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seiwas · 2 years ago

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₊˚⊹｡ tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru

wc: 7.4k

summary: you teach gojo how to love.

contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent

a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)

When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it.

It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can.

Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to.

“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.”

When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly.

You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away.

It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.

His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking.

It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.

He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.

A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how.

You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could.

The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.

When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit.

During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5.

“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.

“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.

You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—

Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.

When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie.

You wonder if he feels just as warm.

(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).

Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it.

His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately.

“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him.

He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak��how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze.

“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.”

You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else.

But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon).

You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term).

His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.

Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.

What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back?

You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky.

You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him.

“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his.

“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge.

Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today.

“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.”

You hum in response. He does make a point.

“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?”

You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace.

“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.”

Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too.

The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder.

This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki.

When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same.

So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed.

You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to.

Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning.

Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of.

You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you.

But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue.

“Are you okay?”

You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed.

Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes.

“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.

The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”

It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely.

It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little.

“Well, maybe I can suggest—”

“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.”

You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading.

Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?”

It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you.

“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”

You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care.

Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint.

How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god?

“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”

You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.

“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way.

He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide.

“I’m fine,�� he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.”

A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—

it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.

Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.

“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own.

There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?

“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it.

He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same.

There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.

He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.

Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning.

And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way.

If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.

So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room.

Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.

He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you.

You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.

Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.”

You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you.

He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.

Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all.

Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books.

Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake.

Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why.

You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs.

“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.

Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it.

“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk.

It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in.

Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table.

You break the silence.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly.

Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.

Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way.

“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame?

“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets.

“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively.

You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken.

“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.

Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache.

You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway.

“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.”

This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not.

It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast.

He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now.

All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart.

“I can’t.” he speaks softly.

What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky.

You think you want to cry.

You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair.

You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees.

“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway.

What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence.

“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor.

You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail.

Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him.

“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile.

He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love.

The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are.

“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”

“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips.

You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others.

He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.”

And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have.

The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time.

You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more.

“Ok—”

But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—

“So show me how.”

—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most.

You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink.

In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely.

For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace.

It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day).

The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee.

“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry.

You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?”

He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.

You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk.

Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already.

“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.

It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar.

Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous.

You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you.

“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be.

“Like me, right?” he winks.

“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise.

You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.

“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.

What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then.

His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open.

“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat.

You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think.

“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug.

You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing.

Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his.

You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you.

Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever.

He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you.

During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response.

Until—

“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly.

Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand.

You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick.

And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.

The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket).

When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same.

That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles.

“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite.

“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful.

“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows.

He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?”

You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it.

You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right?

“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee.

Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.”

You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long.

He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching.

Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips.

So you wait.

But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there.

Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.

The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can.

When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more).

Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch.

It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is.

Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed?

There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how.

And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same.

It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle.

You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru.

Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different.

There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.

He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move.

He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.

When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone.

You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork).

The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.

There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends.

Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.

Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head.

You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours.

Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still.

You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it.

But it doesn’t come.

You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office.

Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently.

“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little.

You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this.

“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again.

“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”

You chuckle, without judgment, ��I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”

You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday.

When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself.

You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does?

Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough.

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away.

Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids.

When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again.

This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always.

You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours.

By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose.

Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true.

“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips.

You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same.

“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red.

“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door.

You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really.

It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.

thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #satoru #shotorus.writes #oh my god i cant believe i finished this !!!!!!!#its a big one ... jhbfhsdbfja woops #shoutout to niku for being so supportive !!!#col

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augustinewrites · 2 years ago

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cw: jjk manga spoilers (up to 221), blood, sword fights heh + note: it's finally here, and somehow it's worse than shibuya!

“is he gonna be mad?”

“satoru?” you snort lightly, taking another bite of your frozen yogurt. “he’s just going to ask if you won. he might try to take the sequel of that new book set you got as punishment— but i’ll see what i can do.”

across the table, megumi huffs, leaning back into the plush booth. you’d picked him up early from school today, the reason being yet another suspension. his second since he’d started the school year. you suppose that’s the reason for his sullen disposition and existential crisis.

“am i a bad person?”

you glance up at him in acknowledgement, but take a moment before answering. he stirs the frozen yogurt around in its cup, looking rather glum.

there’s a delicate way of going about these types of things. children (especially teenagers) are complicated creatures. they’re still at their most malleable, your words and actions shaping their very future.

“i don’t think you’re a bad person, megumi,” you answer softly, setting your spoon down.

“but i…i keep doing bad stuff,” he argues dejectedly. “and— and i was mean to tsumiki—”

“hey. no one’s born wanting to do bad things,” you tell him. “and when they do…it’s usually more complicated than we think. there are bad situations where sometimes we have to do bad things. even if we don’t want to. even if we’re not proud of them.”

“but how do you know that i’m not?” he asks again, and your heart aches.

“because i know you,” you smile. “i’ve known you for eight years, megumi. yeah, i think you could afford to try using your words instead of your fists once in a while, and be a little nicer to your sister…but i know everything you do comes from a good place.”

megumi doesn’t reply, staring out the window with that pensive frown of his. all you can do is wonder if you and satoru have done right by him. if you’re doing right by him now. (such is the life of a parent, you suppose.)

all you can do is hope.

“hey,” you grin, holding your hand out to him. “promise me something?”

_____

you stumble backwards, narrowly avoiding being gutted by a sword. gasping, your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, the material sliced right above the small, almost imperceptible bump of your stomach.

your megumi would never hurt you. your megumi, your sweet, gentle boy who still muttered the song about bunny ears as he tied his shoes. who always offered his sister the last bite of cake, even though you knew he wanted it for himself. who cried the first time his shikigami were injured in battle.

but this isn’t megumi.

you barely dodge the blade again, ducking and sending your demon dogs out to slow him down as you sprint down the alley. your heart shatters at the sound of a high-pitched whine, but you can’t stop, you can’t look back—

“going somewhere?”

you skid to a stop in front of him, staggering back as quickly as you can.

megumi— no, sukuna stands in front of you now, holding a sword you’d taught his vessel how to make, how to use.

“please,” you beg, thinking of tsumiki’s body a few blocks away. thinking of gojo in the prison realm. you can’t lose anyone else today. “please let him go.”

“i don’t think so,” he grins, sick and twisted as he slowly makes his way towards you. “if only he’d unlocked his full potential sooner. if only you had.”

“he’s just a child.” you say, voice trembling. you look around. there’s no use in running. he’s gotten much too strong.

but you’re not ready to die either.

he wasn’t patient, lunging first and taking the offense. it’s a struggle to meet him at every swing, deflecting blows that send tremors down the sword’s point of impact and reverberate through your arms.

playing defence is the smart move. you’d wait for an opening or a drop in his own defence. then your goal would be to disarm him and attempt to grant yourself an advantage.

(in theory, at least.)

when your swords lock once more, he forces them to the side, kicking you square in the chest. the impact knocks you onto your back. before you can get up, he’s on top of you, driving his sword into your shoulder.

the pain is so blinding, so white-hot and tortuous that you almost immediately pass out when he pulls it free and tosses it out of your reach.

sukuna is in your face now, lips peeled back into a smirk as he laughs, the top of his finger slowly dragging down your face.

“putting you down now would be letting this brat off too easy. doing it slowly, however—”

“get off her.”

your heart skips a beat. that voice.

there’s a flash of recognition in megumi’s eyes. just a for a second.

“satoru?”

“is that any way to treat the person who washed your underwear for almost ten years?” he tsks, hands in his pockets as he steps into the alley, quite literally kicking the king of curses off of you.

he sweeps you off the floor as gently as possible, your stomach flipping at the familiar sensation of being teleported.

you’re not in the alley anymore, you’re up on the roof of a building. as soon as satoru sets you on your feet, you look up, studying his face. the eyes you love so much stare back at you.

the emotions you’d kept bottled up since he’d been gone pour out at once. proof of your heartache, anger, pain, and loneliness spilling over your lash line.

suddenly there’s too much space between you and you tentatively take a step forward.

“it’s you,” you breathe. “it’s really you.”

he says your name softly, and arms you’d longed for envelop you. you feel safe, if only for a moment.

“you need to get to ieiri,” he whispers, a hand cupping your cheek gently. “go. i’ll stop him.”

you both close your eyes, as if the words hurt.

_____

“promise me you’ll always be good.”

megumi sighs, but places his hand in yours, squeezing it tightly.

“i’ll see what i can do.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #keeping up with the fushigojos #jjk manga spoilers #jjk spoilers

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ellesthots · 1 month ago

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Fateful Beginnings

XLIV. “trailhead”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: Bruce is on your trail, making things that much more complicated.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, spoilers for The Penguin (2024), mention of murder, missing person, yearning/pining

words: 7.7k

a/n: i love the little subtle moments i included in this chapter, they’re down Atrocious but they gotta get some work done, why must falling in love bring such insistent feelings?? how cruel ;)

You’d hardly seen eyes so wary, almost pleading. You tucked your hands between your thighs to warm them, his icy blues chilling the tension. After this you needed to steel yourself to their charms; you feared it was beginning to be a slippery slope. “Sure.”

“Do you know anything about the mob families here?”

You shook your head and leaned in slightly when he took a deep breath. “There were two major ones: the Falcones and Maronis. They ran some drug operations, have money in different parts of the city.”

How could he possibly distill a city’s entire criminal underworld into a few sentences?

“Oz Cobb, he’s sometimes called ‘Penguin’. Was the driver for the Falcones, mostly their daughter. Seemed to be on good terms until Falcone’s arrest. When Falcone died, Oz took over his operations, took out the Maronis.” He took great care to keep his voice leveled and calm, though even mentioning the Penguin in your presence felt like a violation to the point he could hardly think.

He gathered the bowls and they clinked in the sink. “After that I couldn’t keep track of him. Second I’d catch him, send him in for another murder, bombing, didn’t matter: released same day.” He grimaced when he tried to gauge your unreadable response. He continued, desperate to get the information downloaded into you so the conversation could be over with. “Doesn’t matter about proof. Oz could walk into a courtroom, shoot the judge, and get away with it.”

Your brow furrowed. “If he really turns on anyone, how does he have that much power? Wouldn’t no one trust him?”

He paused, very glad he’d brought this up if you were already confused. “That’s it: do what he says or get killed.” He hesitated, a sudden meekness affecting his posture. “That’s why I was worried you met with him. He’d shoot you before you realized what was happening.”

You didn’t doubt he was right, but you hadn’t met anyone who seemed like a kingpin, let alone anyone who set off alarm bells… outside of Dr. Crane and the dude walking out of there.

“If he’s on your trail we can’t be seen together. Could use you as leverage.”

“Is he trying to get at you?”

Bruce shot you a knowing look, then spoke like the words hurt him. “I’m a Wayne. If he finds a weak point, he’s exploiting it.”

“And I’m the weak point?”

“Before the interview, the only public association I had was my parents. I don’t even think anyone knows about Alfred.”

Your palms sweated. Ah, fuck. “You can’t tell anyone this. It could literally kill people.”

His teeth dug into his tongue, nervous. “Promise.”

You launched into a brief explanation of what the journalist told you. What you knew of them, what they knew of you, and that they said you needed to leave Gotham while you still could. Watching Bruce's reaction showed his poker face was practiced. You didn’t know what he might say until he gave a slow nod.

“I agree.”

Of course he wants me to leave. “I thought you could help me look into it.”

“You’ve already been a target just from interviewing me. If you’ve run into Oz since city hall, chances are it’s not by accident.”

“If there are journalists disappearing or getting murdered, I want to see where it leads.”

He stared at you blankly, voice flat. “You’re a journalist.”

Silence rotted the air as you stood at a standstill. Your next sentence was muttered against stifled morale. “I guarantee you no one else had Bruce Wayne and Batman at their disposal.”

He resisted the overwhelming urge to curse and shove his head in his hands, instead channeling his frustration to the inside of his cheek. You had him backed into a corner; it had been disastrous every time he prized an argument over putting you in danger. “I don’t know.” But he did—he did know, and playing along wasn’t right.

He chanced a look from across the kitchen island. The edge that longed to bleed into his voice softened at your guardedness. “I think you need to leave.”

The worst part of this was that he wasn’t wrong. What’s leaving a few days early? The safest thing would be to go home and keep your head down a little while, and you could. Bruce having paid your family’s debt would lower the stress of getting into a career straightaway…

He fell in thought with you, each passing second settling more anxiety into your sentiment: you thought you were safe because you had him. His fallibility hadn’t ever bothered him—if he died fighting some criminals, at least he went down swinging. But for you to say it brought his insecurities to the forefront like an impenetrable slab of concrete. If you were correct, and he existed as a forcefield when he was around you, he still couldn’t be 24/7. “What’s to stop them hitting your apartment next?”

“… I don’t know.”

He drank you in with a longing glance. “You need to go.”

“Tons of new journalism students are here because of me. I can’t let them into a trap and go home.” You were strained, weary, with a hint of desperation to your voice.

“It wasn’t you. Vry pressured both of us.”

“And I could’ve said no. I was already home.”

“If you leave, I can look into things. Report back.” Your face didn’t shift from its stressed clench. If only you’d told him about the meeting; he could’ve outfit you with the earpiece at the very least, be able to know precisely what they said rather than paraphrased muck. He sensed something you weren’t telling him.

“What if they track me home? They said I needed to hope it was far enough.”

That wasn’t it.

“And that it might be protective I’m associated with you. Said they target people coming here for scholarships. People without any associations, let alone a billionaire. Probably make me less easy to kill.”

That wasn’t it either, though his mind began to wander fretfully at the prospect of your murder. You’d made half a point, because most people tended to go for the easier victim—but they also went for the enticing one. What was more enticing than managing to snipe (god, he could vomit) an associate of the Waynes?

But Oz targeting you was a different crowd, pushing the edges in your favor. The man had contacted him a half-dozen times since the flooding to get drinks, visit a club, ‘talk business’. For all of Oz’s criminal behavior, and how much he demanded of everyone else in the city, he was never anything but polite towards Mr. Wayne.

Your gaze was insistent, and he relented. Oh, he hated having to acquiesce. “Who knows you live in this apartment?”

You lit up. “Just Mar. And her friend Gianna who picks her up sometimes.”

“Are your paychecks mailed?”

Your eyes dropped to skim the table. “I guess GU has me in their system.”

He ran his hands through his wet hair, thinly veiling his frustration. “You can’t stay here.”

“If I change apartments I’m in the same situation.”

“I’ll get another one for you through the election if we find anything.”

More than anything else, his going along convinced you that the Penguin was an absolute terror. You worried your bottom lip as you rethought the entire affair.

“Same complex, different floor. If anyone is tracking you, you’ll be entering the same building.”

Had he done this before? “They’ll see me coming in and leaving, they’ll know exactly how to track me.”

“They’ll find out wherever you are if it’s that crowd. This way draws less suspicion. Makes it seem like you aren’t onto them.”

“What about the journalists?”

“I can look into that.” He grabbed his keys from the counter.

“I need to help.”

He knew you wouldn’t drop this. Knew it would be another argument. Knew you had a point about the new students. Fuck. “We have to be careful. Neither of us can be in the field.” He grimly referred to his alter ego. “Only him.”

“Thank you.”

He walked to his bag and tucked in what had tumbled out. He felt your eyes on him like a brand. Thanking him for putting you in harm’s way…

“I thought you’d be more angry.”

He paused his walk to the door; your timid, grateful voice penetrated him like a velvet knife. “I meant what I said. I won’t talk to you like that again.”

And you stood like that for a beat, grinning at his back. “Where do we start? Google some things?”

“We can go to my place and see where it leads.” He hiked the bag’s handles over his wrist. “That journalist could’ve been wrong.”

“How late?”

“However long you want to stay.”

Alfred greeted you with a soft hello while you climbed the stairs to discard your things. Your sweats felt tight, baggy, and sweaty in all the wrong places, so you shimmied out of them into some old spandex. You rummaged around your bag to look for a hair tie and changed into a baggier top that didn’t feel constricting.

Having left at nine, you packed an overnight bag. Your toothbrush was gingerly packed in a side pocket without a travel case, a deodorant rattled against your wallet at the bottom, and you grabbed the perfume you’d tossed on top of everything at the last second. Your fingers brushed some decommissioned lingerie before you left your apartment, evoking memories of wearing it under a flirty dress for an ungrateful boyfriend a few Valentines’ ago. You’d nearly relegated yourself to a potato sack as penance for the split second you considered packing it for Bruce. You made a mental note to burn the offending items on your return.

Short shorts and an oversized tee so long he had to sneak a double glance to see if you had pants on as you moved through the kitchen. He stepped to the side for you to sidle in, mind in a modest frenzy over how the moonlight draped across your face on approach.

As he leaned forward to press DOWN, you couldn’t help but juxtapose to the last time you’d been in here. Picking lint off his shoulder, concerned that he might beat you up or otherwise throw you to the wolves. Now you fantasized about the force of his hands if he pushed you against its walls and regularly meandered up to the room you considered your own.

Bruce followed the doors as they slid shut, considering which program would be best to—oh. His eyes fell shut as his mouth flooded with saliva. Long, slow breaths through his nose fluttered his lashes and nearly convinced him to press STOP. Whatever perfume you had on was more delicious than every one previous, combined. Why didn’t…

It felt like a million years ago at this point. Why didn’t he just kiss you yesterday? It would’ve been so easy to whisper it into your ear, he was already right there. What would he do now? Have to turn and face you, stand with his heavy hands limp at his sides, muster the courage to look right into your eyes while he asked? No, no way.

