#train panic incident

[efflorexcence]

Ah yes, i love the annual first day back at work as a teacher after summer break where we spend forty five minutes on a mandatory district/state wide discussion about how we and all the children around us might all be horrifically murdered by gun violence on any random day and how we are both responsible for and helpless in stopping it oh but don’t worry because swat used our building for practice at night three years ago so they know the layout for us at least

[sunnami]

❝we can't be friends (wait for your love.)❞

[credits to @artofpan for the lovely art! title is taken from ariana grande's song, we can't be friends.]

summary. fortune favours the bold, so they say. but you're an awkward ravenclaw in yearning.

pairing/s. poly!marauders x reader (james potter x reader, lily evans x reader, remus lupin x reader, and sirius black x reader.)

word count. 11.4k

tags. childhood friends to ex-friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like remus and tonks, also a bit of spice ;3

note. asdhjf while im working on the last part of the time traveller au pls enjoy this fluffy piecee ueueue

‘TIS THE SEASON OF raucous jeering and gaudy paraphernalia in the corridors, the unmistakable scent of overly-polished brooms, mud trekking through the cobblestone floors, and jerseys soaked in sweat, rain, and grime after hours of vigorous training. The dreaded second week of school where arrogant fledglings end up in the infirmary on account of broken noses, dislocated shoulders, or sprained wrists.

In other words: Quidditch tryouts. 

You’re just not fond of the havoc wreaked in every corner and alcove of the castle. But to your relief, the library remains untouched through it all. 

Needless to say, you absolutely hate Quidditch. 

It is a fact you simply will not elaborate on. The skies are blue, the grass blades are green; you and the Marauders are as different as night and day. 

On your way to the library, the last bastion of academia, you weave past the crowd in the courtyard corridor, ears ringing from the shouting match earlier in the Great Hall for breakfast—something about the Cannons versus the Magpies. There’s a pile of books shoved inside your leather satchel, painfully bumping into your hip with each step you take. You traverse through the Romanesque architecture, blissfully unaware of the misfortune to come. 

“If I study for Charms now, I can take a nap for the rest of the day,” You say to yourself, pensively tapping at your chin. 

“Watch out!” 

You barely have any time to react before a Quaffle comes crashing straight into your face. 

“Merlin’s hairy arsehole—fuck!” There’s a sicky sound of bones cracking, a dizzying flash of white before your eyes, and something viscous trickling from your nose down to your lips. Your hands fly to your face—instantly flinching when you catch a glimpse of your fingers dipped in blood. Your eyes grow wide in panic, chest rapidly heaving—it’s only now that you realize that you’re sitting on the ground, textbooks laying haphazardly around you, shoulders quivering from the adrenaline. The crowd’s concerned murmurs are lost in the cacophony of hysteria. 

“Move!” 

To your rescue, is Alice Fortescue, a fellow prefect. She cuts through the onlookers of petrified first-years and nosey fifth-years. You have no doubt this incident will grace the school’s gossip column for the next few days. She grabs your arm and wraps it around her shoulder with ease. You’d write poetry of her gallant display, but you were too busy moaning in agony. She utters a few incantations to stop your nosebleed from worsening, though there’s not much she can do to help with the possible concussion. 

“Did you know Bludgers used to be called blooders?” You mumble languidly, nearly crashing into one of the knight statues. 

“I do now,” replies Alice, tightening her hold on your waist, the ghost of a fond smile on her face. (She’s missed you, actually—three and a half years of radio silence. There used to be a time where running into you in the Gryffindor common rooms was an everyday occurrence. Even the Ravenclaw prefects knew where to look first if they wanted to find you.)

After what feels like an eternity of trudging through the castle, you finally reach the infirmary. The matron, Poppy Pomfrey, shrieks in alarm at the sight of your soiled blouse and blood stained lips. She gently ushers you into her hold, guiding you to a vacant bed. Alice hangs back, awkwardly shuffling her feet, gaze worriedly trained on you. 

“You may return to your classes, Miss Fortescue, thank you,” says Madam Pomfrey, tipping your head upwards and grimacing.  “Oh, good heavens, what happened?” 

Your head droops in her palms, blood trickling from the corner of your mouth—you must have bit your tongue earlier. You blubber pathetically, “Got hit by a stray quaffle.” 

Wordlessly, Madam Pomfrey summons a vial from her stash in the cupboards. She hands the small bottle to you, uttering various healing spells under her breath with a deft expertise of someone who’s been doing this for years upon years now. “There,” says Madam Pomfrey, lips firmly pursed. “That should help with the fractured cheekbones.”

With—what?

As your eyes bulge out of your head, Madam Pomfrey looks over you once more, a floating quill at her side hastily scribbling on a parchment. “Concussion, mild blood loss, fracture in the cheekbones, broken nose cartilage.” She illuminates the tip of her wand, and moves it left and right in front of you. “Hmm. Any nausea at all, dear?”

“There’s a six point four chance I’m going to get amnesia,” You whisper solemnly, head hanging low as your voice cracks from the unbearable pain. “I don’t want to get amnesia.”

“There’s no need for you to worry about that while you’re under my care.” Madam Pomfrey gently nudges you to lay on the pillow. She hands you a folded blanket. “Rest now. We’ll keep you here until the morning in case your condition worsens.”

“I can’t.” You groan, sitting upright—Madam Pomfrey pushes you back onto the bed with a stern glare. “I’ve got to study.”

“And I’ve got three other students to tend to. Mister Lockhart has been dealing with food poisoning all week.” Madam Pomfrey places her hands on her hips, sighing sharply. She jerks her thumb behind her back—that’s when you notice that three certain people are staring back at you. Sirius Black and James Potter squeezing together in one chair—and miserably failing—and Remus Lupin, resting cozily on the infirmary bed with bandages around his arms and head. “And don’t even get me started on this one.”

“You love him, Poppy, don’t lie.” Sirius grins wolfishly at the matron. You make out the sunken bags underneath his gray eyes, pale lips and his unkempt heap of dark curls. 

Pomfrey huffs exasperatedly. “It would be easier to wrangle a hoard of Hippogriffs than to keep you three out of the infirmary past visiting hours.” She spares you one last glance, nodding when she deems you safe and healthy—as can be, anyway. Gilderoy Lockhart rolls out of his bed, his cries echoing around the room, threatening to barf up his entire breakfast, and Madam Pomfrey is gone in an instant. 

There is an awkward silence that envelops your side of the room—you roll over on your left, desperately ignoring the three of stares burning intensely into your back. 

THE STORY GOES like this: 

You know their names more than you know your own. Each morning finds them at the Ravenclaw common room’s doorstep—while waiting, Lily, Sirius and Remus try to figure out the password as James attempts to brute force his way in. (He had actually figured out the riddle minutes ago, James would just rather play along with his friends.) The blue-tied prefects watch endearingly as one of their first-years rush out of the tower, squealing deafeningly, and jumps right into the lion cubs’ embrace. (It’s not that Inter-House friendships are rare, it’s more common than one would think; usually, it just takes more time for the eaglets to break out of their shell.) 

“I got a hundred and twelve!” You exclaim merrily, hair in disarray and eyes puffy from having just woken up. Lily grabs your hands; together, the both of you jump up and down, excitedly giggling in celebration of the success of your History of Magic essay. (You had ignored them for a day to focus on your homework—Sirius did not like that at all. It wasn’t as fun to play if one of their friends were missing. Gone off to study, of all things.) 

The tale of your friendship may be an unsolved mystery to some, but to you, it’s like finding jigsaw pieces that perfectly fit together. Magic isn’t only centaurs in forbidden forests, or ceilings bewitched to look like the night sky—sometimes it’s stumbling into a random train compartment and shyly offering your bag of assorted treats. Next thing you know, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon are constantly with you in the library, oohing and aahing over pages of the fantasy novels Lily had brought from the muggle world. 

There’s rarely a day where you aren’t spotted in a sea of red and gold. Except when you’ve studied yourself sick—and the Marauders are never fond of that. 

(“I’m sorry, she can’t come down today,” says one of the fifth-year prefects, Lalita Burman, a rather tall girl with intricate curls, brown skin, and eyes that stare into one’s soul. She wakes up to banging on the tower entrance, not even eight o’clock in the morning yet—on a Saturday. It doesn’t come off as a surprise anymore when she opens the door to five red-faced children. “She’s come down with the flu. Most of the firsties have, actually. Madam Pomfrey says they’ll get better by tomorrow but Alex and I have been running ourselves ragged looking after them.” 

James Potter narrows his eyes at her. “Okay. Then we’ll go inside.” 

“Maybe we can help,” says Remus. 

Lalita holds up her hand to stop them from barging in. “That’s really sweet, but we can’t risk any of you getting sick as well.” 

Sirius stands on his toes to spy past Lalita’s shoulder, frowning when he finds nothing of importance—or really, when he can’t find you. He couldn’t wait to call you stupid for getting yourself sick—you just missed out on frog hunting. “That’s alright.” He huffs, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Our immune system can take it. Will you let us in now?” 

Her eye twitches. “Come back tomorrow.” 

With that, she slams the door in their faces. 

The Marauders then declare you are never, ever allowed to get sick again.) 

Your second year in the castle creeps up on you without you noticing. 

“Remus Lupin, I am going to kill you!” 

No one bats an eyelash when you stalk up to the Gryffindor table, twelve years old and on a mission, fresh from the summer holidays. You slam your hands down onto the table, eyes ablaze as Remus stares at you, head resting on his palms, shaggy blond hair falling over his brows—no thoughts, head empty, just sheer adoration. 

“Hello there, stranger,” Remus says, grinning fiendishly. “You look rather lovely—did you have a good holiday?” 

You scoff, pointing an accusatory finger at him—Peter watches at the scene with wide eyes, slowly chomping on his shepherd’s pie, not an inkling as to what was going on. “Don’t try me, Lupin!” You exclaim sternly. “That book you gave me—you said it would have a happy ending! Tell me why I stayed up until bloody five o’clock in the morning crying me eyes out! You. . . you—!” 

“Wanker, dingbat, berk, git,” Lily supplies helpfully with an innocent smile, pulling you down to sit with her. “And my personal favorite—toerag.” 

You gape at the pretty redhead, jaw falling to the floor. “How do you even know these words?” 

She hums nonchalantly, spreading blueberry jam onto her buttered toast. “A lady must arm herself with the necessary ammunition.” Lily points to a certain pair of boys—James and Sirius are currently engaged in an eating contest, shoveling pancakes after pancakes inside their mouths; so far it looks like Sirius is winning. Lily sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes, “Especially if she wants to survive that kind of company.”  

“Him, even more,” says Lily, gesturing to Remus. “He may be Professor McGonagall’s golden boy but I see right through him.” 

“What can I say?” Remus smirks, helplessly shrugging his shoulders. “I’m a monster.” 

Lily glares at him. 

Then, you turn thirteen—the dreaded age. Suddenly, you’re dealing with oily skin, acne, body odor, hair growing out of places you didn’t even know could grow hair, hormones messing up the way you look at everyone else—something awakens in you the day you see Dorcas Meadowes in the Quidditch pitch wearing a black sleeveless turtleneck—and hormones messing up the way you look at yourself. 

Everything is starting to change. 

You usually never blink twice when James wraps his arms around your waist, laying his head on your shoulder. Except this time, he’s gone from a gangly bean sprout, to a heartthrob with perfectly messy hair, newly defined muscles from his countless hours of Quidditch training, charming smile, eyes that one could get lost into for hours, and a tantalizing scent of mint and bergamot. 

“Are you really not going to our game this Saturday?” James whispers in your ear—the five of you had been hanging out in the library. 

You sigh. “Can‘t. Sorry.” 

“Scared your House is going to lose to us, pet?” Sirius teases from where he’s sitting backwards on the chair next to you, engrossed in twirling locks of your hair around his finger. 

You bristle at the nickname—they have been brazen with the endearments lately, you’ve noticed. “It’s not like we’re going to win anyway,” You mumble, tapping your quill on the empty parchment—there’s never any work done while they’re around. “There’s only a sixteen point seven percent chance of Ravenclaw winning against Gryffindor.”

James wrinkles his nose, now sitting on the edge of the table. “Percent, shmercent. What matters is how everyone plays that day.” 

He kicks his legs against yours, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “So, will you come watch?” 

“We have that History of Magic project, remember,” You say defeatedly. “I need to get started on it this week otherwise I’ll be behind all the electives I signed up for this year.” 

Lily frowns, looking up from her own homework to glance at you in concern. “How many did you even pick?” 

“All of them.” 

“What?” Lily screeches in terror, suddenly rising from her seat to lean over the table. “How is that even possible? How did McGonagall even allow that?” 

“Professor Flitwick,” You correct, wincing when Lily and Sirius glare at you. “It took a lot of convincing, but eventually I wore him down. All I had to do was rework some of my class schedules and promise him over a thousand times that my wellbeing wouldn’t ever be compromised by my studies. Otherwise he’d take back his decision.” 

Remus doesn’t seem all too happy. “No wonder we don’t see you at Transfiguration anymore.” 

“Or in Kettleburn’s class,” Peter pipes in. 

“Are you sure it’s okay for you to be taking that many classes at once?” Remus grimaces, sharing a worried look with James. “The limit is three, and even that is too much to handle.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” 

(Peter knows a lie when he hears one.) 

James tenses up, jaw tightening. “So you’re saying you’re going to miss a game because of school? Like all the other times? That’s bullcrap!” 

Remus hisses his name in warning. 

Tears prick your eyes instantly—you’ve heard him speak like this when quarreling with Slytherins, but never to your face. “That bullcrap means a lot to me, Potter. You’d understand that if you took your studies seriously more than just going around and playing silly pranks on everyone!” 

James scoffs. “Like how you take us seriously? Did you know that Lily is the youngest ever to be invited to Slughorn’s club? Yeah, she got the invitation last week. Did you congratulate her for that when she was staying up late with you to revise for your practical test in Herbology?” 

“I—” You stammer, guilt pooling in your stomach. 

“No, you didn’t.” James sneers. “You only see yourself. Do you know what Remus has been going through? Do you even care?” 

“That’s enough, James,” Lily says vehemently. 

“Well, if you think like that, maybe we all should just stop being friends!” You retort.

Before anyone else can reply, Madam Pince comes around the corner, and everyone falls silent—a tense atmosphere that threatens to choke you. With a heavy heart, you gather your belongings and run out of the library. 

The months pass by, and Frank Longbottom wonders why he doesn’t wake up at midnight anymore to find five students having a sleepover in the common room with a certain eagle, each of them trying to contain their giggles and  failing. (One time, the Prewett twins had run down the stairs in panic, only to find you and Peter screaming from Remus’s theatrics in telling his ghost stories during an awful thunderstorm.) You no longer visit the Gryffindor table at breakfast, and they no longer wait for you after your classes. 

“It’s probably just a tiff,” says Alice to Mary Macdonald. “They’ll make up—they always do.”  

Mary nods, though unsure—while Peter is gut-wrenched about it all, the other four in particular seem like heartbroken puppies when you enter the Great Hall and barely acknowledge their presence. 

The snow melts and time catches everyone unaware.

“I can’t believe I’m going to graduate and you idiots haven’t made up yet,” Lalita sighs as she pulls you in for a hug. In a few weeks, she and the other seventh-years are due to leave; you’ve grown real close with her over the past few terms. Her departure is going to be truly difficult for you to handle. “Just talk it out with them, okay?” 

You sniffle, holding onto her robes. “I’m trying, but they’ve been ignoring me, too.” 

Lalita squeezes you tighter. “Don’t worry. These kinds of things have a way of sorting themselves out.” 

At the end of the term, you present your final project to Professor Binns. The ghost nearly returns to life. It was a research study on the Evolutionary Analysis of Magical RNA Manipulation in the Catalonian Fireball. Days after your paper is published, you’re featured on the Daily Prophet; dragon tamers and professors from Spain are owling you letters of praise and congratulations. It goes without saying that such a feat had naturally catapulted Ravenclaw to the top, ultimately winning the House Cup. 

(But what you don’t tell everyone is that you’re so severely burnt out after that—to the point where you didn’t want to ever pick up a textbook again. For the first time in forever, learning had become a chore, not a passion. You’d been puking out of anxiety, hands trembling as you forced yourself to write on the parchment, the sides of your fingers constantly swollen and raw. You’d study until four o’clock in the morning, and wake up an hour later to complete all of your homework. You’ve begun to masquerade as the ghosts of Ravenclaw Tower; lifeless and indifferent. Xenophilius and Pandora fuss over you, but you just lock yourself in your room and say: “I’m tired.”

Perhaps, it is why Professor Flitwick isn’t surprised when you withdraw from most of your electives. 

“The pursuit of knowledge is a rewarding journey,” says Professor Flitwick on the day you visit his classroom—hours away from needing to be on the train platform. He sighs and sets his spectacles on the table. “But it is a perilous one, too. I trust that you have understood the consequences of your actions. As a teacher, I can only offer guidance when it is needed. The other professors may disagree, but I find the best learning method to be, what is it the kids say—fuck around and find out.” 

You snort. 

Professor Flitwick chuckles, quite pleased with himself. “If I may be so bold as to leave you with another piece of homework, I would like to ask you to truly enjoy the holidays. I hear the summer is a time for discovering new things about oneself, for new beginnings and growth. After all, learning does not happen only within the castle grounds.”) 

Later that day, you board the express, purposefully choosing the farthest compartment where you know they’ll be staying in. You share the cabin with two people whose names are Regulus and Narcissa Black—this is the first time you’ve ever met them. Narcissa shares her green tea flavored candy with you.  Afterwards, you spend the rest of the ride back to King’s Cross asleep. 

(Right before the train arrives, Remus is nervously searching for you in the crowd of people. 

“We’ve got to say goodbye, at least.” Lily nibbles on her lower lip uneasily. She once joked that she could find you anywhere—as if you two had a red string tied around both your pinky fingers. Now, it seems you’re too far away for her voice to reach you. 

