#the worst part is how i can't take this as a break and do something fun instead

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

u might want to cut this ask into 2... sorry?

so more like cantrips vs full blown artifacts, that eases so many worries. i wonder if anyone would change their vote knowing this lol.

you wanted ideas? lets build off the new info from the artifacts! im running off the assumptions that this is pre curse break.

the phoenix stone- reader could be stuck in rain, trying to stay warm by lighting up the stone, but as the weather gets more windy and the sun goes down it starts getting too cold to stay on, reader tries warm breaths and body heat just to get it starting so it can self sustain on its own heat from its flames. bonus if she is actively putting herself in harms way to warm it up so the monkeys can use it as a heat source.

forest stone- reader could grow plants from home, maybe native food from home and just have a bittersweet interaction over getting to see native crops but being unable to consume them safely. maybe reader grows a garden someday? a bouquet for a would-be human lover? or after they 'mysteriously' disappear, flower crowns for the monkeys? a garden would be nice to remind reader of home

for the healing part of the stone, reader could heal the monkey duo! what's not to say the curse slowed down their healing? imagine the bonding from one of the monkey duo seeing reader doing their very best to patch up the other? they could fake injuries to try and get more one on one 'healing' time. or reader could try and fail to heal a fever, and rely on traditional methods to break it.

the shield amulet- it may be impenetrable, but is it immovable? can reader move while its up? because if she cant, its a test of patience that the monkey duo will win. she cant grow food it will be too slow. she could threaten to eat something fatal tho… playing with fire there. what is stopping sun wukong from stealing it in readers sleep? nothing. bet the only reason he hasn't is because his mate convinced him that its the equivalent of a stuffed toy for reader : it makes her feel safe, even if it really doesn't lol.

im going to straight up guess that the glamor mask is either your oc appearance or a demon monkey form. would be funny if it were a genderbend mask tho. just straight up switch the gender if they try and pull gender related shenanigans. "what princess/queen? i only see men between the 3 of us"

just as i was about to hit send, a wild idea approaches!

[maybe i will polish this and put it on ao3 when i have the time, the will and the patience, probably not though]

this is way outside the scope of the artefact's powers but imagine if reader dies inside the shield, and it stays up. they can't shatter it, and the forest stone slowly but surely grows around the shield, hiding readers body from view.

the plants outside can be cut down, but the plants inside can't. the duo have to deal with the fact that, slowly but surely, reader's body is being hidden from them, and one day will be the last day they will ever see her, inside her would-be coffin, the thing that stopped them from saving her.

oh, how they regretted not throwing it away when they had the chance and now it will not even give them the ability to give her a proper burial. away from flower fruit mountain, will she buried under the sands of time forgotten, left to rot?

unacceptable. clones are left behind to guard her final resting place, the plants growing to make a flowerbed for reader to rest on. any who approach are struck down without mercy.

in the meantime, they need to make a visit to Diyu.

inside the shell of a last stand, a metamorphosis takes place.

they come back, heartbroken. she was not from these lands, and thus was not taken by those reigning over the dead. there was no name to strike from the records, no spirit to rescue from diyu.

they come back to see the site that they left so lovingly preserved in ruins.  all the plants that were growing were trampled and dying, the area carved by the fights the clones must have put up. not a single one was left.

and worst of all, in the very center of it all, the final resting spot was disturbed.

someone took her. somebody had the GALL to break in and steal her body from her final resting place, and they weren't even here to protect her!

they weren't able to protect her again, protect the last thing they had of her.

they would make sure that the perpetrator will wish they had lost to the clones.

above them all, in the treetops, a monkey cub holds its breath, watching.

lmao, i was going down the angst train at full speed, but decided describing the grieving process and the false hope i was giving them only to brutally crush it before their very eyes was maybe a sign i was going too far on the angst ride. idk how much angst is acceptable here so i decided to make reader turn into a monkey for the lols.

i wonder if they would be able to see through it using their true sight. hahaha must suck to the one stuck as a monkey cub now huh?

i like to imagine that reader gets found by them but they don't realise its her, just as she doesn't realise it's them[she died while they were still cursed], and they decide to adopt her in memory of the human who cared for 2 cubs she saw needed help. and reader gets to be at ground zero to see these two warlords grieve.

who does she think they are grieving for?

OBVIOUSLY THE MONKEY CUBS SHE HAD WITH HER, ARE YOU STUPID?? THERE WAS NO WAY THEY SURVIVED THE ATTACK, AND THERE WERE TWO FLOWER BOUQUETS FOR THE TWO CUBS THAT MATCHED THEIR COLOR SCHEME AND THEY LOOKED JUST LIKE THE CUBS! WHY ON EARTH WOULD TWO MONKEY DEMON WARLORDS GRIEVE FOR HER???

truly a foolish thought that could only come from such a foolish human to die such a stupid death and make the cubs die with her!

she was back, but they weren't. she wasn't the one to pay the ultimate price for her mistake.

did spirit grieve for her? did she come back only to she that she had died while she was away, reluctantly leaving to find a nearby village only after reader reassured her that she would be safe with the shield amulet, that it would be alright.

and they died because of her. spirit had to come back to their corpses because of her. the monkey demon pairing had to come back to their children's corpses because of her.

i would imagine the experience made her more introverted. more quiet, less willing to make friends. effectively mute. while the shield from the amulet may have fallen, another shield has formed around her heart.

would the monkey duo realise that reader was with them? would they brush it off as wishful thinking, as them projecting their false hopes onto a random monkey that perhaps they weren't too weak, too late? would they draw parallels between their curse and the cub in front of them? would they beg her for a sign?

would reader, drowning in guilt, give it to them?

what would the troop think? they see their kings grieving, ignoring the cub sometimes to go on rampages, and other times begging at its feet as if to ask for salvation. what sort of life is this for that poor cub, to have to endure their grief-induced psychosis?

no, it would be best for the cub to grow in a stable environment, at the very least until the kings recover from their grief.

it takes the duo 5 days to realise what has happened. it's hard to remember about the cub you so callously adopt when you are too busy going off on rampages throughout heaven and earth after all.

when the duo finds out why the cub is missing they just collapse, emotionally. reader is dead. she isn't coming back. and there is nothing they can do about it. the monkey duo don't leave their bed nest and are inconsolable.

reader feels bad for them, it's all her fault after all, that they lost their kids[she still believes this]. so she goes into their room, where they reminisce aloud about reader, and reader, who is unintentionally eavesdropping, finally figures out that A) its HER that they're grieving, and B) THEY'RE HER CUBS! THEY'RE NOT DEAD! SHE DIDNT KILL THEM!

she is so relieved she starts crying, and they hear her call out for them, not by the names everyone knows them as, but the nickname they got from the one person they miss the most:

"plums? peaches?"

denial, if i remember right, is the first stage of grief. they're in denial at first. who wouldn't be? they saw her die, they saw her die. their eyes cant lie their ears can't lie their nose can't lie she was dead dead DEAD-

anger is next i think. how dare that cub call them by those names, only reader can call them by those names! only she can, only her, only her!

but how could the cub know those names if not for her?

bargaining is the third stage.  its quite an odd thing, to bargain with the small, fluttering bit of hope inside of you. to bargain with oneself, to say that you will believe that if its her if she says it again, if she says something again, if she says anything again!-

"is it really you?"

you wouldn't expect to hit depression, would you? reader is back! They're back and they were here the entire time! they've been leaving you alone all this time, grieving for you all this time, and you were here all this time all along. so many tears, so much misery, and when they find out that you were here the entire time, the only thing they can feel is numbness as they reach out to you.

and you

reach back.

being crushed in an embrace between the two, you feel the shaking first, their tears streaming down their cheeks. you hug them as tightly as you can. they hug you back.

and as you look into their eyes you see acceptance. acceptance of the fact that you are back that is is real that you are in their arms, alive, here-!

that they love you too much to let you go.

while they dont care if you arent human or not, it is a bit worrying that you turned into a cub, like they did. did the curse transfer to you? is this something new?

after talking things through, you realise most of the artefacts 'malfunctioned' in a way. the shield didn't fall even in death, the forest stone grew plants nonstop around you. you found them on you and took them with you.

what happened to the glamor mask and phoenix stone?

sun wukong and macaque swear up and down that they searched, and not a single artifact left your bubble.[they were looking for something, anything of yours that they could keep on their person because you were dead-].

you had them all on you. and well, you did come back from the dead, right?

but that doesnt explain the where the glamor mask went! you didnt have it on you! you would have known if-

...

you tear off [not your face not your face NOT YOUR FACE]

the mask

off of your face.

...

a giggle leaves your mouth. well that was a bit silly wasn't it! if you had less self control and clawed off not your face perhaps this would have been solved much earlier!

well at least you were with your monkeys again.

________

ok now i gotta stop for real. i wrote this with no sleep so ahve mercy on spelling mistakes that slip through. have a nice day

Sorry about the confusion 😅. I always thought artifacts were old enchanted items so it didn't cross my mind to explain all of the weaknesses. Was probably going to later but eh who knows when it's me we're talking about.

For the heat, she would totally put herself into danger trying to get it to work. Spirit of course would try to bundle her up in clothes but they don't have all that many. (Spirit is covered in thick fur and less perceptible to the cold, which makes it worse for her because she can't stand the fact that her sister is probably freezing to death)

The monkey duo would be curled up in her arms trying to both be warm and share their heat with her. They'd probably be snuggled up against her chest holding onto her undershirt for closer skin contact as that would help aid in real warmth. They can't even enjoy this because of how cold they are! (It helps them decide that it's best she stay on Flower Fruit Mountain where she would always have the supplies she needs to stay safe and warm)

For the Forest Stone - I could totally see Reader making flowers. Oh, a human man thinks they're pretty. Here, he can have them sure. Cue monkey duo finding a way for this human to go missing. Was he a lover? They wouldn't care. He was a threat because he might become one. They can't let that happen, not at all. She was there human, theirs!

Another thought goes to your idea with the healing stone! Oh my word, these two would be trying for snuggles so badly that they would totally do that. A little scrape on the hand, it's not bleeding and doesn't even bruise, but it 'hurts.' Reader would try to help them immediately, of course. It's just another reason they want to keep her, once they decide they are going to.

For the patience on the sheild Macaque would obviously win in a test of patience. Depending on the situation there could be another thing that happens.

Reader can summon the sheild anywhere, I'm yoinking the idea of it being immovable to an extent. She can only summon one sheild and that sheild can be summoned to protect someone else. In order to move it she has to deactivate it and reactivate it. So that gives a window of opportunity for the Monkey duo.

Say she has the sheild up and then a group of human merchants come to pass by. Well, the Monkey duo likes her, yes, but who's to say they won't threaten the merchants. (They totally would if they are desperate enough) cue Reader making the sheild cover them. Which, of course, leaves her open to 'attacks' one attack being bombarded in snuggles and kisses.

>>><<<

Idea for the fic idea. I loved your idea with the glamour mask. But- I forgot to mention that the mask is still visible while the user is glamoured. (If you make a fic with an altered mask that isn't visible, that is absolutely fine. I would definitely read it for sure.)

So personally, I'd just have the curse kinda transfer to Reader instead. Depending on when the found her depends on if Wukong has his gold vision yet. Since this starts before the war on heaven, he doesn't have it because he hasn't gotten stuck in the furnace yet.

Also, they would totally take Reader in, even before meeting Reader or any of that. Orphan monkey cubs are always welcome in their home (they are quite biased to their own kind, so they are always offered a place in their kingdom. That's not to say some refuse or still fight them, of course)

Yes, the Monkey duo would definitely travel to diyu and return heartbroken. Would her body still be there probably not, if it's because she actually died she might get pulled back to her world and that might save her.

Or if the curse was transfered to her hoho, now her reaction on telling them would depend on so many things. She might feel guilty thinking they are grieving their cub but seeing the absolute devastation they cause would be terrifying.

Once she learns that it's her that they are doing this for she might get more terrified or be happy. She would be happy her monkeys survived, and she could still be terrified at the absolute power they held.

What would they do with her when they learned the truth? She'd heard stories about these two, Spirit tells her about them, and her monkey friends had liked listening to stories. (Wukong probably liked hearing the fear and terror he spread around)

Did they want revenge that she dragged them with her when they fought at first? If so, why were they mad she was gone? Did they want to make her a breeding mate? There were some demons that tried during her journey. They wouldn't want to make her a true wife, right? She was just a human woman, and the Monkey duo hated humans. She had passed through a town devastated by their kingdom before.

So maybe she would be too terrified to let them know, maybe she'd try to find a way to break the curse and return home. She might try to hide from them more.

In this case they might pick her up and as gentle as they can force her to let them take care of her. Via spoon feeding, and making sure she drinks water. And since she's so young they would make her sleep in their nest with them.

There are so many ways this story could go, both happy and joyful or sad and fearful. You said angst well how would the Monkey duo feel about the one they love being too scared of them to let them help break the curse? They would be so happy she's alive yet so scared of how much weaker and smaller she is verses how she already was.

If she tried to escape before they find out and failed. Oh boy there would be no getting away from them once they learn the truth.

But of course if she's not afraid of them, then she'd probably try to communicate who she is. With broken chirps as she doesn't know tne language at first, the curse would probably mess with the communication that she was granted. So cue her trying to learn the language so she can tell her heartbroken monkeys that it's her, she is reader. Since they don't call her Reader and probably gave her a different name. Oh the possibilities.

>>><<<

I would love to hear your thoughts on this! Everyone is welcome to send me an ask about these! I was bouncing in my seat as I read this ask, I loved the fic! To know my fanfiction helped inspire it 🥰 makes me feel so cozy.

Please send me more ideas, if you have them. No pressure. Or you can just send me something to say you liked my idea or not.

[houkagokappa]

Anxiety getting bad againnnn

I was supposed to continue working on my thesis last week, failed to do so on both Monday and Tuesday and when I finally went to check on my samples at the greenhouse on Wednesday, I spotted my supervisor working on her stuff together with some new assistants there and my social anxiety got so bad I left without watering my bryophytes sagdusagjkfs

I came back the next day after office hours when no one else is there to do so, and that's what I've been doing since. Luckily I have my own key so I can come and go as I please, but I'm stuck not being able to take the next steps. I haven't contacted my supervisor bc I basically know what I'd need to do, or I should find answers to my questions from literature, but I'm not able to focus enough to do that!!!!

And now I'm stressing about running out of time. I guess I need to contact her to get things moving again................

[pomefioredove]

now I'm actually invested in this idea. maybe I'll write a full length fic someday idk... for now I have short hcs

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: crowley decides to "give away" yuu to the highest "donation" for financial reasons type of post: headcanons characters: all nrc students additional info: can be read as platonic or romantic, except malleus is pretty romantic, second person pov, yuu is gender neutral, maybe a little ooc I wrote this as soon as I got up

crowley has had his fair share of "what the fuck" moments from you but this was really taking the cake

he acts so... casual about it?

swaggers into ramshackle one morning and says times are tough and your personal expenses are straining the budget so he's decided to "put you in someone else's care"

"The screening process will be vigorous to make sure you end up in good hands!" like you're a cat or something "Your expenses will be covered and you'll have somewhere to go during break!"

okay great. pretty obvious you have no say in this, so you don't even argue. what's the worst that could happen?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ace, Deuce, Jack, and Epel find you the next day to say they're pooling their money to buy you

"To what?"

Epel shrugs. "Oh, well Crowley said we need to offer a donation to prove we're capable of supporting you..."

(you think that if not for the laws of this land you would have slaughtered that old fart)

Jack goes on a really long tirade about how shady and underhanded this is, making sure to reaffirm that he believes you should be free to make your own choices

"So you'll let me go once you get me?"

"Uhhh..."

Ace thinks once they buy you you'll have no choice but to do all of his homework for him

Deuce says that's not really how it works- and even if he tried, Riddle would kill him

(they've already gone over this twice before finding you)

Epel happily volunteers to take you home with him over breaks, probably the only positive in this mess

even if he thinks the whole thing is kind of funny

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

incapable of keeping his mouth shut, Ace accidentally spills the plan to Riddle, who is understandably aghast

you can't just give away a person under your care like a toy!

of all the irresponsible things...

of course, he'll have to put up his offer, too

purely for your sake! with a nicer room and a brand new copy of the dorm rules, maybe you'll stop getting yourself into trouble

he's got some family money (doctors, naturally) and considers this a worthwhile purchase, for his sanity and yours

of course, Trey and Cater overhear and may or may not be pooling their own cash for a chance, too

going behind Riddle's back on this is a risky venture, but hey, someone's gotta be on your side, here, right?

I mean, between a bunch of sixteen year old boys, the housewarden, and them, who would you choose?

actually don't answer that

...not that it's much of a secret, anyway. Cater's already got their gofundme equivalent link in bio

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Leona initially plans to have you become a live-in lackey like Ruggie

but then he really starts thinking- and, hey, the possibilities are endless, right?

for one, you'd make a really good pillow

he might have to kick Grim out for your full attention, but you could learn to live with that

and malleus would hate it

...that's reason enough for him

plus, he's got money to burn, so why not?

either way, he sets his bid at a reasonable (maybe too confident) price and sits back to watch the chaos unfold as everyone scrambles for a piece of the pie

news travels fast around school, after all

then Ruggie finds out that you could dethrone him as Leona's #2 and is understandably a little annoyed

that's his cushy post-grad job gig, thank you! he's worked hard for that!

besides, why should Leona get to hoard you? the guy can barely take care of himself!

so, Ruggie ends up outsourcing to a few dozen classmates for the necessary funds at a steep I-owe-you price

he's gonna be eating nothing but dandelions for a while...

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

now, Azul is annoyed

once the news goes school-wide, it's all anyone can talk about

talk about good marketing...

why didn't he think of such a brilliant scam? he could have negotiated with Crowley to have a café brand deal tie-in!

of course, he's already set his bid, with Jade and Floyd offering to pitch in as necessary

it's a risky investment, sure, but a worthwhile one

Azul tells everyone that with the prefect's "obvious" popularity, having them at the café a few nights a week would drive sales through the roof

though that's really just what he says to shirk suspicion

a likely excuse coming from him, though, really, it would just be nice having you around

and if not for his own affections, Floyd's incessant begging and Jade's subtly manipulative comments about "how nice" it would be having a new face around would be enough for him to cave eventually

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Kalim, no," is the first thing that Jamil says

"I strongly advise against this. It's another one of Crowley's silly scams and you could end up a target bec- are you even listening?"

hint: he is not

the second Kalim found out that he could get to take in his favorite magicless student like one of his treasures, he was all over it

(AKA infinite sleepovers)

and for what? a little optional donation to prove he's got the funds? he's got cash to spare!

he's already got your new room in Scarabia set up before he even puts his bid in

right next to his of course :)

and despite what Jamil insists, he himself might be working behind the curtain just a little to ensure he's the one who ends up with you

after all, why should Kalim get everything? this might be a valuable learning opportunity for him

You don't always get what you want

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

as much as Epel tries to keep the rest of his dorm from finding out, it's inevitable

he's actually a little surprised that the news didn't get to Vil sooner

with Rook around campus, surely he must have said something...

when Vil does find out, though, he just sighs

oh, of course. what next, will everyone meet each other in the arena and fight to the death over the prefect?

of all the silly, immature things...

oh? what's that? he's bidding anyway? of course he is, silly potato. he can't have some unwashed miscreant making you sleep on polyester bedding

(really, he's the only person on campus worthy of your time)

Rook has also been mysteriously absent from the dorm lately, though his initials on a poem and a strangely large sum of money end up in the donation pile

but really, that could be anyone... Rook would never dare betray Vil again, right?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Ortho finds out directly from the other first years and sends Idia the details immediately

with a little note of encouragement, of course: "could be excellent for improving your social skills!"

Idia understandably freaks out

"WTF!!!! nooo way! this is a person, not a chatbot we're talking about here! I can barely keep virtual pets alive!!!!"

(liar)

(...but this is still different)

the conversation ends there, but semi-anonymous bid from someone named "gloomurai" gets cashapp'd directly to crowley

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

everyone in the room immediately turns to Malleus

"For the record, I think it's wrong to be bargaining over a human being," Silver says first. "But if anyone could handle it with grace, it's you."

Lilia laughs. "Oh, you're just saying that because you like the prefect so much!"

"Father, you're the one who likes the prefect so much,"

"Oh, right! carry on then. After all, I'm sure we could share,"

Sebek is the only one relatively against the idea, though Lilia luckily manages to get him to lower his voice after his third speech about how you aren't good enough for his liege

Malleus is rather quiet through the whole evening, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with any of the points made

he disappears for a short while, and when he comes back he seems a little more confident

though, of course, he goes to you first

seeing him at Ramshackle in the middle of the night is a familiar and welcoming sight after all of the chaos of your week

and he's in a great mood!

"Child of man! I've come with news," he says. "I have heard of your predicament and have come up with a solution!"

you immediately sulk. "Oh, no. You know I think this whole thing is terrible, right?"

"Yes, Silver mentioned you might not like the idea of being bought and sold like a trinket. But worry not, I do not plan on paying for you in money,"

you pause, at a loss for words, and then tentatively continue. "You're not...?"

"Of course not. What a primitive idea, I was baffled to hear it myself. My proposal will be more traditional: a modest sum of treasure, and a generous amount of livestock and the finest crop Briar Valley can offer,"

certainly he's not this naive, you think

"You really think Crowley is going to accept that over money? I'm pretty sure Kalim just bid away an entire country's worth,"

he laughs. "You speak as if this is some kind of business deal! I'm quite confident that my dowry will be best,"

huh. that was a strange way of putting it

but then again, you still didn't really understand how things work here, so you go along with it

and you allow yourself to relax. he seems confident in his offer, and he doesn't even see you as some kind of prize to win!

"Oh, well, alright. Thanks! I'm glad you're on it,"

he smiles. "Rest assured, child of man, you're in good hands. My dowry will far outshine the others, and the wedding will be even better,"

"I was honestly getting a little nervous for a momen- wait- wedding!?"

[medusaesque]

Kim's itchy trigger finger

So, Kim reaches for his gun often. Very often. sometimes for the most ridiculous reasons- opening the bear fridge, the experiment in the church, a note from Klaasje.

This one is just from being anxious going into the communist reading group. Kim doesn't want to be the kind of cop who draws his gun constantly, who shoots instinctively, but he is, or at the very least it's very difficult for him to stop himself from becoming one.

Perhaps the most horrifying example is with The Pigs-

Even if he KNOWS the gun isn't loaded, even if he knows it's safe, the instinctual muscle twitch could have ended in an unnecessary death. Kim is very well aware of that fact, and it's horrifying to him. @shufflerock-jam has this really good post about it, where they wonder how many of Kim's kills were unnecessary. "Something about a pair of traumatized cops, one fighting against shooting himself and one fighting against shooting everyone else".

At the end of The Pigs exchange, if Harry says she tried to kill him, Kim begins to interject, but stops himself and agree this situation could've been very bad. Then Empathy chimes in- 'He's trying not to think about how bad it could have been had the gun been loaded.' Which is the heart of the issue, right? that leads us to Eyes-

This is such a fascinating background to give Kim as a character- not just losing his partner, which gives him the trauma and survivor's guilt that lead to this unhealthy relationship with his gun and frankly with death in general, but losing his Eyes, and having that not interfere with his shooting. Kim doesn't need to see well to hit, he doesn't need to think. It's all in his hands, a reflex. A reflex that nearly took an innocent life. That might have taken one before.

