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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months ago

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IF YOU ASK ME TO LEAVE, I’LL STAY FOREVER ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru is stubborn; even when plagued by such a high fever, he insists there’s no need to take care of him. thankfully, you’re equally as stubborn.

word count; 10.8k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, implied non-sorcerer!reader, sickfic, reverse comfort, sickening amounts of fluff, lots of petnames, satoru gojo vs the mortifying ordeal of being loved, just a tinyyyy bit of angst if u rlly squint, literally just satoru being pampered for like 10k words straight, he’s cute when he’s sick but still manages to be a lil shit <33, he’s also a huge sap you have been warned!!

a/n; what can i say, im a proud member of the ”satoru gojo needs to be babied relentlessly” club <33 he’s just a little guy!! tagging @catchuuu my beloved for being the sweetest enjoy a healthy dose of sick sleepy satoru <33 i am tagging all toru enjoyers in spirit btw i love u all

you’ve never seen satoru like this before.

head buried into a big pillow, white locks tousled and sticking to his forehead — skin sweaty, hot to the touch, with a flushed face to match. heavy breaths fall from his parted lips, blinking in and out of consciousness, squeezing his eyes shut.

it’s nothing like the joyous, loud, cocky satoru you’re so used to. he’s weak. he’s fatigued.

he’s completely, undoubtedly sick.

”really, baby,” he slurs, raspy and dry. still attempting to raise himself up, arms straining under the weight of his shivering body. ”there’s no need f’ —”

unceremoniously, his limbs give out beneath him, and he tumbles right back down; a meek little wince escaping his throat as his face falls back into the mattress. the sound makes your heart squeeze tightly in your chest.

”ah. that’s…” he tries to speak, a disgruntled hum muffled by the sheets. ”… annoying.”

satoru sounds frustrated. you can tell he’s resisting the urge to close his eyes, a little helpless, unable to even move properly, like a fish out of water. he’s still breathing unevenly, still sweating, still burning up — you can practically feel it, from where you’re standing, crouched down by his bed.

you’ve never, ever seen satoru like this. you’ve seen him sniffling during flu season, wrecked with headaches during rainy season. you’ve seen him vulnerable; not many times, but enough that it matters.

but you’ve never seen him like this.

(and it makes you terribly anxious.)

”satoru, please just —” you croak, gnawing at your bottom lip. trying desperately to swallow the worry in your chest. ”don’t overdo it. please?”

you can hear the anxious little timbre of your own voice, and you can feel the frown tugging at your lips. but you can’t do anything to quell the insistent pitter patter of your heartbeat, the ache that accompanies it. satoru’s lying down, still trying to gather the strength to reassure you, even through the feverish haze clouding his mind.

he looks so small.

this wasn’t what you were expecting to see, today. you were expecting to meet up with satoru, and see his happy little grin, those tiny dimples and freckles that only show themselves in the light of the sun. you were expecting to feel the weight of his hand in yours, as you strolled down to the new crêpe stand he’s been wanting to check out since he first found their instagram account.

you were expecting to see him happy. healthy. a little obnoxious, a little annoying — but hopelessly sweet. all the love you could ever need, molded into a human shape. your little angel.

a sigh slips from your lips. you can’t help it; because satoru is just so stubborn, so closed off, and he can be such an idiot sometimes. you knew something was off the moment he sent you that text, asking you oh so charmingly, apologetically, if you could postpone your date for just an hour or so. you knew something was wrong, but he still wouldn’t let up until you brought out the 🥺 emojis.

and then he told you he was fine. it’s all he ever is, apparently.

my throat’s just a little scratchy, is all. wouldn’t want you to miss out on the voice you love so much, yeah?

give me an hour and i’ll be perfect for you. <3

moron.

he’s curled up in a fetal position, trying to stop himself from shivering, muttering little reassurances under his breath that you can’t make out. wearing ripped jeans and a nice jacket, like he was fully prepared to head out like this — like he genuinely thought an hour, some painkillers and a dream would be enough to chase away a fever this severe. like he was so desperate to see you he was fully willing to take that risk.

moron. moron. he should’ve called you the moment he realized he was sick. instead, you had to coax him into letting you come over, with a flurry of sad and cute emojis you know make him go weak at the knees when they’re coming from you.

and here you are. in satoru’s house, in front of his bed, trying to convince him that he is, in fact, sick.

but he just won’t listen.

”just — gimme a couple minutes, honey?” your boyfriend mumbles, barely coherent, stringing words together haphazardly. awfully dizzy. ”i just need the painkillers to kick in, i promise i —”

”satoru.”

there’s a sad tint to your voice, now. unmistakable. one that satoru notices, even through the feverish, muddy filter over his reality.

and it makes him quiet down.

(he doesn’t want to disappoint you.)

as gently as you can, you settle down on the bed, eyes painfully softened. overflowing with care. towering over him, leaning close — to press your lips against his scorching forehead, brushing away his sweaty bangs with a palpable tenderness. your voice soothing, coming out almost as a low coo. you’re frustrated, and exasperated.

but most of all, you’re worried.

”go back to sleep,” you hum, a gentle command. your hand finds his, cold skin meeting warm, tracing circles over his palm. ”i’ll take care of you.”

”there’s no need,” he mutters, instantaneous. so used to denying kindness.

but he curls an arm around your waist, anyway, tugging you closer; a little needy. like you’re much too far away for his liking. finally beginning to settle down, coaxed into resting by the soft touches your grace him with. it’s only a matter of time.

so you keep your lips against his forehead, cradling his slender fingers in yours, murmuring little whispered reassurances. and before you know it, his lashes have fluttered shut, like a white dove landing on the ground. he still looks so troubled, so meek. you can’t resist the urge to soothe him, hand cupping his face, thumb smoothing over the apple of his cheek. you watch him lean into it, eyes dripping with care. your poor baby.

for a couple precious moments, you allow yourself to indulge in the sight. even like this, he looks a bit like an angel, a painting come to life. like one wrong brushstroke could smudge him.

so you’re delicate, as you trace little hearts into his skin, delicate as you maneuver his body enough to peel the layers of clothing off him — leaving him in only an oversized tee and a pair of briefs. satoru can only whine, softly, so quiet you barely even hear him. so disoriented, on the brink of falling into a deep slumber. some part of him is trying to resist, you’re sure, still agonizing over the date he’s missing out on. as if anything matters more than his health.

but it doesn’t work. he can only let out a tiny groan, hopelessly pliant as you tuck him in, pulling a big blanket over his shoulders. you card through his hair, another soft kiss planted on his sweaty forehead — and your hand stays between his locks until you’re sure he’s asleep. his breathing mellows out, his grip around your waist loosens, seeking comfort from you even in his dreams.

you’d crawl under the blankets with him, but you have work to do.

stealing one final glance at your fever-ridden lover, your heartbeat ricochets. he still looks so meek, all warm and sweaty, shirt sticking to his skin. a frown tugs at your bottom lip.

satoru is always so stubborn, refusing to lean on others for support. you wish he had called you immediately, nagged at you to come baby him. sure, you might’ve sighed in faux exasperation, and teased him a little, but it still would’ve made you feel happy. useful. and you would’ve done it in a heartbeat. maybe, if you just prove that you can take care of him properly, he’ll do it next time.

so you stand up, leaning down to press your lips against his forehead one last time, and make your way towards the kitchen.

satoru’s house is spacious. a little too spacious, enough for at least three people to live in comfortably; nice furniture, an expensive sofa in the living room, a large tv you’re almost certain he only keeps around for white noise. such are the ways of the rich, you suppose. he doesn’t invite you over very often, so you’ve never had the chance to get very affiliated with the space. it’s always the other way around — him, waiting for you on the couch when you get home, chirping out an unconvincing don’t even worry about it, baby! when you ask how he got in without a key. or him, showing up at your doorstep in the middle of the night, filling the sleepy silence with jokes to distract you from the bags under his eyes.

(he likes it when you cling to him in your sleep — he sleeps a lot better that way. that’s what he told you, at least, when you brought him coffee in bed that one time. a little glimmer of honesty.)

he stays over so often he might as well just move in, but you aren’t really sure how to even approach that subject. some part of you fears it’d be too much, too intimate, that he’d pack his bags and run away. bringing all his secrets with him, that soft laughter you’ve grown so fond of. so you figure it’s better to let him make a home out of yours, let him curl up on your couch and snack on the candy you hid in your kitchen cabinets. that’s safe for him.

and now that you’ve seen his home up close — if you can even call it that — you think you’re starting to understand his preference. because it’s spacious, yes, but also empty. save for expensive furniture and fake houseplants, there isn’t anything to indicate that the apartment belongs to him, that he feels comfortable there. like he hasn’t even bothered to make it his. like it’s about to be sold, and you’re just one of the potential buyers, checking the place out. admiring the patterns of the floorboards and the walls.

it doesn’t feel like satoru at all.

his own bedroom was another story, a much more pleasant one. a lot more satoru. filled with little trinkets, key charms and souvenirs and silly figurines. a framed photo of three students by the windowsill, an old uniform hanging by his closet, socks strewn about here and there. a dying houseplant. comic books and movie posters and a ps5 you don’t think he’s touched since he finished spiderman 2. a king sized bed, that makes him look like a spoiled little princess when he’s lying in it, next to a cat plushie you won for him at a fair. knowing he actually sleeps with it kind of makes you want to cry.

there’s this particular scent, too, lingering in the air. mellow, nostalgic, the kind that soothes you with just a whiff; a blend between sunlight, expensive cologne, and something sweet. it clings to all his favorite clothes, to his skin. you’d live in it if you could.

something constricts, inside your chest — like thorny vines strangling your beating heart, pressing down ever so slightly. just thinking about it, about him, about his distressed expression as his head hit the pillow. making your way over to his kitchen, getting yourself affiliated with the space, preparing to make a good soup for his fever. the fridge is almost empty, save for sweets and that one drink you like. the takeout boxes on his kitchen table tells you all you need to know.

it only makes you worry more.

luckily, you were clever enough to buy your own ingredients on the way here. chop, chop, into tiny little pieces. chicken soup should help, shouldn’t it? it’s all you can focus on, all you can hope for. anything is fine; you just want to help him, be of use somehow. he does so much for you.

you just want to give some of it back.

satoru’s loneliness is a subtle thing. flexible, alert, slipping away at the slightest sign of knowing eyes. for someone who’s so often surrounded by people, cracking jokes and laughing louder than anyone else, he doesn’t seem to make any noise when he’s alone. he curls into himself, just a bit, and a kind of reminiscence smooths over the contours of his face.

that’s when you see him. that lonely, lonely guy. resigned to his self-imposed isolation, paradoxically yearning for something more. watching as the cherry trees bloom, like they’ll give him the answers he seeks once they bear fruit.

but the moment you come into view, he smiles. knowing you won’t push it — that you’ll let him take his time. that you’ll let him flee, just a little.

still, you can’t help but wish he’d lean on you a little more. you wish you could chase his loneliness away with a pitchfork, but it’s a fickle creature. you somehow doubt he wants to part with it.

all you can do is love him. love him, love him, and love him some more; until he’s had his fill.

(you’re not sure he ever will. it’s a good thing, a very good thing, because you’re almost certain you’ll never run out.)

and that’s why you’re here. in his ghost of a home, his kitchen, pouring water into a large pot. tender, sprinkling love over every single action, every slice and dice, every piece of chicken and veggies thrown into the boiling water. you try and you try, hoping it’ll reach him.

but before you can make another attempt, something reaches you, instead.

two long arms curl around your waist, suddenly, something warm and soft pressing itself against your back. and you almost flinch, completely caught up in the stirring of the soup, unsure of how much time has passed since you began. it jolts you out of your thoughts.

you know who it is, though. never mind the fact that he’s the only other person in the apartment; you know it’s him by his touch alone, the weight of his arms, that particular scent that surrounds him. like memories of summer.

it’s awfully sweet, the way he clings to you, the soft little blissful sigh that slips from his lips. but before you can feel moved at the domesticity of the gesture, worry clouds your senses. he doesn’t even get the chance to speak.

”satoru —” you place a palm on his forearm, craning your head to look back at him. his forehead rests against your shoulder, and his eyes are closed. he’s still so warm, too warm. ”what are you doing here? you should be resting.”

your boyfriend mumbles something, under his breath, something that your ears can’t quite digest. he shifts, a little, as if getting ready to put on some sort of act — to smile and joke, or laugh and tease you. you can imagine what he’d say if he wasn’t in such a feverish state; he’d hug you from behind, a low purr of what’cha up to? whispered right into your ear. then you’d jolt, and he’d giggle sheepishly, satisfied with the reaction.

but now, all he can do is cough. still leaning against you, gripping onto your midriff a little more desperately than usual. you step away from the stove, turning around, making sure your hands never leave his. looking up at him with concern in your eyes, noticing his little frown.

”c’mon, you need to lie down.” you reach for his cheek, cupping it in your palm, and he practically melts into it. enjoying the chilly sensation to his fever-ridden skin. “the soup’ll be finished soon, okay?”

”… you made,” he tries, syllables falling from his lips haphazardly. ”soup —” a series of coughs. they cut him off, and the worry in your chest only deepens.

“don’t push yourself, okay? you’re really sick, dummy.” satoru pouts, but doesn’t say anything, only clinging to you tighter when you usher him away. “let’s go back to your room, alright?”

but he won’t budge. he’s so sleepy, so sick and delirious, putting all his body weight on you. you try your best not to stumble beneath it.

