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lightseoul · 2 years ago

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you're losing me

synopsis. bakugou proposes to you. you give him an unexpected response.

cw. gn!reader, pro-hero!katsuki, aged up (28 yrs old), some cussing

word count. 2.5k words

“Where is everybody?”

You ask as you look around the barren restaurant, which, on most days, is jampacked with high-profile customers. How Bakugou was able to get you both a table is beyond you.

“Don’t mind ‘em,” he says before dipping down to finish the rest of his soup. “They’re just a bunch of extras anyway.”

You merely hum in response.

A moment passes with the both of you finishing your appetizers when a question dawns on you.

“By the way,” you start, “what’s the occasion, Kats?”

At that, he frowns. “What, you’re saying I can’t treat my partner whenever I feel like it?”

You snort. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just that we don’t usually opt for extremely overpriced restaurants.”

You gesture to your evening gown and his suit. “We don’t usually dress up either.”

“Yeah, well. Just go with it, okay?”

You stare at him for a beat before deciding to let it go.

“Okay.”

You’re down to the last bite of your dessert when Bakugou clears his throat. You look up, only to be met with the familiar expression of nervousness decorating his features.

It’s how he looked at you back when he first asked you out three years ago.

“You alright?” you ask.

He nods, “Peachy. Just need to tell you something.”

Almost instantaneously, your heart picks up its pace. You brace yourself for bad news.

“What is it?”

At your query, Bakugou suddenly stands up and circles your table, stopping right in front of you.

And before you could even comprehend what’s happening, he’s already on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

“Y/N.”

At the mention of your name, your heart doubles up its pace.

He continues, but your head is pulsing and your ears throbbing so loudly that you can barely make out the speech he’s currently giving you. You feel lightheaded, as well as the tears welling up in your eyes, clouding your vision.

He sounds uncharacteristically shy when he finally says, “Will you marry me?”

That’s the last thing you hear before you black out.

You’re met with a blinding white light when you come to.

You strain to sit up in order to look around, the movement causing Bakugou, who is on a stool beside your bed, to stir awake.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Take it easy.”

Robbed of all words, you nod, taking heed and slowly lifting yourself up into a seated position.

“Where am I?” you ask.

“The nearest hospital from the restaurant,” he explains. “You fainted.”

“Seriously?”

He nods, face stern. “Thankfully I was able to catch you before your head could hit the ground. We just need to run a few more tests before you get cleared for discharge.”

And with that, the elephant in the room remains as evident as ever.

“Look, Kats,” you start, “about earlier—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now,” he cuts you off. “Come on, let’s get you ready for discharge.”

You barely catch him before he goes to work the next day.

Bakugou’s not a morning person—you found out about that a week into dating him when you noticed how curt his messages were in the mornings—yet he’s now up at 6:24 AM, darting in and out of the rooms in your shared apartment, getting ready for the day.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s rushing to leave.

“You’re awake,” you say lamely as you enter the living room.

He grunts in response, attention directed to the duffel bag he always brings to the office on patrol days.

You want to ask him why he’s up this early, but ultimately decide against it. Instead, you say: “Did you pack your lunch already?”

“Yeah,” he gestures to his bag, “It’s in here.”

“Okay.”

You stand awkwardly by the door as you watch him zip his bag and adjust his civilian clothes that would be swapped in for his winter costume later.

He then walks up to you and presses a kiss on your forehead—so tentatively it makes you ache.

Since when did he get so hesitant with you?

“I’ll go then,” he announces.

And before you know it, the front door shuts, his perfume leaving a nostalgic fragrance in its trail.

Only then do you realize that I love you’s were not exchanged.

The days after are unremarkably the same.

He’s been getting up extra early so that by the time you wake up, he’s already on his way to the agency.

On top of that, he’s starting to work overtime now, too.

Lately, he’s been arriving home as late as almost midnight.

You try to wait up for him—you really do—but with your own work to get to the following mornings, you just couldn’t sustain that arrangement.

And so you rarely see him.

But to your relief, despite everything that’s gone wrong with Bakugou since the night he proposed, you still fall on the same bed at the end of the day.

Albeit his back is turned against you. Still, you’re grateful. There’s a certain comfort that blankets you whenever you’re near Bakugou, and that hasn’t changed one bit.

Not wanting to make him uncomfortable, you mirror him, your back now facing his.

Which is why you don’t notice it until you hear a gasp.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you look at Bakugou, who’s now sitting upright, chest heaving.

Quickly, you rouse yourself, facing him. “What’s wrong?”

He inhales deeply as his eyes dart towards you, beads of sweat now decorating his forehead.

“Nightmare,” he croaks.

At that, you grab his ice-cold hands, squeezing them in yours. “Do you want to talk about it?”

A beat passes before he reluctantly shakes his head. “It’s just the usual.”

The usual. Being held hostage by that monster, getting kidnapped, being responsible for All Might’s—

“It doesn’t matter if it’s new or not,” you retort, squeezing his hands again in an attempt to anchor him to reality. “I’m here to listen, alright?”

Bakugou hesitates for a second before nodding, a pained expression written across his face.

He starts to lean in closer, probably to drop his head at the crook of your neck like he usually does when plagued with nightmares, before hesitating and leaning back.

“Okay.”

The next morning, you wake up not only to an empty bed, but an empty house.

Still half asleep, you trudge your way toward the kitchen, where a bento box is sitting on the island. On top of it is a sticky note that reads:

Going out w the guys after shift. Don’t wait up.

Your heart sinks at the thought of not being able to see Bakugou for the day.

Still, maybe he needs this night out.

You wouldn’t want to spend time with the person who rejected you either.

With a heavy heart, you get ready for the day yourself.

Work is the least of your concerns this morning, but you figure you have to go. You could use some distraction to take your mind off your crumbling relationship.

You’re in your bed reading that non-fiction you’ve been putting off for a while now when your phone rings.

You reach for your phone, eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Kirishima’s caller ID.

Huh.

You press the green button after a few seconds of letting it ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N!” a cheery voice greets you. “This is Kirishima.”

“Hey, Ei,” you start, weirdly nervous. “How are you and the rest of the squad?”

“Actually, that’s why I called you. Can you pick Bakugou up? He’s so drunk.”

Your Katsuki? Drunk?

For some reason, the idea of talking to a drunk Bakugou, who also happens to be the bluntest version of himself, elicits an unpleasant feeling in your gut.

“Really?” you ask, voice small. “How much did he drink?”

“Not a lot, but the alcohol percentage of the ones he downed are pretty high.”

When you don’t respond for a while, he pipes up with: “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Kirishima sounds unsure when he asks, “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yes, Ei.” No, Ei. I inadvertently rejected his marriage proposal.

“Okay, that’s good to hear,” he starts. “It’s just that he barely mentioned you when he was still sober—which is a rare occurrence, if you only knew. He only started calling for you when he was three glasses in.”

Despite yourself, your stomach flips in delight. He’s still thinking about me, you think to yourself.

“Anyway, as I was saying, are you good to fetch him?”

“Yes,” you stand up and grab for your keys. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

You’re situating the car in your designated parking space when Bakugou finally stirs awake.

Once you’re parked, you turn off the engine before you reach over the console to unfasten his seatbelt. Yours follows shortly after.

You look at him, whose eyes are still closed.

“We’re here, Kats.”

At the sound of your voice, his eyes shoot open and he examines his environment, alarmed. Once he catches sight of you, though, he visibly relaxes.

Only to straighten up in his seat, stiff and unable to look you in the eye.

“You didn’t have to, uh,” he stammers, struggling to formulate coherent sentences. “Get me. You didn’t have to get me.”

You shoot him a small smile. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

He doesn’t say anything after that, eyes trained on your car’s windshield.

A moment passes before he speaks again.

“My mom made me do it, you know.”

You stare at his side profile. “Made you do what?”

“Propose to you.”

“Oh.”

He shakes his head, almost in disagreement. “The old hag really wants me to get married. I told her we didn’t have to get married because we’re happy the way things are and that shit is just for formality. Told me I’d be missing out on you wearing a wedding dress.”

You snort, “That’s what convinced you to ask me?”

He grins. “Nah. I just realized I wanted to get married if it was to you.”

Before you can even react, Bakugou shifts in his seat, breaking eye contact.

“It was stupid of me, though.”

Your stomach drops in anticipatory dread. “Stupid of you to what?”

He chuckles, although he seems anything but happy. “Was stupid of me to think someone like you would say yes to someone like me.

“I—” he stutters, “I wouldn’t marry me either.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He sighs, “Just…who the fuck do I think am, proposing to you? I was a horrible person who fucked things up so many times growing up. Maybe this is karma biting me back in the ass.”

“Katsuki.”

“You can do way be—”

“Katsuki!”

He jerks his head to face you, bewildered and eyes glassy.

You reach over the console to hold his scarred hand, staring him down.

“Look at me.”

He does so.

“You’re not that person anymore, alright?” You squeeze his hand, “Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Under the intensity of your gaze, Bakugou can only nod in affirmation before you engulf him in your first hug in what feels like weeks.

“Come on,” you say when you finally part, “Let’s get you ready for bed.”

Bakugou sleeps like a baby by your side that night. Meanwhile, you stay up until the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep.

He thinks you don’t want to marry him.

Your heart aches at the very thought of him grappling with the most false of all statements.

You want to marry him, you really do, but all your fears suddenly rose to the surface and enveloped you the second he went on one knee.

And that’s what you’re planning to confess to him tonight.

You wait, wrapped in the thickest jacket you own, seated on the bench for Bakugou to come. You left him a note alongside his bento box earlier this morning—a note that says to meet you at the indicated address.

Lost in your thoughts and in your internal monologue, you startle when somebody sits next to you.

You look to your right, only to see Bakugou in his thickest jacket, a gray beanie covering his ash blonde locks, cheeks pink from the cold.

“Do you remember this place?” you ask, voice quiet.

He scoffs, “Of course I do, dumbass.”

At that, you chuckle. “This is where we had our first date.”

He grunts in agreement. He doesn’t say anything after that.

A few seconds pass before he finally pipes up with: “So why did you bring me here?”

Your heart’s pace quickens at the query.

You gulp, although your voice still ends up shaky. “I wanted to apologize.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

You shake your head, “You don’t understand.”

He chuckles, that same one that translates to anything but happiness. “I think I do. You don’t want to marry me, I get it.”

“No,” you say, voice louder. “I want to marry you.”

At your admission, Bakugou turns to look you in the eye. The hopeful expression on his face is staggering, you want to curl up into a ball and cry. “What?”

“I said,” you repeat, “I want to marry you.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Then why have you been acting like you don’t?”

At his question, you can’t help but clench your eyes closed. This is too much, you think to yourself, but you owe Bakugou the truth.

“I’m just scared, Kats. Truly. I—” you stammer, “I just can’t shake off the fear of losing you one day. And I know your capabilities and I know how hard you work. Just that—I don’t know. The fear of seeing you killed one day is paralyzing.”

Bakugou reaches out to you, and you let him wipe away the tears that are now falling down your cheeks.

“I’m scared, too,” he offers. “But I don’t know.”

He shakes his head, “I’m more scared of not being with you.”

At his confession, you can’t help but smile. “I think that’s how I feel, too.”

You rest your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, your hand in his. You stay like that for a few minutes before you pull away and turn to regard him again.

“Can we start over?” you ask, “I want to propose to you soon.”

Bakugou smirks, nothing but elation on his face. He takes your other hand and squeezes it.

“Not if I propose to you first.”

tagging. @katsukis1wife @rinalou @loverboyrin @brunnetteiwik @beabe19

as always, reblogs, comments, and tags are appreciated <3

#as you can probably tell i did not proofread this at all #god this was a lot of work lmao #i hope you guys enjoy it <3 #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou fluff #bakugou angst #whatever!!! it was fun okay!!!!

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vxsellie · 3 months ago

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would you be willing to write an ellie x reader fic where ellie is finally meeting reader’s parents but it doesn’t go the best. reader comes from an emotionally abusive and unstable home. at dinner they’re constantly being passive aggressive about readers weight, appearance, literally anything and they think ellie will join in but she is NOT having it.

ellie sits beside you with a pinched expression. this entire dinner has been hell, your parents continuously making comments on you. she has one hand on your thigh under the table, out of your parents' sight. it calms you a bit, but not enough to drown out their nagging voices. you fight to ignore them, reaching over the table to get another serving of pasta. ellie is fast to help you, holding the pot still while you scoop. you give her a small smile as you sit back down, a silent thanks for her aid.

your father clears his throat. you look up at the sound, making eye contact across the table. his gaze is sharp. "another plate? seriously?"

"oh. uh⎯" you begin, but you're cut off by your mother adding onto the comment.

"yeah, i'm not too sure you need a second serving, dear." she says. the nickname is a weak attempt at blanketing her harsh words, aiming to make the hit less obvious. where your father is obvious in his malice, your mother at least makes an attempt at covering it. honestly, you think that makes it even worse at times. "the grease gives you blemishes. and the calories add to your.. frame."

you frown but nod, pushing your plate away from yourself as you cast your head down toward your lap. ellie remains silent, but you notice the way her jaw clenches and her shoulders tense.

"i mean, look at ellie." your father says, pointing at her with the hilt of his fork as he chews on his third serving. ellie looks up at him, raising a brow as she tries desperately to remain respectful. he looks her up and down before turning to you. "she's managed to stay fit. ain't that hard."

your mother chuckles at this, turning to ellie with a warming smile than you'd ever seen her give you. "honestly! we try to tell her how important this stuff is but, well, she obviously doesn't heed our warnings. maybe you could try talking to her, ellie? i'm sure she'd listen to you more so than us."

ellie opens her mouth to speak but ends up closing it again, staring at your mother incredulously. there's no fucking way she just said that about you in front of her. ellie can't fathom the idea of someone seeing you this way. in her eyes, there's not a thing about you that needs changing. every little curve and scar is beautiful and perfect in her eyes. she struggles to wrap her head around the words your parents are so carelessly spitting at you. but they just don't make sense.

she glances over at you, your parents' voices fading into a bothersome sound of repeated insults.

your head is downcast, eyes completely blank as you accept their words without much thought to how horrid they are. your shoulders are hunched, lips pursed. she hates seeing you like this ⎯ shut down and reserved. she'd prefer you to scream or cry over this. your emotions and feelings are so very important to her. clearly, as it turns out, your parents don't seem to share this priority.

"ellie?" your mother calls out. ellie turns to her, patience thinning by the second. "you agree with us, don't you?"

she tries to stay quiet, she really really fucking does. but after seeing that look on your face and having to listen to your parents all through dinner, she can't. she simply cannot take it anymore. she turns to your mother with a deeply set scowl, brow knitted and jaw clenched.

"no." she snaps. you raise your head, whipping it in her direction after having been completely convinced she'd agree with them. your heart swells at the sight of your girlfriend standing up for you. "any parent with an ounce of decency would know better than to shun their own daughter for an hour straight. and, on top of that, it's just completely insensitive for you to continue to do so when you have a guest over. and to invite her lover to join in on your insults? fucking pathetic. both of you."

the room goes silent, the only sound being the ac blowing through the vent with a gentle hum. ellie continues to stare both your parents down as you hold your breath, unsure on what they'll do. you'd never even entertained the thought of speaking to them like that.

ellie then stands from her chair, the legs of it scratching loudly against the wooden floorboards. she thanks them for dinner, voice still laced with venom, then turns to you. her features suddenly soften and she holds out a hand to you, offering to help you to your feet. you take it, standing with a shaky breath, the weight of what just happened pressing hard against your chest.

"you wanna go out for ice cream?" she asks you.

your face instantly splits, a large smile overtaking your lips as your stare at her with the utmost love you could ever possibly offer. you squeeze her hand, your parents glaring eyes fading away as you focus solely on ellie. "yes please."

sorry this is a little long, this req is just so sweet & i couldn't wait to write it

#vxsellie !#ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #the last of us #drabble

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doctorbitchcrxft · 3 months ago

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Sin City | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: arguing! angst! recovering from a sexual assault (please heed this warning), light smut (MDNI!!! 18+ only), mentions of suicide, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 7341

A/N: His beautiful face I will scream and cry

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You and the brothers decided to bunk somewhere between Black Rock, New York, and Bobby’s house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Although Sam knew about your relationship with Dean, Dean still got two separate rooms for you and the brothers. For a reason you couldn’t quite place, that bothered you.

He eventually did come to your separate room, and you immediately grilled him. “Why do you keep getting us two separate motel rooms?” Dean seemed stunned.

“I mean, it’s not a big deal, but I don’t know… are you ashamed to be with me? Like, do you not want Sam to see us sleeping together? If you are, I’d rather you just tell me—”

Dean shook his head. “No, (Y/N), why would you think that?” he said. “I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable staying with Sam. And… I don’t necessarily wanna have sex in the bed next to my brother,” he finished.

“Oh, so you thought we were gonna have sex tonight?” you questioned angrily.

“What? No! I wasn’t—”

“Because sometimes I feel like that’s all I am to you, Dean! Like I’m just one of your fucking hookups!” you shouted.

“Why the fuck would you think that?!” he argued. “When have I ever given you that impression?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because whenever we get in the doorway of emotional vulnerability, your solution is to have sex,” you chided. “Maybe because you can’t even tell me how you feel about me. I mean, I’ve poured my heart out to you, and I feel like you’re not even letting me in a little bit!”

“Why is now the first time you’re bringin’ any of this up?” Dean responded. “Maybe if you would’ve talked to me about this, I could’ve fixed it before you freaked the fuck out on me.”

“Because I feel like if you really cared about me, I wouldn’t have to ask you to prove it to me!”

“I thought that’s what I was doing!” Dean argued. “I mean, (Y/N), when was the last time you saw me even look at another girl?!”

“You looked at Bela!”

“You did, too!”

You considered for a moment, and unfortunately, he was right.

“I mean, seriously. When’s the last time I’ve stayed more than a few nights with a girl? If I didn’t give a shit, I wouldn’t be here having this conversation right now. And I told you—!” he cut himself off, seeming to feel awkward. “I told you how I felt. Not in the most direct way, but still!”

“Dean, don’t you think I might wanna actually hear you say it before you go and die on me?!”

“So that’s what this is about. About my deal?” he scoffed.

“It’s not just about your deal, Dean,” you huffed, “it’s about the fact that I wanna know you love me before you’re gone. I wanna… I wanna be yours, Dean. And I wanna know what’s going on in your head. God, I mean, is that so much to ask for?!” Your voice became louder again. “I mean, you’re gonna die in a year, and you’re acting like you’re goin’ to fuckin’ Vegas. I know you’re fucking terrified, and you won’t talk to me about it!”

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)?! That I regret making that fucking deal? ‘Cause I don’t,” Dean shot back, and that stung you even more. “I am scared, okay? But I’m not gonna live every day whinin’ about it, either. And I figure, you got so much goin’ on in your head, I might as well not screw you up even more with my problems.”

“You’re right, I do have a lot going on. But you’re not gonna burden me with your problems, Dean,” you responded, voice still angry, but considerably quieter. “I want all of you—” you stepped forward and cupped his face in your hands— “the good, the bad, the ugly; all of it.” Tears welled in your eyes. “I love you. I do. And… I understand if you can’t say it back. I’m not gonna lie to you, it hurts, but I can also… try to understand if you don’t wanna say it.”

Dean grabbed your wrists and pulled them away from his face. He kissed the inside of your right wrist, brought both your hands down between the two of you holding them there, and stared down at you intensely. “I do, I just—” he grimaced in frustration, “I’ve never told anybody. Ever. Not even Sam.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Ever? Not even Cassie?”

He shook his head.

“Damn.”

“Do you get why it’s hard now?” he asked.

You nodded.

“And I— I do wanna show you. I’m trying, (Y/N),” he whispered, and your heart suddenly clenched with guilt, “it’s just…” Dean trailed off, unable to find the words. “I don’t wanna hurt you after what you went through.”

“I won’t break, Dean,” you replied, voice soft. “I’m a tough cookie.”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, becoming serious once more.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” you insisted. “I’m… on edge. I should’ve brought this up differently.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” he commented, “but I’m sorry, too. And if it really bothers you that much, we’ll have a sleepover with Sam next time.”