His awareness of looming danger, to him and to his partner, is fueling his version of Hand/Eye Coordination to have him constantly on edge, his whole body is like a loaded spring, always prepared to make sure it doesn't happen again. Then it does-

In his nightmare scenario, leaning over his partner's bleeding body, Kim only needs one word to shoot without a second's hesitation. He's never not ready to take that shot. He doesn't need his Eyes.

Harry is distraught to discover he's killed before- his body remembers it. He wants a drink to soften the feeling. Kim however is impressed with how little he's killed- especially coming from the bloody murder unit. He wants to be 'one of the good ones' (Kim's adamant belief in the possibility of a Good Cop is a whole other can of worms) the kind of cop he would think highly of. Kim is disgusted by cops who kill like it's a game. Espirit gives us a vision of a cop exactly like that, who kills so often it doesn't feel like anything anymore. In a way that is completely mechanical- no thought, no feelings, just a thing your body does. Not unlike the way Kim shoots- like a spring unloaded. Kim has 6 confirmed kills before the tribunal, double the amount Harry has. He doesn't react the same way though-

It's doesn't bother Kim that he has killed, even if he declines to elaborate on it, and he seems to frown upon (or worry about) Harry's destructive coping mechanism. If they're unable to save Ruby, he says "Control your emotions. We did our job. This won't be the worst thing that happens on this case… believe me. You can't let this break you." When you wake up after the tribunal, he doesn't dwell on the lost lives on either side. Harry's skills call him a killer, a bloodstained killer, but when he tells Kim he also killed he simply nods. He's smoking though. I'm not saying that Kim is heartless or careless, he's rattled by nearly blowing The Pigs' head off, very sorry for the lives lost during the case, and clearly hunted by death, having been surrounded by it for his entire life. But I do think death is a part of the job for him- not just possible civilian causalities, but his own potential death. He speaks plainly about how he might die in the lie of duty, and he narrowly avoided it more than once, with others dying in his place..

He walked into the line of fire with harry expecting for of them to die, and his quick fingers on the trigger made it so they lived another day. Even if more ghost joined the list that hunts him in his sleep, he is alive. He goes on. He can't afford to fix this habit, as much as he wants to.

So it's so horrible and so touching that when Dros asks "What have you done?" Kim says-

It's a tragedy, really. A wartime orphan who wanted to be a revolutionary pilot and played with Franconigerian knights, who grew up to be a cop, a job that slowly shapes his body into a killing machine. And when you ask what he does, what you both do, he says keep people alive.

[ramonathinks]

favorite girl | john price

cw: mdni, 18+, smut, mild angst. note: [listen to tantrums by normani for the full effect]

you're unbelievably drunk. whining for an ex boyfriend who you couldn’t believe broke up with you. but even worst is that you're horny. nobody has even been able to get you off like he has and you can't help but to think of him.

so with wobbly knees and a quivering voice you call him. you know he's probably in his penthouse with a cold beer in his hand not wanting to be bothered but yet...

“i didn't think you'd answer.”

“i'd always answer for you.” he still sounds the same, still talks like you're his and it just makes you angry. “it's pretty late.” you knew him, so you knew he was glancing at his rolex.

“’m sorry, are you tired?” the world is spinning and you're giggling.

you hear some rustling. “need me to come get you? send a car for you?”

“mhm. maybe.” you think. “no... i don't wanna see you. you broke my heart...old man.”

“listen, kid... it's better you're serious about somebody you're own age —” john started.

you sniffle, it's the speech all over again. “just forget i called. lose my number.”

you hang up and it's fast. but all you can think about is when everything was right.

of course things were different and crazy. he was in his mid 40's and you were barely 25. but it wasn't weird until he made it weird.

but before that, it was always just late night calls, and soft sex. you on your knees for him and keeping him in your mouth, even when he was soft but fuck did he love your young throat. always so tight, it felt like he was fucking your pussy all over again.

he loved the clothes you wore and how easy they were to get off, he would tease you and fuck you in his office chair.

he didn't seem that old until he took you to places that nobody your age would be interested in. it didn’t matter though. you even loved his taste in music.

you loved how he still knew how to work his phone and wasn't like those other old people who couldn't send a picture.

on his long business trips when you were too lazy to come with him, he'd send you videos tapping his cock against the screen and you were always surprised by just how hard he could get.

he didn't move young. especially on the dance floor. he taught you to waltz and got you a ball gown that made your skin glow.

he didn't move young when he'd throw you up against the wall and fuck you against all the walls in his house.

“you're so fucking good at taking me.” he'd whisper in your hair after slapping your ass.

and when he took you to his vacation house you thought it meant something. when he told you this was his favorite house.

taking his favorite girl to his favorite house.

sitting you on the marble counter and thrusting inside of you. squeezing and milking him with a chuckle, “i think i love you.”

it made him stop in his tracks. and suddenly you could see his grey hairs clearly.

he couldn't break up with you there nor could he do it to your face.

it took a few weeks before he did it. saying nonsense about how he was too old.

all you could do is cry.

and even though he sent a car for you, you couldn't dare to get inside and to smell his cologne all over. yet the driver continued to follow you… making sure you got home safely.

no part 2.

[thebearer]

making the bed |carmen berzatto x reader| part one

prompt: carmen's stressed. food critics, a newborn baby, balancing work life and married life and now dad life; he's bound to break, everyone knows it. but no one ever thought he'd lash out on you.

or, part one of the devastation fic. based off this ask from the other day. two more parts to come.

contains: mega angst. mega angst, with no resolution in this part. hurt, no comfort (in this chapter, will be later in part 3). mean!carmen, very mean. mom!reader x dad!carmen with newborn teddy. fighting, language, carmen says mean stuff he doesn't mean. past mentions of trauma, family trauma, mikey mentioned. very angsty and a little heavy, please read at your own discretion. word count- 3.5k+.

"Are you ok?"

Carmen now understood why that phrase used to send Donna into such a blind rage, lips pursing and jaw clenching more and more every time he heard it. First at work, then with you, it felt never ending.

It was beginning to feel like critic season with how many were coming in, snooty and demanding to be impressed. It couldn't have come at a worst time, right in the middle of busy season with the start of the holidays. Days at The Bear were filled with frantic panic, running around, making sure everything was perfect, accounted for, and Carmen always had the sinking feeling it wasn't- that he'd forgotten something, messed something up. 

It wasn't rare for him to work himself up like this, a normal that you always warned him about, but he'd always had a solitude. As long as he'd known you, he'd had a place to go, to unwind, to let himself rest and reset with you. And he still did, it was just shared now with a newborn.

Dorothea Michelle. Teddy, for short. The light of his life, yours too. Nearly two months old with a set of lungs that sounded much louder, much more developed than that. Nights were long, sleepless, spent trying to lull Teddy back to sleep, awake even if he wasn't up with her. Carmen couldn't allow himself the selfishness to relax, to rewind, to "take it easy" like everyone told him to. At work, he was the boss; at home, he was a dad.

"Fuck, fuck," Carmen's sleepy stare was broken by a lick of bubbling heat, the lamb's roux popping with the high heat, splashing all over Carmen's chef whites.

"Jeff, c'mon," Tina clicked, shaking her head, moving the pan to lower heat. "What're you doin'?"

Carmen grit his teeth, snatching a rag off the stainless steel counter tops, scrubbing the burgundy stain, huffing when it only spread the stain.

"What happened?" Sydney turned, looking from the burnt sauce to Carmen's stained chef shirt. "Oh,"

"Do we have a spare coat?" Carmen huffed, throwing the rag down with a firm smack against the counter.

"I don't think so, Carm." Sydney shook her head. "You took the last ones home with you two days ago. The wine-"

"-I know, Chef, I know." Carmen snapped, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I-I can't fuckin' serve the critics lookin' like this. With shit all over me- fuck."

"Hey, easy, easy," Richie turned the corner, his hands held up. "What's goin' on?"

"Jeff got sauce over him. He doesn't have any clean clothes." Tina muttered, irritated that she had to fix his mess, more irritated that he wasn't taking care of himself. You have a baby, Jeff, you need to rest and take some time, she'd told him. Carmen only waved her off.

"Okay, okay, hey, that's no problem." Richie's voice raised, lifting over Carmen's. "You go home and change, get your spare, check on my beautiful goddaughter, and then come back with your A game. Yes?"

Carmen didn't even humor him with a snarky remark, yanking his coat off and stomping towards the office to grab his things. Richie and Tina looked at each other, shaking their head gently.

"Kids runnin' thin, T." Richie muttered with a sigh. "He's gonna break. It's gonna be bad."

"Yeah, he is. Gonna wear himself out before then." Tina shook her head. "Jeff needs a vacation." They both jumped at the slamming of the backdoor, Carmen's angry exit shaking the foundation.

"Needs to be fuckin' medicated. Fuckin' lunatic." Richie scoffed, rolling his eyes at Carmen's dramatics.

The drive home was filled with silence, Carmen's iron grip on the wheel, tearing through the traffic towards the house- his house, his home. 

Home, but it didn't provide the same comfort that it usually did. Carmen's shoulders still stayed tense, buzzing with rage, not dissipating when he thought of you, or of Teddy, knowing you'd both be there, excited to see him. 

You jumped at the sound of the car door slamming, peeking out the window to see Carmen's parked next to yours, furiously stomping up the front steps. You frowned, grabbing the baby monitor, walking towards the front door.

Carmen nearly hit you with how fiercely he flung the door open. "Woah," You reached for the door, stopping it before he could flick it shut. "Carm, don't slam it. Teddy's asleep. I just got her down." You frowned at him, shutting it slowly.

Carmen looked at you but didn't speak, looking through you with a rage that had your spine tingling before he finally broke his gaze, stomping towards the laundry room. "Carm? What’re you doing home? Don’t you have dinner soon?" You hesitated slightly, lingering in the doorway with an uncertainty you hadn’t felt with Carmen before. 

Carmen didn’t answer, his jaw still ground tight while he rummaged through the clean clothes, carelessly unfolding and shifting the folded clothes.

"Carmen," You said more firmly, caching his gaze. He didn't speak still, just stared at you- through you. "Are you ok?" You lifted a brow, features softening in worry.

Carmen paused, eyes closing, shoulders tensing in agitation. Are you ok? His ears rang, a familiar rage that he hadn't felt in years bubbling up deep in his chest. Frustrated and blinding and rampant, heat rushing through his veins, pulling himself further and further from reality into someplace different- someplace darker in his mind. 

"What's wrong?" You pressed, he could barely hear it, ears ringing at your question. "Did something happen? Did the critic come-"

"-Where's my chef whites?" Carmen barked, cutting you off, his chest tightening more and more with every heavy heave of his chest. You flinched at his tone.

"Uh, I-I haven't seen the whites. I washed your white tee-"

“-You what? Y-You what?” Carmen spat, eye widening with a wild, raged glint in his eye. Your stomach flipped and fell with fear, stepping back instinctively. 

“I-I washed your tee, Carm, that’s all that you left in the laundry basket-” 

"-Are you fucking kidding me?" Carmen boomed, his head spinning, body buzzing with rage. Your breath hitched, frozen in fear at the anger in his tone, the roar of his voice bouncing off the walls, echoing through your ears in a painful drum. 

Carmen moved, snatching the dirty clothes basket, dumping it into the ground with a shake until the dirty chef coat fell on top. He gripped the basket, flinging it across the room with a hard throw. The final push to his bad mood that sent him right over the edge, crashing into a pit of blinding fury, aggravation, breaking him from the inside out.

"Fuck!" Carmen roared, his voice shaking the walls, your breath leaving your lungs in a trembling exhale of fear. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is- This is- Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” 

You tensed in shock, gripping the baby monitor in fear, maybe surprise, as it started to buzz to life with Teddy's startled whimpers. Her small cries pulled you out of your frozen state, something deeper than fear replacing the ache in your stomach. 

"Carmen-" You gaped, voice wobbling with uncertainty, taking slow shuffled steps towards the stairs. “Carmen, calm-calm down. Ok? Calm down.” 

“Calm down? You want me to fuckin’ calm down?” Carmen sneered, an angry red flush blossoming in splotchy deep hues up his neck, towards his cheeks. “You don’t do shit, nothin’ that I fuckin’ ask for! Just sit around all fuckin’ day an-and I’m supposed to calm down?” 

“Carmen,” Your voice wobbled, throat tight with tears, hurt and fear strangling your words. “I-You didn’t ask me to wash them. I-I didn’t know. They weren’t in the hamper-” 

“-I shouldn’t have to ask you to wash them!” Carmen roared, eyes so wide you thought they might pop right out of his head, neck vein protruding on exemplifying his rage. “You know what I’m going through! You know how much fuckin’ stress I’m under! I go to that-that shit hole, an-and work my fuckin’ ass off so you don’t have to! Then I come home, and I-I can’t even get a second of peace!” 

“Stop,” You hiss, finally regaining your composure, his words fully sinking into you  now, feeling the full effect of them. “I-I just had a baby. I’m still on maternity leave taking care of a baby- our baby, and I’m tired too. But I’m not yelling at you-” 

“-Oh, right. Right.” Carmen laughs sarcastically, humorless as he runs his hand down his face. It felt mocking, left you feeling small and too vulnerable for your liking. “Because in between your napping an-and feeding, you couldn’t stick a fucking jacket in the wash, right? You’re so busy.”  

“What is wrong with you?” You snap, hoping he can’t hear the tears in your voice, the way your voice shakes with emotion. 

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me?” Carmen scoffs, throwing his hands out. “I get no fuckin' sleep, go work my fuckin' ass off, a-and then I come home so I can go back and work my ass off some more, and-and you can’t do one simple fuckin’ thing? You can’t help me out? And then you wanna know what’s wrong with me? When you sit on your ass all fuckin’ day-” 

Teddy’s piercing wail pulls you out of your shocked trance, nose and throat burning with hurt filled tears you refuse to shed. Instead, you turn, climbing the stairs on shaky legs, the sound of Teddy’s cries growing louder and louder. Anchovy watches you from the top of the stairs, sensing the tension, your upset, sliding against your leg as if to comfort you. 

Carmen scoffs, hands buzzing and trembling with rage, the ringing in his ears growing louder and louder with each of your footsteps on the stairs and down the hall. He can barely hear Teddy’s sobs, hands threading through his hair, pulling at his scalp. He sees you walk towards the bedroom, quickly, hugging Teddy to your chest. 

“Oh, don’t go fuckin’ do it now!” Carmen roared, your ignoring him only infuriating him further. “It won’t be ready in time now. I’ll just look like a fuckin’ idiot for the critic tonight! Not that you care! Why would you, huh? I-I mean just our livelihood, just our fuckin’ income!” 

You swallowed back your tears, head tilting towards the ceiling, hands shaking with every shove of your things into the overnight bag. Just enough to get you through the night, the next day. A few essentials, Teddy’s spare onesies, a charger, your wallet- you stopped mid-shove of your items into the weekender bag, the sun’s rays catching in your wedding ring. Your heart fell, more and more, you weren’t sure how that was even possible. 

Carmen’s furious voice was still booming from downstairs, ringing and shaking in his furious fit. Richie and Sugar both warned you about Carmen’s tantrums, brought them up to embarrass him, tease him about it until he was red faced and hissing hushed threats at them. You never, never in your wildest dreams thought you’d be on the receiving end of one. 

You jumped, another slam of something Carmen had thrown, maybe hit in a fit of rage, causing Teddy to wail louder, Anchovy skittering nervously away. Tears leaked out of your eyes, twisting the ring off your finger, setting it on Carmen’s bedside table. Pulling the carrier out of the closet, Anchovy got in much easier than usual, which you were thankful for. 

Carmen was gripping the marble of the countertop when he heard you again, walking from the bottom of the stairs, quick steps towards the door to the garage, Teddy’s voice nearly hoarse from her crying. You kept your head high, tunnel-visioned towards your car, ignoring his heavy breathing and frantic pacing. 

“Wha-What are you doin’?” Carmen’s voice was softer now, still with a jagged edge that was cutting and harsh. The car door opened, the baby carrier hooked into the car seat. 

“Hey, wha- what are you- where’re you goin’? What’re you doin’?” Carmen’s heart dropped in a damning rush of hour, stumbling on heavy legs towards the garage. You ignored him, shushing Teddy gently, running a calming hand over her wet cheek, trying to coax her paci into her mouth. 

“Baby, no-no, no. Hey, no, I-I- What-” Carmen’s chest felt tight, mind numbing and racing, stuttering nervously. You reached for your bag, his hand reaching to grab the strap. “Whe-Where’re you-”

“-Don’t touch me.” You hissed, teeth bared, eyes shining with tears. Carmen flinched, pulling his hand back like he’d touched a hot stove. “Don’t you dare fucking touch me.” You sneered, pinning him with a watery glare that had his stomach turning in sickening fear. 

“Baby, hey, w-wait-C’mon, d-don’t-You don’t, you don’t need to do this, ok? I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Carmen choked out the words, frantic and unsure, his hands shaking when they ghosted over you back just for a moment. Wanting to touch you, to hold you, to grab you and keep you from leaving, but too scared to. Instead, he grabbed the car door you flung open, holding it when you tried to yank it closed. 

“Let go.” You hissed, sniffling back wet, snotty tears of fury and hurt. 

“Please, don’t-do-don’t do this. Please, baby, I-I’m sorry.” Carmen begged, blue eyes deepening with the burning red hues of tears, bloodshot and lashes wet. “Don’t-Don’t do this-” 

“-I didn’t do this.” You sneered, leaving Carmen flinching at your words. “Don’t you dare try to say this was me. After how you just talked to me? The shit you said to me in there? You think I’m going to stay?” Your voice cracked with emotion, lips pressing together to keep a cry in. 

“No, no, no, no, no, baby, please. Please, ju-just come inside. Come inside, please? Please, don’t-” 

“You don’t get to talk to me like that. To say that kinda stuff to me. That hurt, Carmen. That was mean.” You glared at him, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes. “I don’t care if you’re stressed. I don’t care what’s going on- nothing, and I mean nothing, warrants you talking to me like that. Just because you fucked up, because you forgot to ask me to do it, because you’re stressed out- I don’t care what it is. You don’t talk to me like that, say those things when I’ve been home all day taking care of my ch- our child.” You nod back towards the sniffling baby, whimpering and crying half heartedly, her little eyelids drooping with sleep that was interrupted. 

Carmen felt sick, his knees tightening in fear, he was sure they might give out, that he might fall to the ground right there. Looking at the tiny baby, lip jutted and shaking in the mirror hooked on the back of the seat, then back at you, eyes red-rimmed and glaring at him with a hurt filled anger. 

“Don’t-” Carmen’s chest shook, a white-knuckled grip on the door. 

Your own hand curled around the door’s inner handle, yanking it away from him. “Move,” You hissed, pulling again. 

Carmen wasn’t sure why he let it go, why he let you shut it, locking the door in case he tried to open it again. Why he let you pull out of the driveway, why he didn’t stop you, why he didn’t run after you, only taking soft shuffles down the drive like a zombie as you drove away. Standing in the drive, Carmen swallowed down the spit that pooled in his mouth, stomach churning, sure he was going to be sick. 

He managed to trudge back to the garage, mind racing and far away, the ringing in his ears dulling but still deafening. It felt like he was in a dream- a nightmare, a hallucinating trance that felt like a sick, sick dream- Carmen was hoping it was. That he’d wake up and find you next to him asleep. That he could hug you, pull you into him, nose buried in your neck, still warm from your slumber. 

As the sun began to sink low into the sky, minutes turning into hours that Carmen sat motionless in the garage, staring in a trancelike state, he realized that this wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. No this was his reality, a horrific reality that he’d made into his own. Carmen sat, eyes trained on the concrete of the garage, voice racing and blending in his mind- his words, yours, Teddy’s cries, Natalie and Richie’s, flashbacks of his mother screaming fits. 

He didn’t move, frozen in chilling, eerie fear. What ifs and terrifying possible scenarios, consequences to his own actions that left him feeling sick, hands trembling. A spiraling of fears that only drug him deeper and deeper with every haunting replay of his outburst. Even the flashing of headlights turning into the driveway, filling the garage with light, didn’t pull him from his trance. 

“The fuck is he- Cousin!” Richie roared, laying on the horn. Carmen didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge that he heard it, only stared. Richie frowned, turning the car off, throwing the door open. 

“Cousin? Carm? What-What are you doin’? Dinner service started an hour ago. Syd is freakin’ the fuck out.” Richie threw his hands up, walking towards the man who still didn’t move. Richie’s heart skipped, flashbacks of Mikey flooding into his vision, parallels of the two brothers blurring before him. 

“Yo, Carm, you-you good?” Richie stepped into the garage, his spine tingling with icy fear. It was quiet, an eerie, unsettling quiet. “Cousin, hey, what-what’s wrong?” 

Carmen's chest rose and fell, tighter and tighter. He was suffocating, head spinning and mind racing so fast he felt light headed. He could barely hear Richie’s voice over the noise in his head, Richie’s hand shaking his shoulder finally breaking his trance enough to meet his eyes, rounded in fear filled question. 

“Carmen, what’s wrong? Is it- Don’t fuckin’ tell me it’s the baby. What the fuck is goin’ on-” 

“-She left.” Carmen’s voice shook, raspy and scared. His tongue still felt too thick, head still spinning. He wasn’t even sure he said it, Richie’s widening eyes the only thing confirming that he had said it. 

“What? Who-Who left? Who?” Richie looked around, like the clues might be there, sure that Carmen wasn’t talking about you. No, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t. Not you. 

Carmen’s breath hitched, a strangling of a sob caught in his throat, running his hand over his face. Richie didn’t miss the way it trembled, shaking even as it rested over his eyes. Your car was gone, the house too quiet, no baby Teddy crying, nothing but silence was left. 

Richie’s heartbeat crawled into a rapid, scared pace. “Why? Wh-Why would she-” Richie looked at Carmen, eyes wide but still, reading his expression. “No. No, Cousin, no. What-What did you do? Carmen,” Richie grabbed both his shoulders, shaking him lightly until he met his gaze. “What did you do?” 

Carmen’s face began to crack, behind his eyes, Richie could see flashbacks of something- something he didn’t know what, but whatever it was, it was painful. That was evident by the fear that glossed over Carmen’s eyes, realization and horror. Carmen’s shoulders shook, frame rocking with a sob he tried to swallow, but couldn’t. Deep cries, guttural sobs breaking out of his frame, heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, fingers curled and clenched around his greasy curls in agony. 

The damning realization flooded over him, that you’d left. 

You’d left, you’d taken Teddy, taken Anchovy- you’d left because he’d driven you away. His angry outburst, petulant, mean, hurtful- he’d been so cruel to you. You. His wife, the love of his life, mother of his child, the one person who loved him endlessly without stipulations or boundaries, the one person who truly understood him. 

