.” 

“I’m going to keep you safe.”

“I am safe.” 

“I love you.” 

"I know you do, Az. I know."

[luvvyouforever]

undercover - aaron hotchner x reader

synopsis: in the middle of a case, your worst fear comes true. you have to go on an a date with aaron hotchner, the boss you've been crushing on for months. content: canon-typical violence, tropey, kissing, flirtatious aaron, mentions of alcohol, afab reader who wears a dress. word count: 4k+ a lil bit oops author's note: ahhh my favorite trope in crime shows. enjoy!

"so based on this geographical profile y/n and i worked on, there's only two bars our unsub could frequent with his victims. the first one is more of a nightclub and we don't think it's likely that he'll be bringing them to such a rowdy environment," reid spoke to the crowd of officers and agents awaiting instruction. "the other bar also has a restaurant attached so we'll be keeping our investigation here."

jj grabbed a handful of papers with the bar's information and passed them out to the officers. once reid had stepped to the side, aaron came forward to wrap up their profile.

"he's cunning, yet incredibly violent. do not ambush him. he will escape your grasp and hurt you in the process. be on the lookout officers," he said with a tap to the desk that sent everyone back to work. with a subtle turn, aaron gazed at you and reid. "good work on the mapping. meet back up in the conference room in 5."

"thank you, sir," you and reid echoed before beginning to organize your files back into a folder.

all the while you tried to remain professional, your heart throbbed in your chest at the smallest ounce of praise from your boss. the way he held the room in his hand and demanded respect without ever having to actually ask for it was a part of the reason why you've had a crush on them for the better part of a year.

crush, now, felt too small. it was an infatuation at this point.

it didn't matter much, however, because would you ever confess your feelings for your boss? the boss who has been nothing but stoic your entire time of knowing him? absolutely not.

shrugging the butterflies in your body away, you head over to the impromptu coffee station created for the large number of people inside the police station and pour a cup of stale yet hot and much needed energy. this case was a doozy, one that had every agent just wishing for its end. and it felt like it was soon to come to a close. they had been coming up with some kind of plan. what that plan was, you weren't entirely sure.

when you managed to snap a lid on the coffee cup, you headed into the conference room where the rest of the bau were seated haphazardly around the room. you took a spot between emily and reid, eyes focused on aaron and rossi standing in front of a whiteboard.

"that coffee's not any good, is it?" rossi asked, noting the cup in your hand.

"every sip is somehow worse than the last, but i think we all need it," you said, following your statement up with another pained drink. rossi laughed and out of the corner of your eye, you could've swore that the corner of aaron's lips titled into a smirk. you ignored it, though, and began reading the words on the board.

"so, we're hoping to catch the unsub tonight," aaron started suddenly, turning with his ever-present air of professionalism. "if he's still following his schedule, he'll find his next victim tonight, most likely at the bar reid and y/n found. we've thought about how we're going catch him and i think we'll have to go undercover. two of us."

"under what pretenses, exactly?" derek asked on the other side of the table.

"on a date," rossi answered. just faintly, a red tint appeared on aaron's cheeks. you wondered what could possibly have made him- "we've picked our two already. y/n and aaron."

"oh!" you said surprisedly. "what led to this decision, pray tell?"

aaron looked down at his folders as if they were the most important thing in the world in that very moment. rossi glanced over, shook his head, then looked at you again.

"you two just seem the most likely out of any of us to go on a date. we don't want to look suspicious, no?" rossi answered.

"i-uh-i suppose not," you said. "my go bag isn't really packed with date wear clothes. mostly just pantsuits and academy t-shirts."

aaron finally cleared his throat and met your eyes for the first time since it was announced that you two would technically be going on a date. even if you would be wearing bulletproof vests under your clothes.

"that's okay. we won't be going out till 7pm. it's only three now. you're free to find something. as long as it's easy to move in," he said in a voice that felt an octave deeper than usual. and then he did something that almost made you faint on the spot. aaron dug into his pocket, fished out his wallet, and pulled out a credit card. his credit card. "use this."

sheepishly, you took the card from his hands and placed it into your own bag. "thanks," you muttered. an elbow jabbed its way into your side from beside you and emily was smirking at you. you dismissed her with your hand and stood to exit the room.

"hotel lobby at 7, yeah?" aaron said.

you forced a nervous smile to your face and nodded, then left the room. with aaron's credit card in your bag. about to buy an outfit. for a date with him. you weren't entirely positive you could safely drive.