“What’s going on?”

He was breathing too fast now, and you could tell. You could always tell. His hands flexed at his waist. A desperate part of him wanted you to see through him and do something about it so he could say whatever happened wasn’t his fault. Pretend these feelings weren’t real.

“The elevator isn’t moving.” Your brow cocked, and he swallowed thickly.

“Must be locked.” He fished keys out of his pocket, struggling to grasp the smallest one with tingly, clammy fingers. He slipped it into the lock, twisted, and the signature creak sounded the descent.

Luckily the trip was short, because the elevator wasn’t air-tight. The subtle bursts of air from some chips in the siding wafted more of your scent right over him. Through him, more like. What was he, a fucking animal? This was ridiculous. Stupid. It was no different than lighting a candle.

Maybe if he acknowledged it. Took its power away and normalized it. The doors opened and you stepped out. His head pounded as he said it like admitting a dirty secret. “I like your perfume.”

You spun around, unable to hear him over the doors clicking into place. “Hmm?”

Shit. He cleared his throat and made a beeline for his desk, holding his breath as he walked past you. “Didn’t say anything.”

You pulled up the only other stool in the place close enough your shoulders touched. He gripped his thigh as that warm, sweet scent enveloped him, snaring his throat shut. While he booted up the monitor, you glanced around the room. Times like these it was easy to see why he didn’t behave like the stereotypical billionaire; rusted old work lamps scuffed marks into his aged metal desk, endless crates situated below it with various notebooks and files somehow scrupulously organized and in disarray. Something nested in the rafters, cobwebs hanging high above them; if you took out some of the tech, it could pass for any old man’s work area in the countryside.

You asked him for a notebook and pen, and he slipped one to you without thinking. The page you opened to had your name. Friday, May 31st. My identity has officially been compromised by... seeing your full name in his handwriting made you dizzy and you couldn’t read further, utterly transfixed.

Bruce’s eyes bulged out of his head when he realized his mistake. “I uh, I was trying to make sense of things.” He peeked over your shoulder to remind himself of what he had written, praying it wasn’t horrendously mean—that week was a bleary streak in his memory—but you flipped to a clean sheet without fanfare.

“At least I’ll have some notoriety in your memoir.” You gestured toward the monitor and he clicked around, head thrumming. You followed the clip of his fingers on the keyboard, mind dancing with possibilities.

His building arousal mistroked keys and stuttered on backspaces. It was inappropriate, filthy even, given the circumstance. Normally he could easily get desire out of his system by himself, but not with you; each time seemed to only amplify it. He’d never felt so compelled to be intimate with someone. Like his body pleaded to be given a voice, needing to say things that couldn’t be expressed any other way.

You clenched the pen until your knuckles bloomed light from the tension. The cognitive dissonance was brutal; being horny around him was ego-dystonic enough, but while delving into research about missing journalists? Cruel and unusual punishment.

“Found something.” Bruce pulled up a photo from a GU article in 2022. You were jolted back to reality looking at a blue-eyed blonde with shoulder-length curls. She couldn’t be older than twenty. “Kendall Brandy. Reported missing in the flood. Body never recovered.”

“Were all bodies recovered though?” You jotted down her name and a few details.

Bruce shook his head. “But look.”

The screen filled with a court record. A cease and desist filed against her from Arkham. “Two weeks before the flood.” The title of the article to be removed from her devices and all publishing plans was: Undercover: Arkham State Hospital Negligence.

He clicked another tab over while you bullet-pointed beneath her name. How had he managed to gather this in two minutes? “She volunteered there over the summer.”

“Jesus…” you mulled it over for a moment. Bruce wrote something down on a notepad. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why not?” He kept writing.

“What could’ve made Arkham look worse than it already does? Enough to kill someone over?” You’d heard endless jokes on Scypher about how shitty the hospital was, and how much of a ‘lost cause’ their patients were. You’d been surprised they hadn’t cared when Bella was seizing, but that was hardly reason to kill. “Have they had shitty audits?”

Bruce resumed typing, pulling up Arkham’s entire registry in seconds. “Already been through them for other cases. Nothing out of the ordinary. Especially for the city.”

“What if the auditor was paid off?”

“Could be.”

His computer started to resemble an oracle. “Can you find out?”

He got to clicking, and typing, and you followed his pupils darting across the screen. You were mesmerized by his efficiency. How many days, weeks, months of his life had been spent honing his craft? Not five minutes later he pushed his notebook to you.

He’d listed incredibly intricate details ranging from the year the auditor graduated, his major, his family relations (including his favored breed of dog), their lengthy history with the Falcones and Maronis, eventually landing him a job performing audits on various institutions around the city. Apparently his entire family had died in the flood. “There’s autopsy documents. None for Brandy.”

“But wasn’t the flood connected to one guy? Who already said why he did it?”

“Edward Nashton.” Bruce grit his teeth as he said the guy’s name. “Nothing more to get out of him. Already tried.”

“And if the mob families are dead,”

“Most of them.” He put down the pen. “Sofia Falcone’s still alive.”

You dragged his keyboard toward you and looked her up. Seemingly endless articles cropped up detailing the murders committed a decade ago, nestled next to ones directly proceeding the flooding. Gassing her loved ones, murdering a journalist from the Gazette when they tried to bring justice to her previous victims… your tone was slightly sarcastic as the depth of the situation rang a quiet alarm. “If she murdered her family, probably means she doesn’t like them.”

“Or she wanted it for herself.” You were funny, and he might’ve played along if the stakes were any lower.

“Have you met with her?”

“They don’t let her take visitors.”

“Has that stopped you before?”

Bruce shut his notebook with a snap and killed the monitor. “That’s enough for tonight.”

“It’s been like half an hour,”

“And you’re already talking about breaking into Arkham. Speaking to a Falcone.”

You reached around the back of the screen where he had, unable to find the ON switch. “If people have been funneling money to Arkham,”

“How do you know that?” Your slip of the tongue caught his attention. You blurted what the journalist had told you about Bella Reál, and his brow furrowed. “I looked into her disappearance, couldn’t find anything.”

He turned the screen on and worked through more tabs. He didn’t write anything down this time. When he eventually sat with his head in his hands, studiously thinking, you searched for Oz Cobb. The man from Arkham stared back at you. “Him?”

He measured his tone, curious about your strong response. “From City Hall, yeah.”

And Arkham. “What’s his deal?”

“Runs a few clubs downtown. Pushes Drops. Seems to be it… at least that’s all I can find on him.” He moved something from the desk to his Batmobile. His voice echoed. “Took over the mob’s business. Moved his operation into their neighborhoods.”

If there was any time to tell him, it was now. When at the very least you could throw his apology in his face if he got mad. “I visited Bella earlier.” Not saying how much earlier, or how I was summoned. “Ran into Oz there. He was headed out.”

“Did you hear anything?” He walked toward you with his signature scrunched, concentrated expression. It made it a little easier to tell him these things when he looked so cute. And when he wasn't screeching at you in an alleyway. You shook your head.

“He asked me how I was, then he left.”

Bruce went still. “Didn’t try to rope you into anything?”

“No. Just left.”

“What did Reál say?”

“I guess I tried to visit.” It was crucial you stopped talking as soon as possible.

“Arkham…” Gears were turning behind his eyes, and regret slammed the back of your throat. He’d managed to unearth the full medical history of strangers in minutes, he could certainly rifle through a call log from the head of psychiatry. He sat back on the stool and changed tabs. Please don’t, please don’t…

He loaded up the staff page of Arkham, sorted alphabetically, and you twitched when he clicked the first result: Crane. “I don’t know,”

He jotted some things down. What things is he writing?

“Maybe we could check if there are any other missing journalists? Maybe it was just a one-off.” One-off? Someone was murdered and they’re covering it up. You were too anxious by this point though, concerned with a strange sense of self-preservation that took up all remaining brain power. “Arkham seems like a really difficult place to start,”

“I think you’re onto something.” He scribbled something more. What am I onto? What is he onto? “I didn’t know that about Reál.” Every strike of his pen made you vibrate.

“I don’t know if we can even trust that person; I mean, meeting me in the middle of the night, being weird and cryptic.”

“Crane was there when I met with Vry about graduation…” he bulleted more notes in his slanted handwriting you couldn’t decipher from this angle. He was connecting dots. Dots that couldn’t be connected yet.

“Bruce,”

He focused intently between the screen and his notepad. More scribbles.

“What are you writing?”

“I’ll show you in a minute.”

You couldn’t survive a minute. You bit your tongue and looked around, pretending to be bored, yawning to pretend you weren’t wired, anything to stop every etch of his pen striking the paper from peeling your skin. “Want to watch a movie?”

He didn’t hear you, too busy writing.

You noticed tools on the ground by his vehicle. “What’s wrong with the car?”

“Brake pads.” He kept writing. Opened a new tab to research Jonathan Crane.

It was a matter of days, maybe weeks, before he found you out. How would he take it? Would he do something drastic? Undo all his progress? Hurt himself again? You felt like crying. Even if he didn’t find you out—which you were certain he would at this point—you’d created an environment where he was suspicious of his care team. Dangerous territory.

“I need to set up a meeting with him.”

You choked on the spit that had accumulated on your tongue. “But he’s your doctor,”

“Exactly. Inconspicuous.” He flipped his notepad closed. You stared at it like a grenade. “A follow-up appointment will give me access—”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Picking your nails, biting your cheek. He discovered a new tell: bouncing your leg. You were a ball of anxiety. “Then we can get in. Search around.” He thought it would calm you that he’d found a starting place. Maybe rev you up, get you excitedly asking a million more questions. Was nothing he said coming out right?

You sounded frail, beaten. “Mixing the two when you’re so early into treatment, I don’t…”

In these moments two polarizing emotions struck each half of his body in equal measure: defensiveness and accommodation. He tried not to show that he was deflating like a punctured balloon. It didn’t feel like being early; it felt like a month of getting used to taking a medication that made him nauseous every morning and nights spent staring at the ceiling in agony, wondering when or if his mind would slip again. Living in a constant state of uncertainty he kept trying to bury. Your brows knit together. “Please.”

He nodded after noticing your shaking hands, setting aside a snarky, insecure comment about being infantilized. “Okay.”

You averted your eyes, the argument you thought you’d have choking out your throat. Your eyes wet knowing in a week’s time you’d be gone and he’d find out, spending the rest of his life hating you. Such a sure future made the present feel flimsy and fake, each kindness afforded by him landing like a gut-punch.

“We could search for more journalists.” Bruce was quiet, his tone almost restrained.

“I don’t know how you even found Kendall.” You’d misjudged his talents, leaving you feeling like dead weight even without the guilt scarring your stomach lining. You searched the code scrawled across the screen, the mysterious buttons scattered around the desk, and sat back on the stool in defeat. Your limbs felt lead-lined.

Bruce moved slowly to his seat as the room’s tension rose. “It’s easier than it looks.” A sideways glance at your dejected face, then a pause. “Here.”

He spent the next half hour depreciating his expertise, pulling up various softwares and programs that he assured did the brunt of his bidding. The one in the top left corner of his desktop cross-referenced this database, the one in the bottom right did another, and one in the middle synthesized the two. One button limited to the Gotham area and related publications, the other was nationwide. Often, he explained, a missing person’s report would be filed in the home state of the potential victim. He demonstrated by walking through what he’d done for Kendall.

You wrote notes for it all, but he was flying through it. Going through various directories, filtering by major, pasting groups of names, plugging cross-referenced photos into facial recognition from surveillance cameras throughout the city, and following the rabbit hole that took him down. Your head spun.

“Do the police have this tech too?”

His eyes shimmered with something like mischief. “It’s not exactly legal.”

“Right.” Your eyes skimmed the room full of armor and gadgets, and back to the man notating beside you in your hoodie. A watery grin painted your lips. “Unlike being a vigilante.”

It got a low chuckle out of him. He pasted a mile-long list of student’s names into one of the programs.

“What do you like about doing this?”

He hesitated, a bit remorseful. What he did was intrusive and illegal, and he was keenly aware it appeared to be a moral inconsistency. “It's the way I know how to help. Utilizing what I’ve been given.” He grinned, barely. “Like you said. Not everyone has the time.”

He typed something you couldn’t be bothered to divert your attention to, soaking him up. He was so good. “Thought you just liked puzzles or something.”

He teased you back as he wrote names on a sticky note. “Not as shallow as you think.”

“Now you’re posturing.”

“Here’s the time-consuming part.” Bruce stood and rolled his shoulders back, cricking his neck. The screen loaded something at a snail’s pace. “It hits all the cameras in the city. Could take a couple hours with this many photos.”

“You found posters?” In his speedy tutorial, he’d shown you how he matched names to missing person’s reports, then their posters, scraping their photos to plug into recognition tech.

“A few dozen.”

“That many missing journalists?”

“Never know how many match, could be zero.” He motioned upstairs. “Hungry?”

Your mind immediately shot to Rai’s; particularly how you’d never get to see him again in just a few days, and how much you’d neglected him spending so much time with Bruce. You opened your phone to check the time. A late-night trip hadn’t happened in ages now, only when you were with Mar. It suddenly felt like a bucket-list item.

Your attention caught on a motorbike parked to the right of the desk. “Can we get takeout?”

You shouldn’t have gotten takeout. Rai’s food was good, but it wasn’t worth this.

Turned out his bike was single-occupant; after forcing you to wear the only helmet he owned, interrupting your plans for the wind to zip through your hair and sting your cheeks, you found yourself sitting on his lap with his hands over yours to steer. You tried not to think about the ride.

Immediately he knew the bike was a mistake. A horrible, horrible mistake. Feeling the weight of you spread across his thighs was a constant threat. He wouldn’t let himself think about what would happen if he weren’t using ninety percent of his energy to dissociate from his physical form.

The electricity of being flush with him, his frame encompassing yours in a way that felt devastatingly consuming, feeling every twitch of his hands as he worked Gotham’s back streets. The ride was only five minutes, but your mind had slipped to how accessible you both were twice as many times. How the only thing separating you wasn’t distance or position, but thin—and in your case, embarrassingly thin—layers of clothing.

A pothole virtually succeeded in the final unraveling; if you hadn’t drowned the other out by reacting at the same time, and the wind been any less loud, he would’ve heard your yelp and you his gasp as your ass bounced hard against him.

As it stood, the rest of the trip was spent still as statues, both of you holding your breath. It was hell on the dismount, having to scoot across his crotch to gain footing. You bit your cheek as penance for sneaking a glance at the dark sweatpants that left things a disappointing mystery. He readjusted his sunglasses and cinched the hood.

The city pulsed silently around both of you, present but unobtrusive; he hardly registered the veils of black between streetlights as you led him toward the mystery shop. His focus was tethered tightly to you, caught up in your lively intonation breaking the traffic noise.

You skipped across a stray plastic bag and the momentum caught the wind in your hair, its shine slipping the lights. Palpitations fluttered beneath your sweatshirt he hadn’t yet replaced and didn’t want to; you looked over your shoulder and mimed for him to keep up. With no one around he could feel the wind on his skin, on parts of his body that never felt it this late in the day. Feelings like this made everything complicated.

Walking at night was always terrifying, but not with him. There was a freedom to his presence that raced the cool air straight to the bottom of your lungs. Without thinking, you reached for his arm to pull him faster. By the time you’d gripped his wrist and a rod of unbearable tenderness leapt through you, you couldn’t very well drop him. “Slowpoke.”

Soft bells chimed as you pushed through the deli door, threading him through in the same motion. A teenager holding a massive fountain drink nearly toppled into you, and a giggle bubbled up as you swerved. You blinked to orient your eyes to the bright overheads just as Rai entered your vision. He was the only Gothamite who could make you break contact with Bruce, and you launched into a hug.

A tight embrace, toothy smiles, and immediate prattling. His eyes narrowed, shared happiness and a jealous knot fighting for dominance. He clasped his hands.

“This is Rai.” You laughed and gestured toward him. Bruce bristled, but stepped forward with a rehearsed grin.

“Pleasure.”

Rai nodded at him, refusing further acknowledgement. He winked at you and Bruce felt faint. “Baby, you gotta keep your location on being out this late.”

Baby?

You slugged the man’s arm and laughed. Bruce’s gut cinched tighter than he thought possible; tight enough it scared him. You wandered down the nearest aisle. He grit his teeth and followed, body vibrating.

You never mentioned a boyfriend, but he’d never asked. Though—you called him, not the boyfriend, when you needed help. Odd. You rifled through some chips while he debated whether to mention it.

“How long have you been together?” Casual. No big deal.

You chuckled again, and moved to the next aisle. His brow furrowed. Starting to feel like a big deal.

You acted as though he hadn’t said anything, directing attention to which bag of candy he preferred. He would’ve eaten a pound of raw meat if you only answered; this limbo was physical pain.

Was it weeks? Months? He picked out a seasonal redbull for his contribution and tossed it into the small basket you handed him between the snack and drink aisles. A few years?

Somehow he had braved the store and handed the cash to your boyfriend without passing out. He’d seen the man before, but couldn’t place him. Dark hair, darker eyes. He thought of how pale and washed-out his were in comparison. At the least, he’d never run into the guy on patrol. Someone who kept his head down.

You said something to the object of your affection and reached over the counter for another hug. He kissed the side of your cheek closest to your ear. Bruce’s flushed pink. Wasn’t this good? Normal, yeah? Even his internal monologue was going pitchy.