And he’d driven you away. 

He wished he could blame his mom, his dad, his family for fucking him up so severely, maybe Mikey, even, for leaving him the shit show that was the restaurant, making his anxieties worse and fuse shorter. But sitting in the empty garage, Richie standing above him in silent shock, his sobs and angry sniffles echoing off the cement floor, Carmen knew he had no one to blame but himself. 

He’d fucked up. Really fucked up. Fucked up in a way that made all the other times look obsolete. 

Carmen had fucked up, and for once, he didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t avoid it, ignore it, deflect it like other times. Half hearted apologies and promises of change wouldn’t work, you weren’t here for him to even try to give them to you, and he didn’t know where you went. 

Carmen wasn’t sure where you went, how to fix this, why he’d done what he did, and a million other things that raced through his mind. What he did know, sitting in the too quiet garage, chest stuttering with heaving cries, was that he’d do anything. 

Anything, to get you back home. To make it right. To fix this and make it up to you. 

He wasn’t sure how, but he’d give up everything. Anything. His restaurant, his dreams, his hopes, his life, at this point, to make it up to you. 

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

-

part 5.5

[syddsatyrn]

⛧Devotion is Love with Wings⛧ Chapter Two: Emotions Unveiled

Ch1 / Ch2 / Ch3 / Ch4

⛧Pairing: - Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

⛧Warnings: Alcohol, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, king x servant, panic attack, heartbreak, happy ending.

⛧Words: 2.5K

⛧Summary: Feelings surface and the line between duty and desire begins to blur. Admitting your feelings to the King of Hell could be the best or worst thing that's ever happened to you. Lucifer battles with his own internal struggles in silence.

⛧Notes: Ask and you shall receive, my dears! You all asked me for a part two so here we go! Keep an eye out for my next fic because its time for some Alastor content! My beta reader is @hellfiremunsonn and she deserve all the rainbows and cupcakes.

⛧Tag list: @loslox @tiedyedghoulette @naiadic

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As the soft rays of the morning sun seeped through the velvet curtains, you slowly opened your eyes, blinking a few times, adjusting to the gentle light. Despite the room still cloaked in soothing darkness, you knew you were in Lucifer's room. It takes you a moment to recall last night's events. You feel his breath on the back of your neck and his arm around your midsection. You can feel your face get hotter with every detail you take in. He is comfortably curled up behind you sound asleep. He needs rest, you’re afraid to move a muscle and wake him. You look over at the clock on the wall, you both are extremely late for breakfast.

“...Shit.” You say under your breath. Lucifer begins to move slightly, he lets out a soft hum and holds you just a bit closer. You can’t tell if he’s awake or not, even though you truly did not want to get out of bed, it had to be done. You slowly sit up and turn around, you almost place your hand on his shoulder but you take a moment to admire his sweet sleeping face. Instead, you gently place your hand on his cheek. Lucifer’s eyes flutter open, he meets your gaze and gives you a sleepy smile.

“Good morning…” He says softly while holding your wrist, keeping your hand on his cheek. You wanted to pull away, but his eyes made you want to just crawl back into his arms and go back to sleep.

“G-Good Morning, sir.” You stutter a little, Lucifer’s smile turns into a small smirk, he is amused by how flustered you are. He finally lets go and you try to compose yourself, but it's hard to do so when he looks so cute.

“I’ll go get some coffee, it looks like we slept in.” You finally break the spell he had on you and crawl out of his bed. When you leave, Lucifer immediately misses your presence close to him, having you next to him made a significant difference in his mood and sleep. It was the first time he’d felt the warmth of another person in a long time, and now that he’s had a taste, he wants more.

You head down the hall to your room, when you enter you quickly shut the door, thankful no one saw you. You get dressed in your uniform and head downstairs to the kitchen. While you made coffee, the staff were surprised to see you so late into the morning. You make up a quick excuse, stating you were not feeling well but you’re doing much better now so it's nothing to worry about.

You take two cups of coffee upstairs on a silver tray, and you do your best to mentally shift into work mode, but you can't stop thinking about last night. You return to his room, the king is still in bed, sporting a satisfied look on his face. You hand him his coffee and place the tray on the bedside table. 

“Thank you, my dear.” He says and gestures for you to sit on the bed, so you take your cup from the tray and have a seat.

“I want to apologize.” You start, and he looks at you with a raised brow. “I shouldn't have fallen asleep in your quarters. That was inappropriate of me.”

“I’m gonna stop you there, you do exactly what is asked of you. Everything you do is for my benefit. I could never be upset with you for something like that.” He says with a gentle voice. His gold eyes soften as he realizes you’re being serious.

“Thank you…” You reply, just barely above a whisper. His words made you feel a little better, you only want to do what's best for your king…but sometimes you can get carried away. You would do anything for him, that includes bending the rules.

“Now stop sulking.” He says and crawls over to you, sitting beside you on the bed. He is seated rather close, you look away trying to hide your red face. He turns your face back towards him using his index finger and thumb. “You’re too pretty to be so sad.”

“Y-You forget yourself, sir.” You stutter, barely keeping it together. You finish your coffee and return the cup to the tray. When you stand up and walk towards the wardrobe, Lucifer chuckles at your attempt to remain dignified. He is knocking down walls with the way he speaks to you. Breaking down each professional boundary one at a time. His touch was setting you on fire and you were running out of ways to extinguish it.

You sort through his clothes and pull out a black suit with red and white embellishments. You set it on the corner of the bed like you always do. “I’ll make sure I have your lunch ready for you in your study, sir” You say quickly, with a red blush spread across your face, you take the tray and quickly excuse yourself.

You rush down the hall and back to your room. Your chest heaves and you're out of breath. What in the devil's name happened there?! He looked like he was going to kiss you, his face was so close and he called you pretty! What is this idiot doing? You cover your face with your sleeves and pace back and forth in your room.

You always prided yourself on your composure. You navigate life’s twists and turns with a steady hand and a level head. At first, you brushed off these fluttering feelings as a mere passing fancy. You find yourself in front of a mental crossroads, on one hand, there is the exhilarating rush of new emotions. On the other was fear of rejection, an unconventional relationship, and possible heartbreak. If you ruin what you have with Lucifer, you will end up with nothing. All your years climbing the hierarchy would be null and void.

But what if it was possible? No, it couldn't be, there was just no way. As far as you are aware, you’ve never heard of such a situation that ended well. This can’t possibly be happening, you need some time to sort yourself out. But at some point, you are going to see him again today and you’re not sure how you’ll handle it. You always buried your feelings deep within your heart, locking them away like a precious treasure hidden from prying eyes. You’d like to think you're capable of continuing this facade, but this time you are not so sure.

-----------------

Lucifer sighs as you leave the room, your reactions are rather fascinating though. He gets up and takes his clothes to the bathroom to dress himself. Lucifer is well aware of the power dynamic here, and he has a habit of pushing things as far as he can. It comes with the territory of normally having anything he wants. He buttons his vest and looks at himself in the mirror. So what if he had a thing for his advisor? He wonders if he’s just lonely and that’s why he’s acting this way…even if that was true, it wouldn’t explain the relief he feels every time you enter a room. He puts on his coat, straightens his hat, and leaves his room to spend time in his study. 

He opens the door and notices his lunch is sitting on his desk along with some invoices to sign and an overview of yesterday's meeting. This is unusual, you normally bring him his meal and check in on his daily progress at this time. This is cause for concern, indeed. Was Y/N avoiding him? Surely that can't be true, they would never just ignore him like that. He slumps into his chair, wondering if he messed up somehow. 

Did he ruin the years of trust they had built? He still wants her around, he would hate the idea of anyone else taking your place. The more he thought about it the more the pit in his stomach grew. He attempts to eat but can’t put down much food, his nerves are making it difficult to eat. He needs to find you and apologize, he has to make this right somehow. 

-----------------

Hours go by and you’ve done your best to avoid Lucifer at all costs, but you can't keep this up forever. You are standing on a large balcony in the dining room wearing your pajamas. The sun has set and the stars are visible in the sky, there is a chill in the air. You let out a defeated sigh, you’re going to have to tell him or forget about your feelings completely. You fear that if you confessed your love, the delicate threads that bind you both together would fray and snap. If you forget and try to move on, how bad is it going to hurt when he finds a new love? It would ache so bad you might have to leave his manor entirely, you knew that if that were to happen, it would shatter Lucifer's heart.

You feel a few drops of rain fall on your skin, and as each minute passes the rain becomes heavier and heavier. You look out into the courtyard, it’s getting late and you should be heading inside but you stand there, tears in your eyes. How could you be so foolish and self-centered? You knew the rules and you chose to defy them, it's your own fault you feel so awful.

Suddenly the rain is no longer hitting you, you don't feel the cold drops on your face anymore. You turn around and Lucifer is standing in the doorway, his large wing covers you, shielding you from the rain.

“Hey…Can we talk?” He says with a soft look of concern on his face. You nod while wiping your face with your sleeves, he motions for you to come back inside. He walks slightly ahead of you, leading you upstairs to his bedroom. He opens the door for you and gives you a small half-smile. Lucifer walks over to his desk and pours you both a glass of bourbon. He hands you a glass and you take a seat at the small table next to the window. He sits across from you, you can tell he's a bit anxious because he keeps looking away. You take a sip from your drink, hoping the alcohol will settle your nerves. 

The ambiance of the dimly lit room, the soft glow of candlelight danced upon his face. With a hesitant breath, Lucifer cleared his throat. 

“I need to apologize to you,” Lucifer says with a despairing look on his face. “I’m sure you’ve felt confused and in distress all day.” He takes a sip of his drink while trying to find the right words. “Before I begin, let me just say that I think so highly of you. Y/N, you’ve been there for me during every awful situation I’ve faced and I am so grateful for you.”

He grabs your hand and his expression changes to a more serious one. “I don't want you to leave my side. I couldn’t bear it if I did something to make you leave.”

“Sir, I–” You try to speak but Lucifer interrupts you.

“Y/N. I need you to drop the formalities for ten minutes, please.” He cuts you off and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Is there something going on between us or am I just a lonely, divorced, delusional, man making it all up in my head so I don't feel so shitty about my life?”

You are shocked by his words, you had no idea he felt that way about himself. 

“You’re not delusional, Lucifer.” You answer, it takes you a moment to gather your thoughts and put them in order. “It's all my fault, really. I guess after all this time I’ve developed some feelings.”

Lucifer’s eyes widen, his face softens and he squeezes your hand and you look back into his eyes with a small smile. “I think I just got carried away, I know nothing can happen between us. It would be unacceptable and irredeemable. I’m the delusional one, to think you could ever love someone like me.” You reply while looking down at your drink, your finger toying with the rim of the glass.

Without a word, without warning, Lucifer leaned over the table and grabbed ahold of your shirt. He pulls you close so that you are face to face, leaning over the table. You could feel his breath on your lips as he said, “Love doesn't adhere to rules or expectations, darling. I will choose to defy every convention, every decree if it means I get to spend the rest of my life devoted to someone I love.”

Tears started to well up in your eyes, he slowly closed the gap between you both. His lips softly pressed against yours. Time stopped in that moment, amidst the chaos of entangled emotions. The taste was bittersweet, you’ve only ever dreamed of this. His hand lets go of your shirt and caresses your face. You kiss him back with fervor, a silent confession that speaks volumes. Both of you daring to defy the boundaries of monarchy and courtier.

You lace your fingers with his, he stands up and pulls you out of your seat. You practically fell into his arms, Lucifer held the back of your head, the other arm wrapped around your waist.

Your tears flowed freely as you hid your face in his chest. He holds you tight, offering you silent comfort as you let out quiet sobs. Lucifer strokes your hair and kisses the top of your head.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize…” He says, barely above a whisper. “Just let me take care of you for once, my love.” Before you can protest, Lucifer scoops you up and gently places you on his bed. He climbs in and pulls the covers over you both. He wipes your tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve and smiles at you while you take the time you need to calm down. 

“C’mon, babe say something…You’re killing me.” He says, waiting for you to speak with bated breath.

“I love you…” You say between staggered breaths. Your eyes are locked on his, somehow Lucifer blows through the many walls you’ve put up to prevent this and you are left bare and vulnerable. It is terrifying, being this helplessly in love. Bearing the fragments of your heart to the person who held it entirely.

“I love you too, dummy.” His smile is sweet like saccharine, his voice is smooth like silk. Your lips met his once more while your fingers card through his hair. He kept you as close as possible, and in the hush of the night amidst the whispered confessions, you and your king curled up together and fell asleep once again in each other's arms. No sovereign, demon or angel could pull you two apart even if they tried. 

[cornsoupflavour]

Dear, Mr. Manager (Twice NSFW Smut)

[ Sick Day Pt. 2 – See Pt. 1 ]

⚠️18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI⚠️

TWICE Momo Hirai x Manager!Male Reader

Tags: 3.9k words, wholesome, manager x idol, multiple creampies, phone sex, romance, mutual masturbation, caught in the act, date, squirting, slight comedy

"Hey girls... Back already?" you asked, Momo still impaled on your softening cock, her tits pressing against your chest. Jihyo, who was at the front, slowly and silently closed the door as the girls opted to wait outside till you two were done. You and Momo shared a quick and embarrassed glance as you both scrambled to get up and get dressed. However, the two of you weren't able to keep too far apart from each other, sharing a passionate kiss or two amidst the scuffle. Once you were done, you left the room as Momo stayed. She gave you a floating kiss as you left. Outside, you bumped into the rest of the girls.

"Mr. Manager!" Nayeon gasped as the others shook their heads in embarrassment and disbelief. "We expected so much better from you..." Tzuyu pouted, as she walked in with the others. Jihyo stayed behind, closing the door so the girls couldn't hear your conversation. "Y/N, I–I can't believe this..." she brought her fingers to her nose bridge, "...alright, what's done is done– I'll have a talk with Momo and see how she feels about this. If I get any semblance that she was coerced, or forced, or anything like that... You. Are. Dead. You hear me?"

Despite being her manager, Jihyo still knew how to strike fear into your heart. Perhaps it's the overall Muscle Mommy vibe. You nodded in acknowledgement of what she said. "Hope you two had a good time... we might have to request for new bedsheets now..." she sighed, waving you off. You watched as she entered the room before making haste back to your car. As you sat in your car trying to process the events of the day, you decided it was best for you to drive home and maybe give the girls some space for a bit.

About a week or so later, you get a text message from Jihyo. "Y/N, I'd like to schedule a meetup with you. It's important." Immediately, alarm bells started ringing in your head and you accepted the meetup request. As you arrived at the meetup venue, you noticed Momo and Jihyo sitting at a table. Oh shit, did you knock Momo up already? Damn, this is bad... You enter the venue and take a seat at their table, an awkward silence surrounded the three of you.

"Hello, Mr. Manager. Momo here has something she wants to tell you." Jihyo started, not doing much to help ease your anxiety about the situation. You braced yourself as Momo opened her mouth.

"Mr. Manager... I'd like to... pursue a romantic relationship with you..." Momo confessed. You sat shocked, your mouth agape. That’s it? Phew... "Momo... Are you sure? Have you spoken to Jihyo about this?"

"She has. And she is a grown woman, I can't really dictate who she wants to date, I'm not her mom. But I am here to make sure your managerial duties remain done appropriately despite being with Momo. Can we agree on that?"

"Yeah, of course. I think this will only keep me closer to you guys if you guys need any help or whatsoever."

"Good. I guess you two are dating now... Thank goodness for the lack of boundary–breaking paparazzi... I'm sure in some other universe, you two would be screwed."

"Well, we did screw each other~" Momo joked, Jihyo's face scrunching up as she cringed. "Momo, that's the worst attempt at a joke I've ever heard you say," Jihyo shook her head, playfully repulsed by Momo's terrible sense of humour.

You shared some last few exchanges before Jihyo got up, followed by yourself and Momo. As the three of you parted ways, you decided to take Momo out on a proper date. You booked a fancy restaurant, and drove Momo back to her shared apartment with Nayeon. You walked Momo up to her door as she went in to change, Nayeon gave you a flirty wave as the door opened, prompting a playful punch by Momo.

"Nice suit. You guys heading out for a date~?" Nayeon asked teasingly.

"Why yes, we are. Wanna come?" you returned the same attitude back at her. Nayeon nodded approvingly as she returned to her own activity. You couldn't help but feel nervous as you waited patiently. You've had your fun on that fateful day, but now it's the time to take things slow, and you didn't know if you were up for the challenge.

Suddenly, Momo walked out of her room, her hair flowing down onto her chest, wearing an elegant but dominating, figure–hugging blazer dress, she was absolutely stunning. Your heart skipped a beat as she approached you, her eyes lighting up at the sight of you. You stood frozen, your lips quivering.

"Momo... You look... gorgeous..." you complimented her, your eyes digesting her entire look. Nayeon gave the two of you a knowing glance as you extended your arm out to her. As Momo locked arms with you, you walked her back to your car and set off for the restaurant. Upon arriving, you were seated at your reserved table.

As you ordered, the two of you talked about everything – from your childhood to your dreams, and even shared your favorite movies, songs, and TV shows. It was a comfortable silence as you both laughed and enjoyed the small talk. The food arrived, and you took turns feeding each other, causing the other diners to give you judgmental stares.

The two of you decided to keep the PDA to a minimum as to not rile up the other guests. "Momo, are you okay with me taking this slow?" you asked, wanting to make sure she was up for a steady pace.

Momo swallowed her bite, setting the fork down before responding, "Of course. I appreciate you taking the time to get to know me outside the stage... especially since it felt like we skipped a few steps the last time..."  Her eyes shone with contentment and reminisce as her hands reached for yours under the table, her thumb caressing tracing circles on the back of your hand. "I'm excited to see what's in store for us," she added, her smile bright, showing her eagerness for the future.

As the night went on, you decided to end it with a little stargazing session. You drove to a nearby cliffside parking lot. The two of you climbed onto the hood of your car and gazed upwards into the forever–expanding vacuum that was space.

"I hope you had a good time tonight, Momo."

"I did, Mr. Manager..." she responded, her body leaning onto yours.

"Please, call me Y/N."

Momo gave you a wide and warm smile as she nodded. Before long, your lips connected under the starry night sky in a deep and loving kiss. A manager dating an idol under his name is often considered taboo, but who's really keeping up with the semantics of it all?

It was late and was about time for the both of you to get home. You helped Momo back into your car as you drove back to her apartment. "What's your address, Y/N?" Momo asked you. "I hope I'm not making you drive too far..." her burrows frowed in concern.

"Oh don't worry about it, Momo. I actually don't live too far away from you. So once I get you back home safe, I can just drive back to my place." 

"Momo, before we get to your place, I have a question for you. If we're gonna be together, I want to make sure we're on the same page. Do you want to keep this a secret for now?"

Momo thought for a moment. "I'm okay with that, for now. Let's keep it between us, Y/N." She gave you a reassuring smile, your fingers still entwined with hers as you drove. The two of you reached her apartment. After walking her up to her apartment, she unlocked her door. "You want to come in for a bit? I'm afraid that you might be too tired to drive..."

"It's alright. I'll be okay. Plus, I don't wanna bother Nayeon," your lips curled as you bid her farewell. But not before sharing a hungry kiss. You walked back to your car and drove back to your own apartment for the night. You went through your nightly routine before noticing you received several texts from Momo, with the inclusion of some spicy pictures.

You laid in bed, your phone illuminating the room as you scrolled through Momo's texts. You bit your bottom lip as you admired the pictures she had sent. Before you knew it, your phone buzzed, a notification that Momo was calling you.

Your heart raced as you answered the call, "Hello?"

"Hey, Y/N..." Momo whispered, her voice sensual and inviting. "I'm going to do something naughty~ Wanna see?"

"Oh? And what might that be?" You replied, trying to maintain your composure.

"I'm taking off my dress..." she whispered, as she turned her video feed on. She placed the phone on her bed, leaning against the wall as she continued, "...and I want you to describe to me how hard you're getting just by watching me~"

Your breath hitched, the sight of Momo sensually stripping before you, her body on full display, was enough to send a surge of heat to your cock. "Momo, just the thought of you standing there, your dress sliding down, revealing your beautiful body... Let alone getting to watch it? I'm already at attention, baby... Aching to be inside you..."

Momo continued to undress herself and before long, you watched as the dress she wore to your date fell, pooling at her ankles. "It's off, Y/N. I'm standing here, all naked for you... you're making me so wet just by talking to me~" her voice was breathy, her need for you evident in her tone.

Your breathing grew heavy, your hand already making its way to your growing erection through your boxers. "Fuck... I wish I was there with you, Momo... I would worship your body, starting from your neck, making my way down, tracing my tongue along your collarbone, kissing those gorgeous, soft tits... It pisses me off that I can't..."

Momo moaned out loud, "Yes, Y/N, keep going. Make me feel it."

"I'd take one of your nipples into my mouth and hold it steady with my teeth. I'd be sucking on it, flicking my tongue over it, making you moan. And then I'd move to the other one, repeating the same until you're begging for more."

"Oh, Y/N..." Momo's voice trembled, "Please, please continue..."

You watched as Momo shifted onto her bed, adjusting the camera so it would capture the sight of her beautiful flaps as she began rubbing her body, the distinct sound of fingers against skin. 

"Fuck... Y/N, don't stop..." Momo began pleasuring herself as you continued to paint her a picture of your desires. "I'd slide my hand down, my fingers now trailing along the crease of your waist, feeling the curve of your hips. My hand would continue down, arriving at your wet slit, my fingers now parting your soft folds..."

"Y/N– Y/N, please... I need more..." Momo's voice was desperate, her need for you tangible through the phone.

"I would slide three fingers deep inside you, feeling your walls clench around me. I'd thrust my fingers in and out, mimicking the way I'd be pounding you if I was there, our bodies moving in perfect sync, my finger sliding in and out, your moans getting louder and louder."

"Y/N– That's it– Mmmh~" Momo's moans grew more intense, "Y/N, I can't... I can't, I'm going to–"

Her voice cut off as she threw her head back. Her cries of pleasure echoed out in her room. You watched as she squirted onto her phone, her body succumbing to the pleasure you'd given her. That squirt turned you on so much that it sent your hand moving faster around your erection, your shaft slick with precum as you prepared for your own climax. "Fuck– Momo, your voice... I'm gonna c–cum..."

Your bodies were in sync, both of you reaching your peaks, the sounds of your climaxes filling your rooms, your breathing heavy as you both came down from your high. "Momo..." You whispered, your hand still wrapped around your softening dick.

"Y/N..." Momo replied, her voice hazy and spent. "That was... amazing..."

"Momo, I don't want to bother Nayeon, but if it's alright with you, I can come back over, and we can continue from where we left off."

Momo hesitated for a moment. "I... I'd love that. But please, be quiet. Nayeon's a light sleeper."

You chuckled, "Oh no... I'm not sure I'll be able to keep quiet while you're riding me..."

You hung up, quickly slipping into a pair of shorts, throwing your hard–on back into your underwear. You drove back to Momo's apartment, your heart racing as you approached the door. You messaged her to let you know you've arrived. A few soft footsteps later, Momo opened the door, her eyes wide in surprise. "You came back~". Her tone was playful, her gaze traveling down to the bulge in your shorts. You slipped inside, moving with the grace of a stealthy ninja. You smirked, "I'll do my best to be quiet, baby~" you whispered, as you stepped inside, closing the door softly behind you.Momo guided you to her room.