౨ৎ

with the information you had about the bar, you picked a semi-formal, simple dress that paired well with heels you already packed. aaron was already paying for the dress. you couldn't ask him to also pay for the accessories.

after some test laps up and down your hotel room, you declared the outfit was "easy to move in" and grabbed your bag, ensuring that his credit card was still inside. the time was only 6:45, but you knew aaron would already be there, waiting.

with a check that your holster was properly attached to your thigh, you left the room and took the elevator down to the first floor. your heart was beating irregularly in your chest and your hands were clammy, but the reflective surface of the elevator's walls let you know that you looked good. for a fake date with aaron hotchner.

the elevator dinged when the doors opened and immediately, you saw aaron sitting in a lobby chair. he looked up at the sound and stood. he was dressed impeccably well in a suit with his hair done in its usual middle part. handsome was the only word on the tip of your tongue.

"you look beautiful," he said upon reaching your figure. it seemed like he didn't mean for the words to slip out, but instead of retracting them, he simply held out his arm for yours to wrap around.

your mouth went dry, but you knew you had to say something back. "thank you, hotch. you look handsome yourself."

"i think for the purposes of tonight," he said, "you can just call me aaron."

you nodded, finding words hard to muster up. instead, you allowed him to lead out of the hotel to one of the least suspicious looking SUVs parked outside. when he reached the door, he opened it for you.

you couldn't hold back a little laugh at the gesture. "you know...we're not on the date yet," you said. regardless of the light humor of the situation, you allowed him to help you into the passenger seat. he smirked, shut the door, then walked around to his door.

when he got in, his usual stone expression found its way to his face again. "forgive me for wanting to make this feel as natural as possible. i'm sure it's awkward going on a date with your boss. even if it is undercover."

"oh, no!" you blurted out. his eyebrows raised as he backed out of the parking spot. his arm wound its way around your seat, neglecting the back-up camera for the traditional method. "sorry. it's not awkward. you don't have to worry. promise."

"yeah?" he asked, putting the car back into drive and heading to the downtown area of the small town you were in. at a stop sign, he turned to look at you. if you weren't such a highly trained profiler, you would've certainly missed the way his eyes raked up and down your body, taking in your dress of choice. "you made a good pick."

your cheeks warmed with his flattery. to avoid meeting his gaze, you fished the credit card out of your purse to offer back to him. "thanks," you muttered. "you didn't have to pay for it, you know?"

he took the credit card from your grasp and shoved it into his pants pocket. "don't worry about it," he said with a wave of his hand. "figured if you're forced into going on a date, you should have something nice to wear at least."

you looked over to his body in the driver's seat, his face focused on the road ahead of him. "why do you keep assuming that i'm hating every second of this? i mean...how rare is it that we get to eat somewhere nice while on a case? and i'm getting paid for it while in the presence of a handsome man. could be worse things." you didn't know what compelled you to add on the last bit, but when you saw his cheeks flare up, you didn't regret it.

instead of responding, aaron's body relaxed in the driver's seat.

after several minutes of driving, the bar came into view and you bit your lip in nervousness. this unsub was pretty intense and you were heading directly into the lion's den. you tried to cram the nervousness deep down in the pit of your stomach as aaron pulled into the small parking lot next door.

before turning the car completely off, aaron turned his body towards yours. "now we really need to look as inconspicuous as possible. it might feel weird, but we need to look like a real couple on a date, okay?"

"yes, sir," you responded on impulse. "i mean...yes, aaron."

despite his attempts not to, he breathily chuckled. "already off to a great start," he joked. you chuckled with him and unbuckled your seat. "i'm gonna text the team that we're heading in. don't open your door. let me do it."

a minute of quick texting passed by and aaron shut off the car, then stepped out. a few seconds passed before your door opened and aaron was extending his hand to yours. you took it with a sweet smile and let him lead you out of the car. he shut the door behind you and your arm found his own again.

regardless of the reason being for the case or for just the pure want to be closer to him, you leaned into aaron's strong body. he took to the gesture immediately and held you even closer. it was intoxicating, but you kept your gaze focused on the bar ahead.

after what felt like agonizing hours of walking side by side, you came onto the host stand at the front of the restaurant.

"how many?" the host asked.

"two," aaron responded. the hand that was holding on to your arm began rubbing the skin there up and down. every touch of his fingers left goosebumps.

the host gestured for the two of you to follow her. quicker than you'd like, she led you towards a table in the middle of the restaurant. your eyes surveyed the restaurant and bar around you, scanning for someone that resembled the unsub's profile. once the host walked away, you and aaron looked at each other and shook your heads, signaling that nothing felt out of the ordinary so far.