James drops his head down in shame. “I never got the chance to apologize.” 

“She’ll appear somewhere,” says Sirius unwaveringly with a nod, taking Lily’s heavy suitcase from her as steam whistles are heard in the distance. “She could be in our special compartment, waiting for us right now.” 

“Are you sure?” Peter questions dubiously. 

“Of course I am, she’s my best friend,” Sirius counters resolutely. “She’s there, I can feel it.”)

You’re fourteen when you return back to the castle—you hadn’t touched a single book throughout the summer, but you find yourself well-rested; you learn how to swim from your mother; staying up all night to accompany your family dog as she gives birth to seven beautiful puppies, and scratching yourself on the bark of sycamore trees with your poor attempts at climbing.

You find out that you don’t like Arithmancy at all, strongly preferring Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve also garnered a curiosity for Ornithomancy, the oracle reading of birds. 

This year, you signed up for the Gobstone club, despite your unfamiliarity with the game. It’s led by a Slytherin girl named Haerin Seong. (It’s properly read as Seong Hae-rin.) She has pin-straight hair, a sharp nose, and the mouth of a drunken sailor.

You also decide that you want to become a professor after Hogwarts. The groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, belly laughs when you declare this to him one afternoon, right in the doorway of his hut. 

“Well, go on then!” Hagrid bellows, patting you on the head. “Anyone who tries ter stop yeh has got ter go through me!” 

On the dawn of your fifth-year, an owl delivers a prefect badge to your doorstep. Your father, born and raised as a Muggle, doesn’t understand the significance of this, but he cries harder than you on that Sunday morning. (“My child is a prefect!” He sobs into the telephone after dialing your aunt’s number.) 

The fresh batch of Ravenclaw firsties aren’t the only new additions to the castle. According to the gossip mill, James and Lily are finally dating, so are Sirius and Remus apparently. (Then, months later, everyone would be shrieking about how they’re all dating. )

You hear of the news as you guide the first-year eaglets to their next class. You’re climbing up the spiral staircase when you see the Quidditch pitch through the window. They look like flying ants from this distance. You can imagine the wind in their hair, the tense muscles as they chase after the Quaffles, the crowd roaring in their ears, victory within their reach if they just fly fast enough. 

You hate the way you envy them—how easily they soar up in the skies while you watch from below, much like a flightless eagle, shackled by your own shortcomings. 

You hate Quidditch.

It’s bound by no rules, unpredictable and barbaric. Most of all, it looks down on the cowardly. 

In your sixth year, you have your first kiss with a boy named Augustine Fenberry. It’s extremely short-lived and awkward. You date for three months until it’s unanimously agreed that you two are better off as friends—until you catch him laughing about you with his mates in an empty corridor, saying that you were clingy, too much, and needed to learn how to shut up. (You wonder if that’s why they grew tired of you, too.) 

You handle him with a quick, “Entomorphis.” 

It’s probably one of the more cruel jinxes; Augustine bawls piercingly as he grows antennas atop his head, the spell forcing him to get on his hands and knees; his friends hover around him in panic, but all Augustine can do is chirp like a grasshopper in the night. You wonder if you’ve gone too far, but Haerin tells you that’s exactly what Augustine is—vermin. 

You also, with great satisfaction, deduct thirty points from his House—which happens to be Ravenclaw. 

(Nobody knows this about Peter, but he’s nimble on his feet, a bit of a wallflower—and he is now the newest editor of Hogwarts’s newspaper column, The Golden Snidget. By the next day, everyone knows what he’s done. Argus Filch, who’s in charge of his month-long detention, should be the last of his worries. Peter sympathizes with the wizard—but only for a fraction of a second. Because it’s not even the werewolf Augustine has to be scared of, not the pureblood heir who could ruin anyone with just a lift of his finger; not the Quidditch prodigy with a sharp mind, knowing a thousand ways to seek revenge. 

It’s Lily Evans. 

“Go near her again and I’ll rip your balls off!” Marlene flips the bird to the group of cowering boys. “Matter of fact, if you treat anyone like that again, I will come for your bloodline.”

“Fucking toerag!” Lily wildly swings the Beater’s bat she had stolen from the Quidditch changing room. “If you even look at her, I’ll hunt you down and shove this up your arse—until you feel it in your throat!” 

Peter shivers in fear. He didn’t ever want to be on the receiving side of Lily’s wrath. 

“This is the same girl who cried for an hour when she saw the ducklings in the Great Lake separated from their mother,” says Remus, horrified. 

“Honestly, I feel so, so conflicted whether to find this terrifying. . . or attractive,” James whispers to Sirius.

“Attractive. Definitely attractive,” Sirius responds breathlessly, all eyes on Lily.)

Gryffindor wins the House Cup that year, to no one’s surprise. You find yourself clapping along with everyone else, but can’t help it when your gaze drifts to the left-side of the Gryffindor table. You watch as Sirius lifts Lily in the air, her giggles somehow louder than the thunderous cheering, pressing a loving kiss to her lips. James stands on the table, encouraging everyone to sing more of his praises—there’s a split second where his eyes find yours, you look away immediately—as Remus covers his face with his palms, flushed from all the attention. After James, Remus had won the most points for their House. 

They seem complete—a puzzle that never really needed another piece. (You miss them, heartachingly so.) Maybe it was for the best that all of you drifted further and further apart. You now forget the way they call your name.  

And so, the story ends just like that. 

YOU HAVE FOUND yourself in a very tricky position. 

It’s past midnight when you wake up—you nearly scream bloody murder when James, Lily and Sirius materialize out of thin air. They stare back at you, frozen in place, unblinking for the last twenty seconds. 

“Oh God, I’m hallucinating.” You cry to yourself, wrapping your arms around your waist. “I hit my head and now I’m seeing things.” 

“No, no, no, no,” James stammers, shaking his head. “It’s an invisibility cloak—see?” He wears the cape, then abruptly takes the cloak off—his body disappearing and reappearing in time with his actions. “Not hallucinating, I promise.” 

“That’s even worse,” You say hoarsely, on the verge of hyperventilating. “Y-You’re out past curfew—visiting hours are over. Someone could catch you. Madam Pomfrey will have your heads.” 

Remus chuckles—he had missed your voice so bloody much. He barely contains his grin when you glare at him. (Finally, after three years, you look his way again.) 

“We snuck in here to see you all the time,” Sirius tells you, the corner of his lips tipping into an overfond smile. “At some point, Poppy just stopped trying to keep us out.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” Your gaze falls to the floor as you mousily toy with your fingers. The infirmary falls painfully silent. Again. You clear your throat. “Anyway, I–I should get going.” 

“Oh.” Lily’s expression turns crestfallen, words cracking from the thick lump wedged in her throat. (This is the first conversation she’s had with you in years—one that isn’t awkwardly bumping into one another with shallow, hesitant greetings, before you scurry off like a timid squirrel.) “R-Right. But why don’t you have dinner first? We brought some from the feast and—” 

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry,” You rasp, slipping into your shoes and throwing your cardigan over your shoulders. (More than anything, you want to hug Lily and congratulate her for making Head Girl—but you have to wonder if it’s too little, too late; if the distance between you and her is too great to try and  cross.) 

You toss Remus a wary glance. There used to be a time where you could say anything to him, and now it feels like ice-cold hands are stapled over your mouth. “F–Feel better soon.” 

“Thanks.” Remus coughs. 

Sirius’s eyes bounce from you to Remus, mentally ripping his hair out from exasperation—this whole thing is going nowhere. 

You sprint out of the infirmary without a word, hands trembling from the nerve-wracking encounter inside. You take a moment to catch your breath, to shove your heart back inside your ribcage, as you lean sideways on the wall. It’s like running into a pack of wild chimeras in the mountains bare-handed. 

“That was so scary.” You breathe out deeply, clutching the front of your shirt tightly. 

The loud call of your name slices through the hallway and you jump in fright. 

Luckily, it’s just James—but just James sets your heart aflutter and your knees wobbly even after all this time. He bridges the gap between you in quick, long strides; murmuring your name once more like a prayer. “Hey,” James says quietly, as if afraid to spook you off. 

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, tucking your hands inside your pockets. “Hey.”

“Listen, I just wanted to say—back in the library, all those years ago. I’m sorry. Really bloody sorry. Sirius decked me in the face that day, which I definitely deserved.” James nervously scratches the back of his head. “It was stupid of me—and I never should have said any of those things. I know it’s been years since then, you don’t even have to forgive me. But I just wanted you to know—”

“It’s fine, James.” You cut into his rambling, having already forgiven him for that day. “Really. Water under the bridge.” 

In fact, some of what he had said made you realize how much you isolated yourself without even knowing. “And, I—uhm.” You take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, too.” 

James widens his eyes, then instantly shakes his head. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

A dark red blush spreads from his neck to his prettily carved cheeks.  “So. .  . uh. . . are we okay?” 

“We’re okay,” You say and he exhales deeply in relief. “And James, I. . . I. . .”

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt in his voice as he takes one more step towards you—achingly patient, but there’s a sense of urgency and desperation. 

“I—” You look away and the words fizzle out in your throat. “Never mind.” 

I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I said that day. I miss you more than life. Thank you for staying by my side all those years—for being one of my best friends. You make me feel safe, James Potter. You are one of the most intelligent and caring wizards I know. How  anyone can think otherwise is baffling to me. I’m sorry if I don’t let you know that more often. 

“See you around, James.” With that, you turn and leave. 

Perhaps, some things are better left unsaid. 

(So why is your heart shattering into a million pieces?) 

“TODAY, WE ARE GOING TO be interpreting messages from the divine!” 

On a lovely Friday morning, Professor Nasenyana drags the class out to the grounds for a hands-on Divination lecture, the groundskeeper’s hut within sight. He unlocks the barn nearby, where flocks of various bird species take to the skies instantly. He’s a rather eccentric fellow with one of the friendliest smiles you’ve ever seen. Most of the Ravenclaws are also star-struck, hanging onto his every word. As it turns out, Nasenyana is a graduate from Uagadou, the top school for Astronomy and Divination.

“Ornithomancy—!” He proclaims, flashy cloak billowing, startling some of the Gryffindors from their sleep. “It is a form of divination that looks into the behavior of birds—celestial creatures blessed with the ability to traverse through the heavens and the earth. But, you see, it is more than that. It requires utmost concentration and mastery. To pass this class, you will need to—” 

“I told you we didn’t miss anything important!” 

“Pads, shut up.” 

Sirius and Remus come rolling down the hill. Remus’s robes are disheveled, whereas Sirius’s tie is loosely hanging around his shirt, sleeves folded up. They nearly crash into Professor Nasenyana—who doesn’t appear to be pleased with their tardiness. You notice Remus’s flushed cheeks, the sweat running down the sides of his forehead, and the pinkish bruises on the column of Sirius’s neck. 

Lily chortles. 

Oh. 

You blush deeply—that is so none of your business. 

“Mister Black! Mister Lupin! So nice of you to finally join us.” Professor Nasenyana exclaims. “I trust that it won’t take you thirty more minutes to find a place to sit?” He gestures to the assembly of students sitting down on the grass, some shielding the sunlight from their face with the Divination textbook, and others transfiguring their school robes into a picnic mat. “Take your seats, gentlemen.” 

“And that is five points from Gryffindor. Each.” Professor Nasenyana declares just as Remus and Sirius plop down on the closest patch of grass to them. 

Which happens to be right beside you. 

You pour all your attention on the teacher, and not how warm Sirius feels next to you. 

“As I was saying,” Professor Nasenyana continues, hands folded behind his back, eyes gleaming with anticipation. “In order to pass this class, you will form groups of three where your task is to read each other’s fortune based on the information presented to you and document your findings. Everything you need for interpretation is in your textbooks. You will hand this assignment in after the winter holidays. I expect excellence from each and every one of you. Failure to comply will result in a Dreadful.” 

Gilderoy’s arm shoots up in the air. 

“Shall I guess your question, Mister Lockhart?” Nasenyana grins blindingly. “Your groups will be determined by fate—those closest to you will read your fortune, and you theirs.” 

He lowers his arm with a bright blush. 

You, however, are frozen in place, sitting cross-legged on the ground with a robe strewn over your lap—you even hold your breath from the shock. Fate must be mocking you right now. Spending the next few weeks in close proximity with the boys who held your fragile, little heart in their hands.

How fun.

Not.

FOR THE FIRST TIME in forever, you don’t pay attention in Charms.

The thought of working with Remus and Sirius haunts you so much that you burrow your head in your arms for the entirety of Professor Flitwick’s lesson. Your seatmate, Xenophilius, watches in horror as you flub the enunciation for Ascendio. Thankfully, no one is accidentally flung into the air—except for Gilderoy who is unfortunately blown away from his chair.

“Sorry.” You twinge empathetically as he climbs back onto his chair, glaring at you. 

Xenophilius nudges your shoulder, whispering, “Are you alright?” 

“Perfectly fine,” You respond hurriedly, almost choking on your spit. “What ever gave you the idea that I was not fine? I’m bloody fantastic even. The sun is shining, fishes are swimming, and there’s not a single thing out of the ordinary in my life.” 

“It’s cloudy outside,” Xenophilius says impassively. “And Lockhart is looking at you like you’ve just attempted murder.” 

“Lockhart always looks like that.” You brush him off with a wave, busying yourself with flipping the pages of your Charms textbook. 

Xenophilius pokes you in the side. “You are avoiding the subject. Is it because of Lup—”

“Ascendio!” 

This time, it’s too perfect of an incantation that even Merlin weeps from his grave.

At the end of class, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. Just as you leave the classroom, you find Sirius and Remus standing in the corridor, so absorbed in conversation that they don’t notice the sixth-year girls giggling as they walk by—either that, or they have had plenty of practice when it comes to  ignoring attention from the entire student body. It’s not like you can blame everyone else—they’re a duo carved by heaven’s finest. 

Sirius realizes instantly when you walk out of the doors. He smiles blazingly at you, instantly rising to his feet, hands shoved inside the pockets of his trousers. You can’t believe this is the same boy who’d give you piggyback rides down the hallway. Dark layered curls tumble messily past his shoulders, a smidge of dark liner around his eyes, multiple piercings in his left ear. He’s grown taller, certainly more confident, too. 

“Ready to go, pet?” He asks, as if casually inquiring about the weather. 

“Go?” You echo, nonplussed. “Go where?” 

“Birdwatching, obviously.” Sirius grins devilishly before grabbing your hand and leading you to the courtyard, Remus hot on your heels—who, for some reason, now has your bag hanging from his shoulders. 

“D-Do I even get a say in this?” Truthfully, you had thought that you could finish the project without meeting up. Ever. You even think of collaborating with them via owl; staying far, far away from one another. So that none of you get hurt again, and you don’t risk another heartbreak. 

“Not one bit, darling.” Sirius looks back at you and winks—this cheeky bastard!

You’re in a daze by the time the three of you reach the middle courtyard. Sirius happily plonks down under a tree, further unbuttoning his shirt until a hint of a tattoo peeks out—you gape. Remus chuckles before urging you to sit as well, before he settles on your other side. 

“This is nice,” says Sirius as he leans his head against the tree trunk, eyes closed. “Bloody missed this.” 

“Missed what?” You dare to ask, heart hammering in your chest. 

He opens one eye, cheek dimple flashing. “Being by your side.” 

“Oh.” 

One does not respond to that, actually. One just simply passes out and fades away. 

And as you typically do when facing hardships in life, you ramble about homework. Clearing your throat and staring straight at the earthworms crawling out of the mud, you say, “So, about our project. . .” 

“I was thinking we could get started on it next Saturday,” You splutter, fiddling with your fingers. “Or I could start on everyone’s reading and we’d put it on paper sometime next month—but I could do that myself, too. I-If you wanted. Just so that it’s easier for everyone. We really don’t have to rush, honestly.” 

“Procrastinating on schoolwork?” Remus laughs heartily with a slow shake of his head, stretching his long legs on the ground. “Who are you and what have you done to our best fr—” 

The word falters on his tongue, and his smile fades into a somber line. 

To save everyone from the awkward tension, you carry on, ignoring the way Sirius stiffens, “If you want to start early, I can head to the library after lunch to find some books on Ornithomancy. The more references we have—”

“What happened to us?” Sirius interjects gravelly. 

You let out a deep sigh. 

You suppose this conversation has been a long time coming, given lions and their stubbornness. 

“It’s simple,” You say gingerly. “After that. . . that day, the distance kept growing and growing until we went our own separate ways without looking back.” 

A single teardrop slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “You changed. I changed, too. The difference was, you all had each other while I had no one.”

(Though Pandora and Xenophilius were the truest and most honest friends one could ask for, they didn’t hold your soul captive the way they did.) 

Sirius stares at you as if you had just spit acid; a thunderstorm forming within his gray eyes, his jaw locking painfully. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” Remus asks softly, leaning forward to offer you his handkerchief. His voice sounds strangled—as though your words physically torment him. He pulls away just as your gaze falls on his. 

“That’s what happened, though. But I suppose it doesn’t really even matter anymore.” You flinch away, electrocuted from his touch. 

There’s a stretched silence that blankets the three of you. It carries on for a few minutes, the breeze flowing by, and the slow, clamorous bell chiming in the distance. You’re about to speak up when Sirius breaks the quietude first.

“Be ready,” He says decidedly, looking straight ahead. 

“For what?” You ask in disbelief. 

Sirius drags a hand through his hair with a loud exhale. He rests his elbows on his knees, chin carelessly set on his palm, eyeing you intensely. “We’re going to prove you wrong from now on.” 

“What exactly are you going to prove?” 

Sirius chuckles, coiling a strand of your hair around his finger. “That it’s always been you and us for life, princess.” 

Merlin’s saggy balls. 