The boyfriend pulled out a bag and Bruce flinched. “We don’t need one.”

He watched your eyes flit to the pile of snacks that definitely needed a bag, but he was already scooping it into his arms. You said goodbye and held the door open. Officially out in the open air, he had no idea what possessed him to want to balance ten items while steering a motorbike.

You razzed him once the door closed. His cheeks burned.

“We have a running joke.” You skipped ahead, then folded back when you remembered he was juggling a basket’s worth of goods. “Whenever I come in with a strange man, Rai pretends to be my boyfriend. Safety thing.”

Your hands swung at your side from the residual momentum, not seeming to need all the caffeine you’d loaded into the cart. He stared at you. “I’m not mad.”

“Why would you be?”

Backtrack! Redirect!! “I’m a strange man?”

“Absolutely.” You gave his anonymous frame a once-over.

Thankfully you steered the conversation from there, his pulse hammering in his temples as he processed his relief. Bruce wasn’t keen to know what situation had prompted such protocol, but it was nice of your friend. He’d been convincing enough.

“He’s great. Used to hang there all the time. His cooking is absolutely incredible, shocked his store isn’t always packed.”

The memory crept to him. “Think he catered a meeting once.”

You laughed again. You laughed a lot when talking about that guy. Your hair fell into your face with a particularly harsh gust of wind and he felt an instinct to push it back, but his hands were tied. These feelings were foreign and bizarre.

“That’s actually what made me want to interview you. His sister was working the place, said Bruce Wayne gave them a bonus.” You whispered his name like there was anyone else on the block.

“You’d never heard my name before then?” ‘Bruce’ sounded like honey on your lips; Christ, he loved hearing you say it and could never let you know.

You shrugged, making your case as you reached the crosswalk. “I was desperate for a topic and that meant you’d probably be there.”

“So you tackled me.”

“Those steps are steep, man.”

You both giggled waiting for the traffic to change. How many nights would end like this, and how many more could he squeeze in before you left and took the light with you?

“Speaking of,” the signal changed to WALK. He mirrored your pace, shortening his strides. The drinks jostled together with each step. “What are your plans through the election?”

You wrapped your arms around your chest in a makeshift hug as you scurried to the sidewalk. Nerves dampened your volume. “What do you mean?”

“If you want to keep working on things, we could do every Thursday. Tuesday and Thursday, maybe. I’m meeting with March this Wednesday, could pick you up after?” Could it come out any clunkier?

“Maybe.”

“Or whatever works with your schedule. No pressure.”

You could’ve laughed at the irony of him quite literally being your schedule if you weren’t so pathetically guilty. You meditated on the jagged cracks in the sidewalk slipping below your feet.

“Something going on?”

“No.”

Half a block passed before he broke the silence. “What do you want to do when we get back, while we wait?” He counted almost a minute more before throwing a bone. “Watch something, eat some snacks,”

“I’m actually, I’m tired. I think I’ll tuck home.” You cleared your throat and anxiously raked your fingers through your still-damp hair.

“Sure, I’ll drop you off.” He was off-kilter today and kept missing your cues. Did you not want to hang out with him? He glanced at the two teas you’d grabbed for the evening and decided making it personal was stupid. You wouldn’t have brought a bag and got snacks if you planned to ditch.

“I’m sorry.” You bit the inside of your lip until it bled.

“Don’t be.” Quick glances revealed a tense, stressed face, and the glaze in your eyes said you were half present. He mulled over questions to get to the bottom of things, but they all felt ill-timed.

The silence continued until Bruce couldn’t take it anymore. Seconds passed like hours as he struggled to comprehend how to help. He couldn’t very well put his arm around you, hug you, and—god forbid—kiss your head, like he’d seen his dad do. What else did he do for her that actually helped? The memories grew blurrier by the day.

Maybe you required reassurance, ah! He looked to you with a charitable grin. “There’s always next week, week after. Whenever.”

You made the brutal mistake of peeking at him and you practically broke in two. You held it together for three more cracks in the cement before your lip warbled and a sob slipped out. He couldn’t smile like that, not at you. You crouched and bent your body as compact as possible, a single spider’s web straining to contain your guilt. You had to tell him, rip this lie from your bone marrow.

Dr. Crane’s heavy presence slammed on your back when Bruce’s gentle hand touched your shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. We have time.”

His hand was strong and reassuring, warming a wide swath of your back. You wanted to scream, and angrily wiped tears with the arm of your shirt. Your sniffles echoed off the brick to your right.

“Are you okay?”

“I just don’t feel good.” Fuck. Fuck! Your legs shook when you stood tall, shoving toward the bike.

“Do you need anything? I could run back in.”

You wouldn’t let it out on him again. You faced him to make it harder—stood wearing your outfit, albeit the longest, baggiest ones, all the goods in his arms slanted to his left to free up his right hand. Reflected in his glasses was the state of you; disheveled, puffy-faced, and bare-legged, barely containing a sentence that would shatter everything.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

He wondered if you were still having nightmares because of him. The headaches, turning in early, emotional cycling. Iris once told him—or rather, Alfred—that any unexpected burst of emotion was to be expected in times like ‘these’. He’d hated Alfred for years for his inability to leave him alone, but he was beginning to understand. He didn’t want you to isolate either.

You stared at the bike like it was a torture device, though the alternative wasn’t a drastic improvement; he managed to stuff the snacks into bulging pockets, and you shut your eyes as you climbed on top of him. You kept them shut and hummed a song to yourself to distract, trying to convince your body it was perhaps floating and this was a strange dream. The helmet smelled like him; now less focused on his muscular thighs, it was an all-consuming scent.

He hadn’t yet come to a complete stop when you started to slide off, yanking the helmet off and plunking it onto his lap. Distracted and desperate to escape before you cried again, the lobby door’s closing reminded that you hadn’t said goodbye, running off in a blink.

This distraction kept you unable to think facing your locked door. A neighbor stumbled a few doors down and unlocked via the hotel-style card gifted at signing. You popped off the back of your phone case and heaved a sigh as you beeped yourself in.

Against what felt like a hesitant conscience but could’ve been better judgement, you dialed Dr. Crane the minute the door locked behind you. It rang twice; not enough time to remedy the tears streaming in protest and shame down the round edges of your cheeks.

“Good evening, Ms. Y/L/N.” There was something soothing about hearing a man’s voice that wasn’t Bruce’s. You choked out that he’d been fine tonight, to which he responded he was ‘glad’ to hear it. You tightened your grip on the phone.

“So next weekend I’m free to go?”

The psychiatrist readily picked up on your nerves. “Do you have concerns?”

“No. Not really.”

“Does he have a packed schedule next week?”

He was frustratingly nonchalant. “Just the rally and weekly meeting.”

“Right then.”

Rubbing between your eyes and pinching the nose bridge was only making things worse. Bodies weren’t meant to hold this much tension. “Oh, and meeting with one of the candidates on Wednesday. Lincoln March.”

You pulled back your phone to make sure the line was connected following an extended pause. “Philanthropist like his father.”

“Wants to make the city better I think.”

“Ah.” Another pause. “Does he talk to you about his plans? Politics?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“A bit?”

“More than anyone else.”

Shuffling broke the line slightly, muffling his end. “Very well. Nice to know he has someone he can trust.”

“Actually I do have something.”

“Yes?”

Holding your breath kept your tears inaudible. “When can I tell him?”

“He has his pickup scheduled Thursday afternoon. Friday should work. Gives time for your absence to settle in without rumination.” Now you knew what the shuffling was—he was snapping something into a clipboard, writing something down with a clicky pen.

“I mean, when can I tell him that I wasn’t the witness?”

The silence that followed was cold, like you’d broken some sacred code. “Never. The spiral it would send him down would be catastrophic.”

Your heart fluttered, petrified by the chance you truly would never be able to get it off your chest. Would you have to carry this weight forever? “Even now that he’s doing better?”

“Especially so.”

Every time you saw his name, anytime anyone talked about him, anytime you saw his photos in magazines, news articles, or posts online. No heavenly release, no damnation to hell. An endless purgatory.

He rubbed salt in the wound with his clarity. “Let me be clear: to tell a patient who suffers with paranoia and delusions that the circumstances surrounding their crisis was in any part fabricated is perilous.

As I said before: this is a secret you must keep.”

You mustered a goodbye and crumbled to your knees.

Bruce had just stepped into the kitchen when Alfred arrived. “Where’s the young lady?”

“Went home.” He dumped the snacks on the counter and roughly categorized them, feeling the nagging pull of the old man’s silence. God, he was plotting.

“Are the two of you… going out?”

He slammed the drinks in the fridge and considered putting a bell on the man’s shoes. “No.” He huffed past, noting Alfred peering at him over his glasses. “Don’t know why you’re confused.”

“Even me being in hospital couldn’t keep you from your duties.”

Bruce had half a mind to never bring you back here, and an even pettier urge to start responding to such inquiries as if you’d never existed. What ‘young lady’? Alfred, you must’ve seen a ghost. “The signal hasn’t been lit.”

“I was unaware your patrols were so exclusive.”

He grit his teeth. “What is this?”

“Only checking in, Bruce.” His unhurried gait brought him to his tea kettle; Bruce was so used to its scream he’d nearly forgotten the thing’s purpose. He used to take his bedtime tea at eleven, but it crept closer to twilight with each passing year. “You used to tell me things before I asked, you know.”

“Fine.” His arms slapped to his sides, stalled in the foyer. “I like her. That good enough for you?”

Alfred’s eyes sparkled, the corners of his mouth turning up. He hadn’t anticipated an easy reveal, but he couldn’t say he was surprised. “Quite.”

Bruce scoffed, taking the steps three at a time. He waited on his floor before climbing the additional levels to the theater room. Your blanket—his blanket—was folded neatly on the arm of the couch. Dory’s meticulous presence was additionally noted by the lack of fingerprints on the smooth black remote; he turned it over in his palm, not totally believing he’d spoken it out loud. Alfred wouldn’t dare tell, would he? He glanced again at the blanket. Only Dory, probably.

His phone buzzed.

Forgot to thank you for the ride.

No problem. When do you want your bag?

You texted plenty over the weekend; you rationalized it by saying it would help him acclimate to your physical absence and serve as a transition piece. Topics never strayed from small talk, which you were grateful for. Messages about the weather, chancing the occasional meme off Scypher (his reactions had evolved from ‘ha’ to ‘lol!’, which you were ridiculously proud of), and inconsequential updates on the research. You contemplated staying in touch with him this way and not having a hard break, but couldn’t parse whether it was more for you or him.

By the weekend’s end, plane tickets were booked and Mar had claimed most of your apartment’s furniture via FaceTime. You’d sent an email to Dr. Vry about your impending absence, letting her know you’d turn in supplies and the final column by end of day Friday. More and more minutes passed staring out the window with a discordant longing.

Bruce lit up your phone as you dug into Phish Food for dinner. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” Keys clacked in the background. “Might’ve found something worth looking into.”

“Like what?” Swirls of fluffy marshmallow caught your spoon. Perhaps you could sneak him a pint as a parting gift at City Hall.

“Have you ever worn contacts?”

67 notes · View notes

snowfieldstories · 1 month ago

Text

His scent & love language headcanons 18+ [gender neutral]

Spoilers for Dokja’s backstory and novel stuff

His scent --

Kim Dokja: lightning strikes and an unnamed freshness

This man is hopped up on probability aftermaths and the [‘Electrification’] skill; he smells of an electric current with a hint of char. As a constellation, there is an otherworldly-sense about him. One way this manifests is his scent. No one remains fresh in an apocalypse, but somehow Kim Dokja emits a scent of brightness and clean. He definitely takes pride in smelling nice to impress other constellations and his companions.

Yoo Joonghyuk: manly sweat/musk and exotic spices

HA, you thought this would be good because of his pretty face? Oh please, this man hardly takes a shower. Who has time to bathe when you're constantly fighting to end all the scenarios? His natural scent swings wildly between an unpleasant, stale odor and an intoxicating musk. On the days that smell leans unfavorably, it is his ['Cooking Lv. 10'] skill that tries to save him. He can pull fragrant spices out of thin air to supplement his dishes; the mouthwatering aroma of his cooking clings to his clothes long after the food has been devoured. Uh...best hope for some rain tomorrow. And every day after that.

His love language --

Kim Dokja

He loves to receive physical touch and words of affirmation from his partner. Dokja has a complicated relationship with the meaning of a loving touch; he's only known of its harshness or its absence. When he trusts his partner, he craves little intimacies—a supporting hand on his arm, soft kisses along his jawline, or falling asleep nestled firmly at his side. No touch is too much for Kim Dokja, and if he's not receiving enough from his partner then he has no problem going to seek it out from them himself.

As a child, there was no one who lifted him up in affirmation so he is especially susceptible to praise. A few words of encouragement or a compliment on his looks will send a flush of pink across his cheeks. His partner should take caution, however, because sometimes this desire for praise can turn needy when accompanied by more...carnal activities. This man is not above begging for it.

Dokja relishes in giving gifts and physical intimacies. Some may know him as Mr. Moneybags. Richie Rich. A third-generation chaebol. Sugar daddy…with and without the sugar. [Uh, wait, who said that last one? *coughs*] Whatever his partner wants, it was packaged and delivered yesterday morning. Seeing his partner light up at receiving something they’d only had a mere, passing thought of makes Dokja giddy. It is truly a testament of “to be loved is to be known.”

The more Dokja knows his partner, the more comfortable he becomes with physical touch, too. He begins small with light bumps against the shoulder or sweeping back the hair from his partner’s eyes as they focus. As trust builds, he grows more bold in public—a kiss on the inside of their wrist and touches that border on possessive. In private, he is just as greedy to get his hands on his partner because he wants to make them feel good. Sure, he likes to receive, but this man is first and foremost a giver.

Yoo Joonghyuk

In the dictionary, right next to "service" is a photo of Yoo Joonghyuk. This should come as no surprise. He is devoted to giving acts of service and quality time to his partner. This man is pleased to help with tasks as simple as opening a tough plastic bottle cap, to cooking their favorite foods. But he will also spend 100 years ascending levels of transcendence in order to protect them better. He will dive into the depths of hell, travel the far reaches of the universe, for the chance to give them a happy life. And he will shove their hands away and spread their legs apart to give, because even in bed he wants to service his partner's needs before his own...

Ahem, going back to more serious things. Joonghyuk takes his quality time very seriously. Sure, one might say he has time to spare from a never-ending series of regressions, but he still doesn't want to waste a second when it matters to him. And his partner is someone who matters. Expect many companionable silences where he can derive the greatest joy from the comfort of his partner's presence. Being able to coexist in the same space is a luxury he covets.

As he loves to give, so does he love to receive quality time with his beloved, especially when they initiate it. His time with his partner is limited. No, more than that—it's doomed to end and repeat from ground zero. Every so often, he grows depressed from having to constantly build up the relationship from introductions. But by the next regression, he's more determined than ever to reclaim his partner in his life. Each moment spent, no matter how trivial or domestic, is stored as a precious jewel in his mind. Joonghyuk never wants to forget.

Honestly, there are more ways to give love to Yoo Joonghyuk. But it is up to his partner to figure that out. Joonghyuk has the mysteriousness and volatility of a black cat—luckily, his partner forever remains a fierce cat-lover, despite any other changes that befall each regression round.

____

A/N; This was inspired by my characterization of Dokja in my fic, In Life and Death.

#omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv #kim dokja #kim dokja x reader #orv x reader #headcanon #omniscient reader webtoon #omniscient reader novel #orv fanfic #who said that not me #orv spoilers #orv kdj #thanks for reading #snowfieldstories #yoo joonghyuk x reader #yoo joonghyuk #orv yjh

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itsaship-literally · 5 months ago

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It’s A Ship - Literally Revisited

As many of my long-time followers and friends know…

THIS BLOG supports the POTENTIAL FUTURE of Beetlejuice and Lydia.

In the past, I have written posts about WHY we ship Beej and Lyds, specifically here on this blog, when there are so many controversies. It needed to be cleared up many times because, with every new piece of media, there comes opposition, which is totally understandable if you are not used to supernatural or horror-themed romance tropes.

I am here to help break it down for all the new fans sitting back and trying to figure out the ship's where, what, why and whens.

Here we go!

Movie verse:

Many of us were young when we met Beetlejuice and Lydia for the first time. Some latched on to and related to a young Winona Ryder. It was a vibe, and while we are well aware that in real-life terms, a teen is not ready to be involved with a 600+ ghost (cuz that’s an option 🤣), we couldn't help but find the allure in the Living Meets Death dichotomy. As you will undoubtedly see, this is a running theme in the fandom.

We had countless reunion fics featuring an older Lydia (sometimes by years, sometimes by months) reconnecting with her villain/antagonist. Many were dark fic, some light and fluffy and some off the wall chaotic, while some crossed over into the MoToon verse (yes that is a thing)

So here we are, more than 30 years later, and our pair reunited legitimately on the big screen. It was beautiful and, without giving away any spoilers since this new piece of media is still fresh, it gives us more to play with because, let’s face it, he is not done haunting her.

With this movie universe, there is still potential for this ship to thrive. (And that’s not just because Winona and Michael are down. I still am in shock over their revelations)

Toon Verse:

Yet another oldie that many grew up on. This one is a hotbed for both friend-shipping and Relation-shipping.

Here, we have a long-term bond that can be wholesome, platonic, romantic, complicated, or, on occasion, dark and twisted.

