#only really got about to writing it down now

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

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[cybrasigilism]

I WANT SOME SMUT DRABBLE WITH DAE-HO OR JUN-HO. LIKE, YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDD 😭😭 .

omg THANK YOU! it warms my heart with how sweet you guys are about my writing :)

and i’ll do you one better, i’ll write a bit for BOAF of em, because i fear i can’t get over either of them. they’ll be seperate drabbles of course but trust they will both have their time in the sun on my blog ;)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Smut Drabbles (Kang Dae-ho/Hwang Jun-ho)

warning: smut and all things of the like, crazy business i know | not proofread | lowercase intended | implied f! reader | protection not implied (wrap it before you tap it folks) | oral sex (f! receiving/m! receiving) | losing your v-card | fingering | praise kink | these are my opinions for these characters, please be respectful even if my opinions for the characters differ from yours

characters: kang dae-ho (player 388), hwang jun-ho

A/N: wanted to do both in the same post because why should i make anyone wait for a part 2? i hate two parters myself esp if it’s something like a drabble, that can all be in one part. thanks for the request and i hope you enjoy!

MDNI! 18+ content under the cut, readers discretion is advised

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kang dae-ho/player 388

now it’s old news at this point to say that dae-ho is the absolute king of gentle sex, but that statement really does hold true. he’s not satisfied if you didn’t cum at least twice, he will not quit until he’s sure you’re completely finished.

his absolute favourite thing to do besides being inside you is having you sit on his face. in fact, he says he could cum from the facesitting alone, having you ride his tongue while he gives you pleasure in the likes of which you haven’t experienced before. if he gets a bit carried away, he’ll dig his nails into your thighs while he tongue fucks your pussy. you may get worried about suffocating him, but he insists that the adrenaline rush that comes with it all really gets him going.

trust when you give him head, the gentle side really comes through. he’ll make sure to praise you up and down about how good you’re doing, how good you’re making him feel, and how much he really doesn’t want you to stop. now, if you really want to have him melt in your hands, you can’t go wrong with edging him. just bringing him right up to the brink of release, having him grab your head for some sense of stability, only for you to stop. he’ll moan and whimper and beg like you’ve never heard somebody beg before. don’t let this fool you though, he’s totally into edging, it makes the release feel that much better. “please god honey, just let me cum… i promise i’ll be a good boy, i just wanna cum already, fuck”

he tries his best not to swear in bed, he personally just doesn’t think it’s necessary. however when he’s completely immersed in the pleasure, when you take over all his senses and thoughts like that, he doesn’t really give a shit anymore.

when you guys fuck, he’s for sure gonna maintain a slow and gentle pace. he knows he’s bigger, so while yes, he does like to bottom out inside you, he’ll give you ample time to adjust to his size at first. all the while, praising you on how good you’re being for him “yeah, taking my whole cock like that.. you’re doing such a good job” “it’s okay baby, i got you.. i got you”

one thing you can do to absolutely drive him crazy? claw up his back while he fucks you, god does he ever get vocal when you do that. he’s a bit embarrassed of his moans, he’s worried it comes off as obnoxious, but he’s more than happy to let loose especially when he realizes how it makes you clench around his dick when he does so.

he does lose control of his pace a bit when he gets closer to cumming, and trust he will kiss you lots throughout the whole experience. you guys might also break the headboard but that’s a different can of worms

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

hwang jun-ho/the police officer

anyone who tries to tell you that jun-ho wouldn’t make your first time all about you is lying to you, i’m so sorry you had to find out this way.

he would much rather focus on making you feel good, especially if you’ve established that you’re a virgin beforehand. and honestly, after he’s through with you, you’re not sure if you could even think about fucking anyone else.

there may not be penetration the first time, but he will do everything in his power to make you cum. that may be a tall order for the average guy, but seeing as he couldn’t give two shits about his own pleasure this time around, jun-ho wouldn’t have much trouble with achieving this goal. if you wanted to please him in any way, he would insist you let him do all the work. it’s not that he doubts you could please him, but he’s already had his first time, he’s more than happy to finger you or eat you out without receiving anything in return. “right now, it’s all about you sweetheart. i just want you to feel good, can you do that for me?”

oh don’t even get me started on how skilled he is with his fingers. he’ll be knuckles-deep inside you in no time at all, circling your clit with his thumb at the same time. trust he will also be kissing your neck while he’s fingering you, again just doing everything in his power to make you feel as good as humanly possible.

he’ll be praising you the whole time, complimenting you for being “such a good girl” when you take his fingers. and his tongue? god. this man could tie a knot in a cherry stem with his tongue, and that definitely goes to show when he eats you out. he will be fingering you while he sucks your clit and that’s a promise, and he will not cease until you’re shaking, barely able to form a single thought anymore.

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i really want to do a NSFW alphabet for jun-ho now that i’ve written this! as usual any advice and constructive criticism on how i can improve my writing is appreciated and requested! i really hope i did jun-ho justice in particular because this is my first time writing for him :)

thanks so much for reading! and thank you anon for the request!

[cuprohastes]

#hey op can you write about some utopia or smth

There are no Utopias really. That's the meaning of the word: It's ancient Greek for No-Place.

But a couple of years down the timeline things are looking a lot better than expected, which to be fair was a low bar.

Elon pushed for a Mars colony and it nearly bankrupted him - If you hit the streaming web site hooked up to the Big Dish, you can still hear him ranting about the decision to seize his assets for back taxes while he was on Mars.

Not our fault he took ketamine, declared X-Base the capital of Planet X, Seceded from the human race, then found out that if you leave the planet and also piss enveryone off, your loyal minions most likley take the money and run.

As for Amazon - It's a lot kinder and less abusive. The old joke really is true: You eat one Billionaire...

Solar and wind really got the cost per Watt down, and now they banned LLMs the job market is up, the cost of living is down, and what President AOC did to the ad industry in her last term... Well it's only second in popularity to mandating the Universal Healthcare bill.

After the Prairy Remediation, the reforesting, the Urban Cooling and the ten thousand and ten other projects across the world, they're saying the global temp will be down another 1.5 degrees by 2080.

Air quality is better than any time since the 19th century, and the ten years of work is really putting a dent in the plastic waste - Using bio-reactors to turn it back into oil and storing it in old wells? Kind of cool.

I really won't miss the yearly microplastic dialysis.

The downside? So many. I mean It took like four weeks before I could get a shot to re-grow my teeth, and where the hell is Half Life Four, Valve?!

About ten, fifteen years ago I wrote a story about a guy living in a Capitalist dystopia. His walls, furniture, and tableware are all covered in smart displays. Basically animated wallpaper. It's sold as being able to turn your room or objects into anything - A nice forest view, outer space, a fantasy realm... but the companies that run this stuff keep sneaking ads in.

It gets so bad he's always being woken up by adverts that offer insomnia cures and better bedding that play when he tries to sleep.

So he buys the ad-free tier, and it's great... for a few months. And then he starts getting adverts from 'premium partners'. So he goes up a level... and the same thing happens.

So he jailbreaks his wallpaper and sends all the ad servers to 0.0.0.0 and voila... he can sleep.

Until this SWAT team blows his door off and drag him off to jail. The Ad companies are suing him for loss of revenue for the products he' notionally have bought if he'd watched their adverts, based on some weird 'The average consumer buys X products with an average value of Y' calculation.

The judge is like 'well I dun wanna annoy the sponsors' so he RICO's this guy's house and possessions and sends him to jail.

... which is a nice relaxed non-volent offender jail for the corporately disenfranchised. But because these people have no money... there's no ads and now he's happy because the only place he's free... is in prison.

Which at the time was a bit much and now it's like: Called it.

Elon's suing companies for not advertising because he's losing revenue. He's also cranking the price of Ad Free Twitter. Disney and Amazon play adverts on their paid service when services used to be free because of the adverts... and now you have to pay to watch the adverts or go up a couple of tiers.

And google's going around freaking out about ad-blockers.

[nerdygirlramblings]

really want to write more about Oz, but the omegaverse worms keep entering my brain

cw: attempted accents

previous

Price clocked your reactions this afternoon. He isn't stupid. He knows that being a woman, and an omega in particular, puts a target on your back. The prejudice against both your primary and secondary genders means you need to be so much better than your peers, and you are. You are outstanding in your field. Extraordinary. He's not surprised some other task force hasn't snatched you up before now.

Thankfully, he got you to agree to dinner with the team, so he has help in convincing you to join them as a teammate. And once you're on the team, they can work on convincing you to join the pack.

Two hours after you left his office, and with your parents' words ringing in your ears, you're in the mess, waiting alone at a table in the back. You're usually in the mess alone but try not to linger long. An unclaimed omega alone around so many alphas is practically asking for trouble. Just as you start worrying about Captain Price and the others, he walks in flanked by the largest man you've ever seen in your entire life, his face hidden by a mask with a painted skull on it. Price is big, but the man next to him is taller and almost twice as wide.

Price is looking around the room, but the masked man leans towards Price and points in your direction. When he sees you, Price breaks into a grin and starts heading your way. As he and the large man in the mask approach, you're able to see two smaller - in comparison - men behind them, moving with a purpose that lets you know this is the full 141. Besides Price and the mountain, there's a stocky white man with a mohawk and a beautiful, lithe black man.

When they all stand in front of you, you can smell Price's autumnal scent along with another alpha whose scent is layered in something sharp, like ginger, onion, and garlic. It's a smell you associate with Mum's cooking, but you know many find it off-putting. There's a scent of saplings or fresh snapped greenery mixed with the mellow smell of a warm day: a spring scent coated in beta. The last is another beta, but this scent is crisp and brine, the ocean made flesh. You wonder whose scent is whose.

Price steps forward, offering you his wrist, his scent, again. As you take it and bring it closer to your face, he smiles and says, "Glad ya came." You dip your head in a slight nod and drop his hand, and he takes the seat across from you. He introduces the rest of the pack task force in turn, each man politely offering their wrist before sitting down. You recognize the informal scenting ritual common when joining new groups. You did the same with your squad when you first came to base.

Leftenant Simon "Ghost" Riley is the other alpha. He is sat next to Price. Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish smells like the ocean, and Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is spring. With your permission, the sergeants are sat on either side of you.

"I wan'ed ya ta be able to put faces to the 141 before ya made yer decision," Price tells you. "This way if ya wan'ed ta see what are trainin' looks like or ask about anything, ya'd know who ta ask." Then he surprises you when he suggests you go with the sergeants, the betas, to grab trays for everyone.

"Gaz and Soap know wha' we like," he says, pointing between him and Ghost. "They can get ours while we hold the fort." He must read the confusion on your face, but he only smiles in response. This was not the behavior of an alpha trying to prove his worth to an omega. This was a Captain letting you converse with members of the task force equal to you in rank without superior officers around.

As you make your way to the food, you see Soap eyeing you. You look back a few times, clearly puzzled and a little off balance, until Gaz finally elbows him and says, "Either spit it out, mate, or stop gawkin'."

Soap grins almost manically. "Aye seen ye running th'other morn. Yoor form neyver waivered. Was a sight," he sighs. You remember someone complementing your form after a run about a week back.

"Oh, tha' was you? You were quick!"

"Nae as quick as yoo, lass. I saw yoo pass the barracks foor times. An' aye could tell yoo'd been runnin' a fair bit befoor aye saw ye. Aye cannae run tha' consistently." He doesn't miss the way you blush as his compliment.

You stand in line behind Soap with Gaz at your back. They aren't alphas, but it's hard to miss how their presence calms you, and that's without them projecting their scents for you. Simply knowing you aren't here alone, that people are here who have your back, is enough.

next

[ramshacklefey]

One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich and The Things They Carried rewired parts of my brain. The Odyssey was a real treat. (Especially when some of my classmates who found the language rather opaque started gathering around me at morning homeroom to hear my retellings of last night's reading assignment.)

But I know some of you probably have or had a miserable time in English class, and that may have been partly because your school didn't properly prepare you for reading the books ahead of time, so you were just totally at sea all the way through.

If that's the case, here are some tips for getting more enjoyment out of a book you're struggling with!

Look up summaries of individual chapters (CliffsNotes usually has these). Then go back and read them. Having an idea of what's happening might help you follow along with language or writing styles that you're struggling with.

Let yourself skim over particular passages you're baffled by and latch onto the ones that make sense. Finding points that you can follow might help you make sense of the trickier ones by providing context.

If you don't understand a character's motivations, especially in older books and books that take place in a foreign country, it might be because you're missing context. That's okay, and your teacher isn't expecting you to have encyclopedic knowledge of the historical and cultural context for a book.

But also, even in the most unfamiliar circumstances, you can look for things that make sense to you. The characters are still people, and regardless of context, people are still people.

But also, sometimes you just can't relate to the character. That's ok. "Well I would never ____" Yes, but this person did. And here's why. In the world they live in, it made sense or it was the only thing they could do. And there are people in real life who do that. Now you've seen a little bit of why.

You don't have to like all the characters. Some characters (even the protagonists) you're supposed to hate. Sometimes that's because the author is saying, "This bastard is fucked up, but do you see how he got that way?" Sometimes it's, "This bitch made every wrong choice possible, but damn if it didn't make some wild drama."

Remember that sometimes the author may not explain exactly why something happens because it's supposed to be a bit of a mystery at first! Keep reading and see if it gets explained later!

Look up words in the dictionary!!

If you're having trouble keeping a lot of characters in your head, make a cast list. "John is Mary's brother and he's a bit of a dick."

It's okay if there are books you simply do not vibe with. Give them a fair shake, but really, even the kids who love English class are gonna have books they hate. I despised a few of the books I read for school. But remember that struggling with a book and not liking it aren't the same thing!

And for the love of everything holy. Ask. Your. Teacher. Questions. Write them down while you're reading and ask! If you're scared to ask in class, talk to them at another time! But I can guarantee that if you didn't understand something, some of your classmates didn't either. If your teacher is remotely competent, they'll be delighted to answer your questions.

And there are no questions too simple to ask in class!! "Why did this character do this thing?" "What's up with this sentence?" "I tried reading this, and here's what I think the events of this chapter were. Is that really what happened?" "What the heck is a ____?" "Why was this bit in here? It doesn't seem like it's important to the plot." "How do we know that ____ theme is in here?"

Yes, there are themes and symbols and motifs and whatever else in books. Your teacher isn't just making it up. People tell stories for a reason. The author is trying to communicate something to you. "Well why didn't they just say that?" Because saying it in a story shows you something about it. I can tell you, "Love isn't always enough to save you." or I can show you that by telling you a story about two people who fall in love and then get their shit wrecked. I can tell you, "This war happened and it was awful," or I can show you the people who were in it and what it did to them. I can tell you, "The government is a corrupt pile of festering feces," or I can show you what might happen if we keep going on the path we're on.

And you might not agree! You can say, "No, it wouldn't happen like that." You can say, "But this war was worth it because it resulted in this." You can say, "Actually, this particular social outcome seems pretty rad to me." That's okay because stories are a conversation, not the word of God from on high. But again, give the author a fair shake.