THE GRYFFINDOR TABLE descends into a coalescence of wide eyes and rapid, hushed whispers when you arrive sometime during dinner. It’s not out of your own volition, of course, but your own duty and responsibility as prefect to return the handkerchief that Remus had lent you earlier this afternoon. You hoped it would be a quick in-and-out; dishing out more forced smiles, and some half-baked banter until you could finally run away, tail tucked between your legs. Like most things in your life, it does not go the way you want. 

“You could keep it, if you want,” says Remus, hesitantly taking the embroidered cloth from you. 

If the world knew how many trinkets Remus Lupin had gifted you during your friendship, you would be swimming in gold—and cursed letters from his devoted fangirls. 

“That’s alright. Thank you.” You placate him with a crooked grin, the words spilling from your lips like a jumbled mess. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gideon and Fabian Prewett nudging each other’s shoulders whilst pointing at you, keeping their heads low. You have no idea what that’s about. 

“Well. That is all. E-Enjoy your dinner.” You nod, mentally patting yourself on the back for not passing out in the den of lions. “Goodbye.” 

Though the Ravenclaw table is placed next to Gryffindor’s, you have the bright idea of sitting with your backs to them, lest you engage in a round of cloddish staring contests with the Marauders. Just as you pivot on your heels, ready to make it to Pandora’s side, an achingly familiar voice calls for your name. 

“Wait!” Marlene is partially out of her seat, bright blonde hair in a loose, messy braid; hand outstretched, as if reaching out to you. Her pale cheeks blossom with shades of scarlet as she receives miffed glares from the students nearby—such is the curse of a Gryffindor; if this were a fantasy novel, they would be the perfect protagonist. “Why don’t you eat with us? F-For old time’s sake. It’s been so long and I really would like to catch up with you.” 

Your resolve nearly crumbles. This is the same girl who would bring sweet candies in her pocket in case you got hungry during class. But, if this were a fantasy novel, you would only be an extra; fated to walk a path so different from the likes of James Potter and Lily Evans.

“Maybe next time,” You say, unconvincing to even your own ears. 

FROM ACROSS the Great Hall, another conversation is taking place. 

“I am telling you, Minerva, I caught them talking again in the infirmary,” says Poppy Pomfrey to her fellow teacher, a spry grin on her kind face. 

“Poppy, as I’ve told you, I do not make a habit out of discussing my students’ personal lives,” McGonagall replies tiredly, slicing into her dinner plate of steak and kidney pie. She pauses for a few moments, before pushing up her spectacles with a wrinkly smile. “But, perhaps, I’ll let this slide just this once. Tell me all about it. I’ve also heard that—” 

“ACTA NON VERBA.”

Deeds, not words. 

Truly a befitting password for the House of bravery and recklessness. The Fat Lady’s portrait gasps in delight, raising her champagne glass to you. Seconds later, the Gryffindor common room is revealed to you. (Most of the Ravenclaw prefects have the House passwords memorized, in case they encounter a lost student outside the dormitories who has forgotten the passcode. It happens more often than one would like. Although it isn’t just first-years who are often stuck outside. You’ve stumbled upon Frank Longbottom many times before in a heated argument with the Fat Lady.) 

“Oh!” Alice, bundled up in a red scarf and a wooly jumper, is startled to find you at the entrance. She breathily says your name, eyes crinkling as she smiles widely. “What a pleasant surprise! Oh my Gods—it’s so nice to see you again. How’s the head? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding everywhere.”

“I didn’t get amnesia. So that was good.” You head inside the room, instantly enveloped in a familiar warmth, a welcoming hug as if you had never strayed far. “Thank you. For that day, I mean. For bringing me to Madam Pomfrey.”

She waves you off. “Don’t mention it.” 

“But. . .” Alice cocks her head with a conniving smile. “Don’t tell anyone else this, but when James found out it had been the Gryffindor team’s co-captain who hit the Quaffle your way, I heard James put him through some intense training. He must’ve had to run a hundred laps around the pitch for a week straight.  Poor guy even had to wash everyone’s jerseys without magic.” 

“What?” You shriek. “But it was just an accident. Surely, James wouldn’t—”

Alice tweaks your nose with a chuckle. “Oh, for you? He would.”

You have the strangest urge to throw yourself out of the tower. 

You cough into your first, desperate to shift the conversation topic otherwise you’d spontaneously combust. “S-So, where’s Remus? We agreed to work on our Divination project here—if that’s alright with you and the others, of course.” 

“Ha!” Alice exclaims, palming her forehead. “So that’s why the tower stinks of flipping perfume.” She snickers at your bewildered expression, before engulfing you in a bear hug. “It’s so good to see you. You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”

“Thank you, Alice.” You squeeze her back, giving yourself just this one time because you really did miss her.

Alice takes a step backwards before roaring loud enough to shake the ceiling. “Remus!”

“Get down here! Your girlfriend is waiting!”

You break out in a coughing fit. “I am not his girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” Alice winks at you, patting your cheek before skipping out the common room. 

You hear the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the stairs. Moments later, you see Remus Lupin beaming at you, casually dressed, hair damp and tousled over his brows, broad shoulders stretching his white top, and fluffy, mismatched socks over his feet. He walks over to you in record speed. 

“You came,” He says huskily. 

“I did.” 

“You look beautiful today.” Remus grins wolfishly, dimples poking out of his cheeks, flecks of light in his hazel eyes. 

You blink owlishly, dumbfounded. You peer at your clothes—nothing fancy or experimental. “This is how I normally dress, though.” 

“I know.” 

Remus smiles, swiftly taking your bookbag from you. (Alice was right. He smells like a basket of green apples, old leather tomes, and sandalwood. Not that you mind.) You follow him to the couches by the fireplace. 

“Where’s Sirius?” You look around the common room as you sink into the red sofa. There’s a pair of third-years playing chess, a young girl feathering her hand across the bookcase; sunlight streaming in from the tall windows. 

But no sign of Sirius Black. 

“Miss me, did you, love?” 

Sirius chuckles into your ear—you jump out of your skin, clutching at your knees in fright. 

“Merlin’s tits—!” 

You gasp for air while Sirius and Remus laugh at your expense. “You fucking wanker!” You grab one of the quilted pillows as Sirius jumps over the back of the couch. “You’re an idiot, Sirius Orion.” 

“There.” Sirius flops right down on the sofa; his hair tied up in a low bun, silver rings around his fingers. “Now you don’t look so bloody scared and nervous around us. We don’t bite, you know.” He pauses, then grins devilishly at you. “Unless you ask.” 

You slap your palms against your lap. “Anyways—!” 

Nostrils flaring as you take a deep breath—this is going to be a long day. You begin setting the parchments, feather quills, and Divination textbooks on the coffee table, along with a notebook where you had written some observations during the week. “When we were out—erm—birdwatching the other day, I noted down the birds that flew by for our readings. For Remus, it was a flock of Firecrests. And—” 

“I’m very sorry, loveliest love, but none of this makes any bloody sense to me.” Sirius goes through the Divination volumes you had checked out from the library, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Tea reading, I can tolerate. But studying bird droppings really isn’t my thing.” 

You glare heatedly at him, oddly defensive about the subject. “We’re not studying bird droppings, you plonker. There’s so much more to Ornithomancy than what meets the eyes. You see, nature connects everything. From the number of birds you encounter, to which direction they fly, their pattern of flight, down to the colors of their wings.” 

You point to the glaring page from Snallygasters and Omens: Vol. 1 where a picture of a Jobberknoll jumps out. “This bird flies to the east because the east governs new beginnings and warm springs after winter. Blue wings symbolize reliability. One day in the future you’ll be tasked with a huge responsibility. A family could entrust their godson to you, who knows? You have to be clear-headed, Sirius. Your emotions can get the best of you if you’re not careful.” 

Without even pausing to breathe, you say, “Remus. The firecrest. Smallest bird in the wizarding world, but will dare to fly higher than any other creature, even the king of birds. The firecrest and its flock were flying to the south that day, Remus. To the place of passion and life. Love. Beauty.” 

“So it’s. . . it’s more than just bird droppings!” 

By the end of it all, your chest is heaving, fingers trembling with adrenaline; Remus and Sirius gazing at you with stars in their eyes, devotion pouring from their growing smiles. (Oh, how their hearts beat for you.) 

Sirius tips your chin with his knuckle, leaning closer until you feel his breath on your nose. “Welcome back, princess.”

NIGHT FALLS WITHOUT anyone’s permission. James, Lily, and Peter make their way back to the Gryffindor tower, patches of sunburn on their nose after spending the entire day outside observing bird flight patterns. Like Sirius, Lily has her mind firmly set against the philosophies of Divination; the mumbo jumbo not really all that comprehensible to her. As they enter the common room, her hand in James’s, they’re greeted by a rare sight—one that Lily didn’t think she would see again. 

Sirius is sitting on the floor by the fireplace, wand tucked behind his ear, a pile of books at his side, his brows contorted in frustration as he drowns in the pages of When Fortunes Turn Fowl. He presses his finger to his lips when his silvery eyes fall on Lily and James, jerking his head to the scene across him. 

Lily fails to bury her smile when she sees you snoring away at Remus’s lap, his fingers absentmindedly knitting through strands of your hair. The space is bedecked in loose pages with scribbled notes on them and ink stains on the carpet. 

“I take it you three got further along than we did,” Lily whispers as she kneels beside Remus, softly nudging his chin as she captures him in a fond kiss. 

Remus smiles into her lips. “A month’s worth of progress, at least. Thanks to this one here. I don’t think I’ll ever look at a bird the same way again.” 

“Who knew our little eagle had a knack for Divination?” Lily chuckles, gaze softening as she delicately drags her knuckle down your cheek. “It’s getting pretty late. Should we wake her up?” 

Remus shakes his head. “No. Let her sleep a bit more.” 

Selfishly, Lily agrees. She traces the tip of your nose, the pillows of your lips, before retracting her hand with a long sigh. “We used to talk about anything and everything until the sun rose. Now, it seems like I can never catch up to her no matter how fast I run.”

“Lily—” 

“Don’t worry,” says Lily. “I am nothing if not stubborn. She’ll know my wrath soon.” 

Sirius snickers. “How charming.” 

The fire crackles and you mumble something, deep in slumber, shifting in Remus’s hold, “Only one percent. . . of the world’s population is . . . is naturally redheaded.” 

“Is that right?” Lily grins from ear to ear. 

Just you wait, Lily is going to sweep you off your feet.

(Something she should have done years ago.) 

“IS THAT A new jumper?”

Pandora simpers knowingly, heterochromatic eyes uncovering your every secret—the beads in her long braids click as she keeps in time with your brisk pace. She teasingly pulls at the oversized sweater. “It looks good on you.” 

You narrow your eyes at her, watchfully twisting your arms around your waist. “It was cold this morning, alright? Remus lent it to me. It’s not a big deal. It’s what friends do, right?” 

“So, you’re friends now?” Pandora muses. “Well, thank the Gods, because it has been excruciating watching you tiptoe around one another. It only took you lot three years, but it’s better than never, eh?” 

“Wilderwood! No magic in the corridors! That’s five points from Slytherin!” You bark at the stubborn fifth-year who grins sheepishly at you, before you reply to Pandora, an ache forming at the back of your head. “It’s complicated. Everything was sort of awkward in the beginning.” 

You think of last night, how Sirius was especially keen on making you laugh every few seconds; Remus would inch closer to you, head nearly on your shoulder as he peeks at the notes you’ve jotted down. You could barely think straight in their presence. Then, you remember waking up earlier this morning, James sprawled all over Sirius and Lily on the couch; Remus’s nose fully buried in his drawing book.

“But. . .” You trail off, remembering Remus’s arms around you as he sent you off, careful not to wake the others. (“I am a selfish bastard, pet,” He whispers into your hair, “I’m sorry, but let me steal this morning from them.”)

“It’s like coming home after a long day.”

“Brilliant!” Pandora exclaims, roughly laying her hands on your shoulders as she ushers you past the cobblestone walkway and into the grassfield, where the Quidditch Pitch rests in the near distance. You hadn’t even realized that you were a little ways from the castle already. “Tell them that!” 

“What?” You squawk. “Are you mad, woman?”

You hear the sound of brooms zipping by at an unimaginable speed. The crowd clamors over the announcer’s intense commentary. Your legs feel like they’ve been jinxed to feel like jelly. You hate Quidditch. 

“GRYFFINDOR SCORES! — That’s one-hundred and twenty in all! — Still no snitch yet! Hurry on, Potter! Mulciber’s got nothing on you– Ow! Professor! — Fawley heads for the goal! — Great deflect by Black! — Bletchley misses! — Another point for Gryffindor! We might as well end the game now!”

“Mr. Prewett!” You hear McGonagall scold into the charmed megaphone. 

“Sorry, Minnie! Anyway! — Mulciber and Potter race for the Snitch! Potter reaches out! — Surprisingly good manoeuvre from Mulciber! — Come on, James! — He’s almost got it! — It’s right there!”

You wait with a bated breath.

The crowd goes absolutely wild.

“Potter’s got it! — GRYFFINDOR HAS WON!” 

“Go on now, treasure. Before the Wrackspurts get inside your head again.” Pandora urges you forward, dusting the invisible creatures off your shoulders. As you take one step into the field, fireworks of gold and scarlet light up the sky, the Gryffindor teams’ cries of victory shake the ground; you hear Fabian screaming into the megaphone. Your fingers go numb. “Don’t let another day go by without expressing your heart,” says Pandora into your ear, almost a gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. “Go to them. They are waiting for you.”

“But what if they aren’t?” You watch as the sun descends on the Gryffindor team lifting James in the air, Golden Snitch in his gloved hand. Sirius catches Lily by the waist, twirling her up high; her smile more dazzling than any other gem you’ve seen. As James is set back down on the ground, he snatches Remus unaware and bends him down for a fervent kiss.

“Dora, what if I’m the only one who feels this way? I can’t do that to them. What are the chances that I’ll ruin everything? That would hurt more than anything.”

Pandora cups your cheeks and lays her forehead on yours. “You won’t ever know unless you go out there.”

With that, she pushes you into the Quidditch pitch. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, ears ringing from the crowd chanting James’s name, and your heart pounding in fear. 

“J-James. . .” You call out weakly as he drowns in the sea of students.

Perhaps it’s a sign.

This really wasn’t a good idea.

Love is a fool’s game.

Don’t you get it? They don’t need you in the picture at all.

“N-No!” You shout, chest heaving. If everything happens for a reason, maybe you were meant to meet in that train compartment all those years ago. You’ve lost three years with them already.

If you don’t go to them right now, you could lose a lifetime. 

If bravery is for the reckless and arrogant, you’re prepared to be the most depraved witch in the castle just to stay by their side. 

“James—!”

“Go, go, Gryffindor!”

You bite your lip in frustration—but you can’t just give up. Not now. 

Once more.

“JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER!”

Please.

Time stops as you stand at the edge of the field; James whips his head around and finds you instantly. The glow of having just won a match doesn’t even compare when his eyes land on you. He pushes past his team members and some of the Gryffindor students, his gaze unwavering, some of them call out his name but he doesn’t bother looking back. Before you even know it, he stands in front of you, breathing heavily—but not from the rush of the game.

“You’re here,” He says, eyes disappearing into his smile. “But you hate Quidditch.”

“I do.” You grin wearily. “But I love you more.”

Without even giving James the chance to speak, you ramble on, hurricanes whirling in your stomach, “You’re a bloody brilliant wizard, James Potter. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that before. I see you. I see all of you. How could I not? I love you. I think I’ve loved all of you before I knew it was even love. It’s alright if you don’t feel the same w—” 

James grabs the back of your legs and hoists you up, tendrils of hair falling over his glasses as he beams at you. The sun can’t even dream of competing with him. 

“Put me down, James, I am going to hurl—!”

He spins you one more time for good measure before placing you on the ground. James barely gives you a second to gather your bearings as he seizes your lips with his own, hand cradling the back of your neck. 

“You’re here,” He says, unable to believe his very eyes, gently chasing after your lips, breaths mingling until you don’t remember where either begins or ends. “Don’t leave. Please.”

“I won’t. I won’t.” You promise breathlessly as James pecks the tip of your nose, the arch of your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Beautiful.” He kisses you until you’re gasping for air. “And all ours.” 

There’s not a moment where you don’t feel loved, not even when he lets you go, and it’s Lily who encompasses you in her arms, bright hair filling your vision; you willingly burn in the warmth of her body. The mellow scent of pomegranates and red roses fill your nose. You see a never-ending horizon of kindness in her emerald eyes. (How could you have stayed away for so long?) It’s like finding a missing piece of your soul that you never knew that was lost. 

Lily laughs—it sounds like an orchestral symphony. Her gaze cascades to your lips, the prettiest of smiles on her face; she cradles the curve of your jaw with utmost sincerity, a few drops of tears shimmering against her freckled skin. “May I?”

“Please.” You feel her breath tickling your lips, deftly pulling you in for a kiss until all you can feel is her. She consumes every inch of you, and you are happy to surrender, heart and soul. 

“You must be the thickest Ravenclaw I’ve ever met,” says Lily, giggling as she kisses you once, twice—thrice. 

“And that means?” You scoff lightheartedly. 

She steals another kiss from you. “That means: I hope you know that we have loved you ever since, you daft witch. That I’ve loved you all this time. And now that you’re ours, we are going to make sure you remember that. Every single day for the rest of our lives.” 

You smile, holding onto her hand, dizzy with a hundred emotions. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

(Your Divination project is a point lower than Lily, Peter and James’s, but you find that it’s the luckiest fortune you’ve ever had.) 

EPILOGUE:

“I LOVE QUIDDITCH!” 

You are twenty-two years old, nose bitten from the chilly air, lounging in the best seating area the Quidditch World Cup has to offer; an unobstructed view of the players. The match is between the Brazilian and Japanese National Quidditch teams. Much to Sirius and James’s chagrin, your cheek is painted in yellow and green stripes, the vibrant flag around your shoulders. 