Stories have ranged from childhood crushes to outright possessiveness. The fanart from cute fluff to… well… rule 34.

Lydia is young in this cartoon. We are aware of that and in any cartoon fandom, aging up is par for the course. It is expected (and preferred by many) that any stories of romance happen in circumstances outside of the toon cannon.

Age issues aside, we cannot deny that BJ adores her. The man has an entire shrine in his head, idolizing this twisted, weird girl that, once again, many older fans related to. He would do anything for her and has proved it many times. The chaotic dead man with no shits to give will give up freedom and wealth and go against his nature to make her happy.

How can we not find the potential for a future of these two goofballs?

Musical Verse:

This universe combined the goofiness of Toon with the antagonism of the movie—a nice combo that I and those we call MusicalBabes enjoy.

Regardless of what the cast believes or feels about the shipping subject, they are working with a pair of unseen, attention-starved, chaotic nut jobs—a compliment, not disparagement.

Beetlejuice and Lydia need each other. They were miserable before they met and would have continued to be so had they not entangled themselves in the other’s existence.

Living and the dead, once again, need each other to balance their lonliness.

Does musical verse have ship potential? Hell, yes, it does. (Also, this is the only piece of media where the wedding actually went through)

Just a few Common Tropes In This Ship: (there are so many more than this)

Mayfly/December Romance (also see: May/December and Age Gap)

Reincarnation Romance

Death and the Maiden (also see: Monster and the Maiden)

Beast and Beauty

Ugly Guy, Hot Wife

Boy meets Ghoul

Why the name Beetlebabes?

Read: Beetlebabes: A History

To find more ship related content use: Beetlejuice x Lydia, Betelyds (alt. Beetlyds), Beej and Lyds, Beetle and Babes, Beetz and Deetz (or more simply Beetz) are the original ship names. BeetleBabes, MovieBabes, ToonBabes and MusicalBabes are all relatively new.

This blog often uses Beetlebabes but it’s not a hard fast rule that it will be on every post.

The goal of Its A Ship - Literally...

I created this blog many years ago (around 2016) to collect all the goodness in the fandom. Memes, art, fics, fan theories. I picked up the ship names and used them as tags. Gathered as much as I could from Tumblr posts, in all universes, and tried so hard to stay neutral amidst the internal fandom drama. (give or take a few misteps, iykyk)

The only goal I have here is to collect and share and boost all universes. Movie, Toon and Musical, including the mini verses of MoToon and Graveyard Revue if I can find it.

I do this for fun, to destress and play internet magpie with shiny beetle stuff while I stuff everything into the queue.

Lots of love to you guys. And as always, please show love to your fan creators. Credit them and boost the signals. These creators do so much hard work.

- 🪲 - 🪲 - 🪲 - 🪲 - 🪲 -

Previous Posts Like This: Because It Needs to Be Said Yet Again (2017) | One More Time (2019)

#beetlejuice #beetlebabes #lydia deetz #betelgeuse #beetlelyds #beej and lyds #about the ship #beetlejuice x lydia #beetz #beetz and deetz #betelyds #lydia and beetlejuice

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simply-wlw-kpopstan · 11 months ago

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4. Accident

⚠️ Spoilers ahead

You woke up and groaned lightly at the light peeking in from behind the curtains. You buried your face in the mass of hair that was in front of you and shifted closer to the warm source, the soft scent of cinnamon and sigarets were just lulling you back to sleep until realization hit you.

Sometime in the night, you and harin got closer and ended up cuddling. Harin’s back was pressed against you, your thigh wedged between her legs and an arm loosely over her waist.

You try to pull away slightly, but all you end up doing is accidentally rubbing your thigh against her 'causing harin to moan lightly in her sleep. Luckily for you she doesn't wake up and you try again, shifting more slowly this time and you manage to escape the bed without waking her up and got ready for the day quietly.

As you walk into the living room you see eunjeong sitting on the couch with her headphones on. You walked closer to her and tapped her on her shoulder, she jumps a little at the touch and shifts the headphones slightly so she can hear you. "What's up?"

"How's your foot?" you nodd towards her leg that's taped, "think you can walk on it to get a coffee?" She smiled and nodded.

"sure, let me grab my bag first." when she left the room you walked towards the window that stretched across the suite, the sun was rising and there were a few people jogging downstairs. If you have the time later you'll go for a run, who knows what you'll find along the way." ready? " eunjeong's voice startled you and you both laughed it off.

"Let's go." you left the suite and ran into yerim and suji at the coffee shop. The air was pretty awkward when nobody said a word as you waited for your orders. It seems like luck was on your side when they call out your order number. "so what's going on between you and yerim? Are you fighting or something?"

"I'll tell you if you tell me what's going on between you and harin." she gave you a knowing look as she sipped from her cup.

"Okay so no talking then. Got it."

"what is it that she has on you?" She watched your expression closely, searching for a sign that could confirm her suspicion. "it looks like you're being protected by her or maybe she's just keeping you for her entertainment. I heard about the clay incident, that must've been hard. Did she ruin one of your pieces?"

"no. It wasn't like that. It's complicated." lie. It was simple, you like her and have been sneaking around in a certain way. You don't know what you are, no matter what harin says there will always be a voice doubting her. " I met her before I came here and she was not like how you know her, I didn't see that side of her until a few weeks ago."

"you like her?" judging by eunjeong's voice she wasn't judging you like you thought she would. "you liked her and then you got to know her other side but it was too late wasn't it?"

You just nodded at her question, no words needed to be said to confirm. " it's crazy right? I hate that I still see the good in her when I know what she's done."

"well, I'm ignoring yerim because I want her to debut."

"I'm sorry for saying this but that doesn't make any sense."

"yerim was against the game from the beginning and harin didn't like that. But since yerim comes from a powerful family harin couldn't just make her an F so she uses her debut against her. I know that me and yerim are obvious but I want her to achieve her dream of debuting."

"so that's what she got on you." you said it more to yourself then to eunjeong but she nodded anyways.

"all I want to say is just be careful. It seems like this thing between you is the only way of her having a hold on you. I'm not saying she doesn't like you but...."

"I know. Trust me there's a little voice in the back of my head whenever she's sweet to me. It's constantly reminding me to keep my guard up just in case. "

"well as long as you listen to it you'll be fine." she smiled and you both finished your drinks as you made your way back to the hotel.

Harin was nowhere to be found but you assumed eunbyeol was with her since she was gone too. You still had 10 minutes before you had to go downstairs, paintball would sound fun if it wasn't with this group of people. A lot has happened and you knew today would be a recipe for disaster. Your only hope was that harin kept her word but That hope was shattered the moment eunbyeol announces you were playing for a replacement F and a penalty. As the game starts everyone scatters around and you tried to find harin to ask what all this was about but you couldn't seem to find her. There were times when someone passes you without shooting and you start to wonder why nobody had any paint marks when you heard shots a couple of seconds ago.

You walk inside a building and heard shots and voices talking. Not just any voice, harin. You walk up to the corner and took a peek to see her standing in front of jaeun who had multiple paint shots on her shirt, was that her plan? Shoot Jaeun so she'd get a penalty? You knew that eavesdropping wasn't really nice but did it matter in this situation? Harin had asked jaeun something about her mom and then told her to betray her friends. That's when it clicked, jaeun and suji's room were all black vests. The alarm sounds and they both leave before you could talk with harin.

In the end it's jaeun, suji, jaehyung, jiae and eunjeong. It doesn't take a genius to know eunjeong took the fall for yerim and that jiae was set up. As eunbyeol explained the penalty you looked over to harin but she wouldn't turn towards you. Out of nowhere jiae begins to shoot herself and it takes everyone by Suprise and then it's followed by the rest doing the same. You couldn't help the smile as they took turns confessing and then jaeun begins and for a second you think she was going to confess what she did to harin but she freezes and suji shoots her, claiming she looks evil next to her and they continue to shoot each other. You looked at harin once again to see her holding back her anger. As you're watching her you notice eunbyeol talking to dayeon and before you realize it she's fighting with eunjeong.

You immediately run towards them but sadly you were to late as dayeon throws her against the wooden panel, "are you fucking crazy?" you yelled at dayeon as you pulled her away.

"what? You think I won't hurt you because harin told us not to? Try me and find out. " she spat on the ground at your feet.

"Someone call 911!" suji yelled from behind you. You turned back and saw the blood coming from eunjeong's leg, you didn't care about the consequences and pushed dayeon back. She stumbled backwards at the force but managed to keep standing.

"you fucking bitch!" She yelled as she charges at you and both of you fall to the ground. You tussled on the ground for a moment but managed to land a hit and overpowered her quickly.

"stop it!" harin spoke and it turned your attention towards her for a second too long. Dayeon quickly hits you and you can feel it connect with your cheekbone. No matter what happens you won't just roll over because she wants you to so you ignore her, landing another punch before staff members of the facility pulled you off of dayeon.

"do neither of you feel sorry for what you did?" you yelled to dayeon and harin, "and you!" you turned towards eunbyeol, "I saw you! Don't even think about saying you didn't do anything. If you didn't tell dayeon whatever it was you told her, all of this wouldn't have happened."

Everything feels like a blur as they take eunjeong to the hospital. One of the staff members takes a look at your cheek since it was already bruising and gave you an ice pack to reduce swelling. Your eyes fall on harin who was standing near the entrance, watching you as the woman applies an ointment. After that you're free to go and you walk the other way to ignore harin. The bus ride back to the hotel is silent, nobody dares to say anything after today's events.

Suji walks up to you in the hotel lobby and drags you away by your arm, as she pulls you towards the corner you see harin stare at the two of you and swear you could see her eyes twitch from where you're standing. "thank you for standing up to dayeon and the others." she smiles a little, "I talked with the others and we wanted to ask if you wanted to stay in our suite instead of yours."

"I'll think about it."

"aren't you worried they'll do something to you?" She frowned.

"not really. But if things do get weird I'll text you and I'll come join the sleepover" you joked and you both managed to loosen up a bit and laugh. "I think you have a big shot at stopping the game."

"you can still help us you know. Never too late."

"I don't want to get dragged into this eventhough I did just jump in the middle of it," you smile and rub the back of your neck, "Just know if you need a vote to stop this you got mine."

You end up talking about eunjeong for a little while before parting ways. As you're headed to your suite you hope harin isn't in the living room that way you can shower peacefully before having to deal with her anger. You successfully escape to the bathroom without being seen but heard harin's voice pass by when you closed the door.

Once you step out the shower you take in your bruise on your face, the throbbing feeling was returning as the painkillers were wearing off. It wasn't too bad but it wasn't pretty either. Thank god for that staff member that gave you some ice and ointment or else the swelling would've been much worse. You reach your hand up to touch the skin around but flinch at the pain, looks like you won't be able to lay on that side for a little while.

The moment you walk in your bedroom harin is laying on the bed, staring out the window with her arms crossed, "about time you showed up."

"didn't know you were waiting for me." you lied and you both knew it.

"why were you talking with suji?" She moves to the side of the bed as she watched you walk over to your suitcase.

"because she wanted to talk to me and unlike some people she tells me the truth." was it a low blow? For sure but you couldn't care less. she had promised you that there wouldn't be any bullying, you had a feeling she wouldn't keep it but to go this far? Eunjeong was in the hospital because of her game, she could've stopped dayeon but she didn't.

"What's that supposed to mean?! I didn't lie to you." she got off the bed and made you look at her. "are you helping her?"

"no. But maybe I should." you stood up and got closer to her, your face just an inch away from hers. It was clear she was mad at you but there was also a trace of hurt in her eyes. " you promised me harin. You wouldn't hurt anyone and now eunjeong is in the hospital, Her chances of a swimming career might be gone! All because of your dumb game!"

"it isn't dumb!" She gritted her teeth and you knew this could end bad for you. No matter what happens you would end up at suji's and jaeun's tonight. "eunjeong chose to defend yerim and after that she chose to stop dayeon. Those are not my choices and I didn't tell dayeon to do anything."

"did you talk to them like you said you would? Like you promised me?" you stepped away from her to get dressed but she followed you anyways. "you didn't did you? I was there when you shot jaeun, when you told her to betray her friends harin."

"she deserved it."

"did she? You were both 9, she didn't know any better! Sure she's guilty of some stuff too but you've done so much worse lately. You're not even sorry for what happened today!"

"she shouldn't have! -" she raised her voice but you cut her off.

"what about me?!" your voice cracked and you swear you could see a flash of guilt in her eyes. "I stepped in too, dayeon and I fought and the only thing you did was tell us to stop once. You could've done that before dayeon hurt eunjeong but you didn't."

"I don't care about eunjeong. I care about you. This is the first time I've felt this way and I didn't want to see you get hurt" she reached out to grab your hand but you pulled away.

"that doesn't mean it's okay. " you turned your head away from her as you thought back to your conversation with eunjeong this morning, " If there's anything that I've learned these past few days it's that I don't really know you."

"you do know me!"

"really? Because I never thought you would threaten to out a person. I talked with eunjeong this morning and she told me everything. Yerim was against the game from the start but you couldn't control her because of her family. The only thing you could do was destroy her chance to debute and then you found out about them." you grabbed all your stuff and threw it in your suitcase." jaeun might have hurt you when you were kids but that's no excuse for everything you've done. "

" wha- where are you going? We leave tomorrow."

" I can't stay in the same suite as you and your minions. Not after today. Whatever this was between us is done harin. " you feel your throat tighten and turn away from her to close your suitcase.

" no! You can't just walk out on me!" She followed you as you left the room. Doa looked up from her place on the couch and dayeon smirked as you walked past her.

" leaving 'cause you're scared i'll do something?" it was the first time you saw her after the fight and saw the damage you did. Dayeon had a busted lip and a bruise on her cheek, it wasn't as bad as yours and you were a bit disappointed by it.

"i'm leaving because I can't stand to look at any of you... Except for you doa." you gave her a soft smile and she nodded.

"understandable." she smiled.

"where are you going?" harin's voice was stern.

"none of your business." you opened the door and left the suite. A part of you was worried she would follow you and loose her shit when she sees you walk in suji's and jaeun's suite. She would find out either way but you'd appreciate a bit of peace and quiet before the storm. The moment you walk in the suite you see the girls surrounding yerim as she read something on her phone. Eunjeong was going to be okay but it was too soon to tell if she'd have to give up her swimming career or not. Jaehyeong soon lifted the mood by joking around and flirting with jaeun, maybe things could get better if you helped them out.

What would happen if harin lost her game? Could she lose? Her control goes beyond the school, she can change a person's life with just a single text. How far can she go? Better question, how far is suji willing to take this? Harin wasn't a nice person and yet you couldn't help feeling bad for leaving her. She already dealt with so much in her life and this game was the only thing that made her happy in some way. Time passes by fast and before you know it you're alone in the living room at night.

"What's on your mind?" yerim pulled you out of your daydreaming as she sat down on the opposite side.

"nothing." you gave her a quick smile, "you can't sleep?"

"not really." she looked down at her phone as it lights up.

"have you heard anything from eunjeong?" She shook her head and you just nodd, "i'm sorry for today."

"it's not your fault. I should be thanking you for defending her." she smiled lightly, "you could've just stood by and you wouldn't have gotten hurt." her eyes trail over the bruise as you waved her off. "aren't you worried harin will come after you?"

"don't worry about it."

"can't help it. Harin is dangerous, she's unpredictable. Add the drugs on top of it and it's-"

"drugs?"

"yeah, her vitamins? Don't tell me you didn't know." she looked at you in disbelieve, "everyone knows about it."

"I didn't."you look down at your hands." do you know what kind? "

" no. Sorry. Maybe you could ask her? She seems to like you"

"I think that ship has sailed after today." you end up talking for a few more hours about all sorts of things. As you lay down on one of the beds your mind goes over yerim's words. How did you not realize harin was taking drugs? Things started to click in your head. She took those pills throughout the day while most people take vitamins in the morning. Could her behavior be a side effect of the drugs? What kind did she take? Would she tell you if you asked? Probably not. The only person who might know is doa, she's very observant and her dad's a doctor. You closed your eyes as you thought about how you were going to bring it up. Doa was helping suji behind the scenes so if she knows she would tell you right? Guess you'll find tomorrow.

masterlist | next

#baek harin #baek harin x reader #pyramid game x reader #pyramid game

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normal-nightmare · 3 months ago

Note

When I first got into JayDick, this blog was the first one I encountered and I really enjoyed the posts about Gotham Knights JayDick (and why I got the game and wow y'all weren't kidding XD) and then post about RHatO annual #1 really sealed the deal. But all that to say that as I've been slowly devouring the comics I noticed a trend? (And please forgive my rambling thoughts as I get them out of my head and into the void)

But I noticed that fandom likes to give Dick a lot of shit about his thing with red heads and I'm side eyeing Jason like he also doesn’t have his own collection of red heads... literally the same ones as Dick (except for Artemis)?

Kori? Roy? Babs? (All exs even Roy imo)

Like you have him and Kori kiss in new 52 RHatO plus him saying that Kori loves Dick as much as Jason hated him 👀 when we all know there is a fine line between love and hate 👀

And then Babs, I know there were a few moments in Batman Eternal where she was implying she wanted a relationship with Jason as a means to get him to stay? (I mostly skimmed through Eternal but that's how I understood those panels) and then (spoilers for) Batman Three Jokers (again which I flipped through) where they share a kiss (and sidenote: Jason was hot as hell in this 😳)

And idk if I'm making sense but I find it interesting that the writers give Jason almost all of Dick’s exs as potential romantic partners? Isn't there a trope out there where Person A is jealous of Person B so they date all of B's exs when in reality all along A wanted B?