”honey,” you plead, holding him securely in your embrace. his arms around your waist, your hands on his shoulders. ”work with me, please? just gotta get you back to bed —”

”’s…” he whispers, suddenly, a raspy little thing. scratchy, meek, awfully earnest; you wonder if he’s too sick not to be. ”… too lonely without you.”

a moment passes. your breath hitches pitifully, at the base of your throat.

satoru is hugging you so tightly, as if you could disappear at any moment, slip away if he doesn’t keep you close. he’s holding you as if pleading for comfort, for a touch of safety. as if he needs you. if his meek little admission hadn’t already melted your heart the marrow, that thought certainly would’ve done the job.

taking a moment to collect yourself, you inhale, face surely aflame. satoru just nuzzles into your shoulder, too tired to say anything else, wanting to be close to you. it’s a wonder your knees don’t buckle.

gently, you let your hand trail upwards, palm smoothing down his hair. softly, like he’s a clingy, overgrown cat. ”sorry,” you start, just a little breathless. ”i’ll be with you, okay? won’t leave you alone. i promise.”

there’s an earnesty in your words that you doubt you could ever fake. satoru must hear it too, you think, because he finally begins to work with you. allowing you to stumble towards his bedroom, supporting his weight.

but once you make it to his bed, he still refuses to let go of you.

”toru, gotta go finish that soup. ’n make you some tea.” you rub his back, soothingly, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. shaking his head and emitting a throaty groan, only squeezing you tighter when you try to guide him under the covers. how cruel of him, to act so cute when said soup is most likely boiling over by the stove. ”please, sweetie? it won’t take long. i promise. you can go back to sleep.”

another groggy huff. you’re both still standing by the edge of the bed, and satoru still won’t let you leave. all you can do is sigh, smearing a little kiss against his neck.

he squirms, ever so slightly, and you get an idea.

so you keep pressing little kisses against his skin, knowing just how to make him melt. feeling him relax in your embrace, snuggle into your chest, so pliant that he lets you tuck him in — as long as your lips stay pressed against his jaw. before he can realize what’s happening, you grab hold of the blanket, draping it over him; his half-lidded eyes blinking up at you. you press a final kiss against his forehead, grabbing the cat plushie from the edge of the bed and placing it close enough for satoru to reach if need be.

”i’ll hurry, toru. be a good boy and stay here, alright?”

a teasing lilt sneaks into your voice, coaxed out by how adorable your boyfriend looks like this; baby blue eyes all droopy, snowy hair messy as it falls across the cushion he’s resting on. blinking sluggishly, grunting a little in response.

when you scurry off the bed and make your way towards the door, you glance back at him. he’s still looking in your direction, with half-lidded eyes, and your chest aches. ”i’ll be back soon, baby,” you try to soothe him. “try to sleep.”

this time, you hurry. body working almost on autopilot, images of your boyfriend still tugging at your heartstrings like he’s arranging an orchestra, moving your legs forward. before you know it, you’re walking back, carrying a tray with both your hands. steam wafts up from the hot soup and the warm cup of tea, shaking a little as you walk, a pair of painkillers in your pocket. just in case he needs more. an eager, pulsating joy rushes through your veins — now you can be with him, tend to him, not leave him alone in a room so like him you wish you could stay there forever.

your footsteps are light, almost careful as they cross the threshold. satoru stirs, waiting for you to come to his side, looking like a kicked puppy in his giant bed. he tries to lift himself up, but it looks like it requires an intense amount of focus, like his elbows could buckle any second.

”careful,” you croon, hurrying over, placing the tray on the nightstand. gently pushing him back down on the mattress. he complies almost instantly, too out of it to put up a real fight. staring at you, as if in awe.

to satoru, you appear almost as an angel, a somewhat blurry figure that he recognizes without looking. your very presence is soothing, like a lullaby in human form. with the hazy filter clouding his mind, he can’t even seem to form words correctly — all satoru can focus on is you. your movements, the lilt of your voice, a cold hand dulling the heat of his forehead.

his fever still hasn’t gone down. you try and muster a smile, but you’re sure it must look painfully coated in unease. crouching down, you place your elbows on the bed, your jaw meeting the mattress. you’re at eye level with him, now.

”hey,” you start, low and comforting. you don’t want to be too loud. ”sorry it took so long.”

using what little energy he has left, satoru crosses the distance between you, inching closer and closer. noticing it, you reach a hand out to cup his cheek — lips quick to find his forehead. a barely audible sigh leaves him, and you smile.

”d’you think you can eat?” you whisper, gazing at him fondly. treating him a little like a baby, maybe, but you can’t help it when he’s like this. quiet as a mouse. ”i made soup and tea… sound okay?”

he tries to make a noise. it comes out sounding like a strange blend between a dissatisfied groan and an affirming hum, but he still ends up nodding slightly. you wonder if indulging you is ingrained into his bone structure.

”… okay. think you can sit up, toru?”

once again, your boyfriend only hums — but he does begin to move, trying to hoist himself up, wobbling pitifully. you help, keeping him steady until his spine meets the headboard. slumped against it, he blinks slowly, feverishly.

”thank you.” you press a chaste kiss against his cheek, before reaching for the cup of tea, the scent of chamomile and lavender filling your senses. you blow on it softly. ”here. it should help with your throat, so try to drink a bit, okay? s’ got honey in it.”

silently, he accepts the cup, bringing it to his lips. when he takes a sip, you catch the slightest hint of a grimace on his lips; even with your warning of careful, it’s hot, you think he must have managed to burn his tongue.

satoru keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting to worry you. but he can’t say bringing himself to drink it is an easy endeavor, with how sweaty it makes him feel, how it forces him to acknowledge how painfully dry his throat is. how he can’t even taste the herbs.

he wants to be good for you, though.

so he gulps it down, slowly, managing to sip almost all of it until you decide to give him a break. compared to this morning, he already feels just a little better, a little less like he’s in a fever dream. you’re sitting by the bedside, so patient, so caring. he can’t take his eyes off you, even now. clearing his throat, attempting to get used to speaking again. ”thanks.”

the mutter sounds strained, but slightly easier on the ears, easier to make out than before. courtesy of the honey, you assume. gosh, you hadn’t realized you’d begun to miss his voice so much.

”no problem,” you hum, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “think you can eat something? or is that too much?”

”’course,” he croaks. there’s a slight sense of liveliness in his eyes that wasn’t there before, but before he can continue, he’s caught off by a small coughing fit. harmless, but sufficient in making you worry.

”no need to force yourself,” you soothe, patting down his head, watching as he quiets down. the tea might’ve given him a temporary energy boost, but you still don’t want him to overdo it. “just relax, satoru.”

he hums, weakly, and you reward him with a light ruffle of his hair. then you direct your attention to the soup on the nightstand, still hot, smelling of vegetable broth and fresh chicken and coriander. you bring the bowl down to your lap, and take a spoonful of the soup, blowing on it like you did with the tea. bringing it towards his lips.

”i dunno if it’ll taste very good,” you admit, scratching absently at the back of your neck. ”but it should help with the fever, at least. i’d be happy if you could eat a bit.”

as his lips make contact with the metal of the spoon, satoru can’t help but let himself be swept away. he still feels a little too hazy, too feverish to really comprehend what’s happening; he feels oddly bare like this, vulnerable, a little afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he doesn’t keep it shut. so he opts to accept the treatment he’s receiving, not putting up a fight or making a fuss. not meeting your expectant eyes.

(he feels a little shy, being spoonfed by you. how very unlike him.)

the soup does feel soothing. he thinks he can even get a sense of the taste, how hard you must’ve worked on it. but more than anything, the way you’re acting is like balm to his soul — looking at him so kindly, treating him so tenderly. offering him spoon after spoon with gentle words of encouragement. being babied in such a way makes him feel so oddly content that he’s almost embarrassed. it should be the other way around.

yet here you are, spoonfeeding him soup that you made yourself, because he’s sick, even though he hates to admit it, and you care about him. he allows the information to linger in the back of his head, for a while, wallowing in the comfort it brings him. fully comprehending it would take too much of a toll on him, in this state.

satoru basks in the intimacy of the situation, and so do you. brushing strands of hair away when they stick to his skin, pressing your lips against his forehead to check his temperature. you keep doing it until satoru’s appetite dwindles.

”alright, that should be fine —” you glance down at the bowl, now roughly half-empty. more than enough, you think. ”uhh… how do you feel?”

”… better,” satoru answers, truthfully, the ghost of a smile on his glossy lips. ”thank you.”

for a second, you only stare, saying nothing. there’s something in satoru’s expression that catches you off guard, something that’s a little hard to identify. is it the way the light reflects off his skin, his pupils? the red, feverish flush of his skin? that flimsy little smile? or is it the honesty in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like he’s trying to convey something he can’t put into words?

as you look at him, take him in, the boy you love so dearly, you can’t help but feel like he just carved open his chest — let you peek inside his ribcage. it’s hard not to feel flustered, in the presence of something so vulnerable.

and he’s thanking you. as if taking care of him is a great burden, a chore, something you’d demand gratitude for. you want to tell him that it’s the bare minimum, the very least of what he deserves. the very least of what you could, should do for him.

you want to tell him that he’s safe, here. that there’s no need to be the strongest, whatever the hell that means, that he can let go of the burdens you know he hides from you. that he can just be your sick, terribly stubborn boyfriend.

”… okay,” is all you breathe out, every other word getting stuck in the back of your throat. ”that’s good.”

satoru’s fingers curl around yours, suddenly, where they lay on your lap. his movements are still a little groggy, disoriented, as he brings your hand up to his lips. they’re warm and soft, especially so in light of his fever. he closes his eyes, white lashes catching the light of the sun, flitting in through the haphazardly closed blinds. your heartbeat stutters.

”… love you,” he mutters. a soft little thing. your eyes don’t leave his face, and your lips part before your brain can instruct them to.

”i love you too,” you blurt out, instantaneous. like you couldn’t bear to keep him waiting. ”… satoru.”

he smiles against your skin. he always does, at the sound of those words. you make him feel so terribly, terribly weak, all the time, everyday. you make him feel so human, and he can’t bring himself to think of it as a bad thing anymore.

he’s still cradling your hand when he brings it down to the blanket. ”thanks for coming,” he continues, pushing himself. trying to get the words out while he still has the energy to say them. “you didn’t have to.”

they’re a little clumsy, a little stale on his tongue, but they’re honest. he is thankful — the prospect of being seen like this is discomforting, gruelingly so, but he doesn’t mind nearly as much if it’s you. he’d never tell you, but he did feel just a little lonely, when he woke up this morning. disoriented, enveloped by hot flashes of pain, in a way he’s not used to in the slightest. missing out on your date, too, that he had been looking forward to ever since you decided on a time.

but, as if sensing it, you came to his rescue. the feeling of your lips on his skin was the first sensation he felt, when he woke up for the second time — with you by his side, this time. his guardian angel, carrying the scent of spring with you. the memory of a certain boy, of better times.

(satoru thinks you’re nostalgia personified. he likes to imagine that you met as children, underneath a cherry tree somewhere, but he knows it’s not true. there’s no way he wouldn’t remember you.)

you smile. pleased, at his show of vulnerability, small as it may be. ”i wanted to,” you assure him. equally honest, equally full of double meanings and hidden messages that neither of you need to uncover to understand. ”… i care about you. of course i’d come.”

a light, raspy chuckle; that’s all satoru manages to vocalize. his mind is stuffed, and there’s an ache in his chest, longing to be filled. it’s been there for a while now. but somehow, some way, you manage to fill it up, slowly but surely, almost effortlessly — with every sound you make, every slight movement, every flicker of an expression on your face. everything seems so effortlessly perfect, in his eyes.

the words leave his lips before his mind can think the thought to reel them back in.

”what did i do to deserve you…?”

you blink. a moment passes.

then your eyes soften, considerably so, crumbling at the corners like the cookies satoru loves so much. he’s looking at you, eyes soft in a similar sense, layered over with adoration. you think the love inside your chest might crawl out of your throat and eat him alive.

a chuckle of your own drips into the air, quivering slightly. terribly fond. this time, you’re the one who drags his hand up to meet your lips; kissing his knuckle softly. his breath hitches.

”i’m the one who should be saying that to you,” you grin, a little weakly. and you mean it. you don’t think you’ve ever meant anything more.

it’s so honest that it strikes a cord right down his heart, more heat than the fever can account for rushing to his cheeks. satoru hopes you don’t notice it. all he can do is squeeze your fingers, lightly, not trusting his voice not to break. silence lingers, and you only gaze at him softly.

”… do you want anything else?” you finally ask, with a tilt of your head. still so eager to assist, racking your brain to come up with anything else to do for him. ”i’ll get it for you, no matter what it is.”

and, truthfully, satoru thinks you’ve done more than enough. more than he could ever make up for. but he’s always been greedy, and there’s one thing, only one thing, one thing he can’t help but ask for. something he craves more than anything. he can’t help but indulge himself, indulge in his selfishness, in the need to feel your skin against his.

so he stretches his arms out, and looks at you with a distinctly needy glint in his eyes. his fingers move in a grabby motion, almost unconsciously, and he might’ve been embarrassed if he wasn’t still so feverish. all he wants is to keep you close, to make the hollowness inside his chest dissipate. you always make that lonely feeling go away.

needless to say, you heed his request. almost instantly, your heart pumping in a steady rhythm, with this visceral desire to keep him close, to protect him. and who are you to resist, when he’s asking for it himself?

you waste no time crawling beneath the covers, situating yourself right next to your lover. only then do you finally, finally, reach your arms out to pull him close; so close you feel the heat of his skin, the beat of his heart. his cheek meets the softness of your chest, snuggling closer, and you card a hand through his soft locks. his arms reach around your midriff, a perfect puzzle piece, and he releases an audible sigh — deep and satisfied. in his tired, clingy state, he subconsciously throws a leg over yours, trapping you further.

you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, satoru can fall asleep. with the fever still clouding his senses, and your nimble fingers smoothing along his scalp, the occasional kiss to his head as he listens to your soft heartbeat, he’s drifted off before either of you know it. melting into you, into your warm embrace, cheek squished against your chest. tiny little breaths fall from his lips, and you feel like you’re cradling the whole world in your arms.

you’re relieved. making yourself comfortable on your back, with satoru sleeping soundly on top of you, hoping he’ll feel better when he wakes up. careful, even with your breathing, intent on letting him sleep. knowing he doesn’t get nearly as much rest as he should, most days.

before long, even you succumb to the cozy atmosphere, gradually dozing off. satoru is always warm, even more so now, and his weight is comforting.

stifling a yawn, you tug him a little bit closer, allowing your eyes to flutter shut. you could use a day of catching up on lost sleep, too.

when you wake up, you’re acutely aware of something poking your cheek.

it’s a ticklish sensation, sort of irritating, and it rouses you from your cozy slumber. disgruntled, so cruelly ripped away from your sweet dreams — satoru was in it, you think. you feel robbed.

still, you can’t be too mad. not when the real deal is right in front of you, eyes crinkled and full of warmth, a teasing smile on his lips. he’s still snuggled into your chest, all cozy and cute, as you lay on your back, propped up by a myriad of fluffy pillows. he looks up at you adoringly.