"order whatever you'd like," aaron said, his head pointing towards the menu in your hand. "hon," he added.

the petname rolled from his tongue naturally, as if it was a name he had been calling you for years. you tried to not show that it affected you much, but aaron noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. despite the nervousness that settled over your body, you decided to take another leap and with a shift in your seat, your heeled foot grazed over his leg. he was shocked at the sudden touch, but spread his legs further nonetheless.

you didn't pull away either when the server came forward.

"welcome, guys. date night tonight, i'm guessing?" she asked with a smile.

"mhm!" you answered first. "decided to get out and dress up for once in a while."

aaron looked at you with an almost impressed look. maybe rossi was right. you did look like a couple.

"isn't that nice? well, what would you two like to drink tonight?"

"an old-fashioned, please," aaron responded. "and a water."

"i'll take a cosmopolitan and a water," you added.

the server noted down the drinks and walked away. your foot continued sliding up and down aaron's legs, becoming a subconscious act at that point. he flipped through the menu once, then glanced around the room again. still nothing.

"an old-fashioned, hmm?" you asked, eyeing one of the meals on the menu that sounded particularly tasty.

"is that shocking?" he asked.

"no," you answered honestly. "just learning more about you, aaron."

aaron hummed, as if he were about to say something, but instead focused on his menu again. a few minutes of comfortable silence passed before the server came over with a tray of your drinks. she sat them down on the table, along with the waters, then pulled out a notepad again.

"had enough time to pick what you'd like?" she asked.

"know what you want, dear?" you asked, looking up at aaron.

"i'll take the steak frites," he said to the server.

both he and the server looked at you. you told her what you'd like from the menu, hoping it wasn't expensive enough for aaron. he barely registered the price, though, and instead collected your menus to hand to the server. if this was what dates were usually like with him, you could definitely tolerate them.

"you look like you're thinking about something," aaron said from the other side of the table where he had been watching both you and the door intently.

you took a sip of your drink and sat it back down. "i thought we said no profiling your coworkers, dear," you teased. "i feel like that applies tenfold when you're on a date."

he chuckled and took a sip of his own drink. you noted just how attractive he was with a glass of whiskey in his hand, laughing.

"pardon me for wanting to know what my beautiful date has in her head," aaron said. his words made you bite your lip and look down at the table. suddenly, though, his demeanor shifted as his eyes connected with someone coming in at the door. "don't turn around."

"is he here?" you whispered.

he nodded and picked up his drink, eyes following him to the bar. almost imperceptibly, he tilted his head towards the bar. "fifth seat," he whispered back.

sure enough, an unsub matching the physical profile had seated himself next to an alone woman at the bar. almost immediately upon sitting down, he began talking to her. the fact that the man you had been trying to catch for a long time, the man who committed some really gruesome murders was that close to you made you almost ill. you passed your emotions off by taking a drink.

"i'm gonna grab another drink, baby. i haven't seen the server around," aaron suddenly said. he nodded to you, perhaps for reassurance, before standing and adjusting his blazer to ensure the holster on his side was covered. luckily, the seat directly next to the woman was empty and he positioned himself on the other side of it. the unsub barely registered his presence, which was good. you took note of his clothes, his hair, everything, just in case she slipped through your grasp again.

eventually, aaron had flagged down the bartender, ordered his second drink, and came back with it in his hand.

"he's just flirting with her," aaron whispered once he was out of earshot. "but she's falling for it. probably not long till he tries to leave with her."

"i won't get to finish my food," you said half-seriously.

"i'll get it boxed up for you, hon," he said. though that time, aaron's voice was a whisper. the petname was for you alone.

just as aaron had expected, the unsub stood from his seat at the bar, the woman next to him following suit. together, they headed towards the back where the bathroom was, along with an exit inside the kitchen which he was likely going to use. both yours and aarons followed them and with a curt nod, you both stood to head towards the back, several paces behind them.

suddenly, they went through a door, to what seemed like a closet first before going into the kitchen. you and aaron paused at the beginning of the hallway. then some noises erupted from the closet, ones that would make an older woman blush and hold her hand to her mouth.

aaron looked back at you with a confused look on his face. at that very moment, the closet door opened. you and aaron looked at each other in panic, but just before they stepped out of the closet, you grabbed aaron by his tie and pulled him closer to you.

within seconds, you had hiked your leg up his own, revealing your thigh in the dress. his hand quickly came to the skin and he squeezed tightly. to add to the scene, you wrapped a hand around the base of aaron's neck and pulled him down. his lips met your own with a rough clash, but then the kiss smoothed out.

at first, he was still, lips unmoving against yours. when your fingers tangled themselves into the short hairs at his neck, he finally kissed you back. acting, he thought to himself as he deepened the kiss and pulled your leg higher up his. undercover, he tried to remind himself when your lips let forth a whimper into his mouth.

neither of you wanted to pull away. you only pulled your head back when you heard the kitchen door swing open and closed. you inhaled a deep breath and met aaron's dark brown eyes. they were wide and his cheeks were flushed.