I hope you see the vision I'm trying to explain. 😆 like at the this point please give us canon JayDick this is ridiculous.

Oh my god yes ahigudhxyv I see what you're saying!! Like, there's SO much accidental setup for canon jaydick, even in the comics. I can't really explain it super well?? But they have such a complicated and emotional history, and it feels like they actively TRY to have a relationship with each other. They fuck up sometimes, or occasionally need outside help [glances at Artemis in that RHATO v2 annual], but they seem to really want a relationship with each other, whatever that may be. There's sooo much commitment in their relationship!! And there's so much yearning, too...

And yes, yes, there's a very fine line between hate and love :) hate isn't the opposite of love, indifference is. Jason has never truly HATED Dick, I think. The idea of him? The golden boy who gets all of Bruce's love? Definitely. But actually hating Dick? Yeah I don't think so.

Idk they feel so entangled in each other in a way that's hard to explain. Their relationship is complex, weighed heavy by guilt and grief and tragedy that they're only recently starting to clean off. But there's sooo much devotion and commitment. Their relationship can't really be described as fully platonic (not yet at least... 👀), it's too complex for that, but it's not explicitly romantic either. And it's certainly not familial, lol, I never got those vibes from them except for in fanfiction-esque comics (like Nightwing v4 107 lol). Honestly, their relationship is way too complex to be boiled down to simple labels like that. Hence why I recently found out that 'alterous' is a good label for their relationship!

Just... they're so complicated and it sucks that people don't wanna explore that because of the preconceived notion that they're brothers, nothing more, nothing less. Sure, legally they are, but they don't... act like it? They didn't grow up together, they weren't very close before Jason died, and they only recently started getting properly close. Jason also has his crush thing going on (seriously, how else am I supposed to interpret RHATO v2 annual 1??).

People are soooo afraid of even touching the idea that their relationship MIGHT be more complex than a familial one. This absolutely isn't me like, bragging or being prideful or anything, but my analysis on this sort of thing is rarely wrong loll. They're complex, and people love it that way, and I think DC is slowly starting to understand just how much people love them as a duo (and a couple- seriously, it's one of the most popular DC pairings. I like to joke it's the wincest of DC). Honestly? I feel like jaydick becoming canon one day would be a natural progression of their relationship. Especially since they seem to be getting paired up as a duo more often. Readers love them, comic artists and writers like them too- i feel like jaydick actually happening one day wouldn't be extremely surprising. Or. Well actually it would be because DC loves to push dickbabs and wouldn't dare make some of their most popular characters bisexual lmaoo. But still, they're a popular duo!! It'd only be natural for them to end up together loll.

And, honestly, I genuinely feel like Gotham Knights was going that way in terms of canon jaydick?? People love to say they were "soooo siblings" or platonic but like. God they were as FAR from platonic or familial as you can GET 😭 if you act like that around your family, I'm VERY concerned for you lmaoo. I genuinely feel like the writers were intending for jaydick to happen in a DLC given how much setup there is. Either that, or it was an Arcane Jayvik situation where the creator(s) considered them friends/brothers but told no one. God, what i wouldn't give to talk to one of the writers about that. Seriously though, there's no way they ACCIDENTALLY wrote them flirting. And how the fandom didn't pick up on it, I have NO clue.

Anyways 😭 I am SO sorry for yapping, I can't keep my mouth shut about them even if my life depended on it. I'm happy my blog is the first one you found when you got into jaydick <33

OH WAIT the thing about redheads you mentioned?? Extremely funny on Dicks side of that because JASON was canonically a redhead at one point loll. 10 points to jaydick shippers, as per usual.

Okay, actually shutting up now, I've yapped enough

#nightmare answers #asks #answered asks #jaydick #dick grayson #jason todd #dc #dc comics #gotham knights #batman #ladyofinfinity #genuinely obsessed with them you have no idea #i mean. gestures at this entire sideblog dedicated to jaydick #i will never be sane about them

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snootlestheangel · 1 year ago

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A Very Unique Ghost Headcanon

My friend and I got lunch together today and we went to a bookstore afterwards for a bit. An idea about Ghost had spawned so here's the whole thing.

*Does contain MW3 spoilers towards the end*

When Ghost is on leave, he spends a lot of time at a local bookstore. The staff and other locals began calling him "a ghost" because he's very quiet and appears for several days every few months. He's always very quiet and seems to "appear and disappear" randomly. He eventually spends so much time there, pretty much everyone knows him. Not by name, but they recognize him/when he's in town. They know he's a bit weird based on all the things he reads. He goes from reading really deep books about self-improvement to horror/true crime novels to silly animal fact books and laughing cause "penguins are silly". He's very kind though, everyone knows, and is always willing to grab something off a high shelf or assist an elderly person in carrying their items.

There's a table that's basically reserved for him now, sitting in the back corner of the bookstore's little cafe. There's always a stack of books that he wants to read sitting on the table. Sometimes the stack remains untouched for several months before "Ghost" is seen again. Sometimes, he comes back a bit more ragged than normal, and even sometimes more he comes back with an arm in a sling and a limp. But everyone gets used to the presence that is their local cryptid, even if he isn't much of a conversationalist.

Then they realize he journals everything he reads. He likes to write about all the things he learned while reading that day, and is diligent about dating everything.

This habit spawned from a few years he spent giving himself therapy because the military believed him dead, and he couldn't afford one outside of it. So, he took to the bookstore and it's nice section of self-improvement books and the mental help journals. He realized he actually really enjoys journaling, and likes being able to reflect back on all the things he read that year.

But he leaves the journals at the table with the books he has yet to read. And some people start getting curious. And someone reads the journals. They know it's horrible, but they figure there can't be anything personal if the man is willing to leave the journals unattended for months at a time. And that's when everyone learns he's actually journaled everything he's read for the last 4 years (how long it took him to get into that habit), and it's an incredibly fascinating read.

He's very well-spoken about the things he discusses, and his handwriting is pleasant and easy to understand. Not to mention, he only uses pen, and the fact he sometimes has to scribble out mistakes makes the journals feel familiar in a human way. There's something so personal and intimate about it, and it all adds to the local myth of the ghost that haunts the bookstore.

But then one day, the regular people that read the journals realize Ghost has started to mention someone within his readings. It starts small, a little comment on a book he read about the history of explosives: "I blame JSM for me reading something like this. It's fascinating stuff, and they have grown rather complicated these days. Wonder if there's more on modern explosives."

Just the initials: JSM. What they don't know is the initials belong to one John "Soap" MacTavish, the man to hold Ghost's heart.

And for a while, there's a lot of entries including the initials "JSM" somewhere in their contents. Some entries are almost entirely relating to this "JSM" person. And it's clear, as the mentions of "JSM" increase, that Ghost has fallen madly in love with whomever this is. And the people that read the journals have grown fond of Ghost, and are cheering him on, hoping he gets his happy ever after.

But then Ghost doesn't show up for over a year. The stack of books remains the same, the journals untouched.

But when he does, something's different. He immediately heads towards the section on "Grief and Loss". He stands there for an overwhelmingly long time before picking a couple of books and heading for his little table in the back.

And he reads, and journals, and cries all at the same time. No one even realized he was crying until a staff member passed by and noticed the tears falling from his eyes as he scribbled into the journal. No one bothers him, of course, but there's an overwhelming sadness that passes over the bookstore that day.

No one's brave enough to read the entries from that day, and they let the journals sit overnight. Ghost is back the next day, does the same, and leaves. Doesn't spend hours just simply perusing, but instead sits and reads the books he collected on grief/personal loss and journals.

But one day, after Ghost stops showing up again, becomes brave enough to read the journal entries from the last 3 days.

Word spreads like wildfire.

JSM is now Johnny and Johnny is gone.

It all makes sense, and all the regulars, all the staff that are familiar with Ghost and his journals mourn. They mourn on Ghost's behalf and they mourn for Ghost.

They mourn for him because the way he wrote changed, the way he spoke in his entries changed, his demeanor when in the store changed. They mourn Ghost because clearly Johnny took a part of him with him; his heart.

One day, there's a book about coping with losing your spouse, specifically geared towards younger people (especially ones in Ghost and Soap's age range *25-35*). There's actually no journal entries specified for most of the book, almost like he simply read it and didn't bother sharing his thoughts.

That is until the end of the book, where there's one journal entry marked to accompany the final chapter.

{I've read this book probably ten times now. The first time was actually the easiest. It was new to me, and I enjoy picking apart new books and getting through them. The second time was the hardest. It's when the words I had already read were starting to sink in. Too quickly I had been brought back to that day I lost Johnny. I didn't dwell too long on this book. I didn't want to, at least. But I kept going back to it because I knew it had answers and solutions. In reality, it didn't really help. It more took the mess in my head and sorted it out so I could deal with it more easily. I miss Johnny more than anything else in life. Losing him has been the worst thing I've ever gone through. Which is quite impressive, considering some of the things I've experienced. This book has taught me many things, and I only wish to share the one I feel speaks the greatest volumes. "But like all wounds, it takes time to heal a broken heart." What an incredible lesson. I've had my fair share of wounds to heal from, and I am painfully intimate with the recovery process of broken bones. Never once did I consider my heart something that could be wounded and recovered from. I always figured if my heart had been wounded, then that would be the end. But I was wrong. A heart can be broken and wounded, and like all injured things, it can heal. It's a beast of a recovery process, I won't lie, but the idea I'm merely recovering from a near-fatal injury comforts me. It's morbid, I suppose, to be comforted by that, but I am. It means he didn't die in vain, and that is all I ask for.

~Simon "Ghost" Riley}

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley headcanons #mw3 spoilers

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jessamine-rose · 1 year ago

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♱ Dance with the Devil ♱

Against my will, I was inspired to write more for WHB. Istg some of these characters aren’t even my biases but their paraphilias are too creative. I hope you all enjoy reading this <3

Characters:: Sitri, Leviathan, Astaroth, Glasyalabolas, Paimon, Amon, Marbas, Gabriel, Minhyeok

Note:: Nsfw, pls take note of each character’s paraphilia before reading, noncon for Gabriel, MH-2 spoilers for Minhyeok, MINORS DNI

♡ If you like black tea, you are a perfect fit for Sitri. He often brews your favorite drink for the purpose of enjoying your satisfied smile, your bittersweet kisses, the melody of your palpitations as he makes love to you. If you ever send him a recording of your heartbeat, he will save it on his phone and listen to it religiously in your absence. Just don’t be shocked if he uses your gift for impure reasons; his imagination can only do so much.

♡ Leviathan enjoys the sensation of your hands around his neck, but what more if you were to experiment with his kink? Does he get more excited when you use your bare hands? Does he prefer the metal chill of rings or the soft lace of gloves against his skin? Would he come faster if you dig your fingernails into his throat—and if yes, what if your nails were longer, sharper? There are so many factors at play and you have all night to find out~

♡ Astaroth’s kink is perfect for literature lovers!! If you write erotica, he will gladly proofread your work, going so far as to enact the scenes and his suggested revisions. Another time, you asked him to read you a “bedtime story” and he complied after much pestering. He accepted your book and read it aloud in his soothing voice…then upon reaching a raunchy scene, he looked up from the page, met your cheeky gaze, and joined you in bed <3

♡ Once you were done kink-shaming Glasyalabolas, you decided to indulge him. His paraphilia is creepy, to say the least, but you knew what you were getting into. The best method? Play dead. You can’t resist the occasional moan or involuntary shudder, especially when he is touching you, but it certainly does wonders for his arousal. You’re his Ophelia, his Sleeping Beauty—beautiful, voiceless, and completely at his mercy.

♡ The only thing Paimon enjoys more than your blood is the sight of your body decorated with cute bandages!! Once he’s had enough of you, he will treat your wounds and present you with a set of printed Band-Aids. Here, would you like a pink one for your finger? What about a heart pattern for your thigh? A smiley face on your neck? Even better, what if your Band-Aids match the stickers on his horns? Take your pick~

♡ Sometimes, you wonder if Amon gives you tasks which he knows you will fuck up. There are telltale signs—his constant gaze, a hint of a smile, empty reassurances which somehow lead you to his bedroom. It begs the question: How would he react if you were to make a mistake in bed? Would he still smile after you “accidentally” touch a sensitive spot or ruin his orgasm? How will he react once he realizes you’re doing it on purpose?

♡ If Marbas were to cite an example for the term “heaven and hell,” it would be your moments of intimacy. He encourages you to restrain him to the best of your ability—tying complicated knots, using strong materials, testing his new set of regular restraints—then use his body as you’d like. It’s difficult to say who enjoys it more, especially when you are relishing the sight of him beneath you, totally submissive and desperate for your touch.

♡ Considering your history, your sadism towards Gabriel is warranted. So once he is defeated, in a church no less, you waste no time in humiliating him. If he refuses to yield, it only takes a few minutes to bend him over the altar and force him to face the image of his God. How does it feel to be watched by the passive, artificial faces of his creator and fellow angels? At any rate, the stained glass casts such pretty shadows on his defiled body~

♡ Of course Minhyeok knows your underwear preferences. The color, the style, the type of fabric, every detail. So when he finds a black lingerie set in your closet, he recognizes it as a new purchase—but for who? The next thing he knows, he is visualizing the lingerie on you and calling you for answers. Whether or not he understands your invitation, that specific underwear will frequently disappear from your room.

♡

Sitri fic ๑ Lucifer fluff ๑ More headcanons

Fun fact, a day after I wrote Glasyalabolas and Sitri’s headcanons, they came home in my gacha pull. D-Did I summon them?? (´⊙ω⊙`)

So far, my favorite devils are Leviathan, Sitri, Astaroth, and Satan but the other characters’ paraphilias are…….interesting to write about, to say the least. Cheers to more hornii xD

Tag a WHB enjoyer!! @sparkbeast20 @2af-afterdark @d34dlysinner @pinkaditty @og-in-a-bog @h2o2-and-baking-soda @paradivis @potol0ver @obeythisass @gr0tesquerom4ntica @dobaekki @binar-es @ushitoshiii @yanmaresu @beelsjuicytitties

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spektas-dawg · 3 months ago

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I have a teeny fixation on this dude i am so sorry

Oc rambles/info under da cut (spoilers for the end of ggg)

Knew Capochin (and by association, Hector) before they got on the surface and created the bizzyboys. (He’s only a few years younger than Capo, old man)

Due to this, when they DID get on the surface- Doc wanted to get an education and they were able to make a deal: Inspekta’s endorsement (when he became a god, doc struggled before then and the deal wasn’t his first option) to get into college and a job in turn for working under the bizzyboys/Inspekta during and after his time in college + later also being used as ‘endorsement’ as someone with a medical degree (what use does Inspekta have with that? lies disguised as medical advice/information!)

(He isn’t that fond of Inspekta esp of late but feels obligated to continue working under him due to that generousity)

Related but also not, his bandage on his tail isn’t related to what Capo and Spekta got goin on. He accidentally chopped a bit of his tail off with a bonesaw (don’t run with sharp objects, kids)

He is a Doctor of Medicine (MD) and more or so leans towards general/family practice but has some education in cardiology and neurology

His name is Donald or “Donnie”

He’s a transgenda man, it isn’t important but shoving this in here

He cares a lot about others health but is a hypocrite when it comes to himself, says “But that’s different!”

Complicated feelings about Capochin, would say Cap is his best friend but he isn’t Cap’s

He doesn’t openly show devotion to Inspekta like the rest of the bizzyboys and sometimes accidentally shows his dislike of him, has gotten talken to about that from Inspekta. (‘Spekta likes to guilt trip him if he verbally defies or questions him, “OWH…noew im a BADDIE guy..sniff…..and DIS is how yew treat da guy who wel-cumed yew with open hands?? 🥺🥺🥺 ame i weally that awe-ful..?”) He knows damn well Capo wouldn’t believe him if he told him about Inspekta’s behavior

Vib is the only one who seems to visit his office without any ‘medical’ reason, it can be annoying at times if he’s doing something but he truly appreciates her company. He doesn’t know how to express that without seeming weird

#my art #great god grove #oc #doc #pill tw #medicine tw

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magics-neptunes-things · 1 year ago

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Snow

Hello everyone!

Since it is soon Christmas, I decided to make several stories on this theme. Some will be related to stories I have already written and others will be completely separate from others. This one is related to Historia de Amor (1) | (2) which you can find on my blog.

Enjoy :)

TW: None

Manchester, December 2020

You were deep asleep, huddled under the sheets in your girlfriend’s bed. Despite the short time you’ve been together, about three months, whenever you have the opportunity, you sleep at her apartment. Not every day so as not to be too invasive, fearing a little to cool the intentions that Ona has towards you.

It's however a small excited cry of this one that wakes you up with a start. You immediately sit in bed, looking for the burglar who must have awakened her. But you only find yourself facing the silhouette of Ona planted in front of the window of her room.

"Hermosa, it snowed!"

"Oh man" you grumble, already imagining the ordeal that it will be on the road.

You let yourself fall on the bed again, sticking your nose into the cushions. The smell of Ona came to you and made you smile softly.

"Come and see" asks you Ona without leaving the window with her eyes.

"Onita I was born in Manchester. I see snow every year. Come back to bed, it’s only seven in the morning"

But Ona shakes her head negatively, her eyes still glued to the outside.

"I’ve never seen snow" Ona says softly.