”well hello there,” he purrs, shooting a giddy little grin your way. still poking your cheek. ”wakey-wakey, sunshine!”

a series of blinks. you stir a little further, the sleepy haze of your brain beginning to slip off, slowly but surely. it takes a couple of seconds for you to remember why you’re here, what happened before you fell asleep.

”… hey,” you greet, at last, stifling a yawn and squeezing your eyes shut. stretching lazily, like a sleepy cat. ”how do you feel…?”

”i’m perfect. better than perfect, actually,” satoru chirps, a little cheeky, hoisting himself up so that he’s hovering above you. a hint of mischief in those pretty eyes. ”you’re a good nurse, y’know?”

you huff out a chuckle. as always, his actions reveal more than his words — you could tell he felt a lot better the moment you saw his smile, heard how he formed his words. “alright, that’s good,” you hum, exhaling softly. ”how long was i asleep? what time is it?”

”i woke up just now, too,” satoru lies, albeit a small one. he did wake up recently, only to spend what he thinks must’ve been at least fifteen minutes staring at you until he physically couldn’t take it anymore. he had to hear your voice, see your smile. it’s a personal record for him; usually he spends less time admiring your peaceful expression, far too eager to speak to you.

”it’s pretty late,” he continues, another small lie. pleased with himself. ”way too late for you to go back, actually. how about you spend the night?”

another blink, your eyelids heavy and droopy as they open and close. then you’re reaching for your phone on the nightstand, and checking the time. a smile is quick to bloom on your lips, teasing and bubbly, as you tilt your head to meet his gaze.

”it’s only four, satoru.”

”way, way too late,” he only reaffirms, flopping down on top of you again, keeping you from leaving. ”god knows what kinda creeps are out there at this hour — much too unsafe. i’m just looking out for you, baby.”

”of course,” you indulge him, a sly little roll of your eyes that makes him pout. ”you know i was planning on staying over anyway, right?”

”well, of course! i wouldn’t expect anything less from my favorite nurse.”

his eyes betray his words, gleaming with a sudden colour of excitement, all glitter and relief. a joy that clogs up his throat like seafoam, and spills out from his lips. you look down at him, for a second, unable to resist the temptation — reaching for his forehead with the back of your hand.

it’s significantly less scalding, now.

you let out a sigh, laced with relief, one you didn’t know you’d been holding in. ”it really has gone down,” you hum, stretching the sleep from your limbs again. “that’s good.”

satoru huffs. ”i said i was perfect, right? don’t you trust me, my sweet lover?”

”i never know with you,” you give him a huff of your own, exasperated. fond. “you said you were just fine this morning, too.”

”i was!” he whines. piling up lie after lie. “i totally could’ve made it to that date, you know. i got worse because you had no faith in my abilities.”

”right. of course.” you shoot him a lopsided grin. ”you just don’t wanna admit the fever beat your ass, huh?”

”see? no faith.” a chuckle slips from your lips, and satoru has to bite back a smile. ”unbelievable. i fought that fever off just for you, and here you are, laughing at me.”

”oh? i thought it was thanks to my top notch nursing skills?”

”well, that too! but it was mostly me.”

a sigh. “whatever you say.” then you’re smiling, once more, unable to help yourself. eyes crinkled at the edges, soft around the corners. ”i’m just glad you’re better. i was worried.”

satoru pouts, again, but you can tell he acknowledges it — your earnest concern. this is how you love, the both of you, through words that never say it all and actions that say the words your mouths can’t fit. decoding the meaning of it all in silent gestures, glints in your eyes. little truth games.

”you really thought a lil’ fever was gonna be enough to keep me down?” he shakes his head once, then twice. and you know that what he means to say is i never want you to worry. “c’mon, now, baby.”

another lighthearted roll of your eyes. ”yeah, yeah, yeah. my sincerest apologies, my strong, stubborn, totally-not-sick boyfriend.”

”don’t you mean your strong, perfect, beautiful, clever, flawless, totally-not-sick boyfriend?”

”don’t think i didn’t notice you sneaking the stubborn out of there.”

”hehe.”

a silent moment passes, something tender filling up the space between your words. satoru’s weight is still so comforting, like a big blanket, his arms enveloping you as he breathes in your scent. you’re so happy that he’s acting insufferable again.

”alright, my honeybee,” he suddenly chirps, breaking the silence, hoisting himself up. ”time to go. we can still get those crêpes if we hurry.”

you blink. once, then twice.

”… satoru.”

”yeah? what’s up?”

you give him an unimpressed look, gazing up at him, towering over you like he fully thought you’d be alright with letting him leave. ”you’re… not going out today,” you deadpan. “you know that, right?”

this time, he’s the one who blinks. once, then twice.

”huh? why not?”

”uh, because you’re sick, maybe?”

”what?” satoru pretends to be shocked, offended, as if he can’t believe you’d even suggest something so outrageous. ”i’m all better, though!”

you raise an eyebrow, thoroughly displeased. all better? ”your fever isn’t gone, satoru. it’s just not horrible anymore. you’ll get yourself even more sick if you go out now.”

”i won’t! seriously!” he insists, looking down at you with a sorry attempt at puppy dog eyes. ”i feel good enough to run a marathon!”

”you’re not doing that either,” you mutter. then a sigh, exasperated. you can’t let this charade go on for too long. ”come on, satoru — don’t be so stubborn. we can go there another time.”

”but —”

”besides, didn’t you say i have to spend the night because it’s too late to go outside? remember the creeps?” there’s amusement in your voice, a light smile on your lips. ”what if they get us?”

”well, they obviously won’t get you while i’m there,” he huffs. ”what, you don’t think i can protect you properly? you’re hurting me, angel.”

you bite back an incredulous laugh. god, he’s stubborn. you’re so in love with him you just barely restrain the urge to pull him in for a kiss.

”sa-to-ru,” you coo, dragging each syllable out, sending a shiver down his spine. ”we’re not going outside. end of discussion.”

”why not, though?” he continues to pout, still refusing to give in. resorting to cheap guilt-tripping. ”don’t you wanna go on a date with me? you don’t want to see me happy, is that it?”

you only sigh, thoroughly exasperated, reaching up to cup his cheek nonetheless. he nuzzles into it. ”you’re such a baby.”

”your baby.”

another sigh, to mask your adoration. at this rate, the back and forth will never end, so you scramble for solutions.

“can’t we just have our date here?” you suggest, after some contemplation. ”i bought some ice cream on my way here. we could watch a movie, or something. isn’t that enough?”

satoru’s eyes bore into yours. contemplative, as he lets the silence linger, gears turning inside his mind. he wants to go outside with you, wants to hold your hand and hear you hum happily as you bite into your crêpe; wants to steal a bite when you’re not looking.

but it is a tempting offer. you could eat ice cream, and binge a bunch of movies, and he could rest his head in your lap. coax you into playing with his hair.

(he’s maybe, just maybe, a little bit tired, too.)

so, finally, he sighs — softly. in resignation.

”… well, i guess that’s fine,” he pouts, allowing himself to fall back into your embrace. his voice is muffled, as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck. ”i wanted crêpes, though…”

”i’ll get you your crepes,” you assure him, relieved to have reached a compromise. ”i can go buy ’em myself and come back. then we —”

”no, no, no!” satoru suddenly interjects. whining, tugging you closer. ”you’re not going anywhere. not without me!”

a sigh, just as adoring as it is fatigued. ”then i’ll… order crêpes, or something. or we’ll eat ice cream today and then crêpes when you’re better. does that sound okay?”

satoru is silent, for a while.

”… okay,” he hums. ”that’s fine.”

”haah. okay, good —”

”however!”

you give him a look, a silent what now? that has him smiling. shuffling a little, in your embrace, planting his jaw on top of your chest and gazing up at you with a grin. ”instead of the crêpes, i want a kiss.”

you blink. exasperated, as an amused chuckle follows. ”so convoluted. you can just ask, you know?” you don’t give him time to answer, eager to appease the pouty man. ”whatever.”

leaning in, you press a chaste kiss to his cheek. sweet and soft. to your surprise, he’s still pouting when you pull away. ”i meant on the lips,” he explains, as if it was obvious.

a tilt of your head.

”… but you’re sick.”

”so?” satoru just pouts, expression practically etched into his face at this point. ”you won’t kiss me anymore? just cause i’ve got a tiny, miniscule fever?” he huffs, turning his head to the right and shutting his eyes. ”if you don’t love me anymore, you can just say that.”

another sigh leaves your lips. he’s so ridiculous. you can’t really deny him, though.

”… fine. it’s your fault if i get sick, though.”

in the blink of an eye, he’s perked right back up. wagging his non-existent tail, closing his eyes and waiting for you to try again. silly.

but you relent. his lips are only slightly warmer than usual, and you choose to see it as the good sign it is, proof that his fever truly is starting to dissipate. you feel satoru relax, melting into the kiss, but before it can drag out too long you’ve pulled away. ”— there. happy now?”

”for now,” he quips, equally teasing. he’s cute, though. a little kiss or two is a small price to pay for the spark of joy in his iris, even if it ends with you sick on your deathbed in a couple of days.

”that’ll do,” you grin, hoisting yourself up with your elbows, carrying satoru with you, his jaw still on your chest. ”wanna go eat some ice cream, mr unreasonable?”

you don’t really need an answer. of course satoru wants ice cream. you’ve never seen him turn down anything sweet — and, lo and behold, he perks up again, getting into a sitting position. like an excited puppy.

”got it,” you chuckle, stopping to think for a moment. “there’s soup left, too. but maybe you’d rather order something? it turned out kinda so-so.”

satoru gapes. ”you kidding? that was the best soup i’ve ever had!”

his exclamation makes you roll your eyes, words so coated in confidence that you almost want to believe him. ”satoru. you don’t have to lie.”

”i’m not!”

”you couldn’t even taste it.”

”i could, i could!” he stubbornly whines. ”i tasted all your love. every single drop!”

you give him a look. he only grins at you, a little teasing, a little giddy. you can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed; averting your gaze with a sharp scoff. ”yeah? and how did my love taste?”

satoru leans forward. it’s sudden, and you blink, instinctively leaning back in turn. he’s wearing a signature smirk when he stops moving, close enough that you feel his breath on your skin. hot.

”delicious,” he purrs, glancing down at your lips. blue eyes gleaming with mirth. ”best thing i’ve ever had.”

you know he’s just trying to fluster you, so you try to fight against it, but it doesn’t work nearly as well as you’d like — crumbling under his gaze, averting your own with a quiet huff. and he lets you off the hook, satisfied with your embarrassed expression. pulling back slightly, letting you breathe.

as swiftly as you can, you regain your composure. clearing your throat. ”well, you can have more of it later, then,” you make a move to get off the bed. ”let’s go eat ice cream.”

after being caged in by satoru for so long, your limbs are a little stiff, caught under the weight of his boundless love. when your feet hit the soft flooring, you stretch them out, watching satoru follow your lead. still clad in that sweaty shirt.

”you should probably get a change of clothes,” you suggest, exhaling as your muscles loosen up. ”you’ve been wearing that shirt all day.”

”oh? is that an excuse to see me out of it, sweetheart?” satoru grins, fresh mischief gleaming in his eyes. ”you know you can always just ask.”

you huff out a sardonic breath. ”yeah, yeah, whatever. throw on a hoodie or something, weirdo.” you stifle a giggle when he makes an offended noise behind you. “and some pants.”

”you don’t like the underwear?” he looks towards the corner of the room, studying himself in the mirror. “this is an expensive brand, you know?”

”you’re the only person on planet earth who’d give a fuck about underwear brands,” you scoff, a little snarky. ”just — put some comfortable clothes on, okay? i’ll go get the ice cream ready.”

”wait!” he exclaims, attaching himself to you, curling his arms around your bicep. “you’re not allowed to go anywhere without me, remember?”

“… okay, okay. hurry up and get changed, then.”

sitting back down on the bed, while satoru walks towards the closet, you scroll through your phone — refusing to meet his expectant stare. he wants you to look over, you’re well aware, just so he can tease you for trying to sneak a peek. you won’t give him the satisfaction.

when he’s done, he’s wearing a comfy hoodie and some sweatpants. it’s a good look on him, casual and cozy. awfully cute. he wastes no time in attaching himself to you, again, an arm linked with yours as you travel to the kitchen; grabbing the pints of ice cream from the freezer, a couple snack bags from the drawers, before plopping down on the couch.

satoru maneuvers you into his lap, and you don’t put up a fight, leaning into him as your back meets his chest. he keeps you locked in place, arms around your waist, planting his jaw on the top of your head. and he relaxes, comforted by your smaller body pressed up against his. holding you so close satisfies a certain protective itch in his brain, never failing to calm him down. a safe haven, of sorts.

you watch the movie and eat the snacks, chattering away, letting the silence linger every now and then. after a while, satoru gets a slight headache, resting his head in your lap and whining for you to soothe him. you do so without any teasing; you’re much too soft for him. and he’s still sick, even if he’s doing better. you couldn’t resist him even if you tried.

so you opt to indulge him.