You scream along with the crowd, nearly spilling your Butterbeer popcorn, as the Brazilian players enter the vast stadium. You ardently shake Lily’s shoulders. “That’s him! That’s him! Lily, it’s Brazil’s youngest ever Seeker! Vinícius Silva! I watched a replay of his matches and he’s got a seventy-eight percent win rate!”

“Watch out, love, you’ll fall off the edge if you aren’t careful,” Lily says worriedly.

“His fastest record for catching the Golden Snitch is ten minutes and thirty seconds! He’s won Most Outstanding Player in the Junior Division twice! I’ve got a good feeling about this team—I knew those auguries were a lucky sign.” 

“The only Seeker you should be obsessing over is me.” You hear James grumbling behind your back, stealing a kiss from Lily’s lips before pressing his mouth to your cheek. “And you bloody well know that Japan’s Chaser, Kurosawa, is going to steal the limelight in this match. An average possession time of thirty seconds per play. A beast, that one.” 

You wave him off, more confident in your statistics. “Did you place my bets? I’m telling you, we’re going to be rich.” 

“Yes, darling,” He says, utterly loving his role as the dutiful husband. 

Moments later, Sirius appears at his side, fussing over your scarf, and kissing you just because. “Can we take off your bloody hat now? I think you just blinded Malfoy and his little blonde gremlin.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” You simper fiendishly before smacking his arm. “And don’t call your nephew that.” 

Sirius grins.

You pull at one of his curls. “Besides, if you’re good you can take off everything later tonight.”

He pulls you in for a deep kiss, hand at your waist, nose brushing each other’s. “And that is why I love you, dear wife.” 

You pout, albeit seeing right through his white, little jape. “Truly?” 

Sirius lands another kiss to your forehead. “Are you doubting me, loveliest love of my life? The lighthouse in my ocean storms. The apple of my eye. Fire in my loins—”

You slap a hand over his mouth. “I get it, thank you, my love.” 

Sirius beams from ear to ear. “Glad to have eased your doubts, darling.”

Thirty minutes into the match, Remus arrives, dressed in a muted gray suit, light brown hair flopping over his eyes. He greets everyone with a tired kiss. 

You immediately wrap him in a hug, nuzzling your nose into his neck. He had a particularly difficult full moon some nights ago. You press a tender kiss to the scar right below his jaw. “How was work? Did you bring my binder? It has my lesson plan for next week, I don’t want to return to the castle unprepared, and—”

The newest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor squeezes your waist. “Work was fine, pet. And no, I didn’t bring the papers because right now we are not working. We are going to watch Brazil win the bloody match and get right home to Harry after.” 

You, the newest Divination teacher of Hogwarts, tug him by his necktie, smiling coyly. “Sounds like a wonderful plan to me.” 

BONUS: 

“REMUS!”

The empty classroom is filled with soft, fervid moans—two professors especially drunk on the taste of each other’s lips. You’re seated on the desk, Remus wedged between your thighs, his hand inching dangerously higher and higher; the other hand slipping under your shirt and thumbing the bare skin underneath. He captures your whispers and mewls with his lips. Jackets and ties are tossed carelessly to the side. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He nips at your lower lip. 

“Rem. . .” You whimper, tugging at the strands of his hair. “Remus—please!” 

The door to the DADA classroom slams open and you two detangle from each other’s embrace in record speed. As you pat down your hair, Remus draping his blazer over your shoulders, you watch Lily and Harry stalk over to you in lengthy strides, reaching the both of you within seconds. You clear your throat, awkwardly averting your gaze from your son’s precious eyes; Lily, a moment away from throwing her head back in laughter. 

Harry, fourteen, and not at all ignorant to what couples do in the castle alcoves, sees the ruffled hair, the lipstick over his father’s cheeks and neck, and his parent’s misbuttoned blouse. 

He grimaces. “You two are disgusting, you know that right?” 

You guffaw, pinching his cheek. “Now, is that any way to greet the person who’s changed your diapers since you were a baby?” 

Lily cackles from Remus’s side, fixing the collar of his shirt. “Harry’s got a bit of a problem. Go on, tell them, my love.” 

Harry immediately throws his hands in the air, groaning frustratedly. “It’s Ron! He thinks I put my name in the bloody Goblet—!” 

“Which, I will still be having a word with Dumbledore about,” You say decisively. You’re not about to endanger your son. The Minister of Magic and the Headmaster be damned. They can also take it up with your husband, James, Head Auror of the Magical Law Enforcement department. 

“And now Ron’s not talking to me, Hermione’s not talking to me because I’m not talking to Ron—Colin’s following me around everywhere I go! I’m going mad, mum!” Harry slumps on one of the empty chairs, huffing. “Stupid bloody tournament.” 

You chuckle as you walk over to him, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. “Take it from me.” You press a warm kiss to his forehead. “Talk to them, otherwise you’ll lose time that was meant to be spent together. It doesn’t matter who was wrong or who was right. It’s important that you have the courage to reach out. They’re your friends. They will understand your heart soon enough.” 

Harry blinks. “Thanks.” 

He exits the classroom in a daze, heavily pondering on your words. 

The door clicks shut, and Lily wordlessly locks the entrance. She turns to you and Remus, a sultry grin on her ruby red lips. “What are the chances we Floo home, and invite Sirius and James to join us?” 

You take her outstretched hand. “A hundred and twelve.”

a/n. i wasn't satisfied with the angst here.. so expect a hufflepuff!reader and enemies to lovers next time (i promise to do better in the next fic aaakfsh) tell me what u thought of this one EUEUEU HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS FIC!! heart heart

[hello-eden]

dead serious #2

 idea that league of Assassins has connections and deals with the ghost Zone/ infinite realms. Ellie gets destabilized and Danny needs help; he ends up going to frostbite and Clockwork. They tell him about the deals that a lot of the ghost Zone has with league of assassins. He panics because of the Assassins but they make it very clear that they can help. Danny is about 14 And Damien is turning 13.( I know Damien is supposed to be with his dad at this point but just go with it) 

Ellie ends up the de Aged and Danny uses an artificial womb thing that Talia uses for Damien. Danny and Damien become friends during this time due to Talia and Ras wanting Damian to have good connections with the infinite realms. 

There's an attack on the league that ends up with Damien getting very hurt in the lab that has Ellie, it affects something and Damien's DNA ends up helping Ellie grow. The DNA helps stabilize her but it also gives her another donor. Damian leaves to train with his father not long after the incident  but he does know there is a chance that she is technically now his kid though it is never confirmed while he is there.

I'm just imagining Damien knows weirdly niche things due to Danny and the bat family is wondering why he knows things like obscure memes or has opinions on fast food.

The bat family has to interact with the League of Assassins and Damien asks his mother how Danny and Ellie are and if the accident caused problems with development. Talia then reveals that his DNA did end up integrating with Ellie and that technically he is the father. He asks if she can get them in contact and he end up able to. When This entire thing happens All the family is fighting for their life and they're in a separate area so no one knows what this conversation is.

 They get into contact and end up meeting up when Damian is on a mission outside of Gotham. Damien leaves Gotham to meet up with them constantly and that pings on his family's radar. They follow him thinking he's taking down some sort of group without backup or he is contacting the league. What they find is not what they expect. 

They Find is Damien talking with Danny cuddling under a tree while Ellie plays with Cujo. They don't realize Ellie is with them at first until Danny calls her over for lunch and she calls Danny and Damian mom and dad. They then proceed to question when Damien became a teen dad.

[ponderingmoonlight]

Meeting your ex jjk boyfriend again after your breakup

Pairings: Gojo x fem!reader; Toji x fem!reader

Word Count: 3,1 k

Warnings: cheating in gojo's part, overwhelming emotions in every part lol

Well that escalated quickly. If you want a part two with Geto, Sukuna, Chose and/or someone else let me know 🤍

Gojo Satoru

You hate to be here. Just the thought of seeing his face again makes your guts turn. When was the last time you encountered each other?

When he was with her.

“Don’t panic, I’m here with you. Remember?”, Utahime mutters into your ear while walking up those cursed steps towards jujutsu high.

“I thought I’d never have to see that jerk’s face again…”

“Well, not when you’re the second strongest. Don’t let that idiot ruin your mood.”

You sign to yourself, gaze drifting over your beloved students.

When you found out your long-term boyfriend Gojo Satoru cheated on you with none other than Mei Mei, you dropped out of Tokyo Jujutsu High immediately. It was Utahime who took you under her wing and made you the teacher you are today – at Kyoto High.

Those past two years, you really managed to stay away from him. After changing your phone number countless times, after searching day and night for a place to live that he won’t find so easily, you finally lived in peace. Far away from the pain he caused, well distracted from your still messed-up feelings.

But now you’re back. And you will be forced to meet that prick.

“There they come”, Nobara mutters while her gaze drifts over every person that comes into frame.

“Hey, who’s that woman over there?”

“That’s (y/n), a former student here at Jujutsu High. She attended the same class as Gojo-sensei. Right now, she’s working as a teacher at Kyoto High”, Megumi explains briefly.

“Former? Why isn’t she here anymore? I’d love to borrow those boots from here. Damn, that outfit really rocks…”

“There have been some…incidents with Gojo-sensei…”

Nobara’s eyes widen in pure curiosity, her eyes scanning you up and down.

“Her, with that white-haired idiot?”

“What are my lovely students talking about?”

Megumi rolls his eyes out of instinct when the tall man comes to a stand behind them.

“Oh look, the students from Kyoto High arrives with their tea-“

His breath gets stuck in your throat when your eyes make contact with his. How long has it been since he last saw you?

You look…flawless. Your hair a little longer than in his imagination, your body well-built by the countless training hours you might have spent over there at Kyoto High.

But your cold gaze is still the same as on that fateful day that still repeats itself over and over inside his head.

Fuck.

“Look who’s there”, he jeers from afar.

You feel like vomiting all over the floor. Were you really dumb enough to think your feelings just disappeared into thin air? You force your eyes away from him and to stare at his students instead. You just need to get those few days over with. Only those couple hours and you’ll get away with not seeing him for another 2 years.

“Shut up, Gojo”, Utahime warns him next to you.

“It’s nice to see you’re still as weak as before, Utahime! I wonder if you’re still crying all the time-“

"Funny, Gojo. It's nice to see your arrogance is still compensating for your insecurities. Some things never change."

The air around you freezes when those words leave your mouth, everyone around you going silent in an instant. It’s only you and him. Him with that suddenly so hardened expression, you with eyes that spit venom his way.  

“Why don’t you save your breath for someone who cares and just leave us alone until the competition starts?”

"Touché. But if you're going to psychoanalyze me, how about we do it somewhere private? We have some catching up to do."

There it is again. That cheeky smile you know painfully well, the way he tilts his head to the side oh so playfully. Your heart wrenches, bleeds out like it did on that day you saw him.

In Mei Mei’s bedroom.

While she was naked.

“I’d rather die, asshole.”

Without gifting him another look you storm away. Towards the main building, as far away as possible without anyone being able to follow you.

Fuck, you swore to yourself you are over this shit. You shouldn’t care about him, shouldn’t even feel bothered by looking at him anymore. Only one glance at him and you’re completely losing it? You thought you were better than this, stronger than you were two years ago. But apparently, nothing changed. You’re still crying over someone who betrayed you in the nastiest way possible.

A gentle grasp on your wrist rips you out of your nightmares and catapults you in an even worse one.

“Let go of me”, you hiss through gritted teeth when his bright blue eyes meet yours.

"I definitely won’t make that mistake again. You can run all you want, but you know we need to talk. You can’t keep avoiding this... or me.”

You yank your wrist away with full force when something inside you snaps.

"Talk? About what, Gojo? How you always think you can just waltz back into my life whenever it suits you? I’m done with your games."

„Stop calling me Gojo like we’re strangers. Just hear me out-“

"Strangers? That’s what we are now, Gojo. Whatever we had, it’s over. You don’t get to decide when I listen to you."

Fuck, you hate the way tears start to burn in your eyes, how his sheer presence shakes you right to your core. Truth is, you never stopped loving him. Not even when he abused your trust like he did, not even when you caught him with Mei Mei that day. Until now, your stupid heart didn’t get the message, still clings onto him for dear life.

And it hurts like hell.

Gojo takes a deep breath in and takes a step towards you.

"Please, just listen. That night - it wasn’t what you think. I was trying to protect you, but I messed up by keeping you in the dark. I would never betray you like that. You have to believe me."

"Protect me? I saw you in Mei Mei’s room. If that wasn’t what it looked like, then explain why you were there. Don’t expect me to just forget what I saw and the way it made me feel. As if your fucking words mean everything!"

You lose it completely, your composure, those rough years of keeping you together. In that second, you lose yourself.

“That night she called me because she told me about a special grade curse that was hunting after you. I entered her room just seconds before you stumbled in. If I had known this, that she only tries to entertain herself with spreading that fucking misunderstanding between us, I would have never-“

“Have you any idea how I felt that day? You…You were my life, Satoru! I would have died for you! And you didn’t even care enough to follow me!”, you now cry out seething with emotion

“I thought I was doing the right thing!”, he shouts so roughly that you flinch.  

“I thought you needed space, that we’ll talk things out when you didn’t respond countless times. I never thought…that you’d actually believe I was cheating on you! You meant everything to me too, and the thought of losing you, of not even knowing where you were, has been killing me. I’m so sorry for not chasing after you. Until this day, there’s nothing I regret more than giving you space in that fucking moment, I should have fought harder to make things right. Fuck, I missed you every single day since you were gone and it kills me, it fucking kills me I can’t call you mine anymore!”

Are those…tears glistening in his eyes. Is that really Gojo Satoru, standing in front of you, crying?

“Seeing you like this… I don’t know if it makes things better or just harder. Maybe you’re genuinely sorry, but the pain you caused me is real. It’s not something that can be fixed with words or tears alone…”

“Just one kiss.”

He draws closer, the heat of his body paired with his signature perfume now so close that you feel like fainting for a second.

“Give me one kiss and I’ll leave you alone.”

“A kiss?”, you breathe out.

His lips haunted you in your dreams frequently, how they felt pressed against yours and comforted you through everything. You hated how your mind always remembered you of what you’ve lost.

Those kissable lips, that mouth that never failed to make you smile.

But now…a kiss?

"Just one kiss, to remember what we had, to see if there’s still something between us. If it doesn’t change anything, I’ll walk away and give you all the space you need. But if there’s even a spark left… I need to know."

Your mind races as you consider his request with a wave of feelings rushing over you like a tsunami. Memories of your shared moments flood back, the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of his touch, and the sweetness of his kisses that used to light up your whole fucking world. But what if he hurts you again? What if all those words are nothing but a filthy little lie to play with you all over?

Your heart pounds while you close your eyes briefly, trying to push through the pain and the intensity of the situation. The idea of that one kiss, despite everything, pulls at your heartstrings. That moment of vulnerability and a chance to confront what’s been haunting her dreams, close enough to touch and feel...

Finally, you open your eyes and nod slowly, your voice barely a whisper.

"One kiss."

Gojo’s eyes soften with a mix of relief and hope as he leans in, his breath warm against your oversensitive and touch-starved skin. His lips meet yours with a gentle, hesitant touch. A bittersweet mixture of longing, regret, and a lingering affection that speaks of all both of you once shared, the feelings that still rise from the ashes between both of you – feelings that never really disappeared. Truth is, you never really stopped loving Gojo Satoru. Even if he shattered your heart into thousands of pieces, even if your heart still aches, you can’t escape his gravity.

Out of instinct, you wrap your longing arms around his neck like you always did, press your body even closer against his. Only that one touch, that one kiss in order to feel that he lied.

But instead, the taste his falling tears on your tongue, feel his desperate hands on your waist. Did…Gojo Satoru miss you as well?

As your lips part, a tear slips down both of your cheeks while heavy breathing fills the cramped room between you.

"From the moment you left, I’ve been lost without you. I thought I could move on, but every day without you has been unbearable. I missed you more than I ever thought possible. I’ve been living in a world where everything reminds me of what we had and what I threw away by not following you that night. I never stopped loving you, not for a single fucking day.

I know I’ve made mistakes and I’ve hurt you in ways I can never fully make up for. But standing here now, feeling your arms around me and knowing that you still care... it’s more than I deserve. I love you, and I’ve always loved you. If there’s any chance for us to rebuild what we had, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I need you to know that my feelings for you have never faded, and they never will.”

You look at him with a mix of longing and hope, your eyes silently asking for what you’re yearning for.

"One more kiss," you whisper,

"just to see if it’s real.”

Toji Fushiguro

Your eyes are focus on the glittery liquid that swirls around in your glass, too focused on the play of color to even listen to that jerk opposite of you.

“(y/n), are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, go on”, you mutter through your hand without even looking up.

To be honest, your dating life has been a mess since that one guy. Dates each and every night, nameless men who cling onto your rock bottom for dear life. Getting showered by meaningless compliment that are supposed to drag you into their beds, the bitter taste of gammahydroxybutyricacid on a regular basis.

Just like now. Liquid ecstasy.

You raise your eyebrows, allow yourself a glimpse at that muscular guy with a face that looks like out of every plastic surgeons dream and that fake rolex around his wrist. As if you’d be dumb enough to actually swallow that shit. But on the other hand, you might as well wait until he spent all his money for you in that way too expensive restaurant before leaving him standing in the rain.

“You have to be the prettiest woman I’ve even seen”, he jeers while grabbing your hand.

You force down that wave of puke that threatens to take you over and put on the sweetest smile you have to offer.

What a loser, honestly. Not even able to read a woman properly.

But none of the men you’ve met since him were.

“Aren’t you thirsty? Don’t you like your drink?”

Yeah, like you’re dumb enough to drink that shit.

“I’d actually like to eat something before drinking. Otherwise, I’m drunk immediately”, you give back oh so innocently.