You giggled, remembering the stupidity of the origin of your fight. Slightly embarrassed, you covered your eyes with your hand.

Dean took your hand away from your eyes and wound it around his neck, leaning down to kiss you. His kisses were always incredibly passionate and often quite fierce, but this one was different. It was tender and seemed to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

You were surprised when he pulled away. “Where you goin’?” you asked as he headed to the bathroom.

Dean turned around and cocked his head at you. “To take a shower…?”

“You’re not gonna—” you gestured to the rest of you.

He shook his head. “I thought that was what we just fought about.” “I mean, it was, but still. Just surprised, is all,” you shrugged.

“This may come as a shock to you, but not all men are horny animals, sweetheart,” Dean smirked.

You rolled your eyes. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

***

Later that evening, you were tucked into Dean’s side. His skin was smooth to the touch, and you loved the shaky breaths you pulled from Dean when you’d rake your nails along his abs.

“You gotta stop doin’ that,” he groaned.

“Hmmm, why?” you smirked.

“ ‘Cause,” he returned, the ends of his lips pulling upward.

“That’s not a very good reason,” you said, trailing down closer to the edge of his v-line.

Dean gripped your wrist and pulled you flush against him. “Such a tease,” he growled against your lips.

You kissed him with a grin and pulled away after a moment. “Fine, fine, I’ll stop.” You laid against him, his head nestled under your chin and resting on top of your naked breasts. You found Dean really enjoyed using them as pillows.

“Can I ask you something?” Dean murmured.

“Anything,” you replied.

“What happened earlier?” You knew he was referring to what happened with Willem Dafoe in the motel room. He must have felt you tense under him when he asked. “You don’t have to answer; it’s fine—”

“No, no,” you cut him off. “I wanna tell you.”

Dean pulled away from you and adjusted himself on his pillow until the two of you were eye-level in the bed.

“The guard,” you swallowed, “he- he held my hands behind my back. Had me on my stomach. I just… I freaked out.”

Dean looked angry, but you knew it wasn’t at you. “I swear, I’ll fuckin’ track ‘im down and kill him—”

“No, no.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

Dean grabbed the hand you had curled into your chest and stroked it with his thumb. “What do you need me to do?”

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

“Is that why you freaked out about the sex earlier?” Dean asked.

You nodded.

“Jesus, (Y/N), I didn’t—”

“Dee, I know. It’s okay,” you answered, squeezing his hand. “And it’s not just that, y’know? I still want you to show me that you love me through means other than sex.”

Dean nodded.

“And I still… I still wanna have sex. We haven’t had sex in, like, four months, and it sucks for me, too. I mean, sex with you is like, the greatest thing in the fuckin’ world, but it’s just… it’s hard for me right now.”

He nodded, and then a coy grin spread across his face. “Is it really the greatest thing in the world?”

“Oh, fuck off,” you sighed dramatically, shoving him away from you and rolling to your other side.

Dean’s arms wrapped around you, and he pressed kisses to your neck. “Hey, be nice,” he said between kisses, “or I’ll withhold the greatest thing in the world.”

You giggled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Watch me.”

Feeling brave, you turned your face toward him and kissed him passionately. You turned around to face him once more, and Dean rolled on top of you. He ran his hands all over your torso. He was careful to avoid your breasts, and you were grateful he was trying to respect your boundaries.

You broke the kiss and grabbed his hand, guiding it to your right breast without breaking eye contact with him. A deep hunger filled his eyes, and he quickly leaned back down to kiss you fervently. He squeezed your breasts and kissed down your neck while you threaded your hands through his hair. When his lips reached your nipple, he looked back up at you. “Is this okay?” Dean asked.

You nodded, heat flooding you. The touch of his lips to your skin made goosebumps erupt all over you, and your back arched into him.

Dean pulled your nipple between his teeth, teasing the bud with his tongue. You writhed underneath him, tugging at his hair, and the action only spurred him on further.

When he moved further down your stomach, though, you began to get a bit nervous. Dean noticed your body tense, and he immediately looked up to you. “Are you okay?”

You began to cry. “I don’t know,” you admitted, bringing your hands to your face in shame.

Dean immediately climbed off you and tried to pull your hands from your eyes. “What’s goin’ on? Talk to me.”

You looked at him with watery eyes. “I can’t. I want to, but I can’t.”

“Sweetheart, we don’t have to. Not till you’re ready,” he assured you, running his hand along your hip.

“Yeah, but we don’t have that much time left. I want to before you—” you cut yourself off, shutting your eyes and taking in a shuddering breath.

“Listen, we got ten months left. We’ll work our way up to it, okay?” Dean promised.

“But what if you lose interest in me because I’m—” you tried to think of a way to phrase your next statement— “out of commission?”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. “Sweetheart, I love sex, and I love having sex with you, but it’s not the only reason I’m into you,” he assured you. “We won’t do anything until you’re ready.”

“But I thought I was, and look what happened,” you lamented.

“Just means you weren’t ready today,” he shrugged. “And I don’t blame ya. It hasn’t been that long, and you just had that thing happen today. It’s okay, seriously.”

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Dean nodded.

“You’re not lyin’ just to make me feel better?”

He shook his head.

“Like, absolutely positive—”

“Oh, shut up, (Y/N),” he said, pulling you into him and tucking your head into his chest.

You giggled and relaxed against him, wrapping your small arms around his waist. He kissed the top of your head, and you matched your breathing to the rising and falling of his chest beneath yours. Within minutes, the both of you were off to sleep.

***

Over the next few days, Bobby and Dean worked on the Colt you handed over to the older man. Their objective was to figure out a way to have it back to being able to kill demons which you knew Bobby was planning on using to figure out how to save Dean from his deal.

You and Sam were on research duty searching for demons.

“Think I got somethin’,” Sam announced from the messy kitchen table.

You and the other two men looked at him expectantly.

“Dry lightning and barometric-pressure drop,” he continued. “Plus, some guy blows his head off in a church and another goes postal in a hobby shop before the cops take him out. Might be demonic omens.”

Dean shrugged. “Or it could just be a suicide and a psycho scrapbooker.”

“Meh, but it’s our best lead since Lincoln,” you added. “Where in Ohio?”

“Elizabethville. It's a half-dead factory town in the rust belt,” Sam replied.

Dean sighed. “There’s gotta be a demon or two in South Beach.”

“Sorry,” Sam grinned. “Maybe next time. How's it going, Bobby?”

“Slow,” the older man responded.

“I tell you, it's a little sad seeing the Colt like that.” Dean nodded toward the deconstructed marvel of weaponry.

“Well, the only thing it's good for now is figuring out what makes it tick,” Bobby said, not looking up from the gun.

“So, what makes it tick?” Sam smirked.

Bobby looked up, not amused.

Sam held his hands up in surrender, and you giggled.

“So, if we want to go check out these omens in Ohio,” Dean began, standing up, “you think you can have that thing ready by this afternoon?”

You and Sam snickered while Bobby stared at him incredulously.

“Well, it won't kill demons by then, but I can promise you, it'll kill you.” Bobby jokingly aimed the barrel at Dean.

“Alright,” Dean smiled, “c’mon, we’re wastin’ daylight.”

“See ya, Bobby,” you said, grabbing your duffel bag off the seat next to you.

You and the boys headed for the door.

“Hey!”

The three of you turned back to face Bobby.

“You kids run into anything— anything— you call me.”

You nodded and left wordlessly.

***

You met with a priest who, in fact, watched the man commit suicide. Something notable you learned from the priest was that the man went to church every Sunday up until about two months ago. The town had even changed; people just became “unrespectable,” in his words. Additionally, the other man who’d killed himself had changed, too.

As you’d left the church, Sam had commented, “Two months ago, we open up the devil's gate; all of a sudden, this town turns into Margaritaville? It's no coincidence.”

Now, the three of you were heading a motel room. A shared one, at that. It made you happy to get to share the room with the boys, strangely; you guessed it just made you feel like less of an outsider and more a part of their family.

As you opened the door, though, Dean’s voice turned you around. “Richie?”

You turned to see a man exiting the room across the hall.

“I don’t believe it,” Dean said.

“Hey, Dean,” the man named Richie grinned, “Winchester, right?” A tall, scantily clad blonde with smudged eye makeup came up behind Richie.

“This is my sister, uh, Cheryl,” Richie quickly explained.

“Hey,” “Cheryl” smiled.

Richie handed the woman some money, and Cheryl left. “Well, y’know, stepsister,” he awkwardly clarified.

You laughed and shook your head while you plopped down onto the bed.

“Come on in,” Dean said, leaving the door open for Richie. “This is my brother, Sam, and my girlfriend, (Y/N).”

Your heart swelled in your chest, and you were completely floored by Dean calling you his girl. The two of you had never discussed it formally, but you kind of liked how he just named it and claimed it.

“Girlfriend, huh?” Richie teased. “You settlin’ down, Winchester?”

“No, never,” Dean replied. “She’s a hunter, too.”

“How do you two know each other?” Sam jumped in.

“You were in school—” the older brother began.

Richie cut him off. “It was that succubus, in Canarsie right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean nodded.

“Oh, man. You should have seen the rack on this broad. Freakin' tragedy when I had to gank her,” Richie lamented, shaking his head.

“Whoa, whoa. Wait. Who killed her? If I remember, your ass was toast until I showed up,” Dean commented.

“Oh, I forgot what a comedian this guy was,” Richie scoffed, making you giggle.

“Richie, Richie, know what? I told you then, and I'll tell you again: you're not cut out for this job. You're gonna get yourself killed,” Dean said, his tone becoming serious as he spoke.

Richie’s phone rang, and he answered it before he could respond to Dean. “Talk to me,” he said into the phone. He then whispered to Dean, “FYI, Winchester, words hurt.” He quickly finished his phone call, and you and Sam exchanged a glance while Richie did so.

“So, you find anything in this town, anyway?” Dean asked.

The other man shrugged. “Ah, no. I got nothin’.” He then seemed to realize Dean wasn’t referring to women. “Oh, wait a minute. You mean as in demons and whatnot?”

The older Winchester nodded as if it was obvious.

“No, I got nothing.”

Dean chuckled. “Typical. What about your sister back there?”

“Oh, honestly? She definitely had the devil in her, but she wasn't no demon, you know what I'm saying?” Richie laughed, but became serious when he saw Dean’s deadpan reaction. “Right. Seriously. Church guy, hobby-shop guy; they were lunch meat by the time I got there. Hey, maybe they were possessed, but I can't prove it.”

Sam added, “Yeah, that's where we are, too. You know, let's just say that demons are possessing people in this town. Y’know, raising hell—”

“Yeah, but why would a demon blow his brains out?” Dean wondered aloud.

“Well, for fun?” Richie suggested. “Y’know, he wrecks one body, moves to another. Y’know, like taking a stolen car for a joyride.”

“Anybody else left in the town that fits the profile— y’know, nice guy turned douche, still breathing?” Dean asked the shorter man.

“There’s Trotter,” Richie noted.

“Who’s that?” you asked.

“Oh, she speaks! Lovely voice by the—” Richie cut himself off and cleared his throat awkwardly when Dean glared at him. “Well, he used to be head of the Rotary Club. And then, people say he turned bastard all of a sudden? Brought in the gambling, the hookers… Ah, he practically owns this whole town.”

“Know where we could find him?” Sam questioned.

“Oh, he'll be at his bar in a few hours.”

***

Off Richie’s tip, the three of you set off for the bar he’d told you about.

You were dressed in a mini skirt and tank top that showed off your cleavage, and opted to pair the outfit with a pair of sneakers.

Dean had laughed when he noticed your shoes.

“What?” you’d asked.

“Just… you,” Dean had replied. “Wearin’ sneaks to a bar.”

“I’m not wearin’ my heels to go step in spilled beer and possible vomit,” you’d shrugged.

When you arrived at the bar, it seemed more like a club. People bustled throughout the street, most of them heading into one of the several bars or strip clubs lining the street. Some were staggering around drunkenly despite the late afternoon sun; a sight you’d usually see at three in the morning.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, I guess,” you said to yourself, taking in your surroundings.

“I thought you said this was some boarded-up factory town,” Dean said to Sam.

“It is. At least, it’s supposed to be,” the younger brother responded, looking uncomfortable.

A girl walked past you holding a cocktail and eyeing Dean wantonly. You glared at her, but Dean honestly didn’t seem to notice her. He moved to you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You smirked and wrapped your own around the small of his back.

“Well, what are we waiting for? Let's do some research,” Dean grinned, guiding you toward the bar.

Despite your stoic, often introverted, and guarded nature, you really did enjoy nightlife on the occasion; especially if a particular Winchester was involved.

You were the first to step into Trotter’s bar, sliding out from under Dean’s arm to grab his hand and guide him through the crowded room. The bar was completely alive and seemed more like a club than anything.

You turned back to see Sam looking uncomfortable and overstimulated, and Dean just smirked down at you with that trademark hard-to-read expression of his. When you turned back around, you nearly bumped into Richie.

“Oh!” You jumped back in surprise. “Hey!”

The man was wearing an orange short-sleeved shirt halfway unbuttoned to reveal a white wife beater underneath.

“Oh, Richie. Look at you,” Dean chuckled, shaking his hand. “Bringing satin back.”

“Oh, you like this? Try Thai silk. Canal Street,” Richie boasted. “You'd have to pay $300 for threads like these, easy. Cost to me? Fuggedaboutit.”

“How much is ‘forget about it’?” Sam chuckled.

“Ah, forget about it,” the man shrugged, clearly a little intoxicated. “That's Trotter over there. He sits there all night. Can't touch him.” He gestured to a bald, strong-looking man wearing a sharp suit. He almost reminded you of Kingpin from one of your little brother’s favorite Marvel comics.

“So, what do we do now?” Sam asked.

“I’m thinkin’ I’ll go talk to the bartender,” you began.

“Whoa,” Dean cut you off, “why can’t we have a little fun first?”

You deadpanned at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re here to work.”

“Yeah, but—”

You continued your deadfaced stare at him, and he conceded.

“Fine,” Dean said.

“May need some of your charm, too; who knows what she’s into?” you suggested, smacking Dean’s ass lightly.

You smirked over your shoulder at him as you sauntered to the bar. You heard Richie comment, “You feel like sharin’?’ followed by a quick, “Don’t even think about it,” from Dean.

You looked down the bar to see the priest you’d talked to from the church the latest victim died in talking to the pretty bartender. She turned away from him and to a customer further down the bar from you.

“Father?” you asked.

“Knew you kids would find your way here. They all do.”

“No offense, man, but what are you doing here?” you questioned.

“Like it or not, you go where your flock is,” he shrugged.

“Plus, the clergy drinks for free,” the bartender chimed in, handing the man a whiskey neat.

“True, and a certain bartender owes me a confession,” the priest jested.

“Not in this lifetime, Father,” she replied.

“I better see your butt on Sunday,” he told her, getting up from his chair and leaving.

“What can I get you, love?” the bartender asked you.

You leaned up on the bar, pushing your breasts together slightly. “What’s your specialty?” you asked.

“I make a mean hurricane,” she replied, smirking.

“We’ll see about that,” you challenged.

The bartender seemed intrigued by you, and she smiled flirtatiously as she went to make your drink.

Dean came up next to you at that moment and wrapped an arm around your waist, hand landing close to your ass. “How’s it goin’?” he asked.

“Just makin’ friends,” you shrugged, grinning.

“Don’t get too friendly,” he warned.

You snickered. Suddenly, something near the pool table caught your attention.

“Hey, what are you doing?!” a man panickedly yelled.

You then noticed the man across from the panicked one was holding a gun. You nodded toward the scene. “Dean—”

You set off toward the pair, but the man raised the gun and shot the other point-blank. The crowd immediately erupted into chaos as you sprinted over to the man who was raising the gun to his chin.

Dean tackled the man to the ground, and Sam appeared beside you with holy water. He splashed the holy water on the man, but the man’s skin didn’t sizzle.

“What are you doing?!” the man exclaimed. He suddenly realized what he'd done and began to writhe on the ground, crying, “He slept with my wife. That bastard slept with my wife!”

You took out your phone and called 911 while Sam and Dean kept the man in a sort of citizen’s arrest.

When the cops did arrive, Sam seemed to get anxious again despite the bar’s emptiness. “Too many cops here. I say we roll.”

“Just be cool,” Dean encouraged. “Poor jerk. Only thing possessing him was a sixer of Pabst.”

“So, what's the deal, then? People in this town getting possessed or not?” Sam wondered aloud.

“I don’t know,” you said, furrowing your eyebrows. “Maybe they’re influencin’ ‘em some kind of way?” “Yeah, maybe,” Sam replied.

“You guys ready for your mug shots?” a police officer asked you and the brothers. Cued by your panicked expressions, the cop tried to soothe your worries. “The photographer's gonna be here in a few and take your picture for the local paper.”

Dean seemed relieved and feigned enthusiasm. “Be an honor, Officer. What a thrill!”

“Yep, time to go,” Sam said, standing.

“Wait a second. Wait a second,” Dean stated, looking around.

“What?’ you and Sam asked in hushed voices.

“Where’s Richie?”

***

The next day, Dean couldn’t seem to keep his leg from bouncing under the table in his seat beside you at Trotter’s bar. He kept trying Richie’s phone number, but no response ever came.

“You do realize there's red meat within striking distance, right?” Sam said, referencing the large hamburger sitting in front of Dean.

“How many times I got to tell Richie he's gonna get himself in trouble?” Dean sighed.

“Dean, he’s not your responsibility,” you assured him.

“And you’re assuming he's missing. I mean, maybe he just bailed,” Sam added.

“He’s a moron,” replied Dean. “I mean, he's a sweet moron, but he's not a coward. He wouldn't just bail. I got to go find him.”

“I’ll go with you,” you said.

“You guys do that,” Sam said. “Meanwhile, I think I’m gonna trail this Trotter guy.”

“Yeah?” Dean questioned.

“Yeah. I don't know. Something about the way he looked at me last night.

Maybe there is something going on here.”

***

You and Dean returned to your motel around midday after lunch with Sam at Trotter’s.

“How well do you even know this guy, Dean?” you asked.

“Well, it’s like I said—” he began as you sat behind your computer screen, “he was toast until I found him. We had a few drinks after, but that was about it.”

You stared at him over the top of your computer screen.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you replied, a love-drunk smile pulling on the ends of your lips. “You’re just sweet.”

“Shuddup,” he mumbled, looking embarrassed.

“Seriously! You care this much about a dude you don’t even know that you’re having me track the GPS in his phone. It’s adorable,” you replied.

He kept his head low, but you could see the smile Dean was fighting. “You’re… annoying,” he murmured.

“Oh, really? I’m annoying?” you smirked, standing from your chair while your laptop screen began to populate with all of Richie’s previous locations over the last week based on his cell phone’s GPS signal.

Dean caught you by the waist. “Yeah, you are,” he said.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and lazily dragged your nails up his back. He let out a few shuddering breaths. You leaned in to kiss him when a dinging sound came from your computer and forced the two of you apart. You headed back to the laptop and pointed at his last known location. You pulled an image of the coordinates up.

“Corner of Piermont and Clinton,” you announced.

“He did mention having plans with that bartender,” Dean said, “maybe that’s where she lives?”

You nodded. “Alright, let’s get goin’.”

You stood to leave, and Dean smacked your ass as you walked off.

“What was that for?!” you squeaked.

“ ‘Cause you’re a tease,” Dean smirked. “And still annoying.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and grinned.

***

After conducting your investigation, you were charged with the task of staying behind to wait for Dean and the bartender. You hid in the shadows of the cellar with your handgun readied.

You heard Dean’s voice suddenly coming down the stairs toward the cellar. “Looks like the maid's day off,” he commented. “Everything okay?”

You heard the woman kiss Dean, and you nearly jumped out of your hiding spot.

“Make yourself comfortable,” the woman said.

“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Dean tsked, “Richie was a friend of mine. When I realized I could track the GPS in his cellphone, I swung by earlier. Gave him a proper burial. It's better than rotting in some skank's basement.”