”baby, i think my fever’s going up again…” satoru pouts, gazing up at you through fluttering lashes. ”can you check?”

you smile, with a raise of your eyebrow. ”this is the fifth time you’ve asked me to check your temperature, toru.”

”just wanna make sure,” he whines. “please?”

with an exaggerated sigh, you lean down, lips once again meeting his forehead — humming against his skin. nope, his temperature hasn’t gone up. just like it hadn’t gone up the last time you checked, or the time before that.

”you’re good.”

”oh, thank god,” he exhales. ”are you sure? like, a hundred percent sure? maybe you should check again. just in case.”

”satoru,” you coo, a teasing lilt on the tip of your tongue. ”you can just ask me if you want a kiss.”

”a kiss? scandalous. i just wanna make sure my condition doesn’t worsen.”

he’s grinning, and you’re rolling your eyes, and both of you know damn well you’re going to indulge him anyway. he sighs in satisfaction when he feels your soft lips on his heated skin.

”hmm…” you narrow your eyes, thoughtfully, before looking down at him with a teasing smile. ”nope. definitely still the same temperature.”

”you sure?”

”a hundred percent.”

”hmm. okay, got it.” he rolls over, burying his face in your stomach. wrapping his limbs around your midriff. “that’s good. just wanted to check, you know?”

”of course.”

”might need you to check again soon. just to be safe,” he chirps, biting back a soft grin. you don’t bother hiding yours.

”got it, got it,” you coo, fingers carding through his messy hair. “anything for my sick baby.”

satoru releases a soft breath, bordering on a giggle. you can’t help but let your smile grow wider, heart brimming with affection. you let it clog up your chest until the movie’s almost over, and you simply can’t help yourself anymore.

”your room is very like you.”

it’s sudden, breaking the peaceful silence, making satoru stir. you’re both starting to get sleepy again. but he blinks up at you, studying your expression before parting his lips.

”… oh? how so?”

“well…” you stop to think. humming, absently fidgeting with a lock of your boyfriend’s hair. ”when i first walked in, i thought the whole house felt kind of empty, you know?”

satoru hums. unsure of where the conversation is going, maybe just a little intrigued. he mostly just likes listening to you talk.

”but then i went into your room, and — it just felt very you. kinda messy, and stuff, but cozy. and a little sentimental.” satoru looks up at you, admiring that certain soft glimmer in your eyes. you meet his stare with a smile. ”maybe it doesn’t make sense? i guess i’ve just been thinking about it.”

he closes his eyes.

there’s something soft in your tone, something silky and simple, and he can tell you’re being sincere. it’s something he likes about you — that willingness to be soft, almost pridefully so, to bare yourself even if you aren’t sure that he’ll return the favour. he likes to think it’s rubbing off on him, slowly but surely; he doesn’t think he’s quite as bad as before. telling you about things that are dear to him isn’t something that scares him, anymore. and even when you see him vulnerable, sick and delirious in bed, he isn’t afraid that you’ll use it against him.

you’re a comfort; his safe haven. a place to rest his weary head. maybe you always have been, even before he really got to know you.

”i like your place more,” he finally admits, lighthearted in its weight. your gaze flits down, but his is still lingering on the tv, not really paying attention to it. ”it feels very… you.”

a smile crawls up to rest against your lips. playing along, your hands finding solace in between his fluffy locks. ”how so?”

and satoru smiles. eyes sparkling with something mellow, like a soda pop cracked open on a boiling summer day. he shifts a little, just to gaze up at you again. ”it’s… homely. warm,” his smile only grows. “and awfully sentimental.”

he lifts a hand up, to touch your cheek. tender, as his thumb smooths against your skin. it’s warm, beneath his touch, heating up with every word he speaks. satoru’s love feels a little like the sun, when it spills out this fervently, like it could burn you into cinders — you think you’d be happy to lie in the ashes. he’s smiling at you, like sunshine, like little dusty specks of light. and he exhales.

”i wouldn’t mind staying there forever.”

the expression on his face is a lovely one. you take a moment to simply bask in it, desperate to etch it into your memory. you don’t think you could forget it even if you tried. how fondly the light of the room embraces him, that soft grin he’s shooting your way, only vaguely teasing. and his eyes, the gateways to his soul, so sincere you can’t look away.

you love this man with your whole chest. you knew before, you’ve known for a long time, but each day you fall in love all over again. it’s all you can think as you look at him, all snug and safe and happy in your lap.

you don’t realize you’ve been staring at him silently until he chuckles, pulling you out of your sentimental stupor. it only flusters you further.

”you’re cute,” satoru croons, still cradling your cheek. tender, soft fingertips against your heated skin. all you manage is a meek little furrow of your brows, but that only makes him chuckle again.

”… you can.”

he blinks. still smiling.

”stay forever, i mean.”

you can’t look at him, when you say it. the words are barely above a whisper, and you aren’t sure if they’re conscious or not. it’d be nice to say they just slipped out, but they feel somewhat deliberate, all the same. you know you mean them, either way. it’s the one thing you’re sure of.

this time, satoru is the one who can do nothing but stare, his expression unreadable. you try not to let your gaze wander to his face, his eyes; but through the peripheral of your vision, you feel like you catch a particular kind of sadness reflected in them. or maybe it’s something closer to yearning, longing. something like that.

”… well,” he finally hums, voice so low you barely pick up on it. ”maybe i will, then.”

you reach something.

you catch a glimpse of it, at least, for just a second or two. something warm and bare, something simple and incomprehensible at the same time. an emotion so strong it leaves you reeling, yet still so light. it’s there and then it isn’t, just out of reach, and you think that if you could only find the courage to curl your fingers around his, then —

a laugh track plays from the tv, snapping you both out of your thoughts.

(the moment passes before you can fully understand it, fully comprehend it. maybe some part of you already has.)

…

satoru chuckles, reaching for another ball of mochi and popping it into his mouth. ”this movie’s awful, huh?”

”yeah,” you’re quick to agree, maybe a little too quick. grinning weakly. ”it’s good in a so bad it’s good kinda way, though.”

he hums in absentminded agreement, still chewing on the soft treat. keeping his gaze steady on the screen, the flicker of emotional scenes he hasn’t been keeping track of, barely resisting the urge to look up at you again. but his heart already feels a little too mushy for his liking — he’s not sure he could take it.

satoru doesn’t get sick often.

his immune system is strong, there’s no denying that. but more than anything, he simply can’t afford to be sick. there are people who need him, people who depend on him, and the idea of being in such a defenseless state — stuck in bed while the world continues to spin, unattended — makes him feel so anxious he could throw up. even sleeping makes him feel a little skittish, sometimes, though he’s gotten a lot better since he started falling asleep with you in his arms.

it’s funny, he thinks. before you, being sick wasn’t something that really existed in his world. if he felt a little under the weather he would simply puff out his chest and down a painkiller or two, waving it off with a flick of his wrist; no biggie, really. he’s satoru gojo, after all, and the world needs his eyes on it.

but then you came along. you came to his rescue, spring in your pockets, and you took care of him, with what he knows to be love. genuine, earnest concern for his wellbeing. his happiness.

yeah — it’s funny, for sure. satoru never thought he’d ever enjoy being sick.

yet here he is, head in your lap, feeling you run your fingers through his hair. kissing his forehead whenever he whines, indulging his little convoluted ploys. bringing him soup, when he gets hungry again, soup you made yourself. he wasn’t kidding when he said he tasted your love through it; it was all he could taste, with his numbed out senses, all he could feel.

you’re so good to him. there’s nothing he would trade for these moments with you, absolutely nothing. he’s glad you came over, after all. glad you’re so stubborn, and oh so caring. satoru can’t help but smile, heart almost stuffed to the brim with gratitude — what could he possibly do with this immense love in his chest?

”i love you so much,” he blurts out, practically beaming. now you’re in his lap, again, and he takes the opportunity to smear openmouthed kisses against your neck. delighting in the little squeak you try to muffle.

”where did that come from?” you blink, squirming a little in his embrace. a movie is still playing on the tv screen, one better than the last — your attention was fixed on it before satoru broke the silence.

”just felt like saying it!” he only chirps, grinning ear to ear. ”i love you. you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he murmurs, earnestly, lips against your skin. ”my whole world.”

for a moment, you wonder if the fever is making him delirious. then again, this is pretty standard for satoru; always eager to fluster you, to shower you with love until you’re pushing him away. it’s overwhelming, but you’ve never minded. this is how you measure his love — little gaps between too much and never enough.

”… you’re not gonna say it back?” comes a whine, right by your ear. now he’s nibbling at your neck, little beast that he is, pouting because you let the silence linger for too long. he’s being such a baby about it. but you still rush to reassure him, echoing his words in earnest.

”i love you too, satoru,” you smile, slightly exasperated. craning your neck so that your lips can meet his jaw, and satoru grins, giddy at the attention. ”my whole universe.”

satoru lets out a happy little noise, almost a giggle, sleepy and pleased. his arms squeeze you just a little tighter, like you could never be close enough, even when he’s got you in his lap like this. if he could, he’d keep you there all the time. attached at the hip, close as can be.

even with a ruined date, even after worrying you, he feels well and truly satisfied. because you're here, and you’re watching a good movie, and you’re gonna stay over tonight. when it gets dark out, he’ll get to fall asleep cuddled up beside you, hold you in his arms and feel you nuzzle into his chest. then he’ll pepper your face with kisses to wake you up, and you’ll grumble all sweetly, and he’ll carry you to the kitchen despite your grumpy protests. you’ll eat breakfast together, chatting and enjoying the way the sunlight flickers around the room like a happy cat. maybe he can even make you breakfast himself, to thank you for today.

if the fever’s gone by then, you’ll probably let him outside. then you can go get those crêpes, and maybe go to a park, or to the movie theatre, or a fun arcade, before heading back to your apartment to relax. and then he’ll stay over. the day after, too. and the day after that.

living together with you wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks. it wouldn’t be bad at all, actually.

the thought has been on his mind for a while, now. getting to fall asleep with you every night, eat breakfast with you every morning, see more of your footprints in his life… satoru can’t think of anything he’d like more. maybe he’ll start hinting at it, slowly but surely. if he can lure you into broaching the subject, that would be ideal — but if he has to, he doesn’t mind doing it himself. you’re worth the emotional toll.

you curl into your boyfriend a little further, his jaw now resting cheekily on the top of your head, large palms underneath your shirt and rubbing circles into your bare skin. you have no idea what he’s thinking, no idea about his plans, and he thinks that’s for the best. he knows you’ll indulge him, at the end of the day.

maybe he’ll just ask you, tomorrow. if you say no, he can just blame it on the fever making him delirious.

#save me sick soft sweet sappy satoru….. save me……..#he means the wholeeee universe to me :’3 i love this specific toru sm !! i really do think he’s a lonely sweetie at heart :((#i wrote this fic a LONG time ago but i polished it a bunch so hopefully it doesnt feel rusty !!#i scrambled to come up w a title in time but i think this one kinda slaps idk … im severely sleepy rn so it might. Not be. though 😭😭#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x y/n

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moongreenlight · 9 months ago

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Childhood best friend!Gaz

Who you had the biggest crush on growing up.

Who always bitched about not being able to take girls from school on dates because they all thought the two of you were an item.

Who gave you all of his jerseys to wear to his sporting events and made you swear to come to every single one. Insisted you were his good luck charm- even if he lost. “Can’t expect me to play well when I’ve got such a good looking cheerleader to focus on.”

Who took you to formal and took your virginity in the same night. You still have the corsage he gave you tucked away somewhere in a sentimental shoebox in the corner of your closet.

Who is always your date to weddings. So frequently so that people have started addressing the envelopes to the both of you.

Who calls you at least once a week to catch up and chat, even after moving away from home and joining the service.

Who sometimes whines his way into a video call with you. Both of you in darkened rooms, trying to mumble your way through a rushed rendition of phone sex when he’s got fifteen minutes to himself on a mission. Moaning about how he can’t be fucked to sift through a porn website. “C’mon, darl. Call it a favor. Nobody can see. Don’t even have to talk. Please, darl.”

Who still comes back home when he’s got enough time off the base.

Who insists you come stay at your parents when he’s at his.

Who still sneaks over in the middle of the night to watch movies like he did in high school even though you’re both far too grown. Still sneaks in through the small window in the basement despite fully being allowed in through the front.

Who practically moves his shit into your flat every time he’s got a week or two off of work.

“Jus’ a few weeks, darl. Won’t even know I’m here.”

You’ve stopped protesting at this point, but he still likes to make a scene about it when you make a sarcastic snark about his commandeering the entire living room.

“Couch is a bit cramped, though. Could let me sleep in the bed. We can play house like we used to, yeah? Mums and dads are s’posed to sleep together. Mums and dads are s’posed to do loads of things together.”

#gaz my darling my beloved my angel princess sweetie baby #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick smut #kyle gaz smut #gaz smut #cbf!gaz

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mochinomnoms · 8 months ago

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i know in the leech family that its a running joke that the mc is their cleaner shrimp and i cant help but think when its finally the leech parents turn!

Imagine mc and the leech family are going out to do some family bonding and the mc causally picks off some lint or hair off papa leech or mama leech and their mood just instantly brightens :D They go like “thank you dear! Is there anything else on me?” And the parents are just spinning around happy because their child-in-law is doing shrimp things with them! (Meanwhile jade and floyd are off to the side being like “what about me D:<”)

also may I be 🪸 anon or 💫 anon?

YEEAAAAH FAMILY SHRIMP!!!

I think it's a very sweet idea! Whether it's just one of the twins or both that you've gotten involved in, they both enjoy your fretting and picking at them. Floyd most often gets your attention, as he's always getting up to stuff and messy. However, he's more prone to scrapes from basketball and burns from cooking at the lounge, so he gets lots of attention from you. Floyd loves it, he loves being taken care of for once, instead of being feared or seen as a big bad eel. He needs loving too! He needs to be treated tenderly and kindly. Floydie just wants to be loved, and who better to do that than you?