He lets out a disgusting laughter, his hungry eyes almost pilling you out of your skintight dress. Well, that’s what you get for going on a date with someone who calls himself selfmade CEO of something that has to be another lousy pyramid scheme.

Let’s get this over with.

Your eyes dart around the room aimlessly in order to find a way to escape later on. Unfortunately, the toilets don’t provide a window and as it seems, you won’t be able to escape that main hall. Screw those fancy restaurants and their high alert.

It’s a feeling that crawls up your spine so suddenly that your head yanks to the right out of instinct.

Cold eyes. That scar on the corner of his mouth that flinches when he catches you staring at him.

So familiar cold eyes that you feel like fainting for a second.

It can’t be him, it’s impossible that it’s him-

“Toji?”, you breathe out.

You haven’t seen him since that day.

Since the two of you broke up.

You swore to yourself to never see that man again, moved to Tokyo on order to get lost in the crowd, went on countless dates to fuck his face out of your mind.

But as soon as your eyes land on him, your guts twist just like they did before, a wave of fright washing over your usual so broad back.

“I need to go”, you mutter, not even caring about that douchebag on the other side of the table anymore.

You need to get out of here, need to hide in some lonely corner, need to move to another city. Or another country? It seems like he’ll always find you, no matter where you go.

The cold air of the night hits your face like a wall as you stumble out of the restaurant. Where are you supposed to go? Aimlessly, you haste through the next alley, eyes darting behind you as if you’re haunted.

That toxic fucker, that crazy man who apparently didn’t accept your breakup at all. Toji is no one to be messed with, a maniac when it comes to his toys.

And you are one of those toys. Well, you hope you were.

“Think you can escape me like that?”

The next second, you find yourself pinned against a wall with no way out.

“Let go of me, you freak”, you press out, not even daring to look up at him.

Fuck, you’re absolutely screwed. There’s no way you’ll get out of here like you did last time.

“Is that how you greet the love of your life, huh?”

He grabs your cheek firmly and forces your head towards his.

There they are, those dangerous eyes. Up close, in their full glory.

You feel like puking.

“I don’t love you anymore. You treated me like shit.”

That’s what you told yourself over and over again, literally tattooed on your heart. You can’t love a guy like him, he’ll never give you what you need and want.

“So you’re telling me that guy who wanted to fuck after your blackout is better? Can’t tell me you didn’t notice that loser put something in your drink.”

“It’s none of your business”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Everything that has to do with you is my business, babe. You did a good job hiding from me for a few months. But you can’t escape me”, he mutters against your ear.

His hot breath against your naked and oversensitive skin almost sends you over the edge, forces that knot inside your stomach to start pulsating all over again.

That fucker who knows your body so well. That asshole who plays with your feeling all over again.

“We’ve broke up”, you remind him with unsteady gaze.

“So you have no feelings for me? Hate me? Just because I killed that guy-“

“You killed so many people that I lost count. I can’t do this!”, you blurt out.

“But do you love me?”

Your heart almost pounds out of your chest, sweat now covering your forehead only by looking at him. So many nights, you’ve drank enough to forget your own name.

But you never forgot his.

“Doesn���t matter…”

“So you do.”

Before you’re even able to protest, he lifts you up and cages you against the wall. And your lousy traitor of a body? Wraps your legs around his waist as if none of this ever happened.

“I’ll make it up to you, princess”, he mumbles into the crook of your neck, now placing gentle kisses on your bare skin.

You want to tell him to stop, want to yank your body out of his demanding grasp.

But instead, you let your head fall back and close your eyes.

Fuck, you missed this. You missed him.

“And don’t ya dare to run away from me again. You’re mine.”

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[yamumsyadadd]

Accident

Part of the Mariquita universe.

talk of blood, first period etc.

From the very beginning Jenni and Alexia had taught you important phone numbers. Theirs, Eli’s, the clubs and emergency services. They reiterated time and time again that the emergency services was only for emergencies so when you went to the bathroom and found blood, you knew it was an emergency. 

Mami and Olga had both been busy, incredibly so. Olga had been spending more time in Madrid, leaving you and Mami alone. Mama was still in Mexico but would be coming in a few weeks since international break was about to start. 

Your body was growing, changing, right before your eyes. You were tall and skinny, taller than Olga and Alba but shorter than Mami and Mama. And so skinny, no matter how much you were fed, you remained skinny. Of course, at the age of 12, things were changing inside of you. 

Things were strange in the lead up to the incident. All week had been hard, you were more tired, more hungry, more emotional. You’d put it down to school starting again and Mami and Olga being busy. 

The day went as usual, Alexia dropped you at school, afterwards you went to the library for an hour before football training then Olga picked you up. Alexia wouldn’t be home until late due to some media and a Physio appointment so it was just the both of you. 

Things between you and Olga were weird. On one hand you liked her, she was funny and cool, but on the other hand you liked your Mama more. There was a part of you that wished your Mami and mama would get back together, you’d be a family again. You’d never ever say that to either alexia or Jenni because it would cause a fight and then Olga would get her feelings hurt and that’s the last thing you wanted. 

The night carried on as usual. Olga made dinner while you showered and did homework, then ate together. She talked about her work, how Manuela’s was going well and you talked about school and football, leaving out the part where you think you have a crush. 

After a while of sitting on the couch, the heaviness and wetness of your underpants became too much. You went straight to the bathroom, worried you’d somehow wet yourself but that wasn’t the sight you were met with. 

Oh no, it was much worse. It was blood, and a lot of it. Blood from others never made you feel queasy but blood from yourself filled your body with anxiety. 

You were panicking. Alexia wasn’t home, it was only 8.07pm. She would be home until at least 8.30. Olga was busy with her work stuff. She had told you to come into the office if you needed anything but due to seeing the blood you felt unsteady on your feet. 

The panic started to rise and the only thing you could think about was how you were going to die in this bathroom with your mamis girlfriend in the other room, completely oblivious to your lifeless body, rotting away. 

With shaking hands you called the one person you hoped would tell you everything was fine: Tia Alba. Expect she didn’t answer any of the fifteen phone calls and texts you left her. There only one solution left. 

“112, ambulance, fire or police?” 

“Um, ambulance please.” 

“Okay can you tell me your location? And the nature of this emergency.”

“Plaça Rosa del Vents, 1, floor 23 apartment 236, 08039 Barcelona, Spain. I am bleeding, a lot. There’s a lot of blood and I don’t feel good.” 

“I’m dispatching an ambulance as we speak. What’s your name sweetheart?” 

“Y/n.” By this point you were on the floor, in a ball. Unsure of what to do further. 

“Okay y/n. How old are you? Did someone hurt you?”

“I’m 12. No no one hurt me. I’m just bleeding and I can’t get it to stop. I’m scared.” 

“Just hang there okay y/n? The ambulance is a few minutes out and you can stay on the line with me until then. Did you hurt yourself?”

“I don’t think so? I don’t know.” A sob ripped through your body, panic was well and truly ripping through you. “I just want my mums.” You cried. 

“Where are they? I can get my colleague to call them.” 

“Mama is in Mexico, she lives there and Mami is at work. She won’t be home for a bit longer.” You recited her phone number to the lady but just as you finished you heard the pounding on the door, “I think, I think the ambulance is here.” 

“Can you walk to them? To let them in?” 

“I’ll try.” Slowly you got up, the soreness from laying on the bathroom floor was sinking in but you pushed through. 

“MARI! Mariquita where are you!” Olga’s panicked voice sounded through the apartment. 

“I’m coming.” Your voice was as weak as you felt, when you finally looked up you saw a very distressed Olga and two paramedics. 

“What’s wrong! They said you called them?”

“Bleeding. Lots.” Seeing Olga panic only made you panic even more. 

“Let’s have a seat so we can check you out.” One of the paramedics spoke up. You walked over to the dining chair, not wanting to get blood on the couch. 

“Can you explain to us where you’re bleeding from?” 

You shook your head, embarrassed and unable to explain. 

“Mari, you need to tell them so they can help. Please?” Olga pleaded. “Do you want me to leave? I can go into the other room?” 

“No please don’t. Please don’t leave me.” You broke down sobbing again. Olga pulled you into her, her hand rubbing up and down your back trying to calm you. 

“I don’t know where. At training I felt sick and when I went to the toilet there was a bit of blood. I thought it would pass or maybe I got kicked but it only got worse and it won’t stop. I tried toilet paper but it’s just uncomfortable and and-“

“Where is the blood?” You looked down in embarrassment. “Your underwear?” You nodded your head. Olga and the two paramedics seemingly having a conversation just with their eyes. 

“what! What is it? Oh my god I’m going to die aren’t I? I knew it. I’m going to die.” You got up and started pacing. 

“No, you aren’t going to die. Do you know what your period is?” 

“Yes. We learnt about it at school.” 

“Most girls get it between the ages of 10 and 12. You’re 12.” The paramedic trailed off. Your head shot up. 

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed. I think this is a conversation that you two need to have. However, if you feel the need to call again, call this number.” The paramedic handed a card over to Olga and then they left. 

Olga had left her phone in her office and yours was discarded somewhere so you both missed the many calls that a panicked Alexia was placing. 

When she finally burst through the apartment door , it was quiet. That stressed her out even more. 

“Mariquita? Olga?” Alexia’s voice thundered through the apartment. 

When Olga appeared with a slipper in hand alexia was very confused.

“Where’s Mari? What happened, ow, ow! Stop! why are you hitting me!” 

“She’s 12 years old alexia! 12!” 

“I know how old she is! That doesn’t explain anything!” Alexia put her hands up in surrender, sporting her very well known frown. 

“She got her period today and freaked out. She thought she was dying. DYING! She called a fucking ambulance. You should’ve talked to her!” Olga hit her again just for good measure. 

“Where is she? She must’ve been so scared.” 

“She was scared. Too scared to come to me, to call you, so she called an ambulance. A fucking ambulance.”

“Did they take her?” 

“No. She’s in the shower. I got some pads from our bathroom and gave her a crash course on how to use them but you NEED to have a conversation with her Ale.”

“We both do.” Olga gave alexia a perplexed look, “you’re apart of her life too. You should be there.” 

“No. She didn’t want me to help originally, that’s how we got into this mess. I was a few metres away and instead she called an ambulance Ale.” It was an internal battle for Olga. Some days she thought you two were making progress and then the next day, something like this happens. 

“She didn’t call me either amor. I promise she was just scared.” Alexia pulled Olga into her chest, kissing the top of her head. 

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, for a second time that evening, Alexia was home. Sitting on the couch, waiting. 

“Hi Bebé. Come sit.” Slowly you made your way over, sitting between the two women. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

“No!” Both women said at the same time, “never mad bebé. But I was scared. I imagine that was how you felt too? And Olga?” 

“I’m sorry.” It was directed mainly to Olga.

“You have nothing to apologise for Mari.” 

“You were in your office and I could’ve come to you. I wasn’t thinking because I was scared.” 

“You thought it was an emergency yes?” You nodded your head, “then you did the right thing. It was scary for me, and you and Ale but only because none of us knew what was going on.” 

After a few extra hugs and reassurances they both throughly explained what was happening to your ever changing body. It was a lot of information for you to digest and when you finally went to bed that night, you felt something change within you 

Alexia to Jenni:

Mari got her period for the first time tonight. She was scared and called an ambulance, maybe give her a ring in the morning if you have time. 

Jenni to Alexia:

Oh our little baby is growing up. Give her extra kisses and chocolate for me. 

[delicatebarness]

bridges to burn | prologue

Summary: You arrive at the Avengers Compound to manage your uncontrollable Extremis powers. As you navigated the new environment, you clash with your assigned babysitter/bodyguard, Bucky Barnes.

Warning: MCU Spoilers. Iron Man 3. Intense Emotional Conflict. Superpowers and Uncontrollable Abilities. Parental Concern and Pressure. Family Tension. Emotional and Physical Heat.

Word Count: 1103

Spotify Playlist | Support: Ko-FI

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

A/N: Oh look, another.

BTB Tags: - Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in this serious.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @mrsnikstan | @lanabuckybarnes

Touching down at the Avengers Compound, the Quinjet’s engines hummed softly as they powered down. You stepped off the lowering ramp and took in the sprawling complex. The building was an impressive blend of sleek modern design and cutting-edge technology, lush greenery surrounded the wide-open spaces. The peaceful landscape contrasted against the bustling chaos of the city, where you spent most of your life. 

Your dad, Tony Stark, stood waiting for you near the entrance, concern, and determination etched across his aging features. The familiar scent of motor oil and cologne filled your senses as he enveloped you in a quick hug. His grip around you was firm, silently reassuring you that he was there for you. 

“Welcome home, kid,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. However, his eyes revealed the worry he had tried to mask. “Come on, let me show you around.” 

Following him through the compound, you passed training rooms that were filled with state-of-the-art equipment, common areas where you caught glimpses of some familiar faces, and the impressive hangar with various vehicles and aircraft. The building buzzed with activity, yet there was still a sense of order and purpose. 

Finally, you reached Tony’s sanctuary, his lab. The place you knew he felt most at home. You marveled at the array of gadgets and projects scattered around, as you followed his gesture for you to step in. Screens displayed holographic schematics, while robotic arms moved with precision, a new creation being assembled. The faint hum of machinery was a comforting backdrop. 

“And, this is where the magic happens,” Tony said, pride touching his voice. Watching you take it all in, his lips played a small smile. “But, before you get too comfortable, there’s something we need to talk about.” 

Raising your eyebrow suspiciously, you waited for him to continue. Looking uncharacteristically nervous, he ran a hand through his hair. 

“I know things have been… rough since the incident,” he began, trying carefully to choose his words. He leaned against a workbench, fixing his gaze on a point somewhere behind you, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, I know you’re struggling to control the Extremis,” he trailed off, pausing before he continued, “but, we can’t have another accident like that. Not again.” 

The memory of the uncontrollable heat coursing through your veins caused you to flinch. The sight of the flames, the smell of burning wood, the panic in the firefighter’s voice as they tried to contain the damage. Since it saved your life as a child, you lived with the Extremis virus. Your mother, Maya Hansen’s legacy, turned you into a ticking time bomb. 

“I know, Dad,” you sighed, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll do better.” 

Shaking his head, Tony pushed off the workbench and stepped closer to you. “It’s not about doing better. It’s about getting help. Which is why I’ve arranged for someone to keep an eye on you.” 

The door to the lab opened, snapping your attention away from your dad before you could protest. And in walked, Bucky Barnes– The Winter Soldier. You had seen him in action and heard the ghost stories, but meeting him in person… that was different. He was imposing, a steely gaze seemingly assessing every detail of the room, and you. As he approached, his movements were fluid, almost predatory.

“Tin-Man, this is my daughter,” Tony spoke as he gestured toward you. “She’s going to be staying here for a while. And… you’re going to be looking out for her.” 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed slightly toward you, and you could see in his piercing gaze that he was as thrilled about this arrangement as you were. “I was expecting a kid,” he said bluntly, a hint of annoyance carrying in his voice. Crossing his arms over his chest, the metal of his arm caught against the light. 

“No, I’m not a kid,” you snap back, matching his posture. “And, I don’t need a glorified babysitter. Unless,” you paused, shoot Bucky a playful smirk. “You’re here to tuck me in and read me a bedtime story?” 

Tony stepped between you, holding up a hand to forestall any pending argument. “Easy, both of you. This isn’t up for debate. Barnes’ here to help, whether you like it or not.” 

You glare at Bucky, who returns the look with an equal intensity. “Fantastic,” you said, your voice dripped with sarcasm. “My very own bodyguard, don’t expect me to make this easy for you.”

Smirking, Bucky’s eyes filled with amusement almost as if he was accepting a challenge. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Princess.” 

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, your iris’ blazed with anger, a burning orange glow. 

His smirk never faltered. “Whatever you say… Princess.” 

Watching the exchange, Tony’s expression changed to one of concern and exasperation. His face, usually composed, now showed signs of strained patience. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tried to stifle a sigh. “Alright, both of you,” he injects, his voice filled with frustration. “This isn’t a battlefield. Can we at least try to keep it professional?” 

You took a glance at Tony, then back at Bucky, who still had a smirk plastered across his face, enjoying the friction. Tony continued, his tone firm but weary. “I get that you two won’t see eye to eye, but let’s keep the drama to a minimum. We’re here to make sure things don’t  go up in flames, literally.” 

Squaring off with Bucky, you took another step closer. The heat between you both was almost tangible. “I mean it, Winter Soldier. I’m not some dame in distress that you get to boss around.” 

Leaning in, his voice was a low, taunting whisper. “And I’m not some nanny here to hold your hand.” 

The tension crackled between you, and you noticed how his eyes were cold and calculating, with a flicker of something else– something that mirrored the heat in your own. You weren’t sure if it was anger or something more, but whatever it was, made your heart race. 

“Good,” you retorted, sarcasm stayed laced within your words. “I wouldn’t want you thinking you could handle me.” 

His eyes locked with yours, his smirking only growing. “Trust me, Princess, I can handle anything you throw at me.” 

Scoffing, you rolled your eyes, yet you couldn’t help but feel the thrill of his challenge rush through you. “We’ll see about that.” 

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze burning into your back. This wasn’t over– far from it. And somehow, the thought of that excited you as much as it infuriated you.

---

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

[jellyfishsthings]

Hold Your Breath My Darling

WARNINGS: angst, like super angst, lovesick and whipped Spencer, earlier seasons Spencer, Hotch trained reader, Ex spy, fem reader, dying (or coming close to it), panic attacks, HOTCHNISS IS A THING bcuz i said so, typical criminal minds violence... there will be a part two soon, please let my know if I am missing anything else

requests are open

The ending was based on this fic by @nereidprinc3ss

part 1

It had been one month since the Incident—a term that spoke volumes without revealing too much. The Incident was the moment everything changed, the day the world they've fought to protect threatened to swallow them whole. One harrowing act of violence had almost stolen her from the living, leaving scars deeper than flesh, echoing through the halls of the BAU and private lives of those who cared.