You stepped out from the shadows then, and the bartender launched herself toward Dean. She was suddenly stopped by an invisible barrier.

“Oops,” Dean smirked. He leaned down to the carpet and lifted the corner to reveal the Devil’s Trap you’d spray painted on the floor while Dean was gone.

“Isn't that a buzz kill?” the older Winchester smirked. “Sorry, sister, but you're going back to where you came from.”

“I don't think so,” the bartender laughed.

You took out the book in your pocket and began to read in Latin. “Exorcizamus te, omnis—” A violent gust of wind blowing past you cut you off, and you saw the demon before you with her eyes closed as though in deep meditation. You recollected yourself and began to read again. “Exorcizamus te—”

The pages were then ripped out of the book by the breeze. The woman opened her eyes and grinned at you.

“(Y/N), look out!” Dean yelled.

Just then, the bricks from the walls around you began to crumble inward. You dove toward the window to avoid getting hit by falling rocks. Dean rushed to you and helped you up. He turned his gaze to the demon in a glare. The demon grinned.

“What are you laughing at, bitch? You're still trapped,” Dean growled.

“So are you, bitch,” she sultrily said.

“So, what, I send you back to hell, and we rot down here?” you spat.

“Half the plan. Doubt you’ll be able to do that without your little book,” she smiled.

“I’m sure I could figure it out,” you said. “Exorcizamus te,” you began with authority, “omnis immundus spiritus. Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii—”

Dean suddenly gasped out in pain and began to grab at his neck.

You immediately stopped the ritual. “What are you doing?!” you shouted, sinking to the ground with Dean, “Stop it!”

“Stop trying to ruin my fun, then. You’re good, I’ll give you that,” the demon cooed, Dean suddenly able to breathe again. “But I thought Sam was supposed to be the brains of the outfit.”

“How do you know that?” Dean questioned.

“You Winchester boys are famous. Not Lohan famous, but, y’know,” she shrugged. “And you, (Y/N)—” she hissed out your name— “are making your own way through the circles, too.”

“Well, that's flattering,” Dean commented, “I'll be sure to let Sam know when he gets here.”

“If he shows up first.”

The two of you looked to the bartender, surprised.

“What, you thought I was flying solo?” she asked mockingly. “You shouldn't underestimate, kids, it might be the death of you.”

You glared at her.

“You can give me hard eyes all you want,” she replied, “but the fact remains, we just have to wait and see who shows up first… the cavalry,” she smiled, “or the Indians.”

***

“Anybody ever tell you how nice your ass is, (Y/N)?” the bartender drawled from the floor behind you. You stood on top of a cask of wine attempting to get cell reception through the small window daylight streamed in from.

“Bite me, bitch,” you replied without turning to look at her.

“Look, why don’t you relax?” she asked you and Dean.

“Why don't you kiss my ass?” Dean flippantly responded.

“Why, Dean, you're a poet. I had no idea,” she deadpanned. “Look, we won't have any effect on the outcome of this. We might as well be civil.”

“Civil, huh? Killing Richie, that was— that was civil? The guy was harmless,” Dean countered.

The demon raised an eyebrow. “That knife he pulled on me? Didn't look so harmless.”

“Ah, a knife wouldn't hurt you,” Dean replied.

“No, but it would damage this body. And Casey has such a fine body, I wouldn't want to see it ripped.” The demon stretched out lazily on the floor, arching her back.

“Touching,” you said, jumping down from atop the cask when your efforts proved pointless. “But don’t pretend you have a heart. We know what you did.”

“Hey, I didn't pull any triggers,” the demon possessing Casey shrugged.

“Yeah?” Dean barked. “You did something.”

“You want to know what I did?” the demon pushed herself into a sitting position. “What I really did? I had lunch.”

“Lunch?” Dean questioned.

“Me and Trotter,” she began. “He had a cheeseburger, I had a salad, and I just pointed out the money that could be made with a few businesses that cater to harmless vice. So Trotter built it, and man, did they come. Supposedly god-fearing folk, waist-deep in booze, sex, and gambling. I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s it?” you scoffed.

“You don't get it. All you gotta do is nudge humans in the right direction,” Casey continued. “Some whiskey here, a hooker there, and they'll walk right into hell with big, fat smiles on their faces. Your kind is corrupt, kids. Weak. Our will's stronger. That's why we'll win.”

“And that’s how this ends?” you pushed.

“No. That's how it begins.”

“So, demons take over,” you continued. “And you’re convinced that’ll work… how?”

“Yeah, I thought the meek shall inherit the earth,” Dean piled on.

Casey rolled her eyes. “Oh, according to your Bible. It's only a book, Dean.”

“Not everyone would agree,” Dean replied simply.

You stared at him strangely, and he shrugged in response.

“Because it's god's book?” Casey pressed. “Do you believe in god, Dean? I'd be surprised if you did.”

“I don’t know,” Dean said honestly. “I'd like to.”

“Well, god’s done a bang-up job in my opinion,” you said, unable to help yourself.

“Finally, someone who makes sense,” Casey snickered. “I like you, (Y/N).” She returned her focus to Dean. “War, genocide; it's only getting worse. I mean, this past century, you people racked up a body count that amazed even us. It's our turn, now, and we're gonna do it right this time.”

Dean heard a noise and turned his face up to the grate you’d tried getting cell service from.

“Don't be hopeful, Dean. You're not delivered. It's only the wind,” Casey commented.

Despite yourself, you laughed.

Dean and Casey turned their attention toward you.

“Whose side are you on there, sweetheart?” Dean questioned, slightly pointedly.

“Sorry. Demon or not, she’s funny.” You cleared your throat and regained your composure. “You keep talking about this ‘endgame.’ Pretty vague. How am I supposed to even know there is one?”

“Why would I lie?” she countered.

“Demons lie,” Dean replied.

“Some do. Some are true believers.”

“Believers in what?” you pressed.

Casey scoffed. “What, you think humans have an exclusive on a higher power?”

Dean looked shocked, as did you. “You have a god?” Dean asked.

“Sure,” the demon shrugged. “His name's Lucifer.”

You deflated and crossed your arms. “You mean the devil.”

“You don’t seem impressed,” Casey noted, seeming intrigued by you.

“ ‘Cause I’m not,” you replied. “No offense, but he doesn’t exactly put the fear of god in me.”

“Well, he should,” she told you. “Once, he was the most beautiful of all god's angels. But god demanded that he bow down before man, and when he refused, god banished him. Tell me, how do you like bowing before lesser creatures?”

“Lucifer's really real?” Dean wondered aloud.

“Well, no one's actually seen him,” Casey explained, “but they say that he made us into what we are, and they say that he'll return.”

“Oh, gimme a break,” you said, slumping to the floor.

“What? Is faith such a laughable concept to you?” Casey remarked.

“Absolutely,” you said coldly.

“Well, you’d better start believing. A lot of you humans are in for a real treat when this is all over,” she said coolly. “Dick Cheney?”

“He one of yours?” Dean asked.

“Not yet. Let's just say, he's got a parking spot reserved for him downstairs.”

Dean laughed despite himself before pausing a moment. “Hey, speaking of downstairs… What's it like down there?”

“What, Hell?”

Dean nodded.

“That's right,” Casey smirked. “You booked a one-way ticket with that deal.”

Dean laughed in discomfort, and you eyed him sympathetically.

“You're not gonna like it, Dean,” the demon said honestly. “And, um, judging from the trouble you've caused, I don't think you'll be getting the presidential suite. No, it's a pit of despair. Why do you think we want to come here?”

Dean looked somber, as did you. You knew better than to reach your hand out to comfort him, and you just sat against the wall with your knees tucked into your chest.

A few moments passed before Casey spoke up again. “Kind of funny, don't you think? Three of us sitting here like regular folk.”

“Yeah, it's hilarious,” Dean deadpanned, “y’know, in that… apocalyptic sort of way.”

“You're all right, Dean,” Casey said seriously.

Dean scoffed, and you flicked your eyes between your love and Casey.

“The others don't describe you that way. But, you know, you're— you're likable.”

“Well, keep how much you like ‘im to yourself, sister,” you spat.

“Jealous, are we?” Casey mused. “Don’t worry, darlin’. He’s all yours.”

“A demon likes me,” was all Dean could think to say. “Sorry, I don't know how to respond to that.”

“You could say thanks,” she mocked. “That deal you made to save Sam; a lot of others would mock you for it, think it was weak or stupid. I don't.”

Dean paused for a moment. “It's been kind of liberating, actually. Y’know, what's the point in worrying about a future, when you don't have one?”

Your eyes saddened upon hearing that. You cast your gaze down to the floor, knowing you’d cry if you looked at Dean.

“Still, a year left. You're not scared?” Casey asked.

“Nah.”

“Not even a little?”

“Of course not.” However, you caught the briefest bit of hesitation in his voice.

Dean then seemed to notice your sadness. “Hey, I’m—”

“Save it,” you said, feeling brave enough to look up at him. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“Didn’t mean to cause any trouble in paradise,” Casey snickered.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” you asked pointedly.

“I’m an open book,” the demon shrugged.

“So, the gate opened. The demon army was let out. What now, huh?” you questioned. “I'm not seeing a big master plan here.”

“Honestly, there was a plan,” she replied. “Azazel was a tyrant, but he held us all together.”

“Azazel?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“What, you think his friends just called him ‘Yellow Eyes’? He had a name. After you did him in—” Casey nodded toward you, “it all fell apart.”

You smirked. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

The demon cut her eyes at you in challenge.

“So, what? No chain of command?” Dean pressed.

“There was. It was Sam. Sam was supposed to be the grand pooh-bah and lead the big army, but he hasn't exactly stepped up to the plate, has he?”

“Thank god for that,” Dean breathed out.

“Again with god,” Casey groaned. “You think this is a good thing? Now you've got chaos, a war without a front, hundreds of demons all jockeying for power, all fighting for the crown. Most of them, gunning for your brother.” She looked toward a conflicted Dean, becoming incredibly serious. “For the record, I was ready to follow Sam.”

Before you could ask anymore questions, you heard Sam call yours and Dean’s names.

“Sam?!” you and Dean called, scrambling to your feet.

“Looks like you win,” Casey smirked.

You weren’t too sure that you actually had. “What’s that look for—”

Your question was cut off by a loud pounding on the door.

“Dean!” you heard Sam calling.

“Sam!” Dean replied. “Sammy, down here! The basement caved in!” Sam’s voice appeared at the grate you’d been trying to get cell reception through. “Guys, hold on, okay? We’re coming.”

“Who’s we?” you asked.

“I’m here with the father.”

You whipped back around to Casey who seemed almost excited.

“Sam, be careful—”

And then suddenly, a gunshot was heard.

“Sam!” Dean called.

Then, the rocks covering the entrance to the cellar began to move aside. In came the pastor, who you attempted to rush. You were thrown to the wall and fell to the ground painfully.

When you recovered, you stood to see the priest and Casey passionately kissing outside the Devil’s Trap.

“You two?” Dean questioned, face twisting up in disgust.

“For centuries,” the priest nodded. “We've been to Hell and back, literally.”

“Leave ‘em be,” Casey told the pastor.

He didn’t listen to her and approached Dean, grabbing him by the throat. You tried to rush him again, but you were held to the wall by the priest’s power.

“Don't kill him. Let's just go,” Casey begged. “Please.”

Sam appeared at that moment and shot the priest without hesitation. Lightning emitted from the priest’s wound, eyes, and chest, and he slumped to the ground.

“Sam, wait!” Dean told him.

But it was too late. Casey suffered the same fate as the priest. You looked to the two real human bodies on the ground and mourned a little for both of the humans behind their demonic state.

***

“I cannot believe you ransacked Richie’s stash,” you told Dean as he rolled a joint under the cover of night sitting on the hood of the Impala.

“Well, not like he can use it anymore,” Dean shrugged. “Besides, it’s a tribute to him.”

You rolled your eyes and laughed. You took out your lighter and took the joint from your partner. While you lit up, Dean asked you a question. “What do you think? About what we did here; you think it made a difference?”

“I don’t know. Humans aren’t our job, but still,” you replied after taking a hit, “it’s kinda weird leaving knowing things may never be resolved.”

“Yeah, I mean, maybe these people do just want to really destroy themselves. Maybe it is—” Dean seemed to struggle for a moment to find the words, “a losing battle.” He took the joint back from you and took a hit.

“Is that you or the demon chick talking?” you asked playfully, nudging your shoulder with his. Although, you knew he knew you were seriously asking him.

“Oh, it’s me,” Dean replied. “Demon’s very dead.”

“Well, had to be done, I guess,” you shrugged. “Sam was saving your life.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know, (Y/N),” Dean started, shaking his head and passing the joint back to you, “it was cold.”

“I agree,” you nodded. You took a deep breath and slowly let a cloud of smoke pass through your lips.

“Back in Wyoming,” Dean began, “there was this moment. Yellow Eyes said something to me.”

You looked to him expectantly, taking a second hit.

“That maybe when… Sam came back from, well, wherever, that maybe he came back different.”

“Different how?” you questioned, cocking your head to the side.

“I don't know. Whatever it was, it didn't sound good. You think— You think something's wrong with my brother?”

You considered for a moment. You knew no matter how you answered, Dean wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew for sure. You opted for attempting to provide him comfort. “No. Demons lie. I'm sure Sam's okay.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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gremlin-girly · 3 months ago

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Kinktober Day 8

Kink: primal / hunter x prey Pairing: Halsin x f!druid!reader Tags/warnings: SMUT, hunter/prey dynamics, ik bears don’t hunt deer but hey its for the plot, but what plot really?, being tracked/chased, no one stays as animals!!!, p in V, forest sex (just on the floor), biting(marking), doggy style, multiple orgasm, size kink if you squint

Summary: As a young druid you don’t heed the warnings of shifting to wildshape at night, believing that the animals in the wild forest would be easy to handle. But an encounter with a large brown bear sets in motion an unforgettable night under the tree canopy. Word Count: 1.7k

As always I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated or copied. My warnings are non-exhaustive (even though I do try to capture everything) but please read at your own risk. I am not responsible for your content consumption.

I hope you enjoy; likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

A/N: This is my first time writing this kink and yk Halsin works haha. Welcome to week 2 ig x Prev | Next | Masterlist

The woodland at night was always the most serene. What was once vibrant greens were hues of black, illuminated only by glowing mushrooms or the light of the moon.

Treading carefully thought the undergrowth, your new elongated neck whips around at the sound of a twig snapping in the distance. Your ears twitch fretfully, your large doe-eyes like saucers, scanning for more movement.

The elders had warned you about the dangers of shifting into wildshape at night. You hadn’t given it much credence because, well, you were you. You were one of the better druids of your grove, always looking to improve your magical abilities and – if what you’d read were correct – there was a particular herb you needed that only bloomed under the waxing moon that ordinary eyes just would not cut it. If you were being honest, you preferred to be in your wildshape. No elders to bother you as you sniffed, skipped and jumped through the undergrowth. No worries. No responsibility.

Another twig snap – closer this time. You flicked your tail.

You were at the awkward age of a half-elf; older than most of the children but still far younger than the elders for you to be taken seriously, despite your skill. The ripe old age of 46 years old. That angered you. Unable to break from the responsibility of babysitter made you do reckless things like this.

You sniffed the air tentatively, wet, black nose twitching hurriedly. The musky smell that followed wolves was non existent, which was a relief. Pack animals like that had a tendency to throw caution to the wind, and were harder to deal with when you were on your own.

You huff and look to the murky trail ahead. You wait a moment. Then another. You’re straining your ears but all you can hear is your own heart pounding. You still, standing like a statue amongst the rustle of trees in the wind.

There’s no sound.

Forests are not supposed to be quiet.

Immediately, you break into a leap; prancing wildly through the undergrowth as something growls – no roars – from behind you, giving chase. Your thin amble legs stumble over rocks and stumps – suddenly you feel like a doe was a ridiculous animal for wildshape as there are just too many legs as you frantically push yourself to your limit to get away from whatever was chasing you.

You can’t see through the darkness. You can only hear – and what you hear makes your hackles rise in terror. Guttural grunts and deep growls fill the crisp summer night, alongside the pounding of your heart and your wheezing as you try to catch your breath.

Whatever it is it’s fast. And large.

Suddenly the noise stops, the rhythmic pounding of heavy footfall gone. You stop again, turning, searching for any sign of what chased you. You’re met with darkness.

You sniff the air again, I haling deeply as you try to regain control of your breathing. This time you don’t smell nothing; there’s an earthy scent in the air, a little musky; somewhere between fresh water rivers and forest moss. If you could furrow your brows you would. That doesn’t smell like any animal you have encountered.

It’s a person.

But the thought comes too late. The large thing tackles you to the ground, and you scream – well bleat – in terror, flailing all four of your hooved feet wildly. One manages to connect with a snout of some kind, that growls and nips at you and two large clawed paws, pin your forelegs painfully either side of you.

You can’t dismiss wildshape fast enough, fear of being eaten alive ripping you from your panicked prey stupor and you ready a spell, calling out before you do;

“Stop! Stop! I’m a druid! I’m a friend!”

The animal seems to register your words, as the growling temporarily ceases, but a large wet nose is shoved into your neck, taking a deep breath. Moonlight cascades through the trees illuminating the creature before you as an abnormally large brown bear. The bear blinks down at you and you feel slightly embarrassed.

You are stark naked in the moonlight – you hated wearing clothes whilst gallivanting in wildshape, they had always felt too constricting. Now, you were realising maybe an outfit with a concealed knife would have been a lot more useful.

The bear chuckles but doesn’t release you. Instead, a golden light appears around it and the abnormally large bear transforms into an abnormally large elf, who also happened to be naked.

“you should always smell downwind,” his deep voice rumbles, his scarred handsome face smiling down at you, keeping you pinned with large, strong arms.

You suck in a breath. Oakfather preserve you, he was possibly the most beautiful elf you had ever seen; biceps as big as your head and with those scars? They complimented him as much as his chestnut brown hair. Your eyes wander and widen at the sight of his cock, making your legs squeeze together as you look up at him bashfully.

“I’ll try to keep it in mind.” You say quietly.

He smiles and seems rather smug that you were caught eyeing his form. He still doesn’t move away from you, instead he leans closer, looming over you.

“If you don’t, I may end up trying to eat you again,” he flirts shamelessly, making your body rush with heat.

“Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Which would you like it to be?"

"A promise." You breathe out, watching his face carefully. His body rumbles with a deep chuckle that sounds deliciously melodic and you wonder, briefly, if this is the Oakfather himself. He leans ever closer, his hair tickling the sides of your face, his lips millimetres from yours.

"Consider it promised," He murmurs against your lips. You are the one to initiate; leaning up to close that marginal distance between your lips in a hungry kiss. His grip on your wrists tightens as he growls deeply in response, pushing back against your lips with fervour. Once your head is against the ground again, his hands release your wrists and begin to wander. And you let them.

He's still kissing you, pressed against you in the moonlight with nothing but the trees and stars surrounding you, groping you, feeling your soft skin under his large hands as you mewl beneath him. He peppers kisses along your jaw to your throat, leaving small bruises in his wake as he teases at your wet folds. You gasp out and wrap your hands in his hair, pulling his thick neck down to your mouth with a snarl, marking him back. He curses into your ear and you feel his length twitch against your thigh.

"By Silvanus," He mutters thickly. "What kind of creature are you?"

You don't answer with words at first, instead hooking your legs over the angle of his hips and reaching between the tight space between you to grasp his cock and run it over the slick, wet heat of your folds. The hand that clutched a fistful of brown hair ensured he watched your face as you did this, so you could see the way he licked his lips with his eyes blown black with desire.

"Do you care?" You whisper.

"No." He responds, kissing you again. "I do not." You yelp when his strong arms flip you onto your front, facing away from him but you brace yourself against the forest floor with an excitable grin. Two large, surprisingly soft, hands find refuge on your hips and you feel the tip of his cock nudge at your entrance. You sigh contentedly as you push yourself backwards so the tip of his hard length can breach your aching cunt. You can feel him stiffen for a moment behind you but with a loud groan, he slowly pushes himself into you all the way to the hilt.