The most important thing is that you don't just give up if you're struggling. You're in school to learn! So accept that there are things you don't already know.

I straight up do not trust you if you did not enjoy a single book you had to read for English class. I know they assigned some real stuffy stinkers and the curriculum varies across districts but not one? Not The Outsiders? Not The Picture of Dorian Gray? Not Fahrenheit 451? Not even Frankenstein? Damn. That’s crazy.

[ur-local-wizard]

Eye of the Storm (Part 3)

Your desk partner leaves his notebook after class, and you’re struck by the beauty of its contents.

Eeek the last part of this story! Had a blast writing it, and I hope everyone enjoyed reading it!

characters are college age, mattheo riddle x fem!reader, whipped!mattheo, use of y/n, FLUFFFFFFFFF, kissing, pretty sure that's it

w/c: 1.2k

masterlist part 1 part 2

a/n: ty to my lovely editor, @pikaglow

As you passed him, the sketchbook gripped tightly in your hands, you noticed something foreign on his face. His expression was stripped of his usual confidence and sarcasm. He looked almost panicked as he closed the door behind you.

The room was in utter disarray. Drawers were thrown open, clothes and papers were scattered across the floor. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he’d been searching for something.

So, avoiding his gaze, you thrusted the book in front of you, practically ripping your hands away when he took it. “You left it in Divination,” was your only explanation. His eyes darted between your face and the object in his hands, surprise clear in his eyes. The tension in his room was so palpable, you felt you could hardly breathe. He seemed to flounder around for a second, his mouth opening and closing repeatedly. 

“Did you look at it?” His voice was eerily calm, but the discomfort his body carried was clear as day. He set the book down on his desk, falling back into the chair beside it, and his eyes failed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn’t mean to,” you say awkwardly, standing in front of him. You felt guilty when his face fell, but there was no point in lying. “It fell out of my hands,” the words were tumbling from your mouth quickly as you tried to explain yourself. “When it landed on the ground, it was open. And I just got curious. I’m sorry.”

“Fuck.” He carded a hand through his already messy hair, and finally he looked up at you. 

You sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed. “You’re so talented, Mattheo. But I don’t understand. Why me? And how the hell do you know all that about me-” The words slipped out before you could stop them, disjointed and fast. But they conveyed the confusion and fear warring inside you; something that you couldn’t have said out loud.

He cut you off, his gaze softening. “I can’t help it. You confuse me. And God, you’re everywhere, in every fucking corner of my brain. The way you smile, your laugh. I’m reminded of you by almost everything I see.” His voice trailed off, and you stayed silent. You didn’t know what to say to that. “I tried ignoring it, I really did. But eventually, I just couldn’t. So I drew; it was the only way I knew how to deal with all these emotions.” His voice broke, and it was like a tangible thing – the rare moment of vulnerability he allowed you to see. You wanted to scoop it up and put it in your pocket. You wanted to be able to save it for later, to be able to pull it out and see it whenever you wanted.

“You know I’m not good with emotions. I’ve never felt these types of things before. But now that I do with you, I don’t understand it,” he whispered, head falling down to look at his lap. “It’s terrifying.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him wide-eyed and flushed as his words settled over you like a heavy blanket. Perhaps the blanket was made of fire, you didn’t quite know yet. Nor did you know what to say, or how to respond to something that raw and unexpected. All you could do was sit there, trying to connect the personified chaos known as Mattheo Riddle with the boy sitting before you now, one who was vulnerable, honest, and so very human. 

“I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m flattered, Mattheo. But it’s all just so overwhelming,” you confessed, voice hushed. His head snapped up, his dark eyes searching yours, disbelief swimming in them. “It’s just—you're so unpredictable. There’s such a disconnect from what you say you feel and what you do. You act like you don’t care about anything, but then you do something like this,” you nodded to the sketchbook. “You notice things that I didn’t think anyone could. I don’t know how to handle that.” 

His lips parted slightly, as if about to say something, but ultimately he decided against it. He stood up and made his way to you, sitting down beside you on the bed. His movements were cautious and measured, as if he was worried he would scare you off. 

“I know I’m not good at this kind of stuff,” he started, his voice low and gentle. “At feelings. At being vulnerable with people who actually matter to me.” He stopped, taking a deep breath. He reached out, gently taking your hand in his. “But you matter to me, Y/n. More than you’ll ever know.”

His words made your breath catch in your throat, the sincerity in his voice making you feel things it would be impossible to name. You liked this side of him, you wanted to know this side of him more ,and you  just wished it weren’t so confusing. 

So when you voiced that out loud, he nodded. “Of course. And I’m sorry. It was overwhelming for me, but I want you to know that side of me too. Here,” He said, grabbing the sketchbook from his desk and placing it in your hands. “You don’t have to give it back. If this is too much, you can keep it. Burn it if you want, even. I’ll understand.”

You closed your hands around the book, but blinked at him in confusion. “Why would I burn it?”

“You know… cause it’s weird,” he explained, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “I mean, who spends hours drawing a girl he doesn’t have the guts to talk to properly?”

“Mattheo…” His name fell from your lips like a sweet prayer as you chuckled. His eyes snapped to yours, filled with a mix of hope and fear. “It’s okay. It’s overwhelming, sure, but not weird.” You paused and smiled at him. “And honestly? It’s kind of endearing.”

“Really?” He asked you, and you nodded in response. 

“You’re incredibly talented, Mattheo. The way you paint the world in this sketchbook of yours,” you placed it in his lap, “the way you paint me, is breathtaking.” With a flushed face, you offered him a smile. 

He didn’t say anything for a long while. But eventually, he cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you. It was gentle, reverent almost, but fleeting – gone before you could process what was happening. 

“Keep it,” he whispered, his breath brushing against your lips. “I want you to have it. You deserve to see yourself as beautiful as I see you .”

The tension in the air seemed to lift then, the weighted blanket from before dissipating. The air was now filled with something warmer, something quieter, more serene. You felt peaceful now, and the look in his eyes said he felt the same. 

You grabbed the notebook from his lap and flipped to a specific page, showing it to him. “This was my favorite of the ones I saw. You even put my favorite flowers in the vase,” you said. He nodded in response, a wide smile on his lips. “I know. That’s why I included them.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you to everyone for all the wonderful support! It truly means the absolute world to me. And as always, let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

taglist: @ilovejamespottersomuch @mattyriddlesbitch @valenftcrush @sturniolover13 @paankhaleyaaar @thereeallink @voidangxls

©ur-local-wizard translating, republishing, copying, or claiming my work as yours is not permitted. all my work belongs to me and me only. thank you!

[insomniadreamzz]

Hey, how are you? I wanted to request G!P Jinx x Reader. Imagine that the reader is Jinx's girlfriend and they have unprotected sex and then Jinx gets the reader pregnant? Something like the reader being afraid to tell Jinx and she freaks out about it and stuff like that… Could there also be smut at the end and fluff too? Please, I've never seen that around here 😮‍💨

Helloo! Thank you I am perfectly fine. Today is my birthday and I am actually busy but I LOVE this request so I had to write it down today 👀

———

My everything

G!P Jinx x Fem!Reader

Smut, mentions of pregnancy, fluff

The last days you felt kinda off, your emotions were like a rollercoaster and you got more sensitive. Jinx realised this too, making her feel a little worried about you. Since she had mental issues herself, she always questioned if she did something wrong, making the situation between you both get a little more complicated.

„Is everything okay my love? It’s your third plate of food today. I don’t mind it at all but…I am worried if something is bothering you. You know you can tell me anything right? You do trust me do you?“ Jinx asked as you were about to finish your food, your gaze moving up to look at her, a little smile on your face. „Of course I do trust you. You are my girlfriend after all. I just feel more hungry than usual these days, nothing to worry about.“ You tried to reassure her but she felt something was still off.

The next days your behavior went on, you also felt nauseous out of nowhere which made you realise that you might be pregnant. Last time you and Jinx got intimate you didn’t use protection which was a little silly of both of you but to be honest you didn’t really realise she would get you pregnant that fast. Whatever…if it was true and you carried her child, how to tell her? You suddenly worried about her reaction, close to panic but before your mind will make you freak out you decided to make a test first and then you will have to figure something out.

Thankfully Jinx wasn’t in her hideout today, she went out to probably blow something up again. You always had to worry about her when she wasn’t around but right now you were glad she wasn’t home so you could do the test without her knowing and just how you thought, it was positive. „Fuck…“ You cursed under your breath, feeling a little overwhelmed. Of course you were happy since having a family with your girlfriend was your biggest dream. But so sudden? It just made you think about a lot of stuff like are you even ready for it? Is Jinx ready for it? Will she be happy? Or will she be upset? You didn’t know since you never talked about that topic before.

One thing was clear. You had to tell her. Jinx already blamed herself for not treating you right anymore to explain your behavior. You noticed her anxiety getting worse these days but now you had a valid explanation for your latest behavior. Maybe that would calm her down and stop blaming herself?

There was not much time of thinking about how to explain to Jinx as you heard her walking into the hideout, a happy smile on her face as she catched your sight, you quickly hiding the test behind your back, wishing you already removed it and didn’t stare at it all the time while having a little discussion with your own mind about the result. „Hey toots!!“ She said with her usual wuirky behaviour you loved so much but she did notice you hid something behind your back. „What ya hiding there?“ She asked and you began to blush deeply, not being able to find the right words or to speak at all. „I-…“ You started but she cut you off by snatching it out of your hand. Why did you hide it anyways? You knew Jinx was too fast for you to even react when she tried to get it out your hands.

Her eyes widened when she saw what you were hiding, not knowing how to react. You bit down on your own lower lip, feeling nervous, scared she would be upset. „You are…“ She started, looking into your eyes with a soft gaze, you only nod in response which was enough for the blue haired girl to freak out but in a positive way. „Oh my god! My girl is pregnant!“ She squealed, being all jumpy and giggly, talking to herself about all the things she wants to do and build as she paced around the hideout before she stopped right in front of you, placing a lot of soft kisses on your lips. „I love you so much!“ She said in between the kisses before pulling back to look into your eyes again, you felt so relieved. „Jinx…are you happy?“ You asked just in case as if her reaction wasn’t enough. „Are you kidding me?! I am! I am the happiest my love!“ She reassured you, taking your hands in hers as she gently rubbed them with her thumbs. „I-I know I am chaotic and I know the things I do are weird and dangerous, making me question if I can do this right but…but I want it! I wanna take care of you both and make sure you will always feel loved.“

Her words made you feel so soft. You didn’t expect her to be this passionate about that topic but you loved it. You loved her. Her eyes got a little watery, the more she realised it, the more emotional she got. „I-I thought I did something wrong. I thought you stopped loving me but…but the real reason you behaved like this…it’s such a beautiful reason.“ Jinx voice was very soft and a little shaky as she let tears of happiness run down her cheeks and so did you. You couldn’t hold back your own emotions anymore as well, feeling so happy as well that she wasn’t upset about it. „I could never stop loving you…how could you even think that?“ You asked but in return she just kissed you again, this time more deeper and passionately as she made you lay down on your back. Right now she just wanted to feel you and give you her love, her tongue moving inside your mouth, making you gasp softly in return.

Both of you felt aroused by the deep kissing, your hormones being all over the place made you feel hornier than usual so it was obvious you wanted her and you showed it as your hands gently pulled on her pants, making her smirk into the kiss. „Heh…you want me don’t you?“ She hummed and you nodded. „Yes…yes please I need you.“ You almost beg for her to fuck you and of course she won’t deny you.

It didn’t took you long to be all over each other again, her marking your body with kisses and little gentle bites while her cock moved inside of you, her pace being slower than usual, making you chuckle a little. She must do that on purpose which was cute. „Hnn…you know you can go faster do you?“ She looked down at you with a soft gaze, you knew she didn’t want to do anything wrong but you reassured her. Jinx behavior was just so sweet. „Ah…yes I know of course.“ She said but you knew she was being careful now because she knew you were pregnant. After your reassurance she thrusted faster inside of you as she held your hips gently, going deeper as usual, losing herself into the pleasure just like you. Both of you being a moaning mess. „Fuck…I am close…“ She moaned out and you kept her close to you by wrapping your legs around her waist, making sure she won’t pull out. „M-me too…cum inside me please.“ You whined, her hips didn’t stop moving, moaning out loudly when she came and at the same time you reached your orgasm as well, feeling her fill you up with her cum, making both of you feel so good.

Both of you panted softly, her leaning down to kiss you again so lovingly. „You make me the happiest…“ She whispered. „And you make me the happiest.“ You answered with a soft smile, caressing her cheek as you both looked into each others eyes with so much love.

(Fluff bonus)

„Hey that tickles!“ You giggle softly as Jinx painted little hearts and other little cute stuff on your baby bump. „What? You’re my beautiful canvas.“ She teased by sticking her tongue out, a giggle leaving her own lips. She just loved doing these sweet little things with you.

„Who knows maybe our little one will be as creative as you?“ You mentioned, making Jinx smile more. „Maybe who knows?“ She answered before leaning down to place a kiss on your tummy and then nuzzling close to it. „I love both of you so so much you don’t even know…“ Her words so soft, almost like a whisper as she stayed close to you. „And we love you. Always and forever.“ You gently caressed her beautiful blue hair, making her smile as she closed her eyes and eventually feeling your little one kicking for the first time.

[sc0tters]

Best - Jack Hughes

summary: the time has come for you to return to New Jersey, does seeing Jack make you fall into old ways or do you finally stay strong?

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, mentions of sexual relationships but nothing overly explicit.

word count: 3.69k

authors note: first off happy 2025! this is our first fic of the year and we have waited way to long for this part to come out but I seriously think the wait was worth it all in the end. I was going to give us a good ending but then I heard Best by Gracie Abrams and you guys said we could do the angst soo… if it’s not clear, this is a sequel (that I throughly enjoyed writing) but you don’t have to ready part one, it’s just that this one will make a lot more sense if you did first.

part one

This was meant to be a trip you were excited for.

Christmas and New Years in Jersey with Luke at your side. It had been planned since you missed your annual trip to the lake house after your parents surprised you with a much needed summer in Europe.

Just as you should have predicted things ran cold with Jack the moment you the garden state last time round. So now as you stood in Newark airport waiting for Luke to show up you had to force a smile on your face, as the pit in your stomach grew.

Nerves coursed through your veins as you hated that Jack still got to have an effect of you.

This was meant to be a trip that you could use to just catch up with your best friend, but still you stood there forced to have his older brother be the one who was on your mind.

All you were left with was the memories, that you couldn’t seem to part with “guess who?” Your thought was broken as hands covered your eyes “are you that one devils defender?” You grinned knowing that it was Luke who stood behind you.

His shitty attempt of a British accent made you laugh “that one devils defender?” Luke scoffed as he dropped his hands allowing you to turn to face him “Lukey!” You squealed pulling him into a hug.