For Aaron Hotchner, the air was thick with the weight of his own guilt. He wandered through days shrouded in shadows, each movement a reminder of his instinct to protect, to lead, to ensure the safety of his team. And how had he failed? He coped with drowning himself in whiskey after a long day's work—a futile attempt to numb the regret clawing at his insides. In the back of his mind, the echoes of her screams lingered. They came back to him every time he closed his eyes.

His office was dimly lit, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. He stared at a framed picture of the team at some holiday gathering, her flashing one of her radiant smiles, arms flung around Morgan and Reid. It should have been the happiest memory, but now it felt like a ghost lurking in the corner, reminding him of what could have been lost forever. Where there should have been laughter, the room was filled with an uneasy silence, punctuated only by the sound of ice rattling in his glass.

Then there was Emily, who wore her pain like a second skin. Each night, she gave in to silent tears that left her breathless. Hotch held her, wrapped her in his arms, wanting to lend strength but unsure of how to piece together the fragments of their shattering experience. It was during these quiet moments, swaddled in darkness, that they both recognized the fragility of their connection. What they had once built was now tempered by guilt and fear—fear of losing a woman, a kid practically, they had helped qrow and turn into the amazingAgent she was.

Meanwhile, in a sterile white room, Spencer Reid kept vigil at her bedside. He had transformed into a specter of the man he had always been. Days blended into nights, and he often felt unmoored. The memory of her laughter used to be a melody he longed to hear; now it haunted him. In the clinical light of the hospital room, he counted the rhythmic beeping of the machines, which stood stark contrast to the chaos within him. Every time he heard her heart, steady and strong, he found a flicker of hope. But hope was an elusive thing, dampened by the anxiety that had seeped into his bones.

Reid often found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the moments that brought them all together, the little things that made them a unit—a family of sorts. He remembered their case that had turned deadly, the precision of her instincts leading them into a dangerous trap. But he also remembered the resolve in her eyes as they fought, a fierce determination that now seemed barely a whisper in the sanctuary of her hospital room.

For a while, recovery felt like an unattainable vision—like a mirage shimmering just beyond their reach. It was a miracle she was still alive even in a sedated state. When she was admitted in the hospital the doctors wore horrified looks as they finally located her file, asking for goverment permission to unseal it and rightfully so. When Spencer himself read it he felt nauseous to his core and ready to lose his hold on reality.

Bones broken more than one time.

Broken back that function only with a chip insisted in the spine.

Various signs of abuse, which could be traced back to her childhood at eight years old.

Signs of sexual assault and rape to a terrifying degree.

She was covered in old scars.

Yet he knew that the worst damage must live inside her head. What a scary life she had lived. And she was only a few months younger than him. The memories that must haunt her ... he only felt sick at the thought, he could imagine how it would be like to live with them.

Still it made sense. How good she was at fighting, that she was an excellent shot, how quickly she adapted into this new lifestyle. He was filled with questions, how, why, are you well, I still love you you do not have to hide I promise. But he didn't have a choice and so he waited for what seemed an eternity.

Days passed, and with them came the wait. But her eyes still remained closed, and so did the door to their shared perception of certainty. A week turned into a month, and the seasons shifted outside like a clock wound down to a dim hum.

Then, one evening, under the flickering fluorescent lights of the hospital, a breakthrough came. Her eyelids fluttered, her breathing quickened, and suddenly—her eyes opened, revealing the storm brewing inside them. Spencer was at her side, gripping her hand gently, his heart hammering in his chest. Ready to fall down on his knees and thank every diety for bringing her back.

“Snoopy?,” he breathed out, the air catching in his throat. Using after what seemed the longest time the nickname he had for her, the one he only used because he was the only one who knew her crazy obsession with the cartoon.

Her gaze was unfocused at first, wandering into the corners of the room as if piecing together where she was. But recognition slowly dawned on her, and the corners of her lips managed a faint curve.

“Reid?” she croaked, her voice raspy yet threaded with life.

Spencer felt a swell of emotions. Relief surged through him, casting away the shadows that had clung tightly for weeks. “You’re back. You’re really back.”

She blinked, and as realization dawned fully, the weight of her condition pressed down on her. “What happened?”

The moment reverberated with unspoken understanding; the memories were shrouded yet defined by the pain they collectively held. But what mattered now was her presence, the warmth of her being returning to where it belonged.

Yet nothing would ever be the same again.

Her transition to get back to work was tedious and long, but she faced with extreme determination and stubbornness. But one bright Monday morning at the Behavioral Analysis Unit (BAU), and the scent of hope lingered in the air like freshly brewed coffee. The team was abuzz with excitement—she was finally back after her traumatic injury. The office was a cacophony of cheers, “Welcome back!” and “It’s about time!” amid the clatter of keyboards and the rustle of paperwork.

She smiled brightly, radiating enthusiasm as she exchanged warm hugs and playful jabs. Despite feeling a little stiff, she was ready to jump back into the chaos that was the BAU. Her final physical test had gone splendidly, and she had passed with flying colors, much to the delight of her colleagues.

“Just don't overdo it, shortcake,” Derek Morgan chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You wouldn’t want to break a sweat before lunch.”

“I think my stitches would disagree with you,” she replied, tossing her hair back and puffing out her chest, “but who needs stitches when you have determination?”

She winked, but even she could feel the tight twinge near her abdomen as she waved dismissively.

A few hours later, as the excitement faded into the hum of agents at work, she started to feel a slight tugging pain. Her physical test had been strenuous, and perhaps she had overexerted herself a tad too much. Dismissing it as minor, she continued her duties until, unceremoniously, during a particularly animated discussion with Spencer Reid, she felt something give way. Looking down in horror, she saw her bandage had opened—one stitch had given it all up.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered under her breath. “Not now.”

The bathroom was not far, but the urgency and pain propelled her into a sprint that was definitely not recommended for someone still healing. She burst through the bathroom door, clutching her midriff, and locked the door behind her.

Meanwhile, after Snoopy had vanished for a suspiciously long time, Spencer felt a tickle of worry. She had burst into action rather enthusiastically, but it had turned into hours of radio silence. Ever the nerdy detective, his mind began churning. What if she had passed out? What if the bathroom monster had gotten her?

Spencer stood up, adjusted his glasses, and awkwardly edged toward the restrooms, bursting into the first one. Empty. Next, he slammed the door of the supply closet, scanned the room, found it empty, and moved on. He was a bull in a china shop—he knocked on a few more doors before finally giving in and charging towards the ladies’ restroom.

“Snoopy?” he called out hesitantly. “Are you in here? Did you win a new Olympic event—like bathroom hiding?”

Inside, she was struggling for a fresh bandage, maneuvering between the threading of her clothes, still trying to maintain a semblance of dignity despite her predicament. “I’m fine!” she half-shouted. “Just dealing with some wardrobe malfunctions. You know how it is!”

“Are you sure? You sound a little… flustered.” Spencer pushed through the door—pride was overrated, and so was personal space when it came to friends in need.

There she stood, half-naked, staring wide-eyed at Spencer. She was trying to maneuver a roll of bandages across her back, struggling with the awkward angles as she attempted to wrap around her injuries. The moment was a whirlwind of awkwardness and genuine surprise that left Spencer rooted to the floor.

“Oh, uh…!” Spencer stammered, his eyes widening. “I—Sorry! I didn’t mean to—!”

She blushed, realizing the comedic irony of a boy who often got caught in his brain's overdrive now turning into a flustered mess. “Spencer, a little warning next time? I’m just trying to change my bandages!”

“Oh! Right! Of course! Bandages!” He shuffled awkwardly, racking his brain for something—anything—that resembled confidence. “Do you need help?”

“Help?” she echoed, raising an eyebrow. “With what? Watching me struggle or ensuring a full-fledged theatrical performance?”

Reid swallowed hard and stepped forward, grabbing the roll of bandages. “I have a PhD in cognitive neuroscience, but bandaging wounds shouldn't be too complicated, right?”

She laughed, a melodic sound that diffused the tension as he gingerly held the fabric ready to assist her. “You say that, but let’s just put your academic prowess to the test.”

As he meticulously began to wrap her wounds, their banter threw open a door to easy flirting. “You know, if you hadn’t decided to writhe around like a fish out of water, I wouldn’t have had to barge in here like a raging bull,” he teased, focusing on the bandages but stealing glances at her.

She snorted softly. “And if you hadn’t decided to play the role of ‘Spencer the Bull’ and barged in like that, I might have had a more dignified experience here.”

“Next time, I’ll knock,” he agreed. “But first, if I let you get hurt again, I’ll have to rat you out to HR.”

She feigned shock. “Spencer Reid! How could you? Aren’t we a team?”

He didn’t dare reply immediately, wrapping the bandages with precision while his own cheeks flushed. “They also say you can’t handle a little risk in the name of love—because that’s totally what HR deals with.”

She grinned. “Oh please, they’d love the gossip. ‘Reid and Snoopy engage in dangerous bandaging maneuvers!’”

“Right?” He chuckled. “They’d probably get the wrong idea, and we’d spend our afternoons dodging accusations.”

“Accusations? Of what? Excessive flirting under the guise of medical assistance?”

Their eyes met, and the emphasis was palpable—a line they’d somehow danced across during the cheerful mockery. As the gentle laughter enveloped them, both realizing they had easily slipped into a territory where playful banter morphed into flirty undertones, Spencer’s heart thumped against his chest as he finished the bandage and fought the impulse to lean in a little closer.

“So,” she started, cutting through the air of comfort, “do we have a pact then? No more HR rumbles if you keep barging in on me uninvited?”

“I think that sounds reasonable,” Spencer replied, a charming smile emerging on his lips.

As they shared another laugh, an understanding settled between them—one wrapped in bandages, hints of crushes, and adventure, leaving behind awkwardness and opening the door to a world wrapped in flirtation and camaraderie, all set against the delightful backdrop of the BAU.

Tags: @sturnioloenthousiast

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost in Translation: Part Two

Summary: Penelope hosts a brunch, Derek tells Spencer not to force you to talk to him. You make a new friend with a client, they convince you to go to the brunch.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: alcohol consumption, regret of past decisions, Penelope playing match maker

Word count: 8k

a/n: Spencer and you finally talk!!!

main masterlist prologue part one part three part four

You’ve been avoiding every time Derek invites you to go out with the BAU team since the embarrassing incident at the bar. Each time you decline, you can hear the disappointment in his voice, but the anxiety bubbling up in your chest whenever you think about seeing Spencer again is enough to keep you from saying yes. The embarrassment of that night still haunts you, and every time Derek mentions the team, you feel your heart squeeze with panic. 

To keep your mind off everything, you throw yourself into your work, accepting new clients and piling on extra projects. You stay late at the office, ensuring your schedule is so packed that you don’t have time to think about anything but deadlines, designs, and color schemes. It’s easier to focus on creating beautiful spaces for other people than it is to deal with the mess inside your own head. 

Meanwhile, Spencer is struggling. Ever since that night at the bar, the memory of you running out haunts him. He keeps replaying the look on Derek’s face, the way you bolted the second he walked in, and it twists his gut with guilt. But it’s not just that moment—he’s also haunted by the memory of how he left you all those years ago, how he slipped out of your bed without a word, too scared to stay and too ashamed to face you. The weight of those two moments presses down on him, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Spencer's work starts to suffer. During cases, he’s distracted, zoning out during briefings and losing his train of thought mid-sentence. Hotch notices first, his brows knitting with concern as he watches Spencer fumble through his notes during a meeting. JJ, too, picks up on the change, her subtle glances in his direction filled with quiet worry. They don’t push him—yet—but Spencer knows they’re watching, waiting for him to say something. But he doesn’t. He just keeps burying it, trying to push it all down.

Spencer also finds himself trying to be around Derek more often, finding excuses to stop by his desk or catch him after work. He never outright asks about you, but it’s clear that’s why he’s hovering. Whenever Derek casually mentions having seen you, Spencer’s eyes light up, a flicker of hope in the midst of his guilt. But Derek’s updates are always brief, never giving away too much. He knows you’re still hurting, and he’s not about to let Spencer think everything is fine when it’s not.

Spencer hovered near Derek's desk, tapping his fingers nervously on the edge as Derek typed away at his computer. The bullpen was quiet for once, just the low hum of conversation in the background. Spencer cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything right away, trying to come up with something that didn’t sound too obvious.

“Hey, uh, Derek,” Spencer started, his voice a little too casual. “You have any plans this weekend?”

Derek didn’t even look up, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He knew exactly what this was about, but he played along. “Yeah, got a few things going on,” he replied, his fingers still tapping at the keys. “Why, you got something in mind, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his eyes darting around the room as if he wasn’t really sure what to say next. “No, I just... thought maybe we could grab a drink or something.” He paused for a beat. “Or, you know, if you’re hanging out with anyone else...?”

Derek chuckled softly, finally glancing up at Spencer with a knowing look. “Anyone else, huh?” he said, leaning back in his chair. “You mean, like Y/N?”

Spencer’s face flushed immediately, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I mean... I wasn’t... just curious,” he stammered, avoiding eye contact.

Derek sighed, leaning forward on his desk and crossing his arms. “Look, man, she won’t just magically want to see you. You know that, right?”

Spencer’s face fell, the small flicker of hope that had sparked just moments ago snuffed out. He swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I just... I guess I wanted to make sure she’s okay.”

After a long silence, Derek finally spoke up again. “Look, man,” he said, his voice a little gentler now. “You can’t keep hovering around me, hoping I’ll tell you she’s suddenly okay with everything. It’s gonna take time. And you’ve got to give her space.”

Spencer exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know,” he whispered. 

Derek gave him a small nod, watching as Spencer turned to leave, his shoulders slumped under the weight of everything left unsaid. But just before Spencer walked away, Derek called after him.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said, his tone a little softer now. “For what it’s worth... I think she’ll come around. But you’ve gotta be patient. Let her come to you when she’s ready.”

Spencer looked back at Derek, a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes again, but this time tempered with the understanding that it might take more time than he’d like. “Thanks, Derek,” he said quietly, before turning and walking back to his desk, his mind still racing with thoughts of you.

At this point, the rest of the team is fully aware of why you keep declining their invitations and why Spencer’s been so off lately. Penelope, in particular, can’t stand seeing anyone so miserable. After hearing about your history with Spencer from Derek, she’s taken it upon herself to figure out how to fix this mess. Penelope’s always been a sucker for a happy ending, and she refuses to believe that this is how your story should end.

So, she starts plotting. She ropes Derek into her schemes, convincing him that if anyone can get you two to reconcile, it’s them. Derek, though hesitant at first, agrees. He knows you, and he knows Spencer, and as much as he wants to stay out of it, he also wants both of his friends to be happy. 

Penelope sat at her desk, typing furiously away, when Derek walked up, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching her with a raised brow.

"Alright, Penelope, spill it," Derek said, voice low with suspicion. "What are you up to?"

Penelope’s fingers paused on the keyboard as she slowly turned to face him, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said sweetly, though her eyes betrayed her scheming.

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “Come on, don’t play dumb with me. I know you too well. You’ve been up to something ever since that mess at the bar.”

She sighed dramatically, leaning back in her chair. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m plotting just a little, but it's for the greater good.” She sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “I mean, you want Y/N and Spencer to make up, don’t you?”

Derek hesitated, running a hand over his head. “Look, it’s not like I don’t want that, but... you’ve met Y/N. She’s not going to be happy if we force them together.”

Penelope waved her hand dismissively. “Pish posh! I’m not forcing anything. I’m simply creating a situation where fate can do its thing.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Picture this: we invite Y/N to one of my brunches, or maybe to your next team gathering, and oh! Surprise! Spencer’s there. They bump into each other, sparks fly, and—boom! Reconciliation.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You really think it’s that simple?”

Penelope's eyes widened in exaggerated innocence. “Of course not. But it’s better than both of them moping around like lovesick teenagers.”

Derek sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mama, I want them to figure it out, but Y/N’s... she’s been through a lot. I don’t want to push her too hard. If she finds out we’ve been scheming, she’s going to be pissed. You have no idea how stubborn she can be.”

Penelope leaned forward, placing her hands flat on her desk. “Which is exactly why we need to be subtle about this, my sexy, sculpted cupid. We’re not going to push them. We’re just going to nudge them in the right direction. And if it doesn’t work? Then we back off. But I refuse to sit by and watch Spencer be miserable, and know she’s miserable too, when we could help.”

Derek looked down at her, his jaw tightening as he considered it. “And what if Y/N doesn’t want to see him? She hasn’t exactly been jumping at the chance to hang out with the team since that night.”

Penelope shrugged, giving him a hopeful smile. “Then we let it be. But Derek, what if this is the closure they both need? Or better yet, another chance? We owe it to them to try.”

Derek groaned, knowing she wasn’t going to let it go. “Alright, fine. But if this backfires, Garcia, you’re taking the blame.”

Penelope grinned triumphantly, clapping her hands together. “Trust me, Hot Stuff, it won’t backfire. This is going to work.”

Derek shook his head, laughing under his breath as he turned to leave. “You better be right.”

Penelope’s voice followed him as he walked out. “Oh, I’m always right when it comes to matters of the heart, Derek Morgan. Just wait and see!” 

Derek muttered under his breath, “We’ll see about that.” But deep down, he couldn’t help but hope she was right.

Their plan starts simple—just trying to get you both in the same room again, even if it’s by accident. As the wheels of their plan start turning, both you and Spencer remain blissfully unaware of their scheming. You’re too busy drowning in work, and Spencer’s too tangled up in his own guilt to notice the subtle nudges Penelope and Derek are starting to orchestrate. 