He doesn't need to wait for you to adjust to his sheer size, nor does he. As soon as his sac reaches your folds he's fucking you powerfully, so powerfully you'd have fallen onto your face in the dirt had his hands not held you in place. It doesn't take long for you to cum over his cock; the sheer size of him and the feeling of him ruining your cunt has you moaning loudly. And he his just as loud, if not louder, grunting and moaning with you, using your cunt to fuck himself senseless.

When you cum a second time, he changes his hold on you; one hand steadying a shoulder, the other circling your clit. The noises you make are entirely animalistic; howling and groaning in ecstasy.

"Oh, Gods-" You can barely huff the words out; you're voice is hoarse but the electric feeling brewing between your legs as your mind spinning.

"You are-" The elf pants between heavy thrusts, "ethereal. A gift carved by Silvanus himself."

You can feel your pussy clench at his words, and you would have cum from that alone, but the kisses peppered across your shoulders and neck make you cry out and gush over his cock. Your body relaxes into his large hands, struggle to stay upright after the fucking you're still receiving. His thrusts grow sloppier, but no less hard, and your whimpering and pleading to him to cum.

After a few more hard thrusts, tweaking your clit to make sure you cum one last time around his cock, he pulls out of you quickly with a groan and covers your ass and back with hot thick ropes of cum. You're both panting, and whilst your slumped in a pile, covered in sweat and cum; the elf looks as if he's just completed a light jog. He looks down at you with a pretty grin, and your chest and cunt flutter in response.

"Are you alright? I apologise if I was too much." He looks almost embarassed, but you detect there is some smugness hidden beneath it. He knows he's good.

"Better than alright." You sigh dreamily, barely managing to sit back onto your legs. You twist to offer him a hand with a cheeky smile. "Y/N."

"Halsin." He chuckles, shaking your hand gently. You recognise his name immediately and try not to let the recognition show on your face. "I don't suppose you would know where I could find a druid camp, by any chance?"

Now you chuckle, a smirk spreading across your face. "I know exactly where you could find one."

You couldn't wait to bring the Archdruid Halsin back to your camp; you're sure your conquest would be enough to prove yourself in the eyes of the elders, herb or no herb. And perhaps, he would let you travel with him. Just for a little while, anyway....

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #halsin x you #halsin x reader #halsin x y/n #halsin #baldurs gate halsin #halsin bg3 #halsin smut #halsin bg3 smut #halsin fanfic #bg3 #gremlin girly #gremlin girly writes

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hanasnx · 5 months ago

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" A SIMPLE LOVE WITH A COMPLEX TOUCH " — symbiote!peter parker x reader.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: first picture source; second picture source is pinterest; third picture source is pinterest, edited by me; draft from november. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ sable!reader ノ established relationship ノ gun mention ノ cocky ooc spider-man bcos hes wearing the symbiote and its affecting his behavior ノ mild toxicity.

"— and I want guys on every level of that building, do you understand?" you command, prodding the schematics with your finger to direct your subordinate's attention. Obediently, he nods, gathering up the plans to disperse them accordingly as you straighten from your hunch. As papers crackle and crease from his ministrations, you continue, "We can't afford another mistake."

Commotion alerts you, and you seek it out as your hand securely rests on one of your pistols. "I'm here! I'm here. I was late but I'm here now." That voice. Your lips press into a thin line as you release your weapon, approaching your officers who surround the newcomer.

SYMBIOTE!SPIDER-MAN glances around uneasily. "Guess I don't get Employee-of-the-Month this time 'round, huh?" His un-welcoming party closes in and he raises his hands in surrender. "Yeesh. You guys take punctuality very seriously."

"Spider-Man." At the sound of your voice, your employees part, and his gaze lands on you. It's subtle, but his visor narrows. "This is a restricted area. My associates will escort you out." The order is heeded, and they reach for him. Uncooperative as ever, the hero takes a step back.

He tilts his head, giving his surroundings a scan as if to search for his response. "Are you serious?"

Your brows raise indignantly. You are not fond of being questioned. "Spider-Man—"

"—So formal."

"Because of your inexcusable misconduct and your inability to follow my orders, you were fired. You no longer work as my consultant, and you cannot access this facility. Exit now, or we will use force." It's not that it hurts you to treat him so coldly, you're still angry at him. Right now you treat him as you would treat any trespasser.

There's a shift in his behavior. The way he pivots his head to eye you from the side, familiar body language betraying your unprofessional relationship. It exploits your feelings for him. The old Spider-Man would've respected your boundary. You don't know who stands before you now. "C'mon," A scoff emits from him. "Don't do this." You don't appreciate being bargained with, and you turn your back on him.

It's your subordinates' signal to move in, but they don't get close enough. He vaults over, landing in front of you to cut off your path. There's a fierceness in your eyes at his utter lack of respect, boring into him as he towers over you. His abrupt presence had caught you off-guard, having expected him to accept it's time to leave, and your hand reflexively tucks under your trench coat to fix on your pistol. There's a new level of danger to Peter Parker, he's unpredictable, and you don't trust him. Part of you knows it's the right move to have your weapon handy when facing him, and it's the part that wins.

"What are you gonna do?" he questions, regarding the position of your hand. "Make me?" In the uncharacteristic tone of his voice, you can make out his hurt hidden behind his challenge.

As he advances, you take a cautious step back. The din of guns cocking and aiming onto the new threat sounds behind you, but you and Peter are locked onto each other. You know you can't make him do anything, not with the strength he possesses... he knows that, too.

It's not like him to make a show of his power, how he bullies other into submission. He's always the bigger man—always. Now that size is used against you, looking up at him, and praying he doesn't try something. He inclines into your direction, testing you as he waits for you to put him in his place; his shoulders slack arrogantly, hanging his loose arms as you arch away from his face in yours. His slow descent into your space is a tactic.

"Walk- away." you warn.

A second passes—a second that feels like forever. He straightens, receding from you. "I'll walk." he concedes, and you hold your sigh of relief. "If you're the one that escorts me."

You consider it, pulling your lips to one side as you blow hot air through your flared nostrils. Reluctantly, you disarm, and snatch his bicep. You yank him over, towing him to the exit.

Once out of earshot, Peter seizes the opportunity to ask you the stupidest question he possibly could. "Are you mad at me?" He's used to your professional attitude, how standoffish you can be, all things that he's faced when you two had met.

You can't even speak. Thoughts run at a million miles an hour through your head, reconsidering every aspect of this interaction. Your jaw clenches. The entrance to the fence is close, and you can't wait to be rid of him so you can get back to work.

"Baby, talk to me." he lowers his voice, a surprising croon to it as if he seeks to appeal to your emotional side. You wouldn't put manipulation past him right now, considering his erratic disposition as of late. "I haven't seen you since—"

"Since you screwed up my investigation?" An anger flares in your chest at the petname, you don't feel anything like his baby right now.

At the accusation, his tone hardens. "I was hoping to talk."

"I don't want to talk." Your sharp pronunciation is a dead giveaway to your adverse opinion of him currently. "There's a reason you were fired then, and your re-introduction today does not look good for your future employment. You'll understand if we're less friendly the next time you trespass on a restricted area." With the warning, you toss him forward, and he stumbles through the gate.

He rounds. As expressionless as a suit can be, you've learned his body language like the back of your hand. He's frustrated. The way his shoulders square, and his fists form at his sides, you can tell he's getting fed up.

"That's how it's gonna be?"

"That's how it's gonna be." you confirm.

#ch: symbiote!peter #indy: drabbles #peter parker drabble #sable!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #spider-man x reader #spiderman x reader #spider man x reader #peter parker angst #reader insert #symbiote spider man #marvel's spider man 2

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melodic-haze · 8 months ago

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you’re cooking so hard w those fics,,, may I request some sub clorinde?

one of the scenarios in the fic can be where she wears a vibrator on her shift 🙏 (semi-public ofc)

☆ — DEMO TRACK: sub!Clorinde x dom!Reader

☆ — TYPE: NSFW

☆ — CONTENT WARNINGS: semi-public 🫶, use of toys (the vibe's silly and magical bc this is a magical world and I can do what I want), consensual sexual corruption

☆ — NOTES: Why is this so long anyway DUDE THANK YOU 🙏🙏🙏🙏 I try my best to hashtag serve the cuntry. I somehow brought Navia into it as well I hope you don't mind 😭😭😭 NOT in the pair though, just like a chunk of the post ig

Ohhh my god Clorinde looks SOOOO fun to toy with 🫶🫶🫶 your MIND anon

She takes her job so seriously but when she's off the clock she's so silly she's so unserious like just LOOK at her with Navia???? I love her

I think you two joke around when it's just the two of you in the comfort of your own home when the whole matter pops up. Maybe she's like prepping dinner for the two of you (if you can cook as well you probably have a rotation) as it happens

It was therapeutic, watching Clorinde practically glide around the kitchen in such an organised manner. She often said that her skills as the Champion Duelist and her skills as a home chef were synonymous together in multiple ways, though despite her meaning it as a jest her proficiency with both activities was undoubtedly unmatched. She said you were a bit biased too, but you paid no heed.

"..You look so much more relaxed here, compared to when you're out for work," you muse as you observed her.

To which she looks up at you momentarily before looking back down at the vegetables she was chopping up, her speed and efficiency not slipping up in any way despite the light distraction, "A guard cannot necessarily be seen as.. well, whimsical in order to be taken seriously."

"Yeah, but you're THE Champion Duelist. Surely that allows you some form of leeway towards having to act all serious every time."

"I'm afraid not, mon ange." She shakes her head with a small smile, "What brought this up all of a sudden?"

You shrugged, "I dunno. I guess whenever I see you around, I always see you so.. focused and stoic."

"You mean to say I'm boring when we are outside?"

"You aren't? But you could do with some loosening up."

She looks up again with an amused eyebrow raise, "Between the two of us, my body is much more limber compared to yours."

"You ass!" You scoffed, crossing your arms in mock annoyance, "Go back to cutting carrots instead of taking potshots at me."

"Taking shots is my specialty, though? And I was already done with the task."

"Clorinde!"

The electro wielder chuckled lightly before moving to pour the vegetable mix into the pan, "Still, I fail to see your point."

"My point is," you push yourself off the wall you had been leaning on and move closer to your girlfriend, "I wanna see you all cute during your job at least once."

"Am I not 'cute' enough for you?"

"You are! But I feel like I should be intimidated too. Because, you know, I don't really want to be put in the spotlight for some kinda crime."

"Uh huh. Say I do agree with you then; what do you propose I do?" She is genuinely curious at first, but when she sees you smile the way you do that's when she gets suspicious, "..I know that look, mon cœur. You want to do something risqué."

You hum as if pondering your next response while your arms wrap around her waist, though with the way she turns around with a knowing look and a swift move of turning the stove strength all the way down, you know that she doesn't believe that innocent bout of 'thinking' one bit.

"Do I? You really think so?"

"I know so." And she leans to kiss your cheek, "My skills in observation combined with my knowledge of your every habit isn't useless, you know.

"Hmm... Well, then." Your fingers snuck underneath the fabric of her shirt and traced nonsensical shapes on her skin as you spoke, "I did find something—an item—that could help you.. de-stress during work."

You know she took the hint when you looked her vibrant purple eyes. Perhaps you could've sworn them glow like the element she has command over.

But when she asks you of it—

"And what may this.. item be?"

—you both know full well that that is the only thing she has control over when you're involved.

When she finds out that you want to stuff a vibrator in her for the whole day as she works, she has to give herself time to process it. Like, really? While she's supposed to stay vigilant in case something wrong happens??? Like be serious wth is she gonna do when she's all dumb and distracted and something goes awfully wrong??????

All you say is that while you'd wanna try it out to see what happens, you won't force her to do so.........and against her better judgement, she takes it back. Not only does she want to make you happy and that she wants to prove that she isn't a coward, she.. is a little (a lot) interested in what may happen. Plus "it will prove to be somewhat of a fun challenge", she says, which yk whatever works for her

She learns to regret that come (lmao) the next day when it's actually put into practice

You found this specific vibe from a wandering seller, you see. Powered by a mix of different elements and with the usage of their reactions, it came in a pair—one that was now deep inside her and the other in your pocket, ready for you to hold onto and simply think on the intensity of the bullet's vibrations and effects

Its control range was rather far too, so it's not as if you even had to be in the city to control it. You wanted to see how she deals with such a situation though, so the most you do is carry on with your day instead of constantly following her around (but you do bump into her 'on accident' quite a few times though)

At first it starts out relatively fine for her. It's a manageable feeling, with it interchanging between a weak pace to something slightly faster—she can ignore it with her masterful discipline. Hell, she's even thinking that you might actually be taking it easy on her bc of her earlier concerns which.. how nice of you!!!

Except she's WRONG❗️❗️❗️ You're not being nice, you're biding your time. She probably should've been suspicious but she trusted you unconditionally which would be so cute and flattering at any other moment.........but right now it was so deliciously naive of her, to just let her guard down with you like that

You're slowly but surely testing the waters by playing with the intensity beyond its lowest settings; having it slowly incline nd decline, making it spike up, even manipulating the pattern of its vibrations within your mind. And you can tell that every mental command is successfully transferred when the gem you hold pulses with a faint feeling of warmth that passes after a very brief moment

You can't see her half the time whenever you're off doing something else but maybe that's what makes it better, especially when you see her and you make a point to keep out of her line of sight. She looks around for you like a frazzled animal that's trying to seem composed and yet you know she's becoming anything but from the way she subtly jolts to attention every time you change the vibe's directions, all endearingly paranoid over what you do next as you change the settings again and again and again

Despite the risk and the paranoia and everything though? As much as she wants to deny it, there is an ever increasing pool of arousal in her panties. It's not just from the vibrator, however—it's from the possible risk of getting caught partaking in the sinful act of walking around with a sex toy stuffed inside of her. She can't believe it, but the thrill of the risk and the overthinking is definitely not doing her any favours in terms of trying to keep calm

It's when she has a certain exchange that has her ABSOLUTELY ruined. She had spotted Navia during one of her breaks the same time that the other had clocked onto her too. The head of the Spina di Rosula walked up to her with a smile and a friendly greeting and in no time at all, they get to talking the minutes away

Catching up to Navia again without such dreadful tension from before was definitely a relief. It was as if they had chatted about everything and nothing at all at the same time, with the both of them laughing lightly. The exchange was certainly a welcome distraction, both from her job and the bullet-shaped vibrator that hit and teased her sensitive spots every now and again—you had definitely become braver as time went on, but you weren't going to break her composure just yet.

..Or well, really, she realised that she probably shouldn't have given it any thought when her eyes see you watching her at a distance. She trails off in the midst of her sentence as time seemed to slow to a stop when your lips curl up into an all-too-familiar expression.

Before Navia can even ask her if she's okay or try to break her out of her sudden reverie, Clorinde flinches and almost keels over at the sudden EXTREME increase of speed and force and-- is that a temperature increase too? She doesn't react quietly either—she bites back a yelp, managing a strangled gasp instead. Was this what you were aiming for the entire time? To build it all up until the most inopportune time??

Navia was undoubtedly worried, her hands immediately dropping her parasol to hold her friend steady, "Clorinde?! What happened? Are you hurt?"

The duelist shook her head in an attempt to clear her head but the ever-shifting movement inside her didn't allow that. So instead she tried her best to answer as unaffected as possible, despite her seemingly dramatic display, "Yes, I-- mm.. I'm alright. Just a sudden migraine, is all. Perhaps I've been-- working too hard."

"Whatever did I tell you about working yourself to the bone," the blonde asks, though she doesn't look fully convinced that it's just a migraine, "maybe you should retire for the day. I can tell your--"

"No! It's alright," she rushes out, "I will be fine after some time, you need not worry about me."

"But--"

"Do you not think I can handle myself?"

"I do, but if a migraine gets you such a violent reaction, then surely that's a cause for concern. Are friends not allowed to be worried for each other?"

They are, except this isn't really a migraine she's suffering from!!

(She doesn't know whether she loves or hates the fact that her not being able to say anything about her predicament to her good friend gets her going even more.)

"She probably needs a little rest, somewhere where the sun isn't hitting her eyes."

"Y/N!"

Clorinde looks to you approaching behind the blonde and making yourself known with a happy greeting and she can't help but narrow her eyes at you despite the vibrator in her cunt trying to take all her focus away from her.. or maybe it was due to exactly that, to which your smile widens just a tad further at the effect you have on her.

"Yes, that would be a good place for me to recover. In fact," she keeps her eyes on you as she speaks, "they can take it-- mnf.. take it here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, no need to worry. I will talk to you again s-- ..soon, Navia."

Soon enough, you all part ways (you with Clorinde in tow), leaving a very confused and suspicious Navia alone where you once stood. Neither of you say anything, though as you both reach a deserted alley somewhere, sun blocked by the towering buildings around you, that's when she snaps.

And it is such a lovely thing to witness.

By snapping, I don't mean that she cums right away. I mean she's all over you, gloved hands grasping onto your body and hastily pleading for you to finally help her take the edge off

You're so absolutely mean for doing what you did!!! She says she regrets ever saying yes to this plan and entertaining you like this, to which you laugh at her face. Sure, it would've been a cruel reaction to her distress.. if she weren't so addled with lust; her eyes dark and pupils blown wide, her panties unbelievably wet

It gets worse when you whisper things to her as well such as "you definitely enjoyed it" and "do you think Navia knew? Would you have wanted her to know?" bc even when she shakes her head vehemently and denies it, you can feel her pussy pulsing as you taunt her.........

But then you pull your hand back and Clorinde's looking at you in a mix of frustration and confusion, a complete far cry from her ever-so-composed demeanour on a normal day

She asks you why. Does she need to beg even more? Do you want her to do anything else? She needs this but she's also very aware you're still outside, despite this corner of the area being practically abandoned, so it both gives her a thrill AND a sense of urgency

Your answer? Not one she expected, but should have probably saw coming from a mile away: you want her to cum with the toy and herself only. She's right, this IS still a public space.. so obviously such close proximity would be VERY suspicious, right? And nobody would be able to see the toy buzzing in her, so surely it'd be the best solution

She tries to protest, but you don't budge. Hell, threaten to turn it off for the rest of the day and she'll keel over and do exactly what you ask her to do

So you manipulate the vibrator, up close and personal this time, and you relish in the restricted moans and desperate breaths she lets out as she essentially fucks herself in the alleyway with your help. As the vibe bends to your will within her in different ways, she took her glove off one of her hands with her teeth in a desperate attempt to not dirty her visible clothing before her now-ungloved hand darts into her panties to rub her clit and pleasure herself to you

It's not long when she practically explodes as the setting goes the highest it's ever been, her orgasm SO intense that it has her seeing stars and actually dropping to the ground if it weren't for you immediately rushing over to catch her on time (and maybe you get a light shock of electro too, much to your chagrin, but really it's technically your fault so 🤷‍♀️). You use the control gem to help her with her high, slowly decreasing its intensity until the after-shock is reduced to a few twitches from her here and there

She's practically a lifeless form for a few mins and you can't help but laugh at the situation. She lifts her head up, absolutely unimpressed at your amusement, though a small smile makes her way onto her lips anyway

When she's gained enough strength to hold herself up without falling (mostly bc you whine after a while ab how she's heavy, to which she slaps you up in the head lightly and tells you it's your fault lmao), you both make sure she looks presentable enough to actually go back in public again. You asked her if she wanted to skip instead but she's so duty-bound that she doesn't gaf if she feels fucked-out, she WILL continue her duties

But like. Let's be real though. Esp when you told her she could take the toy out bc you're more than satisfied but she wanted to actually keep it in? You both know that not only will you both have a round two of sorts when you get back home, but this won't necessarily be the last time you'll use this toy after today

You could say she found a love for it 🤷‍♀️ not like she'd ever explicitly admit it when she's not all dumbed out for you in the comfort of your own home

She doesn't even really need to, not with that display earlier

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scatterpatter · 1 year ago

Text

this just in i have been ENABLED RAMBLES ABOUT TFA BLITZWING AND PERCEPTOR UNDER THE CUT- warning it's LONG

*iNHALES* LITERALLY EVERYONE IS WRONG ABOUT THESE TWO BUT ME

Okay okay let me explain

BLITZWING

Blitzwing is my husband I love them a lot okay okay. So Blitzwing is described as having "multiple personalities" in canon. It's pretty obvious the creators had "Multiple Personality Disorder" in mind with Blitzwing's identities, an outdated term now replaced with "Dissociative Identity Disorder" (DID). DID was used instead of MPD since 1994, but since DID still has so much stigma and misunderstanding around it, back in 2007 when TFA was being made, I wouldn't be surprised if the showrunners genuinely thought MPD was still the accurate term.