Jade on the other hand will just get dirty when hiking and foraging, but rarely get any scrapes or cuts. He might bruise here or there depending on how it went, but over all you're more likely to need to clean stray twigs, leaves, and dirt for him. In fact, you'll find Jade approaching you after his extensions, every single time, asking for your assistance. Maybe join him in the bath and help him clean up? As his cleaner shrimp? Pretty pleeease? After all, the caretaker needs some caring too sometimes.

When you eventually get introduced to the family and properly fit into your place with the Leeches, with an appropriate shrimp merform! Papa and Mama Leech are just happy that their boys have such a sweet partner. You further solidify your spot when they learn about your “shrimp” tendencies. They think it's so cute! So imagine their delight when you start tending to them like you do their sons!

Papa Leech will often find himself get into...”scuffles” after work. Normally, the family doctor would be available to patch him up, but they were already attending to a patient of theirs. Here comes their resident shrimp, offering to patch him up! You babbling about Floyd and how he always got hurt from his activities at school, so it wasn't a problem. At this point, you're practically a pro! Papa Leech has stars in his eyes, though, he has the cutest child-in-law!!! And you've been doing this for his boys, for free??!! Screw Floyd and Jade if they ever break up with you (like they'd ever would) cause Papa is keeping you in the family for the foreseeable future. Not only are you convenient, but you care for him like family, he'd be a barnacle to let you go. If you're not already married to his boys, prepare yourself, cause he's already organizing the engagement and wedding. No, he did not ask his boys beforehand.

As for Mama Leech, she's been repeated described as a worrywart, and overly cautious, especially regarding her family. I think that, since you weren't brought up in the family like her boys, would be prone to keeping you at her side. If Papa and the twins are off for “work” then you can find her snatching you up for some mother-in-law time to keep you nice and safe! This is when she gets her own version of shrimp tending, via you doing her hair and makeup! She does love dressing up and looking pretty, and is delighted when you start brushing through her hair with your fingers, braiding it and softly applying her lipstick. It's been so long since her boys were little and played dress up with her! But here you are, so sweet and soft and gentle with her! She's now become attached, if you so much as try and leave the family, Mama is sobbing and begging you to stay, while also strangling her sons for what ever they did wrong (she knows they did something the little troublemakers).

I'd say that the twins only get mildly jealous, after all, the more time you spend with their parents the less they get with you! And you're their partner!!! They suppose they should be happy that you get along so well with their parents. Except Floyd. Floyd wishes to monopolize your time and will hide you away with Jade in a dark coral nook. He called you Shrimpy first, it's his right!!!

(I will dub thee 🪸 anon!! welcome!)

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #leech parents #sweeties!!! the best in laws!!#🪸 anon

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angelinajolie0213 · 3 months ago

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thinking about spencer reid keeping his apartment WARM (despite literally all the science people saying to sleep cold) so then you both are sweating when getting it on and he’s spitting out all these statistics about burning calories during sex as he thrusts into you, then goes all awkward and recovers with “not like you need to lose weight or anything!” in his cutie patootie awkward sweet little way. he then proceeds to leave so many bruises on your legs you have to wonder how he can be such a ruthless little whore and also a cutie.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #kind of smut?#cutie patootie little baby sweetie pie boy

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1-800-local-slut · 6 months ago

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Word of Advice...

Spencer Reid x Black! Fem! Pregnant! BAU! Reader

Spencer Reid Masterlist <3

Spencer and his fiancée are having a baby, and everyone has some advice for them.

I based this on JJ's pregnancy in season 4. This is basically the three times someone gave Spencer some advice about being a dad and his fiancé some advice, I cried writing this because of hormones y'all

Warnings: pregnancy, brief mention of sex, mention of a daddy kink, nothing really, fluff, twins

Request are also open if anyone wants to send anything!

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"You know, no matter how much you research it won't help when you have to actually hold the baby."

Spencer's head jerked up from his computer, no longer fidgeting with his nails and glanced over to Derek. Tabs upon tabs of information distracted him for the past hour. 'What to do as a first time dad', 'When to Start Expecting Cravings', 'How to Prevent Diaper Rash', 'Baby-proofing 101' and more.

The office buzzed softly behind him, other agents bustling around. It was a cool morning, nice and bright but had all the cold spring air Spencer had grown to love with the early call time of his job. Hotch was up in his office, Rossi was currently in the bathroom attempting to battle some sort of meal his stomach didn't agree with, Emily called in sick, JJ had a doctors appointment and wouldn't be in until later and Penelope was busying herself with some random task.

"Sorry, what?" Derek chuckled, his eyes ran over the mess on Spencer's desk. All of his case files, the parenting books he'd bought, the cups of coffee littering the area. How was this guy gonna keep his house clean with a kid running around in it?

"Morgan is right, even though he should be focused on his work. A word of advice, its good to get into the habit of picking up as you go along. Helps in the long run, you know." Hotch appeared from nowhere, in typical Hotch fashion with words of wisdom.

It was true. Spencer Reid, at the age of 27, got his girlfriend fiancée (he was still getting used to the title) pregnant. He got her pregnant, and then all the initial joy and imaginary world where everything would be perfect everything came slightly faded for him. He suddenly remembered him and his fiancée work a hard job with hard hours and an even harder toll on the mind. But he'd been trying not to focus on that, instead just trying to stay on the constant upside.

"Well yeah. I guess coffee cups all over the place aren't gonna be helpful in trying to keep the place tidy." Spencer chuckled, tapping one of the coffee cups on his desk with a random pen.

"I’ll say. You know your girl isn’t down with the nonsense, you better keep that house spick and span if you want to keep your ass clear of a beating. And if she's gonna be the one stressing with child care it'll be safer is you just stay clean and out the way.” Derek lamented. Hotch chuckled and Spencer glanced down at his hand while he grinned.

While he wouldn’t normally wear his engagement ring to work, they weren’t in the field today (hopefully) and he may have forgotten to taken it off this morning when they decided to stay in bed for an extra 45 minutes to sleep soundly. So what was the harm in wearing it? It was a little bit of his home life he would let seep into his daily life.

"Isn't it a little bit too early for you to be looking at all of this anyways? I mean I guess it's technically never too early but she's only what a month a long?" Derek asked, settling himself to sit on the corner of Spencer's desk.

Derek pushed an empty chip bag out the way, as he had settled on the one clear part of the desk. Spencer instinctively grabbed the bag and tossed it into the small trash bin he kept under his desk.

"It's never too early! I figured the better I prepare, the better I'll be able to help out when I'm home. I want to take as much paternity leave as I can, I want to be helpful when I'm home with her." He really should be attempting to clean. A stack of papers straightened, coffee cups gathered into one hand and tossed into the bin two at a time.

"Word of advice..." Hotch grimaced, as he tapped a coffee cup that sloshed and Spence had to grab to keep it from spilling all over his desk. "If you keep your desk as clean as you intend to keep your house, she'll be sending you back to work faster than you can imagine." With a ghost of a smile, Derek chuckled and ruffled Spencer's hair. Hotch smirked, seeing Spencer's mouth hanging open, and the two decided to take their leave to go back to doing the jobs they get paid so much for.

It was true, Spencer is usually a very clean guy but sometimes things get a bit messy. And usually, his fiancée wouldn't mind as long as it wasn't too outrageous but pretty soon those pregnancy hormones would come in full force. A shiver went down his spine as he imagined facing her anger at him leaving piles of books and coffee mugs all over the living room with a chubby baby sat on her hip. Picking up the last few coffee cups, Spencer straightened up his desk once more and finally tried to focus on work.

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"Morning JJ, you want some coffee?" Of course, I was joking. The joke was that JJ (who had recently returned from her maternity leave) was pleased that she could drink coffee again. If anyone bounced right back from pregnancy it was Jennifer Jareau. She looked flawless, glowing even more after her pregnancy. I can only pray to have that same miraculous recovery.

I couldn't drink coffee, the smell making me sick now. Of course I already couldn't have it, you know growing a baby, but it was far easier to resist the temptation.

A job like this has you running on caffeine, quitting cold turkey was like stopping cigarettes over night. Now I settled for some decaf tea, like peppermint or lemon and ginger.

"So, how's things going for the first term?" JJ chuckled, as I placed my spoon down on the counter and blew on the tea. This morning was some hot apple cider with cinnamon and I had a nice everything bagel on the side with some cream cheese spread over it.

"Well I've had too pee every sixty seconds, my tits are expanding with every second, and everything I eat makes me gain forty pounds thanks to bloating. So, great." The happy mood I had this morning was gone. I got to work and suddenly I wanted to put my fist through the steering wheel. And for some reason, Spencer's aftershave was making me want to cry. He just smelt so good, and he looked so good driving us to work, and lately he's just so handsome. Maybe it's knowing that we were about to have a bundle of joy?

"Mood swings getting you, huh?" JJ chuckled, turning around and heading to her desk as I followed behind.

"I'm ready to stop coming in now, I don't know how you were here up until you gave birth. You literally went into labor, I'm ready to go home now. Right now." I scoffed, and grumbled in irritation. I was even ready to stop wearing heels to work.

It felt like at any moment, I would just explode. That extra 45 minutes of sleep helped very, very little.

"Well, a word of advice, positive self talk is so helpful. I don't know why but when I was pregnant everything Will did drove me up a wall, I'm talking I wanted to take down his side of the bed only." JJ chuckled as we approached our desks. I slid into my seat, chuckling. JJ threw down her jacket, a push present from Will, and stretched.

Across the bull pen, Derek and Penelope walked past giggling about something. The two of them thick as thieves like always. The Sun had fully risen, and the world was wide awake. Cars honked outside, the team was wondering around on the floor and of course with no reason to be in the field today it was time to hunker down.

Sit down, do some paper work, the whole 9-5. I couldn't focus on the 9-5 though, hormones driving me to run into my fiancé's arms. To smell him, to hug him and remind him just how much I love him by showering him with hugs and kisses.

"How would you even take down his half?" I laughed as a blew on the cider and opening the file on my desk.

"I was looking at chainsaw's on Amazon, I had a plan I just needed to do it." JJ shrugged, opening her own case file and looking up at me through her lashes.

"Listen, my point is, you just have to try to talk to yourself. You're mind is vulnerable right now to all sorts of crazy emotions. You might suddenly hate everything about Spencer. You can randomly wake up and decide you hate him, you hate yourself, you hate the way your house looks, and that you should just take your baby and run away but you have to remember to keep yourself grounded in reality." With a soft sigh and took a sip of my tea, glancing over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't about to hear what I was about to say.

"I'm having the opposite issue with Spencer. I want to like, live in his skin." Was I ashamed to admit it? No. Was it slightly embarrassing to say it out loud? Yes.

"Oh! Okay! I mean, if that makes you happy!" It would make me very happy. Happier than this bagel was presently making me.

"No but I mean it. The mood swings will get worse as your first trimester goes on, you have no idea. Just try talking to yourself as often as possible, journal. Take care of yourself."

"Okay okay, I will. Thanks JJ, you're the best." With a shared smile, it was finally time to get some work done. Or just finish my bagel. Yeah, I'm just gonna finish my bagel.

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"No, mom you need to stay in the house. Yes, she's home with you, you will be fine. I saw my fiancée this morning, I don't miss her that badly in the two hours I've been outside. I'm at Target mom. Okay. Love you, bye mom."

Finally off the phone, Spencer slid his phone back into his back pocket. Diana was there for a visit, something she begged Spencer enough that she wore down his negotiating skills. So she got out of the ward for a fun few days.

And yes, Spencer did love the time he got to spend with his mom. He was more than happy to have her. But preparing for a baby, his fiancée either soul crushingly sad or horny or showing him things for their baby because in four months she'd be forcing it out of her body, and keeping your mom on her meds and your fiancée on her prenatal meds...sometimes a man needed to go to Target.

Sometimes a man needed to make breakfast, intentionally finish the milk and eggs, and suddenly have other errands that needed to be run outside.

Pushing through the aisles of Target, they all blended together. Everything just seemed crazy now. His fiancée was pregnant. She was pregnant, and their baby was coming in four months. She was nesting now, according to JJ.

When they found out she was pregnant she remained logical. She mapped out each important date, each doctors appointment, and left major shopping for a bit later. Spencer was the one buying mountains of books, crying over the minuscule things. Now though, she was crying over the little things, waking up with insane cravings (his favorite one to be woken up at 2:47 in the morning over? Buffalo sauce. Not like, buffalo wings. Buffalo sauce by itself but it needed to be hot and in a bowl and when Spencer protested she looked ready to rip him in two), and each day was filled with 'Spencer look at this, Spencer we need this, Spencer we HAVE to have this for our baby or we're shitty parents, Spencer, Spencer, Spencer.'

He was in heaven.

His wife couldn't get enough of him, literally sniffing him like he was a big ass pile of coke, his mom was over, it was almost time for their gender reveal (which Emily and Rossi somehow ended up in charge of planning but whatever), and he would be a literal daddy. Not in the sense that she called him but in the actual way.

Without even realizing it, he was in the baby section. His feet basically dragged him there. There was a little onesie, which would be the perfect size for his baby, a pair of baby booties randomly placed near by. But the couple made a promise to themselves, they wouldn't buy anything without each other unless they literally had to have it for their baby. Like the really cute onesie that Spencer found with a little 'R' on the front. 'R' for Reid. Soon they'd be Mr. and Mrs. Reid. Their baby's last name would be Reid.

His fingers ran over the soft cotton fabric of a pink onesie, that had the cutest little flowers stitched on the toes. He pictured it for a moment, a little chunky light skinned baby with curly hair and dark eyes. Brown eyes and chubby cheeks for his/her mommy and daddy to bombard with kisses.