The boy smiled as he wrapped his arms around you, feeling happy that you were back there with him. Luke had seen you in Detroit over the last two months but this was the first time you both got to spend actual time together since February.

Luke’s eyes scanned your face to see how much you had changed recently, your eyes didn’t seem to shine as bright as they once did. He knew that something was up with you, it would have taken a fool to not.

As the man who knew you like the back of his hand Luke knew that you’d also only tell him once you were ready. He just really hoped that what ever seemed to drag you down, would be set free before it was too late “I’ve missed you.” Your voice was soft as you ran your fingers through the curls you used to help him take care of in your dorm.

He was quick to grab your suitcase from you “we’ve got so much to talk about!” He confessed motioning to you to follow him to his car.

The ride was long but felt short in time as the two of you didn’t shut up, catching up on all things school, hockey, and life itself.

Jack had come back from a workout as the two of you arrived, and you swore that the universe was out to get you. The elevator doors opened on the gym floor and that’s where you were met with the middle Hughes brother.

He was sweaty as he had a towel that sat in his shoulders “didn’t think you were gonna be here yet.” Jack stepped into the elevator as you shrugged “flight got in early.” You tried to pay no mind to the fact that your body felt on fire as his eyes practically burnt into your soul.

Luke sucked at his teeth “it’s good because Jacky here got us into hosting a party tomorrow.” He mumbled sending his brother a glare “Jack eh?” You teased wanting to let out a laugh.

Jack smirked as he looked at you “you want to go on a booze run with me or get snacks?” You didn’t even need to answer as Luke cut you off “you want to get a partner for this prep then you find your own best friend.” He pointed out wrapping his arm around you.

The middle Hughes boy let his lips form a pout “and here I was thinking we’d share her.” The words made you cough as the elevator doors opened to their apartment floor.

Jack laughed “good to see ya Blossom.” The nickname rolled off of his tongue as he walked out first.

The next twenty four hours you were able to avoid Jack for the most part as Luke wanted to show you all the parts of the city that he had grown to love since you had last been. And the fact that he still shopped like a teenage boy helped, as you were having to explain to Luke what a party really needed.

Your luck ran out as Luke got drunk whilst the continued on. Jack clearly knew what he was doing when he bough Luke’s favourite shooter, as the youngest Hughes boy currently stood practically jumping off the walls.

Some of their teammates knew of you from your last time being there and how Luke never seemed to shut up about you. Nico had already been over to say hello again as you had gotten yourself a drink “Y’know I’ve got to get back to my sister but I think you should go see what Jack wants.” Nico motioned in the direction of his teammate.

Jack looked at you as you nodded “thanks for the heads up.” you mumbled seeing the American a confused look as he watched you see if there was someone behind you.

You tried to avoid him but you felt as if you were trapped as Jack seemed to be where ever you turned after that. Every time you went to a different part of the apartment he was talking to a different person. But of course his eyes never seemed to leave yours.

So as you watched this blonde girl run her fingers over his shirt you finally felt sick, rather than watching the scene continue on. You instead opted to chug the remainder of the whiskey in your cup, before you headed to the bathroom hoping that a slash of cold water would do the trick.

Your face felt warm as the sound of water running in the faucet trickled in your ears “pull yourself together.” You sighed resting over the counter as the door opened “can’t you see this is busy-” you grumbled cutting yourself off as you locked eyes with Jack.

He sent you a glare “you know you’ve got a funny way of getting all mad at me when I go talk to someone.” Jack let out a cruel laugh “ain’t like you’re fucking that Canadian or somethin’.” He added making you scoff.

You had started a solid relationship with Ethan right as the summer started as you both seemed to bond over heartbreak. His girlfriend had dumped him and as everyone celebrated the end of the school year, you both found each other in bed needing the company and the release.

Before you knew it, those meet-ups became weekly things. You needed a break from Jack and that seemed to be the one thing that really did calm your mind, even if it was only for that night.

But as Jack stood in front of you, you couldn’t believe that he got mad “you keeping tabs on me or some shit?” you laughed almost wondering if someone was playing some sick prank on you.

He still stood tall as he rolled his eyes “don’t play dumb with me.” He muttered letting a loose strand of your hair get caught between his fingers.

His touch made your body feel on fire “and it’s hard to not know when Luke won’t seem to shut up about it.” Jack added making you smirk “you jealous that he ain’t heard about you?” You asked tilting your head up to face him.

Jack stood there for a moment as he thought about it “you think I’m gonna be jealous of a little college fuck toy?” He laughed almost taunting you “know only I fuck you the best.” The middle Hughes boy knew he was right as you pushed your thighs together trying to dispose of the heat that built up in them.

You shook your head “not anymore.” Your lips pursed together as you shook your head.

Jack noticed how you were still wearing that same perfume of yours that drove him wild “got a long time here.” You still had four days left there and if your trip was going to end like the last one, he knew you’d end up in his bed at least once.

But in that bathroom you tried to remain strong “you wanna act like you don’t fuck me and leave me?” You scoffed wanting to honestly hit him in that moment.

You pressed your pointer finger against his chest “like I’m not just the same as every other girl that you fuck and forget about as if I’m nothing.” Your voice broke as you almost felt your emotions making you feel nauseous.

He could read the pain in your face “don’t say that.” He clicked his tongue as he reached for your arm “know you’re my special girl.” The title was meant to fill you with joy and praise, and it would have if this was February.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you shook your head “fool me once shame on you, fool me twice and I’m the fucking idiot.” You sucked at your teeth watching him remain silent.

There was so much anger in your body “I can’t believe I actually let you fuck me.” You spat turning around to finally leave.

The door to the bathroom whipped as you were faced with Luke “you fucked my best friend?” He scoffed as he looked over you and towards his brother.

His eyes traveled down to yours as he frowned “I’ve got to go.” You mumbled pushing past him as your cheeks turned red, flushed with embarrassment as the boy’s teammates and their partners eyes stuck on you.

You went through the crowed as you grabbed your scarf “I can’t believe you!” Was the last thing you heard before you let the door shut behind you, desperate to be as far away from there as possible.

But the first thing you needed was a drink and a strong one.

It had been hours since what you called your catastrophic meltdown in the Hughes apartment, and Luke still refused to listen to a word that Jack said “she’ll be okay Luke.” His voice broke the silence as the younger Hughes snapped his head in his brother’s direction.

Luke chewed at the inside of his cheek “she’s a smart kid.” Jack added finally breaking his younger brother “you don’t think I already know that?” The defenseman scoffed as he threw his cloth onto the table.

It was rare that he got this angry, but tonight Jack pushed his past his limits “she’s my best friend and you just had to go and fuck her?” Luke felt tears form in his eyes as the betrayal stood in front of him “and for what? To make her life hell and make me think that I did something to make her hate me?” Your avoidance of being in the same place as Jack finally all made sense. You weren’t avoiding Luke but rather the pain his brother managed to so easily inflict on you without a second thought.

The middle Hughes boy shook his head as he let out a sigh “you think I wanted to walk away from her?” Jack sucked at his teeth as he let his eyes squint into a harsh line “you don’t think that I spend most nights fucking wishing she wasn’t your best friend so that this wouldn’t have been so complicated.” Those words made Luke ball his hand into a fist.

He felt his heart pound in his ears as he grew irritated “how is you screwing her and leaving complicated?” Luke’s voice raised as both boys did little to care about what their neighbours would think.

Jack knew he couldn’t really say it, even if there was a truth that made him feel trapped “she deserves so much better than you.” Luke spat letting his words hit his brother like bullets.

The room felt claustrophobic as the middle Hughes boy tried to ignore that he agreed “you’re right.” Jack sighed making Luke freeze as his eyebrows raised.

He chewed at the inside of his cheek “I love her but I couldn’t be the reason you two stopped being friends.” His confession lingered in the air as Luke realised that his brother was being truthful, even if it was as ironic as it seemed.

But Luke didn’t get a chance to offer some form of a rebuttal as the echo of something falling onto the wooden floor of the living room. There you stood with now tear stained cheeks “I forgot my wallet.” You announced holding the red purse in your hand with your eyes widened.

Jack felt his throat go dry, as it was clear that you had been there to hear what he had said. He wanted to reach out for you but instead Luke beat him to it “we should talk.” Luke didn’t give either of you a chance to respond as he pulled you out of the apartment.

Snow sat on the windowsill of the hotel room as Luke joined you on the bed after what felt like the quietest uber ride of your life.

You hadn’t stopped fidgeting as never really thought that you’d have to tell Luke about this part of your life “I’m so sorry Luke.” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you expected him to yell, scream, even just be disappointed in you.

But instead the boy clicked his tongue to break his silence “do you love him?” Luke knew that you had always had some degree of a crush on his older brother. Yet he never assumed it would have been something reciprocated or even acted upon.

The question lingered in your mind as you couldn’t find the right words to explain yourself to him “I did but I don’t know how I could like him when he has hurt me twice now.” You fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you let your eyes stare at your knee.

Your answer made Luke frown as you too were processing what Jack had confessed “and it’s for the best that nothing does happen.” You added, not sure if you were telling yourself that too or just the boy in front of you.

Luke placed his hand on yours “you know that it’s okay to still want him.” He sighed knowing how his brother could be and the love you held for him “I just wish you had told me.” His words made you let out a soft laugh.

A tear slid down your cheek as you cocked your head “that I was fucking your brother or that I liked him?” The words made him erupt into laughter that made yours follow shortly after.

He shook his head as he pulled you into an awkward hug as you still sat cross legged “I just missed you is all.” Luke had stayed up more nights than he could count over the last year as he tried to figure out what had happened to you.

You wanted to believe that everything would be fine between the two of you, that it’d all go back to some sense of normal. But you knew deep down that it would never be the case. Because as you lay there talking yourself to sleep as Luke refused to let you go, part of you wished that it was Jack that held you.

Sure you got your best friend back to the greed you held caused you to want the middle Hughes boy now more than ever. Luke had seen you through your highs and lows so you almost guessed that there was now a silent expectation that he’d always show up for you. And that was it, Luke was always going to show up for you.

It should have been enough, and you really did want it to be that way.

Luke let out a quiet ‘mhm’ as he squeezed your side nestling against you “I just wish things never had to change.” You sighed letting your head rest on his chest as the sound of his heart beat soothed you to sleep.

On the other side of the city, Jack lay there as he struggled to sleep. Thoughts of you plagued his mind, as he too wanted to be selfish. You being in his life as merely Luke’s best friend should have been enough.

The boundary that the title drew should never have been broken. But Jack was so desperate to have you in more of his life than just during the summer or when you’d visit Luke.

It seemed that up until tonight Jack didn’t know how to put what he felt into words and now that he had told Luke the truth, Jack had opened the faucet of emotions that couldn’t be turned off.

So as he lay staring at the alarm clock that sat on to his bedside table, Jack couldn’t help but think about what it was like to have you beside him. The thought of your imprint in his bed was like a drug as his hand gripped the empty side of his bed.

Silence consumed him as he shut his eyes, praying that he hadn’t waited until it was too late.

You and Luke had managed to avoid Jack and the apartment for the rest of your trip “you sure you want to do this?” Luke’s question lingered on your mind as you stared at the front door “if I don’t then I’m worse than him.” You wouldn’t have assumed that the pain you experienced would ever have been felt by Jack.

But still that didn’t help your hands from clamming up as the door opened. Jack paused the tv as he heard the noise, making his head whip around.

His eyes landed on you and it was clear he hadn’t properly slept in days “hey.” His voice was soft as his gaze fell onto his younger brother “I’ll go get the car ready.” Luke offered taking your suitcase with him as he left the two of you alone.

You fiddled with the ring on your finger as the middle Hughes brother walked up to you “I’m sorry.” Jack cleared his throat as he stopped in front of you.

He ran his fingers through his hair hoping you knew what to say back “I’m leaving.” You admitted as your mouth felt dry.

Nerves rocked your body as he shook his head “can we talk about what happened?” He pleaded as he felt as if his throat constricted. The boy reached for you as you pulled away, shaking your head no.

It took all of you to not break “we just hurt each other.” You pointed out knowing that your heart couldn’t take one more time of Jack walking out on you.

His words meant nothing if his actions didn’t fulfil them and right now, you weren’t ready to just take that chance “I love you.” If you didn’t know any better you would have sworn it sounded as if he was begging you to just say it back to him.

Your voice broke as you saw how his eyes were full of pain “you hurt me Jack, you don’t love me.” Jack never knew of your nights in your dorm as you sat there in tears wishing that Jack could hold even an ounce of the love you held for him.

He shook his head wanting to wipe away the tears from your cheeks “I never meant to do that.” Of course Jack never did mean to but it seemed as if he just couldn’t help it. It now seemed as if it was easier to hurt you than call you his.

The two of you cried as Jack gripped your hands in his not wanting to hear you say what he thought was coming “if you love me Jack.” You cut yourself off as you sniffled.

It made his heart break as he squeezed your hand “I’m so in love with you.” He confessed making you shake your head “you need to let me go.” Your voice was barely a whisper as you nodded.

Time felt as it is slowed as the boy dropped your hands whilst he froze “and if things are different down the line maybe we can try again.” The offer almost felt like a shitty taunt, that if Jack hadn’t fucked up you could have been his now.

He wanted to fight you on this, he really did “I’ll see you in the summer.” You knew you were going to be there and that was your personal wound. Memories would have to be made that would try to cover those of Jack and that night that started this all.

Your thumb felt rough against his cheek as you wiped away a tear of his “don’t do this.” He pleaded with you wanted to do anything to make you change your mind “goodbye Jack.” You gave him a soft nod as you saw Luke stood by the door with his keys in his hand.

It took all your strength to not go turn around and run into Jacks arms as you walked out of the door.

Because the truth was that, you were still convincing yourself that you had done the best thing for yourself.

Even if you were convinced that in that moment you lost the love of your life.

So as you forced yourself back into work and school when you got back to Michigan, it seemed that life for Jack continued on too. Yet as you trying to forget about him, rumours spread about there being a lucky lady in Jacks life.

This was struck your heart as you truthfully believed that you had really made the right choice, and that you were so stupid to believe he could have ever wanted you. So with Jack you hadn’t really lost him.

Because after all, you can’t lose something you never really had.