When many people think of DID, the first thing that comes to mind is usually the distinct identities, and many don't know that DID also comes with dissociation (other than just having separate identities), and may come with symptoms of complex PTSD and other mental disorders like anxiety, depression, etc. It's pretty clear that Blitzwing is in this category, as he has three distinct identities, but shows no on-screen symptoms of anything else dissociative or any other mental illnesses.

For the rest of this post I'll refer to Blitzwing's multiple identities as "plurality" instead of as being a DID system- the biggest reason? He technically can't- or at least shouldn't- have DID the way us humans do.

Our current understanding of DID suggests that DID forms from repeated childhood trauma. Blitzwing, however, became plural thanks to experimentation. Blackarachnia rebuilt Blitzwing's frame to support having two alt modes, making him a triple changer, but gained his multiple identities as a result. So right away, he's clearly plural, but has a form of plurality that is simply not possible in humanity (because, you know, we don't have medical procedures that change your body in a way that you grow new faces with their own personalities)

Now here's where everyone's wrong about them except me. In most portrayals of Blitzwing, I see one of three things:

A very canon-accurate portrayal of his DID stereotype. In line with canon, but not accurate to the experiences of many people with DID - especially with how he gets treated as a punchline for "haha look at the crazy bot!"

A more accurate depiction of DID. My personal favorite, but again not QUITE how I see it because of what I said above- he's plural, but not plural in a way that can be equated to human experiences on a 1:1 scale.

Him not actually being plural, and his other personas being more- well, acting personas, and not their own dissociated identities. This one I'm mixed about. I'm all for taking out bad stereotyping of DID, but I don't like erasing his plurality altogether to do so :(

Fun fact! It's implied that Blitzwing's identities' "names" are moreso nicknames than their full preferred names. We see this because all of them self-identify as "Blitzwing" in the Allspark Almanac:

Also they have different writing styles which is so cute I love them so much

Aaaanyways- some people use the "they self identify as Blitzwing" to "prove" they're not separate identities and that's just... not true. Plurality is fluid and complex, especially for Blitzwing who, again, has a type of plurality not seen in humanity. Systems may have headmates who choose to go by the same name- it's not uncommon, especially in OSDD-1a systems (systems that are similar to DID systems, but whose dissociated parts are not distinctly differentiated enough to qualify as alters). Not to mention with the severe stigma around dissociative disorders, choosing to go by the body's name and present as one identity is very common in systems.

They also don't seem to have any dissociative amnesia between them, another argument I've heard against his plurality... but look at OSDD-1 again. OSDD-1b in particular (systems that are similar to DID and have differentiated alters, but don't have amnesia between them). If these can be explained by human plurality, who's to say Blitzwing's plurality can't exist???

His parts argue, some get along with certain bots better than others- they work together many times but they butt heads too- they appear to seamlessly switch, possibly by choice, and other times they appear to get "thrown" into the front, almost like "pushing" the other out of the way. This is very much a thing with systems!!! Systems can work together, they can butt heads! Sometimes systems can switch willingly, sometimes it feels more like a sudden, almost violent "shove" into and out of the front! And honestly??? For being a product of 2007, Blitzwing really isn't that bad of a portrayal of a system.

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT THAT, EVERYONE IS FUCKING WRONG ABOUT ICY, HOTHEAD, AND RANDOM. JESUS CHRIST. /lh

No but seriously it's ABSURD how WRONG some of the takes of these headmates are!!!! Usually Blitzwing follows a "comedy" of threes: Icy will make a pretty emotionless comment, Hothead will front and suddenly say something in an aggressive manner, then Random will front before Hothead can finish, say something batshit, then laugh hysterically. Usually the takes are "Icy is the calm one", "Hothead is the violent one", and "Random is the batshit one who just says whatever", or something to a similar extent. Not BAD takes and not TOTALLY off-course, but just. Hear me out.

Icy appears to be the "Host" of the system. the one who fronts the most and is sort of the "face" of the system to interact with the outerworld. He's cold and calculated, yes, but he's not the "polite" one or anything like that. He seems genuinely curious to organic life, and it's super important to note: he's very salty and unafraid to make rude quips at people, which may cause them to react negatively to him in response, which often leads to:

Hothead appears to function as a "Protector" of the system. He usually fronts to be the most "violent" of the three, yes, but it seems to run deeper than that. As soon as someone makes fun of Blitzwing, especially for his plurality, Hothead takes the front to respond in aggression (the fight in "fight or flight", if you will). This is most seen with him responding with "The name's Blitzwing" when Blackarachnia calls him "Three-Face", a term meant to insult and could even be as bad as a slur in TFA's universe for all we know. He also doesn't always respond with yelling or physical violence, he can and does speak calmly and correct people without needing to go full physical. And if that doesn't work:

Random. Everyone is wrong about Random but me. Icy and Hothead are limited to their own elemental weapons, and one alt mode each (ice and the jet for Icy, fire and the tank for Hothead), yet Random seems to be able to wield both weapons AND both alt modes. He's potentially the "strongest" (or at least most versatile) headmate in the system, yet we almost never see him at full strength due to his goofball attitude. Random appears to also be a "Protector" of the system, as well as possibly a "Mediator", or "Gatekeeper" if we want a term used by some to describe system roles. Hear me out. When Icy and Hothead argue over which alt mode to take, it's Random who makes them compromise by choosing both. While Icy and Hothead appear to be able to "push" the other out of the front, it seems like neither can "push" Random out, implying that Random has the most control over switching. And with protecting, HEAR ME OUT. Have you ever known someone who copes with humor? Who laughs off something distressing so that you don't pay too much attention to them? That's exactly what Random does. You see it when Icy makes a rude comment, then Hothead says something aggressive, which may provoke someone else to be aggressive. But then Random will pop in, say something random(hah), and it very much reads to me as a diversion tactic. As a "hehehe don't mind me, I'm just a silly crazy bot, I'm not actually a threat, don't try to hurt us!", OR used to push back at people like "Oh and YOU call ME the crazy one HAH LOOK AT YOU", very self-aware dry humor. Protect via Deflect. Listen. LISTEN. LISTEN. AM I WRONG??? AM I WRONG???

YES this doesn't account for EVERY instance of Blitzwing's onscreen interactions but ONCE YOU SEE IT YOU CAN'T UNSEE IT. It shows up SURPRISINGLY OFTEN.

No one understands Blitzwing like I do. Everyone is wrong about them but me. /J

holy shit that was a lot of words.

Anyways.

PERCEPTOR

OOOUUUUGHHHHH WHERE DO I EVEN FUCKING BEGIN. So the understanding of Percy in much of the fandom is "Perceptor has no emotions, he deleted them, he literally feels nothing and doesn't care about anything other than science." AND OUUUGHHH THEY'RE SO WRONG ABOUT HIM IM BARK BARK BARK HISSS

Ahem excuse me

First off, let's hear where this "deleted emotions" thing came from.

Assuming Shockwave (the one who wrote his entry in the Allspark Almanac) is telling the truth, we can already pick pieces of this apart. First off, "most", not "all". Second, he's claiming Percy deleted most of his "personality subroutines", which is different from "emotions". We don't know exactly what the "personality subroutines" entail, but we already know he isn't 100% lacking in emotional response nor the ability to have empathy and sympathy.

And let's just. Let's just rip the big ol' bandaid off right here and now. You wanna know what this seriously reminds me of? Someone having a dampened emotional response that results in being misinterpreted as being "cold and heartless" and "unable to feel any emotions"??? GUESS WHAT TWO THINGS COME TO MIND.

One way Autism can manifest in people is low empathy. It's not that these people don't feel anything or are unable to sympathize or practice compassion, it's just that they have difficulty making an empathetic connection with others. This can lead to them appearing cold or heartless to others who don't understand, and could very well be what's happening with Perceptor. People with autism may also speak in a more monotone voice, not unlike how Perceptor's text-to-speech voice manifests.

"Something causes someone to significantly dampen their emotional response in order to focus on their work"? Gee, sounds like a potential DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER RIGHT THERE! Y'ALL THOUGHT I WAS DONE WITH BLITZWING BUT NAH PERCY COULD SHOW SYMPTOMS OF SUFFERING WITH DISSOCIATION AS WELL. YES I'm biased because I have a headmate who, due to trauma, formed to have a severely dampened emotional response, often speaks more in a monotone voice, and thinks/acts pragmatically in order to survive. But I DON'T CARE I'M PROJECTING. Given the basically War Crimes nature of the experimentation that the Autobots used during the war (AND CONTINUE TO USE! LOOK AT PROJECT SAFEGUARD THAT WAS INCREDIBLY IMMORAL WHAT THEY DID TO THE JETTWINS), is it really that outlandish to think that Perceptor developed a form of dissociation so that he could focus on his work without being emotionally harmed by how overwhelming and potentially traumatic their work is? "Don't think about it too hard, just do the work and we'll get through this", nose-to-the-grindstone mentality. Dissociation could be the only way Perceptor is able to do the questionable experiments they do without losing his sanity.

And listen. Fucking look at me. Not only does Perceptor describe feeling "unsettled" and "not comfortable" in the Allspark Almanac, very explicitly stating that yes he does still experience emotions, but just. Look at the "Rise of Safeguard" comic. The CANON comic that came with the Jetfire and Jetstorm toys. LOOK AT PERCEPTOR HERE.

YOU FUCKING LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND TELL ME THIS MECH CANNOT FEEL EMOTIONS. YOU LOOK AT ME AND TELL ME HE IS PHYSICALLY INCAPABLE OF CARING.

IN CONCLUSION

Blitzwing has a form a plurality that shares numerous traits with disordered systems (DID/OSDD-1), though that plurality cannot be equated with any human experience on a 1:1 scale. Icy is a host, Hothead is a protector, and Random is a Gatekeeper who also sometimes function as a Protector.

Perceptor is NOT emotionless nor incapable of caring. He supposedly deleted most of his "personality subroutines", but that is not the same as being incapable of experiencing emotions nor caring about others. He may show symptoms of having Autism, having some form of a Dissociative Disorder, or even both.

Everyone is wrong about these blorbos but me. /J

you know you're Normal(*) about a media when you have the "Literally everyone is wrong about this character EXCEPT me" take about not one but TWO blorbos in the same media-

Anyways I like Blitzwing TFA and Perceptor TFA a lot

*Absolutely fucking deranged

#long post #LONG LONG POST #SERIOUSLY I GO ON FOR A LONG TIME HEED THE WARNING #THAT BEING SAID. BECAUSE I PUT A CUT IN. I DONT MIND PUTTING THE CHARACTER TAGS BECAUSE FUCK IT!!!#maccadam #tfa #blitzwing #tfa blitzwing #perceptor #tfa perceptor #this is all half-joking btw i dont actually think im better or 'know better' than anyone #this is mostly me furiously defending my interpretations of these two from all the TFA media ive viciously consumed these past few months #also im giving all of my blorbos dissociative disorders until theres more public understanding/acceptance of dissociative disorders /hj #YES im projecting heavily onto them both NO i dont care

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propertyofkylar · 1 year ago

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i dont think you've discussed kylar using just the tip to it's fullest potential... he'd be whining and begging, tears streaming down his face while he barely moves at all... IMAGINE IT!!!

hehehe m!kylar x gn!pc

“Don’t move.”

Kylar let out a feral-sounding whine, but nonetheless heeded your words.

“P-please, my love,” he whimpered, his fingers strengthening their clutch on your hips. It would probably hurt, if you weren’t enjoying the situation so much. “Why?”

You pretended to think about it for a few seconds, delighting in the way tears were welling up in Kylar’s eyes as you made him wait. “Mm. I dunno, actually. It’s just fun.”

He tried to glare at you, but tears started spilling at that moment and the impact was lost. “You’re—you’re mean,” his fingernails were nearly piercing the flesh on your hips and you couldn’t have felt more gleeful at that moment.

“Please, my love,” Kylar was begging now. If his cock wasn’t (barely) inside you, you imagined he might literally be prostrating himself in front of you. “Let me move. Let me love you. I—I need to feel inside of you, completely, so, so badly.”

Truth be told, you wanted that, too. But the joy of making Kylar suffer was almost as good as being fucked by him. And if your theory was right, it would end up being even better because of it. “Ah ah,” you smirked. “You can only move when I decide to let you.”

You could tell Kylar was desperate, the way his teeth were gritted and sweat dripped down his forehead, intermingling with his tears. “And when will that be?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Kylar practically howled at that, his face flushed beet red.

“Oh, fine,” you said with a huff, trying to act like it wasn’t affecting you as well. “Go on, then.”

The words had barely finished leaving your mouth before Kylar’s hips slammed against yours, leaving you breathless.

“So mean,” Kylar muttered under his breath as he repeatedly jackhammered into you. You were unable to form a response. “So, so mean.”

“Ky—” you managed to squeak out before you were cut off by your own, loud moan. His eyes flashed before he slipped a hand between your legs and began to stroke you. Clearly, your meanness hadn't damaged his dedication.

“F-fuck, I...” you yourself whimpered as your climax hit. A manic grin grew on Kylar's face as he felt your walls clench around him.

He didn't stop his rubbing nor his thrusting as you rode out your orgasm, his free hand still digging into your skin. The pain and pleasure mixed, and you could tell by the look on Kylar's face that it was exactly what he had wanted.

“So-hah-good!” Kylar panted as his hips slammed so hard into you that you felt yourself move several inches. “I love you!” He cried out as he thrust as deeply as possible, gripping your hips for leverage as he came inside of you. He didn't move, just stared at you possessively for a moment, his entire body slick with sweat. Then, with a huff, he dropped his full body weight on top of you, burying his head in the crook of your neck with a sniffle.

“You're so mean,” he whined for what felt like the millionth time. You giggled in response.

“You did a good job,” you told him, running your fingers through his hair. He pulled back to give you a pleased smile, humming happily. A twitch inside you reminded you that Kylar still hadn't pulled out.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, eyeing him. “Seriously? Again? Already?”

He pressed feather-light kisses to your neck, eliciting a soft moan from you. Then, he flashed you a devious smile.

“My turn to be mean.”

#nica tries writing again #nica tries writing GOOD #degrees of lewdity #dol #kylar the loner #dol kylar #dol x reader #kylar x reader #writing #idk. hope u like it #<- week old request from kuu #i have even older ones. still in there. btw #sigh one day ill get them all done...

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solaiced · 3 months ago

Text

CASE 8: THE STRONGEST OF THIS GENERATION IN BED.

!content!: dubcon since ur drunk, nervous gojo, set after the sorcerers' graduation, drinking, poisoning? and gojo has a crush on you.

wc: 651

solace: not posting day 6 and 7 yet 💔

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

"Stop it, Gojo" was your motto.

Everyday, without fail, Satoru "insufferable" Gojo was there to annoy you. He loved your reactions.

The way your eye twitched each time he spoke, and your mouth contorted in an inevitable pout.

But this? This had gone too far. As you throw the bottle of "water" at Gojo, hitting a head shot you wouldve celebrated had you been sober, your vision blurs, stumbling.

And Gojo? He laughs.

Fucking laughs at your misery. He had replaced your water with absolute vodka, knowing you’d get drunk immediately.

But he still gets closer, still helps you get more stable, so that he can face your anger, fury, rage, everything.

"Stop it, Gojo..." You mumble as he puts you on the couch. He chuckles, closing your eyes.

”Sleep,” he says, "I'll wake you up, in the morning." He assures, kissing your cheek as he lays you down. You grumble but don't fight him. It’s useless against the Strongest.

"Don't kiss me." You wipe your cheek stubbornly and he frowns, grabbing your face and kissing you again. Gojo aggressively kisses you repeatedly, smothering you.

You shake your head, trying to get out of his grasp, and when you move, his lips fall on yours. A moment of silence blankets you until you both pull away, faces hot.

Gojo sputters a little apology, it's the first time you see him so... flustered? His face is red, pupils blown wide as he braces himself for a yelling session.

"Gojo." He jumps at his own name.

"Again." God, you should never drink again. It'll ruin your life. Seriously.

Gojo swallows nervously. It was embarrassing, the Strongest, nervous because of a simple girl.

He doesn’t move, doesn't heed your words, so, you pull him in and crash your dry lips against his soft ones, pulling a surprised moan out of his throat while he falls on you, trapping you in with his arms. You take that in stride, because you smile against his lips.

He pulls away forcefully, pushing you down.

“Wait, wait!” You groan, getting dizzy from his frantic panicking.

"Are you sure you want to? I mean, you're drunk, and -mmpf!" You cut him off by covering his mouth, eyes lidded low in lust as your hand travels under his pants and he yelps, activating Infinity and jumping off the bed. You narrow your eyes. Gojo fixes his messy hair.

"Answer me, give me your consent!" He begs, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimly lit room.

“I want to fuck you, Gojo Satoru." You place an emphasis on his name. “Turn off Infinity and let me ride you." You get up and prowl towards him with a predatory gaze.

The Strongest trembles in fear and anticipation for the first time ever. You want to fuck him? He's waited years for this moment to happen. Just ... differently. Like a date, or something.

“Satoru," You whisper, hand reaching for him, and he almost cums in his pants, his name on your lips should be the only word that you pronounce, "deactivate it, please." You beg, lips contorted into a pleading pout.

"Sit." He orders, turning his shield off. Gojo's voice is so commanding, you debate disobeying him or not. However, instead of being stubborn like usual, you obey and unbutton your top in advance, and Gojo fees like he ascended to Heaven as you take off your bra and reveal your perky tits, keeping his composure, he stands infront of you, unzipping his pants.