Momo's hands moved to the waistband of your shorts, yanking it down slightly as her hands gripped your erection. She began stroking it slowly. "Mmm... I can't wait to have you inside me, Y/N."

You helped Momo onto the bed, your lips meeting hers in a passionate kiss, your hands trailing down her body, exploring her curves as you kissed her. Your tongue dueled with hers, your bodies eager to have each other. You guided Momo to lie down, your hand moving to her core. "Momo, you ready?"

"Y/N, I've been waiting for you all night..." She replied breathlessly.

You grinned, positioning yourself between her legs. "I'm sorry, I can't quite hear you... Do you want me to take you?"

"Y/N, yes... Take me." Momo's eyes pleading with yours, her body inviting you in.

You lined yourself up with her entrance, letting out a slow but purposeful thrust, your body merging with hers. You both moaned, the pleasure between you unmistakable. Momo's hands gripping your back, her hips meeting with yours.

Pleasure coursed through you both, the delicious sound of skin slapping against skin, your thrusts deep, your hips rolling in sync with hers, your bodies lit by the moonlight streaming in from the window, the two of you coming together in a dance of passion. 

"Momo– you feel so good..." you moaned softly as your lips began to claim hers. You both reached for each other, your fingertips digging into her flesh, the two of you locked in each other's gaze, your hips slamming into each other, a carnal symphony of pleasure.

Your breath hitched, your release imminent. "Momo..." you stammered, your thrusts growing faster, your body trembling.

"Y/N... Do it, let go inside me... Fill me up... my dear, Mr. Manager~" Momo encouraged, her eyes bright with lust, the two of you hurtling towards the edge.

You met her gaze, your thrusts hitting harder, your release taking over, your body shuddering, her name escaping your lips, both of you melding together as you came, your body spasms rippling through you, your release coating Momo's insides.

Momo's body shivered, her moans mufflered by your chest, your hearts beating as one. You collapsed on top of her, your breaths heavy and ragged. You gazed into each other's eyes as you two let out a few more sultry moans. Your lips connected once more in a desperate kiss as you hear banging from the next room over.

"FUCK– Y/N– NNNGHH~!"

Both you and Momo turned your heads slowly towards the wall, your mouths hanging in confusion and intrigue.

"Mmmh– Fuck... Shit, I just squirted all over the floor–" the voice suddenly paused, "–wait, can you guys hear me?"

You turned your head away and chuckled as Momo pinched the bridge of her nose. "Yes. Nayeon– have you been listening to us the whole time?"

The voice went silent for a little. "Yeah, you kinda woke me up when you guys decided to have phone sex."

You broke out into a hearty laugh, unsure to be embarrassed or amused by the situation. Momo seemed to be playfully annoyed.

"Goddamn– you guys should do this here more often... maybe let me watch... that'd be nice, yeah..."

As Nayeon ran off to grab tissues from the kitchen, you and Momo shared another deep kiss before drifting off to sleep in each others' arms. The following day, you woke up and slowly detangled yourself from Momo so she wouldn't be startled awake. You gave her a quick kiss on her forehead before draping a blanket over her nude body. You made your way to the bathroom to freshen up for the morning. On the way, you pass by Nayeon's room.

"Mmmh– Nngh– Y/N... Just like that..." she seemed to be mumbling something in her sleep. Following your shower, you lent a bathrobe and headed to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. About an hour or so went by and the two girls finally awoke, Momo first and then Nayeon. Momo looked well–rested but Nayeon had an expression you couldn't describe. She stumbled over to the seats at the kitchen counter and waited for Momo to shower.

"Good morning, Nayeon. How was your sleep?"

"Morning Y/N– I mean, Mr. Manager... I take it as only Momo and Jihyo can call you that... but I only managed to sleep at like 3AM."

"I appreciate it, thank you. Oh no, why's that?"

Nayeon rubbed her eyes, before folding her arms on the counter and dropping her head onto them.

"I spent the whole night touching myself... to you."

You froze for a bit, your cheeks flushed. What a forward girl... In a way, you admired her honesty... but maybe some extra PR lessons in case... "W–Well, I'm flattered. But you know my current relationship with Momo, correct?"

She nodded, her eyes struggling to open. "I just wanna listen, is all. It's hot– You're both hot."

Your mouth hung open for a little, unsure of what to say. She's so blunt– Just then, Momo sauntered out of the bathroom, the towel she had on wrapping around her curves. She gave a slight wink before heading back into her room to get changed.

You gestured for Nayeon to head to the showers since Momo is out. She groggily dragged herself off the counter and waddled over to the bathroom. You shook your head slightly, amused at the different personalities of girls you've found yourself managing.

As you laid the breakfast out, Momo waltzed out of her room and walked over to you. She gave the breakfast a big sniff before turning to you and wrapping her arms around your neck. She pulled you into a spicy kiss as your hands gripped onto her waist gently.

"Mmmh~ Good morning, Y/N~ Is all this for me?"

"Well, you've gotta share some of it with Nayeon."

Momo gave you a teasing pout before grabbing a plate and picking which dishes she wanted to take. She playfully wiggled her plump jeans–clad ass in front of you like bait on the end of a fishing line. Tried as you might, but you couldn't resist her allure. You grabbed onto her hips and quickly pulled your cock out from its confines.

"Sorry, Momo... You're just irresistible..."

"Oh–!" Momo gasped as she felt the sudden sensation of your hands on her hips. Her surprise slowly turned into desire as you began to bend her over the counter. She placed her plate on the counter as a smirk appeared on her lips.

Momo let out a low, sultry moan, "Oh, Y/N~" as you freed her from her jeans, her ass now bared for you. You gave it a tight smack before letting your cock prob her entrance, her slick walls eagerly taking you in. Her moans grew louder, her hips gyrating as you slid in and out slowly.

"Ahhh, Y/N~" she cried out, the ruffles on her shirt fluttering. They danced with each thrust as her tits swayed beneath her shirt, the sound of your hips slamming against her plump ass filling the room.

"Mmmm– Fuck, Y/N..." she moaned, her voice shaking. "You feel... so fucking good..." Her words were punctuated by gasping breaths as you slammed into her, the kitchen counter digging into her chest, her breasts bouncing wildly with each thrust.

"Gnnngh... Y/N... oh, fuck... don't stop..." Momo's voice was desperate, her hands clawing at the counter, her body tensing with each thrust.

Your pace was frantic, your thrusts driving her towards ecstasy, the sounds of skin slapping against skin and Momo's moans escalating. "Fuck, Momo, I'm close..." you warned, your grip tightening on her hips.

"Y/N... Y/N, let it out... let it out inside me... Pump me full~" She begged, her voice thick with lust.

Hearing her request, you tangled your fingers in her low, messy ponytail and yanked it towards you, her head tilting back as her moans echoed. "Oh my, so rough~"

You hammered into Momo, your climax beginning to flow, the two of you approaching your own orgasms. Her moans grew louder, her body tightening around you. "Momo, I'm cumming..."

"Do it– Do it, baby~" she cried out. With that, your release took over, your thrusts hitting harder, your body shuddering. "Y/N~! Fill me up, Mr. Manager~ Pump all that seed into me~" your name escaping her lips as your release flooded her insides. Her body shivered, her moans muffling against the counter as you came together, your hearts beating as one.

You collapsed on her back, your breaths ragged. You held her close, lost in the afterglow. "Momo, you're incredible, I fucking love you..." you whispered, your heart racing.

The two of you slowly detangled and straightened yourselves out as Nayeon groggily walked out of the bathroom and back into her room. You helped Momo grab a plate of the breakfast you made, your lips connecting once more, your tongues exploring each other, savoring each other's taste. "Let's eat, baby," you said, gently guiding her to the table.

Momo's face was flushed, her eyes bright. "Yes, Y/N– let's eat." She smiled, the two of you sitting down to breakfast, your hands entwining as you enjoyed the morning calm.

Not long later, Nayeon joined the two of you at the table, grabbing her own plate. Her widened eyes suggested that your food tasted amazing. "Damn, Momo– you should have Mr. Manager here more often. We'd be eating so good."

You let out a chuckle as you finished your plate. You looked at Momo and asked if she'd wanted to join you to go run some errands. She nodded excitedly and went to grab her purse. You were left with Nayeon once more.

"Do you wanna come?"

"Oh– uhh, no thanks. I'll stay behind to finish the rest of the breakfast."

You both shared a laugh before Momo walked out with her belongings in hand. You stood up, locked arms with Momo and headed out. The two of you wandered around a nearby shopping mall together as you ran your errands. That was when you saw a familiar face.

"Mina?"

"Momo!"

[Let me know if you want a part two or if you want me to make this a long running story. And let me know who else you'd want to see a fic about.]

[luvyeni]

ANGEL OF MINE ,, 박성훈

pairings ‎⸝⸝⸝ criminal!sunghoon x fem!reader wc. 4k

genre. smut

🦢◞ includes ... public sex, unprotected sex, oral ( m & f receiving ), car sex

「 authors note 𖹭 」 this was a prison break fic , but i ended up changing and just did criminal hoon!

❪ masterlist! ❫

most people could say you met sunghoon in the worst possible place possible; but growing up, your mother always told you that as long as you love each other it shouldn't matter where you meet the love of your life — except your mother didn't mean a prison like how you met sunghoon.

at first you thought it was odd; you were a well established college student, jobs lining up for you after graduation all thanks to your dads connections, many suitors waiting for you to finish your studies with the hope of marriage after graduation; even though you had no interest, a group of friends, much like you; and the best part, more money you could ever dream of… so the whole penpal thing was odd to you; why would you talk to some random person who is in prison nonetheless? that was until you started talking to sunghoon.

sunghoon was used to prison; he'd been there before, many times before and it's the same thing everytime, he'd try to keep his head down— he always failed , outside of prison he'd made a lot of enemies , so he did end up knocking a few heads around and he ended up spending the rest of his sentence in solitary confinement. this time he fucked up and he was facing a longer sentence; a much longer sentence. that was until he received a letter from you; little precious you, his saving grace.

the first letter was the just the introduction; and that was all he needed to become obsessed with you; he knew what you looked like because you sent him a photo , he also knew you weren't old cat lady; you were college student, he would've been a college student too, had he not taken the other route. he also knew that although you were extremely book smart; you were innocent in so many ways, and sunghoon loved that; he didn't need your money, he just needed your love and devotion.

by the fourth letter you were already telling him you'd wait for him and when could you see him; at first he told you a sweet thing like you didn't need to come to such a bad place and that all you had to do was be a good girl and wait for him.

by the sixth letter you were telling him you can't wait to see him and that you'd be there that next weekend; and for the first time ever since he'd been to prison, he was happy.

“park!” the guard yelled, making direct eye contact with him as he banged on the gate. “i can't fucking see you.” the boy hissed. “yeah well , get up.” he stood from his bed in his single cell; that he got after he went through the entire cell block of cell mates; everyone was too scared to share with him. “you got a visitor.” he said flatly as they opened the gate , they dragged him out of his cell and down the hall. “let's go.”

you nervously picked at your skirt; your mother bought it from her travels in some glamours country, maybe you should've worn jeans , would he like this? would he like your makeup? would he like you? for the past week that was all on your mind, sunghoon, this was your first time meeting him so your stomach was churning as you were waiting for him. “angel?”

you turned around to face the boy; the man who'd you think whenever you had free time, you no longer went out with your friends , instead you stayed home and waited for his call , writing multiple letters to, you were obsessed with him. “sunghoon.”

he sat down in front of you, taking in your outfit. “nice outfit angel, you wore that just for me?” he smirked. “do you like it?” you asked, waiting for his approval. “of course i do, finally something pretty to look at in this ugly fucking place.” you cringed at his foul language. “sunghoon, language.” he threw his hands up. “sorry angel.” you nodded. “it's nice to finally meet you in person.”

“angel i have thought about this day since the first time you sent me a letter with that pretty face of yours.” he surely had his way in charming you. “you’re too cute angel , what are you doing here?” you shrugged shyly , you definitely didn't belong here , but you wanted to be here , you want to be here with him. “i like you, i guess.” he smirked. “yeah?” turning around looking for the guard who was barely paying attention. “come closer then.” you nervously leaned in , your elbows now on the table. “good girl.”

“how much do you like me?” he said, his hand slipping under the table. “would you still like me if i tell you what i did?” he asked, hand now on your knee. “what if i killed someone?” your eyes widened. “you didn't, did you?” he chuckled , rubbing your knee. “no angel, no one died.” fortunately for him. “but i did hurt some people real bad,” he said. “not like they didn't deserve it angel.”

“what did they do?” you asked, voice shaking as his hand crept up your skirt. “don't worry about that right now angel.” he said, you nodded. “you still like me?” you nodded. “good.” he smiled , his hand cupping your clothes mound , you turn around nervously looking for the guard. “trust me dove they aren't worried about us.” he ran his finger up your slit. “you're dripping baby, you got this wet for little ole me?” he ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “sunghoon.” you whimpered , he put his finger to his lips.

“you gotta be real quiet angel , we can get in real big trouble if they catch us.”

he pushed a finger in, you bit your lip hard to conceal a moan. “look at you all cute , trying not to moan , if these guards weren't here i would take you right here , make you cum with my cock and not my fingers.” he added another, curling them inside you. “you wanna cum on my cock?” you nodded , your bottom lip was bleeding a little from biting it. “y-yes.” you whined. “i do.”

“when i get outta here dove , i promise, i'll make you cum as many times as this little pussy can give me.” you gasped , “sunghoon , i'm gonna cum.” you whispered , you wanted to kiss his perfectly plump lips , he was right in front of you , but you couldn't because of the guard who was standing a few feet away. “go ahead cum for me angel , our time is almost up.” your mouth dropped open , a silent moan came out of your mouth , as you came , he talked you through your orgasm , before pulling his fingers out of you. “he's coming over angel.”

“sorry miss time is up.” the guard said. “get up park.” they yanked him up. “see you angel , wait for me yeah?” you saw him bringing his fingers to his mouth as they dragged him away.

after that day all you could think about is sunghoon; not like it wasn't any different from before, but now you knew how he could make you feel; the way he talked to you about what he wanted to do to you when he got out; when he got out , that was the hard part, you didn't know the full details of his case , just that he was involved in some bad stuff and he ended up getting into a fight with a few guys and lets just say he came out looking a lot better than they did, and now he's sitting in a prison for maybe the next 3-5 years.

“what if i help you out?” you sat across from him the next visit. “what do you mean angel?” you shrugged. “help get you out of here?” he laughed, leaning forward. “angel i think you're watching way too much tv , it's not as easy as you think , to break someone out of prison.” you laughed , something he loved to hear , it was the only thing that kept him from going insane. “i didn't mean that silly.” he tilted his head to the side , his eyebrows lifting up in interest. “then what angel?”

“well daddy knows some people , in some high places.” you said , he folded his arms. “and maybe if i butter him up just enough, i could maybe get him to talk to some of these people.” he wasn't about to jump for joy, he didn't really want to have to owe your father one. “angel , your father is gonna take one look at my rap sheet and demand that those people keep me locked up just to keep me away from you.” he laughed. “i’m not necessarily a good guy.” he said.

“not if i butter him up first; buy him a new watch, get the chef to cook him his favorite food , tell him how much i love him , tell him that you'll do better if they just give you another shot.” at that moment sunghoon realized two things besides you being the cutest thing to ever grace his presence; 1. you were way more wealthy than he thought, and 2. your love and devotion to him could help him in the future. “angel you know that last thing isn't gonna happen.”

you pouted; of course you knew that. “well yeah, and although i'm not too happy with that, i want you out of here.” you whined , he smirked. “yeah and why is that?” you shied away. “because.” he leaned forward. “why angel?” you bit your lip , thinking about your previous visit. “is my precious angel thinking about dirty things?” you shook your head. “n-no.” but he wasn't buying it. “i think you are.” his words were now whispered. “want to me to fuck that little cunt so bad you're willing to do anything to get me out of here?” you nodded. “then go ahead angel , get me outta here.”

…

you knocked on the door of your father's study; you heard a muffled come in , before pushing the door open. “hi daddy.” you skipped into the room. “and i know that skip from anywhere, how much you need?” you pouted , sitting in the seat across from him. “actually i got you a gift.” you held out the small rolex bag. “a watch?”

“just a little gift to show my love, i also had the chef make your favorite; so if you'll just follow me.” you both made your way to the table. “this looks good doesn't it?” you sat down next to him , the chef leaving you both after you thank him.

“so.” you father finally spoke up. “you get me this expensive watch; pretty sure i’ll be getting the invoice on that soon.” you smiled. “you get them to make my favorite food , thousand and one compliments , i know what this means.” he said. “you want something , what is it princess?”

you sighed , you prayed for this to work. “you sure?” he laughed. “anything you want , you shall have , after this perfect night.” you decided to give it a go. “well you know that i've made a new friend.” you started , he moved in his seat; coughing uncomfortably, he was aware of your relationship with the prisoner, and he wasn't fine with it , but you were an adult and he couldn't stop you. “you know how i feel about that sweetheart.”

“i know and that's why you know i would never come to you unless i really needed to.” you said. “did he do something to you?” you shook your head. “of course not , he's a good boy.” your father scoffed. “he's a prisoner.” he took a sip of his whiskey. “daddy listen.” you held his hand. “please just help me get him out.”

“absolutely not.” he said , you whined. “he's a criminal yn! not once or twice; he's been in and since he was in highschool.” your eyes widened. “you checked his record?”

“of course i did , you know he's in there this time 3-5 years for assault with a deadly weapon, he almost killed two people.” well you didn't know that much. “he said they deserved it , they hit him first.” you defended him. “he has anger issues.” he said. “daddy he said he'd change , he promised.” you'd cross that bridge when you got there , you doubted he was gonna change. “you think he's telling the truth?”

“just ask?” you said , the best desperate face you can make; once you heard your father sigh , you had to force the smile down. “i'll make some calls and let you know what we can do for him.” you couldn't wait to tell sunghoon. “this is the only time i'll help him , he fucks up again and i'll make sure he gets the maximum.”

…

sunghoon was losing his mind in his cell; he needed you, he missed you , fuck that little taste he had of you in the visiting room — he couldn't think about anything other than that; you were better than any drug or alcohol he's ever tried. “park.” the guard banged on the cell. “get up!”

he grunted , getting up from his hard bed. “where to today paul?” the guard grunted , opening the gate. “let's go.” he was confused, his next visit with you wasn't scheduled until the following week , and it's not like his friends could just show up and visit him — most of them were probably supposed to be here right with him , so it couldn't be them and his family; those asshole completely washed their hands of him in the first place. “where are we going?”

he knew this route; he'd seen it many times before, but what he couldn't understand is why he was taking this route. “i know you dirty C.O’s like to play jokes , but this one is about to piss me off.” the cop threw him into the room. “asshole.” he growled. “undress.” the guard said. “you're going home.” he was confused. “what?”

you waited excitedly outside of your car, the driver waiting inside; you bounced as you heard the gates opening , the raven haired boy walked through the gate. “yn?” you took off, running straight into his arm. “it worked!” you laughed. “what worked angel , im so confused right now.” he said , you didn't answer him , instead you wrapped your arms around his shoulders , kissing him; you finally got to kiss the man you'd been talking to for the past 6 months. “my dad , he actually helped.” you pulled away. “you really talked to him?”

“mhm , he knows the judge assigned to your case, i asked him to put in a good word for you.” he grabbed the sides of your face. “this time , try not to get in trouble or at least don't get caught this time.” you slapped his chest. “angel.” he kissed you , holding you close; his tongue swiping across your lip , he nibbled down on , you moaned. “there goes those pretty noises.”

“is there someone in that front seat?” he asked. “my driver of course.” you said like it was normal. “angel , does that driver ask questions?” he smirked. “no , why?” you questioned. “because i can't wait until we get somewhere private.” he grabbed your hand , you smiled. “let's go , i never want to see this place for a long time at least.” you glared at him. “again angel , i meant again.”

you opened the car door; climbing inside grabbed your leg, flipping you over closing the door. “mrs?” your driver said , sunghoon was working his way down your neck , wrapping your legs around his waist. “my-my house.” you whimpered , neither one of you caring about the man in front. “don't you live with your family?”

“i have my own apartment.” he smirked , lifting your shirt over your head , you both were so into it , his shirt coming off , along with your panties , bunching your skirt up. “should i thank you angel?” he kissed your stomach , “eat your pretty pussy for getting me out of that hell hole?” you moaned out nodding. “pl-please.”

lifted your legs over his shoulders; your cunt on display. “so pretty baby , been thinking of tasting this pussy ever since that day in the visiting room. he kissed your cunt , licking a strip up your cunt. “so good baby.” you moaned out. “sunghoon.” he held your waist down , lapping at your cunt over and over , your hand coming up to his hair , the other one hitting the back of the seat. “su-sunghoon , im gonna cum.”

you groaned, feeling your grip his hair , cumming right into his mouth. “fuck angel.” he pulled away , letting out a dry laugh. “you taste so fucking good.” he moaned out , your taste alone made him go crazy , crazy enough he was willing to give up everything just to keep tasting you. “angel i need to fuck you now.”

luckily for the driver he pulled into your apartment complex right before sunghoon was about to take his pants off. “we're here miss.” sunghoon turned to you. “we've waited 6 months angel , i'm sure you can wait 5 minutes?” he handed you the shirt you were wearing. “get dressed for me love.”

you thanked the driver, sunghoon helping you out of the car. “wait dove.” he reached back into the vehicle. “you forgot this?” he smirked , pulling out your underwear, your ears heated up and you shied away. “oh angel , you let me finger you in front of 20 other prisoners and eat you out in front of your personal driver, i think it's time we drop this innocent girl act.” he pulled you close to him. “cause when we get up to that fancy apartment of yours , im gonna fuck you like the slut i know you are.”

the ride up to your apartment was innocent , sunghoons hand was under your skirt , toying with your clit. “pretty pussy is dripping , begging to be stretched out.” you moaned. “su-sunghoon the door is about to open.”

you finally reached your apartment; it was bigger than anything sunghoon would probably see in his life , but that wasn't his main focus as you guided him to your bedroom. “i wanna give you something.” you led him to your bed. “a welcome home gift.” you took your shirt off , sinking down to your knees. “you wanna suck me off angel?” you nodded , he cursed; you looked up at him with such innocent eyes , even though the current position is not so innocent. “naughty girl.” he smirked.

lifting his hips up, pushing his pants down to his ankles , the air hitting his leaky cock; he groaned. “come on angel , suck on it.” he guided your mouth to his cock. “open wide angel.” he guided your head down on his cock , he moaned , it had been a while , and you were working his cock like magic , your tongue running along his length. “fuck dove , i-i'm started to think you've done this before.”