With soft little fingers and little toes. With big eyes filled with innocence that was Spencer's job to guard, that he already knew he'd lay his life down to protect in a heart beat. A baby with a tiny heart beat that he'd be honored to hold. His baby. Their baby together that they made together.

Spencer didn't know when he started moving again, or when he weaved through the groups of people making their way around Target, but he was now on his way to the front and suddenly stopped in front of the cribs.

A large wooden crib with pretty little birds carved into the side. A mobile hung over the soft insides. There were some pillows inside and a mattress inside that looked nice and soft. On the left of it, a white crib, nothing on it but it looked nice and sturdy. And he knew they could probably find some nice designs to put all over the sides.

"First time?" A deep, scratchy voice pulled Spencer from his thoughts. It was an older man maybe 15-20 years older, with his wife standing close to him. Their cart was filled with toys and an abundance of blue. Blue onesies, blue bottles, blue pacifiers, blue toys, blue bibs, blue blankets, blue teething rings. If it was blue, it was in the cart. Clearly not their first time.

"Yeah. I mean, yes, my fiancée. She's pregnant." The smile and blush of happiness that came whenever Spencer told anyone came back. Heat filled his face with joy. Not nerves or anything just pure joy. He wished she was there with him. He wished she was with him looking at the cribs and holding his hand while they looked around. The couple chuckled at how pink he got before the wife began to speak.

"Word of advice, crib shopping without her is a good way to start a war. If he went crib shopping without me for out first I would've murdered him." People say such crazy shit when they don't know you're in law enforcement. Spencer knew she was kidding and couldn't care less but sometimes he wondered how different everyone around him would act if they knew he was FBI.

At work, when he walked onto a scene wearing that jacket with the letters big yellows letters on the back people steered just a bit more clear of him. I mean the FBI is literally the FBI. If he was a normal ass cop he'd be a bit intimidated as well.

"Don't worry, I'm sure she'd do the same thing. I'm just looking right now though. I don't want to do any part of this without her." Spencer would never be this open with strangers but some strange part of him, maybe the part that wished he had grandparents, had him telling this couple with kind eyes. And he of all people knew not to judge a book by its cover. Sometimes it was the nicest looking people who committed the most vile crimes.

"Oh, sometimes you'll have too. Of course, you would never make that choice but take it from 40 years of marriage and 38 years of parenting: sometimes you have to make the calls on your own. It doesn't seem likely now, but as a father you may have to make the best call for your child if your partner is unable to make any sort of choice." Huh.

He never thought about that. Well he should've. He's seen marriages torn apart (usually by the most stressful situation possible, your child being kidnapped or murdered or something) because of one parents choice. Usually it being glancing away for one second. But what if his kid needs something while she's out cold? Maybe she's fast asleep and his kid wants to go outside or something. God forbid it's something far more serious, Spencer would have to make a choice.

Maybe. Who knows. But it was true. Sometimes, Spencer would need to make a choice on his own. And although they promised to make any and all big choices together smaller things would require an adults attention.

The realization was too clear on his face because the man chuckled.

"I'm Clive and this is Judy, it was lovely to meet you young man." He extended a hand, and Spencer took it, returning the firm handshake.

"Spencer. It was nice to meet you too. Thank you for the advice."

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Music was one of the most emotional things in the world. It connected people, spoke to people, saved people. Right now it was destroying me. Right now, I could only hear my heart beat and the Billy Joel song that was wearing me down. The song had me in tears.

I was sitting at our bay window, Diana was watching Judge Judy and sitting calmly after she took her medication this morning with her breakfast. I had a blanket thrown over my legs, a pillow behind my back and my headphones strapped over my ears. She was softly breathing, clutching a pillow to her chest and fidgeting with the soft fringes around the edges of the pillow. From here, she looked a bit like Spencer, eyes focused on the screen with her head tilted slightly to the side. How much would our baby look my me? Or Spencer? Or even Diana, maybe his father or my parents? Anything was possible.

The soft rain pitter-pattered on the window and it just added to my mood. Was I sad? Was I happy? Bitter-sweet was the right word. How would I feel as our child grew before my very eyes? As I watched my baby get bigger with each passing moment? Before eventually they stood on their own two feet and walked completely on their own? I whimpered, an ache in my chest. Each day would be a beautiful reminder of what was to come.

I tried my hardest to keep it down, lest I bother my baby's grandmother. Oh god, grandmother. Diana would be a grandmother. The dam broke all over again and I buried my face in the sheet that was thrown over my knees

"A word of advice," I perked up when Diana's voice added to the mix of music, muffled sobbing and Judge Judy screaming at some random lady.

"When I was pregnant with Spencer, I was all over the place. I kept it to myself, I felt alone. I felt that because I was off my medication my feelings weren't normal but they completely are. Keeping my feelings inside, that turned into stress. Then resentment. For myself, for my husband and sadly for Spencer. Try talking to Spencer about your issues instead of letting them fester."

She read me like a book, what the fuck. Okay I hadn't been the most inconspicuous with my crying BUT dang I wasn't expecting that. I was actually planning to go into the bathroom because I didn't intend to disturb her. Something about being and FBI agent meant emotional constipation. Therefore, I didn't want to talk about my feelings on a deep level, and I did not want a whole thing to be made of it.

But Diana didn't look at me. She didn't turn around and look at me with pity or understanding, she didn't stand up and attempt to hug me, she didn't try questioning me on what was wrong. She just said it. She said it, blue eyes trained onto the TV as a commercial for mesothelioma played. I did my best to wipe tears from my eyes, and from down my face. Perhaps it was time to do away with the music. But in a way, I didn't want this feeling to end. I wanted to feeling to stay. The bitter-sweet feeling washing over me like a blanket. My heart hurt in the best possible way.

"Thank you Diana. I'm not upset, just...feeling things." With a chuckle as I wiped my eyes rubbed my no doubt puffy eyes.

"Well. As long as you're feeling something." Her eyes glued to the TV screen as Judge Judy came back on.

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"Hi everyone, thank you for coming. I just wanted to say thank you for coming to our lovely couples baby shower, Lord knows we all expected to be here sooner." Derek chuckled, raising his ginger ale to us, as we sat perched on the couch next to Rossi's pool. Chuckles and laughter went up all around us, Spencer laughed into his Pepsi. His smile lines crinkled under his sun glasses. God, he just looked kissed by the Sun. God (if there was one) took his time. He took his sweet ass time sculpting each little crease, crinkle, each hair on his head. And it truly paid off.

"Now, if the parents will just come to the front, we'll have them figure out the gender." Finally, Jesus. I loved Derek. I do! But my God could the man talk. And talk. Then talk some more. Maybe it was just the heat bothering me.

It was a sunny day, not too hot though just hot enough to annoy me. People in pink and blue bathing wandered around, Hotch was lounging in his blue swim trunks, Jack standing next to his dad and asking him a stream of questions (he was in that stage) had a the funniest amount of hot pink I've ever seen a child have on.

The wind gave a gentle breeze that offered slight reprieve from the heat as JJ and Will sipped virgin pina coladas from fun sippy cups in their matching pink swim suits. Henry was left with the rest of the kids in the play area with the baby sitters (the same company I planned on using for our wedding) and he arrived in a precious little pink ensemble with pink little sunglasses and sun hat.

And Penny, who could ever forget the darling Penny, who was coming back from the bathroom, with pink hair dye and basically everything else on her body. Even pink eyeshadow. I felt put to shame, thinking my all pink get up was a lot. Spencer had on a blue buttoned up shirt only for the sake of possible opposing sides.

Emily and Rossi (the only people who knew the gender) both wore black swim suits as they sat at the bar. Both giving us no clues at all to the babies gender. Honestly, this entire thing was a bit too big for a regular baby shower.

But we weren't setting any forest fires. Just spending a lot of money on our first child. And with the money we make, of course our children would be pampered each step of the way. No expense needed to be spared. And Spencer, easy going as it is, allowed me to handle the planning for our baby shower (as much as Emily and David allowed me) along with planning our wedding.

The bar, custom drink menu I created, the baby sitting company for all of our friends to bring their kids (honestly this is a small practice run for our wedding), catering company, the pool toys, the kiddie pool Rossi let us set up, and the goodie bags. And Spencer showed up, looking perfect as usual.

Rising to his feet, Spencer gave me a hand and pulled me up from my seat. We waddled (I waddled, Spencer pushed through the small crowd) through the waves of folks who came to see us today (or just came for free food) and eventually climbed to the front.

Looking out at the sea of faces, I almost cried again. I felt Emily place a palm on my shoulder and I wiped my tears before they could fall down. She handed Spencer and I both ice picks, Rossi directing the videographer and the photographer (a personal gift from him). Two black balloons, held in place by David and Emily.

Two black balloons that held out entire future. Two black balloons meant more to me than I thought was humanly possible. My heart beat pounded, as Derek said something about a countdown. The crowd began counting down from ten, as if a countdown was enough for the most important moment of my life, my hands getting sweatier by the moment. Spencer gripped my hand and I glanced over.

Ten...

And I realized then Spencer was terrified as I was.

Nine...

But we were terrified together.

Eight...

And we'd feel everything together from the moment this baby came

Seven...

No matter what happened, no matter how many faces we saw before us right now, it was Spencer and me, and our baby. And maybe one day, more of our babies.

Six...

My soon to be husband, and my child. My eyes welled up again, and Derek made a joke about mom crying early. I'd have to curse him later for being so funny. Our little family was no longer just him, I, Diana and my parents, who were in matching blue outfits watching in anticipation.

Five...

My tears and heart beat combined sounded like the ocean thrumming in my ears and Spencer chuckled nervously and stared down at his flip flops.

Four...

Almost...

Three...

Almost right at my future, the rest of my life.

Two...

Jesus just get to one!

One...

I nearly froze from fear but pushed the ice pick into the balloon, and a sprinkle of pink fell over me. I screamed, my heart soared and I jumped onto Spencer with joy and people clapped an cheered. My mom screamed, literally sobbing as she fell to her knees.

A girl. A girl, to love, and care for, and teach. I wouldn't have cared, either way I wasn't worried but I had always wanted a baby. To have a girl. To love a daughter was truly a gift.

Spencer stood stalk still, like he was a statue and he a terrified grin crossed his face. I saw Rossi nod as Derek chuckled. There was a man holding up a sign, right in front of us with a giant '2' written in pink. Right in front of Spencer, no matter he saw it first.

"Uh oh, Dad's looking a bit- oh my god, oh my god!" And Spencer was flying backwards into Hotch and Rossi.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺

"Oh, you can see him start to look a bit pale right there." Penelope narrated to his mother, who they were showing the video too on face time. Spencer was now sitting up right on the living room couch and sipping a ginger ale with trembling hands.

Spencer Reid was having twins. Could his life get any better? What did he ever do to deserve this much happiness? His head hurt just a bit, mainly from when he slipped off the couch after being set down and cracking his head on the floor but this was really happening. It was real.

Suddenly he felt a familiar presence. There she was holding two of his children inside of her and staring up at him with the most gorgeous eyes. She was gorgeous, even more so with the knowledge he had now, and he didn't even know it was possible.

He couldn't help himself, the tears filling his eyes as his mother and Penelope suddenly ended the call and she excused herself gracefully (the internet in the home was shitty, so she'd probably be calling back within the hour) and now he felt tears rushing down his face. She smiled at him, so softly that he couldn't even speak.

"I love you." She whispered as she drew her face closer to his and pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"I love you too. And I love them." The words whispered, just for the two of them.

Well. The four of them.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

The end! I cried a lot during this for no reason lol. I literally bawled my eyes out, I'm suffering from massive baby fever. Anyways, I hope you all like this one <3

#black reader #x reader #x black reader #fem reader #multifandom account #criminal minds #requests open #spencer reid x black reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fluff #bau team #pregnancy #masterlist #aaron hotchner is a sweetie #the bau being nosy #spencer reid #my man my man my man #live laugh love spencer reid

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midnightanxietytm · 7 months ago

Note

I have a silly idea :3

imagine Mabel recounting the “accident with the leaf blower” to the reader, who then proceeds to make sure Ford isn’t around and tells her about the “kissing practice robot” incident from high school (which they witnessed) if you don’t know what I mean watch the land before swine commentary video

meanwhile Ford is down in the basement and suddenly stops what he’s doing and is like “I feel a disturbance in the force.”

A/N: Oh my god the kissing bot is so iconic, Ford is such a dork for that one lol. Hope I met your expectations with this one , its been a while since I've written something more lighthearted. Thanks for the request!

Contents: Mabel and Reader spilling tea, talks about kissing and romance and other sappy things. Ford x Reader more implied than anything. Short and fun.

Word count: 500

You know something is wrong because Mabel isn't smiling, Mabel is always smiling. She walks through the gift shop door and goes straight to sit on the counter next to you with a big sigh.

“Alright, spill it, sunshine.” You say with a small smile, putting down the book you'd been reading in order to give her your full attention.

She looks up at you with big round eyes. “I dunno… The date went well, he even kissed me!” You gasp in pretend shock and that gets a small giggle out of her. “I know right?! But like… It felt weird! It wasn’t bad! Just weird… maybe I need more practice…”

That makes you laugh as you prop yourself near the checkout; “Mabel, darling, kissing isn't really some equation you can figure out, maybe he just wasn't the right person.”

She lets out another big sigh, but you can tell is more resigned and hopefull this time. “Yeah, I guess… Besides, I really don't want another leaf blower accident.”

You laugh again, Mabel has that charm. “The what accident now?”

“Oh my gosh, I never told you?! It's so embarrassing; I was obsessed with that boy, who turned out to be a bunch of gnomes by the way, and I wanted our first kiss to be perfect, so I stuck a photo of him on a leaf blower on suction made and used it to practice.” When she said that, both of you started to laugh so hard tears formed in your eyes. “I-t left like this huge bruise on my face!”