His cerulean eyes shine as they look down on you, “Open your legs.”

~~~~~

That was hours ago. Maybe two, maybe four. You can't remember. However, Satoru, you couldn't forget. His perfect cock drilled into you for hours on end, which sealed your fate for tomorrow; you shall not walk for a week, at least.

Rough fingers dig in the sides of your hips, “Are you spa-spacing out... hah, on me girl? That won't do." Satoru promises while a hand reaches for your clit, puffy and red from abuse, aka, pinching and his neatly groomed white hair grinding on the sensitive nub.

"Ngh-o! I’m soh-sorry!" You weakly swat his hands away, kicking your legs and mewling when his tips smacks on tor your g-spot, eyes crossing.

His answering laugh is cruel, lips puckering to kiss away at your tears of overstimulation.

“Don’t be, baby, I’m-ah! Having so much fun with you.” His hot breath fanning your hot cheeks.

“Please!” You beg, nails digging into his hard shoulders, why was he so stupidly strong?! “Stop it, Gojo!” You can feel tears flowing down your cheeks once more, which Satoru wipes away with a little smile.

He thinks he’s never gone at it for so long. Six whole hours, and he thinks his dick is about to fall off. But he’s still going. He has to make up for lost time. He’s aiming to make you cum as much as he can until one of you passes out. Preferably you. Because he wants to take care of you.

However, at your cries of “stop” and “no more”, he doesn’t answer. He knows if you truly wanted it to stop, you could either easily push him off, or use the safe word. He’s reminded you multiple times of it, for fear that you forgot, but it’s obvious you don’t want it.

Satoru can feel his voice breaking as he coos little praises to you, how good you are for him, and how long he’s waited for this. Yet he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t want to. Hell, he’s got reverse cursed technique. He can go for days on end.

That said, he is careful as he thrusts into you, tip bullying your g-spot over and over again. Satoru loves the way your cunt flutters around him, the way it squeezes when he grinds his hips deep into you, and most importantly, he loves you.

Satoru can’t help but dig his fingers harder into the fat of your hips, mumbling your name under his breath. He’s cum once before you, and you suffered the consequences. This would not be the first time.

“Satoru!” Your mouth falls open as you cum for the… which one was this, again? Fuck, you lost count at the fifth one.

“Fuck, fuck, sweetie, please…” He begs for nothing, can’t stop, couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

As he presses his hips flush to yours for a final time, you scream, “Purple!” And his eyes shoot open, shit, what did he do?

He stops, denying his own orgasm for you. “Did I do something wrong?” He pulls out, making the both of you wince.

“Don’t, don’t cum inside.” You felt guilty, but you didn’t have plan B and he didn’t wear a condom. While you trusted Satoru to not have some sexual disease, you didn’t trust his cum.

“Fuck, I thought I hurt you. Okay, I won’t. I’ll buy you plan B tomorrow, ‘Kay? Just incase.” He pauses, hand around the thick appendage that was just inside of you, somehow. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head, although you felt very sore. “I’m fine, let me help you.” You swat away his hand and jerk him off with quick movements.

Satoru chokes on his spit, the quick movements too sudden as he grabs your wrist to stop you, the most pathetic whine dragging out his throat.

“N-not too fast.” He requests, nestling his head in your neck and tickling the underside of your jaw.

“No mercy. You didn’t give me any.” You push him down, spitting on his tip to ease your jerking.

“Wait, stttopp–“ His hips stutter, stuck between chasing the pleasure and shying away from you, his hands reaching for you.

“Don’t touch me, and I’ll have a bit of mercy on you.” Satoru groans, hands gripping the sheets instead.

“Good.” You continue, covering his tip with your other hand’s palm, the motions making him quiver.

“W-where did you- oh!” The white haired man’s cock spurts out a rope of cum, hips jerking up.

“Seriously?” You ask, groaning. “Guess I’ll clean you up. As always, hm?” You hum, tongue peeking out to lick him up.

“N-no! Oh my god!” His back arches at the stimulation, hands grabbing your hair to yank you off. He realises his mistake too late, eyes widening slowly.

“Well, I suppose you know your wrongdoing?” He nods shakily.

“No mercy.” You giggle sinisterly, straddling his lap.

~~~~~~

Satoru flops backwards, you in tow. You both breathe heavily, spent by the last hour(s?) of pure debauchery.

“Hah, I’m never underestimating you ever again.” Satoru huffs, arms wrapped around you like a protective barrier against outside threats.

“You used to underestimate me?” You repeat, bewildered.

“Uhhhh…” He whistles, looking away innocently.

“That’s it, we’re going again.”

“NOO!”

#kinktober 2024 #jjk smut #jjk #jujustu kaisen x reader #solace's works #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jujustu kaisen #satoru gojo

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hotchs-big-hands · 4 months ago

Text

The Slaughterhouse

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4

Aaron Hotchner x plus-size fem!reader

8.1k words

Minors dni please

Warning(s): VERY DARK, injury detail, medical descriptions, hospitals, gore, injury, blood, extreme angst, sort-of enemies to lovers, flashbacks, reader and Aaron be going THROUGH IT

Please heed the warnings, although the worst of it is over it's still a heavy series.

An escalating string of gruesomely murdered fat women begin to stack up with no end in sight. What started as an unfortunate routine case for the BAU team, takes a disturbing turn as you become entangled in the unsub's web, danger approaching closer and closer. It's only a matter of time before it's too late to bring the madness to an end.

BESTIES I'M FINALLY BACK WITH THIS SERIES OMG IT'S BEEN TOO LONG. I really hope people enjoy, there's still one more part after this which I hope to work on soon!!! Thank you for sticking by me!

Another hour passed by. Another wave of agony tore through Aaron Hotchner. It was like limbo. Everything was still, unable to move and continue on. It was only the intense pain in his chest that reminded him he was actually alive, but his very soul- his heart- was torn away the moment those ambulance doors closed behind you. He barely remembered much after that, although he was wearing different clothes now. A navy tee shirt under a zip-up black hoodie. Some sweatpants. Even his shoes were not his original ones. What he wore before was gone, the fibres so entwined with your blood they were completely unsalvageable.

All he could do was stare at the floor, head hanging low as he propped his arms up on his knees. Sometimes the spotted linoleum floor would blur into a haze of grey and tears would drop onto his clasped together hands. He'd stopped screaming hours ago, whenever that was. And now he could feel how raw his throat was whenever he swallowed, which caused him to press his lips together tightly to prevent a sob from bubbling over. A part of him knew he wasn't alone in the waiting room, but at this point he really didn't care. He said nothing whenever anyone else in the room tried to talk to him, ask him if he needed anything, to just say something. What was the point? You weren't there.

There was a sigh.

“Aaron, you need to drink something. You'll become dehydrated like this.” He heard Rossi’s voice, but he didn't respond. “(Y/n) wouldn't want you to close yourself off like this and not take care of yourself.”

This time, Aaron sat bolt upright and sneered.

“Don't speak on behalf of her. You have no idea what she would have wanted.” He snapped, glaring at the older man. It was rare for Rossi to lose his calm and carefree self, but now he was staring the unit chief down, nostrils flaring and his hands curling into tight fists.

“Actually, I do know. Do you seriously think she doesn't care about your wellbeing, huh? You think she wants you to torture yourself, to shut down and give up? Come on, you know deep down that's not the case at all.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the haze that had shrouded Aaron.

No one in the room moved, staring at the altercation between the two oldest members of the team with bated breaths.

Aaron couldn't speak, opening his mouth and closing it over and over. Why should he be kind to himself? He got you into this mess, he made the decision to close himself off from you in an attempt to put a stop to the blooming feelings he’d immediately developed for you when you first walked through the doors for your interview. He couldn't have you, Strauss would have his head triumphantly or, far worse, she would terminate you and force you to leave the BAU in shame. He was damned from the start, and by trying to keep you from being damned too he had pushed you straight into the grasp of a monster. He gritted his teeth as fresh tears pooled in his deep, brown eyes and his shoulders slumped defeatedly.

There was a knock at the door.

Before anyone could say or do anything, Aaron shot up and strided across the room to pull the door open. An unfamiliar medical practitioner stood in the doorway patiently, not even phased by the rapidness of the door swinging open. They cleared their throat.

“May I come in? I want to discuss Miss (L/n)’s condition with you all.”

Aaron moved to the side wordlessly, allowing them to walk in and he closed the door quietly. He tucked his right arm under the other whilst his left hand curled into a soft fist, running his thumb over the second knuckle of each of the fingers.

Everyone waited. The doctor shoved their hands into their pockets and their eyes flicked from one face to the next.

“To put your minds at ease, she's alive and stable.” They began. Alive? You were alive?? Aaron’s chest heaved with relief. “However, she lost a considerable amount of blood from the injury and while we were stitching the different layers back together. We are giving her a transfusion, and while we did manage to resuscitate her as quickly as we could each time she coded, we will have to wait until she is brought back around from the induced coma she's in to see if there's any lasting neurological issues.”

“Can we see her?” Spencer croaked, eyes glassy as he studied doctor. They smiled apologetically.

“For now it would be best if there's only one visitor, just in case.”

All eyes were on Aaron then, and he swallowed.

“I don't..”

“Go. You need to go to her.” Emily said softly. There was a mutual sound of agreement and it made his face scrunch up a little as a few tears rolled down his face. With a choked out ‘thank you’, Aaron followed the doctor out of the waiting room and down the corridor. They stopped at a private recovery room, the last coherent thing he had demanded for you to have, and he drew in a shaky breath.

“Here we are. I'll give you some privacy.” He heard the doctor say and he shakily reached for the door handle, turned it and pushed it open.

“Oh…” his voice cracked and he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him and shutting out the chaos of the outside world.

Laying still looking ashen on the crisp white bed sheets, was you. You were connected to several machines, at least one of them beeping periodically and accompanying the only other sign you were alive; the soft rise and fall of your diaphragm. You looked so frail, so easily shattered by the smallest touch. As he tentatively stepped closer he spotted your injured thigh sticking out from under the sheet with a large dressing covering it. He swallowed back a sob and stopped at your bedside. He didn't know what to say. And so he reached down and took hold of your hand, the one without an intravenous line in it, and cradled it in his own. The tips of your fingers were a little cold.

“God… I'm so, so sorry, sweetheart. I-” Aaron whimpered when he felt tears dribble down his chin and drip onto his hoodie. “This is all my fault.”

He wanted you to open your eyes, much like people always did in movies and TV shows, to reassure him that it was okay; you were okay. But he was met with the beeps of the monitoring machines helping you to breathe in your coma. He fucking hated this.

Carefully, he grazed his thumb over the back of your hand and gazed at your peaceful face. He would never forget the look on your face back in that wretched slaughterhouse. The fear, the absolute agony… He began to cry again.

“I-I-, fuck! I do like you, okay? I know I've done the worst job at showing this. No, I did it intentionally. I-” he scrunched his eyes shut and he breathed shakily. “I have feelings for you, feelings I shouldn't have as your boss and yet I have always had them. I thought I was…. I thought if I kept you at a distance it would save you from getting into trouble with Strauss.” He said softly.

As gently as he could, Aaron lifted your hand up, meeting it half way by bending down, and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it.

“I'll make this right, okay? I need you to rest and recover, sweetheart. And then I'm going to do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

For a while he stood beside you, admiring your beauty. Even in the fragile state you were in, you were beautiful. He'd always known and thought you were beautiful.

And then the moment he dreaded came to be when he heard a knock on the door behind him. His lower lip wobbled and he squeezed your hand a little, desperately.

“Mr Hotchner? I'm very sorry, but visiting hours across the hospital just ended.” It was a different voice this time, a feminine voice. He didn't pull his eyes away from your unconscious form.

“I want to stay. Please.”

“I-”

He finally turned his head to the doorway and he sniffled sharply.

“Please, I need to- I can't leave her.”

He didn't care if the nurse pitied him, nothing mattered except staying with you now.

She nodded slightly.

“Alright, I'll ask someone to bring a cot in for you.” She said and closed the door behind her as she left. Aaron turned back to you and pressed another kiss to the back of your hand, but this time his mouth lingered for a little longer.

At first there were shadows. Simultaneously the blur was both burningly bright and too dull to make out refined shapes. Then came the sound. It was garbled, an indecipherable mess until one sound cut through the rest.

A beep. A constant, irritating beep. It grew faster when frustration swelled through this place of limbo, only to fade into the void when unconsciousness cloaked everything once more.

It was a continuous dance between mild awareness and nothingness, feeling infinite and tiring and confusing. There was no such thing as time. It didn't exist in this place.

Then finally, finally everything began to slide into place, piece by piece.

And yet, that fucking beeping would not stop.

Your eyelids slightly scrunched tightly; the beep, the light that was now trying to force it's way through the cracks hurt your brain. Angered you. You wanted to yell.

A hiss escaped you, a low noise that coiled warm air back over your face. What the fuck..?

“Oh my god.” Someone spoke. Someone was there. You wanted to reach out to them, to tell them to switch off whatever was beeping incessantly at you. But your body felt like stone, too sluggish to move.

Now, you realised something was on your face. Constricting your mouth and nose. You tried to reach up and push off whatever it was but all you could manage was a twitch of your finger. Slowly though, your sense of awareness returned to you and mustering all your strength you finally began to open your eyes.

The world was blindingly bright. It burned and you snapped your eyes shut again.

“....hh…” you breathed against the restriction on your face; you needed it off as soon as possible.

“She’s doing her best, just give her a moment.”

You forced your eyes to stay open this time, finding the world to be a blur of colours melting together.

“C… s….”

A blur of dark colours filled her vision, blocking the overhead light from hurting so much.

“What was that? Try saying it again.” Definitely a familiar woman's voice. You blinked a few times to try clearing your vision but it didn't work.

“Can't see… blurry….”

The blur moved slightly.

“Oh, has anyone got some tissues? Her eyes are full of gunk.”

There was movement in your peripheral and then something soft pressed lightly down on your eyelids.

“I'm going to clean your eyes, okay? Just try to stay relaxed.” The voice said. The tissue felt ticklish on your skin and your face twitched whenever it brushed over a particularly sensitive area. Eventually, you were able to make out proper shapes, albeit still slightly blurry but enough to tell what it or who it was.

“E-Emily?” You rasped, throat as raw as sandpaper. It made you cough, only adding to the pain.

“Easy now, your throat is gonna be sore.” Your dear, dark haired friend Emily murmured. “You want some water?”

You nodded slightly, but it was enough for her to understand. She turned her head to address someone else in the room, and you struggled to see who else was there.

“You lift the mask, I'll bring the straw to her mouth.” Her eyes flicked back to you and she smiled gently.

“JJ’s gonna lift the mask up now, okay? Just hold still.”

On your other side JJ approached and beamed down at you, her eyes shining with tears.

“Hey.” She managed to choke out at the same time as her fingers carefully pried the mask off your face. Ah, so it was an oxygen mask then.

Emily pressed the straw to your lips and you accepted it gratefully, slowly sipping mouthfuls of the cool water. God, in that moment it was the most delicious and refreshing thing you'd ever had. You could only have a bit at a time, too big of a gulp hurt your throat, but the smaller sips were manageable. With the added hydration to your body you were able to clear your throat enough to speak a bit better.

“P-please help me sit up…” you whispered.

Emily smoothed her hand over your forehead comfortingly as her smile turned more apologetic.

“Sorry, (Y/n). Gotta wait for the medical staff. Morgan and Reid went to go fetch them.”

You nodded in understanding and closed your eyes for a moment.

“Wh…where's…”

“Ah! Miss (L/n)! It's so nice to see you awake.” A clear, cheery voice said. Your eyes opened again and you were met with the sight of an older woman, most likely in her late forties dressed in a nurse’s uniform standing at the foot of your bed. “My name is Kelly! How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Emily choked, bug-eyed along with JJ and you could have sworn you heard Derek chuckle nearby. You winced a little. “Sorry, that was rude.”

Luckily, Kelly laughed lightly and shook her head.

“No you're fine, sounds about right. Do you know where you are, Miss (L/n)?”

Your brows furrowed slightly as you tried to recall anything from before.

“I know I’m in a hospital, but that’s all.”

The nurse nodded and came over to you to take your vitals. Emily and JJ stepped back out of the way but they kept their eyes on you, the other members of the team, minus one came to stand nearby.

“Are you in any pain?” Kelly asked you as she pulled the blood pressure monitor over to your bedside and carefully applied the cuff around your upper arm, then pressed the button to start the cycle off. You sighed.

“I…I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” She raised her brow at you. Whilst she continued making observations, making a note of them as she went.

“I haven’t moved so far, so I’m okay.”

“We’ll help you sit up if you’d like in a moment. I’ll ask again after that.”

Your eyes drifted around the room with every passing moment bringing out the clarity of everything. Where…where was he?

The machine beeped to signify the cycle was complete and the tight grip of the cuff released, letting you relax better. Kelly took note of it and smiled at you.

“Well, so far I have no worries about your condition aside from some confusion, which is understandable. But let’s try and sit you up now.” She turned to the others then. “Do any of you want to help? I’ll tell you where to hold her and when to lift.”

Derek approached your bedside with his usual charismatic grin that even in the state you were in right now, you couldn’t help but smile in response.

“C’mon, sugar. Let’s get you upright and comfy.”

The nurse made quick work of guiding him where to hold you, and when she took hold of your other side she turned her attention to you.

“This may cause your stitches to feel like they are being pulled when we move you now, okay? We’ll be as swift as possible though and I’ll assess what to do next, depending on how it goes. Does that sound okay?”

You nodded, just wanting it to be over with.

“Okay… In three, we are going to lift her upper body up and pull her back. Someone please grab the pillows and hold them further up to support her back.”

Emily rushed over and smiled at you reassuringly, and at the count of three you were hauled upwards and adjusted to sit upright.

Oh, how your thigh screamed pure pain. It was only when you noticed the horrified expressions on your friends’ faces that you realised you had screamed. But in that moment you hardly cared, curling over in agony as tears immediately sprung up in your eyes. The nurse sprung into action immediately, pressing the support button and ushering everyone away from the bedside.

It was like fire, like knives, like claws. Tearing and ripping and destroying the nerves on the entire left side of your body. You couldn't stop crying, wailing when hands reached at you to stop your thrashing. And then it was as though a switch was flipped and you calmed, laid still and Kelly appeared into view.

“We've injected a sedative in you to help you relax and we'll give you some strong pain relief now.” She said and took hold of your hand gently. “You may feel sleepy though, is that okay?”

All you could do was nod as stray tears dribbled down the sides of your face and soaked into the pillow below your head.

There was a moment longer of the blinding pain, then it slowly began to ease a little and your eyes felt a little droopy. You weren't sure what was going on for a while, only hearing snippets of conversation further away from your bed which made your brows furrow.

“...not leaving until we at least keep her updated...”

“...staying here with her until she's ready…”

Your eyes flicked to the side when you spotted the oldest member of the team sidling over, and he laid his hand on the side of your head carefully. He offered a tired smile.

“Hey kid.”

Your lower lip wobbled.

“It was bad, wasn't it? Whatever happened.” You croaked. The man leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead and sighed.

“Do you remember anything at all?”

You scrunched up your brows as you tried to remember back. The dull ache in your thigh brought it all to the forefront of your mind and your chest heaved with a quiet sob.

“What the fuck,” you cried softly as you gazed up at Rossi tearfully. The man brushed his hand over your head and allowed you to grab onto his arm for comfort as you let out everything you were feeling.

“I know. You’re gonna be okay, kid.” he soothed. You couldn’t remember it all, only flashes. But it was enough to leave you feeling like you had been shattered into a thousand pieces.

At one point Rossi produced a handkerchief for you to use, refusing when you tried to give it back instead of using it. And so you cleared your face with it, breathing deeply in and out to calm yourself down again. When you finally reached a point where you wouldn’t immediately break down again you noted the nurse was gone and your friends stood around your bed.

“We asked for a little more time, and one of us is gonna stay overnight with you.” you heard Derek explain but you sniffled as your eyes darted from face to the next.

“Wh…where is he? Where’s Hotch?”

There was a shared glance; the absence of the BAU’s leader was uncomfortably prominent. Rossi spoke again.

“Strauss called him in. Actually, he had been staying here up until just a day ago.”

Huh?

“What…?”

You were confused.

“Yeah, slept in the little bed over there since you came out of surgery.” Spencer said. But it didn’t make sense to you.

“W-why? That’s-”

Emily raised her brow at you as she folded her arms across her chest.

“That’s what?”

“Weird as hell.” You finished, frowning as your eyes flitted to the bed that lay closer to the ground than the one you were in. He had stayed there?

“Why’s that, sugar?” Derek asked you and you blanched.

“Because he’s Hotch, duh.” Your eyes drifted down to your hands that were now curled into fists in front of you. “Probably was waiting around for me to wake up to tell me off for being reckless.” You muttered dully. The room fell quiet then, aside from that maddening beep.

“You really don’t remember much from what happened, do you?”

Your eyes flicked to JJ, who appeared almost distraught.

“Not really. I-I take it I’m forgetting something important.”

“We should let it wait for now. It isn’t a good idea to overwhelm you with too much information.” Rossi cut in, sending a pointed look to the others. Well, you certainly didn't like that. You swallowed thickly.

“I wanna know what happened.”

Rossi eyed you.

“Not right now. Your priority is resting and recovering.” He said more firmly. You slumped slightly in defeat; there was no point in crossing him. Tiredness washed over you and you sighed, realising you were going to be recovering for a while. Derek took hold of your hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Hey, babygirl’s gonna video call you tomorrow, she’s missed you so much and been crying on the phone to me about it all.” He said, then chuckled. “But don’t tell her I told you that part.” He then winked and you scoffed tiredly.

“I’ve missed her, too.”

Day by day you slowly recovered, getting to the point of using crutches to move around a little bit, and for a week a different member of the team stayed with you overnight in the hospital- something you were very grateful for with the nightmares that had begun to tear through your sleep. But as life goes, they couldn't stay forever and eventually the call came in to summon them all back to Quantico.