“angel can you go deeper for me?” you hummed around him , vibrations making his eyes roll to the back of his head “shiiiiit , shit i'm gonna cum.” his hand came to the back of your head , pushing your head down. “fuck im cumming.”

he gasped letting your head go as he filled your mouth , spit dribbling down your chin along with his cum. “good girl , taking my cum like that.” you smiled , teary eyed.

he could've have gotten you on the bed quick enough, pushing your legs open , your cunt already bare for him. “you ready for me dove?” his hard length already prodding at your entrance. “pl-please fuck me hoon.” you felt his cock enter your body , you shut your eyes , hissing at the stretch. “to-too big.”

“i know , but you can take it angel.” he kissed your forehead , moving in and out of you. “good girl , take my cock.” he groaned , speeding up , your tits bouncing back and force. “been dreaming bout this cunt since the first time you came and visited me , remember dove?” his cock was now abusing your cervix. “you took my fingers during our first meeting.” you moaned and nodded. “i-it felt good.”

“i bet it did baby , that's how i knew right then and there you were mine.” he moaned. “my perfect angel just to turn into my perfect slut , just for me to fuck -shit- isn't that right?” you nodded. “a good girl letting a bad guy like me ruin you for other men , you like that don't you?” he rubbed your clit. “all mine right?”

“al-all yours , pl-please sunghoon.” you moaned out , the headboard banging against the wall. “I'm gonna cum.” your cunt fluttering around him. “yeah? gonna cum all over my cock?” you dumbly nodded. “go ahead angel , cream my cock baby for me.” his pace didn't falter , his thrust deeper even as you came. “fuck that's a good girl , came so much for me -fuck- im gonna cum dove, where do you want it.”

“i-inside , pl-please cum inside me.” you were gonna be the death of him. “fuck baby , such a perfect pussy.” he groaned. “fuck im gonna cum.” his hips began to falter , he was losing it. “sh-shit , gonna cum inside you angel.” he let out a loud moan , cumming. “fuck!” he cursed , emptying himself inside you. “perfect angel , perfect.” he slowly stopped trusting, pulling out of you , his cock resting on your abused cunt. “good girl.”

“you can stay here.” you said as you both laid in bed. “and do what? wait around for you all day?” he scoffed , his arm around you. “if you get in trouble i won't be able to help again.” you pouted , he smirked. “then i won't get in trouble this time.” you frowned. “i'm serious.” you said. “listen dove, if it makes you feel any better; i'll come back here every night , and hold you just like this.” he kissed the side of your head , because he really did want to be with you , but giving up this life he was so used to wasn't gonna be easy. “what about in the morning?”

“i’ll be right here to wake my pretty angel up by eating her pretty pussy.”

©LUVYENI

[rboooks]

DC x DP Fic idea: The Ghost Trio's Food Trip

Gotham has always had an overwhelming pollution problem. They accepted it- even Poison Ivy knew there wasn't much chance to undo what's been done. She merely fought for what was left- and they learned to live with the tainted water, smoke-covered sky, and sometimes spicy air.

The Gotham river wasn't the color of water anymore, it's was either black or on good days dark green.

This is how it was for generations, some saying even before the first Wayne- one of the original founders of Gotham- moved in.

Then one night, Gotham saw three glowing figures in the sky. Now, metas weren't uncommon but everyone knew Batman's stance on them. Just as they knew it would happen, , the Bats attempted to knock the figures down.

Only.....the three fought off all the Bats and won. Gotham Collective held their breath as the strange glowing people brought their Dark Knight and his team to their knees.

A young girl with pure white hair kept Robin, Spoiler and Red Robin a fair fight but ultimately she was victorious.

A young adult man with the same hair color toyed with Nightwing, Red Hood and Signal, looking to be treating their fight like a game.

But worst of all was the young teenage boy who held off Batman and Orphan like they were a annoying fly.

Once the dust settled, the teenager- the apparent leader of the trio- floated a camera from a local need crew to broadcast they defeat of the Batclan.

He is holding the camera like a phone angering his face and the two others to share the screen.

"People of Gotham! I am Phantom, with me is my brother-um what's your code name again?"

The adult man rolled his eyes "Specter"

"Really? That's what you're going with?" Phantom asked and gets smack on the back of his head by Specter.

The young girl giggles, throwing her face into the frame to shout." And I'm Wraith!"

"Come on; we can't all be another word for a ghost!" Phantom whines. "Isn't there something else you want to be called?"

Specter raises a brow, forcefully taking the camera out of Phantom's hand so that his face takes up the entire screen. He stares into the lens, allowing every citizen of Gotham to see his inhuman feature as he smirks."Call me Daddy."

"DAN, NO!" Phantom screams in horror. Wraith cackles somewhere off-screen as Specter blows the camera a kiss. He slaps Phantom's hands away from the desperate attempt to get control of the video camera. "You can be Specter, just never call yourself that again!"

"Dan! Keep away!" Wraith shouts, and the man throws the camera at her as Phantom screams in outrage.

"Give that back!"

"Come and get it!" She taunts only to, throw it back to Specter as Phantom rounds on her.

As the camera jerks back and forth, Gotham can catch glimpses of their heroes. All tied up with glowing green ropes a few feet away, looking worse for wear but awake and quiet.

The three made the mistake of allowing time to plan.

Phantom eventually regains the camera after a while. He clears his throat. "As I was saying, I am Phantom and these are my brother Specter and my sister Wraith. We have ripped open a portal to your city to place claim on your resources! Should you get in the way of our feast, you will be destroyed!"

"What resources do you want?" Red Robin asked somewhere to the right.

Phantom points to the sky, the river and certain parts of the city, dramatically announcing "The ectoplasm!"

The what?

"Today we feast!" He screams and his siblings take flight.

Wraith jumps into the sky, flying across the city in neck breaking speeds, leaving in her trail.....a streak of clear blue sky?

Specter dives head first into the river, absorbing....the black tar and trash leaing clear water?

Phantom inhales, dragging up litter off the closet streets around him. It Flys around him in glowing green, and the boy stuffs them into his mouth. He moans as he chewing. "Scrumptious"

Specter returns, carrying a giant green transparent jar of what looks like Gotham slime swishing within it. He sticks in a straw, tilting the jar in his younger brother's direction. "You have to try a drink of this! The ectoplasm is amazingly sweet!"

As Phantom takes a sip. "Awesome! It's taste just like Far Frozen sparkling water!"

"Guys! Even the air here is tasty!" Wraith announces as she flouts back down her own transparent jar holding what looks like all the smoke and dangerous gasses of Gotham city. "Take a swift!"

The two slam their heads through the glowing green, taking in a long sniff and sighing.

"Wait. Wait. Wait." Red Robin calls, gaining all three attention, "All you want is Gotham's pollution?"

"No, we want the Ectoplasm," Wraith replies, crossing her arms. "And there is nothing you can do to stop us! Nothing any of you can!"

The feed cuts then as a giant portal rips above the city, and the three siblings, fly through it, laughing evilly the entire time.

They return several times a week to "steal" from Gotham and the citizens have never seen their city so clean.

Or Danny, Dan, and Dani have made up and become actual siblings once coming out to their parents. A few quick adoptions papers later, the trio bond by exploring through various doors of the Infinite Realms.

They quickly discover that different worlds have a ton of ectoplasm just up grabs since humans don't eat it and start a food tour across the multiverse during siblings night.

Jazz is welcome, but since she can't eat ectoplasm as they can, she always has a pizza- her comfort food- waiting back at her apartment and a fun session of Dnd ready for them.

Meanwhile, the Bats don't know what type of aliens the Ghost Trio are, but they have been helping with the pollution problem and can't find it in themselves to try and stop them. Damian has never seen the bottom of Gotham River, but he enjoyed painting it after Specter "stole all the ectoplasm" from it, leaving only clean water.

He hopes they visit the beach next. Maybe there was hope for their reefs with the Ghost Trio around.

Tim and Bruce are the only ones obsessed with finding answers, everyone else cheers when the three fly by.

[brekker-by-brekkerr]

There's no way you can convince me the writing for Eloise in part 2 of season 3 was good.

We're expected to believe that Eloise Bridgerton, who gets so upset about injustices to women, who cares deeply for her friends, would hear about Cressida's issues and be like "hmm yeah sucks to suck."

And people can't say it's because Eloise is only concerned with herself because we've seen her get so upset about the plight of other people, we've seen her going and engaging with conversations outside her circle, we've seen her empathizing with Theo and his circumstances, we've seen her trying to hunt down LW to help Pen back before she knew the truth.

JUST THIS SEASON we saw Eloise go to Cressida's house to check on her because she noticed that she was acting off. So you can't even tell me Eloise doesn't care about her. I feel like the writers are trying to gaslight the viewers in part 2 to thinking Eloise didn't ever care that much about Cressida when WE LITERALLY SAW THAT SHE DID. Cressida even says Eloise was a great friend to her.

Yeah, I understand that Eloise has a lot going on right now, and so to some extent, I could see her not being as present for Cressida as she needs. That happens. But the level to which they made Eloise act like she doesn't care is so insane and is clearly just to prop Pen up.

Eloise heard Cressida tell her about her circumstances so she should understand why she's doing what she's doing.

It just felt like such an insane 180 for Eloise to turn around and suddenly be like "Cressida is a viper" and "our friendship was falling apart anyway" and "I should never have trusted her," when the last thing we saw before part 2 was them BEING GOOD FRIENDS!! And when Cressida hadn't done anything bad, she just claimed to be LW RIGHT AFTER she had explained to Eloise how messed up her circumstances were and that she needed help getting out of them.

I get that the show was going to put Eloise and Pen back together because they have such a clear bias towards her character, but did they have to decimate Creloise in the process? Is Eloise not allowed to have multiple friendships?

Like, Pen can do all these terrible things and cry and be like "sorry about that" and it's fine El and her can be besties everyone will love her and forgive her. But Cressida was sometimes mean (and the show goes to lengths to show us how she became that way, even explicitly spelling it out with her mother's comments about how she raised her to believe in "every woman for herself" AND shows Cressida acknowledging her mistakes and showing true change and growth) and lies about being LW and she's dragged through the dirt, she's "the absolute worst," every single character says awful things about her while we see snippets of her in this dark awful house with her life falling apart and this is supposed to be something we root for?? Literally why. Why even make Cressida sympathetic if this is what you're going to do with her.

It feels so out of pocket for Eloise to be saying Cressida is soo horrible and etc. etc. when we SAW their friendship before. We saw Cressida taking in what Eloise was saying and making changes, we saw Cressida challenging Eloise's beliefs and making Eloise self-reflect. Eloise got a peek into how awful Cressida's home life was and into the kind of good person Cressida could be and that's just suddenly thrown out the window with such little support to back it up.

Even if Creloise just HAD to stop being friends, weren't there better ways of going about it? Couldn't they at least have waited till after the fake LW paper came out bashing the Bridgertons for Eloise to break off the friendship? Yes, that was Cressida's mom writing that, but Eloise wouldn't know that and that would more logically line up with Eloise's random coldness towards her.

Still, why exactly do they have to stop being friends? Why can't Eloise have different kinds of friendships, especially one like hers with Cressida that challenged her, one where they mutually helped each other become better people? I love that Eloise is going to go off on this adventure to Scotland and meet other people but could she not also have retained her friendship with Cressida??

I would have loved to see the Eloise I know and love in part 2 teaming up with Cressida to help her, scheming together, doing everything in her power to help her bestie because that's who she is. That's what we should have seen. Maybe it would take her a second to get there, since she was already wrapped up in the drama with her brother and Pen, but she wouldn't just completely brush off her friend. She would do something.

And I could go on about how messed up it was for the writers to make it pretty clear how bad things have become for Cressida and then make her face the most consequences ever, while Pen gets to ride off into the sunset all happily ever after despite doing things 1000x worse than anything Cressida ever did. I'm actually disgusted.

[woso-dreamzzz]

The Talk II

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Magda's Powerpoint

It's probably the worst thing you've ever suffered through.

Next to you, Pernille has to smother her laughter as you slouch lower and lower in your seat.

The first part you already knew about. The actual act of sex was something you'd covered a while ago in biology so that was basically like a study session.

The next stuff you'd rather not learn about from your Morsa but Magda was nothing if not thorough as she went through slide after slide of sex positions and how it worked between two girls.

It was traumatising and you could do nothing but stare at the screen in abject horror.

"Alright," Pernille says when Magda gets particularly passionate about one part and you look like you want to melt into a puddle of nothingness next to her," Why don't we take a break for lunch and finish this later?"

"Oh, but, Pernille I was just getting to the part about-"

"That's a great idea, Momma!" You're up like a shot, nearly tripping over your own feet in your haste to get away.

"But Pernille-"

"Come on, Magda," Pernille laughs, gently pulling Magda to the kitchen," Give her some time to compute what she's just been told. We've never had a conversation like this with her before."

"Is it informative enough? I think I left something off and I don't want her-"

"Yes, Magda," Pernille says," Plenty informative. You're doing a great job. Princesse, get your fingers out of that jar!"

You huff a little, pushing the jar of nutella away as you lift yourself up onto the counter.

"You know," Magda says, suddenly straight back into lecture mood," Some people like to incorporate-"

"La-La-La!" You say quickly, slamming your fingers into your ears. "I can't hear you!"

Pernille rolls her eyes fondly at you both as Magda attempts to wrench your fingers away.

"Alright you two," She says," Food. Eat."

You practically inhale your food while Magda follows at a more leisurely pace.

"Hey, where are you going?" Magda asks as you hastily put your plate in the sync and attempt to escape upstairs. "We're not finished yet."

"I...er..." You stumble over your words trying to find an excuse. "I've got homework!"

"No you don't. You finished it all before going out with Frido."

"Er..."

Pernille is no help to you, looking down at her plate smiling as you scramble to think of another excuse.

"I'm nearly done anyway," Magda continues," Just give me a sec."

The second time is just as painful as the first as you sit, tense on the sofa, as Magda walks you through sex toys, something that you really didn't need your own mother to teach you about.

But she does it anyway and you know she's doing it because she loves you in her own weird way.

But, still, you don't think you needed the printed out sheet of the list of sites that explored all the nitty gritty of STDs.

It was nice that she printed it but you're pretty sure pinning the sheet to your notes board will ruin the whole aesthetic of it.

"Any questions?"

Magda looks immensely proud of herself, chest puffed out in pride as she comes to the end of the PowerPoint she spent all day working on.

You sit there, bright red, unable to do anything but stare at the little animated hand waving on her questions slide.

"Er...no...That was very...informative."

"Oh...wait! I forgot!"

Magda clicks to what must be her last slide and you groan loudly.

'Remember! The key to a good life is abstinence!'

"That's so hypocritical!" You exclaim," You and Momma have sex all the time!"

"That's different. You're our baby. I don't want you having sex."

"You just made a whole PowerPoint about sex!"

"Yes. Because I don't want you doing it."

You turn to Pernille, gesturing wildly as you sputter.

"I know," She says, patting your head," But just smile and nod. She'll drop it sooner or later."

[mrs-weasley-reid]

TEN'S A GOOD NUMBER

Aaron Hotchner x psychiatrist!reader

Sypnosis: After Aaron's traumatizing encounter with Peter Lewis, he's sent to you, but who knew a profiler is the worst patient you'll ever have? Warning: enemies to lovers— ish(?) angst. a dash of fluff. light mentions of death and trauma. a few curses. went ballistic— it's lengthy, so pace yourself. A/N: loosely follows Mr. Scratch timeline for three seasons.

Monday, May 4, 8:34 AM

Aaron Hotchner sits across from you.

He studies you in every detail like he's about to take an exam, and you're the topic.

The weight of your scribbles—light, almost featherlike. Ink leaves a soft trail of words, a map of your thoughts, your perception of him.

The speed of your hand. Swift and elegant. Each movement portrays a scene in a movie. As if they're telling a quiet story, your story he is yet to unravel.

The way you deprive him of eye contact.

What are you hiding?

Why can't you look him in the eye?

The occasional nod to remind him that you're listening—not like anything's coming out from his end.

In conclusion, just about everything you do, really.

To Aaron, you're a cheat sheet. His way back to the field, to work—the part of his life that cannot be halted despite the need for a break.

"Your hand is heavier," Aaron vaguely goads.

You silently stare at him, waiting for the rest of his thoughts to spill out of his mouth.

"Usually, you write like you're afraid to puncture the paper, but just right now, your strikes are deeper. Your grip on your pen is also tighter. Am I annoying you?"

Creative.

You think to yourself as he rakes his eyes down the canvas of your face, blank and land of nothing but mirroring eyes.

Although you prefer Aaron's comment about your new lipstick and how it makes your skin glow—something about your prospect of finding a lover—fifteen minutes into your session. You didn't peg him as a man who knows his lipstick shades, but you stand corrected as he says coral with the utmost confidence for a man who wears his tie like a choker.

Aaron does it all the time. Every five minutes, he says one thing he's noticed about you and then proceeds to zip his mouth, denying you details about him like you're some hired criminal paid to torture the King's hidden fortune out of him.

And as per your entertainment, you'd do something out of your character to throw him off. If you can laugh at his gullibility, you would.

His goal is to intimidate you. Pressure you. Make you tick like every other serial killer he's encountered. Because he'd really rather be across an unsub than you. Aaron would rather be the one to ask questions and not you. In his eyes, you're no better than a small-town detective ignorantly interrogating a serial killer for a cheap gas station robbery, unaware of the skeletons in his closet.

At this moment, Aaron ponders why he agreed to meet with you once a week only to sit in almost absolute silence for about an hour, then go about his day like he hadn't just wasted minutes of his—and your—life.

It's always the same.

He arrives, flaunts his profiling skills for an accumulated total of twelve minutes, and then sits across you like a rock for the remaining forty minutes.

Aaron could've talked more, but...

He despises you.

Well, not you, per se. He despises the profession, and you just happen to choose it as your career. Nonetheless, Aaron generalizes and includes you on his list.

He finds it unnecessary and a waste of one's valuable time. Presenting a series of well-thought-out facts that he's sure Spencer Reid will enjoy. A list of reasons why talking to a psychiatrist isn't as helpful as people perceive it to be.

Aaron spits the words 'family' and 'friends' for the sake of ease and comfort as if he doesn't flinch at the words 'your father' and his face hasn't been frozen into a permanent stern. Because why talk to someone who doesn't know you when there are people who know you best? He lies through his teeth. He lies to himself.

Then, there's you.

You don't know him enough to trust his lies.

"Profiling me won't get you cleared," you state out of the blue. "This is our seventh session, and you haven't said anything." You add, finally lifting your gaze.

Aaron feels taken aback. He'd never encountered a shrink with such pride at their job—they managed to infuriate him. You infuriate him.

Now that you've granted him the wish—your eyes meeting his—it's having an effect on him instead. One that he wishes he didn't feel creep under his skin, stimulating the anxiety he's worked hard to ignore.

Still, Aaron squares his shoulder, "Nothing is wrong with me," He claims like he's not feeling the pit of his stomach churn with every word. "I'm only here for the formalities." He says.

"Ahh," You deadpan, pulling your eyes down on your clipboard. Hushed scribbles echo in the room. "Is that what you told, Dr. Briar? Or Dr. McCormick? Stiles doesn't seem to remember you at all—"

"They deemed me fit to go back to work, which you don't seem to realize." Aaron cuts you off. He doesn't notice the slight lilt of his voice. How a vein peeked on his forehead as he furrows his brows.

You have an effect on him, and Aaron's in strong denial.

"How?" You lean a bit, propping against your lap. It's the first time he's ever let himself tear out of his 'I don't break' shell. You consider it a crumb of a breakthrough and a laughable stain on your pride.

Challenging his stability—you raise your brows—makes him tick.

A faux frown draws on your face—patronizing, "Did you play a staring contest, and they lost against you?" You notice the little twitch of his eye masked as a blink.

It's a little unprofessional to provoke your patient, but you do, anyway.

This one's been particularly adamant about manipulating you into permitting him back to work like you were born yesterday. You think it hilarious how smug he's been for the past six sessions. It is as if you didn't spend almost half of your life devoted to the study of behavior. Like you hadn't figured out his plans from the get-go.

Profilers. They catch a criminal out of idea of sorts, and they think they can read everyone. It makes you want to laugh while pointing at him.

Aaron stares at you with his usual stoic expression, intimidating eyes filled with unforeseen horrors, and a straight mouth that's no use in your four walls.

He decides then that he hates you with a passion.

You feel a vibration on your wrist, "Would you look at that? Your time's up, Hotchner." You withdraw, straightening your back as you scribble yet another word Aaron is curious to know.

If he only knew you're not really writing anything new about the nature of his mental state or anything legible at all, you imagine Aaron exploding like a stack of case files blown by harsh wind.

But can he blame you when he's given you nothing to write?

"Agent Hotchner," He corrects with gritted teeth. Aaron's jaw clenches as he pierces his gaze through you. His hands intertwined with each other as if he's preventing himself from clawing at you.

You smile at him, "In this room, you're just Aaron Hotchner. A patient. A case." You know the specific word will piss him off, much less the motherly tone you paired it with.

A tactic. Unlike him, you don't need a team of agents to get a rise out of a culprit. The bare idea of you, a stranger who has access to his life on a piece of paper, is enough a stimuli to get an individual aiming at your neck.

"So, between you and me, I think you should start talking if you ever want to fly to wherever city your team wanders in. The longer you take, the less progress we make, and the less progress you make, the more possible that the bureau will assign a new psychiatrist for you." You say nonchalantly, letting his anger lead him right into your trap.

The words float like small fire specks of dust, both dazzling and dangerous to the eyes. Getting assigned to a new psychiatrist is like getting an easy case directly handed to Aaron. However, it also means he'll have to restart his psych evaluation process, and he knows firsthand how time-consuming that is.

"But, then again, who knows? Maybe the next fella will let you slide like the others did. Or you'll have to attend a series of sessions again for a lengthy psych evaluation. I've got friends too, you know? They might do me a favor and make your life more… difficult." You're bluffing. In no way, shape, or form will you jeopardize his health, even if Aaron's the most stubborn patient you have ever met in your lifetime.

His nose flares as he stands up. You know that he's done and murdered you in his mind at the way he's glaring at you with invisible daggers, but you play it well and act blameless.

Aaron marches out of your office with blazing hatred. You watch as he dulls every vicinity he's stepped into like death taking a stroll. A part of you is apologetic to his colleagues. They'll be having one hell of a day.

Retreating back inside your office, you plop on your chair behind your desk as a heavy sigh escapes your lips.

You stare at Aaron Hotchner's patient chart.

"What am I going to do with you?" You ask rhetorically in the air.

Aaron Hotchner is—for you at least—a special case. A case so intricate you had to be careful how you'd tread the water, wary of its fragile ripples.

When Aaron's chart landed on your desk, you immediately knew that he'd be toilsome. He'd make it his goal to skip the talk and jump back onto another case. The same routine he did with his old therapists and psychologist, anyone that was able to write a note and say he's fine when he's really not—never have been for a long time.

You already had enough patients on your plate, but you just couldn't say no to your favorite Italian patient; you only had one. You're the best bureau-mandated psychiatrist. His words, not yours.

Then, again, you never fail to mentally brag about how easily you read Aaron just from his chart, his image, and the first step he took to get inside your office. You read him like an open toddler's book, a piece of cake.