You lean your head on the table, trying to stop laughing, but the mental image of Mabel with a leaf blower stuck to her face is too much.

“Oh gosh you're just like your grunkle!” You say in-between wheezing.

“Wait which one?” Mabel asked, rubbing the tears off her eyes.

“Okay so…” You began, looking around just to check Ford wasn’t near. “Your Grunkle Ford, back in high school he built this robot…” You look around again, holding back laughter and bringing down your voice. “It was this mannequin head with a rubix cube for a mouth and it had an alarm that wouldn’t stop playing until he…” And you did quotation marks with your hands. “...kissed it right.”

And you both started laughing all over again. “That's so dorky oh my gosh!”.

“Right!? He's such a nerd.” You say, and there's a softness to it that eases Mabel's worries about romance all together. “It fell from his locker once and it started blasting the darn alarm! He couldn’t go anywhere for a week after that without people mimicking kissing noises. It was gross.” You chuckle and sigh, sitting back down on your stool. “Compared to that, a leaf blower is no big deal!”

“Compared to what?” Says a third voice.

You and Mabel snap your heads, seeing Ford standing on the doorway behind the vending machine.

Crap.

#gravity falls #midnight posts #taking requests #asks open #fanfic writing #my fic #ford x reader #ford pines x reader #grunkle ford #ford pines #mabel pines #gravity falls mabel #mabel is a sweetie #ford is a dork #midnight request

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satansdarlin · 16 days ago

Note

can i PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE have a fic where gambit and reader have a baby/kid, i don't care about anything else i just want a kid with that man PLEASE (I am on my hands and kness begging you)

Pa's Lil spade

I know this is a bit more than you asked for but I went nuts with it. You are so fr for wanting a baby with this man (me too nonny me too). The reader is a mutant but I left that up to whatever you guys want. It is implied to be AFAB reader with how they refer to them but nothing is explicitly depicted. Could be read as a follow up to royal flush or a stand alone

Rating: T

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: bad French, some anti mutant bull, remy being the best dad to cure my daddy issues, pure family fluff with a little angst, talk of explosions

If you liked this check of my masterlist or put in a request if they are open

You padded through the quiet house in the early morning. Remy had been missing from the bed when you woke up, but you had a feeling you knew exactly where to find him. Pushing open the door to the nursery, you paused in the doorway, taking in the tender scene before you. Morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over Remy as he cradled your one-month-old daughter in his arms, her tiny form still peacefully asleep.

"Mon Dieu," he whispered as he heard you enter, his voice thick with emotion. "Remy never expected 'er to be so... petit."

"She is small," you agreed softly, moving closer to them. "A tiny little miracle."

Remy turned to face you, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "She's perfect, ain't she?" he said, gazing down at the small, sleeping bundle in his arms.

"Absolutely perfect," you agreed, watching your husband hold your daughter with such reverence that your heart swelled. You knew he'd probably stand there holding her for hours if he could, perfectly content.

He chuckled softly, his attention never wavering from the baby. With infinite gentleness, he stroked her velvet-soft cheek with one finger. "She goin' be a troublemaker, Remy can tell already," he said with a knowing smirk.

"Wonder where she'll get that from," you laughed softly, reaching up to kiss his cheek.

He feigned shock, placing his free hand over his heart with dramatic flair. "Remy, trouble? Never," he protested, shaking his head with exaggerated innocence before pulling you closer with his free arm, that familiar mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"You're a poor liar, mon cœur," you hummed, gazing down at your daughter. Your little Spade. You'd had to talk him down from naming her Queenie – Remy's taste in baby names had been a bit more... eccentric.

"Can't believe you made Remy change the name," he pouted, though his eyes never left their daughter's face as he traced her features with a gentle finger. "Queenie woulda been a good name," he added teasingly.

"Spade is perfect," you said, playfully rolling your eyes.

He let out an exaggerated sigh of defeat, though he couldn't quite hide his smile. "You're right, cher. Spade is perfect," he admitted, gently rocking the bundle in his arms.

"I'll go make breakfast," you said softly, reluctantly pulling away from their warmth. In the kitchen, you found yourself wrestling with the baby-proofed cabinets. You'd tried telling Remy there was no way Spade would be getting into cabinets when she could barely roll over, but he'd insisted on "better safe than sorry."

From the living room, Remy's teasing voice called out, "Careful, darlin', you might get trapped in there!"

"And whose fault would that be?" you called back. The sound of your voices stirred Spade, who responded with happy coos directed up at her father.

Remy's expression melted at the sound. "Not Remy's fault if you're too weak to open a cabinet, cher," he teased, though his voice was warm with affection.

"I'm gonna baby-proof your bedside table," you threatened playfully as you finally conquered the cabinet. In response, Spade began wiggling energetically in her father's arms.

Remy clutched dramatically at his chest with his free hand. "Not the bedside table, cher, that's low!"

As you started on breakfast, Remy found himself locked in battle with an infant determined to make a meal of his shirt. He tried redirecting her attention to a soft, chewable toy, but Spade remained fixated on her chosen target.

"Why does she only want to eat Remy's shirt and not the damn toy?" he grumbled in French, looking up at you with clear frustration.

"She's gotta soften her pa up to eat him when she's big enough," you quipped back.

Remy rolled his eyes but couldn't help chuckling. "Remy is not on the menu," he protested, still struggling to keep his shirt out of Spade's surprisingly strong grip.

"She doesn't seem to agree," you laughed, watching your husband's losing battle with your determined daughter.

"How can one little baby be so strong?" he complained, shooting you a desperate look.

Taking pity on him, you crossed the room and, with perfect timing, swapped his shirt for her pacifier just as she was about to chomp down. "Baby strength is no joke, hubs."

Remy sagged with relief as Spade happily accepted the pacifier, her mission to devour his shirt temporarily forgotten. "Thanks, cher," he said, flashing you a grateful smile. "Remy was about to lose his shirt there."

"And if Remy doesn't do something about the mosquito catcher on the fritz, he'll have to do more than worry about one baby-slobbered shirt – he'll have to do all his laundry," you warned playfully before returning to the stove.

Panic flashed across his face at the prospect. "Damn, okay, okay, Remy'll fix it," he quickly agreed, bouncing Spade gently in his arms. The laundry threat never failed.

"Good. 'Cause I can't even step outside without being eaten alive," you grumbled. "I told you the kiddy pool was a bad idea."

Remy chuckled sheepishly. "Remy didn't know the mosquitoes would love it so much," he admitted, guilt coloring his voice as he patted Spade's back, deliberately avoiding your pointed look.

The sizzle of bacon filled the kitchen as you worked at the stove. Remy wandered in, still cradling Spade, who had finally given up her campaign against his shirt in favor of contentedly gumming her pacifier.

"Smells good, cher," he said, peering over your shoulder. "Need Remy to set the table?" He shifted Spade to one arm, already reaching for plates with his free hand.

"If you can manage without putting our daughter down for two seconds," you teased, glancing back at him with a knowing smile.

Remy huffed indignantly. "Remy is perfectly capable of multitasking," he declared, though his grip on Spade remained secure as ever. As if to prove his point, he began one-handedly arranging plates and silverware on the table, adding a little flourish as he set down each item.

"Show-off," you muttered fondly, hiding your smile as you flipped the bacon.

"You love it," he shot back with a wink, his red-on-black eyes gleaming with mischief. Spade chose that moment to spit out her pacifier, which Remy caught with lightning-quick reflexes before it hit the floor. "Ha! See? Master of multitasking!"

"My hero," you deadpanned, but couldn't help laughing at his triumphant expression.

The morning sunlight had grown stronger now, streaming through the kitchen windows and catching the auburn highlights in Remy's hair. Spade reached up, trying to grab at the light playing across her father's face, making happy gurgling sounds.

"What you reaching for, petit?" Remy cooed, bouncing her gently. "You trying to catch the sun? Just like your papa, always reaching for things you shouldn't."

"Speaking of things we shouldn't reach for," you said, sliding the last of the bacon onto a plate, "I saw you trying to teach her how to shuffle cards yesterday."

Remy had the grace to look slightly embarrassed. "Was just showing her the basics, cher. Never too early to learn."

"She's a month old, Remy."

"And already showing great potential!" he insisted, grinning as Spade grabbed his finger and tried to stuff it in her mouth. "See? She's got quick hands!"

You shook your head, carrying plates to the table. "No daughter of mine is going to be running card scams before she can walk."

"Of course not," Remy agreed too quickly. "Maybe after she walks though..."

"Remy LeBeau!"

He laughed, dancing away from your mock-threatening spatula. "Remy's kidding! Mostly," he added under his breath, pressing a kiss to Spade's forehead as she yawned widely.

"I heard that," you warned, but couldn't keep the smile from your voice. "Now sit down before breakfast gets cold. And yes, you have to put her in her bouncer."

Remy pouted but carefully settled Spade into her bouncer next to the table, making sure she could still see both of you. "There you go, petit. Watch your old papa eat his breakfast before your maman makes him fix that mosquito trap."

"And the gutters," you added sweetly, passing him the coffee.

He nearly choked on his first sip. "The gutters? Remy didn't hear nothing about gutters!"

"Must have slipped my mind," you said innocently. "But while you're up there..."

"This is blackmail," he grumbled, but his eyes were twinkling as he watched you over the rim of his coffee cup.

"I prefer to think of it as creative motivation," you replied, reaching over to wipe a bit of drool from Spade's chin as she watched you both with wide eyes.

"You're lucky Remy loves you both so much," he said, his mock complaint softened by the genuine warmth in his voice.

"We know," you smiled, reaching across to squeeze his hand. "And we love you too, even if you do install unnecessary baby-proofing and create mosquito breeding grounds in the backyard."

"Remy's never going to live down that kiddie pool, is he?"

"Not a chance, mon cœur. Not a chance."

--- Two Years Later ---

"Spade Charlotte LeBeau, you get back here right now!"

Your toddler's delighted giggle echoed through the house as she zoomed around the corner, still in her pajamas, clutching one of Remy's playing cards in her tiny fist. Her dark hair bounced in messy curls around her face, and her red-on-black eyes – so like her father's – sparkled with mischief.

"Non!" she called back in a perfect imitation of Remy's accent, disappearing into the living room.

You shot your husband an accusatory look as he leaned against the doorframe, trying and failing to hide his proud grin. "This is your fault. She's picking up your accent AND your sticky fingers."

"Remy has no idea what you mean, cher," he said innocently, but the effect was ruined by his barely contained laughter. "Though you got to admit, her form is getting better."

"She's two, Remy. She shouldn't have any 'form' for stealing."

"Borrowing," he corrected automatically. "And did you see how smooth that lift was? Didn't even feel her take it from Remy's pocket."

A crash from the living room interrupted your response, followed by a small "Uh oh."

Both of you rushed in to find Spade standing amid a scatter of books from the fallen bookshelf, still clutching the Queen of Hearts. She looked up at you with wide eyes, lower lip trembling slightly.

"Accident?" she offered hopefully, in that same Cajun lilt that made it impossible to stay mad at her – a fact she had definitely figured out and used to her advantage.

Remy scooped her up before you could respond. "What's the rule about climbing, petit?"

"Only climb with Papa?" she tried, wrapping her arms around his neck and batting her eyelashes.

"The real rule," you prompted, trying to keep a stern face despite how adorable she looked.

Spade sighed dramatically – another trait she'd picked up from Remy. "No climbing furniture 'cause it's dangerous an' Maman will make Papa sleep on the couch."

"That's right," you nodded, then paused. "Wait, who taught you that last part?"

"Papa did!" she announced proudly, while Remy suddenly became very interested in straightening her pajama top.

You shook your head, bending to pick up the scattered books. "And what do we say when we make a mess, baby?"

"Sorry, Maman," she said, looking genuinely contrite now. Then she held out the playing card. "An' sorry I took Papa's card."

"Good girl," you smiled, kissing her forehead. "Now, how about breakfast?"

"Beignets!" Spade cheered, bouncing in Remy's arms.

"Non, petit," Remy chuckled. "Remember what happened last time? You got powdered sugar everywhere."

"But Papa," she whined, giving him the puppy-dog eyes that usually worked like a charm. "You said I was getting better at being sneaky quiet! I can be sneaky quiet with beignets!"

You raised an eyebrow at Remy. "Oh? Teaching our toddler to be 'sneaky quiet' now, are we?"

He had the decency to look sheepish. "Just... general life skills?"

"Down!" Spade demanded suddenly, squirming in his arms. The moment her feet touched the ground, she was off again, this time making a beeline for the kitchen.

"She's not..." Remy started.

"Going for the lower cabinet where you hide the beignet mix?" you finished. "The one you think I don't know about?"

A clatter from the kitchen confirmed your suspicions, followed by Spade's triumphant "Found it!"

"Now that," Remy said admiringly, "she definitely got from you, cher. Remy's not nearly that good at finding hiding spots."

"Keep telling yourself that, hun," you laughed, heading to the kitchen where your daughter was already trying to climb onto the counter. "Though we might need to work on her subtlety."

"Subtlety comes later," Remy assured you, catching Spade mid-climb. "Right after we teach her proper card handling and basic lock picking."

"Remy!"

"Kidding!" he protested, then whispered loudly to Spade, "We'll talk about it when you're three."

Spade giggled, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Promise, Papa?"

"Promise, petit. Now, how about we make Maman some proper breakfast to make up for the bookshelf incident?"

"Can we make it explode?" Spade asked hopefully.

"NO!" you both shouted, remembering all too well the "glowing" pancake incident from last month.

"Just a little boom?" she bargained, making her eyes go wide and innocent.

--- Ten Years Later ---

The first sign something was wrong came at breakfast. Spade sat hunched over her untouched cereal, her normally bright red-on-black eyes dulled with discomfort. At twelve, she was all gangly limbs and attitude, her dark curls pulled back in a messy ponytail.