The softness of her voice makes you turn your head in her direction and you feel your heart melt in a few seconds. Her amazed look and her smile (which quickly became one of your weaknesses) make you fall in love with her again. You don’t know how she does it and what her magic powers are, but sometimes it keeps hitting you with the force of a truck.

So you end up getting out of bed, shivering as you feel the cold ground under your feet. You join Ona and place yourself behind her, your arms around her waist and your chin on her shoulder. And, since you have the right, you start laying kisses on her face, kissing every inch you can reach. It makes laugh Ona and turns her face in your direction after some moments.

You put a kiss on her lips, longer than the others, before resuming your initial position, your chin on her shoulder.

"The view is incredible" whispers Ona, who has shifted her attention to the street.

Not you. You keep looking at her.

"I prefer mine" you say maliciously.

Ona briefly looks at you before rolling her eyes with an amused look.

"What a sweet talker"

You hums for any answer, brushing her cheek with your lips. Just when you were going to ask her to go back under the sheets for a cuddly awakening, Ona resumes speaking.

"Shall we go for a walk?"

"What?" you say while stepping back a little, without letting her go, to see if she’s serious. Spoiler, she is. "But Ona it’s 7:23 in the morning"

"I know but it’s so beautiful! Come on Hermosa please! Please, please, please!"

********

It's precisely 8am when you find yourself in Ona's street, dressed in a way to fight the cold and the weather. It continues to snow gently but fortunately no wind to whip your face. And even if you grumble a little, the happiness that reads on your girlfriend’s face is definitely worth it.

She's smiling, walking while looking around her with the happiest smile and you can't take your eyes of her. You follow her quietly, letting her immerse herself of Manchester under the snow. You wonder what Barcelona looks like in winter and you promise yourself to ask her the question later.

For now, Ona turns in your direction and reaches her hand to you, which you hurry to take in yours. Your gloves make the gesture more complicated, but you still manage it. When the Spanish woman speaks again, smoke comes out of her mouth, testifying to the ambient cold.

"Thank you for coming with me" Ona said tenderly before tiptoeing to kiss your cheek.

"Everything for my girl" you smile maliciously.

Despite your lack of desire earlier, you are happy to have accepted, her happiness above everything else. And, icing on the cake, you got multiple of hugs and hot chocolate back home.

______________________________________________________________

ona.batlle

liked by alessiarusso99, YNinstagram, laiaaleixandri and 50 167 others people.

ona.batlle Snowing morning at Manchester with the best ❤️❄️

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liked by ona.batlle

Ellatoone Man it's FREEZING

Aitana.bonmati Que linda 🤍

#woso x reader #woso imagine #ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle christmas

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babymetaldoll · 3 months ago

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Are you mine? - Chapter fourteen: "A pearl in my head"

Summary: Spencer and his wife are trying to deal with their issues, but things are more complicated than just a few silly arguments about dirty dishes. Spencer plans to go to Mexico by the way... Word count: 10.871 Warning: Criminal Mind spoilers S12 Ep 21 and 22, plus smut, angst, fights. This chapter has is all. It even has Cat Adams. A/N: I'm sorry I didn't update in the last few weeks, things haven't been easy here. Hopefully I can make it up to you with this chapter.

Series' Masterlist - Author's masterlist

Previous chapter | Next chapter

(Y/N)’s point of view

There are no words to explain how hard life was at that moment. Living with Diana was, for the lack of a better word, “challenging.” Spencer took some extra time off to help Diana transition and get used to Nurse Cassie, to trust her, and to basically not yell at her every waking minute of the day.

The nights were a little better. She would take her medicine and sleep at least nine hours straight. She would wake up a little lost, sometimes scared, a few times screaming. That wasn’t helpful around the children. Raven was fully aware her Memaw was sick. Of course, she didn’t understand her disease. We constantly discussed whether we were doing the right thing for Raven and Vincent. Diana wasn’t gonna hurt them, or so we hoped. They really didn’t get to see her much, only under our supervision, which meant my mother was taking care of them a lot those weeks.

I couldn’t stay at Quantico. Emily had required me to travel with the team, which I understood. She tried to keep me at the police station though, working with families and making geographical profiles. That was probably the smartest thing to do, a part of my brain stayed at home with Spencer each time we had to go to a case out of town.

And I could see the state he was in each time I laid on the bed next to him, how he couldn’t sleep. He was restless, trying to find a way to help his mother. It was an obsessive thought that hunted him day and night. He wanted to find a way to help her get better. I tried to tell him a few times that spending time with her and enjoying the good moments was the best way he could help her. But no. He wanted to find the cure for Alzheimer's and dementia, and have enough time to cook dinner I guess. It was crazy and absolutely unachievable.

After two more weeks, my husband returned to work. Diana was getting along with nurse Cassie, though she still had moments of severe confusion and paranoia. During that first day out of the house, while we were stuck in traffic, I asked him if he was sure he wanted to return.

- “Maybe you could still help from home. I don’t know if having you away will help your mom.” - I explained and looked at him. His eyes were stuck on traffic in front of us, and his hands gripped the wheel.

- “No, chipmunk. I need to focus on something else for a while at least. My conscience will be working on the case and my unconscious will be able to think of ways to help my mother.”

My first reaction was to laugh, but I didn’t, thank god. ‘Cos I knew my husband was serious about his delusion, and I couldn’t just break his heart like that.

- “I just don’t know if staying at home with Cassie will be good for her. We could try to find a place here in Washington that could be good for her. We would be near and could visit three times a week or more.”- I suggested innocently.

- “Mom needs to get to know Nurse Cambell, I can’t be there all the time.”

I dropped the subject there and started rambling about Raven. Our little girl was going great in preschool and my mom had recently taught her to jump the rope, something that obsessed our daughter. That brought a smile to my husband’s face and that made me feel a little better. I could see Spencer’s struggle and how he was still keeping things from me, probably not to worry me. The fact he still felt like he had to deal with things on his own to protect me made me so sad and angry. I just hoped things didn’t end as badly as they had when Emily was supposed to be dead.

We had to go to Santa Monica that week to solve a very gory case. Torsos were showing up around town. Men who had recently broken up with their significant others were the unsub’s target. While we were away, Spencer called nurse Cambell and talked to her about Diana’s health many times. I took a step aside ‘cause I didn’t want to be pushy. I knew he would tell me what was on his mind when he felt ready to talk.

And he was ready when we caught the unsub: the murderer was ready to kill his own husband when we got to him. When the police took the killer, Spencer stayed behind to talk with the victim and then with Prentiss, who knew there was something wrong with my husband but didn't have the time to talk directly with him until then. I stared at them from a distance, trying to figure out what was gonna happen when we got home.

- “Spence has been under a lot of stress lately.”- JJ stood next to me and rubbed my arm.- “How are you holding up?”

- “We deal with it. We try to enjoy the good moments, and manage the bad.”- I replied and cut her a short smile. I really didn’t want to ramble with her about how messy our lives were at the moment.

- “I’ve been trying to get a minute to talk to Spence. I feel like he needs a friend right now.”- I slowly turned and looked at JJ. She widened her eyes and started gesticulating and explaining.- “Not that you are not of any help, of course! It’s just that sometimes you need an outsider’s point of view, someone who isn’t in the middle of the whole situation. You know, to get some perspective of the problem.”

I just nodded and stared at her, raising an eyebrow. JJ was clearly uncomfortable talking to me, yet she had been the one to approach me and bring Diana into the dull conversation we were sharing. If you can call that a conversation.

- “Chipmunk.”- Spencer stood a few feet away from me after a short talk with Prentiss, and I walked towards him.

- “How are you feeling?”- I asked and held his hand as we walked a little farther from the team.

- “I got the feeling this isn’t working.”

And my heart stopped. I turned to him nearly in shock and though it took him more than a second to realize what was happening, my husband finally explained.

- “No! No! No! That’s not what I meant! I mean my mom!”- Spencer explained and placed both hands on my shoulder.

- “Never say that again! You nearly killed me!”

- “I’m sorry! Sorry, chipmunk!”- Spencer kissed the top of my head and I sighed at his touch.- “I meant everything that’s going on with my mom.”- he paused and looked into my eyes, keeping his hands on my shoulder- “I feel like I made a mistake.”

- “It hasn’t been easy, I'll give you that. But I wouldn’t call it a mistake.”

- “I’m thinking about flying to Houston. Maybe I can talk to Dr. Stanfield. I asked Em for some more time off.”

I nodded as I heard him, thinking how strong my husband was. He kept trying to find ways to help Diana and make her happy, beyond her disease. So I nodded and fought the tears that hunted my eyes, and he hugged me tight.

- “I’m sorry hun.”- I whispered and wrapped my arms around him.- “I just… think this whole thing is so unfair for you.”

- “Don’t worry, ma cherie… it’s not your fault”

- “But I wanna make you happy, and life keeps getting in the way.”- Spencer kissed my temple and I took a deep breath to put myself together.

- “You make me happy, and you are my life. Never think otherwise.”

Spencer’s point of view

I lied to my wife. Again. I wasn’t planning on going to Texas. I wanted to go to Mexico and talk to Dr. Nadine Ramos, maybe get more of her natural medicine to help my mom. I knew that would stabilize her. Why couldn’t I tell (Y/N) the truth? I don’t know. Probably ‘cause I felt like I was doing something wrong. It all had started behind her back and I was so embarrassed to tell her I, the most pragmatic man on earth, was trusting homeopathic medicine, and risking my job in the process, just to make sure I was covering all the grounds helping my mom’s Alzheimer's and schizophrenia.

The day I was leaving started off. Raven didn’t want to eat and she was running a little fever, so (Y/N) asked her to stay in bed and sleep a little longer. The weird part was watching her do as told, considering she was always eager to get out of bed and play. But sadly, that wasn’t it. My bag was next to the door and I was just about to call a cab when Vinny started puking and crying. He was running a fever as well.

- “Where did you get that ring?”- my mom yelled suddenly, as (Y/N) held Vinny and tried to clean him and herself from all the vomit.- “That’s my grandma’s ring!! Why do you have it?”

And before I knew it, mom was on (Y/N), trying to rip the ring she gave me to propose to my wife. She didn’t mind Vinny was on the way, she was out of herself, and (Y/N), covered in puke, could only try to cover our baby son from his Memaw.

- “Mom! Mom! Calm down!”- I ran and wrapped my arms around my mother, pushing her away from my wife, as she kept kicking and screaming, out of her mind.

- “She is a thief! You can’t trust her, Spencer! She is gonna steal everything we have!”

- “Mom, I need you to stop yelling! you are scaring Vincent!”

- “Why do you worry so much about a kid you can’t even be sure it’s yours!!”

It was as if the whole world froze. Mom had had episodes, she had been crazy, and violent with me and some caregivers. But never with my wife and neither with my kids. And that was the one thing that gave me peace of mind. But that day, it was an eye-opener.

I was not going to be the husband who left his wife alone with two sick kids and a mental mother-in-law. So I canceled my flight and held Vincent so (Y/N) could take a shower. I also gave my mother a sleeping pill and asked her to lie down for a bit. Surprisingly, she didn’t fight me. For a brief minute that afternoon, my mom cooperated. That didn’t make our weekend any easier, though. Raven got the hand, mouth, and foot disease, which meant Vinny most probably had it as well. We got the pediatrician to come home and put an eye on them, there wasn’t much we could do but give them something for the pain, disinfect the entire apartment, and wait around ten days for the virus to go away.

We didn’t sleep much the following week. Between sick kids and disinfecting every toy in the house, we had our hands full. I had those days off, but (Y/N) had to go to work. Luckily, she didn’t have to leave town for a case.

- “Let me hold him a little, darling.”- Mom stood next to my wife and raised her arms, to hold Vincent.- “You look like you could use a nap. Let me help you two.”- my wife didn’t hesitate and handed her our baby son. Moments like those were the ones keeping us sane. Mom smiled and kissed Vincent’s forehead.

- “He is still running a little fever.”- (Y/N) whispered and stared at the two of them from our couch.

- “Yes, he still feels a little warm, but he is looking better. Look at those eyes wide open, staring at the world. I remember when Spencer was this small. I could tell he was meant for big things. And he didn’t let me down.”

I looked at my mother from our dining room table, where I was drawing with Raven, sitting on my lap. Yes, those were the moments that gave me hope. But I couldn’t live in those fragments, ‘cos they weren’t our entire reality.

So I called doctor Dr. Stanfield, and tried to get mom back into the Houston facility, but it was impossible. I should have seen it coming, it was a place with a very high demand ‘cause it was top on their field. I just never imagined things would go so wrong with her at home. When I took her out I was sure she would live with us until she got better. (Y/N) was the one of us who was still mainly positive, I don’t know how. She said I could call Las Vegas to the mental facility she had been in for years. It made sense, mom had said she wanted to “go back to the place she was before before,” and she still talked about her friends there. But no, they couldn’t take her back. It was heartbreaking when I heard their decision, and though I tried to change their minds and literally beg, there was nothing they could do.

There wasn’t much left but to start looking for a new facility for my mother, which somehow made me feel selfish and like a failure.

We took our time looking for a new facility, and Cassie was of much help because she knew most of the centers in the state. There was one last tiny problem: the one we liked and that could accept my mother asked us to wait for another two months to take her in, ‘cos they were building a whole new center and were about to move.

- “It’s just two months, honey.”- (Y/N) whispered as we cuddled in our bed after putting the kids and my mother to sleep.

- “A lot can go wrong in two months.”- I replied under my breath and felt my wife’s kiss on my cheek.

- “I know you are scared, but are not alone. You’ve got me and our friends, and my parents. We are all here for you.”

It wasn’t the first time my wife reminded me that I wasn’t alone. But like every time she did, a few tears filled my eyes and my heart raised inside my chest. I couldn’t reply. I just melted in her embrace and sighed, decided to, for once, not overthink things.

Of course, easier said than done. Those two months were hell. I had never had many fights with my wife, but those weeks were a build-up of so many little things that were driving us nuts. It really wasn’t our best moment, and it was not what we wanted to have our married life based on: arguments.

I missed Morgan. I was sure he would know what to say. We would go out for a drink and have a heart-to-heart. He would laugh and call me kid and then drop the best advice I could ask for. I did call him once, but it just wasn’t the same as having him there, knowing what was going on in my life. After he moved back to Chicago with Savannah and little Hank, we struggled to keep up with our lives. As it usually happens with adulthood, I guess.

But in the absence of Morgan, I still had friends in town.

- “You know what you need?”- Frank sipped his beer and looked at me from his seat at the other side of the table. We were at the same bar where I had asked (Y/N) to marry me. Me, Frank, and Mikey eating a burger and having a beer after work.- “You need a weekend to decompress from all this bullshit.”

- “We can’t take more time off work.”- I replied and sipped my beer shaking my head. But Frank kept explaining his idea.

- “I’m not saying go out on a cruise. You could actually even stay in town and go to a nice hotel, get some couple’s massages, maybe a nice dinner with candlelight. All that shit Nugget loves.”- Frank grabbed a bunch of fries after he finished talking and I simply sighed.

- “It’s not that easy. We have two kids and we still have my mom at home.”

- “Exactly why you should do it.”- Mikey said and supported Frank’s plan.- “We could take care of the little rascals.”

- “And you have a caretaker that will keep your mom company.”- Frank added as he kept chewing.- “It’s either that or wait another three weeks for your mom to get to the medical center, and I don’t think your marriage can wait that long. Can it?”

Were things that bad? Yes. We were arguing about the silliest things, ‘cos we were both so exhausted we couldn’t even think. We were always tired and busy and never seemed to have a moment to be together until late at night, and sometimes not even then, ‘cos Vincent was sharing a room with us since my mother was living with us, so we were pretty much always around someone.

I don’t mean to sound hormonal, but I needed to be alone with my wife and get some couple’s time and real rest. Frank’s advice made sense after all. So I talked to Emily about it.

- “Trying to get some romantic time with your wife?”- she asked and winked. - “Ready for baby number three?”

- “Definitely not! Vinny is just one year old, and we are barely making it with two.”

Maybe my confession had been too straightforward 'cause Prentiss frowned as I sat on the couch in her office and sipped my cup of coffee.

- “I just need Friday off so I can take my wife away for the weekend.”

- “Of course…”- she stared at me in silence and sat by my side, holding a cup of hot beverage of her own. - “We haven’t had time to talk lately. JJ told me she is worried about you.”

- “We haven’t had time to do much in the last few months. That’s why I think Frank convinced me taking (Y/N) on a romantic getaway will help us get through the last weeks before Mom moves out.”- Emily nodded and didn’t say another word for a moment.

- “Are you sure you are ok? You look exhausted.”

- “I feel exhausted. I know we both do. It’s been more challenging than we both expected. And trust me, we knew this wasn’t going to be a day at the beach.”

- “That reminds me, Rossi has a house in Kent Island. Maybe you guys could go there.”- but I shook my head right away

- “I don’t wanna bother him.”

- “He would be thrilled to help you.”- I continued telling Prentiss not to ask Rossi, but she kept arguing it was a good idea. And we were just bickering about it when (Y/N) knocked and opened the door.

- “Sorry to interrupt. Here are the files you asked for, Em.”

- “You are just in time, Reid. Help me convince your husband Rossi would be pleased to lend you his beach house.”- Em chuckled as she spoke, but my wife frowned, totally lost.

- “Why would he do that?”

- “For your romantic getaway.”- Emily stated matter of factly. (Y/N) looked at her and then looked at me, crossing her arms on her chest.- “The one Spencer clearly hadn’t told you yet. I’m so sorry…”

- “I was just asking for Friday off to… well… have a few days to relax on our own.”- I whispered as I walked toward my wife and watched her staring at me… upset?