[keets-writing-corner]

k getting too long for the tags lets go

I use it too!It's so cute!

my favorite feature is when you visit your insights and it shows you every single day for the past whatever, there will be a color either red grey or green that reflect how your moods were during the day. it averages them out

you can also ask to break it down to ask to see morning moods or afternoon moods etc

I love this because of a couple reasons:

1. It's really useful for me to look back and go "oh yeah I really was going through a rough patch look at all this red!" or on the flip side I see way less red than I thought there'd be and there's a moment of "oh I still feel icky but I'm improving :)"

2. a really bad day will show up as bright red and sometimes when I cannot remember why I'm having such a bad time or why a rough patch came out of nowhere, I'll go and check out my insights map and lo and behold, turns out I got triggered on extra red day and that just spilled over (note: this is only helpful if you ALSO write stuff down about your day in the app)

3. it reveals your own patterns. when you're most likely to feel sad or happy. this is useful because it helps me manage my time better? if that makes sense? while there are always exceptions I pretty consistently HATE a specific time of day and am gerenally pretty chipper during another time of day. After I noticed this in the app, I realized that this also corresponded with my productivity. Now, I try to avoid doing tasks that I dislike or make me feel bad for whatever reason during the grumpy hours and try to move them towards the happy hours where they go from "OMG I HATE THIS OMG OMG" to "Not my favorite thing but I can do it"

But uhhh yeah! I really like the app! It also has soundscapes, a "first aid" kit that walks you through panic attacks or lets you vet or gives you calming techniques. You can start journeys that are supposed to encourage certain behaviors or things, like have more energy or fix your sleep. It will give you tasks that help you achieve that goal

it does a lot of things

So I started using a new self care app recently, and it has been helpful to me in a way none of the others have... because it gives me a little creature to take care of and nurture.

This is Berry! I got to name her, dress her, choose her colors and pronouns and everything, and she's my little birb that I am taking care of through this app. (My wife gifted me that green cane she's using. You can gift your friends cute shit if you want to.)

Nice things about the app that set it above other self-care apps:

Does not in any way punish you for not doing a task you set for yourself, there's only rewards for doing what you can and encouragement for keeping up a streak

You can set a task that is: daily, or on a certain day, or one-time but it stays around until you do it, or a combination of those. Unprecedented customizability in tasks in my experience with this kind of app.

You can send little notifs to your friends on the app. Mags and I regularly send each other hugs and such, but one of the options is a stretch break and they actually told me today that they needed that reminder!

Also there is a paid option, but I have had a trial period of having it and a period of not having it, and I do not feel disadvantaged for not having it. The only consequence of not having it is that I get less options in the random daily in-game store (which only uses the in-game currency, not real money), and I don't have access to some of their task "suggestions" (which I have found helpful, ftr, but they are not at all necessary).

Anyway. The app is called Finch, if you're interested in joining please send me a message so I can give you an invite and a bonus little pet for your friend (I joined without an invite so I don't even have a pet, I'm jealous). If you already have the app, my friend code is 3XRBAP9YSH, you're welcome to add me and send me your friend code, I'd love to send hugs to more people than just my wife!

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #57: Indulgence

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, comfort, starvation, body image issues, fear of torture, whumper turned whumpee

sorry for the long wait! i really do want to write more this year :)

-

Before Kane could get a single word out, he was tackled.

He just barely managed to keep his balance and stop himself from toppling to the ground as Bellamy’s arms wrapped around him like a blanket, pulling him in warm and tight.

“You were dead.” His voice came out squeaky, thick with quick-forming tears. “There was that incident last month, but everyone thought that must have had to have been an impersonator. You’re truly here! Truly!”

“I’m here.” Kane hugged him back, but they only stayed like that a moment before Bellamy pulled back to see his face, still looking quite as though he couldn’t believe Kane were real.

“Where on Earth were you?” he asked, hands still clutching Kane’s arms with the grip of a man who imagined those arms would vanish if he let go.

“It’s a long story.” Kane took a deep breath. “Bellamy, I’ve wanted to say this for a long time. I’m so sorry for how I treated you. I know–”

“Oh, don’t worry about that right now,” Bellamy did free one hand then, requiring it to gesture flippantly and then wipe the tears from his face. “Appreciated, to be sure, but there will be plenty of time for that after more pressing matters. Please, do come in, darling.”

A soft smile grew on Kane’s face. Bellamy wasn’t angry with him, at least. “Thank you. I would love to.”

It was only after he’d crossed the threshold of the doorway that Bellamy dared to let go, though he didn’t let his eyes off Kane for a moment as he made his way to sit on a plush couch in the living room.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asked, all politeness, though Kane knew exactly what he must look like. What Bellamy must see. Perhaps if Bellamy had seen him months earlier, he would have been unable to maintain such composure.

Not that Kane really minded at all. He was being offered food. “Yes, please.”

Before he knew it–Bellamy having dashed the whole way to the refrigerator and back–there was a pack of cold blood in his hands. “I’m able to warm it up for you, of course, but I do recall that when we were boys, you’d always said the pre-packaged never tastes as good reheated.”

“I don’t mind either way, nowadays.” Truthfully, Bellamy could have tripped and spilled the blood all over the floor and he would have gladly licked it up without much thought. He had before.

He bit into the soft plastic casing and drank. The cool blood was a bit stale, though nowhere approaching spoiled. He wouldn’t have cared if it was. It was delicious nonetheless, and after he’d exhausted what he could suck out through the holes, he tore the packaging apart and licked up every remaining drop clinging to the sides.

“It’s ethically-sourced,” Bellamy commented. “From free, willing, paid humans overseas.”

“It’s really good! Can I have another?” Kane asked before he could stop himself. He’d never been able to indulge before, not since his capture. He was grateful for what Jim had given him, of course. Grateful would be the understatement of the century. But Jim was one human, and he could only give so much at a time.

“Of course!” Bellamy clapped, just once, delighted. And when Bellamy returned, he had two.

Kane downed both, in the same manner as the first. Three meals, just like a human.

“I don’t mean to pry,” Bellamy started slowly, despite that it was very obvious he quite badly wanted to pry. His voice got a touch lower, gentler. “But Kane, my dear. Have you been… eating well?”

Kane crinkled the empty casings, something to do with his hands. He’d really been very proud of the progress he’d made. When he’d first seen himself in Jim’s bathroom mirror, he looked almost like a skeleton, every available bit of fat and muscle his body could spare cannibalized in its attempt to find something to keep him going, until there was nothing left.

He did look better now, after six months of regular meals. He was still far, far skinnier than he was before the hunters, but he had some meat on him now. His cheeks only sunk in a little bit. His collarbone jutted out in a way that just barely bordered ‘passably normal’. You could see the bones of his arms from the inner arm, but not the outer, so as long as he took care to hold his arms just so, no one could tell. Not that he ever really made an effort. His hair didn’t have bald patches anymore, didn’t shed every time he touched it. If he wore layers, which he always did–and not even for that reason–you couldn’t see his ribs. So long as one didn’t look too carefully, he could pass as a regular man.

But Bellamy always looked carefully.

Bellamy didn’t look starved at all. He didn’t have to try not to, of course. His skin was smooth and his face was full. His hair was thick and lucious and styled. He had the figure of a healthy man, one who had food available to him every single day of his life. He only wore one shirt and his abdomen didn’t fall inward from under his ribs like Kane’s did. He smelled like lavender cologne. He practically glowed.

“I… went through a period where I hadn’t been eating very well at all. But as of the past few months, I have,” he answered honestly.

Bellamy sat beside him. “Truth be told, I do mean to pry this time. On account of my increasing worry, you see. Where have you been all this time?”

“Human territory.” Kane looked down at the empty packaging in his hands. The label used the same phrasing Bellamy had–Free, willing humans! “I was captured by vampire hunters when I’d, I’d, ah, hunted f-for a new human. Things were not, um, good there. I wasn’t fed, as you’ve gathered. Then Jim, you remember Jim? He came and got me out. I’ve been living with him for the past seven months. Not owning him!” he clarified hastily, looking up then. “As roommates.”

“I see.” Bellamy’s eyebrows had slowly drawn together in concern more and more the longer Kane had talked. “Well, I’m certainly glad you’re out of there now, dear. I did always like that Jim boy.”

“And I’m sorry,” Kane tried again. “You were right about everything. About humans, about me, about our families, all of it. And I was a bad friend. Even before we parted ways, I always acted like I was better than you. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this. I really am sorry.” And then, before he could stop himself: “Do you think we could try again?”

Bellamy smiled. “Well, I really am right about everything,” he mused. “I’ll admit, it’s all true. It took me a time to see as well, that you really were dreadful, though I never imagined I’d hear an apology from you.”

Though Kane had expected worse to start, it still tore a hole in him to hear Bellamy call him dreadful. Even if he knew it was true.

“That said,” Bellamy continued, “We were children. I was never the one bearing the brunt of your wrongs, and you’ve clearly turned over a new leaf. If even Jim has forgiven you, I see no reason not to. Absolutely, we can rekindle a friendship.”

Jim has not forgiven him: he’d made that clear. But he moved forward anyway. Maybe he could do that himself, too.

“I would love that.” Kane let out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding, like a weight had been lifted from him after a century. “Maybe–maybe you could visit sometime. If you want to. I’d have to get permission. Do you ever go to human territory? I mean, you shouldn’t, but if I got permission, Jim’s sister is a hunter, you see, so it should–”

“Oh, yes, the sister! Elizabeth, if I recall? Yes, I’ve spoken with her, though well over a decade ago,” Bellamy cut in. “I do imagine she’s quite pleased to have her brother returned.”

Kane blinked. “You know Liz?”

“Oh, Jim and Caroline had exchanged phone numbers that night we met, you see. Caroline and the young girl had had a few conversations, but the girl had stopped at some point when she’d realized we had no way to affect Jim’s situation. I do not mean to imply I know her, I’d merely answered the phone and handed it off to Caroline a time or two. She’d always sounded frightened when I’d been the one to answer, so I did not linger,” he explained. “My, she must be grown by now. How time flies!”

“Oh. That’s–she never mentioned,” Kane stammered. “Is Caroline still…?”

“Alive and well, I assure you, though she has moved on to greener pastures. She’s found love, you see. She lives with her boyfriend nowadays, though she’s over often enough that my kitchen is still stocked with human food.” Bellamy reached to collect Kane’s empty packages, which he reluctantly released.

“So she’s back in human territory?” he asked.

“No, just across town. Her boyfriend is no human.”

Kane’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Oh my.”

He supposed he shouldn’t be too scandalized by the thought of a human and a vampire together. Humans were people, he knew that now, he’d accepted it long ago. Still, it felt… odd, in a way he could not adequately explain.

Bellamy laughed. “You must get with the times, darling.”

-

They sat there chatting for hours, and Kane had almost never felt lighter. It was like he was someone else, a version of him he’d never been before, where he was not horrible to anyone and no one had ever been horrible to him. Bellamy didn’t know what happened, not really, and with him, it was like he could forget, too. Just for an evening.

Just until he happened to glance at Bellamy’s clock and notice the time.

He startled out of nowhere. “It’s late,” he gasped. “I’m not–am I going to be able to get home in time?”

“Well, I’m not sure, as I’ve no idea where you live,” Bellamy points out. “Will you?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Kane grabbed Bellamy’s sleeve, terror striking his heart. “Please don’t make me go out there,” he begged. “I can’t–please, Bellamy, please.”

“What?” Bellamy put his hand over Kane’s, though he made no effort to remove his hold. “Of course, dear. You may spend the day if you wish. Why on earth would I force you into the morning?”

It was all crumbling apart. Of course he couldn’t be normal.

“I’m sorry,” Kane squeaked out, tearing up, but before he could say more, he found himself enveloped in a hug.

“It’s alright.” Bellamy held him as he struggled to collect himself. “You needn’t explain. Or you can, if you’re ready, or once you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Kane breathed.

It was silent, then. He didn’t want to explain. Not yet.

When he’d stopped crying–not that long after, by Kane’s standards, to his pride–Bellamy pulled back. “You know,  I was wondering… how you’re getting blood? Is it still Jim?”

“Oh, yes,” Kane sniffled. “He’s very generous. But he’s actually just recently stopped, and I’m to provide my own from now on. I was meant to go to my parents and clear my status as deceased, but at the last second I decided to come here.”

“I’m flattered,” Bellamy said haughtily, a hand on his chest. “You’d mentioned my going to visit you. What if I were to bring you blood? The kind you’d ‘sampled’ tonight.”

“You’d really do that?” Kane asked. The idea was beyond tantalizing–he could have all the blood he wanted, and not have to run across human territory, even the part with friendly hunters.

“I do. I would so like a chance to visit human territory without scaring the locals, besides!” Bellamy enthused. “A win for us both!”

The next night, Kane returned home with a bag full of blood packs. For once, he could see a future for himself.

-

…

He reviewed the grainy VCR footage captured by the security cameras at the de Sang estate. It was the strangest thing: he just ran up to the gate, stood there for a moment, and ran away. And everyone else was ready to write it off as if it had never happened, all hush-hush. The boring lot of them.

Anton smiled. “Well, look who’s not dead.”

-

taglist in reblogs

[wendichester]

could you pls write about reader attempting to bake a pie 🥧 but dean and sam already know it’s not going to be good because while reader is skilled in many things, cooking/baking isn’t one of them but they don’t have the heart to tell her no, that is until reader leaves the room and they spit it out cuz it’e awful 😂👩🏽‍🍳

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🥧༄⋆ baking time,

summary. who knew homemade pie could be so... tasty?

pairing. dean winchester x reader x sam winchester

wordcount. 641.

You’re in the kitchen, humming to yourself, as you carefully follow the recipe you found online. Sam and Dean are sitting at the table, watching with a mix of concern and confusion. They’ve been through this before—your attempts at cooking and baking are... let’s say, a little less than successful. But neither of them has the heart to tell you this probably isn’t going to end well.

Dean leans back in his chair, eyeing the pie crust you’ve just rolled out. “You sure you don’t want some help?” he asks, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“I’ve got it!” you say, flashing him a grin that could only be described as pure determination. “You two just relax. I’m going to bake the best pie you’ve ever tasted.”

Sam glances at Dean, but before either of them can get a word in, you’ve already started dumping ingredients into a bowl, mixing them with an intensity that has Sam’s eyebrows knitting together. “Uh, maybe you should double-check the recipe? You’re using... a whole stick of butter, right?”

You glance over your shoulder, laughing. “That’s what it says. I’m not skimping on the good stuff.”

Dean coughs, trying to hide his grin. “Sure, sure. More butter never hurt anyone.”

The smell of baking fruit and sugar fills the air as you continue your work, oblivious to the concerned looks Dean and Sam exchange. At one point, Sam swears he sees you accidentally spill an entire jar of cinnamon into the pie filling.

Dean shifts in his seat, his eyes darting between you and the pie. “You sure this is the best way to do it?” he asks, hoping you won’t catch on to his barely disguised panic.

You flash him another confident grin. “Relax, Dean. I know what I’m doing.”

When the pie finally goes into the oven, you stand back, hands on your hips. “There. Now we just wait.”

Dean and Sam look at each other, both clearly thinking the same thing: This is going to be a disaster.

A few minutes later, the timer goes off, and you skip over to the oven, pulling out the golden-brown pie that’s, well, kind of slanted on one side. But you’re beaming. “It’s perfect!”

Dean and Sam exchange a glance. “Looks... uh, great,” Sam says weakly, forcing a smile.

Dean clears his throat, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, if you like your pie with a little... character.”