“I don't like the idea of leaving you here alone.” Emily said after the text came through. It had been her turn that night to stay with you. You shrugged.

“Criminals aren't going to stop just because we're one member down, Em.”

“I know, but… We're all so worried about you. You- you didn't see what we witnessed when we found you.” She trailed off and you could see her fighting off the urge to cry. You reached out and took her hand gently, rubbing your thumb over the back of it.

“Hey… I'm-I’m okay, yeah? I'm in safe hands. And before you know it I'll be back in town.” you tried to smile at her, which she appreciated but could barely return the gesture.

It had been a week since then, and finally you were being discharged. The idea was to have whoever was available from the team to fly back over to you and stay with you in a hotel for a few days, just to be sure all was stable, then return to the home state together. You had no idea who it would be though, it was highly dependent on the nature of whatever case the team was on at the time.

You sat waiting, perched on the edge of the hospital bed you'd been living in for the past while now, when there was a knock on your room door. You shifted on the bed carefully, keeping your thigh secure as you moved, then called out.

“Come in!”

There was a pause, then the handle turned and the door pushed in. Your breath caught in your throat. Hotch stood in the doorway, just as breathtaking as ever wearing some dark jeans and a dark blue button down shirt underneath a casual jacket. Cautiously, he stepped into the room.

“Hey, (Y/n).” He said. Your hand grabbed the untidy bedsheet tightly.

He had referred to you by your first name.

“S-sir.”

His face twisted into an expression you hadn't seen on him before for a split moment, then it returned to his normal stoicness. He cautiously approached the bed, stuffing his hands into his pockets and his eyes darted around the room. Was he nervous? Why?

“I'm taking you to the hotel, then home.”

You nodded. What were you to say to him? You sniffled loudly.

“I… I’m sorry for what happened, sir. I hope there wasn't too much paperwork.” You mumbled. Hotch looked at you, bewildered.

“What? You don't need to worry about that.”

“But-”

“Please don't stress yourself out over it. I've handled it. Everything is fine.” He cut you off gently. What in the fuck was happening? You expected to be reprimanded, to lose your job, for him to be cold and angry at you. But this?

You sighed gently and the nurse entered the room with your discharge paperwork. She smiled sweetly at the both of you.

“Ah, I see your boyfriend was able to return to take you home!”

The both of you tensed up as your eyes flicked to one another, then as Hotch opened his mouth to speak you beat him to it.

“Oh no, he's not my boyfriend. He's my boss.” You said quickly, returning your gaze to the nurse and immediately a look of horror crossed her face.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to assume.” She handed over the paperwork to you and gave you an awkward smile. “Here's your paperwork, I'm going to get you a wheelchair to take you downstairs, then you can continue on your crutches.”

You nodded and thanked her, then sat quietly avoiding looking at the man opposite you. He shifted from one foot to another whilst you messed with the crutches propped against the side of your bed.

“I wanted to get back sooner instead of making you stay here alone.” You heard Hotch say after a moment. You lifted your head slightly to look at him. The expression on his face struck you, you'd never seen such remorse from him before. Well, at least not aimed at you. You shrugged.

“That's how it goes in this line of work.”

“No, it really doesn’t.”

You stared at him; your brow twitched.

“I…”

The nurse returned then with a wheelchair and the both of you turned your attention to her approaching figure.

“Here we are! Right, let’s get you into the wheelchair now.” The nurse glanced at Hotch. “Are you able to help?” She asked, more cautious this time. He nodded.

“Of course, yes. Tell me what you need me to do.” he responded sincerely. She eyed him for a moment longer, then nodded once.

“We are going to support her from under her armpits and lift her up to stand after I lower the bed.”

She took hold of the remote that controlled the hydraulics of the bed and lowered it to the correct level for you to stand. The both of them prepared to help you then, slinking an arm under your pit and round your back securely. While you were still wary of Hotch, confused by his sudden change of heart, you still had feelings for him and the sensation of his arm around you was something you’d had craved for so, so long. And as you pushed up off the bed to stand you winced at the sharp pain in your thigh, burying your face in Hotch’s chest as you whimpered.

“Easy, you’re okay.” you heard him say softly, his thumb rubbing against your back soothingly.

He didn't let go, not even when you were finally sitting in the wheelchair. Instead moving his hand to your arm comfortingly. The nurse didn't question it.

“Alright, I have a got you your prescription of pain medication here, I'm putting it on top of your discharge papers. You're able to leave when you're ready now, Miss (L/n).” She said and you nodded tiredly.

“Thank you…”

She smiled and moved to the side to allow Hotch to wheel you out.

“You take care now, okay? Call us if there's anything you need.”

You nodded at her and offered a weak smile in return, then Aaron began to wheel you out of the room. You lost track of the many winding corridors you travelled down to reach the exit, but soon you were outside and you breathed in deeply when the air hit your face.

“God… you forget how nice it is when you go outside.” you said softly. Aaron hummed and directed the wheelchair to the car he must have hired- much lower to the ground than an SUV, that you were worried would have been your mode of transport. He locked the wheels in place and took hold of your crutches with one hand while the other hooked around your back to help you stand.

“Squeeze as tight as you need to onto me.” You heard him say, then when you were ready to try you pushed up from the chair painfully, wincing and once again burying your face against his chest.

“F-fuck- hurts-”

“I know, swe- (Y/n), I know. You're doing very well.” Aaron murmured as he passed you your crutches. You thanked him and rested your weight on them, taking it off your poor leg instead. He pushed the chair out of the way and opened the passenger door open for you and helped you lower down onto the chair slowly. It was all so painful still, straining your wound site and sending sparks of pain up and down the side of your body. By the time you were belted in you were exhausted.

Hotch nudged the brakes off the wheelchair and grabbed the handles, then turned to you.

“I'm going to take the chair back. I won't be long, okay?”

You nodded and he bumped the car door with his hip to close it for you. You sighed softly and settled back into the chair. You weren't so sure what to think of feel right now.

“I'm going to order food in, what would you wanna eat?” Hotch asked you hours later. You were sitting up on one of the beds in the twin room you were sharing with him now. It was a different hotel to the one you'd stayed in for the case, more luxurious and you were on a floor much higher than the room you had been staying in at the other hotel.

You sighed softly.

“I'm not really sure. What places are there available in the area?”

The man crossed the room to you and held out his phone, showing the food delivery app to you.

“I think it might actually be easier if you take a look than me reading them out. There's quite a lot.” He said with a barely there smile. He… It made your stomach feel funny and you looked away quickly, taking the phone off him with a quiet ‘thanks’.

“You have any preferences?” You glanced in his general direction, keeping your eyes away from his face.

“I will find something on the menu wherever you choose. Don't worry about it.”

“Alright then…”

You heard Hotch sigh and he moved to sit on his bed, perching on the edge facing you.

“Is something wrong?” He questioned you. You continued scrolling.

“I'm tired and in pain. That's all.” You knew you sounded unconvincing.

“Please don't lie to me.”

You finally turned your head and looked at him, lips pulled downward.

“Well then I don't want to talk about it. Please leave it alone, sir.”

He stared at you and his brows began to furrow deeply. His jaw clenched slightly.

“(Y/n). When I thought you were going to die, I-” He cut himself off, swallowing thickly and his left hand curled into a fist and his thumb began to stroke across his second knuckles. “I was fucking terrified. Seeing you like that, I don't think I'll be able to forget it.”

You stared wide eyed at him for a moment in silence. You didn't expect this, didn't think he cared this much. In the artificial light of the room you could spy the glint of tears threatening to spill from his sad, brown eyes.

“S-sir… I-I didn't realise you felt so strongly about it.”

He sniffled and lifted his hand to wipe his eyes with his thumb and fingers. You bit your lip, trying to stop it from trembling.

“That's also my fault. I kept pushing you away and this is what happened as a result.” He mumbled. The room was quiet for a while, the hum of the AC filled the silence as you stared at the man before you. Far gone was the person you'd come to expect and were used to, the closed off and cold unit chief who would barely do so much as stiffly discuss work with you when he needed to, in his place was a man filled with regrets, with concern and an emotion you couldn’t recognise. Or at least, you didn’t want to. For all you knew you’d be misinterpreting things and your heart just couldn’t take it.

You sighed.

“What happened? I only remember parts, the others won’t budge when I ask them.” You finally settled on, hoping he would be the one to bring you from solitude. He shifted on his bed and you opened your mouth to push for answers, when he spoke.

“The day you were kidnapped, we found another victim’s body- Carla Reynolds- who you’d spoken to a few days prior. Your FBI badge was with the body and- and you blamed yourself.” He paused, letting the words sink in. You remembered her, and you remembered the state her corpse was in when you visited the body dumping site. Hotch noted the tremble of your hands and his brows creased. “If you need me to stop…”

“No. No, I- I need to remember.” You cut him off and curled your hands into fists. He was quiet for a moment, then nodded.

“You- you fell into a dark place of blaming yourself. You tried to remember faces from the day you interviewed her but you couldn’t. Her parents were let in and they confronted you when you were by yourself. I-“ he clenched his hands into fists and dropped his gaze. “I should have said something then, did something. And when you snuck out of our hotel room with the car keys from my jacket that night? My heart sank.”

Oh… it was coming back to you now. Your lower lip trembled.

“He… he had a knife at my back when you called me. That’s why I, um, ended the call.”

“(Y/n)…”

You dipped your head and wrapped your arms around yourself.

“I’m sorry for the stress and grief I put you all through, I just… I didn’t think straight at all. I- I’ll understand if I do lose my job based on my actions during this case.” You mumbled and you clenched your jaw in an attempt to stop yourself from crying. You heard Aaron sigh, then a moment later the mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down beside you.

“Hey, I have no plans on doing such a thing. You’re a valuable member of the team and terminating you would be not only a poor decision, but also hypocritical.” He closed his eyes for a moment and laid his palm against his forehead, breathing deeply. “I think everyone on the team has done something reckless, including myself. And yet we’re all still here in the team.”

He could see you were not entirely convinced from the way you fussed with the hem of your shirt and the wrinkle of your nose. But you were tired and hungry and just wanted to sleep. And so you picked his phone up from where you’d set it down beside you when you curled up earlier, and chose a random restaurant to order from and picked something. You offered his phone back to Hotch and avoided his gaze.

“I chose something. It’s your turn to now.”

His fingers barely brushed against yours as he reluctantly took the phone back and you gritted your teeth a little, trying hard not to show a response to the touch. Hotch sighed again, but didn’t push the unresolved conversation for he could see the exhaustion weighing in on you. You knew he wouldn’t let it slide forever, though.

Little by little, you began letting your guard drop slightly around Hotch. While you still felt uncertain about him, questioning if he really had cared about you all this time, hearing his soft voice as he checked in on you at your apartment and brought you groceries to cook meals for the week for you. It was, frankly, weird. But not an unpleasant weird. It had your feelings for the man in turmoil though, what should you be feeling towards him, if it was perhaps something to still cling onto.

There was always a certain look in his eyes whenever he visited you; a sadness, the look as though he had much to say but not knowing how to, or if he even should say. You never brought it up.

The others would stop by as well, especially Penelope with her being in the area all the time. Sometimes they’d all visit at the same time, having a group dinner and helping you around the apartment- even when you at first protested. Thinking back on it, you weren’t so sure why you were so reluctant to let your friends help you. They’d been so supportive and caring, and you felt as though you were close to being back on your feet in a way. Nightmares plagued you though, tearing through the night mercilessly and leaving you more exhausted than you’d started out. You had yet to make any of them aware of it, not quite ready to talk to them about what you experienced. Sooner or later you would have to if you wanted to return to work smoothly.

It was a few months later when things took a turn. After another round of extensive physical therapy and talking to a psychiatrist, Aaron had brought you back home- as he always did after such appointments if he could- to make sure you were okay. You never asked him to attend any of them, he had took it upon himself to see to it if he wasn’t away with another case. Part of you was curious as to why, but decided against asking. It was… nice having him care about you like this.

He was finishing up washing the dishes (despite your protests) after the two of you had shared a meal again when your phone began to ring. You picked it up and raised a brow at the number; it wasn’t one in your contacts. The area code was for Virginia though and you decided to answer it.

“I’m gonna take this call, s-Aaron.” You murmured softly to him and he nodded.

You swiped to answer and held the phone to your ear as you walked through to the living room.

“Hello?”

“Hello, this is Section Chief Erin Strauss. Is this (Y/n) I’m speaking to?”

A chill shivered through you. What on earth was she calling you for?!

“A-um yes! It is, yes. Uh, how can I help you, ma’am?” You answered quickly.

“Upon your return to work tomorrow, I would like you to report to my office first thing. Is that understood?”

That wasn’t good.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I can do that. Is that all?”

“Yes that is all. I hope you have been recovering well, agent (L/n). I’ll see you tomorrow, good bye.”

The line disconnected before you could say anything else and for a moment you merely stood rooted in place.

“(Y/n)?” You heard from behind you, snapping you out of your trance. Turning to face Aaron, you blinked at him. You noted the front of his shirt had damp patches from where the water in the sink had splashed onto him as he washed up.

“Mm?”

“Who was that on the phone?”

You were quiet, debating what to say to him. His brows creased as he stepped closer, concerned about the extending silence.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I just want to make sure you’re-“

“Strauss!” You blurted, stopping Aaron in his tracks. “It- it was Strauss. Wants me to um, visit her in her office tomorrow when I arrive back.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed now as he folded his arms across his chest, covering up some of the damp splotches on his shirt.

“Do you know what she wants?”

“No… do you?”

He shook his head as you and dropped his gaze.

“Listen, tomorrow… when you return to the office. I want you to come to my office whenever you have the first opportunity to do so. I will issue you your new FBI credentials and your gun.” He said sincerely. You nodded.

“Sure, I can do that.”

“That isn’t all.” He moved closer towards you and laid a hand on your shoulder, causing your breath to catch in your throat. “I have something I need to discuss with you, it’s important. As well as that, I want you to know that if anything becomes too much; come to me and tell me. You’ve been through a hell of a lot, it’s okay if you struggle to find your footing.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently and you finally found the ability to breathe again, nodding quickly as you glanced away bashfully.

“Y-yes. I- I can do that, sir- Aaron.”

A slight smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you.” He said softly.

You were almost nauseous with stress and worry as you rode the elevator to the correct floor. It was hard to remember the last time you’d been here. but it wasn’t even just the nerves of returning to work after so long, you were on the way to talk to Strauss. You’d hardly slept that night after Aaron left your home, instead wracking your brain as to what she could possibly want to talk to you about. As the elevator dinged, you knew you didn’t have anymore time to think about it.

Briskly, you walked towards her office, avoiding other people who were at the office as early as you were. You hadn’t looked through the glass doors to the bullpen yet, you weren’t ready.

Standing outside Strauss’ office, you knocked and waited. Every second that ticked by felt like an eternity, then the door swung open to reveal Erin Strauss. She smiled slightly at you.

“Hello agent (L/n). Do come in.” She greeted you and held the door open wider for you.

You stepped inside and listened for the quiet click of the door shutting behind you, followed by the muffled clack of her heels on the carpet as she walked back towards her desk. She gestured to the chair opposite her desk as she settled into her seat and you quickly moved to sit down.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She knitted her fingers together in front of her and studied you for a moment.

“You must be wondering why I called you in today before you headed into the office.” She said. You cleared your throat and drew in a deep breath.

“I am, yes.”

“I want to commend you for your bravery first of all, but also offer my sympathies for what happened to you. If there is anything I can do to help you, you need only ask.”

You shifted in your seat and nodded slightly, keeping your head bowed.

“Thank you.”

“That isn’t the only thing I brought you in to discuss though.” The shift in tone caused you to stiffen and you felt a throb of pain in your thigh.

“Ma’am?” You lifted your head to look at her.

“During your… predicament, James Humphrey had a camera set up recording, just as he had done with his other victims.”

She paused for a moment whilst you processed this information, a coldness settling within your core. She continued after a moment, her face expressionless.

“While I have not watched it, I have read the transcripts and I am concerned with what I have read. So I need you to be honest with me when I ask you something: what feelings do you have for agent Hotchner?” She asked, staring at you. Your entire body froze up, eyes wide in alarm.

What?

“M-ma’am, I don’t understand… what has that got to do with-“

Strauss pulled out a piece of paper from a casefile you hadn’t originally noticed was sitting on her desk and began to read from it.

“James said ‘wearing these cute lil’ frilly panties for your boss?’ And you didn’t respond at first, which urged him to continue and you both argued about it. That is until he says ‘You seriously think no one sees it? It’s pathetic really, you being desperately in love with your boss and craving even an ounce of praise from him.’ And even mentions the two of you had been sharing a bed.”

You stared at her in horror, struggling to comprehend any of this, or even why she was bringing it up in the first place. The pain in your thigh throbbed more intensely, to which you pressed your lips together tightly. She continued, eyes scanning the paper.

“That isn’t all, agent (L/n). Later on, when the team did reach your location, you said to agent Hotchner that you have ‘always liked him more than you should’ which, added to everything that transpired beforehand, leads me to believe you have inappropriate feelings for him.” The woman concluded, returning the piece of paper to the casefile.

And all you could do was stare at her.

Was she truly more concerned about this over the fact you had been tortured and almost died?! Besides, you had no memory of-

Your heart lurched in your chest and your hand trembled slightly. It had all come flooding back, the memories of it all, the realisation you had practically confessed to Aaron Hotchner on what you believed to be your deathbed. You swallowed thickly.

“I…”

“So I will ask you again, agent (L/n). What feelings do you have for agent Hotchner?” Strauss asked impatiently now and you felt as though you were on the brink of throwing up.

“M-ma’am, I-“ you closed your eyes for a moment and exhaled. “I- I do have feelings for him. B-but I have never and will never let that interfere with mine or his job-“

“That is not what I asked.” The woman cut you off and you closed your mouth quickly. “You do know about the policies surrounding fraternizing with colleagues, especially that of your superior, yes?”

You nodded and clenched your hands into fists in your lap, fighting the urge to look away.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then you’ll know it is not acceptable to have feelings for agent Hotchner, your superior, nor would it be acceptable to engage in relations with him.”

Your jaw clenched.

“I understand, ma’am.” You gritted. Strauss clasped her hands together firmly as she tilted her head at you.

“You have two options: if you do not wish to lose your job, I will assign you to a new position in a different state. You will no longer have contact with agent Hotchner, nor the BAU unit as a whole.” Your chest heaved with utter shock, but she wasn’t finished. “Either that or you hand in your resignation. You will still not be able to have contact with agent Hotchner.”

All you could do was stare at her, unable to say anything. Never see Aaron again? Or talk to him? Even acknowledge his existence ever again? You felt your heart shattering to pieces, the coldness within spreading throughout your body. All of this time slowly building a positive relationship with him during your recovery, your feelings growing stronger for him, would all have been for naught. This was a worse agony than everything you’d been through, entirely heartbroken.

Strauss cleared her throat to bring your attention back to her and she handed you two envelopes.

“One of these is a form to fill in if you wish to transfer, and the other is for resigning. You have until the end of the day to make your decision, agent (L/n). That is all.”

You didn’t remember walking out of her office after that, nor finding your way back to the main precinct where the glass doors were to the bullpen. But as you heard your name being called and you turned to see Emily and the others approaching the doorway, you returned to your senses and quickly made your way into the elevator to leave. You couldn’t bear to face any of them now, especially him.