- “You could have asked me first.”- she muttered under her breath.

- “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you when I had everything ready, so you didn’t have to worry about anything.”

- “What about the kids?”

- “I talked to your mom. She said she could take care of them, and your dad will help.”- my wife nodded, but still scowled at the idea.

- “My dad has been using the kids as an excuse to be around mom a lot lately.”- I chuckled at those words and simply answered.

- “He just wants to be helpful.”- (Y/N) sighed at my words and turned to Emily.

- “Tell me more about this house in Kent Island.”

(Y/N)’s point of view

Leaving the kids with my mom seemed like the most selfish thing to do. There were so few weekends we got to stay home. So little time we were with them, ‘cos work and Diana were killing us. And yet, we did ‘cos we needed a break from life.

Mom said she was happy to help, and Spencer was right, my dad was gonna help the entire weekend. He was considering retiring soon, and he was already getting used to having a few days off. My husband thought he was sure my mom and my dad were gonna have a second chance. I wasn’t so certain, though I always dreamed of them getting back together.

- “Think about it, chipmunk. They never really moved on. They never had a serious relationship after they broke up.”- he had told once after we dropped Raven with them.

- “You don’t know how they were when they were together. Trust me, those two are not getting back together.”

But they were amazing grandparents, and they were always there to have fun and take care of our kids. So, we dropped Raven and Vincent with them, left Diana with Cassie at our apartment, and drove all the way to Rossi’s place in Rose Haven.

I don’t know why I thought he had a humble, small, beach house there. Of course, he didn’t. It was Rossi after all. The place was ridiculously expensive and big. As soon as we walked in, I was sure someone was going to show up to tell us we were trespassing.

- “I don’t know why I thought about an actual cabin.”- Spencer said and left our bags in the master bedroom.

- “Me too…”- I looked around in silence until I finally looked at my husband.- “I’m glad you dragged me here.”

- “I didn’t drag you, chipmunk. You wanted to come.”- he replied with a smug smile as he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed my lips.- “And I’m glad we are here, we deserve some mommy and daddy alone time.”

- “That’s true”- I whispered and kissed him one more time. - “I love it when you make "daddy and mommy" sound so dirty when we are alone.”

- “You see through me, ma cheriè”- Spencer’s hands traveled down my back to my ass and gripped me tight.

- “Do you think Rossi knows we are gonna do it in his place?”- I had to ask, and my husband groaned against my lips as he stopped kissing me.

- “I didn’t want to think of that!”- I just laughed at his reaction, still holding him against me.

- “Like that’s not the sole purpose of this trip!”- I love teasing my husband.

- “I brought you here to relax and stop arguing about dirty dishes and laundry and who forgot to do what.”

- “And to fuck me in every single room of Rossi’s house.”

- “That too.”- he replied and rubbed his lips against mine, making me sigh.

- “And considering everybody back at home knows it, I think we should get started, doctor.”

Spencer laughed when I jumped and wrapped my legs around him, straddling him. He grabbed my ass and kept me steady as he deepened the kiss and my hands quickly moved to his hair, running through his curls.

- “I love your hair like this.”- I whispered and moved my lips to his neck as he walked us to the king-size bed behind us.- “You look so hot. Such a hot daddy.”

- “Hot daddy?”

- “That’s what all the teachers at Raven’s school are saying.”- I whispered and felt the weight of his body as he lay on me.- “You are her hot dad.”

- “Are you jealous, ma cherie?”- I felt his hot breath on my neck as his hands moved freely underneath my t-shirt

- “No…” - I paused and opened my mouth, already nearly moaning as his lips moved from my neck to my chest. Spencer raised his eyes and stared at me, knowing I was lying.- “Maybe… fine, yes. Yes, I am a little jealous of those women staring at you.”

- “You should be proud.”- he replied softly and rolled up my t-shirt, the one I quickly took off along with my bra, and his tongue immediately found my nipples, teasing and licking. The only things coming from my mouth now were moans and mumbles.

- “Maybe you should mark me, and show me around like yours, ma cherie.”

- “Mine.”- I whispered, arching my back and moving my hips upwards to find his erection. I needed some friction, anything to help me handle the heat. I knew I was already dripping wet. It had been too long. I was ready for my husband and I wasn’t even naked yet.

- “All yours. What are you gonna do with me?”

- “Fuck you until you can’t take it anymore.”- I replied, unzipping his pants. Spencer smiled and continued licking my breast, making me moan harder. He slowly made his way back to my lips and our mouth collided. I grabbed his dick in my hands and felt him groaning against me. Those are the things I like the most when we are together.

- “Someone is eager.”- he whispered in a cocky tone.

- “Your dick is dripping, that means so are you.”- I replied and he just kissed me harder. I knew he needed me the same way I needed him, and neither of us could wait any longer. I guided his hard cock to my entrance, just the sensation of the tip of it made me moan, I just wanted to feel him slipping into me slowly. Which is exactly what Spencer did next. I kept moaning and whimpering as he entered me slowly. Very, very slowly. I could feel every inch filling me.

Spencer rested his forehead against mine as he started moving inside of me. I kept staring at him, as he did the same, and my hands on his back kept him as close as possible.

- “You feel so good.”- Spencer whispered, his cheeks flushing and his voice trembling.- “Shit, I missed you.”

- “Me too.”- I managed to reply as he kept thrusting into me, hitting all the right places. We kiss heavily, and Spencer whispers he can hear how wet I am. I tell him that’s how he makes me and he curses a few times. I know he is close. So I am. It’s been too long, trust me, and my whole body is burning with each one of his thrusts.

- “Hon, I’m…”- I can’t even speak when my orgasm hits me. I’m scratching his back as I raise my hips and move so he is even deeper in me. He’s gasping loudly, coming with me, hiding his face on my neck, swearing, and losing control.

After a moment, still on top of me, trying to catch his breath, Spencer chuckles.

- “I had a more romantic plan than fucking five minutes after we got here, I promise.”- and his words made me laugh as I play with his hair and feel him rolling to the side, and rolling with him, so I’m laying next to him, still feeling the warm of his body and his arms around me.

- “This was actually my plan.”- I said and stuck my tongue to him.- “I needed to get under your belt as soon as possible or I was gonna murder someone.”

- “Really?”

- “SAA turned into an unsub due to the lack of sex. That would be a great movie.”

- “Write it down, I’ll produce it.”- Spencer kissed the top of my nose and stared at me.- “I love you, ma cherie.”

- “I love you too, honey.”- I whispered and sighed, enjoying every second of that moment.- “I’ve missed you so much. Just being with you not thinking something is gonna happen or that we have to do something.”

- “Me too. I’m sorry…”- but I placed a finger on his lips right away.

- “There is nothing to apologize for. I love you, we are together at this. Taking a break from the routine was a great idea.”

- “Frank’s idea, actually”- Spencer confessed.

- “Remind me of getting him some of his favorite beers when we get home.”

Spencer’s point of view

The whole getaway idea was brilliant. Me and my wife were enjoying every second of it. We had lunch out and walked to the pier and took a bunch of pictures, then we drove back home for a nap and some more lovemaking. When we woke up, we looked for a nice place for dinner, but before we headed out, I called home to talk to Cassie and know how my mom was doing, while (Y/N) talked with her mom and asked for our babies.

- “Yeah Mom, everything is ok. We are gonna have dinner now. I’m glad you and dad got everything under control. Let me know if anything happens.”- I stood by my wife as she wrapped up her call with Sofia.- “Spencer says hi.”

- “Can you ask her if she has seen my mom”- my wife stared at me confused

- “Wait, Mom. Spencer wants to know if Diana has stopped by today. Yeah, thought so. I don’t know. I’ll call you in a bit, ok?”- of course not. I don’t know why I asked.

- “Cassie ain’t picking up the phone.”- I announced, trying not to sound as freaked out as I was.

- “Did you try her cell?”

- “Yeah, and the apartment. Nothing.”

- “That’s weird.”- I nodded and stood next to my wife.- “What do you think might have happened?”

- “I don’t know. Maybe they are out for a walk.”- I suggested, but added right away - “But it’s too late for that.”

- “Wanna ask someone to stop by?”- (Y/N) suggested, but I really didn’t want to bother anyone.

- “I don’t know. Am I being too paranoid?”- I asked ‘cos I was in fact worried I was overreacting.

- “I don’t think so. I’d be more at peace if we knew everything was ok.”- my wife looked at her phone and asked.- “Want me to call Prentiss? Maybe she could stop by.”

- “Yeah, that’d be good.”- before (Y/N) even dialed, I just kept talking.- “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

- “Me too… but it might be due to exhaustion.”

- “I don’t know. In the last few days, I got the feeling I was going insane and kept waiting for something bad to happen. Maybe you are right, it could be just exhaustion.”

- “Maybe, maybe not.”- (Y/N) looked at me like there was something she wanted to add but didn’t want to worry me.

- “The other day I was sure our down-the-hall neighbor was that girl from a case like ten years ago…”- I confessed and my wife widened her eyes.

- “Lindsey Vaughn?”- there was no way she could have guessed that. We had worked on a thousand cases together.

- “Yeah, how did you know?”

- “I had the exact same thought the other day when I was getting home. I was almost sure I saw her walking down the street.”

We looked at each other for a second without saying a word. There was something off about the whole situation.

- “Prentiss, we need your help”- my wife said as soon as our friend picked up and put her on speaker.- “We need you to stop by our house. We think something happened to Diana.”

- “What are you talking about?”

- “Cassie ain’t picking up.”- I said and turned to my wife.- “We are going back home.”- and she nodded, then started gathering our things.

- “No, Reid. Stay there. It’s probably nothing.”

- “She ain’t picking up her cell and neither our apartment’s phone.”- (Y/N) yelled from the other side of the room.- “We are not gonna take any chances!”

- “Maybe she is with Sofia and the kids…”- Prentiss suggested.

- “Already called her. She hasn’t seen her. And there’s something else. We are both sure we saw Lindsey Vaughn in our building this week.”- I started explaining, but Em didn’t even know who I was telling her about.

- “Lindsey who?”

- “From a case in Chula Vista! She was kidnapped ten years ago, and her father was a hitman!”- I nearly yelled, already too nervous and upset to stay calm. Prentiss didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I knew she didn’t believe me and I was starting to lose it.

- “Reid…”

- “You remember, right? Her father, that case, April 2007? Her father's Jack Vaughn, a former hitman for the Irish mob. He and Lindsey were in Witness Protection. Lindsey and her friend Katie were abducted, Katie was killed, and Jack murdered the unsub in front of me.”- my voice was getting too high as I kept spitting facts from the pass to my unit chief, who most likely thought I was acting crazy.

- “Ok. Maybe you think you saw her…”- Emily tried to find a reasonable excuse, but my wife stopped her in her tracks.

- “We both saw her at two different times on our own. We just never talked about it because we thought we were being crazy and exhausted. But it can’t be a coincidence, Em. It never is.”- there was a short silence and our friend sighed.

- “I’ll stop by your apartment. I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”

- “Thanks Prentiss. We are getting into the car as we speak. Talk to you later.”- I dropped the line and sighed. (Y/N) had our things ready.

The hour-long drive back to Washington was hell. It didn’t get any better when Prentiss called us back and told us no one was home. She used the spare key we gave her a few years ago. We had all exchanged apartment keys as a way to make sure we always had each other’s back. And to keep Morgan from kicking our door down.

- “There’s no sign of an entry. Nothing seems off. The place doesn’t say abduction, but we can’t rule it out, all things considered.”- Prentiss explained as I accelerated and (Y/N) placed a hand on my leg to comfort me.

- “We’ll be there in an hour. Is there any way Garcia can help us track my mother?”

- “I’ll call her. Rossi is on his way to the BAU and I’m meeting him there.”

- “Thank you Emily.”- my wife remembered how to be polite in a minute where all I could do was to feel guilty about leaving my mother alone so I could have some romance with (Y/N). - “It’s not your fault.”- she whispered that very same second, and I bit my lips. I felt too guilty at the moment to say anything coherent. I just caressed her hand on my leg for a moment and locked my eyes on the road.

When we got to the BAU, the entire team was gathered in the conference room: Lewis, Alvez, Stephen, Garcia, JJ, and Emily. They turned to us with sorry eyes as soon as we walked in, and JJ immediately walked to me and hugged me tight. I wrapped an arm around her as she whispered and kissed my cheek.

- “We are gonna find her, Spence.”

- “Thank you.”- I replied and moved to have a seat at the table.- “What do we know so far?”

The team had covered the background of Lindsey and her father. How they had stayed in the witness protection program after the case that crossed our paths. Until that minute the only thing we knew was that my mom, Cassie, and her car were missing.

- “What about Cassie’s phone?”- (Y/N) asked and opened the case file on the table. Lindsey’s picture came up on the first page. It was the same woman I had seen in our hall. I felt sick to my stomach just to think what could my mother be going through as we sat at that table to theorize about her location.

- “We don't know. Her phone goes straight to voicemail. She's not returning texts, either.”- JJ explained, and my wife didn’t even turn to look at her, she just nodded and asked.

- “Garcia, did you ping it?”

- “I tried, munchkin, but the battery must be dead. The GPS was turned off.”

- “Fuck!”- my wife muttered and closed the file.

- “What about Cassie’s car?”- I asked and Prentiss turned to Penelope.

- “Garcia, where are we on that APB of her car?”

- “I don't have anything yet.”

- “Ok. Also, search recent traffic in and out of the Reid's apartment. If she was around, the cameras must have got her at some point.”

- “Copy, copy”- Penelope replied and kept typing on her laptop as fast as possible.

I stood up and walked around the room, trying to make my head work and be useful. But I was too scared, too angry, too out of myself to even get my facts straight.

- “I’m gonna get us some coffee.”- my wife whispered and left the room. JJ walked to me and hugged me one more time.

- “We are gonna find her, Spence.”

- “Thanks.”- I hugged JJ back for a moment, neither my head nor my body was there. I was anywhere else trying to find a reason why Lindsey would abduct my mother. The whole team stood up to get to work, but JJ kept her arms around me.

- “I know a marshal that can help cut through WITSEC's red tape.”- I heard Luke say as he walked toward the door with Lewis.

- “Yeah, I'm friendly with some people at Homeland Security.”- she added and grabbed the phone. I put my hands on JJ’s shoulder and moved her away from me the second Rossi said.

- “I got a buddy at the DOJ, lost a lot of money to him at poker. He owes me.”

- “Is there anything I can do?”- JJ asked me, standing in front of me as I slowly pushed her body away from mine. I shook my head. How could I tell her to just do her job? I know it sounded cold, but I needed everybody to put their heads on the files in a way I couldn’t do: with a cold head and open eyes.

- “Thank you.”- was all I managed to whisper as I stood in the conference room with teary eyes and shaky hands. JJ held my face with both hands and opened her mouth to say something, but I was just greeted with silence. She froze before saying anything and moved away from me quickly. I turned around to see what had shocked her so much and met my wife’s eyes staring back at us as she stood in the hall outside the conference room holding two cups of coffee.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I knew it wasn’t time to start acting jealous. We were busy, my mother-in-law was missing, my family was broken, and JJ was… whatever the fuck she was trying to do to my husband. Spencer stared at me, confused and upset. Not with me, but with everything around him. I sighed and walked to his desk, leaving his cup of extra sugar with some coffee on his desk.

Instead of staying at my desk, in front of his, I walked to Garcia’s. Spencer needed some room I guess, well so did I. I called my mother there, and explained what was happening. She nearly lost it. I was glad my father was there with her. He wanted to go to the station, but I managed to convince him it was better if he stayed put.

- “Right now, from where I’m standing, a psychopath kidnapped my mother-in-law. We don’t know if she is going for our babies now. It’s better if you stay there with them. I’d give me so much mental peace right now.”

- “Of course, peanuts. But please, call us as soon as you know something.”

- “I will dad. Love you.”

Penelope held my hand during that entire phone call and hugged me the second I hung up. I started sobbing in desperation, giving myself the time to lose it for a couple of minutes, before I wiped off my tears.

- “Ok, enough of this shit. Now I need to put my hands on this bitch!”

- “It’s ok to cry, munchkin. I know how you are feeling.”

- “I know Pen. But I’m so tired right now. No matter what I do, I can’t catch a fucking break!”

- “My precious baby, it’s been a shitty year!”- Pen hugged me tighter as I fought the tears back into my eyes.

- “I think everything has been shit for so long… I need a long vacation from any serial-related thing.”

- “I know it looks shitty now. But we are gonna take Diana back home and then we are gonna plan your vacation, ok?- I just nodded as Garcia kissed my cheek and moved a chair closer for me. - “Now, let’s get to work.”

Police found Cassie’s car and Luke was out on his way there in no time. Prentiss asked me and my husband to stay out of the case, which was… harder than I imagined it’d be, to put it in gentle words. I didn’t want to deal with JJ or Spencer after whatever had happened in the conference room between them. Was I jealous? Always had! Never dealt with it. Did I trust Spencer? Of course, I did! I trusted him with my life. But I hated knowing he could get comfort from JJ instead of me. Random? Yes. Petty? Definitely. True? Sure! But I was not dealing with it at that moment. It wasn’t the time or the place. So I played it cool, stayed with Penelope, locked in the bat cave, and heard Luke calling from Cassie’s car.

- “Garcia.”