You’re so excited, though, you don’t even notice. “Okay, I’m serving it up now.”

Dean looks at Sam with wide eyes as you put down the plates, one slice in each. He leans in as soon as you turn your back, going in for a third slice. “Uh... maybe we should... I dunno, have a little taste test first?” He grabs a fork before Sam can protest, and takes a cautious bite.

Sam watches him, a little horrified. Dean’s face scrunches up, his eyes watering. He chews a little longer than necessary before spitting it out dramatically into a napkin. “I—I don’t think this is supposed to taste like that.”

Sam hesitates, then gingerly picks up his own slice. He takes one bite and immediately follows Dean’s lead, spitting it out. “I think I’ve had better pie at the bottom of a dumpster.”

But neither of them has the heart to tell you how awful it really is. When you turn back around with a plate of pie, you see both of them smiling with strained expressions.

“Best pie ever,” Dean says, forcing a smile.

Sam quickly adds, “Amazing. Really, I’m impressed.”

You beam, obviously proud of your work. “I knew you’d love it. I’ll make it again next week!”

Dean and Sam exchange a glance, both of them silently agreeing they’ll never, ever let you bake again. Not unless they want to die from cinnamon overload.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

An Arranged Marriage, part 27

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26

1k words

You had seen him do something like this once before, but this was worse, this was worrying you.

(I am feral over my own character, ask box is always open for talking about my writing or just monster fucking in general!)

--------

His grip on you was almost crushing. He was shaking and still just frantically nuzzling you.

“Zen” you pleaded with him, “That kind of hurts, let go.”

Still he did not seem to hear you so you braced your hands against his chest to leverage yourself away from him and give yourself a bit of room to breathe.

“Zen, stop.”

That seemed to at least somewhat get his attention. His grip on you loosened enough for you to squirm free and sit next to him instead, though he was still shaking horribly. You sat up on your knees so you could reach him better to wrap your arms around his neck and press your forehead to the side of his face.

“Hey” you said softly, “talk to me. What’s wrong.”

Still he did not speak, he only frantically nuzzled against where you pressed your forehead to his face.

“My dear, please.”

That seemed to at least somewhat get through to him. He turned to look at you, though he seemed hazy and was more so looking through you than at you.

“It’s ok, I’ve got you” you assured him, not really knowing what else to do. He had a similar look on his face after he had eaten you out, spaced out and like he did not quite where he was or what was going on.

“Come here” you said as you tried to tug him down to lay. There was no way you could move him on your own, not if he did not want to move, but with enough pleading and tugging on him he did eventually lay down with his head on your lap.

You scratched his head and played with his hair, that always helped him relax and you were hoping it would do the same now. Slowly he stopped trembling and his breathing leveled out, though he still seemed so distant and was not responding to anything.

You were at a loss. You did not know what was wrong or what you could do to help him. Slowly you dragged your fingers along his ear, fidgeting with the tip of it and you started humming the song he always did for comfort.

He looked up at you once he noticed the song. He just look confused.

“Zen, my dear, please” you begged again.

He held your gaze and blinked slowly before looking away and nuzzling against your leg. You were not sure if that was a good sign or not though.

Time dragged on and it seemed like he may have fallen asleep, or at least his eyes were closed. You were exhausted from stressing and leaned back so you could lay down since you absolutely were not going to move him off your lap so you could get up.

Your shifting caused him to stir and look up at you. There was still something a bit off with how he was looking at you, but at least he seemed a bit more aware of his surroundings. Slowly he clamored his way up to lay his head on your chest and hug onto you.

You gently stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, “Hey, are you ok?” you asked.

He nodded, but did not speak.

“What was that a about? You really worried me.”

“I am sorry” was all he managed.

“It’s ok, but what happened?” you asked again.

He stayed quiet for a moment, “I do not know” he finally answered.

This was possibly more puzzling.

“You don’t know? That’s never happened before?” you tried to clarify.

“Not like that.”

“But something like that has?”

“Sometimes, but not with sex” he seemed embarrassed about it all.

“So with what then?”

“Fighting, like after a battle. Sometimes everything would be so blurry, everything felt so far away, like I was not really there. Or sometimes my heart would just keep racing, and I would feel like I could not breathe, everything would just feel off” he tried to explain.

“Is that what happened now?”

“Yes, I do not know why.”

You kissed the top of his head again and hugged him tightly. He sounded so hollow as he spoke.

“And what helped when you got like that?” you asked.

“Sleeping with someone” his voice was soft as he spoke, he still sounded embarrassed.

“And that’s what caused it this time.”

“I am sorry. I do not know what is wrong with me.”

How he sounded and spoke about himself made your heart ache. He looked so small all curled up against you, like he was trying to disappear.

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m here for you, whatever is going on I’m here with you to help” you peppered the top of his head with more kisses, “We’ll figure out how to keep you calm and present together, I promise.”

He nuzzled against you, it was back to his normal gentle nuzzles and not the frantic-ness from before, “Thank you, you are kind to indulge me.”

“I’m not indulging you, I’m helping you because I care about you. I want you to feel safe and happy, I hope you know that.”

He nodded against your skin and you could hear him sniffling.

“How about we get comfortable for the night? I’ll get a washcloth and get us cleaned up, and then you can lay your head on me and I’ll play with your hair and hum or anything else you want. How does that sound?”

Once more he just nodded against your chest.

You made your way to the bathroom and washed yourself off before returning with a warm washcloth to wipe Zen down too. He did not react as you cleaned off his thighs and between his legs, he was just staring off into to space.

“Come here” you motioned to him as you laid back down, pulling his head back onto your chest as he laid on his side next to you. A reversal of your usually position.

He tossed one of his legs over you and you felt how his breath shuddered with every exhale.

“Its ok, I have you” you assured him and pulled the blanket over you both. By now the hearth had near burnt out, just embers flickering remained.

--------

Tag list

@blushycadaver @mochalyluv @hazyspacefairy @littlelovebug98 @tufflepuff23 @lets-imagineastory @emonatural191 @after-laughter-come-tears @plathsotherib @krayziee @zaqnette @graveblanketgreen @lovingbadguys @nogoatsnoglori @bunnibabylilly

[sexy-monster-fucker]

Mile High Club

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Reader

Summary: After a long case, and some things leading to leaving one of your coworkers behind, reader and Hotch are alone on the private jet.

CW: mile-high-club, drinking, childish antics from the BAU team while drunk, tit play, fingering, p in v, creampie

a/n: be gentle with me I’m still new to writing for Hotch— also idk what it is but other writers for Hotch have made him out to be a tits man and I don’t think I can deny that

-

Your team had been spread thin. Having the rare occurrence of an unsub possibly operating in cities way too far apart. Somehow sending half of you across states to investigate. Rossi, J.J., Derek, and Emily had stayed back in the initial state. Leaving you, Reid, and Hotch to hop on the plane. Checking everything out and finding the exact same patterns as the other murders.

Rossi had called after a few days. After accessing the situation, he thought it would be best for Derek and himself to come take the place of two of you. Thinking they would have some kind of expertise for the area, but also making sure no single group was obscenely outnumbered. Hotch had no problem with the idea. Wanting to get back to the original sight to look further into things.

“Y/N,” Hotch had knocked on the door of your hotel room, letting himself in like you had told him he could. Sometimes wanting his company. Enjoying hearing his deep, steady voice talk about anything. Causing your stomach to swirl around itself when bumps would prickle down your skin at how he said your name.

You sat on the edge of your bed still not fully dressed. Your lower half completely covered, but still only in your bra. You hurried to throw on your blouse as Hotch stepped in. Silently apologizing to him as you fumbled over the buttons. Dark eyes darted down to your bare chest, quickly going back up to your face. “Apologies, I didn’t know you weren’t ready for company,” Hotch craned his neck looking up at the ceiling while you buttoned the shirt. Noticing a soft glow on his cheeks.

Hotch was your superior. Leader of the team. And your not-so-secret crush.

One night, you and your teammates had all been drinking. Hotch and Rossi opting to not come along. You had been deep into drinking when a question had been brought up. Playing childish high school games where the boys and girls would ask each other horny questions. Derek, of course, being the one to ask.

“Alright— I’ve got a good one for the ladies. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Hotch, Rossi, Gideon.” His drunken smirk made some of you roll your eyes. J.J.’s jaw hung open as she and Emily laughed together. Penelope started to speak when you blurted out, “Definitely marry Hotch, so I could fuck him for the rest of my life.”

All eyes were on you now. Not caring with how the alcohol buzzed in your system. Scanning everyone’s facing to see some serious mixed reactions. You threw your hands up slightly, “What?!”

“You would wanna marry that hard-nosed tyrant?” Derek smiled.

You furrowed your brows, looking next to you at Reid. Seeing his expression being equally as shocked. “Wh—? I thought all of us would agree on that one! He’s a good dad, good physique, and~ a sexy voice to boot,” you counted on your fingers, not a hint of shame on your voice.

“But that’s not what you said,” Reid smirked at you. You looked around the table to see everyone agreeing with teasing tones.

“Yeah— you said so you could fuck him for the rest of your life, not any of those other things,” J.J. giggled as she bumped your shoulder.

“And— you didn’t even say your picks for the other two!” Derek laughed.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back and covering your face. Embarrassment finally washing over you at the reveal of your feelings for your boss. “Oh my God—“ you started smiling widely with flushed cheeks.

“Ah— look! You really like him!” Emily smiled as she sipped at her drink again.

And you did. The way he carried himself. The way his gruff voice could carry a room. His determination for the BAU and solving cases drawing you to him. It did not help that Hotch clearly had his eye on you as well. Gaze lingering on you in every room you shared. Attentive when you would present a summary to the group, never removing his eyes from you. Soft, rare smiles when you would crack some joke about his age. Words of encouragement when it was just the two of you awake on the plane. Eyes twinkling when he heard your laugh on nights out. Always finding his place next to you anywhere: on the plane, at the bar, in the office. Unable to forget the night you had drifted away against his shoulder after a rather grueling month of a case. Turning into you openly flirting with him from time to time.

Your little crush on him was more than meets the eye.

“No, sir. I apologize. I should always be ready just in case we needed to jump into action,” you finally got the last button up. Turning to grab your coat off the spare chair in the room. Catching Hotch’s eyes scanning your figure. You smiled.

“You and I have to head back. Rossi and Derek want to come look at the scene and I don’t want to leave anyone with small numbers,” Hotch said his stoic tone vibrating off the walls.

“What about Spence?”

“Derek and Rossi are already on their way. He won’t be alone,” he reassured.

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t wanna leave your favorite boy alone,” you joked walking over and closing the distance between you. Noticing his tie was not fully fixed. Hands pinching and fidgeting the fabric. Hotch stretched his neck, “What… are you doing?” His hand came up and grabbed yours gently.

“Since when do you not get finished getting ready?” You ignored his question as you continued fixing him.

“Guess I was just in a rush… with the flight and all,” Hotch relaxed at your touch. You knew better than that. Wondering what could have caused it. Not questioning him further. Softly flattening your hand against the tie before you realized how intimate of an action it was. Batting your lashes up at him. Seeing his eyes were already on your face. Heavy brow but a soft expression. “Thank you,” his voice was soft for the first time today.

He was just so gorgeous. You felt butterflies flapping around your insides. Wanting to press into him. Wanting him to pin you down on the mattress of the hotel room. Dying to see what he looked like while you had his dick in your mouth.

You had to stop yourself. Realizing the silence was going on longer than intended. Chuckling to yourself to ease the tension. Quickly pulling your hand away and clinching your fist by your side. “How long til they get here?”

“Twenty minutes. We need to leave now,” Hotch stated. He walked to the door, opening it and allowing you to exit first. Reid was out in the hallway, leaned against the door of his room. Arms crossed over his chest as he watched you and Hotch approach.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” You questioned him. Reid was one of your closest friends on the team. He was not much younger than you, yet you still felt like he was still so new. Wanting to make sure he was comfortable and going to be safe. Especially since things had gone down between him and an unsub on a previous case.

“Of course I will,” Reid smiled, eyes looking at both you and Hotch.

“Call me if anything happens,” you began towards the elevator, Hotch followed closely behind you. Silently riding down to the lobby together. Lips sewn together as neither of you dared to make a sound. Shoes tapping against the hard floor as you went out to the SUV.

“You driving or me?” You playfully asked.

Hotch did not look up at you. Staring at his phone, “I will.” That stabbed you. He would usually make some sly comment about the time you hit a light pole in a rush leaving a parking lot. But now he did not even look at you.

Replying with a simple “Okay” as you go into the passenger seat. Nothing was said until you arrived at the plane. Being greeted with a smile from Derek and Rossi.

“Hi, pretty girl,” Derek adjusted his sunglasses with his words. Rossi and Hotch stepped aside to debrief together quickly. Derek caught you up on all the new details and what caused Rossi to want to come out to this scene. This case was a tough one all things considered.

You caught Hotch’s stern brow directed at you as he and Rossi talked back and forth. Wondering why he was making that face at you. Clearly losing focus of what Derek was saying. Coming back when he repeated your name, “Y/N-? You have a whole flight back to stare at McDreamy, okay? Listen to me right now.”

You whipped your head forward, brows pushed together as you mouthed defenses. Closing your eyes and shaking your head to bring your focus back. “Sorry,” you grumbled as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“J.J.’s got all the files printed for you on the plane. I’m sure Hotch will wanna take a look first. It’s a heavy one so prepare for all the new stuff,” Derek tilted his head with his words.

Hotch marched over to you. Eyeballing Derek before focusing his attention on you, “Let’s go.” You nodded. Saying your goodbyes to Derek as you boarded the plane. Nestling up against the wall of the plane. Hum of the engine vibrating your ears. Comforting you.

You watched Hotch sort through files. Enjoying the comfortable silence on the flight. Loving how his hands looked gripping the folders and papers. Blushing when you thought above how perfectly his fingers would stretch you.

“So,” you broke the silence. Causing Hotch’s eyes to dart up to you quickly before falling back onto the papers. “Why did you want me to come and not Reid?”

Hotch’s movements completely halted. Jaw clenching at your question. Watching his fingers crinkle the paper more than before. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Brow pushed firmly down.

“Spencer and Derek make a great team. Pretty boy and boy genius or whatever you girls say,” Hotch spoke quicker than normal, clearly lying. Just how you wanted him.

“Really?”

Hotch nodded. Eyes never moving from their spot on the page.

“I don’t know if I believe you… Aaron,” you smirked using the informality. That one got his attention. Laying the paper down on his lap and rolling his shoulders. Straightening his posture and crossing his hands over his lap. Fully focused on you across from him now.

“Don’t profile me,” Hotch’s corner of his mouth curving slightly with his words. Allowing his guard to drop if only for a moment. Tightly knitted eyebrows relaxing for the first time.

“Oh, I’m not. Just being observant,” you teased, sitting forward for your elbows to be resting on your knees. Becoming suddenly aware of your cleavage hanging out when Hotch’s eyes jumped down.