—

The lunchtime crowd hummed quietly around you as you sat across from Derek at your favorite corner table. The restaurant had always been your go-to, a cozy, familiar space where you could relax and enjoy the food without worrying about the outside world. Today, though, you were feeling anything but relaxed. Derek was giving you that look—the one that said he was about to bring up something you’d been trying to avoid.

“So,” Derek began, cutting into his sandwich, his voice casual, but his eyes watching you carefully. “Penelope’s throwing one of her infamous brunches this weekend. Thought you might want to come.”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I don’t know, Derek. I’ve been really busy with work, and—”

Derek held up a hand, interrupting you gently. “I know, I know. You’ve been taking on a lot of new projects lately.” He paused, his tone softening. “But you’ve been avoiding hanging out with the team since... well, you know.”

Your heart tensed a little, but you quickly pushed the feeling away, forcing a smile as you sipped your drink. “I’m just not ready to jump back into all that. It’s been nice keeping my head down and staying focused.”

Derek leaned forward, his eyes full of understanding but also a hint of concern. “I get it, sugar. I’m not saying you should force yourself into anything. But maybe... maybe it’s time to let yourself have a little fun again. No pressure, just brunch with some really cool people. Penelope’s dying to see you again, and so is the rest of the team.”

You hesitated, your fingers tapping lightly against the rim of your glass. The thought of seeing everyone again made your stomach twist. But what if Spencer was there? What if you had to see him? You weren’t sure if you could handle that yet.

“Is Spencer going to be there?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Derek paused, his fork hovering over his plate. He looked at you thoughtfully before answering, not wanting to lie but also not wanting to overwhelm you. “Honestly? Probably not.”

Your brows furrowed. “Probably?”

Derek shrugged, setting his fork down. “I haven’t heard anything about him coming, and knowing Spencer, he’s been pretty distracted lately. I doubt he’ll make it. But... even if he did, it wouldn’t be about him. It’d be about you. Hanging out with people who really want to get to know you better.”

You bit your lip, torn between wanting to stay in your bubble and knowing Derek was right. You’d been keeping yourself so busy with work that you hadn’t given yourself much time to just... exist outside of it. And as much as you hated to admit it, you really did like hanging out with Derek and Penelope and the rest of the team. 

But there was still that nagging worry—what if seeing them all again just brought back memories of Spencer? Of what happened at the bar, and everything that came before it?

Derek seemed to sense your hesitation, and he reached across the table, placing his hand on yours. “Hey, you’re not gonna be alone in this, alright? We’ve got your back. And if it gets weird or uncomfortable, we’ll bail. No questions asked.”

You met his gaze, seeing the sincerity there, the way he genuinely wanted to help you move past this. And honestly, maybe he was right. You couldn’t keep avoiding the world forever. Eventually, you’d have to face things—even the parts that hurt.

After a long moment, you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Alright,” you said, though your voice still held a trace of uncertainty. “I’ll think about it.”

Derek grinned, clearly pleased with your response, even if it wasn’t a solid yes just yet. “That’s all I’m asking, sweetheart. Just think about it.”

You smiled, though your mind was still turning over the idea. It wasn’t a decision you were ready to make just yet, but the fact that you were even considering it felt like a step in the right direction.

—

Derek found Spencer sitting at his desk, flipping through a stack of papers, though it was clear his mind was miles away. His usual hyper-focused energy was absent, replaced by an air of distracted tension that had been hanging over him for weeks now. Derek knew it wasn’t just the cases that had Spencer like this. It was you.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Derek said casually as he leaned against the side of Spencer’s desk, crossing his arms. Spencer looked up, startled out of his thoughts, blinking rapidly as if he hadn’t even noticed Derek approach.

“Oh, hey,” Spencer replied, a faint smile flickering on his lips. “What’s up?”

Derek didn’t waste any time. He leaned in a little closer, his voice lowering so their conversation wouldn’t be overheard by the rest of the team. “Listen, man, I wanted to give you a heads-up about something.”

Spencer sat up a little straighter, already sensing that this wasn’t just a casual conversation. “What is it?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, weighing his words carefully. “Y/N might be coming to Penelope’s brunch this weekend,” he said, watching Spencer’s reaction closely.

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his breath catching as he processed the news. “She is?” His voice was quiet, a mixture of hope and nerves in his tone.

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Derek continued, his tone more serious now. “You’ve gotta give her space, man. Let her come to you when she’s ready. She’s not gonna want you chasing after her or trying to force a conversation. If she shows up, it’s a big deal for her.”

Spencer gave Derek a sharp look. "I'm not a child, Morgan. I can handle this."

Derek nodded, lowering his hands. "Fair enough. I wouldn’t expect you to. Just... give her the space she needs, alright?"

Spencer sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Understood. I know I messed up, and I’ll give her space. But I’m not going to act like she doesn't exist. I care about her too much for that."

Derek gave him a small, encouraging smile. "That’s all I’m asking, man. Just be ready when the time’s right." With a final pat on Spencer’s shoulder, Derek straightened up. “See you at brunch, man. Just... take it easy.”

Spencer watched as Derek walked away, the weight of the conversation settling heavily on his chest. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy. But for your sake, he was willing to wait.

—

On your most recent job, you quickly hit it off with Austin, the person you’re helping redesign their living space. They’re warm, funny, and easy to talk to, and the two of you click almost immediately. 

After finishing up the day’s discussion on design plans, Austin smiles and offers, “How about a cup of coffee before you head out? I make a mean brew.”

Grateful for the break and their company, you nod. “I’d love that.”

Austin heads to the kitchen, and you follow, feeling like you’ve made a new friend as much as a professional connection.

As you sit in the newly remodeled kitchen with Austin, the atmosphere feels warm and cozy. The soft glow of sunlight through the windows highlights the potted plants neatly arranged on the shelves, while the scent of fresh coffee fills the air. Austin hands you a mug, their smile easy and comforting as you settle into a chair.

You and Austin chat aimlessly for a while, exchanging stories and making easy, lighthearted conversation. The topics flow naturally—favorite movies, travel dreams, and funny stories from work. Eventually, the conversation shifts when Austin starts gushing about their partner, eyes lighting up as they tell you about the recent proposal and how they’re working to finish the house before their partner officially moves to Virginia.

“So, they proposed right there in the park,” Austin says with a dreamy grin. “I swear, I didn’t even see it coming. I was still thinking about what we were going to have for lunch, and then bam, ring in my face!”

You smile, warmed by their excitement. “That’s amazing. It sounds perfect.”

“It was,” Austin beams, looking star-eyed thinking about their fiance. Then, they turn to you with a curious glint in their eye. “Okay, so spill. Anyone tickling your fancy lately? I don’t see a ring.” They gesture to your bare hand with a teasing grin.

You laugh lightly, rubbing your ring finger absentmindedly as you sigh. “Yeah, maybe, well, no. There’s this... guy. But it’s complicated.”

Austin’s grin widens as they lean in, clearly intrigued. “Complicated, huh? Oh, now you have to tell me. What’s the tea?”

You take a breath, then dive into the story. You don't name names—you never know who’s going to know Spencer now—but you tell Austin about the guy from your past who broke your heart, the one who ghosted after everything. You explain how, years later, he's suddenly back in your life, and how seeing him has stirred up all those old feelings again, leaving you confused and unsure of what to do.

Austin listens intently, nodding as you talk. "That sounds rough," they say softly when you finish. "It’s totally valid to feel hurt, and it’s understandable if you don’t want to rush back into anything."

"Yeah, thank you—but... it’s been years. Shouldn’t I be over it by now?" you ask, feeling the familiar frustration rise in your chest. "I’ve been ignoring him, avoiding anything or anyone that might bring him back into my life, but now I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing."

Austin leans back, resting their mug on the table. "It’s not about how long it’s been; it’s about how it affected you. It’s okay to still feel hurt. But maybe... hearing him out could give you some closure. It doesn’t mean you have to forgive him or let him back into your life, but it might help you move forward."

You bite your lip, considering their words. "I don’t know if I can face him. What if he just makes things worse?"

Austin smiles, their expression soft but encouraging. "Only you know what you need. But remember, this isn’t about him. It’s about you. What do you need to feel at peace with all this? If hearing him out helps, then maybe it’s worth considering. If not, that’s okay too. Just make sure you’re doing what’s best for you, not what’s easiest."

Their words settle over you like a comforting blanket, making you feel understood. Austin seems to have a way of turning serious conversations into lighthearted moments, and you’re grateful for it.

"Plus," Austin adds with a grin, "if it goes badly, you can always stage a dramatic exit at the brunch. I’m talking about flipping tables and storming out—full soap opera style."

You laugh, the weight of the situation lifting just a bit. "You know, that might actually make it worth going."

"Exactly!" Austin beams. "But seriously, I think you should go. If nothing else, you'll get some great brunch food, and maybe—just maybe—you'll get the closure you're looking for. Worst case, you can leave and we’ll plan the perfect revenge."

Feeling more confident with their support, you finally nod. "Alright, I’ll go to the brunch."

Austin claps their hands together excitedly. "Good! And I’ll be here, ready to hear all the details afterward."

With that, the two of you spend the rest of the afternoon chatting and laughing, the heavy weight of indecision lightening with each joke and bit of encouragement. Austin’s easygoing nature and advice give you the nudge you need to face the upcoming brunch—and Spencer.

—

That night, as Spencer lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, his mind began to wander, slipping into the memories of a time he hadn’t let himself revisit in years—college, the late nights in the library, the quiet moments spent with you. 

He could still remember the first time he saw you on campus, walking across the quad with your head down, focused on a book you were balancing in your arms. You hadn’t noticed him then, but he had noticed you—how could he not? The way you carried yourself, the quiet confidence in your demeanor. At first, he admired you from a distance, his heart catching whenever you passed by in a hallway or sat near him in the library. You had no idea, and he was too shy to ever approach you.

Then came the nights in the library, when fate—or maybe just a shared dedication to studying—brought you together. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above, the rustle of pages being turned, and the way your pens would scratch in unison over notebook paper as you both worked. He remembered how, over time, you grew comfortable with each other’s presence, exchanging little smiles, shared inside jokes, and eventually conversations that lasted longer than either of you planned.

There was one night, in particular, that stuck in his memory—a night when you two had stayed so late that the library lights started to dim, signaling closing time. The campus was quiet as you both walked out together, the cool air brushing against your faces. You had laughed about something, your eyes lighting up in the moonlight, and Spencer remembered how his heart had fluttered in that moment, wondering how someone could make him feel so at ease. He never thought he’d get to know you, let alone be someone you’d spend your nights with, even if just for studying.

And then came the night that changed everything. The night you had invited him over after finals, and things became more than just studying. He hadn’t expected it, didn’t even dare to imagine it, but when it happened, it felt... perfect. 

You had fallen asleep on his chest that night, your soft breaths a rhythm against his skin. He remembered lying there, tracing small patterns on your back, feeling the warmth of your body pressed against his. It should have been the best night of his life—and in many ways, it was—but his mind, his insecurities, had taken over. He remembered thinking that you were too good for him, that someone like you wouldn’t want to stick around for someone like him. And that fear, that crushing fear of losing you, had driven him to leave.

Spencer swallowed hard as the guilt washed over him again. He had been so lovesick, so desperate to protect himself from the inevitable heartbreak he assumed would come. But in doing so, he had created a heartbreak that had lasted for years—for both of you.

Now, on the eve of seeing you again, the weight of it all pressed down on his chest like a heavy stone. The regret was unbearable, but so was the longing—the memory of your laughter, your smile, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention. Spencer felt a deep ache in his chest, his heart pounding with the knowledge that he might never get the chance to tell you how much you had meant to him, how much you still did.

He had been infatuated with you all those years ago, and now, he realized, that feeling had never truly gone away.

Unable to sleep, Spencer tossed and turned, his mind refusing to quiet. Every memory, every regret, kept replaying on a loop. With a sigh of frustration, he finally threw the covers off and dragged himself out of bed, padding down the hall toward his office. 

He knew it was pointless, but something inside him—maybe it was curiosity, maybe guilt—compelled him to open his laptop. His fingers hovered over the keys for a moment before they moved almost automatically, typing your name into the search bar.

Within seconds, your business page appeared. Spencer hesitated before clicking, his heart racing, his palms suddenly clammy. It felt intrusive, like peeking into a part of your life he no longer had the right to know about, but he couldn’t stop himself.

As the page loaded, his eyes immediately went to the gallery of your work—beautiful, thoughtfully designed interiors that gave him a glance into you, your mind. He scrolled through the images slowly, taking in the details. The colors, the arrangements, the way you made spaces feel both warm and elegant. He had always known you were talented, but seeing the breadth of your work now, years later in a professional sense and not just sketches for class, filled him with a sense of pride. 

And then he saw it—your headshot, nestled at the top of the page alongside your name and title. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the picture. There you were, smiling, your eyes bright, your expression so familiar it made his heart ache.

Spencer leaned closer to the screen, his gaze fixating on the details of your face. He studied every line, every angle, as if trying to memorize you all over again. It had been so long since he’d seen you up close, but here, on this screen, you felt so near and yet so far. 

His fingers grazed the edge of the trackpad, hesitant, before he clicked on the image, enlarging it until it filled the screen. He stared, lost in the sight of you—how much you had grown, how much you had changed, but still so much the same. The emotions welled up inside him, a mixture of longing and regret, so intense he could hardly breathe.

He had left you, walked away when he was too afraid to face what he felt, and now, all these years later, here you were, thriving in a world he no longer shared with you. Spencer wondered if you had moved on, if you had someone else in your life now, someone who appreciated all the beauty and warmth you brought into the world.

But even more than that, he wondered if you would ever forgive him.

Spencer stared at your picture until the screen blurred, the weight of his emotions pressing down on him. He didn’t deserve your forgiveness—he knew that much. But as he sat there, in the silence of his office, staring at the face he had missed for so long, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you would give him the chance to try.

—

You showed up to Penelope’s place early, just as promised, with Derek by your side. He immediately went to help her hang up string lights while you and Penelope stayed together, fussing over the final touches. The atmosphere was lively and fun, and you were glad you came today.

When you entered her kitchen, Penelope lit up. "Oh my God! Look at you! I am in love with your outfit!" she exclaimed, her hands clapping together in excitement. You grinned, feeling the compliment ease some of your nerves.

“You’re one to talk,” you gestured towards her own colorful ensemble, the vibrant red and playful green perfectly matching her quirky style. “You look like you stepped out of a fashion magazine—one that I desperately need a subscription to."

Penelope twirled dramatically, her beret perched at the perfect angle, making the charm bracelet on her wrist dangle and jingle. "Stop it, we’re just the most fashionable duo, aren’t we?" She winked at you before handing you a mimosa. "Okay, now drink up. We've got some brunch magic to make happen."

As you sipped the bubbly drink, you couldn’t help but feel the knot of anxiety loosen in your chest. You and Penelope moved around the kitchen, arranging pastries and fruit trays, talking about everything except the one thing you knew was still looming in the background—Spencer. But for now, with the lights twinkling outside, the mimosas in hand, and Penelope by your side, you allowed yourself to feel a small sense of peace.

As the morning drifted into late brunch hour, the doorbell chimed, signaling the arrival of the first guests. You exchanged a quick, encouraging glance with Penelope before taking another sip of your mimosa, the fizz tickling your nose as you set the glass down.

“I’ll get it!” Penelope sang, already halfway to the door. You watched from the kitchen as she swung it open with her signature flair. “Elle! JJ! Look at you gorgeous queens!”

Elle was the first to step inside, her calm confidence radiating as she gave Penelope a warm hug. “You’re too much,” Elle smirked, though you could see the affection in her eyes as she gave Penelope a squeeze. 

JJ, all smiles, followed closely behind, her sunny personality lighting up the room the second she entered. “Garcia!” she exclaimed, leaning in for her own hug. “This place looks amazing, as usual.” She cast a quick glance around the room, taking in the string lights, the vibrant color scheme, and of course, the immaculate spread of food that had been lovingly arranged.

Penelope didn’t miss a beat. “Girls, you remember Y/N!” she called over, practically skipping as she gestured towards you. “She’s my stylish new partner-in-crime today.”

Elle and JJ turned toward you with warm, inviting smiles. JJ was the first to step forward, her kindness evident in her expression. “Y/N! Of course we remember. I’m glad you’re here!” She opened her arms for a quick, friendly hug, which you returned, grateful for her easygoing energy.

Elle followed suit, her smile softer but no less welcoming. “Good to see you again,” she said, giving you a nod of approval as she took in your outfit. “You’re definitely keeping up with Penelope in the style department.”

You laughed lightly, feeling the tension start to ease as you hugged Elle too. “I had to step up my game, knowing she’d outshine all of us,” you joked, throwing a playful glance at Penelope, who was already bouncing back towards the food to check on the platters.

Derek, meanwhile, appeared from the other side of the room, finishing up with the string lights. He clapped his hands together, grinning as he walked over. “Ladies! Looks like we’re in for quite the brunch.”

JJ raised her glass in response, smiling. “Cheers to that. It’s been way too long since we’ve had a proper get-together.”

Elle nodded in agreement. “Let’s hope the food tastes as good as it smells. You and Penelope outdid yourselves this time.”

Penelope shot her a cheeky grin. “Oh, honey, just wait until you taste it. Y/N’s been helping too—she’s a natural!”

You felt a small flush creep into your cheeks at the compliment, but the easy laughter and casual conversation swirling around you made it hard to feel too self-conscious. It was starting to feel like maybe this day wouldn’t be as nerve-wracking as you’d feared.

Next to arrive, in a much more subdued manner, were Hotch and Haley. Hotch entered with his usual calm presence, while Haley smiled warmly, her arm linked with his. She radiated a gentle energy that put you at ease immediately. As they approached, Hotch offered a small nod of greeting, his serious demeanor softened just slightly by the casual setting.

“Penelope, this place looks amazing,” Haley said, her voice filled with admiration as she took in the setup. “It’s so cozy and beautiful.”