"sorry. i-it was all i could think to do," you stuttered out.

aaron shook his head. "don't be," he said quickly. "come on, he's about to leave. we'll talk after."

you felt the warmth of aaron's body leave yours as he pulled the gun from his holster. you retrieved your own from your thigh and followed him through the kitchen. he flashed his badge towards the chefs to get them to stop yelling and they pointed towards the exit where the unsub had just left.

both of you picked up your pace. had the kiss deepened for a few more seconds, you would have certainly missed him. however, as soon as you threw open the exit door, the unsub was forcefully shoving the young woman into his car.

"fbi! put your hands up and back away from the car!" aaron yelled. the unsub didn't do immediately as asked, despite two guns pointing in his direction. "i won't ask again! put your hands up and back away from the car!"

in a quick flash, the unsub reached inside his jacket. in the streetlight, you saw the glint of a gun. hardly a second passed before he pulled it out, aimed, but then fell to the asphalt.

your finger came off the trigger and before lodging it back into the holster, you turned the safety back on. you hadn't killed him, only immobilized him in his right leg. it was enough for aaron to run forwards, take the gun and throw it to the side. while he placed handcuffs on the unsub, you ran to the other side of the car and rescued the woman from the passenger seat. crying, she fell into your arms. suddenly, you were surrounded by the town's police department, along with the rest of your team who had been waiting just down the street.

before everything got too hectic to seek each other out, you and aaron took a long look at each other. he nodded with a smile, his form of praise, before hauling the unsub into a police car.

౨ৎ

a few hours had passed before everyone was released from the scene. the bau loaded up into their SUVs, aaron taking the one you had rode together in. much to your chagrin, his car filled up before you could get in with him. instead, you rode with emily and reid on the way back to the hotel to gather your belongings.

when you arrived to the hotel, everyone split off into their rooms. aaron seemed to be speaking privately with rossi so you opted to go upstairs and change out of the outfit you had been wearing for the better half of the night.

as you were unbuckling your heels and placing them back into your go-bag, you heard a faint knock on the door. you rose from the bed, feet aching, and answered it.

there, aaron stood with a white t-shirt on, having had to change out of his clothes from the scene.

"hey," you said.

"can i come in?" he asked.

only then did you notice that he was holding something behind his back. you stepped to the side to allow him to enter and he scooted the item in front of him to prevent you from seeing.

"what do you have there?" you asked. slowly, he brought forth two boxes of food, having kept his promise from earlier.

"it's probably not the freshest anymore, but nothing that a microwave can't fix," he said sheepishly.

you could've cried on the spot. smiling brightly, you took the food from his hands and sat it on the hotel desk. a grunt escaped his lips as your arms engulfed him in a hug. his arms wrapped around your body and your feet lifted from the ground a little.

"thank you," you said genuinely.

aaron watched as you took the food and warmed them up, going for yours first so that he could have the slightly warmer meal. once they were both ready to be ate, you found some plastic silverware in the little coffee tray and handed one set to him.

"round two?" you said with a shrug.

"round two," he agreed. "but...i wouldn't mind a round three, or four, or five, when we get back home." he picked up a fry from his plate and popped it in his mouth.

"glad to know my impulsive gift didn't scare you off," you joked. you paused for a second and set the food down. "which, i mean, i wouldn't mind a round two on that either."

aaron paused too, setting his own box back down on the desk. he stood and offered his hand to help you up from the bed. you took it and rose. then, his hand wrapped around your back where his palm was splayed across the skin there.

"i wouldn't mind a round two either," he said quietly. "but i call the shots this time."

your knees felt weak being so close to aaron. you didn't miss the way his cheeks flared and one of his hands shook nervously. had he been feeling the same way for you for this long too?

"you can call the shots anytime, hon," you teased, echoing the petnames for earlier.

smirking, his free hand ghosted up your side till it met your chin. his fingers titled your head upwards and ever so softly, he leaned in. this kiss was much more romantic, more loving, less rushed. he had time, now. he wasn't kissing you to hide from someone else. he was kissing you because he has been wanting to for oh so long.

minutes must've passed before the two of you pulled away to a pure need to breathe. he smiled. "good round two?"

"i think i'm gonna need a few more just to double check."