You sat back up, “Because if I was profiling you, you would be making it too easy on me.”

Hotch cocked an eyebrow at you, sitting with his legs spread wide open, “Is that so?”

“Seeing how you’ve stared at my chest twice today, I’d say so. Oh, and your tie this morning? I’ve never seen you not finish tightening it. And how relaxed you are right now. Your pupils darkened when you finally looked at me, and you keep fidgeting your fingers. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted to be alone with me on this flight,” you smirked resting back against your seat to mimic how he sat.

Hotch’s brows raised for a moment as his lips sealed together, fighting an obvious smile. “Aren’t I just giving you what you wanted?” He questioned.

Your stomach flipped. Confused by what he was implying, “Wh-what?”

“Since we’re profiling… I’ve caught you staring at me more than once since yesterday. Each time I caught you, you would quickly turn away or wave at me. Clearly, a sign you were checking me out yourself. Or how about you not being ready this morning? I told you exactly what time we would be up in the morning. I did not arrive even a minute early and you still weren’t dressed. And given your history with punctuality, I know you’re not the type to be late,” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest.

God. He was such a good profiler.

Reading into things you had not even realize you had done. You felt your cheeks heat up with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. Completely blown away with his talent to understand people almost better than they do themselves.

You crossed your legs tightly. Feeling your core aching. Mouth attempting to form words that could not escape.

“If you’d asked I would’ve this morning, Y/N,” Hotch tilted his head.

You felt your body breakout in a sweat. Refusing to question further on what he was referring to. Feeling your stomach constrict. Eyes widening while you looked at the cocky man across from you. Far too relaxed with the conversation. Your mind racing to tell you he thought it was all some joke. Perhaps one of your coworkers had told him what you said that night out drinking.

Hotch refocused on some of the papers. You chewed at your thumbnail. Going through every single possible meaning of what he said.

“Excuse me,” you stood and walked to the tiny plane restroom. Quickly closing the door behind you.

Your hands gripped the small counter. Veins popping against the bruising white force. Sweating as you felt the arousal sticking against your pussy. Flustered with your desire and how it consumed you.

There was a knock.

Your throat tightened. Had you really been in there that long? Lost that much track of time simply from dreaming of Hotch?

Stumbling over a “Sorry” as you pretended to be washing your hands. Opening the door to see Hotch standing in the doorway. Arm resting on the frame above it. Body blocking your escape. Eyebrows flat against his eyes. There was a silence as you awkwardly swallowed.

“Can I come in?” Hotch flatly asked.

“Y-Yes, sir. Sorry,” you attempted to squeeze past him. His arms came down and stiffened stopping you.

“That’s not what I mean,” his voice fell dark as he walked forward. Corning you in the tiny room. Strong shoulders and broad chest making you swoon. You turned your back to him. Going back to holding onto the counter. Hotch shut the door behind him, locking it.

Tension was high between you. The small room felt overwhelmingly stuffy. Your heartbeat was in the back of your throat. Mouth hung open just enough for you to breathe. Looking up and seeing him standing behind you with a look in his eyes you had never seen on him before. Falling back into the bowl of the sink. Steadying your breathing as you closed your eyes.

You jumped when one of his hands flattened against your lower back. Shooting your eyes open to see he had closed the small gap between you.

“Is this okay?” His slow and steady voice asked permission.

You nodded slowly. Unsure of what was exactly happening between you.

Hotch’s strong hands sprawled across your lower front. Holding your body flush against his. His nose tucked into the crook of your neck. Deep eyes staring at you in the mirror. Fingers groped into your flesh. Breath from his nose warmed up your skin.

Tender lips fell against your throat. Kissing up to your jawline. Melting into him. Body relaxing understanding the rhythm he wanted to start. Your hand went back to tangle in his hair when you felt his teeth graze you.

There was no way this was actually happening.

Large hands ventured up your chest. Palming at your tender breasts. Pulling a soft moan from you when his calloused fingers pinched at your nipple. Hands unbuttoning the top few buttons so he could slide down it. Large palms running down your chest. Kneading the plump mounds. Feeling your rapid heartbeat on his fingers.

“You’re a good profiler,” Hotch kissed your cheek with his final word, lips resting against your ear. Your body flushed with heat from the combination of everything.

You breathlessly questioned, head falling back against him.

Watching him smile against your skin with your distraught state, “Cat got your tongue, Y/L/N?” He sucked on your neck pulling a moan from you. His sultry voice had you melting in his hands. Eyes falling shut as you felt anticipation building below your belt.

A pinch of your nipple forcing your eyes back open. “Come on, show me how good of a profiler you are. Tell me why I came in here,” Hotch’s voice vibrated your neck. Kissing between your shoulder and jugular. His tone encouraging you to speak.

You swallowed hard. Mouth running dry with desire. “Y-You— based off you-your body language in the doorway, you obviously didn’t need to use the bathroom—“

“Hmm. You didn’t either,” Hotch cut you off playfully. One of his hands beginning to trace down your front. Circling your nearly exposed breasts and down the button line of your shirt, resting on the button of your pants. Pinching at it softly, as if he was slowly trying to undo it.

“An-And the tone of y-your voice tells me you clearly had something else in mind when you came in h-here with me. Not exactly HR friendly for m-my boss to be touching me like this,” you toyed with him. Dark eyes stared into yours in the mirror once again. His body swaying you back and forth slowly as he waited. Fingers finally undoing the button and sliding just the tips of his fingers under your panty line.

“Based off your er-erection pressing into my back, and the way you kept l-laying stuff over your lap earlier…. If I was to guess what your ac-actual plan w-was, I’d say y-you wanted me to ride you o-out there in your seat. But when I stormed off, you ha-had to go to Plan B,” you smiled. His fingers dipped further, ghosting right above your clit.

“And what’s Plan B?” Hotch whispered in your ear. Running his fingers through your soaked folds. Your fingers laced through his hair at the feeling, mouth hanging open.

“You’re gonna fuck m-me on the counter?” you moaned when he dipped a finger inside you. Curling and pumping perfectly.

“Good girl,” he praised finally sinking two fingers into your folds. Steadily sliding them in and out of you, hitting the spots inside you that had your legs wobbling. Thick fingers perfectly working inside you. Pulling repetitive moans from you. One of your hands came up to cover your mouth to hide the noises.

Hotch’s hand pulled your grasp away, “It’s just us. I want to hear you.” Placing your hand against his lips as his other hand pleasured you. Pad of his thumb flattening and circling your throbbing clit. Causing you to buck forward, a soft scream of a moan escaping. Fingers curled, hitting and scrapping the spongy spot that caused your legs to shake and breath hitch.

Abruptly, he removed his fingers causing you to whine. Hands on your hips guiding you to turn around. Small of your back bumping the counter as you faced him. Face flushed and panting as you attempting to look at his face. Having to tuck your head from his eyes. Feeling like an awkward first date.

Hotch nudged your chin upwards. Pulling your eyes to hold onto his. Leaning in and planting his lips against yours. Your hands ran up his chest, wrapping around his neck. Your fronts were pressed flush together. Lips sloppily attached to each other. Tongues slipping into one another’s mouth, tasting the other like it was the last time you ever could. Desperate hands held onto you. Fingers digging into the soft of your ass.

“Have you ever done this before?” You questioned as he pulled back to kneel in front of you. A soft hint of concern.

Hotch’s dreamy dark eyes looked up at you, smiling. Seeing his perfect teeth. A treat that only few got to see. He hooked his fingers around your waistband, pulling them down your legs and helping you step out. “Absolutely not,” he stated matter-of-factly with a slight chuckle.

You ran your fingers through his hair as he was below you. Warm eyes blinked up at you. Seeing a side of him you never thought you would. Looking soft and almost lovesick. You wondered if this is what he was like before the horrors of the BAU caused him to harden. Breaking through his hard shell, revealing some of the sweetest looks you had ever received. Under it all, he was a man who loved to please.

Your thumb traced his face, admiring him for the first time this closely. Noticing more beauty marks on his face. Clearly littered with stress lines from years of working. He cupped your hand in his, kissing it softly as he nuzzled against it. He adored how soft your hands still were.

He rose to his feet, hands cupping both sides of your face as he crashed his lips back into yours. Open-mouth kisses being shared as you tried to unbutton his shirt. Wanting to see his body. His actions were hungry. Hands coming down to grasp at your chest once again. Dipping his head down to suck on the exposed part of your breast. Pulling the fabric down to free your breasts. Sucking on your hardened nipples. Tongue flicking and rolling them around. Making sure he gave both the same attention. Kissing up your neck.

Hotch pulled your underwear to the side. Easing his fingers back inside you. Your entire body tingled with pleasure. Wrapping a bow in your lower half. You held onto his shoulders for support, pleasure surging through you with each movement of fingers.

There was a million questions plaguing your mind. Face contorted with curiosity and pleasure. Worried that this would all somehow comeback to bite you both in the ass. How deep down you did not want to just be a cheap hookup on the plane. Your feelings for Hotch flowed through you like blood. Taking up your entire being.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Hotch, almost as if he was reading your mind, confessed. His normal unbending composure melting away as he delved into you. His words shocking you slightly. “I know I’m your superior. And I know this is completely inappropriate,” he kissed you once again, “But I can’t keep dancing around you.”

You smiled. His words heating up your cheeks as you deepened the kiss. Sensation of his thumb back on your nub causing you to gasp. You began grinding against his hand. Searching for a release that you could practically taste. Calling out to him, “Hotch…”

Hotch shook his head aggressively, “Aaron. I want you to call me Aaron.”

You smirked. Desperation written on his half broken voice. Looking down to see the outline of his hard-on pressed against his slacks. Rutting forward to grind against him too. Hotch’s air tightened in his throat at the feeling of any stimulation against his member.

“Aaron—“

“Oh that’s it. Sounds so pretty when you’re like this,” Hotch groaned. Rolling his hips against the place where his fingers entered you. Begging for friction that matched what you were doing to his hand.

Your hands fought the belt around his waist. Prying it open and undoing his button. Fighting to shimmy his pants down his legs. Exposing his strong thighs and boxer-briefs. Curved cock pressing against his leg.

“I want to be inside you,” Hotch mumbled between kisses. Heavily breathing. He removed his fingers from you, hands curving around the back of your thighs. Helping you up on the countertop. The perfect height for him to reach you. His calloused hands ghosted up your exposed legs. Adjusting to make sure you were slightly hanging off the edge.

Quickly, he pulled his underwear down. Cock springing free. Swollen and leaking with precum. Thick vein running up the underside of it. You could feel your mouth water and pussy clench around nothing. Your body craved him like he was some lost piece of you. His large hands stroked himself. Dark, amber eyes asking permission silently.

Hands danced up his arms. Softly stroking the hair until it met the half rolled-up fabric at his elbow, resting on the seam line on his shoulders. Half-lidded bulbs adoring your figure in front of him. Digits squeezing around the head as he lined himself up with your opening.

First he pressed only the head in, making sure to adjust to you properly. Inching further into you until his hips were flush with yours. His jaw hung open at the feeling. Rolling his neck and taking in deep breaths. His cock stretched you perfectly. Never expecting him to feel so good inside you. You clung to his back, nails digging into the flesh. His chin sat upon your shoulder as you stalled. Enjoying the closeness.

Hotch pulled back slowly, looking down to watch himself enter you again. His face contorting in pure ecstasy. “I’ve never felt anything this good,” he exhaled against your skin. Rolling his hips into you. Steadily finding a pace inside. Squeaks and moans fell from your mouth each time he would hit deep inside you. Head of his cock brushing the spot that made you see stars.

And he was good. More experienced than anyone you had ever been with before. Knowing the perfect way to get you clinging to him and begging. Lewd sounds of skin smacking together reverberated off the tight space. Sloppy as your cunt drenched him in your arousal. Hotch grunted with each thrust. Shaky breathing painting his figure.

“Hotch, fuck, Hotch,” you mumbled like a mantra.

Hotch’s brow furrowed and eyes locked with yours. Realizing your mistake and correcting accordingly.

“Aaron,” you made it more sensual.

Music to his ears. Apparent by the smile that overtook his red face. Sweat beamed down his forehead. His fingers that were previously inside you coming up to rub your clit. Causing your walls to clinch down on him.

Hotch smiled, kissing your cheek sweetly. Featherlight kisses trailed down to below your ear. “Are you gonna cum for me?” Hotch’s hoarse voice drove you crazy. Drunk on his high for you. Knowing if things continued like this he would finish soon.

You nodded. At a loss for words. Completely overwhelmed by arousal. Pressing your lips to his. Trying to catch your breath. Hotch’s free hand tangled in your hair. Sloppily kissing back and forth. Teeth bumping each other accidentally. “Talk to me, baby. I wanna hear that sweat voice of yours,” Hotch spoke in between kisses. The pet name twisting your insides tighter.

“Aaron,” you moaned, “I want you to cum inside me. Please…” Drawling out your words when he hit especially deep.

“You do?” Hotch’s brow cocked upward, his tone with a hint of tease.

“Yes, please,” you groaned.

“I love that you ask so nicely. I’m gonna need you to finish first though,” Hotch tenderly kissed you as his fingers hurried around your throbbing nub. You whined softly. The feel of him inside you causing you to be a mess. Hands coming up to grasp his face, holding his lips to yours. Lips interlocking over and over. Almost in rhythm with his hips.

The knot in your lower half was tightening like a thin rope trying to hold a ship to the dock. Straining to keep your composure, needing to relax and come undone. Muscles contorting at his bruising pace. Wanting to savor every single moment so that it would never leave your mind.

Fingers circled your extremely sensitive nub. Causing your legs to shake, trying to stabilize yourself by digging your heels into his lower back. Hotch adored the deepening of the intimacy. Feeling his cock twitch inside you, he knew he could not hold off much longer.

“I know you can do it. Let me have it, Y/N,” Hotch’s breathy voice rang through your ears. Even when he was buried inside you, his leadership shined through. Almost like he was coaching you through your orgasm.

“Aaron,” you squeaked. His tongue slipped between your lips. Hunger taking over, fingers firm against your sensitivity. You wrapped your arms around him, nails and heals digging into his back. Knot inside you finally releasing itself. Your walls constricted around his girth. You called out to him, unable to make any cohesive sentences or words. Babbling as your walls fluttered around him.

“Doesn’t that feel better?” Hotch grinned. Beginning to snap his hips harshly into you. Shortly reaching his own climax. White hot coated your still sensitive insides. Hotch grunted as he rutted into you. Holding you as close as possible waves washed through you both. Fingers bruising into your soft flesh.

Hotch remained inside you. Both of your chests heaving. Attempting to fill your lungs back up. Kiss swollen lips planting against his cheek. Feeling his skin bunch up into a grin.

“We can’t tell anyone about this,” his stern tone partially returning. Still soft and slurred with his high. His hand petted you. The softest you had ever seen Hotch be.