"You feeling okay, petit?" Remy asked, concern evident in his voice as he watched her push the cereal around her bowl.

"M'fine," she mumbled, then winced and pressed a hand to her stomach. "Just... crampy."

You and Remy exchanged a knowing look. You'd been expecting this, had prepared for it, but somehow it still felt surreal that your baby was growing up so fast.

"Why don't you go lay down, sweet?" you suggested gently. "I'll bring you some pain medicine and a heating pad."

Spade nodded miserably and stood up – then froze, her face flushing red. "Maman," she whispered, panic in her voice. "I need... I think I..."

"Go on to the bathroom, baby. I'll be right there," you assured her, already heading for the cabinet where you'd stashed supplies months ago.

Remy looked slightly panicked himself. "Should Remy... do something?"

"You can start by not freaking out," you told him with a small smile. "Remember what we talked about?"

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Oui. Normal, natural, nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Good man. Now go call the school and let them know she's staying home today."

As you headed to the bathroom with supplies, you heard Spade sniffling. "Maman? This really sucks."

"I know, baby," you said softly, letting yourself in. "But we've got this, okay? Let me show you..."

Twenty minutes later, Spade was curled up on the couch in fresh clothes, a heating pad pressed to her stomach, while Remy hovered nearby like an anxious mother hen.

"Papa, you're being weird," she grumbled, though there was affection in her voice.

"Remy's not being weird," he protested. "Remy's being... supportive."

"You've asked if I'm okay twelve times in ten minutes."

"Because Remy loves you, petit," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "Even if you're growing up too fast."

She rolled her eyes but smiled – then suddenly yelped as the TV remote in her hand began to glow with a familiar magenta energy.

"Papa?" she asked, voice shaking as the glow intensified.

Remy moved fast, snatching the remote and absorbing the charge before it could explode. "Well," he said, trying to keep his voice light, "looks like you're getting more than one kind of change today, petit."

"Is... is that what your power feels like?" Spade asked, staring at her hands in wonder and fear. "Like everything's buzzing under your skin?"

"That's right," Remy nodded, sitting beside her. "Been wondering if you'd inherit that particular family trait."

You joined them on the couch, wrapping an arm around Spade's shoulders. "How are you feeling, baby? And don't say fine."

"Scared," she admitted quietly. "And excited. And my stomach still hurts. And..." She gestured helplessly at a decorative pillow, which had started to glow. Remy quickly grabbed that too.

"Hormones probably triggered it," you mused. "Logan mentioned that happens sometimes with mutant teenagers."

"Great," Spade groaned. "So not only do I have to deal with... this stuff, but now I might blow things up when I get cranky?"

"Just like your papa," you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey!" Remy protested. "Remy has excellent control... most of the time."

Spade giggled, then winced and curled tighter around the heating pad. "Can we just... watch movies today? And maybe Papa can teach me how to not explode things?"

"'Course, petit," Remy said softly. "Though maybe we start with something less explosive than the remote, non? Playing cards are made to handle a charge better."

"Is that why you always have them?" she asked, perking up slightly despite her discomfort.

"Partly," he admitted. "Also 'cause they look cool when Remy throws them."

"Can I learn that too?"

"Let's master 'not blowing up the furniture' first," you suggested firmly.

"Maman's right," Remy agreed. "Besides, you need to rest today. Movie first, mutation training later."

Spade nodded, then suddenly looked mortified. "Oh god, do I have to tell people at school about... either thing?"

"Only if you want to, baby," you assured her. "Though we should probably let Uncle Logan know about your powers manifesting. He'll want to start training you."

"Can we not call him Uncle Logan anymore?" Spade groaned. "I'm not a little kid."

"You'll always be Remy's petit," he said, ruffling her hair and expertly dodging her swat.

"Papa!" she protested, but she was smiling. Then she looked down at her hands again, watching the faint energy dance across her fingertips. "Will... will it always feel like this?"

"Non," Remy assured her. "You'll learn to control it. Channel it. Make it part of you instead of fighting it. And your maman and papa will be here every step of the way."

"Promise?"

"Promise, petit. Now, what movie you want to watch while Remy teaches you the basics of energy manipulation?"

"Something with explosions?" she asked hopefully.

You and Remy shared a look over her head – equal parts exasperation and love.

--- Five Years Later ---

You knew something was off when Spade started wearing long sleeves in summer. At seventeen, she'd grown into her powers beautifully, the same casual grace with kinetic energy that Remy possessed. But lately, she'd been jumpy, secretive – and definitely not charging anything she touched, which was unusual for a girl who typically left a trail of glowing objects in her wake.

The truth came out on a humid Tuesday evening, when Remy came home early from a mission.

"Petit?" he called out, heading upstairs. "Remy brought those macarons you like from that place in–"

He stopped dead in Spade's doorway. Your daughter was hastily pulling on a hoodie, but not before both of you caught sight of the suppression collar around her neck. The kind sold in sketchy places to mutants who wanted to "pass" as human.

The box of macarons hit the floor.

"Papa!" Spade yelped, yanking the hood up. "You're supposed to be in Paris until tomorrow!"

"And you're supposed to be at study group," you said from behind Remy, making her jump. "Want to explain the collar, baby?"

Spade's eyes darted between you both, then to her window, clearly calculating if she could make the jump. A habit she'd definitely picked up from Remy.

"Don't even think about it," you warned. "Sit."

She sat on her bed, pulling her knees up to her chest. "It's not what you think."

"Non?" Remy's voice was dangerously quiet. "Because what Remy thinks is his daughter is ashamed of being a mutant."

"I'm not!" Spade protested, eyes filling with tears. "I just... I wanted..."

"To be normal?" you asked softly, sitting beside her while Remy paced the room, playing cards flickering with agitated energy between his fingers.

"To go on a date without setting anything on fire!" she burst out. "To hold hands without worrying about blowing someone up! To be able to... to kiss someone without..."

The cards in Remy's hands stopped moving. "Kiss someone?"

Spade went pale. "I mean... hypothetically..."

"Spade Charlotte LeBeau," you said firmly. "The whole truth. Now."

She took a shuddering breath. "His name is Alex. He's in my AP Chemistry class. We've been dating for three months and he doesn't know I'm a mutant and I really, really like him and please don't explode anything, Papa!"

The last part came out in a rush as the cards in Remy's hands began to glow ominously.

"Three months?" Remy's accent got thicker with emotion. "You've been hiding this for three months?"

"Remy," you warned, seeing the hurt in your daughter's eyes. "Let her explain."

"I wanted to tell you," Spade whispered, fingers twisting in her sleeves. "But I was scared. Not of you!" she added quickly. "Of... of messing it up. His parents are kind of... they don't like mutants. And Alex isn't like that, he's different, but I just wanted a chance to show him who I am before he found out what I am."

"You are not a what, petit," Remy said fiercely, the glow fading from his cards as he knelt in front of her. "You are a who. A beautiful, powerful, amazing who. And anyone who can't see that..."

"Isn't worth hiding yourself for," you finished gently.

"But what if he is?" Spade's voice cracked. "Worth it, I mean. He's smart and funny and he doesn't make stupid jokes about the school being full of freaks like the other kids do. He stood up for Jamie last week when someone was bullying him about his scales. He doesn't even know I go there, but he stood up anyway."

You and Remy exchanged a look. You remembered being young, remembered how hard it was to bridge the gap between mutant and human worlds.

"Take off the collar, petit," Remy said finally.

"Papa..."

"Take it off," he repeated, gentler this time. "If this boy is worth your time, he's worth your trust. And if he breaks that trust..." The cards flickered again.

"You will not threaten a teenager," you told him firmly, then turned to Spade. "But your father's right about the collar, baby. It's dangerous, and it's not healthy – physically or emotionally."

Spade's hands shook as she unclasped the collar, her natural energy immediately sparking at her fingertips. "I don't know how to tell him."

"Start with the truth," you suggested. "And maybe somewhere without too many breakable objects."

"And if he runs?" she asked in a small voice.

Remy sat beside her, pulling her into a hug. "Then he's not the one, petit. But you don't know until you try. Just... next time? Tell Remy before you start dating the normie boy? So Remy can do a proper background check?"

"Papa!"

"What? It's what any responsible father would do!"

"You are not running a background check on my boyfriend!"

"Too late," you muttered, making them both turn to stare at you. "What? You think your father's the only one who knows how to do research? He's got a B+ average, one speeding ticket, volunteers at the animal shelter, and his Instagram is full of science puns and pictures of his little sister's soccer games."

Spade groaned and flopped back on her bed. "I hate this family."

"Non, you don't," Remy grinned, ruffling her hair. "Now, about those macarons Remy dropped..."

"Are they stress-eating macarons?" Spade asked hopefully.

"They are now," you agreed. "And while we eat, you can tell us more about this boy. Like why you didn't mention that he's in your AP Chem study group – the one you're supposedly at right now?"

Spade's eyes widened. "How did you..."

"Parent knowledge," you and Remy said in unison.

---Three months later---

The Greene family's dining room was impeccably decorated, all crystal glasses and polished silver that made you grateful for all those etiquette lessons Storm had insisted on. Spade sat beside Alex, wearing her favorite dark purple dress, her power carefully controlled despite her obvious nerves. Remy, for once, had traded his usual trench coat for a proper blazer, though you'd caught him shuffling cards in his pocket on the drive over.

"So," Mrs. Greene said, cutting her chicken with precise movements, "you teach at that... special school?"

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," you confirmed, noting how she avoided saying the name. "Yes, we both do."

"And that's where Spade attends?" Mr. Greene's tone was carefully neutral, but his grip on his fork was too tight.

Alex shifted uncomfortably. He'd been wonderful when Spade had told him about her powers, had even thought they were cool, but this dinner had been his idea – wanting to do things "properly." Now, watching his parents' barely concealed disdain, you could see him regretting it.

"Best education a parent could ask for," Remy said smoothly, his accent deliberately softened. "Top test scores in the state."

"I'm sure," Mrs. Greene murmured, then added with false brightness, "Though it must be... challenging, dealing with all those special needs children."

Spade's glass began to glow faintly. Without missing a beat, Remy reached over and touched it, absorbing the charge.

"Actually," you said pleasantly, "our students are quite gifted. Spade's in line for early admission to NYU's biochemistry program."

"Really?" Mr. Greene looked surprised, as if he couldn't quite reconcile this with his preconceptions. "That's... impressive."

"Our Spade's always been remarkable," Remy said proudly, then added with deliberate casualness, "Gets it from both sides of the family."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as understanding dawned on the Greenes' faces.

"Both sides?" Mrs. Greene's voice had gone up an octave. "You mean you're all...?"

"Mutants?" Spade finished quietly, lifting her chin with a defiance that was pure Remy. "Yes. We are."

"Alex!" his mother hissed. "You didn't tell us..."

"Because it doesn't matter, Mom," Alex said firmly, reaching for Spade's hand under the table. "Spade's brilliant and kind and amazing, and her being a mutant is just another part of who she is."

"Doesn't matter?" Mr. Greene's fork clattered to his plate. "These people are dangerous! They're–"

"Very capable of hearing you," you interrupted coolly. "And 'these people' include your son's girlfriend and her parents, who are sitting right here."

"How do we know she hasn't... done something to him?" Mrs. Greene demanded, standing abruptly. "Used some kind of mind control or–"

"Maman's not a telepath," Spade said, her voice shaking slightly but determined. "And neither am I. I can charge objects with kinetic energy, like my father. That's all."

"That's all?" Mr. Greene laughed harshly. "You mean you can make things explode? And we're supposed to be comfortable with you dating our son?"

"More comfortable than Remy is with his daughter dating someone whose parents think she's a monster," Remy said quietly, but there was steel beneath the silk of his voice.

"Mom, Dad, please," Alex pleaded. "Just give them a chance. Get to know them. Spade's family is amazing – they've been nothing but welcoming to me."

"Of course they have," Mrs. Greene snapped. "They're probably thrilled their daughter managed to snare a normal boy–"

The wine glass in Remy's hand shattered.

Everyone froze. Slowly, deliberately, Remy uncurled his fingers, letting the charged fragments fall harmlessly to the tablecloth.

"Remy suggests," he said softly, his accent thick with controlled anger, "that you think very carefully about your next words regarding his daughter."

"Are you threatening us?" Mr. Greene stood, reaching for his phone. "In our own home?"

"Non," Remy smiled, but it wasn't a pleasant expression. "Remy's just making sure we understand each other. Because Remy's daughter? She's been crying herself to sleep worrying about making a good impression tonight. She pressed her best dress and practiced controlling her powers for hours because she wanted you to see her as a person first. But clearly," he gestured to the ruined tablecloth, "Remy wasted money on this nice jacket."

"I think," you said, standing and placing a calming hand on Remy's shoulder, "we should go."

"Wait!" Alex stood too. "I'm coming with you."

"Alex, sit down!" his mother ordered.

"No." He moved to stand beside Spade, who was fighting back tears. "I'm seventeen, I can make my own choices. And I choose not to stay here and listen to you insult the girl I love and her family."

The word 'love' hung in the air. Spade's eyes widened, and even Remy's anger faltered for a moment.

"If you walk out that door with them," Mr. Greene warned, "don't bother coming back tonight."

"Fine," Alex said, his voice steady despite his pale face. "I'll stay at Connor's. At least his parents judge people by who they are, not what they are."

You gathered your things in tense silence, Remy's hand protectively on Spade's shoulder. At the door, Mrs. Greene made one last attempt.

"Alex, please. We're just trying to protect you."

"From what?" he asked tiredly. "From Spade, who helps me with calculus and volunteers at the shelter with me? From her mom, who makes sure I eat properly when I'm studying late? From her dad, who's been teaching me to change my own oil so I don't get ripped off at mechanics?" He shook his head. "The only thing I need protection from is this kind of prejudice."

You and Remy shared a look as you walked out with the teens in front. You might have had your opinions at first but you definitely liked Alex now.

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