During the first session, you learn how badly Aaron's last case had affected him. The intonation of his voice. The way he'd shake his hand, your hand. His scorn. His fiddling fingers.

It's amazing how he's managed to divert his anger towards you instead of the man who traumatized him.

Melodic ringing snaps you out of your trance.

Aaron Hotchner might just get what he wants.

Sunday, May 10, 11:51 PM

A sniffle tickles your nose as you lay flat on the carpet floor of your apartment.

Your face stings from tear stains, and you muse how horrid you must look after your makeup runs dry. Your chunky heels were still on. In a minute or two, you expect one of your feet to cramp.

The day has been hostile towards you.

The mind, which used to be an oasis of positive thoughts, has gone draught. Sleep begins to blur your vision, and you don't hesitate to let it take over.

Until a bombarding knock jolts you up.

"I'm here! I'm here! Calm down!" You shout as you swing the door open. A familiar man stands in front of you with a dour face. Your eyebrows narrow tightly, "Mr. Hotchner—"

"What did you write?!" Aaron badgers as he storms inside your apartment like he owns the place. He pivots on the balls of his feet once he's reached your living room, glowering at you with scalding fury. "I was relieved to know that you released me from your care and looked forward to my clearance. So, tell me why a random therapist called me this morning to confirm an appointment I didn't even know I had. What did you write on my report that I have to go through this again for the second time? Is dealing with your sick games not enough? I'm fine. I know I'm fine. I'm straight in the head to go back in the field. I aced the psych evaluation questions. Your sessions are the problem. You're the problem." His ears, face, and neck are burning red. If he's a cartoon character, you imagine he'd be steaming with smoke by now.

Quite surprised; you're standing speechless. You're watching Aaron like he's a crazy old hag yapping about the Revolutionary War and how she hates not having the power to shoot every redcoat for the sake of rage.

You head towards your sofa, taking a seat.

Aaron examines you in confusion, furrowing his brows.

After a moment, you look at him expectantly. "Don't be shy, Mr. Hotchner. By any means—" you nod towards the armchair across you, glancing back and forth between him and the empty space "—continue with your thoughts. You already started. Might as well let it all out."

He only clenches his hands inside his pockets as he bores holes into your head.

What a sad little man.

You scoff in your mind.

You lean against the back of the sofa, tilting your head to meet dagger-like brown eyes aiming at you. "No? Suit yourself, then." You shrug, feeling the soft cushions under your palms.

"Let me remind you that I'm a federal agent, and I can make your life a living hell if I want to." He threatens, glaring at you as if the twitch of his eye is enough to make you combust into thin air.

But all you see is a child on a tantrum, deprived of getting what he wants.

"Answer my question. What. Did. You. Write?" He growls.

Silence coats the two of you.

His heavy breathing fills the deafening air. Your nonchalance fuels his hatred more than ever and the sentiment is beginning to emit from both ends. It takes a lot out of you to think of multiple ways to sprinkle some salty sense onto him without stinging his wounds.

One thing you learned well enough in time is how good Aaron is when pushing someone's buttons. A perk of his prosecutor days and seasoned by his bureau career.

He's just troubled.

He's just in denial of his own pain.

You chant the words in your head—uncertain of its purpose. Detachment ironically detaches from your senses like old velcro.

"You're not the first agent in my office, Mr. Hotchner. And frankly, you should be thanking me for taking you in. Unlike your old therapists, I actually read through your chart and took the time to understand you to the best of my ability. I cared—" Shocked as he is, your eyes subtly widen.

Before you can continue Aaron speaks over you, "I do not care about your pity. What I wanted was for you to do your damn job and clear me back to work. But that's just little to no pay for a shrink, isn't it? You need messed up people to stay messed up so they can continue knocking on your door." A clear hint of a demeaning smirk flashes across his face.

The sheer irreverence makes you dizzy. The calm snaps, banishing kindness and composure out the window. And rage knocks on your door.

"That's the problem. You don't care. You don't care about yourself." Your tone is sharp—stern.

You knew. You knew from the moment his file thudded on your wooden desk. The moment SSA David Rossi charmed his way to get your favor. You know that Aaron Hotchner does what he believes is right. Not because the unit chief title has gotten in his head. No. Not the slightest. But because he only cares about his values and people.

And you're neither.

It's not you to hold grudges. So, you had it down and set before you accepted Rossi's request. You had it tattooed in your mind that no matter how sharp-tongued and insensitive the man before you might be, he's still just a man under the weight of the world's greatest horrors.

You cannot break. You're not allowed to break.

Pieces of you shatter at the realization that some patients under your care inevitably slip away from your fingers. How your promised oath to do no harm did nothing—not enough to stop the monsters that haunt the world. Not enough to stop you, Aaron's psychiatrist, from dumping your own frustration onto him the same way he's currently doing to you.

But you're not Aaron's psychiatrist today. You're not anything today. You're not on the clock. And no one except Aaron—to your demise—will ever witness such an ugly sight. If ever he shuts up about his dilemma, that is.

"I did my job exactly as I should." You declare, licking the bottom of your lips. Damned the Hippocratic Oath. You wonder if the healing gods will forgive you.

You really shouldn't say the words that are about to leave your mouth, but you've been taking whatever hostility he's got for the last two months; the capacity has reached its limit. A little bit of harshness wouldn't hurt, would it?

"When are you going to admit that the reason you can't sleep at night is not because of all the serial killers you claim I prevent you from catching?" You finally stand. You are a few inches shorter, yet you have never felt taller than you do right now.

You grit your teeth as you move closer to Aaron, almost a breath away, tiptoeing. "When will you admit that the mighty SSA Aaron Hotchner, unit chief, doesn't blink, not once, because he's afraid he'd become the very thing he promised to put away." You raise your brows, challenging him.

Aaron's face morphs into bewilderment and perturbation. His brows are sewn shut. His jawline pops out as he grinds his teeth.

Resentment. Fury. Vexation. Chagrin.

All Aaron felt was anger.

Antagonized.

A walking tower of pure acrimony, finger-pointing towards the innocent.

"Don't you dare compare me to those— I'm anything but." He towers over you, losing his words through the stream of lividity flooding all over his senses.

"Do you really believe that?"

Aaron studies your face. It's different. It's raw and maimed. A squeeze of guilt whispers, but he shoves it quickly.

"What did you write?" He asks once more, earning a scoff out of you.

You step back, staring straight into his glare. Crossed arms tight against your chest. Brows rest over your deadpan eyes.

"While SSA Aaron Hotchner is proficient at his skills and rather placid in physically and mentally challenging situations, I strongly recommend further evaluation in psychotherapy as his emotional capacity is at its limits. The stress accumulated from the job itself has given him little to no time to allow himself the indulgence to properly process certain impacts of the stimulus he encounters on the job. Will update after further observation. Is what I wrote… so far."

You pause.

"Aaron Hotchner is an insufferable, pompous idiot who's afraid of nothing but himself. He is incapable of stepping off his pedestal and refuses to cooperate while complaining about the consequences he himself caused. He has been through enormous trauma. It will be torture to try and help him cope properly. I do not want him in my care as he is a danger to his own progress, and I don't want any part of it. Is what I wanted to write."

Silence.

For him to reflect.

For you to breathe.

Aaron's frozen before you. A pale statue bleached under the moon's harsh reality. Words that used to be superficial insecurities float in the wind of truth, forming into a cage he's sentenced for life.

Your fuse still runs—a long time coming from two months of his deliberate disrespect. The silence annoys you, so you break it. "Excuse my hostility. No one's invaded my privacy and barged into my household at such an unreasonable hour before." The impassive smile on your lips can haunt anyone.

Maybe you've gone too far.

Maybe it's evil to say such blunt things to someone fragile.

But Aaron started the countdown. He lit the fuse. Now, you're exploding right before his eyes, reaping what he sowed. And he's forced to eat up all the debris.

His eyes twitch, scanning your face for any sign of bluff, any sign of fallacy. Any sign that he successfully pissed you off and your words were nothing but overwhelmed impulse.

"I—" he closes his mouth, then agape. Any sign. Aaron will take anything besides the forthright expression on your face. He inhales, "I'm sorry." The sound dies before it can roll off his tongue.

It's like watching a bully shrink into the tiniest man who's ever lived.

Okay, maybe you were a little bit brutal.

You gulp as guilt creeps along your veins, wishing that someone out there would just do you both a favor and snipe you out before the embarrassment settles.

Drawing in a gentle breath, you take another step back from Aaron with a delicate voice, "You're not starting a new evaluation, but you're not done either. I transferred you under someone else's care because of personal reasons. My life doesn't revolve around you, Mr. Hotchner. So, if you have nothing else to say, go home." Your eyes drift to the vast selection of objects in your living room to diffuse the growing pity you can't help but harbor.

Only then does Aaron discern his impulsivity. Internally arguing with himself as he allows himself to look at you. One thing he's never done since the moment he met you with screwed brows and unwavering bias. His gaze instantly softens like a thick fog around him finally dissipates. Like he's achieved a clearer vision.

The first thing he notices is the state of your face. The dry mascara that drew faded stripes down your cheeks. Your puffy eyes are now faint pink, but he recalls them being red when he arrived.

Then Aaron brings his attention to your black dress. It's a simple formal, mesh midi dress, but he admits how it elegantly fits you. But he doesn't say it aloud because there's only one reason why you'd wear such an article of depressing clothing.

As if your words and his own realizations aren't enough, he gets a glimpse of the clock on your wall that reads 12:03 AM.

His blood suddenly stops flowing—skin clammy and pale. Aaron's lightheaded from guilt and penitence.

Without another word, you lead him towards the door, swinging it open. The past 24 hours already drained you, and Aaron just about made it fifty times worse. All you wanted was to get a shuteye.

Aaron swallows the shame and makes his way out. Before he leaves, though, he turns to face you once more. Genuine curiosity pinches his brows.

"Why didn't you just clear me out like the others did if I was such a difficult case?" The word tastes bitter in his mouth. What used to be a desired flavor turned rotten on his palette.

He asks with utter softness, leaving you skeptical to respond.

"Same reason why you kept attending my sessions even though you clearly hated it." You slightly close the door, only leaving enough space for the two of you to see each other.

He looks at you like the answer's all over your face but written in some foreign language he's not familiar with. Aaron barely opens his mouth when you answer the question in his mind.

"You needed a place where you can just be."

The door shuts.

Friday, June 19, 11:02 PM

"I didn't know where to go."

You pore at Aaron Hotchner with nothing but a flimsy robe to prevent his imagination from going rampant—and dirty.

It's eleven in the evening. It's been one month since you last saw him. It's been a month since he barged into your apartment like an entitled brat. It's been a month since you let your emotions take over. It's been a month since the two of you revealed parts of yourselves either of you don't dare think of.

A month and no contact.

You didn't wonder; just hoped and prayed that Aaron finally finds it in him to let go of the emotional turmoil that's torturing the soul out of his body.

Sighing, you step aside and let him in, closing the door behind you like it's normal to stop by one's ex-psychiatrist's apartment in the middle of the night without prior notice and, most importantly, without meter to run the minutes he's inconveniencing you.

Aaron walks in, and the heavy humidity of arousal immediately hits him.

Oh.

Well...

If he had something to say, Aaron kept his mouth shut. He is at fault for driving straight to your place like he's your bestest friend. So, he doesn't mention it, ignoring the fact that you're barely clothed.

Besides, after your last interaction with him, Aaron's certain he didn't have any prerogative in how you'd like to spend your Friday evening.

"Take a seat. I'll be with you in a minute." Your steps are light behind him—feet nimbly grazing the wooden floor.

He turns to face you but quickly averts his gaze to avoid the glistening sight of your thighs. "Thank you..." He does his best to sound normal, choking in between syllables.

Aaron begins to regret his decision. Though, not enough to leave your place.

You disappear in the corner of the hallway. Allowing Aaron to finally release the breath he didn't know he was holding.

With you out of sight, his mind deliberately wanders...

What were you doing?

Aaron shakes his head vigorously like a worm under a storm of salt. The thought is undiscovered—untouched territory, forbidden to be exact. Should he form such thoughts, he'll do it somewhere else or rather about someone else.

Just as he caters to the sudden dizziness caused by his action, a man, half-dressed, walks past him, cursing under his breath and buttoning his shirt. Aaron's eyes widen a little, keeping his stoic face.

Oh, that's what you were doing.

Ick—as Aaron would like to call your visitor—had brown and curly, unruly hair. He was tall and definitely had a face, which, Aaron assumes, is nothing like the one he envisioned you're attracted to.

Somehow not a pleasant discovery compared to what he attempted to imagine—you, alone.

Ick looks at Aaron with a scoff echoing out of his throat, "Oh, what a surprise! She's a slut." He states smugly.

"Or she just wants someone better." The words spill out without hesitation, fired on sight. Aaron doesn't know where the boldness came from as he leans against the seat with a cocky smirk on his face. Definitely no more perplexed than the uncertainty of anger boiling inside of him. He glares at the man either way.

The man scoffs again before leaving with a couple more insults that Aaron thinks he's lucky to whisper, or your visitor would've left your apartment in an ambulance.

Ick slams the door, shaking the vase on the accent chest by the entrance.

Where did that come from?

He's questionably not as big of a hater as he was before, but Aaron can't determine the motivation that made him act the way he just did with a person who has business with you, which he should have no interest in.

Moments later, you come back, fully clothed, in an oversized hoodie and a pair of wide-leg linen pants. Comfy and a 180 contrast on how you dress at work, plus the garments you had on minutes ago.

You make a beeline to your kitchen, "Water or scotch?" You holler out, opening cabinets with a creek on their hinges.

The question is rhetorical. You place a glass with brown liquid glinting under the warm ambient light on the coffee table in front of Aaron, then plop on the armchair across from him, catering your own glass.

He stares between you and the glass while you kiss yours, never breaking your gaze. You hum in delight, making a popping sound with your lips.

Aaron opens his mouth and then closes it, falling into a cycle like a fish underwater. How should he explain himself? How does one explain why they're bothering their ex-psychiatrist past working hours? After making a scene a month ago? He swallows the thick void in his throat.

"Don't talk, just drink. Sit here for an hour. Then, go home." You say, opening up a book that's been sitting on the table since he arrived.

Aaron feels a surge of relief. He reaches for the drink and lets the smoky taste trail down his throat without hesitation. He wouldn't have guessed you as a fan of scotch—or anything not clear or fruity. This is the first he's seen you without some sort of filter he can't read through, and the observation prints you under a new light.

The silence comforts him. The occasional scrape of paper against paper with each flip of a page provides him reassurance. The company he finds within your presence gives him solace.

You let him be. Asked no questions, reading in peace like he was just any other friend who needed company.

He does as you said. Indulging in the hour of tranquility and stillness. His nerves tame. And he forgets why he went to you in the first place.

Why did he go to you?

Of all people. Of all the friends he brags about. The family he cherishes. His feet dragged—drove him to you.

The onerous unit chief chose to wander to your front door, sipping scotch as he enjoyed the silence and absence of others' guilting worry and constant craving to make him feel better when all he wanted was peace and letting the ache pass in gradual acceptance.

By the end of the hour, you call him a cab with the instructions for him to pick up his car the next day.

Aaron slept effortlessly that night.

Saturday, October 24, 9:24 PM

Aaron expected some sort of rejection or for you to slam the door close, or worse, ignore him as soon as you see his face through the peephole.

One can only tolerate a couple of unannounced visits from an insufferable ex-patient, right? He's surprised you haven't called the cops on him.

He skims your face for any sign of irritation or annoyance as soon as you reveal yourself behind your door, standing next to it to give him way. Aaron saw nothing but impatience.

You knit your brows, slightly tilting your head at his frozen build outside the frame of your door. "Well? Are you stuck or something? Get in, Hotchner—" You turn before you can even finish talking, disappearing down the small entryway.

He turns deaf for a moment. Your voice rings in his ears as if a bomb had just popped the only working drum he had left.

Hotchner.

Agent.

Mister—

Just Hotchner.

One simple change, and the light above your head suddenly looks brighter.

Like he's found something good. Something he can say he knows. Something he can trust(?)

"Don't forget to take your shoes off and shut the door!" You holler from the living room—unfazed.

Aaron flinches, snapping out of his trance. He wonders where you'd gone to, furrowing his brows, and yet enters your apartment with the permission you'd given him. He closes the door, pivoting on the soles of his dress shoes as he tentatively takes them off per your instructions.

He emerges back in your peripheral while you stare at the screen on your laptop, blue-filtered glasses back on. Your fingers hammer on the keys, soft sighs slipping past your lips every once in a while.

You glance at Aaron when his figure stays at the corner of your eye, cupping a coffee mug between your hands. "There's fresh coffee if you'd like. Are you hungry? I don't usually eat dinner, so I have nothing ready to eat, but I can whip something up." You blow over the surface of caffeine, and steam wafts on the tip of your nose.

"No—" He shakes his head, scoffing in confusion, "I'm sorry—"

"Apology accepted," You muffle into the mug.

Aaron's brows connect tighter, and his forehead creases. He looks at you like he's under an illusion, a hypnotic dream he can't quite distinguish.

"Hold on," He hoists his hand up as if to pause a scene in the movie. "I'm very confused. What is going on? Why are you being… casual and nice?"

"You say it like I'm incapable of human decency." Your back makes contact with the cushion of your sofa, pulling your legs close to your chest while one hand holds the handle of your mug. You roll your eyes when Aaron only stares at you, "Are you uncomfortable? Do you want to leave?"

Aaron shakes his head.

"Problem solved, then?" Confusion is still fresh on his blank face. You mentally smack your forehead. "There are patients who lack temporal sense, but turning them away when they clearly need immediate tending to would be a form of negligence on my part. So, feel at home." You theatrically stretch your arms, offering every corner of your space as his own.

"But I'm not your patient anymore. I've been back on duty for weeks." Aaron informs. Although he finds a place for his go bag on your floor.

If you didn't know any better, you'd assume he's about to stay for a sleepover—coming to your apartment late at night.

You wrinkle your nose, "Okay?" You look around as if someone else is in the room with you two. "Is that why you went here? You wanted to brag?"

Three months.

Aaron's been back to his usual routine for the past three months. And it's been four since he drank scotch on the very couch you're comfortably in.

A chuckle.

The sound tickles your ears, filling you with unexpected pride.

"No," Aaron shakes his head as the chuckle resonates through his chest. "I… I don't really know why I came here, if I'm being honest." He swallows air.

You nod, setting your laptop back on your lap. "Like I said, you're free to feel at home. Scotch is in the third cupboard. Coffee's in the pot. I've got some stuff to take care of, so help yourself." Your eyes are already fixed on the screen, hands jumping from one key to the other.

With your permission, Aaron ventures into your kitchen. Neat. Clean. Cozy. He somehow imagines you cooking as a hobby.

He settles for coffee. Asking you from the kitchen island if you'd like a refill—which you took without a thought, hoisting your cup up—and taking out a couple of his files to get a head start on his paperwork. He wasn't allowed to bring them outside the bureau's building, but it didn't matter at the moment.

Your apartment becomes a haven.

Aaron, for the first time in years, feels comfortable to slouch. He had no collection of when and how, but turns out he'd changed into a quarter-zip and one of his pajamas tucked in his go bag through the hours.

The two of you silently took care of your own thing until 1 AM strikes, and a yawn pulls you back into the earth.

You turn your head towards the kitchen to find Aaron scribbling over your kitchen island. He's sipping coffee—a fresh batch he made not long ago.

Stretching, you make your way past him. After placing the mug into the sink, you lean against it, crossing your arms as you stare at him. "Ten."

"What's that?" Aaron halts on his seat, lifting his head to look at you.

"I'm granting you ten visits," You announce.

"And that means?.."

Your face deadpans, and he does well at stifling a smile. "You can come here whenever you want—need, but only for ten free visits. It doesn't matter if it's late, too early, or unreasonable. I'm allowing you to knock on my door whenever you need. Any more than that, you have to attend my sessions in my office, where I get paid."

"What's the catch?" Aaron entwines his eyebrows, straightening his back as he props on the edge of the counter.

"No catch. Just one condition," You shift your weight on your other leg, "Don't come empty-handed. Food, drink, things, a person, anything. Bring something." Your brows hang on your forehead, anticipating any type of response.

Aaron weighs his choices. Calculated every possible outcome and benefit. He meets your eyes again. Index and thumb rubbing the growing stubble on his chin.

"Ten's a good number," He says as he nods.

Wednesday, March 2, 7:31 PM

Eleven months pass by in the blink of an eye.

It's the seventh time Aaron showed up without warning, and by this point in whatever acquaintance you two had, you aren't fazed or surprised anymore.

The fourth time he knocked on your door, he was carrying a hefty price of whiskey. An odd reason for a psychiatrist and a former patient to bond with, but you had no qualms about sipping neat whiskey that night.

At first, he stayed for an hour. Then, an hour turned into three. One time, a case hit too deep, and three became seven, but that only happened once—all you remember was a Wednesday night.

"Are you okay?"

Gentle sighs escape shivering lips. Tears pooling deep inside sockets.

One sharp sniff breaks it all.

You sob under Aaron's worried eyes as your grip on the knob almost snaps it off the door.

His brows twists and he reflexively yanks you by the back of your head into his chest, bringing you out of your apartment and into the complex's hallway.

"What happened?" He carefully inquires while he rests his chin atop your head.

You're a mess in his arms. Uncontrollable whimpers muffled in his soaked chest.

Aaron suggested that you two step inside for more privacy and heat, but he didn't complain when you two stayed frozen in the end of winter evening.

When it stops. The suffocating ache. You lightly push yourself off him, wiping the leftover tears off your cheeks—half of it already dampened his shirt.

Fifty-three minutes and seventeen seconds.

You cried to the point of dehydration.

"Sorry," you mutter, eyes down. "We should go inside if we don't want to catch hypothermia." You sniffle.

"Oh, we don't want that," Aaron attempts to joke, closely observing whether you'd react to it.

You didn't.

He closes the door behind him, following your figure as you practically drag yourself to your unofficial designated spot on the sofa.

"I know I'm the last person you'd want to hear this from, but would you like to talk about it?" He bites his inner cheek.

Nothing.

You only mold yourself into a ball.

Aaron hesitates whether to stay or leave you alone. It's true that you said he's welcome anytime, but you're definitely in no condition to entertain his own problems when you can't even look him in the eye the way you would, no matter how insufferable he is.

But he can't just leave you by yourself either. Nothing is stopping him, but he's not cold-blooded enough.

"It's not easy," Aaron fractures out of his trance at the sound of your small voice. You look at him with a tight-lipped smile. "This job, I mean."

You inhale a sharp breath, tucking your lower lip between your teeth. "I can be hopeful, positive, supportive… Everything to prove that a better life is possible, but at the end of the day, it's not my choice." You wryly chuckle. "It's the patient's. It's your decision to want to feel better. To want to change. To want to live—" You choke, and the tears flow once more.