“Does that mean we can’t do this again?”

Hotch paused. Forehead scrunched in thought. “Of course not,” he kissed your lips, “It’s just not something we need spread around.”

You beamed. Cheeks glowing with excitement. Giddy that this was not a one time thing. Hotch’s brown eyes shining in then dim-lit bathroom. The two of you holding steady for a moment. Neither of you wanting to separate.

Hotch twisted his wrist to look at his watch. Expression falling flat when he saw the time. “We’ll be landing shortly,” he straightened his back. Both of you wincing when his softening member slipped out of you. Feeling a mixture of juices run between your thighs.

Hotch wrapped some of the extremely thin toilet paper around his fingers. Layering it so that it would be more absorbent. Gently cleaning up the mess between your legs. Jumping when he wiped up against your clit. Capturing you in a kiss as a semi-apology.

Hotch moved your panties back over your worked opening. Helping get you cleaned up and dressed. His large palms held both sides of your face. Smiling with pink cheeks as he licked his lips. Like there was something more he wanted to say, but could not get out.

You turned around to make sure you look put together in the mirror. Seeing Hotch watch your every move. Fixing his own tie and sleeves. Both of you patted down your tattered hair. Hotch leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on the top of your head.

The two of you took your seats next to each other out in the cabin. You rested your head on his shoulder, his arm laced around your back. Fingers twirling your hair. His other hand examined your fingers. As if he was trying to engrave them into his memory. There was only a few moments before you landed and got into the SUV that would be escorting you.

You leaned your head against the glass of the back window. Sitting what felt like miles away from Hotch compared to how close you had been previously. Silently being drove to meet your other teammates. Looking over at your boss. Causing his eyes to dart over to you as well. A closed mouth smile beaming on his face. Eyes squinting up as he reached his hand over to yours. Lacing your fingers together.

An intimate gesture that you imagined would be few and far between going forward. Thoroughly enjoying the feeling of your hands together. Loathing the thoughts in your mind that reminded you that this was going to be secret. Guilt of the inappropriate nature of it, by the BAU’s standards. But when you felt Hotch’s fingers tighten, it pulled you out of it. Settling in for the short car ride to meet your coworkers.

A hollow feeling settling in the depths of your stomach when he pulled away. All kindness and softness leaving his figure and expression as he straightened his back. Hands flattening his slacks and adjusting his tie. Adjusting your posture to match his. Eyes watching as you pulled into the parking lot. Seeing J.J. and Emily standing out front of the local station.

A silent look towards each other before opening your doors. An acknowledgment that once these doors were open, everything went back to the way it was before. SSA Aaron Hotchner. Your superior. And you, SSA Y/N Y/L/N, his subordinate. Nothing more than that.

Click of the car door had you greeting the other women with smiles. Nothing too crazy, due to the severity of the case. Noting the half-lidded looks directing back to Hotch. Emily’s teeth grazed her lip as she and J.J. giggled when you finally got close to them. You widened your eyes at them, cheeks beaming like a teenager who just got back from talking to their crush.

“Well, how was your plane ride back with Hotch?” Emily raised her brow.

You blinked.

“Uh— good… just, good,” you stammered softly.

“Did you profess your undying desire for him?” J.J. folded her fingers together and fluttering her lashes to mock you.

You rolled your eyes, smiling. Exhaling with the million things you could say. Knowing you never could tell anyone else. Catching the last glimpse of Hotch as he entered the building. Seeing his eyes scanning you over his shoulder.