- “What do you need? I’m here with Mrs. Dr. Reid by the way.”- I knew she said that to stop him from dropping any fact that might be too much for me to handle. It was sweet and stressful at the same time.

- “Metro P.D. found Cassie's car and called it in immediately. No signs of her or Diana. No foul play. There are... There are 3 visible cameras. One nearby and two down the way.”

- “I can tap into them, see what I can find.”- Pen was starting to type the location of the cameras when her phone rang.- “Oh, oh, uh, uh, Walker and JJ are calling in. You want me to patch you through?”

- “Please.”- I kept pacing across Garcia’s office as I overheard the entire conversation, biting my lips as I tried not to open my mouth. I couldn’t say a word.

- “Walker, JJ, you're on with Alvez.”

- “Hey, Luke, no luck finding Cassie or Diana.”- Stephen said, it sounded like he and JJ were already in the SUV.

- “All right. Well, I'm at Cassie's car right now.”- Luke announced- “Forensically, it's a dead end, but, uh, behaviorally we might have something.”- Luke whispered the last words as if he was focusing on something going on at his end.

- “What is it?”- I asked as soon as the silence became too much for me.

- “Hey Reid!”- he greeted me and sounded happy to hear me- “Her car is parked down the block from a high school.”

- “A high school is where Jack Vaughn killed Lindsey's abductor in front of her and Spence.”- JJ pointed out. I just kept walking around the office, hearing them talk.

- “Well, placing the car there could be a taunt at us.”- Walker suggested. I nodded along ‘cos I agreed.

- “That's what I'm thinking.” - and clearly so did Luke.

- “I can look into that. I can... Oh!”- as soon as Penelope gasped, I jumped and stood by her side.

- “What is it?”- I questioned staring at the screens not getting a shit.

- “Garcia?”- JJ asked from the other side of the line.

- “Oh, uh, uh, per Emily, I was supposed to look at the recent foot traffic in and out of the Reids’ building. There is no sign of Lindsey, but a Jaime Lamantia keeps popping up. She lives in unit 26 down the hall from the Reids. She paid 6 months of her rent upfront in cash, and there's been not a peep from her since.”

- “How's Jaime connected to Lindsey?”- JJ asked and I replied before Garcia could even think.

- “Wake up, Jennifer! There’s no Jaime, come on! They are the same fucking person! And bitch rented an apartment right down the hall from us!”- I hit the desk and stormed out of Garcia’s office. I wanted to cry, to scream, and to break a wall with my fists.

A psycho had been living down the hall from my babies for weeks and I never even noticed! What kind of SSA could do such a thing? What kind of mother was I? I was never going to forgive myself if something happened to Diana.

- “Chipmunk! Wait!”- Spencer’s voice came from somewhere around the bullpen as I kept pushing the elevator’s door as if it might actually force the doors to open sooner.

- “Not… my best moment, hon.”- I managed to say and bit my lips. Spencer held my hand and walked with me into the elevator, no questions asked. We got to the first floor in silence, and I walked outside. I needed some fresh air, to stay away from people. I wanted to wake up from that nightmare.

- “Lindsey rented the apartment at the end of the hall from us.”- I told him after a few minutes. Spencer opened his eyes and mouth but didn’t say a thing. His brain was going a thousand miles per second, and mine was blank. I felt useless.

- “Yeah.”- I added, crossed my arms on my chest, and simply walked in circles in the front of the building.- “I feel so stupid. So blind!”

- “Me too.”- he whispered and sat on the front steps of the building. His head hung down as his hands rested on his neck.- “I feel useless now and I can’t shake the thought this whole thing is my fault. But I can’t think about anything that might have done wrong against Lindsey and her dad ten years ago! What did I do wrong that was worth kidnapping my mother right now!”

- “I don’t think you did anything wrong, hon. She is a fuckin psycho.”- I stood in front of my husband and watched the state he was in. I don’t think I had ever seen him like that. It broke my heart to think I didn’t know how to help him.

- “It just doesn’t make sense.”- he whispered- “Why here? Why now? Why mom?”

- “I’m sorry honey. I… I just don’t know.”- my chin quivered as I broke into tears one more time, feeling useless and dumb.

- “Oh chipmunk.”- Spencer quickly stood up and wrapped his arms around me.- “I don’t expect you to fix it on your own, I’m sorry.”

- “I’m sorry... I just… feel no good for anything! I should have seen this coming!”- my voice was muffled against his shirt, yet I knew he understood what I had just said ‘cos he grabbed my face and forced me to look into his eyes.

- “Don’t say that.”- Spencer whispered and kissed my forehead. - “Please, don’t say that.”

- “I’m so sorry! This should go the other way! I should be comforting you! But I can’t even do that right.”- tears fell from my eyes as I stared at his own eyes getting damp.

- “No, ma cherie.”- my husband held me even closer to his body and kissed my cheeks and forehead several times.- “It’s you who I want by my side this entire time. I wanna comfort you, hold you. Just knowing you are by my side this entire time is the only thing keeping me sane right now.”

I closed my eyes and felt him resting his forehead on mine as we just held onto each other, trying to keep each other sane and safe. Spencer didn’t mention what had happened with JJ and I didn’t want to bring it up. It didn’t feel right at the time.

Spencer’s point of view

JJ and Walker had found Cassie’s body in Lindsey’s apartment in our building. She had been shot once, execution style. It gave me an odd sense of peace to know she hadn’t suffered. She wasn’t tortured. She just… died at the hands of a psychopath only because she worked for me. I was never going to forgive myself.

Along with Cassie’s body, there were pictures of us, (Y/N), me, the kids, and Mom. Walking into the apartment, getting into the car. Playing in the park nearby. Dropping them in school, visiting Sofia. Lindsey knew everything we did, everywhere we went. I knew I shouldn’t have access to all that information, but even when Prentiss kept asking us to leave the BAU and go home with our kids, we couldn’t just stand aside and let them do all the work. We were the target, there had to be something we knew or did that triggered Lindsey.

When the ballistics results came in, we were with JJ, Rossi, Tara, and Garcia in the conference room. They confirmed the bullet that killed Cassie was the same gun Jack Vaughn used when he was a mob enforcer in Boston.

- “It's because she's a daddy's girl.”- I said and held yet another cup of coffee between my hands, as my wife, who sat right next to me, added.

- “The gun is an odd touch of sentimentality for an otherwise logistical killer.”

- “Yes, but she took the gun because she's a daddy's girl because they were inseparable.”- The team stared at me and nodded. I couldn’t help but think about my own daughter. We were a team. We would do so many things together. We had our Saturday mornings just to be together, go to the library, or to the park. We visited museums and had smoothies. I wondered what I was teaching her. Was I making it right? Would she hate me when she is older and she realizes her parents spent most of her childhood catching serial killers instead of being there for her when she was scared and when she was happy. When she had to sing in the talent show in school.

(Y/N) squeezed my hand and took me from my thoughts at the right time: seconds before I fell down the rabbit hole of self-hate and doubt.

- “I think we should go home.”- she whispered.- “I know the guys already investigated the scene, but we live there. We’d know if anything was off.”

- “Worth the shot to ask Prentiss.”- I murmured and nodded.

- “Ok. I know it's a different agency and all, but couldn't someone have told us that Lindsey left WITSEC?”- Garcia

- “No. It's for her own protection.”

- “The marshals stay away unless you're in trouble. Even our own case agents aren't told about their member status.”- Lewis explained and Garcia sighed, defeated. Prentiss walked into the room and turned to us.

- “How many times do I have to ask you to go home?”

- “Until you give up trying.”- (Y/N) replied and I was about to ask our unit chief to let us go to our apartment when Penelope announced.

- “More ballistics literally just came in on Jack Vaughn's gun, and, oh, my goodness, Lindsey has been a busy evil bee.”

- “How busy?”- Lewins asked as Pen shared the info on the big screen so we could all see.

- “That gun has been involved in 15 murders in the last 5 years.”- Garcia pointed out and we could trace her path of murder on the map. She had been in fact very busy and mostly worked down the Mexican border.

- “Single shot to the back of the head with a modified hollow point.”- JJ said, confirming the same MO she had done on Cassie.

- “That's our Lindsey.”- Rossi pointed out.

- “You guys see the geographical pattern? All of the kills are along the U.S-Mexico border.”- JJ commented what I had already noticed but couldn’t say, ‘cos we couldn’t work the fucking case.

- “And each of the victims has apparent cartel ties.”- Pen added as I kept taking mental notes.

- “So.” Tara sighed and stated the facts- “Lindsey's been a cartel hitwoman ever since she left the program.”

- “Ok, but why is she using her dad's gun? That helps us, and it's risky for her.”- Garcia questioned and I knew the answer, I was just hoping someone would say it.

- “It's an impulse. It's not a choice.”- JJ explained and I nodded in silence from the couch.

- “I wonder if Luke and Walker will get to talk with Lindsey’s dad.”- (Y/N) murmured as we kept our eyes glued on the screen, trying to see a pattern.

- “I hope so, or we are fucked”- my reply was honest, I couldn’t lie to her under those circumstances.

- “Guys, please go home.”- Prentiss begged the second we set foot in her office. She was talking with Rossi and looked at us with the most concerned and upset look I had seen from them.

- “That’s what we are here to talk about. Maybe we could be of use.”- I started explaining

- “No guys, you can't be part of the investigation.”

- “We know that, but we can put an eye on our apartment. Maybe you overlooked something.”- I proposed and (Y/N) nodded.

- “We are the owners, we have the right to be there. And if Lindsey touched or moved anything, we’d know.”

- “It’s not a bad idea.”- Rossi supported us but Emily just sighed and shook her head. Luckily, her phone interrupted her and gave us some extra time to argue back.

- “Luke.”- she got our attention as soon as she said who she was talking to. We were all waiting for feedback from him and Stephen after talking with Lindsey’s dad, Jack.

- “Ok, we’ll talk about it when you get here. Thanks, Luke.”- Emily’s face changed. Her eyebrows were lowered and drawn together, and her lips were pressed together.

- “What is it? I can read the anger and the fear all over your face.”- I said, knowing she was not supposed to tell me anything.

- “Jack said Lindsey was looking for a contact for scopolamine and sevoflurane. The same drugs Scratch uses.”

All I could feel was cold, like water running down from my head to my toes, soaking me with desperation and freezing fear. My heart was beating hard on my chest, and I could actually feel it in my throat. (Y/N) grabbed my arm and gripped it. It wasn’t what we were expecting to hear. It was worse than I had ever imagined. If Mr. Scratch was behind my mother's capture, who knew how he was torturing her, messing with her already damaged mind.

- “What are we gonna do?”- I asked Prentiss and missed the tears in my wife’s eyes. - “We need a plan! We have to get to our apartment! We…” - I know I was nearly hyperventilating, and losing it slowly. But I couldn’t remain calm and logical all things considered. I felt (Y/N)’s hand losing its grip on my arm, but I never noticed when she walked out of the room. All my mind could focus on was the fact Mr. Scratch was gonna hurt my mother the way he had hurt Aaron, Jack, and Tara’s brother.

- “(Y/N)!”- Prentiss called my wife, but she stormed out of the office. I stood frozen on my spot for a few seconds, waiting for an answer.

- “What are we gonna do?!”- I ended up yelling, and Rossi held my arm, trying to calm me down.

- “You should take your wife home and get some sleep, kid. We’ll come up with a plan as soon as Luke and Stephen are back, and we’ll keep you posted.”

- “David, we can not step aside now!”- I argued, I was seeing red and kept feeling like a prisoner in a cage.

- “That is exactly what you have to do if you want us to get your mother back. Trust us. Please.”- Prentiss’ voice was calmed, probably trying to soothe me while I could feel my blood boiling.

- “How could I… just sit and wait?”- I struggled with the words ‘cos I was too furious to think straight.

- “You can start by comforting your wife.”- Rossi suggested and tapped my shoulder.- “She needs you more than the team does right now. Get some sleep, and rest that brain. We could get you to your apartment tomorrow.”

I wanted to argue, but my head was overwhelmed by all the information. And my heart felt heavy in my chest.

- “We’ll call you if we know anything. I promise.”- Prentiss hugged me and I couldn’t reciprocate it. I was still on fire inside. But I was defeated, so I sighed and walked out, ready to find my wife and take her home.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I was sick of crying. Tears kept rolling down my cheeks, and I kept whipping them out with my sleeve as I sat in Garcia’s office. My friend had gotten me a glass of water and hugged me for what felt like hours as we just sat there in silence.

- “I…”- Garcia whispered after a few more minutes. She caressed my cheek and looked into my eyes, trying to put herself together for me.- “I don’t know what to tell you, munchkin.”

- “It’s ok, Pen. You don’t have to say anything.”

- “It’s just not fair.”- she murmured and I nodded.

- “It never is. That’s what this job has taught me.”- I sighed and tried to smile at my friend, but failed massively.

- “It hasn’t been easy lately.”- Pen started rambling.- “It never is here, you are right about that. But lately, it feels like…”

- “Life has been kicking us on the floor and just won't let us go.”- I added and she nodded.

- “Exactly.”

- “I just… keep thinking about what we do every day and how it always turns against us. And I can’t help but wonder why am I still here.”- I confessed and Pen’s face didn’t even flinch. I thought she might freak out, but it shocked me when she didn’t. Instead, she agreed with me.

- “I wonder the same sometimes. How much pain can I handle?”

- “Exactly. And I keep feeling this job is taking pieces of me every day and in the end there won’t be any left of myself. And it’s awful 'cause it was exactly what I was afraid of when I first joined the BAU. That I would lose who I was due to this job.”

Garcia stared at me and just held my hand tighter. Neither of us said another word. I felt like it was not needed. She knew how I felt ‘cos she felt it too. And I couldn’t be more grateful for her friendship at that minute.

- “Garcia, have you seen Spence?”- JJ stormed into the office suddenly and Penelope and I nearly jumped. JJ just stared at me, wide-opened eyes, like she wasn’t waiting to bump into me there.

- “Do we have a lead?”- Pen asked her immediately.

- “Eh, no. I just wanted to check on you two.”- JJ excused herself and walked toward me.- “We haven’t had much time to talk, and I wanted to know how you are dealing with everything.”

I stared at her, trying to read her, wondering if she really meant it.

- “Just tired.”- that was the best I could reply without telling her exactly how I felt. I didn’t want to share my feelings with Jennifer at that moment. It didn’t feel right.

- “And the kids?”

- “With my mom. We should go put them to bed soon.” - just on cue, Spencer walked into the office, still looking upset, but more together than earlier.

- “Hey.”- he whispered, locking eyes with me.- “Sorry, I lost it.”

- “It’s ok, Pen kept me company. What did I miss?”

- “Couldn’t change their minds.”- I sighed and nodded as my husband kneeled next to me and held my hands, just as Garcia had done before.

- “It’s ok. I was just telling JJ we should go put the kids to bed.”- and just then, Spencer noticed JJ and Pen were there as well. He cut them a smile and stood up.

- “Ready to go, chipmunk?”

I gathered my things from my desk and walked to the elevator with Spencer. Garcia hugged us and promised to call in case anything happened. I wanted to trust her, but I was sure she wouldn’t. She couldn’t, after all. We were supposed to stay out of the case.

The drive back home felt eternal. I decided to get behind the wheel because I needed to focus on something that wasn't in my head for a little while. Besides, it felt like Spencer could use some time to think before we had to face my parents and our kids.

- “Mommy!!”- Raven ran to us as soon as we opened the door. It was already past her bedtime, but according to my mom, she wouldn’t go to sleep as soon as she heard we were going to be home. She wanted to see us.

- “Hey there, Birdy!”- I hugged my daughter tight and kissed both her cheeks.- “Are you having fun with Nana and Pop?”

- “Yes, they showed me pictures of you when you were little. And they said sometimes you were naughty and didn’t eat your greens.”- my daughter giggled and looked at me with a sweet smile. I fought the tears as I held her, and Spencer moved closer to us and kissed Raven’s head.

- “Come on in, kids. Dinner is ready.”- Mom whispered from the kitchen’s door. Dad looked at us, holding Vincent, who was clearly asleep already.

- “Want me to put him down to bed?”- I asked him as I still held my daughter in my arms, but he shook his head.

- “I don’t feel like letting go.”- and I knew exactly what he meant.

That night, my husband and I barely slept. We were cramped in my old bed, holding our kids tight and just going through the night getting as little rest as expected under the circumstances. At a certain point, I felt Spencer’s hand on mine, and I turned to look at him. Tears kept falling from his eyes as he intertwined his fingers with mine. Raven was softly snoring between us, basically clinging to Spencer’s pajama, while Vincent kept kicking my ribs as he dreamed by my side.

I held Spencer’s hand tight and kissed it. He cut me a short smile and sighed. I whispered “I love you” and he replied with the same words. My whole world was in that tiny bed and I wanted to wrap my babies in a bubble to keep anything from hurting them.

Around two in the morning, we got a call from Prentiss, the team was waiting for us with news: they had gotten a secondary address for Lindsey late at night, she had a house in southeast DC. They needed us asap. It was so hard leaving our kids alone in bed that morning. It made me feel a little calmer knowing the police force was protecting my parent’s house.

I woke up Mom, left the babies in her bed, kissed them goodbye, and walked to the car. I just hoped we could get Diana home that day. I needed my family all together again.

However, it felt like things could only get worse because the second we stepped into the conference room, we were met with the awful truth. It wasn't Mr. Scratch who had gotten Diana.

It had been Cat Adams all along.

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