"It's not about me, but I can't help feeling like a failure." Sobs spill off your lips, gasping for air. "I was supposed to make everything better. I was supposed to heal everyone and save everyone from whatever monster was hurting them. She said she's never felt so much better. She said it's the first time she felt so peaceful for years, Hotchner. She said she was looking forward to our next session. But she just… I didn't—" You gulp—struggling. "I didn't catch it. I didn't catch her lie. And hours later, I get a call from her mother telling me she— she died." Your hands shakily clasp your mouth to push the sobs back, but you fail.

Aaron doesn't know what to say.

But he knows what to feel.

He knows it well.

The guilt. The shame of never living up to your own promise. The pain of losing someone you swore to keep safe.

Then, it hits him like a wrecking ball.

How difficult of a patient was he before?

Has he ever made you cry before?

It's a stretch that you'd ever shed a tear over his stubbornness, but Aaron hopes you never did.

Because he's never seen anyone care so much despite getting all the hate. Despite taking all the blame. You stood your ground and became other people's foundation. You became their comfort.

You became the only thing that gave him serenity.

With the little time he's known you—a total of 43 genuine friendly hours—Aaron can testify in heaven that they had mistakenly dropped you into the earth. And he's never felt blessed to have someone like you. Never felt lucky enough to find someone with who he could feel broken as much as he could but never needed to save face.

So, he's heartbroken for you. And guilty that more than half of the time you'd known him, he made your passion a miserable experience.

And also guilty of developing feelings for you.

Saturday, August 13, 4:16 PM

"I'm not playing favorites, but your tech analyst definitely deserves better than being cooped up in the bureau's building." You say, plopping on the sofa with a soft bounce and a squeak from the coil spring.

Aaron hands you a glass of bourbon while sipping his own. Eyes fixated on the board on your coffee table. "I have no other choice. It's the only way to keep her safe. Unless you're willing to adopt her, I don't want to hear it." He chuckles, connecting his brows at the sight of your winning streak.

You two are playing Scrabble. It was Monopoly twenty minutes ago, but along the lines, you learned how butt-hurt a six-foot and two-inch man can get. Not an enlightening experience. It would have been two stars if you had to rate it.

So, you switched to Scrabble.

And Aaron is losing again.

Boy, were you so entertained.

He just came back from a fairly short case from Los Angeles. The case is not heavy or mentally draining—according to Aaron, but Jack's at a two-day sleepover, and Aaron has no idea how to spend the rest of his day—turning down Derek Morgan's and David Rossi's invitation to grab a drink at O'Keefe's with you in mind.

Aaron leans on the back of his seat. You don't know when your reclining armchair became his designated seat, but you noticed how lax he is in it and didn't question it further.

Months and months of relaxing stillness in your home—only ever full of bizarre surprises and irresistible joy whenever Aaron knocks at your door. With no means of communication or ever seeing each other at either workplace, Aaron's visits are welcomed but never fully anticipated. Thrilling.

Spelling the word 'loser' on the board with triple points, you bite the tissue inside your lower lip. "Maybe you can play Scrabble with her. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and win." You grin smugly at him.

Aaron gapes at you with a mixture of disbelief and merriment. He looks down on the flat entertainment, then back to you as he blinks. "You're cheating." He declares, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

A hearty laugh Aaron's never heard before roars out of you, and it's melodic to his ears. The meringue light spills through the forgotten open blinds of your window, painting your face with a dreamy filter. Aaron feels dizzy at the sight.

Your smile is contagious, and out of nowhere, his heart starts to pick up as if he'd caught whatever illness your radiant lips had by only staring at it. The loose hair over your forehead frames your face differently—different good. Like you'd been glowing, and the watts in your core mysteriously increased, so you're as bright as the sun and as warm as its light.

"You're just a sore loser. Suck it up, Hotchner." You shake with mirth, casually running dainty fingers along the curve of your ear.

"Aaron," He blurts too fast, too soon—too late to take back.

With a nonchalant shrug, you rephrase, "Suck. It. Up. Aaron." Much more emphasis and friskiness.

You tease him more about his lack of greatness in board games compared to his undeniable talent in every case the BAU encountered. But Aaron's already dazed by your lips calling his name.

Without either of you realizing it, 4 PM became AM.

Talk about abusing one's privileges. Aaron's moderately good at that. You conclude he's simply a strutting opportunist.

After the longest winning streak you've ever had in your life, you and Aaron decided to take a much-needed break and fell into silent reading—or, in your case, grooming your schedule for the next five months.

Midnight strikes along the grumble of Aaron's stomach. You two were too quiet. It echoed all over your apartment. Both of you fell into an obstreperous fit of laughter for another hour, stopping for a minute in between only to laugh some more as soon as you met each other's eyes.

Now, it's four in the morning. You're busy munching on Chinese takeout from a 24-hour restaurant Aaron called in. He claims he has handsome privilege courtesy of the owner, which you mockingly laughed at, to his dismay.

"I'm still terrified." He blurts.

The case must've been very difficult, then. He lied yesterday. However, at this point in your friendship, you expect him to do so, even if it's obvious.

You'd long given up on coaxing Aaron to talk about the case that brought him to your office. Or any other cases that got him knocking on your door at the most unreasonable hour. You thought that the best you could offer him was the comfort that no matter how beaten up he looked, you'd ask no questions and let him sort his boggled mind until he was ready to talk about it.

Looks like tonight's the moment. It only took more than a year, so it is not a big deal—to either of you, at least.

He looks at you when you remain quiet, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he continues, "What Peter Lewis did to me was terrorizing. I always wonder whether I'm making the right decision or sending my agents straight to their deaths. I second guess. I'm scared that a part of him is still in my head, driving me to make a fatal mistake." Aaron starts playing with his food, poking an orange chicken with his chopsticks.

The memory brings a tangy taste to his tongue, and Aaron can't help but cringe. It's the first time he's ever talked about Peter Lewis. Granted, Aaron spoke about the event numerous times but never about how it made him feel. Never how it broke him.

Is it weird to say you're a little proud of Aaron?

Of course, you don't tell him that. Not out loud. You know he knows you're proud of him. And that's enough said.

With a few audible chews—caused by a carrot bit stuck between your teeth—that somehow doesn't piss Aaron off, you swallow the food and draw your lips into a thin line. You place the chopsticks on the side, wiping the rim of your mouth.

You know he's watching you. Anticipatingly waiting for a response for anything other than the silence he's accustomed to.

"Breathe," You gently instruct, clear enough for him to hear but not too loud for Aaron to jump in shock.

And he does.

His shoulder blades rise and fall into a soft rhythm. Aaron was holding his breath, and you knew. Of course, you knew.

"Do you know the purpose of defense mechanisms?" You quiz him, earning a nod from Aaron, and yet no following answer. "You were already mad at me even before we met. And for what? Nothing concrete, I'm sure."

Aaron was about to object, but you raised your hand to stop him, "I'm not trying to attack you. All I'm saying is that rather than being in denial, you displaced your frustration on someone else less threatening—me."

Silence.

"I'm sorry—"

"I'm not done, shush!" You close your fist to mute him, cutting him off.

Aaron subtly rolls his eyes. He started doing so on his fifth visit when Aaron brought Jack and a few video games.

He told you that Jack's heard about your interest in a couple of games and wanted to play with you, but you know damn well Aaron bought the game for himself. Nonetheless, you entertained them by teaming up with Jack and obliterating Aaron. He vowed never to play against you ever again, at least not to your face.

"I would never know the pain and suffering that you went through. And somehow, even with that fact, a part of your life was in the palm of my hand. You had no control, but I did. So, instead of understanding the why, you hated the wrong who. And it's okay."

You take a sip from your straw, and a bubbly sensation fills you. Your tongue glides over your lips as you lean against the counter. "In short, for a man who's been through a lot, you know how to cope." A shrug ends your sentence, grabbing another bite of chow mein on your plate.

"Yeah, right," Aaron scoffs. The sincerity in your voice sparks something in him. It's giddy and tempting. But he can't possibly show the smile that's itching to spread his lips.

But his nonchalance may have triggered something in you because Aaron doesn't expect your next move. His neck felt like a snapped glow stick after you manually turned his head to face you—grabbing him by the space between his neck and chin. Aaron widens his eyes in the process.

"Listen here, you stubborn poopy head." You start, forehead creasing.

Aaron badly wanted to poke fun at your poor, intimidating skills, but he realized you didn't need any pointers just by the glare in your eyes.

"Peter Lewis got to your head, but that doesn't mean you were weak to let him. Yes, you fought through the influence of the drug heroically. Yes, you saved your agents and, most importantly, yourself. But it's still okay to be scared. It's okay that you feel broken. Who says broken things aren't great?"

It might be the sleep deprivation that's hitting Aaron, but he's very much enjoying your little fuse. How your words meant nothing like how you sound.

"That silver watch of yours—" you glance at his wrist "—has been broken for years, but I bet if you pawn it, it'll be more valuable than me. Antiques are expensive because they have unique histories. They survived beaten up, scratched, damaged, but still as beautiful as ever."

You're rambling, explaining more than you need to. Felt obligated to drill in his mind that despite the bad things, Aaron remains good. You're uncertain—clueless—as to why you felt the need to prove his praiseworthy, almost as if you're trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"From my observation, you're a sharper profiler despite all the things you went through. A part of you suffered and died in that house and many houses before. Of course, you'll be broken. You're a human being, Aaron. Act like one for Pete's sake!"

"I don't know whether you're being nice or mean." He chuckles with a mischievous grin, marveling at the way your eyes narrow as you look at him.

"I liked you better when you didn't talk." You tut, rolling your eyes.

For a moment, your senses heighten, and the simple brush of his hand against the skin over your wrist, as he takes your hold off him, sends billions of electricity throughout your body.

Aaron smiles—genuinely. "Thank you," He says softly, clearing his throat. His hand is still tight around your wrist. "You simply could've slammed the door the first time I knocked, but you always let me in. I appreciate you tolerating me."

You laugh, retracting your hands off his skin before you melt in his grasp. "I did not let you in the first time. You barged in like I'm some fugitive." You fix your posture on the stool beneath you, looking away.

His chuckle wakes the butterflies in your stomach, and you shove them right back down by stuffing your mouth with food.

Your eyes catch a glimpse of the time, "Y-you better go home and change before your son wonders why his father smells like Chinese food for Sunday brunch. Jack's a big fan of good 'ole syrupy pancakes, there's a good one by the bureau's building. Better hurry up and pick him up." It's amazing how much you almost choked and stuttered as you spoke, hoping that Aaron wouldn't question the way your demeanor changed.

Aaron takes one last bite before towering next to you, "Let me clean up. It's the least I can do for imposing half of your weekend." He insists, swiping the styrofoam off your hands.

"Glad you got manners," You nod approvingly, earning another chuckle from him, making sure you gave him enough space to move around without brushing any part of your body, or you wouldn't know what the brewing feeling in your chest would make you do.

You mindlessly peer at Aaron's broad shoulders and dark hair that looks so soft you wonder if it'll melt with your touch. You blink, catching yourself mid-swoon.

After a few minutes, Aaron bids you goodbye and you wish him well, asking to relay a short message to Jack.

"I think you're only nice to me because of Jack," He jokes, pivoting on the heel of his shoes to get one last glimpse of you.

You give him a tight smile, raising your brows as you shrug.

One visit left.

Thursday, May 5, 12:51 PM

The news said Mr. Scratch escaped prison. Peter Lewis is out and about, no doubt, planning serious harm against Aaron. You turn the TV off. The image shrinks into a small diamond spark 'til it leaves a dark screen.

Ninety-eight beats per minute are your normal, but you surmise it's about a hundred and twelve at the moment as your mind anxiously ruminates your not-so-favorite-unofficial patient's well-being.

You glance at your phone, debating whether to give him a call, but even if you gain the guts to do so, you don't have his number. Who knew that refusing personal contacts would backfire? Aaron can knock anytime, you said. It doesn't matter whether he texts or calls before, you said.

Now, you have no means of contacting him, and you refuse to resort to his ways—going through his file like he went through yours.

It's a shitty feeling.

You keep your fingers as far away from your mouth as possible, afraid you'll bite your nails to its quick. If Aaron was with you, he'd say something annoyingly witty about how your anxiety's too easy to read, and you'd be bantering back a remark about his tells that not many notice but sure slightly pisses him off that you know him like the back of your hand.

Eyes dart in the direction of your entryway, waiting for any distinctive sound only Aaron makes whenever he closes the door like a teenager coming home past curfew.

"This is driving me crazy!" You ruffle your own hair, rubbing your face in frustration.

Tempted to wait outside your door for Aaron to arrive, in need of a company. A once-in-a-lifetime bone-crushing hug, given by yours truly. Or open up the 1997 Old Forester bourbon on top of your shelf that Aaron's been eyeing for a year.

You need to know if he's okay. You need to see that he's okay. Physically, mentally, and emotionally okay.

No one ever knocked.

Friday, November 18, 2:33 PM

"Aren't you curious?"

You look at Rossi, "About?" Your eyebrows pinch together. You backtrack the entire session in your mind, trying to remember if there is anything you are supposed to be curious about.

There's none.

Rossi turns to face you, a hand emerging out of his pocket. "You're not curious where he's been? I've known him for years, and I've never been more curious about his whereabouts 'til now." The hand waves around as each syllable flows, and slices the air every emphasis he makes like a conductor of his emotions.

He usually talks with his hand whenever he's emotionally troubled, attempting to make a point to himself, justifying that his feelings are reasonable.

David Rossi has been your patient for years; you can write any and everything about him into a best-selling book.

"You said it yourself, Dave," You shrugged with your arms. "You've known him for years. He and I saw each other a couple of times during our physician-patient interaction. Any interaction we had after is just the two of us drowning in silence."

Aaron never knocked that day.

He hasn't redeemed his last visit for the past five months. While it isn't the longest time he's never stopped by, you're bitter about it.

You couldn't sleep for a week after Peter Lewis escaped prison. You were afraid that Aaron's name would flash across any type of screen or mark a headline on every article and newspaper. You had to take anxiety medication to stop your body from trembling whenever the thought of him crossed your mind.

It was hell.

The utter hopelessness and lack of courage teared you apart. The strangeness. The nonexistence. You don't reckon a conversation with Aaron that involves you and him. Only you or him or whatever depressing topic comes up. You're not even sure if you had actual conversations. Always wallowing in silence while sipping either scotch or coffee.

But you two had a deal. No catch. Not even feelings. Developing one for Aaron did not cross your mind when you granted him the power to bother you at any running time.

All of it is to say you wish you had known Aaron's last visit was, in fact, the last.

Rossi squints, "You're telling me the quietness you shared didn't matter? That his company didn't benefit you the same way it did for him?" He stands tall, pleased with his words.

It did.

Of course, it did.

And you loved every second of it.

Even if you realize it too late.

But you won't say that to Rossi. Or to anyone ever.

A sigh drops your shoulders. You give him a blank stare, letting his question hover for a moment. "What do you want me to say?" You continue packing up your things on your desk, breaking eye contact.

If you knew David Rossi like the back of your hand, David Rossi knew you like every family of the victims he managed to save.

Worried.

Heartbroken.

Hurt.

Aaron never told Rossi about any interactions with you after he was released from your care. It's information Rossi's only ever heard a confirmation from you. But he knew it from the moment Aaron came to work after his first session with you and couldn't seem to get the specific idea of you out of his head.

"We're doing everything we can to catch Peter Lewis. Aaron will be back, I promise."

Pause.

You fight your every single sense to remain composed. Hearing Aaron's name instantly made you crumble. The sound of it hitting your chest with such force you had to bite the tissue behind your closed lip. You badly wanted—needed to cry and throw a tantrum.

The inner ends of your brows lift up as you nod, "Good for you... and for him. I'll see you in two weeks, Dave." You dismiss, walking around your desk to push him out of your office.

"Wait, wait! Just listen!" You retract your hands off his back and let him face you. "He's okay. He and Jack are safe somewhere I, unfortunately, don't know." He tries to meet your gaze—successful. "But! But that's a good thing. Not knowing where he is while in protective custody is good. Safe. I just thought you'd want to know."

You nod, "Certainly a good information, Dave. But not really necessary." Your tongue subtly swipes the bottom of your lips. "Aa—Agent Hotchner was a patient. Anything outside of that is not my business." Liar.

Rossi tucks his mouth into a thin line, nodding. "See you in two weeks, kid."

Tuesday, March 27, 6:12 PM

It's a nice Spring.

Your hair dances like the breeze is music as you trudge back to your apartment against the rush hour sidewalk traffic.

A year and a half.

You moved to a different place since then.

Moved on— from something that never existed, but really, your old complex just ran out of business.

You couldn't possibly move on, even if you wanted to.

"Good evening, Mrs. Willows," You smile at the old lady as she steps on the base of the stairs.

Mrs. Willows was old, close to ninety. And she's the best landlady you've ever met.

She smiles back, "Oh, just in time!" She waddles towards you, scraping the soles of her flats against the creaky floorboards.

"Did you need anything, Mrs—"

The old lady doesn't let you finish when she yanks you back up the stairs. Confusion fills you, but if you are being honest, you're more amazed by her speed. You didn't know it was possible for her to have that much energy.

"There's this handsome boy knocking at your door earlier. So, I let him in."

You dig your feet on one of the steps, halting her. "Mrs. Willows, you let a stranger in my house?" Your brows knit.

She looks at you, "Well, I figured it's one of your patients." She shrugs.

"I wasn't expecting any home visit today." You announce, peeking at the top of the stairs. "And I would've been home if there was…"

You excuse yourself, cautiously walking towards your door. The floor plan is different from your old apartment. But everything still felt the same.

The anxiety of a random stranger going through your place left you rushing to the living room. You don't exactly let any random patient inside your home. It's usually the profilers that seem to have a liking to you that lucked the privilege to visit your home at any given time.

"I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to set an appointment at the clinic—" you abruptly stop, blinking.

Aaron Hotchner.

He's sat on the armchair, only lifting his gaze after he'd closed the book you were reading before you decided to step out to run some errands.

He is wearing a navy blue quarter zip sweater and a white shirt, peeking from under. It's paired with loose-fitting gray casual pants. Like his closet had an upset stomach and threw up all over him.

The bags under his eyes are almost invisible. It used to be a tint of greenish purple. A proof of his late nights and stressful days. He's caught up with sleep for a while now.

His hair, a little longer than you're accustomed to, somehow made him look young and boyish. Probably why Mrs. Willows referred to him as a boy.

It's quite an image. Not one you'd expect to see upon opening your front door, but you mentally admit liking it.

He looks refreshing and well-rested.

"I heard you started your own practice?" He didn't mean to form it as a question, tongue-tied by nervousness. He flashes an awkward, subtle smile, dipping his hands into his pockets.

Your lashes flutter like butterflies gliding through the soft wind of Spring, except you're struggling to go against the breeze, winded by the city pollution.

"H-have you eaten?" You ask, snapping out of your trance as you head to the kitchen. Great. A question for a question. You're as nervous as he is, and you don't feel the need to hide it, though you aren't inclined to admit it.

He chuckles, and it still makes you melt after a year of trying to remember how it sounds, "That's your first question? Not 'What are you doing here?' or 'How did you find me?'" He follows you to the kitchen, it's a lot smaller than the one at your old place but you had a dinner table now, which still feels like an upgrade.

You turn and face him, leaning against the counter, "I'll just charge the entire team on their next visit. But I have a feeling David's the culprit." You blurt, earning raised brows from Aaron. "Oh? They didn't tell you? Your team unofficially designated me as their psychiatrist. I guess they also kept an important information from you." You twist on your feet to focus on the produce you carefully picked in hopes someone would join you for dinner.

But you didn't expect Aaron to be that person.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No!" You almost stumble as you spin back to face him. "I'm in no position to be mad. If a patient doesn't need my services, then I have no say." You lick the lower of your lip, biting it as soon as your tongue glides past. Heat pooling in the back of your eyes.

Aaron steps closer, "I didn't mean to—"

"I told you I'm not mad."

"You're really going to lie to an FBI profiler?"

"Former," You correct him, sniffing as you fight the tears from rolling down your cheeks. Your head's tilted up, almost facing the ceiling. Anger and frustration hammer into your chest.

He rolls his eyes, trying to catch yours. "Former, right." He parrots with a little more sarcasm. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything... I needed to make sure Jack's safe." He softly speaks, making sure you understand every syllable.

It's your turn to roll your eyes, blinking and letting a tear fall in the process. "You don't have to apologize for protecting your son. I'm not evil, Hotchner. I'll do the same thing for my family. I'm completely indifferent about your disappearance, and i-it's allergy season. I'm fine." You wipe the tear stain off your face.

"I missed hearing you say my name like it's a foul word." Aaron smiles so brightly you thought you were dead and some divine was just using his image to guide you across.

"Seriously? That's what you took from it?" You shake your head, turning your back to him once more. "I feel bad for Jack now that you're a full-time father."

Aaron laughs, and by definition. "Oh, he's had enough of me." His eyebrows jump on his forehead, drifting his eyes aside as if he's replaying every instance Jack's complained to him.

You laugh, too. A full hearty laugh that seems to source from the casualty between the two of you despite the irritation you felt.

It's still the same. The ease. The effortless flow and connection despite anxious nerves. It felt like talking to an old friend you've known longer than you are alive.

You nibble on your lips, "So? You're off protective custody, or do I have to call you Brad?" You quiz airily, back still facing him to hide any form of amusement that's forming on your facial features.

"Brad?" He scoffs, crossing his arms and knitting his brows. He sounds about offended as if you'd disrespected his entire bloodline.

"Yeah, you look like a Brad to me." You remember a story from the women in the BAU. One that they happily shared one evening at Rossi's before they all begged to be added to your list of patients once you start your private practice.

Aaron lets out another scoff. "No, I'm just Aaron. Aaron to everyone. Aaron to you." He grumbles something under his breath that you don't hear, but a clear indication of his disapproval regarding the name.

You stifle a giggle, "Well, just Aaron. Consider yourself lucky that I got a free slot. I would've been with a patient by now." You state.

"Am I really just a patient to you?" Aaron inquires from behind you. He attentively observes for any subtle movement or expression in your voice. There's a longing look in his eyes that you aren't aware of. A frown drops his lips as he adds, "I at least thought we were friends."

"Mm," You hum a chuckle, "More like my stalker. But sure, we'll go with yours... friends—"

He spins you by the waist, and you're not sure if your initial thought of dreaming is ending anytime soon as your body tenses under his hold.

A small yelp squeaks out of you, hands flying behind you on the counter as if to hold yourself up from your wobbly feet. And you're certain both of you can hear the loud pulse on your carotid.

"Hotchner, what the hell?!" You chastise, pulling back, but to no avail. Caged and pinned by his strength, and you're too baffled to react accordingly.

"I'd like to redeem my tenth visit." Aaron smiles from ear to ear. You never thought it possible for a stern-faced man to ever grin this wide. To ever be this bright and bubbly.

Aaron keeps the two of you that way for a few minutes. His face is a few inches from yours. You can hear him calculating in his head.

Only the busy street outside and one of your neighbor's loud TV fills the silence.

"Your pupils are dilated." Aaron grins mischievously. He further scans your face, the same way he did when he used to be your patient, reading you like it's his job to know every micro-movement and expression you make.