“Can you brief me as we head inside?” You asked marching towards the door.

~~~

[END]

// Thank you so much for reading! This is my very first time writing for Hotch, and I really hope to write for him more in the future. This may be some people’s first time on my blog. If you have any requests, my inbox is always open! If you would like to be tagged in future works, please let me know!! //

{tags}

@megangovier ~ @bondwithme-murderstyle ~ @justyourusualash ~ @hoffmanfan13 ~ @kaysolai ~

[losers-clvb]

got the one thing that i want // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x female!reader

summary: you were in love with dean winchester. unfortunately for you, he was in love with someone else.

content: unrequited love, reader is kind of lovesick over dean (but she isn't stupid!!!), suggestive content towards end, dean is kind of a heartbroken asshole, soulless sam makes appearances, nickname "kid" used (but there is no significant age gap), angst, sam x reader if you squint

word count: 3.3k

note: as always, this is unedited. now, personally I am a sam girl first, however dean fit so much better into this idea. hopefully when i write for dean again it will be less angsty (even though i love angst). the storyline revolves around dean with lisa but the timeline and events may be off or not fit into the episodes including it. in that same vein, soulless sam may seem to have a little soul. the title is from lacy by olivia rodrigo as it was the song that was spinning around my head as i wrote this. also: lisa is not the evil woman who is insecure over the reader. i tried to make that obvious, but it may get lost in translation from not being outwardly mentioned. anyways, enjoy!

masterlist

----

Dean wasn't happy with his life. He hadn't been for a while. Driving around the country and hunting the things that go bump in the night was all fun and games until it cost him his brother. Even then, he could try to grapple with the grief he felt as long as he played house with Lisa and Ben. It was almost natural how he fit into their lives. Golfing, PTA meetings, the whole domesticity of it would have made him ill before, but now he was just happy to be safe. Of course, he never really felt safe. He was waiting for the ball to drop, for some god or witch to come out and tell him it was all a sick game to toy with his mind. There was no way Dean Winchester could ever be out of harm's way.

Then it came. The Djinn were there to tear down the dream life he had built for himself. He knew after that he could never be normal. There was just too much on the line for it. He had to be a hunter, it was in his blood. At least he had his brother back again. But, as time went on and he attempted a long distance type of relationship with Lisa, he knew something was wrong. His little brother who he had practically raised was different, cold and calculated instead of kind and intelligent. He figured he couldn't ask for too much, at least Sam was alive.

Then came you. You came from a family of hunters, dating back further than his mother's line. He hadn't seen you since you two were kids, you 10 and him 12, but you had grown up. He couldn't lie, you were hot as hell and under different circumstances he would have been all over you, but he was a taken man. He was loyal to Lisa and would do nothing to jeopardize the relationship. You, on the other hand, had been falling in love with the Winchester since you had reconnected. When you were young you had a small, school girl crush on him, but it had blossomed into more once you had gotten to know the man he had become. It wasn’t lust. You wanted to be around him all the time, wanted to make him smile, wanted to be the one who reassured him when he was feeling worthless.

You had halfway become that for him. You were one of the only people who made him lighter, someone he confided in about pretty much everything. Of course, that meant hearing about Lisa. You tried not to feel jealousy when he talked of her. It wasn’t her fault Dean thought she had molded the sun and stars while thinking of you as merely a friend. You knew it made you a terrible person when you mentally cursed the woman. Maybe you had never really been a good person. How could you when your life revolved around killing? But it certainly didn’t make you better to hope that Dean would leave her for you.

That was the situation you were in now. Sitting in the front seat of the Impala, sipping on a once cold beer while Dean talked of his recent trip to visit Lisa.

“-cooks the best turkey. Juicy on the inside, crispy on the outside.” Dean had been rambling about her cooking for over twenty minutes now. It wasn’t the first time he had talked about it and there was only so much you could say in response to her culinary skills. You nodded along as you mentally counted the stitches of the seat. There it was again. The pit in your stomach as you thought of all the nasty things you could say about Dean’s partner.

“Any romantic prospects for you?” Dean asked cheekily, which broke you out of the trance. He asked you this nearly every time when he was done gushing about Lisa. Your answer was always the same, a lie you told perfectly to his face.

“Not looking right now, maybe once we’re done with this case.” You looked up to him with a forced smile. He chuckled lowly and drank his beer, finishing it off.

“One day you’ll find him, kid.” There it was. The nickname he had chosen for you as kids that had somehow stuck in his brain once you were grown. You cringed at it, hating the way it made you feel.

“I’m two years younger than you, Winchester, don’t call me that.” Your tone was playful, trying not to hurt him. Even when you were sticking up for yourself you were still looking out for him. He shook his head as he looked out the front windshield of the Impala, laughter still in his eyes.

“Still a kid.”

----

Dean was gone now. Off to go help Lisa with some problem she had run into with Ben. It was pathetic, you thought, the way he dropped everything to run to her. Instant regret came with the words. No, it wasn’t pathetic. You were. If it was you he was running to you would have thought it was sweet. You were a pathetic, horrible person for thinking this way. You wallowed in this self pity as you worked on cleaning the gun in your hand.

“I see the way you look at him.” Sam mumbled as he worked on researching the case you two were currently on. He had been watching you, and he had noticed for a while now how your eyes lit up when Dean came around. He had also noticed how that light dulled when his brother spoke of Lisa.

“What?” You asked with irritation. There was no way you were talking with Sam about this. Bobby had tried once, but after getting a door slammed in his face he had thanked God for never giving him any girls to look after.

“You looking at Dean like he’s your lifeline.” Sam’s words made you clench your jaw. You weren’t angry with him, just angry with his words. They were true, of course, but you would have rather a demon take you as a meat suit before admitting it out loud.

“Just shut up.” You snarled at him before feeling just as guilty again. It wasn't his fault you were in love with a man who wouldn't love you back. You continued cleaning the gun as the guilt gnawed away at you. Sam sighed and turned his attention back to the laptop in front of him.

“All I'm saying is it's not worth it. Dean's happy now, but he's never going to love you back.” Sam's words were harsh, just another reminder that he was soulless. He had tried to be a little less direct with you after getting berated by Dean, but it seemed his patience had worn thin. Normally, you would have snapped back, telling him it wasn't true, none of what he said was true. But you knew it was. Dean would love Lisa until she stopped letting him, but he would never love you.

----

Dean had called you that night to check in. He knew you were hunting and even if he had no romantic interest in you, he still cared if you were living. You had been waiting patiently by your phone. He had promised to call every other night and you had promised to answer within the first three rings.

“How's it going kid?” That was how Dean chose to greet you. You squeezed your eyes shut in response. Why did he always have to make you feel so small?

“It's, uh, it's fine.” You stammered out as a Sam watched you. You ignored him and chose to fidget with a loose thread on the comforter of the bed. You heard Dean's chuckle through the phone.

“You don't sound too sure, but ill take your word for it.” His voice was gravelly from fighting off sleep. He had almost skipped the phone call in exchange for more sleep but had decided he didn't want to disappoint you. A silence fell over you two. You cleared your throat.

“How's Ben and Lisa?” You spoke, opting to ask something you knew would bring on a wave of talking. You just wanted to hear his voice.

“They're great. Ben, he, uh, has a crush on this girl in his school. I've been giving him tips on how to win her over.” This pulled a laugh from you.

“I don't know if I'd take your advice, Dean. You don't have the greatest track record of keeping relationships.” You teased him, drawing another chuckle from him. You heard rustling on the other end and a female voice laughing quietly enough you almost didnt hear it. Almost. There she was. Lisa.

“Hey, I've done a pretty bang up job keeping this one.” Dean replied, which triggered another laugh from the other line. You could assume Dean had motioned to Lisa. You smiled bitterly before Sam took the phone from your hand. You sat up quickly to argue the sudden thievery of the item, but his raised hand silenced you.

“Dean,” Sam greeted his brother. He watched you as he spoke. You shrunk under his stare, knowing he was frustrated about something you had done.

“Sammy! How are ya?” You could hear Dean through the phone, even with it being a couple of feet away.

“Fine, listen, we gotta let you go. Early morning.” Sam was short with the man on the other end of the line. You could hear Dean bidding a “good night” to Sam before they ended the call. Sam sat on the side of your bed before handing you back the phone. You watched him, waiting for him to say something, anything to explain why he had interrupted your time with Dean. Sam stretched his neck then laid his eyes on yours.

“I told you to back off of him.” He said. If you didn't know any better, you would have swore you heard caring come through in his words. You swallowed down the shame you felt.

“I was.” Your voice was more fragile than you intended it to be. You looked away from Sam, but could still feel his soulless gaze on you.

“No, you weren't,” were the last words said between the two of you for the night.

----

Two weeks later, you heard the slam of a door. You and the Winchesters were staying at Bobby's while waiting for another case to pop up. You had been lounging in the room you had been calling yours for the past few days, reading a book. Sam was God knows where while Bobby was running the phones for Rufus. It had been a quiet afternoon. Quiet up until Dean entered the house.

He had received a text from Lisa stating to call him immediately. Which he did. Immediately. That had been an hour ago. You hadn't known what the woman had to talk about with Dean, nor had he. By the sounds of not only the door but his angry footsteps as he entered your room, he was upset about something. He shut the door when he made it inside. Dean started a slow, furious pacing, but didn't say anything at first.

“Did something happen?” You had put your book down and had moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Your eyes trailed the path he made as he moved. He rubbed his face after stopping in front of you.

“Lisa said,” he paused and took a deep breath. “She said to leave her and Ben alone. That I crossed a line, pushing him.” Dean's voice was wavering between anger and heartbreak. 

“Oh,” you breathed out. You felt sorry for him, you did, but a small part of you, one that was buried deep within, was overjoyed. Maybe either Lisa out of the way Dean would see what he was missing with you. Of course, the second this thought popped into your head that sinking pit in your stomach appeared, the one that only seemed to show up when you thought about Dean and Lisa. You were watching him still, waiting to see what he was going to say or do next.

“It was either eat him or push him! What was I supposed to do, let the kid die?” Dean was frustrated. That was obvious with the way he was rambling on, ignoring any reaction you could have had to this information. You remembered this. A week ago, Sam and Dean had gone on a hunt which ended in Dean becoming a vampire, temporarily. Long story short, he ended up at Lisa’s house before taking the cure, and instead of opening up, he had almost killed them both in a fit of vampiric hunger. You were unsure of why exactly Dean had never told them the whole truth, but he hadn’t. Maybe he thought it would make it worse? You were sure it couldn’t have gotten worse than this.

Dean collapsed down next to you. He held his head in his hands. You sat next to him, blinking at the floorboards. How could you comfort him when you had been praying for this day since they had started dating? You weren’t great with words, words of comfort especially. Hug him? No, that might make things weird. You reached a hand over to place on his back, hesitating before ultimately making contact with his shirt. He was tense. Obviously he was tense. You stayed there, sitting next to him, hand on his back, waiting for him to make the next move.

Dean’s world was crashing down around him. It sounded dramatic, but it was true. Just when he had finally gotten to a place where he could at least be halfway happy with his life, it blew up in his face. Was he cursed? He didn’t know, but it felt like it. He didn’t know much of anything, actually. He had spent so long pushing his emotions away from the surface that he was clueless as to how to deal with it. Drinking wasn’t enough. He needed to get it out some other way. He looked up at you, eyes brimming red on the edge of tears.

Dean knew you loved him. He had known for a while, but knew you wouldn’t act on it. He wasn’t worried about how it would affect the friendship because he would simply ignore it. That was what he did with most things that didn’t benefit him. Ignore it until it got too big, let it blow up his life, then find a way to clean up the pieces. That was what was happening now. This thing he had ignored was suddenly so big, and he knew he could use it for himself. It was a wrestling match in his mind as he looked into your eyes. In the end, there was a winner and it seemed to be the little devil on his shoulder.

You were surprised as hell when Dean lunged towards you. That surprise only increased when you felt his lips on yours. It was strange, the kiss and the fact that you had almost immediately melted into him. You were underneath him as he cupped the side of your face. His kiss was feverish. It wasn’t passionate in the way two lovers kissed, it was more sexual than that. You knew this was wrong, not just morally, but the whole situation. Dean was just grieving the end of his relationship a split second ago. Now he had suddenly found the urge to kiss you? No, it wasn’t right.

“Dean,” you mumbled against him. In response, he kissed you harder. It would have been a lie if you were to say you didn’t enjoy it. Dean Winchester knew how to kiss a girl. You felt his hand go to your side before wrapping around to your back. He pulled you up closer to him as he kissed down your neck. Your own hands found his chest and you tilted your head to allow him better access to you.

“Dean, I have to tell you-,” he cut you off with a sharp nip at your collarbone. He was working his way down you, preparing to do only the things you had dreamed of. You felt that guilt creep in again. Was he doing this because he thought he had to?

“Dean, please!” You pushed him off you, scared you had somehow manipulated him into doing this. Dean scrambled back. He looked upset, not from what you had done, but from what he had done. You were both breathing hard, from the rush of what had happened or from the tension in the room, you didn’t know. You swallowed and tried to keep your eyes on him.

“You don’t have to do this. We can wait.” You managed to get the words out without your voice breaking. You offered a smile, which fell when Dean shook his head. He wore a pained look on his face, which panicked you.

“I love you, Dean.” The words fell out before you could stop them. It wasn’t like they were a lie. You just hadn’t expected to tell him, not now, not like this. Your eyes were wide as you waited for a response, hoping for a good one. It wasn’t as if it was completely unexpected. It couldn’t have been. You spent all your free time either with him or helping him in some way. You laughed with him, cried with him, confided in him. He was charming, which he knew. All of this you knew to be true. Yet all of this hadn’t mattered anymore when Dean turned away from you, sniffing before he spoke.

“I know.” Dean’s reply was only two words, but they held meaning. Meaning you understood. You could read through Dean. He knew the whole time. He also didn’t feel the same. He hadn’t ever loved you. He hadn’t even wanted to try to love you.

“You kissed me.” At this point tears were daring to spill from your eyes. He had known you loved him, known he didn’t love you, and he had still kissed you. He had been more worried about soothing himself that he hadn’t spared a thought for what would happen afterwards. You hated it. You hated him. You hated that you were about to cry like the kid Dean always called you.

“I’m sorry.” Those were Dean’s last words before he left your room. The door was still swinging when the rumble of the Impala’s engine roared to life, triggering a sob to rip from your throat. You hugged yourself and dipped your head between your knees. Everything had changed and you knew it wasn’t for the better. You hated yourself for even putting yourself into this situation. You knew the risks of falling in love with Dean Winchester.

The bed dipped down next to you, signaling the arrival of someone else in the room. You didn’t have the heart to look up. It wasn’t Dean. You knew that. He wouldn’t have come back so soon unless it was to tell you he had lied, he actually reciprocated your feelings for him. But he wouldn’t have done that, because he didn’t. It was Sam. That much you knew from the way he wrapped an awkward arm around you. He was trying his hardest to comfort you without saying “I told you so”. You knew he wanted to, knew it was taking everything in him to not be cold to you. The two of you sat wordless as you cried over a love you imagined you would never feel again.

[fandom-go-round]

Hello! If you're still taking requests, I'd really appreciate it if you could please write some headcanons about Emmrich, Lucanis, Neve and Bellara dating a Rook who has pretty significant burn scars, particularly on their back, stomach, legs, arms, hands or feet. The scars are healed now, but they still consider them unsightly so they try to cover up as much as possible. I'd love to see your take on their reaction to Rook's scars being revealed to them for the first time.

Burn scars also come with a lot of complications like having to keep them out of sunlight, they often get pretty itchy and since skin regulates body temperature you can get cold super easily if you have significant burns. So if you want to include any of those factors feel free!

As someone who legit cannot be trusted around hot liquids and has scars from 2nd degree burns, I'd appreciate it, but if you don't want to write something like this I understand. Thank you, and I hope your day is going well!

Thank you so much for a Dragon Age request! I had a lot of fun with it!

Warnings: Burns, Talk of Burns, Previous Injuries, Implied Low Self Esteem, Implied Body Issues

Emmrich Volkarin:

As someone who usually wears layers when out and about, Emmrich doesn’t notice right away you’re covered almost always. He thinks of it as a personal style, at least until you’re exposed to the cold. It only takes one instance of fighting a desire demon and your hands to shake so bad you can’t hold your weapon for him to wonder. He won’t ask you of course, especially when Harding asks if you’re alright and you deflect.

The first time he sees your burns himself, Emmrich has a lot of thoughts. He can tell that you’re uncomfortable, not meeting his eyes as you continue to make dinner. It’s the first time he’s seen you in short sleeves and without gloves; you had thought you were alone at the Lighthouse. He wonders where you got the wounds and how but instead, he apologizes for starling you and asks if he can help. You agree to let him help and it takes almost a full hour for the tension to leave your shoulders. Emmrich is happy to wait as long as possible for you to trust him.

The longer the two of you are together, the more you open up about your scars. Emmrich is willing to listen to anything you say and go at your own pace. He’ll go out of his way to buy you embroidered gloves that you adore and has no issues steering the others away from the topic. He’ll hesitate to touch your scars because he doesn’t want to hurt you but once you assure he can touch, he loves kissing your everywhere. Scars are a part of you but they don’t define you.

Lucanis Dellamorte:

He’s one of the first companions to notice, mostly because he has some burns himself. Not as wide spread as yours but Crow training wasn’t kind to him and he sees the way you favor warm over cold and how your legs get itchy after being in Rivani. Lucanis makes sure to cook warm meals and uses ingredients that help with itchiness. He’s a silent supporter from the beginning.

The extent of your scars makes hm angry. He has no way of knowing (at first) where your scars come from and assumes them to be a battle gone wrong. Spite often speaks of hunting the people down who hurt you and he’s inclined to agree. If he finds out the burns are because of an accident he’s going to hover more. If you’re this accident prone he’ll be your silent shadow so you don’t get hurt again. Tell him off if he hovers too much; Lucanis will find something else to help with.

He has no issues touching your scars but will make sure you’re alright with it first. He never wants to make you uncomfortable and watches for your verbal and nonverbal ques. Lucanis will do whatever he can to help you feel better; putting on ointment, buying you new clothing, whatever you’d like. He won’t let anyone talk down to you. He’s protective on a good day and if someone tries to say anything about your scars? His knife is already at their throat.

Bellara Lutare:

Bellara doesn’t realize you have burn scars until you take your coat off, wet from being slammed into the lake. It took her and Davrin combined to pull you out and you’re swearing up a storm as you strip. Davrin just teases you about losing your footing before going to find firewood. Bellara doesn’t catch herself staring until you turn away and she busies getting the camping set out.

She doesn’t bring the scars up until the two of you are alone, checking in. Mostly she wants to make sure you’re not in pain and if you are, she can make burn cream. Someone in her clan had burns like yours that bothered them. You’re surprised by her practical offer and kiss her cheek, thankful for her support. You take her up on the offer, especially when you end up on the coast. The hot air makes you super itchy.

It becomes a habit for her to help you put the burn cream on your back since it’s hard for you to reach. It’s a soft moment inside the normal day to day chaos. Bellara loves that you trust her enough to let her do this and gets to touch you. Her face is red by the end and you tease her but its worth all the teasing to see the soft look in your eyes. Once of these days she’s going to get her nerve to kiss you, she promises!

Neve Gallus:

Neve figured you were using clothing to cover up something. Most people don’t wear as many layers as you and it a toss up between scars or you really are that much trouble. The truth is, as always, a little bit of both. You naturally run cold but it’s more than that. The first time she sees your scars, she’ll admit she wasn’t expecting them. She knows that jobs can go wrong, she just wishes you were luckier.

She won’t talk about the scars unless you bring them up. She understands how it feels for others to judge you based on old wounds; she’s almost punched people because of her leg. Neve does go out of her way to get you warm drinks to hold and buys you long pants as yours get ruined. The detective side of her wants to know how you got the scars but she does her damnedest to keep those thoughts to herself.

Neve can’t help but kiss the scars when she can, almost without thinking. Clothes on or off, she’ll kiss the palm of your hand or rub your shoulder. Let her know if the touching is too much and she’ll back off. She accepts every part of you, scared or not. She likes the flustered look on your face, it isn’t often she throws you off. Neve can and will use it to her advantage.

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] Tsuzuru Minagi | [R] Casually Showing Skin Mode | L3tt3r Fr0m A Gy4ru

Tsuzuru: (And I’m finally done with classes for the day. Okay, guess I’ll head home—.)

Tsuzuru: (Hm? That’s quite the crowd. Wonder what’s going on…)

Taichi: Ah, Tsuzuru-kuuun!

Juza: Good work.

Tsuzuru: Oh, so you guys are here too. Is there some kinda event going on or something?

Taichi: I dunno, we just got here. It sure is busy. Wonder what’s up.

Juza: Huh, there’s a whole lotta stuff here. They’ve got random things, books, ‘n even household appliances lined up.

Tsuzuru: Ahh, I get it… It’s probably a reuse market.

Taichi: Reuse market?

Tsuzuru: It’s a kinda on-campus event where students who are about to graduate give away things they don’t need anymore to younger students.

Juza: Now that ya mention it, you got a book of short stories at the last one, didn’t ya, Tsuzuru-san?

Tsuzuru: Yeah, I was curious about this one that one of the upperclassmen told me about, but it happened to be out of print.

Taichi: Damn, lucky! Where’s that book now?

Tsuzuru: After I finished reading it, I started passing it around the company to anyone who wanted to read it.

Tsuzuru: That reminds me, I wonder who’s got it now…

Taichi: Who are the ones who wanted to read it?

Tsuzuru: Umm, Miyoshi-san, and Takato-san have already read it… And I think Furuichi-san and Tsukioka-san said they were interested too.

Juza: I’m interested in readin’ it too.

Tsuzuru: Gotcha. I’ll bring it over to you whenever I get it back then, Juza.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tsuzuru: I’m back.

Tsuzuru: (...Huh, did I leave a book out on my desk…?)

Tsuzuru: (Ah, that was the book we were just talking about. What perfect timing to get it back. I’ll go and bring it over to Juza right aw—.)

*Paper falls out of the book*

Tsuzuru: …Hm? Did something just fall out of it?

Tsuzuru: A note?

Thx 4 l3nding m3 thiz, Tzr-kun. I w4z rlly impr3zz3d w h0w clvr th3 f0r3shad0wing w4z. Th3 nam3z of th3 flwrz n th3 flwr l4ngu4g3 m3nti0n3d n th3 prlg s3nt such 4 shvr d0wn my spin3 tht I rlzd tht th3 clprt mightv3 4ctlly b33n TwT nstd 0f xD. If I w3r3 t0 pl4y tht r0l3, M sur3 thtz wht I wld d0…

Tsuzuru: The hell…? Is this a cipher or a prank or something?

Tsuzuru: —Ah.

Tsuzuru: Is this… that gyaru-speak thing?

· ❀ —– ٠ ❀ ٠ —– ❀ ·

Tsuzuru: Jeez, he better still be here…

Omi: Welcome back.

Izumi: Hey, Tsuzuru-kun, would you rather have curry udon or soy milk curry hotpot for dinner tonight?

Tsuzuru: Aren’t both of them still curry? Well, it was pretty cold today,  so hotpot would be…

Tsuzuru: Wait, that’s not what I’m here for! Is Miyoshi-san here?

Omi: Kazunari’s in the kitchen.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Kazunari: Lookin’ for me~?

Tsuzuru: The hell is this? I literally can’t read any of it…

Kazunari: Oh, gyaru-speak! What’s this about?

Tsuzuru: What do you mean ‘what’s this about’...? You didn’t write this?

Tsuzuru: It was stuck in the book I just got back, and you’re the only one who would write something like this, Miyoshi-san…

Kazunari: Ermm~, well, it wasn’t me.

Tsuzuru: What? But if it’s not you, then the people who I lent the book to after you were Takato-san, Furuichi-san, Tsukioka-san—.

Tsuzuru: No, it had to have been you, Miyoshi-san.

Izumi: Maybe if you read the note you’ll be able to figure out who wrote it?

Tsuzuru: Right. Umm—.

Tsuzuru: …

Tsuzuru: Yeah, not happening. I’ve got no clue what it says no matter how hard I try to read it…

Izumi: Let me see. …Umm, I can’t read it either.

Omi: Those don’t even look like sentences to me.

Tsuzuru: Damnit. What are we gonna do…?

Kazunari: I’ve gotcha, fam. I’ve got this gyaru-speak translator website.

Kazunari: Just gotta take a pic, scan the text, and… copy-paste and translate ♪

Tsuzuru: That’s incredible… So, what does it say?

Kazunari: “Thank you for lending me this, Tsuzuru-kun. I was really impressed with how clever the foreshadowing was. The names of the flowers and the flower language mentioned in the prologue—.”

Kazunari: “Sent such a shiver down my spine that I realized that the culprit might’ve actually been crying instead of laughing.”

Kazunari: “If I were to play that role, I’m sure that’s probably what I would do…”

Kazunari: Wait, could this be…

Tsumugi: I’m back~.

Tsuzuru: Perfect timing. Um, Tsukioka-san. About this note…

Tsumugi: Ah! Thank you for the book, it was really interesting.

Tsuzuru: No, not that…! Did you write this, Tsukioka-san?

Tsumugi: Yeah. Ah, did I forget to write my name on it?

Tsuzuru: Forget about that! Why is it in gyaru-speak!?

Tsumugi: Kazu-kun told me that gyaru stuff and gyaru-speak are really popular nowadays, so I tried using it.

Kazunari: Ohh~, yeah, so, I might’ve told TsumuTsumu about that translation website the other day…

Tsuzuru: So it WAS because of you!

Tsumugi: Ahaha, maybe I should’ve written it normally. Sorry, my bad.

Izumi: I never would’ve thought it was you, Tsumugi. That was quite a surprise.

Omi: Yeah. Good thing we figured it all out.

Kazunari: But like, wasn’t it kinda fun? It was like a little cipher game.

Tsumugi: Yeah, and it was really easy to do. Why don’t we recommend it to the others?

Kazunari: Banger idea, bestie! I bet RonRon and Taicchan would eat this up, don’tcha think?

Tsumugi: I bet Azuma-san and Homare-san would enjoy it too.

Tsuzuru: Wait! Quit trying to come up with weird trends!