Just when we thought things were gonna get better for them too 😔😔😔😔 maybe next chapter it'll be different >:3 thank you for reading this far!! It means a lot to me 💖💖💖💖💖

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x plus size reader #aaron hotchner x female reader

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rooksblvd · 11 months ago

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Itafushi headcannons

megumi is the only person who's ever made yuji blush in all seriousness

megumi is a hoodie hoarder (of yuji's hoodies ofc!)

yuji likes running his fingers through megumi's hair when he's asleep

they've been on countless ice cream dates (ofc megumi would call them otherwise but like-)

yuji walked in on megumi fresh out of shower once and it took him a full whole minute to regain his composure (and get his insides to stop tingling)

"So are you just gonna stare or?" Megumi cocked a challenging eyebrow, the faintest edge of amusement coating his tone. If Yuji kept looking at him like that for any longer, Megumi would have to step back into the bathroom to get rid of the inexplicable heat emanating off of his muscles. "I-", Yuji cleared his throat, as if to chase away any last remnants of how heavy and hot his insides felt from showing, "- yea, sorry, I was just- would you like to catch an ice cream later?" he blurted out; It had been weeks- 27 days precisely (of course he was counting!) since they'd last went out together. Just the two of them. Between the growingly demanding training schedule and countless missions Gojo was bent on sending them on, it was getting harder to catch each other selfishly lately. It bugged both of them more than they would've liked to admit. The only difference was that Yuji would actually come up, heed to the temptation and ask him out already, while Megumi would bait him walking around half naked like that. Megumi shrugged, "Yea I'd like that," he was really hoping he was doing his best to smother the excitement in his voice, but boy did Yuji know any better. So he nodded finally, cutting his brooding little black cat some slack, "Okay, cool, so um, see you in a while? When you're-" another cough "-decent," God why was it so hot in this room? With their date outing settled, Yuji turned to leave. Maybe it was all the sleepless nights catching up to him, or maybe seeing Megumi's towel hanging that low had short-circuited the nerves of his brain, but Yuji could've sworn he saw Megumi don one of his hoodies, out of the corner of his eye; one which had disappeared out of the blue after a mission, one which he'd been searching for incessantly. And there the stupid butterflies went, making a fuss in his tummy.

ever since megumi caught yuji sneaking off to the terraces at night to actually relax without feeling the responsibility of the world drooping his sanity, he makes it a point to accompany him

they don't do much, never talk even, just sit against the rooftop, with yuji's head on megumi's shoulder, megumi's fingers intertwined with yuji's on his thigh and their gaze fixed upon the same stars

ever since the encounter with sukuna, megumi has to have his head on yuji's chest so he can actually sleep, listening to yuji's rythmic heartbeat is what keeps his going

the first time megumi ever called yuji by his first name, was when he moaned it against his mouth after their first kiss

yuji fell in love with him all over again after that instance and now he gets pissy everytime megumi calls him itadori when they're in public

megumi would let yuji style his hair (only on sundays, and yk this is big coming from someone as reserved as him)

yuji would casually throw around sexual jokes when with megumi, unaware of the effect it has on him

yuji secretly (oh who am i kidding, megumi obviously knew ab it; with the way my man's got his eyes on him 24 7, i wouldn't be surprised), mixed their colognes once because he liked the idea of it

their first kiss was actually initiated by a frustrated megumi in an attempt to shut up a stupidly beautiful an annoying yuji

yuji may or may not have had an existential crisis over his crush making the first move

nobara is the first person they come out to

yuji's love language is quality time while megumi's is acts of service both inside and outside the bedroom

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Okayyyy you guys, I'm so sorry for posting this so late. Truth be told, it's been sitting in my drafts for weeks, I was too caught up with my exams so I was giving it a rest. But a girl can only take her mind off of two silly little gays for so long! So here it is. I'm ngl, but the way writing about anything jjk related in general, especially anything stsg or itfs centered, never fails to boost my energy levels up is crazy. I love love love them w all my heart, and I try to express it in my hcs. I know they may not be exactly canon-compliant, but they're what side of my brain that's a sucker for happy endings seeks refuge in. So yea, I try.

PS The yuji-asking-megumi-out tidbit was supposed to be only like a few lines, idk how I ended up writing all that-

Alsooo I've been wanting to write an itfs fic for awhile; not that I have a solid plot at ready or anything, it's just an urge I have (and I know that's not how writing works lol) so maybe, just mayyyybe, ima try to work on it in my vacation? (which starts from tm btw). Cause if I actually do plan on going ahead w it, it'd be my first ever fic, and tbh it seems just as scary as it seems exciting. Either way, if you managed to read this far, I'm grateful that you did!<3

Long live itafushi!!!🎀

#i will cry actually #for the 15 ppl who voted for this post haha #this is for you cuties<3 #they're my babies #itafushi #itfs #yuji itadori #megumi fushiguro #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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seoafin · 2 years ago

Text

dog days are over | chapter one

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru warnings/tags (for this chapter): none, but please heed overall fic warnings word count: ~3.2k

fic masterlist read on ao3

“Suguru…you’re getting married?”

Your eyes are wide as you examine Suguru in a new light.

Marriage…that’s…that’s a big step isn’t it? Already? Do people get married at twenty-two nowadays? You aren’t sure. In fact, you don’t really know what people your age do. But you’re sure that whatever Suguru decides, you will support him fully. Even if he desires to get married at the early age of twenty-two. Who are you to come in the way of Suguru's apparent desire to get married?

Suguru doesn’t even blink at your words. “Of course not,” he replies smoothly, expertly dicing carrots into small cubes on the cutting board. He finishes, puts the knife down, and looks at you reassuringly. “It was just a matter of propriety. I couldn’t just leave that girl waiting for hours on end for Satoru, now could I?”

You shake your head, smiling back. Of course he would. Because Suguru is a good person who would keep a girl company at a matchmaking ceremony that Satoru either refused to show up to or forgot. You aren’t surprised to hear it. Both the fact that Suguru spent his afternoon entertaining her, and that Satoru had neglected to go to it in the first place, or even mention it to you.

Marriage…

You think of white dresses, veils, shiromukus. Endless white fabrics. Black kimonos. Cups of Sake. You think of temples, the reception, the planning. All the different options for catering and flowers and wedding invitations. Your head spins. Weddings. Marriage. Abstract concepts to you. Foreign in their conventionality. You’ve never had the luxury of dwelling too long of what a hypothetical wedding would entail. You had no use for it, really. Though you did occasionally think about how Shoko would look on her wedding day.

Suguru is calling your name.

You blink, regaining the smile on your lips, hoping he didn’t ask you a question you had not heard. “Y-yes?”

“Just keeping you with me,” he hums, getting started on the mushrooms and potatoes. “What were you thinking about?”

“Weddings are complicated,” you say seriously. But then you think of Shoko in a wedding dress, Suguru and Satoru in black kimonos, and decide that Shoko would make a lovely bride just as Satoru and Suguru would make lovely grooms. “I hope I get to see all of you married one day.”

Though the thought of Shoko getting married disturbs you. You think of seeing her even less than you usually do and frown. Twenty-two really is a bit too young, isn’t it? She hasn’t even finished medical school yet! You force yourself away from your thoughts, regarding Suguru brightly.

“What did the two of you talk about?” You ask eagerly.

An amused glint flickers in his dark gaze. Almost teasingly. “Flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“Flowers.”

The girl had invited Suguru to see the sprawling garden at her estate and the special lotuses she tended to daily. He politely declined. You are slightly disappointed at this. You think of Satoru and Suguru’s wedding. You think of a faceless third, a potential bride that could handle Satoru and Suguru’s tempestuous natures. A calming, dignified force. You think she’ll be beautiful, befitting the two of them.

“Was she pretty?”

Suguru stops, knife pressed to the cutting board, mushroom split in two. He lifts his gaze, returning to your expectant gaze with an unreadable one before his expression softens. “I suppose.”

You stare at him. He…supposes? Just what is that supposed to mean? Some new cryptic way of conveying his interest? Maybe he’s embarrassed. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit it.

The amused smile returns to his lips. “I was just a temporary fill in for Satoru, nothing more.”

He resumes cutting. Finishes. Heats up oil in a large pot and pushes the vegetables into it with a knife.

He’s too modest. You’re sure he’s downplaying himself. She had invited him to her estate for a second meet, hadn’t she? You guess Satoru and Suguru and yes, even Shoko are at an age most would consider eligible for marriage. They’ll get married soon, embark on the next adventure of their lives and you’ll…

You’ll be content.

“Have you thought about it?” He asks nonchalantly. “Marriage?”

You falter, a lapse in your thoughts at Suguru’s inquiring gaze. “Not at all,” you say truthfully. “I can’t even imagine it.” Someone loving you? The thought of someone finding something worthwhile in you makes you feel greatly disturbed when you decided long ago that romantic endeavors were useless in your case. But even that line of thinking is arrogant of you. Nobody has ever shown interest in you in the twenty-one years you’ve been alive, and you are sure that even the slightest interest in you would only end with disappointment.

There is something fundamentally wrong with you. You would rather the vulnerable truth of it all not be laid bare and dissected by a scorned lover you disappointed in some way, because you had not been able to live up to the expected standards of romantic love. You would say something wrong, do something wrong. You wouldn’t understand. You don't think you'd be recover, and even the thought of it makes you feel vaguely ill.

You’re not naive. You know that love doesn’t have to be a factor in marriage, but if marriage was a necessity, then what was wrong with hoping for love, romance, passion? You’ve seen the well bred women of jujutsu society, the ones whose last names hold importance on some level, cultivated for the singular purpose of being a wife, a mother, sheltered away in their estates awaiting the inevitable. You think these girls deserve far more respect for being able to flawlessly navigate jujutsu society than you do, as a working jujutsu sorcerer.

You also think you want better for Satoru. You think he deserves love and everything else he’s found in Suguru. You’re happy for him. For Suguru. Because even someone like you knows how rare it is to find what the two of them have.

You exhale. “But nothing’s expected of me anyway." You've never even been kissed. "I don’t have a lover, or even parents. I’m nobody important. But you, Satoru, and Shoko…" A self deprecating smile. "It seems that I’ll have to learn to live without you guys soon.” You’d be lonely. But you at least had Megumi and Tsumiki, and even Mimiko and Nanako. You were sure they’d still need you for a few more years. And then…

You’ve never thought about the future. Not to this extent. You’re unsure of what your life would be without Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko. You’re unsure if you’d even exist.

As long as you’re alive, you’d persist. Somehow. And if you died along the way, well. You suppose you wouldn’t have to put too much thought into the future then, would you?

You must look troubled. Suguru clears his throat. You look up, just as the smell of curry fills your nose.

He lifts up an inviting spoonful of curry. “For you.”

It takes you a few seconds to completely pull out of your thoughts, and to register the spoon in his grip. You learn forward automatically, mumble ‘thank you for the food,’ and eat his offering. The curry is delicious, savory with a sweet note that can’t just be attributed to the apples you had seen him blending before to mix into the sauce. Your gaze drops to an opened packet on the counter.

“Dark chocolate?”

“A tip I got from some of the housewives in the complex,” Suguru replies, satisfied with your response. “They said that it’d add an additional note of flavor. I’m guessing it worked…?”

You nod vigorously. “It’s delicious!”

Of course Suguru’s made good with the housewives in the fancy apartment complex the two of them live in with the kids. Suguru wanted a big kitchen. Satoru wanted a view. The penthouse seemed to both their tastes.

It’s a lovely apartment, with a large sprawling living room that includes ceiling high bookshelves, an open kitchen with a long island, and stairs that spiral to a second floor. Accommodating two adults, four kids and more, easily. It brings a smile to your face to see traces of Satoru and Suguru, and all the kids all over the apartment. You’re sure the confetti and colored paper scraps on top of the kotatsu are from Mimiko and Nanako and Tsumiki. Some school project that involved copious amounts of glue and glitter. There’s a book you bought for Megumi on the couch. Just as the bookshelves are full of Suguru’s own books. The big jar of sugar in one of the upper cabinets of the kitchen (far away from the kids’ reach) is Satoru’s. To add into his cereal, tea and anything else accommodating his usual sugary diet. There’s an identical jar back at your apartment. Satoru’s sugar jar.

To Satoru and Suguru and the girls, Megumi, and Tsumiki, it’s home.

Suguru’s eyes crease with the curve of his lips, pleased. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Everyone’s going to love it.” Especially the twins, you think. Chocolate in their curry seemed to be exactly the kind of thing they’d delight at, in the small bursts of childlike wonder they rediscovered after Suguru rescued them. They followed after Satoru with their sweet tooths. However, after Nanako had been found with a cavity, Suguru had been forced to put a hard limit on their sugar intake, much to their disappointment.

Suguru gives the curry a stir, almost absentmindedly, as if he’s pondering something.

“I think about it,” he says, after a small silence. “Getting married.”

Oh.

Of course Suguru has thought about marriage. What, with all the marriage talks and matchmaking ceremonies and lovely elegant women in their pretty kimonos, who probably knew all the perfect ways to serve tea and facilitate conversation in all matters of talk. Suguru would make a perfect husband. Anybody would be lucky to marry Suguru. Charming and kind and handsome.

You’ve begun to formulate a question about whether or not anyone’s caught his or Satoru’s eye, when you hear a thundering of footsteps.

“We’re backkkkkkk!” Nanako hollers, rushing into the open living space, pulling Mimiko along with her. “Papa, are you making curry? It smells good!”

Mimiko nods her agreement, tugging on Suguru’s apron. Suguru greets them with a smile, untying his apron and pulling her up into his arms, just Satoru strolls into the room, Tsumiki at his side, Megumi trailing a few steps behind them.

“I’m starved!” Satoru announces, peering over the stovetop at the boiling curry. When a hand sneaks for a piece of chocolate, Suguru slaps his hand away.

Suguru takes the chocolate away and puts it into a drawer as Satoru gawks. “It’s not the kind you’d like anyway.”

“Tsumiki, Megumi,” you start. “How’s school?”

You have regrettably not been able to visit as much as you wish you could. Your studies kept you busy. Your missions kept you out of Tokyo. You hope your absence isn’t missed too much. You read that children should grow up in stable environments. Your schedule was the last thing from stable.

Tsumiki beams. “I’ve got a part in the school play. We’re putting on Hachikazuki-hime!”

You make a mental note to grab the date from Satoru so you can clear your schedule. Tsumiki would be graduating elementary school soon. Already onto middle school. Children grow up so quickly. You’d have to take as many pictures as you could to compile an elementary school picture book for all the kids.

“Is that why you guys were all at the school so late?”

She nods. “Ah, and Megumi hasn’t gotten into a fight in a month,” she says excitedly. “It’s a record!”

The aforementioned boy makes a face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You grin, ruffling the boy’s hair. “That is a record!” Satoru had taken care of an incident a month ago in which you had been called to the school over an altercation between Megumi and another male student. You hadn’t been able to make it. You didn’t ask what Satoru had done, but you have a suspicious inkling that it had been waved away with a twirl of Satoru’s trusty black card.

You catch a glimpse of the clock above the refrigerator and balk. You snatch up your bag from the floor and wrap Tsumiki and Megumi in your arms and squeeze.

“I have to go now! I’ll see you guys later.”

“You’re not staying for dinner?” Mimiko asks quietly, peering up at you through her black bangs.

A sheepish breath escapes you. “I have a lot of homework, unfortunately.” You’d get takeout from that new tempura restaurant that opened up a couple of blocks away from your apartment. Then it was back to the books for you.

Satoru frowns. “You can’t stay an hour?”

Nanako and Mimiko and even Tsumiki voice their agreement.

Even Suguru looks displeased. Though you suppose it’s your fault. It had been your intention to stay until…

Suguru wanted to get married. He was thinking of marriage. With Satoru, with some other faceless bride to be. All three of them. You had said it yourself, hadn’t you? You’d have to learn to live without them.

All of this is just temporary.

You turn to the kids. “Why don’t you guys wash up for dinner?”

One by one, they shuffle off to their rooms. Megumi gives you an inquiring stare, but you wave him off.

“I’ve got a lot more work than I thought…” you trail off underneath their twin scrutiny. “I think it’d be best for me to go home for today.”

“Home,” Satoru repeats. His lips twist, effectively staunching all the words that would undoubtedly tell you exactly what he thinks about your decaying one bedroom apartment that had become your home after you graduated. You were untethered after graduation. While it was an occasion, jujutsu tech had been your home for better or worse for four years. It was the first place you had truly thought of as a home. And to leave it…

Yaga had offered you your room on campus, if you wanted to stay. But it didn’t seem right. Not without Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko. You found your apartment off a flyer attached to a pinboard while at a public library. Shoko had visited the apartment with you, negotiated rent down with the landlord, and the lease had been signed with little fanfare. It was small enough that you wouldn’t feel too lonely. Big windows overlooking a courtyard in the back. She hadn’t been thrilled about it (Satoru and Suguru even less so), but it was clean with a well worn floor and chips in the wall adjacent to the kitchen from what you presumed was to measure a child’s height. It endeared you to the apartment immediately.

Your landlord had informed you that a single mother had lived in your apartment before vacating it. You thought that there must have been love in your apartment once. So much love that a child could grow up happily scribbling away on the same walls you woke up to everyday. Maybe, somehow, this love would make you feel less lonely.

Your apartment was home.

“Then let me pack you—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” You say hurriedly, backing towards the foyer. “I’d hate to trouble you. I have food at home.”

“I’ll walk you.” Satoru says, grabbing his jacket off the counter.

“I’ll take a taxi from the lobby.” You refuse. You can’t hide your smile, touched by their concern. “You should all eat. As a family.”

Suguru stares at you, the weight of his dark gaze making your skin prickle. It makes you feel as if you’ve said something wrong.

“At least make Ijichi drive you home,” Satoru says, exasperated, gesturing to the ceiling length windows that detail the darkness that has set over Tokyo. “It’s dark out.”

You blink in disbelief. “Satoru…” He cocks his head to the side. “Are you still using Ijichi as your personal chauffeur…?”

“...”

You turn to Suguru who seems to suddenly find the potted flowers resting by the window interesting.

Your mouth drops. “Not you too, Suguru! For the last time, you two can’t make Ijichi drop everything he’s doing to drive you through Tokyo!”

You sigh, shaking your head. These two. You feel sympathy towards Ijichi’s plight. Maybe that was why he had looked so withered the other day while you had visited Shoko in the morgue at Jujustu tech. Shoko had made a joke about watering him like you’d water a plant. You, however, could not find the humor in the situation when your kouhai had truly looked to be in need of water. And sleep. And food.

Maybe you could treat him for a meal one of these days…

“Does Ijichi like yakitori…?” You wonder out loud.

“I wouldn’t know.” Suguru says lightly, despite the peeved expression on his face. You can tell that Suguru, really, could not care less about Ijichi’s tastes.

“I don’t care about that man,” Satoru deadpans. “Why are you talking about Ijichi right now?”

You are unimpressed by their responses. “Anyway,” you sigh out. “I’ll be going now.”

“I’m coming—”

“No you aren’t,” you’re already halfway out the door. “Eat Suguru’s delicious curry,” you tell them both. “Tell the kids I love them. Goodnight.”

You don’t take a taxi. You walk fifty minutes to your apartment in the brisk winter in an effort to clear your mind. It doesn’t work. Suguru wants to get married. Satoru too, maybe, despite his efforts to avoid all the matchmaking ceremonies and invitations to go back to the Gojo estate for more lectures on the importance of continuing the Gojo line with an heir. In the end if Suguru wanted it, Satoru would end up wanting it too, as that was the nature of things. The two of them reconfiguring themselves around the other, always in tandem. A girl would catch Satoru’s eye, or Suguru’s, or maybe both of their attentions. And if she made them happy, you would be happy.

It wasn’t as if Suguru and Satoru didn’t have prospects. There was no shortage of girls who would gladly offer themselves. They didn’t need any help in that aspect. Besides, you are sure you’d be of absolutely no help in matchmaking. You always found it difficult to talk to pretty women. Your mouth never quite worked right. They always smelled nice too…

What you can do…

You can keep your distance. Slowly disengage yourself from the tangle of their lives. You’d be relegated to watching from the sidelines. You’d be content. Maybe you could keep Shoko to yourself for a little bit longer. To your knowledge, she had no intention of getting married. You hoped. Yet anyway.

You jam your keys into the door of your apartment, slightly lifting the weight of the door up and jiggling the keys to the right. When you walk into your apartment, you set down your bag. You had forgotten about the takeout. There’s no food in your apartment except for a rotting carrot in the fridge that you throw out, and Satoru’s big jar of sugar on the island.

Oh well, you didn’t have to eat. There's old tea in your cabinet. You ready the kettle. As you wait for the water to heat, you look out the window and think the apartment feels especially big tonight.

#gojo needs to wife geto up rn before i do smh #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #m.jjk #ddao

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