Your eyes widen, "Stop—" Your voice barely comes out, breath hitching halfway through your throat. "—profiling me." The space between you and his body feels suffocatingly good. It's making you dizzy.

"Usually, you're composed, but you can barely look me in the eyes." His hands remain on your hips, and every twitch of it makes you stiff like a statue. "Am I making you nervous?" He quips wittily.

Like a switch, your heart rate steadies, and his image becomes clear.

It's Aaron Hotchner.

Just Aaron, he said.

Warmth surges through your veins. You stare at the grin on his face.

Your head tilts, and you blink excruciatingly slow. "Are you trying to ask me out, Hotchner?" You mirror the trail of his eyes like a map.

Aaron beams like he'd won the lottery. Sending you impulsive thoughts such as kissing the smile off his face.

It's tempting and nauseating.

And if he doesn't stop, you just might.

"Ten."

Your eyebrows merge in confusion, "What?"

"Ten dates," He breathes as he looks you in the eye. "Let me take you out on ten dates. Then you can decide if I'm just one of your many stubborn patients or if I can be more. Let me make it up to you in ten dates. Please." He implores, hopeful, or rather knowing that you'd say yes.

And he'd be right.

All you want at that moment is to say yes.

But teasing him won't hurt, at least not you.

"And what's in it for me?" You try your best not to smile as you taunt him.

Aaron rolls his eyes, but his grin tugs the corner of his lips up. "You get unlimited access to me?"

"Wow, that's... very compelling." And you burst out laughing, folding on your stomach as you lean against his chest. You inhale, "Sorry, I expected better negotiation. Uh, any catch?" You say between chuckles.

He shakes his head, "Just one condition," He's chuckling now, too. Not immune from your contagious giggles. "I spend most of my days with you. Even if it's just sitting in silence. I want it to be with you." He lets go of one of your hips and tucks a strand behind your ear.

The giggles die down a bit, gazing at him with reverie. You nod after a few seconds, squeezing his arms. You lift yourself, tiptoeing, closing the gap.

You leave a quick, soft peck on his lips, smiling as you get back on your feet.

Aaron smiles, and you're as ecstatic as he is.

Another nod fills your chest with utter joy as you breathe in euphoria.

"Ten's a good number."

[animeyanderelover]

Since you're starting JJK, can you do the sleeping with a yandere ask for Yuuji, Sukuna, Megumi, Nanami, Gojo and characters of your choice?

I’ll be going on a vacation during my holidays so expect little to no updates from me then. Those sleeping habits that are what I imagine those characters to be like, by the way.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationship, toxic relationship, obsession, possessive behavior, delusion, clinginess, abduction

Sleeping with a Yandere

Itadori Yuji

🩷​Yuji is a walking cuddle bear already if you two aren't sleeping in the same bed because he just can't get enough of his sweetheart. An abduction is never something that Yuji sees himself doing nor do you really so with the so unexpected abduction your relationship falls apart and it breaks Yuji's heart. Maybe some part of his brain can understand why you're as upset as you are right now but considering that he only resorts to an abduction in extreme situations, another part of him is just as stubborn to believe that he has done only something to be able to protect you. It isn't like he plans to imprison you forever after all. His delusions have even made him hope that you'd want to share a bed with him yet he resigns himself to your rejection and prepares a futon for you in another room.

🩷​One of the most obvious problems with Yuji isn't even something that is his own fault. Sukuna has to make some comments from time to time to try to annoy and anger the boy which might happen whilst both of you try to sleep as well. He always slaps the mouth of Sukuna that suddenly appears and apologizes to you slightly embarrassed about the inconvenience. Otherwise Yuji sleeps well, really well. Maybe sometimes a bit too well as you can't help but wonder how you can get him to wake up when you awake in the middle of the night and feel the urgent need to go to the bathroom. It always takes you a minute or two of shaking, light slapping and whispering his name until he wakes up and lets you out of his arms because his grip is too strong for you to free yourself alone. He snores slightly but that isn't the worst, you'd much rather make a fuss about the fact that he tends to drool on you in his sleep.

Fushiguro Megumi

💙​As Megumi's darling you'd do the both of you a favor by being a reassuring individual since the Jujutsu Sorcerer tends to be very easily paranoid. He's had a case of being stressed around people before yet now with your addition to his life, this all becomes just multiple times worse. Ultimately it is this paranoia that drives him to the act of an abduction and similar to Yuji, he partially knows why it would scare you. Yet he has never had problems with justifying questionable actions with his love for you in mind so this won't be any different in this scenario. Why don't you understand that this was all done for your safety?? A strong negative response from your side leads to avoidance as he gives you time, gives himself partially time too to calm himself. Both of you sleep in different rooms during that time, although you know that he still keeps an eye on you.

💙​He doesn't want to show a very strong response when both of you start sharing a bed, it isn't his style. He would be lying though if he would say that he isn't looking forward to it. It's one of the highlights of his entire day where he has to exhaust himself with the antics of his fellow Jujutsu Sorcerers and pressure from the Zenin clan so spending the hours of the night with your warmth close to his body always reminds him that there's still something good left for him, a person who makes all the drama durable. I see him as someone who needs hours to fall asleep simply because there's so much going on in his mind and often it happens that Megumi goes through interactions you had with people that day and start overthinking certain gestures and words you exchanged with them. He isn't someone with a deep sleep either and worst of all is that he tends to wake up a lot at night, his gaze always searching for you every time that happens and if he doesn't see you, he tends to freak out a bit.

Zenin Maki

💚​If her darling is acting like a crybaby after their abduction, there might be signs of very mild annoyance from Maki's side but otherwise she is very patient. She fully understand why you're upset and mad at her, she's aware of what she has done. The aspect of protection dulls potential guilt though as she will always value your safety and life over your own feelings if there is no other way around it. She's so tough and strict but oddly fair at the same time because her cold facade doesn't mean that she just doesn't care at all. She's willing to give you some space and time for yourself as she's sure that you need it and as long as you don't try to escape or are seriously rude, she won't force you into anything. You get your own room with your own bed to sleep in and won't hear much from her for the next few days, although you know that she's still checking on you.

💚​She is looking forward to it but don't expect her to openly admit that. She isn't one to ask you first about this and if you're the one to suggest it first, she will never spot teasing you subtly about it for the rest of your life. She does her best though to suppress the smug grin that wants to appear on her face during the first few nights. She isn't actively cuddling you but you definitely have a problem at hand when she decides to swing an arm around your waist because subconsciously she tightens her grip once she falls asleep and since she has a very superior strength to the average human, you won't get up anytime soon unless you wake her up. She normally is able to sleep quite well but when she's stressed she experiences troubles falling asleep or tends to wake up multiple times at night. Normally she acts all tough and rarely talks to you about her own worries but if you ever witness her having an erratic sleep at night, you always know that there's something that is stressing her out.

Ryomen Sukuna

🗾His darling is screwed no matter how you might look at it, especially if they're only a human. Because this man has made it very apparent that he doesn't care for anyone or anything and even you won't be an exception for this. Sukuna has always been a man who takes what he wants and that applies for you just as much. You're an object of his affection and greedy desire, by all means he sees you as his valued possession more than he sees you as a person with feelings and rights. So you can't expect any sympathy from him after your abduction and you'd do your best to not get on his nerves because he can hurt you and he will do so if he feels like it. Sukuna only does what he wants and the only thing you can really do is take it silently in hopes of not angering him but he'd find it cute if you would always show a little bit of fear around him.

🗾​I'm not even sure if he needs any sleep anymore since his times as a human are long over although he has kept his memories from that time so he still remembers that humans need sleep. Although what you need doesn't have to mean by a long shot that he'll just give it to you freely. In fact I totally see him terrorizing your sleep sometimes for the shallow reason of his own sadistic amusement. Other times he only allows you to fall asleep if you let him join you in bed and he'll keep you otherwise awake nights on end until you're too tired to care anymore. You're incredibly dumb for letting him so close to you in your most vulnerable state and the times that he has considered abusing that vulnerability are numerous. Honestly, he's being the ultimate creep by just watching you sleep the entire time, hands roaming over your body to feel what is his but if he's feeling rather relaxed and mellow, he sometimes just buries his face in your neck, closes his eyes and enjoys your scent, your warmth, your heartbeat.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​Best of luck with Gojo after an abduction, better say goodbye to your privacy and personal boundaries because Gojo? He just doesn't give a single fuck about any of those. No, somehow he grows even more overbearing after you're permanently stuck in the probably biggest house that you've ever been in. Partially just because he feels like he has now his dream of living a peaceful and domestic life with his sweet lover without any stress from higher-ups or anyone objecting to this relationship. Now he can just love you and keep you for himself. It's a very strange and questionable way of fulfilling his dream but he is at a point in his life where he has given up to feel guilty and doesn't care anymore. He's always been the strongest to satisfy his own clan and the higher-ups of the sorcerer world so he deserves someone for himself. Someone for him and him only.

🩵​He's a clingy monster and you should already know this as he has barely kept his hands to himself during the entire time since you've known him and that has only grown worse the stronger his obsession got. There is no question, you are going to sleep with him in one bed from the moment you are imprisoned in your new home with him. He isn't even listening to your protests and complains and you'd better not provoke him unless you want to see him dropping his light-hearted facade. Seeing him asleep disturbs you but not because of his clingy behavior and tight hug he always gives you nor his surprisingly deep sleep but because he looks so terribly vulnerable. White hair covering his eyes, soft breaths escaping his lips and no teasing expression adorning his face. It's even worse when he initially wakes up and blue and sleepy eyes stare at you as he whispers, no, pleads you to never leave him. It breaks your heart a little.

Geto Suguru

🗻​​Suguru has broken your trust severely when you realize what he has been doing all along, abusing your trust and ignorance to his own advantage until you made him your most trusted person and told him all of your thoughts. Now you're here, imprisoned and surrounded by jujutsu sorcerers who share his views. You're a lesser being in here for being a non-sorcerer and you know that secretly most of the people here look down on you but only show some level of respect because you're Geto's precious love or whatever he's feeling for you. No one tells you what's really going on but you are smart enough to understand that those people possess very special powers and that something is always watching you even when you're all by yourself. So you never misbehave, aware what would happen otherwise.

🗻​He isn't over the fact that he's fallen in love with what he hates the most even after an abduction so you are sleeping elsewhere. A tiny room with a futon as if to rub your lesser position in your face but truth be told, he's doing this mainly because he secretly wants your warmth next to him at night. He's just trying to reject his desires as he doesn't want to fall too deeply into his infatuation but it's already too late to turn back and perhaps you're more surprised than anyone when one day he tells you you'll share a bed with him from now on. You even vocalize your confusion but shut up when he throws you a sharp glare, silencing you as he himself doesn't want to answer your question. Vocalizing his needs would only make it harder to brush off as something less after all. Geto doesn't want to show too much affection but subconsciously he always fails as his half-awake form always pulls you closer to his body, always desires to feel your warm body safely held against his own as his long hair tickles your neck and face.

Nanami Kento

💛​Here we have a man who is trying to be his most respectful to you after an abduction that he has been planning for a longer time now after a triggering accident, most likely something regarding his very protective feelings. He isn't scolding you for being scared and even lets you insult him all you want with a frightening calm expression on his face, only really stopping you if you try to escape, hurt him or yourself in which case you see his face flashing in anger and slight frustration as you realize how scary he can be if he chooses to be. He gives you space as much as he can but even then his presence is felt throughout your entire new life as you realize that Nanami apparently enjoys taking care of you to the point where he's being controlling with it. There's a certain schedule to your life now, one that he has prepared specifically for you.

💛​This even includes your bedtime as you have to be at a certain hour in bed and get enough sleep and have to get up at a certain time in the morning. Nanami isn't forcing you to share a bed with him though as he graciously prepares another room for you to stay and sleep in. So it's a decision based on consens after your abduction to sleep with him and he's another case of showing his emotions in a very controlled way whilst being deep down just relieved that the worst phrase of the abduction seems to be over now. His sleeping schedule is just as meticulous though so both of you go to the bed at the same time and stand up in the morning at the same time. Nanami is also another candidate who needs a bit longer until he falls asleep because he's also thinking a lot when he lies in bed and only silence surrounds him. He has always an arm wrapped around you but the grip isn't too tight for you to not be able to free yourself if you should ever feel the need to visit the toilet. He is a bit more of a sensitive sleeper though so try to be quiet if you don't want to wake him up.

[rafesfavgirl]

with a broken heart — r. cameron

part 1. something a little more lighthearted to make up for breaking y'alls hearts :)

series: every few lifetimes

❝ i was grinning like i'm winning  i was hitting my marks 'cause i can do it with a broken heart ❞

pairing: ex-bf!rafe x fem!reader

context: after getting your heart broken, you pack your bags and leave the obx, only to come face to face with rafe again, eight years later.

words: 2.4k+

warnings: rafe and reader are aged up (26/27), old flames, FLUFF

"now remember, this client's a big prospect," your boss says as you follow him out of the office car and into the building you were scoping out today. "i guarantee if you can close this deal, you'll be well on your way to becoming the next junior partner."

"hank, are you serious?" you stop in your tracks and he looks at you. 

when you first left the outer banks for new york, you went to nyu without a clue on what you wanted to do with the rest of your life. somewhere along the way, you graduated magna cum laude and pursued law school at columbia. your first year, hank took you on as an intern, and by the time you graduated, you had a job lined up for you at one of the biggest real estate agencies in the world. and though you knew how well you did your job, becoming junior partner as a second-year associate was way beyond where you thought you'd be—it was nothing short of a dream come true.

"don't think what you've done for this company has been lost on me, y/n," he tells you. "you're an asset. i knew it since that first summer i took you on as an intern."

a smile comes across your lips. "well, i can't disappoint," you say. "let's close this fucking deal."

"that's what i like to hear, come on," he continues leading you through the building, until the two of you reached a tall guy with a buzzcut wearing a navy blue suit scoping out the place.

"mr. cameron," you don't miss the familiar name when you and your boss stop behind him, your breath hitching when the guy turns around to greet you both. "this is-"

"y/n," your name rolls off rafe's tongue the same way it always did, your heart beating so hard you feared it'd jump out of your chest.

hank's eyes shift between the two of you, as he shakes rafe's hand. "you two know each other?"

"yeah," rafe nods, his eyes set on you—he couldn't believe that you were actually standing in front of him. a part of him thought that when you left the obx he'd never see you again. "we uh— we went to high school together."

"well that's wonderful," hank smiles. "no need for the awkward introduction then."

except— it was awkward. you didn't just go to high school together. you fell in love in high school. and two months before you chose to go to nyu, rafe broke your heart.

"y/n here will be the one walking you through the contract, and hopefully setting you up with one of our best architects," hank explains to him, while you continue trying to process the fact that he was actually here.

what were the odds that he was the client you needed to win over in order to make junior partner? 

—

"so, does that all sound good to you?" you finish going over the contract for the building and look at rafe.

the two of you hovered over a table in the empty space that you'd spread out all the documents on.

"yeah, y/n, it all sounds great." the smile he throws your way makes your stomach turn in the worst way—making you realize that the piece of your heart that never stopped beating for him still existed. "where do i sign?"

"uh— right here," you pick up your pen to draw x's on all the lines he had to sign on, before holding it out to him.

he takes it from you, and you watch as he leans over to sign on each and everyone of them, your eyes trailing over how well his suit fit him.

he must hit the gym at least four times a week, you thought. he's grown quite a bit since you last saw him.

"there you go," rafe hands the pen back out to you, and you take it from him with a smile.

"thank you," you say. "you won't regret it."

"oh, i know," he nods, eyes scanning over your face. "i'd never regret anything that involves you."

you feel the heat rise on your cheeks, but you keep it professional, gathering the files on the table back into your folder. "well then, i'll leave you with the contacts of our architects and if you have any further questions, you can reach out to hank or any of the other executives."

"yeah, okay," he replies, hiding his disappointment in the fact that you didn't tell him to contact you with any questions he may have.

"it was a pleasure doing business with you, mr. cameron," you hold out a hand to him for a handshake and he stares at it for a second, before reluctantly placing his hand in yours.

"it sure was," he smiles. "but you know you can just call me rafe, don't you?"

"this is how i address all my clients," you tell him. "it's just the professional thing to do."

"yeah, yeah, i get it," he nods. "guess i'm just not used to it coming from you."

you crack a smile at his somewhat nervous stance—you weren't used to seeing him this way. "it was nice to see you again, rafe. good luck with everything."

"yeah," he grins. "you too."

you turn to walk away, while rafe stays back, scratching the back of his head in contemplation before calling out to you. "hey y/n?"

"yeah?" you ask, stopping to look at him again.

"you got any plans tonight?"

"rafe, i-"

"oh, come on," he cuts you off, slowly closing the distance between you two. "there's no reason we can't be friends, right?"

wrong—there were many reasons. one being that you spent years piecing yourself back together after he decided to give up on you. 

"let's catch up," he persists, his blue eyes locking with yours. "get a drink with me tonight."

despite your head screaming no, you agree. "one drink," you say, causing a smile to spread across his face. "ten o'clock. meet me at the bar on fifth."

—

the second you walk into the bar, rafe rises from his stool at the counter and waves you over. he had gotten there 30 minutes early to make sure you weren't left waiting for him—you'd done enough of that.

"hey," he seems nervous when you reach him, wiping his hands on his slacks before reluctantly wrapping his arms around you in a hug.

you resist the urge to giggle—it was kinda entertaining to see this six-foot-two tall man get nervous around you—and briefly return his hug.

"have you been here long?" you ask, taking off your jacket and taking a seat in the empty stool beside him.

"nah, just about five minutes or so," he lies, shrugging and giving you a lopsided smile, as the bartender walks up to greet you both.

"anything i can get you?" she asks, eyes lingering on rafe for a little longer than you.

"just a glass of whiskey for me," rafe tells her. "neat."

"and i'll just have a glass of pinot noir," you say, when the girl turns to look at you. "thank you."

"and you can just put it on this," rafe reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, and you cut in. "rafe, you don't have to-"

"nonsense," he shakes his head at you and slides his black amex across to the bartender. "i invited you out. it's on me."

the bartender picks up his card, and gives him a smile. "rafe cameron. i'll remember that."

subtly, rafe rolls his eyes and you hold back a snicker. "please don't."

the bartender huffs as her eyes shifts between the two of you, but walks away without another word to get your drinks and charge rafe's card.

you kink a brow at him. "you get bartenders flirting with you a lot?"

"i guess it happens every now and then," he shrugs.

"it's definitely the buzz," you tell him, as a different bartender brings over your drinks and hands rafe back his card.

"thank you," he briefly acknowledges him, before turning his attention back on you, an amused smile on his face. "you think?"

"yeah," you nod, bringing your wine glass up to take a sip. "it makes you look older— more mature. it suits you."

he cracks a smile, a small chuckle slipping out from between his lips. "and being a lawyer suits you."

"you really think so?"

"yeah," he nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey. "you looked so cute all dressed up in your little suit," those words make the heat rise on your cheeks, and you hide it with your wine glass. "i've never seen you more in your element. what made you choose law?"

"well…" you trail off, wondering whether or not you should tell him the truth. oh, fuck it. "after we broke up, i found out got into nyu. i was so… mad and hurt over you ending it that i packed my bags and i left, without looking back. during the summers, i stayed here and worked internships with the school just so i'd have an excuse not to go home."

he listened intently, a look of indifference falling across his features. a part of him was hurt at hearing that he'd broken your heart so badly you felt the need to leave, but the other part was proud. you really did that. figured your shit out and made a life for yourself—just like he always knew you would.

"after my second year, i worked an internship with a property management company in brooklyn. we scoped out places all around the city, and i don't know… i kinda just fell in love with it. seeing how happy people got when we'd found them the right apartment or the right space for them to start their business just made me feel really good. so i declared real estate as my major junior year and decided on law school," you continued.

"doll, that's amazing," he smiled, blue eyes twinkling. "which law school did you go to?"

"columbia," you reply, his eyes only widening in amazement. no words could describe the amount of pride in his chest right now. "but enough about me. what about you?"

"oh— uh…" he started and set his whiskey down on the bar. "after you left, i went to rehab. went in and out of that place for about two or three years… i mean, you knew how bad it was— wasn't easy."

you frown upon hearing his struggles with rehab and relapsing, but nod along as he continues.

"been clean for about four years now though," he shrugs, as if it wasn't some big accomplishment.

"rafe, that's amazing," you tell him, setting your glass down on the bar. "good for you."

"i had to," he nodded. "not only for me, but for dad, too. he was starting to talk business and expanding the company, and i just… i couldn't let him down. especially not after i let you down."

you glance down, no longer being able to meet his eyes. you knew that your past together had to come up at one point, you just weren't ready for it. mainly because even after all this time, there was still that little piece of your heart that never stopped belonging to him. it would always be his. "rafe…"

"i hope i'm not being too forward when i ask you this but…" his hand reaches out to touch yours, and you look up at him. "are you seeing anyone?"

"no, i'm not," you shake your head. "after we broke up, i didn't really date much. and even when i did, nothing ever really stuck."

that was enough to have a smile crack across his his, eyes brighter than you'd seen them in a really long time. "guess that makes two of us."

"guess so," you shrug, thoughts running through your mind a hundred times a minute as you try to find a way to change the subject. you weren't ready for where this conversation was about to go. at least, not yet. "but, uh— tell me about cameron development, how's that going?"

he chuckles at your eagerness to change the subject, as you sipped on your wine, but goes with it. he'd break you down again. eventually.

—

after finishing your drinks at the bar, rafe offered to walk you home since your apartment was only about a block or two away, assuring you that he'd just get a cab back to his hotel afterward.

and while a part of you screamed at you to say no, that little piece of your heart that still beat for him won over, and you agreed.

"well, this is me," you say, stopping in front of your apartment complex and looking at him. "it was really nice to see you, rafe."

"so that's it?" he asks, catching you off guard. "this just ends here?"

he takes a step towards you, making your heart pitter-patter, as his eyes scanned your face.

"rafe-"

"don't you ever wonder…" he cuts you off, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a moment before his eyes shifted to meet yours. "what we could've been? what we could be?"

"i-"

"i know i fucked shit up with you, a'ight?" he said, hand coming up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

the gesture threatens to make your eyes flutter close at the feeling of his familiar touch, but you keep your composure.

"i was young and i was stupid, and i thought you deserved better," he continued. "but y/n, there isn't a day that has gone by in the last eight years that you haven't crossed my mind. i think about you all the time, just hoping for the day you'd finally come back to the banks."

your breath hitches at his confession, that tiny piece of your heart that held onto him, growing three sizes.

"i know i don't deserve a second chance, i know that," he told you. "but i'm not the guy i was back in high school. i'm clean now, and i've turned my life around. i can be that guy for you now. the one you needed me to be all those years ago."

"okay," you whisper.

"what?" he musn't have heard you right.

"i'd be lying to myself if i said i haven't thought about you either, rafe," you say.

a small chuckle falls from his lips, which spread into a smile. "seriously?"

you nod. "come pick me up at seven tomorrow. let's give it a chance."

part 3 coming soon!!

i'm rooting for them tbh

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