Penelope beamed, twirling slightly as she accepted the compliment. “Why, thank you! Y/N helped with all the setup. We’re a dynamic duo today,” she said, sending you a proud wink.

Haley turned her attention to you, her smile genuine as she extended her hand. “Y/N, it’s great to meet you. I’m Aaron’s wife, Haley. Penelope mentioned you have an eye for design, and I can definitely see it.”

You shook her hand, grateful for her easy manner. “Thank you, Haley. I’m glad you like it. It’s nice to meet you too.”

Hotch gave you a polite smile as well. “Good to see you, Y/N,” he said simply, his voice carrying its usual quiet authority but without the edge it often had in more formal settings.

“It’s good to see you too, Hotch,” you replied, matching his composed tone.

The group began to chat casually, the energy shifting to a more relaxed rhythm with Haley’s calm presence balancing Penelope’s excitable nature. You found yourself blending in more easily than you expected, the unease you felt earlier starting to fade away as the conversation flowed naturally.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief that, so far, everything was going smoothly. The brunch was shaping up to be a success, and for the first time in a long time, you allowed yourself to enjoy the moment without worrying about what—or who—might come next.

But then, just as you were starting to relax, there was a knock at the door. The sound sent a jolt of anxiety through you, your breath catching in your throat as the lighthearted atmosphere suddenly shifted. You choked on a breath, your fingers tightening around your glass. 

Derek, noticing the slight change in your expression, patted your shoulder reassuringly before heading to the door. He swung it open with his usual confident ease, his grin widening as he greeted the new arrivals.

“Gideon! Reid!” Derek’s voice was full of his usual warmth, but when your eyes caught sight of Spencer standing just behind Gideon, your pulse spiked.

Gideon stepped inside first, laughing as he shook Derek’s hand. “You know how much Spencer hates driving. He practically begged me to pick him up,” he joked, casting a sideways glance at Spencer, who was lingering just outside the doorway.

Spencer offered a small, awkward smile, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket as he gave Derek a polite nod. "Yeah, driving... not my favorite thing."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you saw Spencer—looking the same, yet different. His hair was longer, his expression a little more weathered. He seemed hesitant, as if unsure of his place in the room, but when his eyes quickly scanned the space and landed on you, they widened ever so slightly.

Derek caught the momentary tension between you and Spencer, his jaw tightening subtly. He turned to the rest of the group, his tone trying to smooth over the sudden shift in energy. “Alright, everybody, make room for these two. Brunch is waiting to be devoured.”

Penelope quickly stepped forward to greet Gideon and Spencer with an exuberant smile, acting oblivious to the quiet storm brewing between you and the man now standing only a few feet away.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe, and turned away, praying no one could see the turmoil swirling in your chest.

Gideon, ever the perceptive one, glanced around the room, his eyes briefly scanning each face before they settled on you. He tilted his head slightly, the hint of a curious smile playing on his lips. Without missing a beat, he broke away from the small group forming near the entrance and made his way over to you.

“Hello,” Gideon greeted you warmly, extending a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Jason Gideon.”

You blinked, momentarily startled by the direct introduction, but quickly reached out to shake his hand. "Y/N," you replied with a polite smile, though your voice wavered slightly, the nerves still simmering beneath the surface. "It’s nice to meet you."

Gideon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied you for a moment, seeming to pick up on the tension you were trying so hard to conceal. “Derek speaks highly of you,” he added kindly, his tone gentle, as if sensing that you needed a little bit of reassurance.

Your stomach twisted, but you nodded in response. “He’s a good friend,” you said, glancing in Derek’s direction for a split second before focusing back on Gideon. 

The conversation had inadvertently drawn Spencer's attention. From the corner of your eye, you could see him turn slightly, his gaze shifting from Gideon to you. His posture stiffened, and though he remained rooted to his spot near the door, his eyes were now locked on you, a flicker of recognition passing through them.

There it was—the moment you had been dreading. You didn’t have to look directly at him to feel the weight of his gaze on you. Spencer, standing just a few feet away, realizing that you were here.

Gideon seemed to notice too. He glanced over his shoulder toward Spencer before turning back to you, his expression a little softer now, as if understanding something unspoken.

“Well,” Gideon said after a brief pause, “it was a pleasure to meet you, Y/N.” He gave you a final smile before turning to rejoin the others, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and the unmistakable feeling of Spencer’s eyes still on you.

You exhaled slowly, trying to steady yourself. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, but now there was no escaping it. You made brief eye contact, nodding in acknowledgement as Spencer gave you one of his infamous tight lipped smiles. 

Spencer stood frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat the moment Gideon’s conversation with you drew his attention. The sight of you—standing there, laughing politely at something Gideon said—was like a punch to the gut. He had been preparing himself for this, trying to steel his nerves, but nothing could’ve braced him for the actual moment of seeing you again.

You looked incredible, more radiant than he remembered, and the sight of you stirred up everything he had been trying to push down. The memories flooded back—the long nights in the library, the gentle teasing, the way your hand had felt in his, and the soft sound of your laugh. You should say something, he told himself. But his feet remained firmly planted on the floor, rooted in the swirl of emotions tightening his chest. 

Spencer felt a wave of heat rush over him. You looked so good—better than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine in the countless nights he’d lain awake thinking of you. That plaid dress you wore, the way it cinched at your waist, how your hair framed your face perfectly—every detail made him dizzy. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as he tried to focus, but all he could do was stare. 

God, what am I supposed to say? You hadn’t looked at him again since the brief glance. The thought gnawed at him. Does she hate me? Is she angry? Does she even care that I’m here?

His mind spiraled deeper, the insecurity choking him like a vice. Every possible scenario played out in his head: You turning around, glaring at him with the bitterness you were more than entitled to feel; you ignoring him completely, dismissing him as though he didn’t matter. Both options made him feel sick. 

I don’t deserve to talk to her, he thought miserably. 

But he wanted to. He wanted so badly to close the space between you, to say something, anything that might take back the years of silence and cowardice. His hands fidgeted nervously at his sides, his mind screaming at him to move, to walk over, to apologize, to finally make things right. But Spencer stayed where he was, staring at you like a man drowning, desperately reaching for the surface, for something to anchor him—but unable to find it.

You shifted slightly, turning in his direction for just a second. Your eyes flickered toward him once more. The briefest glance, and then you quickly looked away.

It was enough to make his heart drop.

She can’t even look at me.

Spencer clenched his jaw, the painful mix of regret and longing clawing at his insides. He could hear Derek’s words echoing in his head—give her space, let her come to you on her terms. But the problem was, he wasn’t sure he could wait anymore. How could he, when just seeing you from across the room was this overwhelming?

He stood there, drowning in his own thoughts, desperate to say something, to do something that would fix it all. But he couldn’t. Not yet. And it was tearing him apart.

As the brunch carried on, Spencer couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, even though he was seated far enough that any chance of a conversation seemed impossible. You were right there, at the opposite end of the table, laughing, talking, and enjoying yourself with everyone else. Each time you laughed, it felt like a tug on his heart, reminding him of what you two had shared all those years ago.

The way you joked with Derek so easily, the way your banter flowed naturally—Spencer couldn’t help but feel that pang of jealousy creep in. It was irrational, but he couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of his mind whispering that maybe, just maybe, you had moved on with Derek. He tried to shake the thought, knowing how close you and Derek were as friends, but the insecurity was there nonetheless, gnawing at him.

Maybe that’s why Derek doesn’t want me to push things, Spencer thought bitterly, feeling the weight of his suspicions grow. Maybe he wants her for himself.

Spencer’s hands tightened around his glass, the icy chill of his now cold tea doing nothing to cool the heat rising in his chest. He knew he was being ridiculous, but the thought wouldn’t leave him. It stuck in his mind, festering as he watched Derek’s casual affection toward you. It didn’t help that you smiled at Derek the way you used to smile at him. 

When you excused yourself to make more tea, Spencer’s mind was spinning too much to stay seated. He couldn’t let the jealousy take control, but it was too late; it had already wrapped around his thoughts, suffocating any sense of logic. Before he realized it, his legs had carried him from the table, following you into the kitchen.

The moment you walked into the cozy kitchen that you'd helped Penelope prepare, the warm smell of the tea leaves filled the air. The clink of teacups and the sound of water boiling were the only things breaking the quiet of the room. You didn’t notice Spencer following you at first, too caught up in refilling the teapot and enjoying the brief solitude from the table’s conversations.

Spencer hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen, watching you from behind as you moved gracefully between the counter and the kettle. His heart was pounding, the thoughts racing in his mind, torn between his guilt over the past and the irrational jealousy clouding his judgment.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but thick with everything he was holding back. “Y/N.”

You turned at the sound of his voice, surprised to see him standing there, clearly not expecting this moment. The tension between you two was palpable, hanging in the air like a weight neither of you was ready to address.

"Spencer," you acknowledged softly, your hands still on the teapot as you stared at him. The awkwardness was undeniable, but there was something else too—years of unspoken words, regrets, and emotions neither of you had faced.

Spencer swallowed hard, his throat tight as he stepped further into the kitchen. "I... I just wanted to—um, I need more tea," he said, fumbling for words, clearly not sure how to approach the conversation.

“Oh, okay,” you replied, surprised that was all he said but pleasantly relieved at the simplicity of it. "I can make you a cup if you want."

Your offer seemed to melt some of the tension in Spencer’s demeanor. His expression softened as he realized you were still the same kind person he’d fallen for all those years ago. “Thank you, that’s really kind of you.”

You nodded, reaching for the teapot. "Milk and sugar? Honey?"

He let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, all of it, please. I like it sweet."

“I know,” you mumbled, the words slipping out naturally. You’d seen Spencer drink his overly sugary coffee so many times back in college, his sweet tooth no secret to you.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, fidgeting with his hair as he tried to keep the conversation light. "Do you still drink coffee? Or is it all tea now?"

You shrugged, pouring the tea into his cup. “I do both. No need for all that caffeine today.” You laughed softly. “For work, though? That definitely requires coffee.”

Spencer smiled, feeling a little more at ease. "Yeah, I get that. My body’s probably made up of pure coffee by now," he joked, happy he’d chosen to stick with casual conversation rather than diving into the deep, painful history between you two again. 

Maybe Derek was right—maybe you would come to him when you were ready. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, his heart sank. Derek. He remembered the way you laughed with him, how easily you’d fallen into a rhythm with him at the table. 

The jealousy he’d managed to suppress earlier crept back in, though he did his best to push it down again. You were being kind, and he didn’t want to ruin this moment. But still, the thought lingered—was Derek the one holding you back from wanting to talk to him?

But you’d already turned around, catching the pensive look on Spencer’s face. "Everything alright?" you asked, a little concerned by the way his expression had shifted.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, looking up at you with a soft, almost hesitant smile. "So, uh, you and Derek, huh?"

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Spencer’s fingers fidgeted with the edge of his cup as he mumbled, “How long have you guys been... seeing each other?”

You burst out laughing, surprising him. "Me and Derek? No, no, no," you said, waving your hands dismissively as you continued to chuckle. "He’s my best friend. That’s all."

“Oh," he nodded, clearly unsure. "I just thought—”

But you cut him off before he could finish, handing him his tea with a small smile. “Tea’s ready. Here.” Your voice was soft but awkward as you backed out of the kitchen. “See you out there.”

With that, you made your way back to the brunch party, leaving Spencer standing in the kitchen, processing what had just happened. 

That was the end of your conversation for the day, but it was enough for him. Spencer’s heart felt lighter than it had in weeks. 

He could work with this.

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(new chapters might come later than usual bc my friend went missing and I’m trying to find them, but I hope you guys enjoy this own! i tried switching it up and giving a few different perspectives, and there’s also a lot of seemingly hypocritical and paradoxical emotions, but this isn’t just me forgetting what I made my characters feel earlier, I just think they’d have a large mix and range of feelings)

(edit: my missing friend was found, don’t have any more details but I know they’re safe at least)

tw: panic attack?, zoning out, jealousy, almost distressing, mentions of abuse, tomato soup (ew), more abuse, just a bit of comfort (not rlly tho)

“Where’s—“

“Hush.”

Ghost’s words were quickly cut off with Price’s finger to his lips as he stood outside the door, your door, looking through the thin mesh wired window that proceed the tiniest glance in.

Simon had been looking for Johnny since morning. Soap wasn’t bound to his bed anymore, but that didn’t mean he needed to be all up and about. He was still technically at risk for PTSD episodes, panic attacks, confusion, hell, even the thought of him having to go through that alone was enough to make Ghost nervous.

But curiosity struck him like a train when he saw Price staring so intently through that window. All he expected was you laying there, hiding, still affected by the strange mental state you were in.

However, as he moved closer, he caught the tiniest whiff of it through the door. Underneath Price’s scent, a bittersweet mix of jealousy and guilt, was Johnny’s. In that room.

And Simon should’ve felt happy for the way Johnny’s scent had lost that bitter edge that seemed to have been there since the beginning of his recovery, but all he felt was something building up in his chest, something he thought had left a long, long time ago. Price moved out of the way, a glint of emotion in his eyes as he went to walk down the hallway, his posture stiff and tense.

He looked through the window, the dimly lit room showing Johnny and their alpha curled up on the floor. Simon’s first thought was that Johnny shouldn’t have been on the floor like that, that he might rip a stitch, that he could get cold and that protective urge to provide and keep him safe and warm. An urge, an instinct he’d smothered years ago, had tortured out of him in an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Ukraine years ago.

You were nearly shivering, just barely not because of Johnny, the weakness that was his strong instincts taking over and making him curl up around you in disregard for his own health.

Soap had always had the strongest instincts, never tried to smother them, never been ashamed of his urge to keep his team safe and care for them, make food for them, nest with them. Ghost had never understood it.

His father had been an insecure beta, always angry, always drinking to distract himself from how he felt displaced in society, with no instincts, heats, or ruts for himself. He’d resented his own nature, breaking apart the pack of the family, cruel punishment for any showing of instincts, spewing about how it was weakness.

Price had spent years undoing that ideology, countless gifts, courting for years, and it still lingered.

Feeling an anger terrifyingly similar to what he’d always imagined his father must’ve felt build in his chest, he went to walk off. Johnny would be fine. You would be fine. It wasn’t like he cared. He didn’t want to court you, didn’t want you in their nest. Sure, he felt a bit bad, you’d gotten into this whole state because of him, but the others would handle all the emotional instinctual bullshit.

They always did.

~

John’s eyes skimmed over the paperwork on his desk, trying not to notice the voice in the back of his mind, his omega whispering to him.

“It’s going to fall apart.”

No, it wouldn’t. Their pack had been established for years now, long before you’d ever arrived. One single incident surely wasn’t enough to make it fall apart, even if he felt the bonds fraying more every day, with every cold night spent in his office while the others were in the nest.

Except Johnny.

Poisonous, intoxicating words slipped from the back of his mind and slowly moved to the forefront as he got more distracted from his paperwork, from reality. Words blurred as he closed his eyes, sighing while he rubbed them.

“Your fault.”

It whispered.

It wasn’t his fault, was it? He’d let the alpha into their pack, tried telling his men everything would be fine, despite his own doubts. Maybe they’d noticed the cracks in his usual confidence on decisions and slipped into them. Maybe he had failed them.

God knows he’d definitely failed you.

“Shut it,”

He muttered under his breath, hand coming to rest on his forehead, his arm braced against his desk.

They didn’t shut it. His omega refused to shut it, bullying its way to the forefront of his mind, sowing insecurities everywhere it could.

He could’ve done better. Done more to keep you comfortable, keep you satisfied and content, invited you to the nest, welcomed you to the pack. But he’d chosen to be bitter and think more about Soap’s absence than your presence, living in the past, and the version of the future he’d wanted.

He had failed you as an omega. He had been the leader of the pack; leading everyone else to reject you as well, influencing their decisions and feelings, even if indirectly.

Your condition was his fault.

Now his entire team had to bear the consequences of his actions.

He wasn’t cut out to be a leader.

Maybe he should just—

“John?”

His eyes jolted back open, back to his office as his omega reluctantly retreated with a hiss, leaving him reeling as he tried to pull himself together.

Laswell opened the door up, giving him a questioning look and holding files in her hand, her MacBook in the other.

“Ah, Laswell. What is it?”

He asked, rubbing his hand over his face, knowing there was probably a red mark on his forehead from the pressure his hand had had on it for so long. His arm was a bit red from being pressed against the desk for long.

He glanced to the clock.

Twenty minutes had passed.

“I knocked about 3 times,”

She said with a raised eyebrow, moving to sit on the chair in front of his desk. He sighed, trying to think of some excuse as he blinked away the welling of emotion in his eyes.

“Just…distracted, is all.”

She let out a hum, not seeming surprised. She set the folders down, sliding them across the desk to him.

“There’s the background info you asked for. Their files were hard to pull, but we got them.”

He gleaned over most of it, name, age, weight, gender, scores and health test results, until he got to the section of conditions.

Most of it was blacked out with what he could smell being a sharpie, probably recently considering how strong it was. Whoever had given these to Laswell hadn’t wanted them to know a few things, probably assuming Price would discharge them if he saw anything wrong.

History of Abuse — caution around domineering omegas*

Was written in a sloppy handwriting Price could hardly read. The history of abuse didn’t surprise Price, it probably wouldn’t with anyone else in the pack. But why send you to them, then? A pack of 4 very dominant omegas. It was a paradox in and of itself.

Shock Therapy? — ask Kames*

That was more of a surprise. Shock therapy was outdated, and he wasn’t sure whether it was implying that you’d gone through it in the past, or that it was a potential treatment plan. Who was Kames?

Scent gland — looks scarred, ask Kames about that too (no scent=good?)

He’d noticed it in the beginning. Your fucked up scent gland. Simon had a similar one, making his scent hardly even noticeable. Probably the reason why when you’d asked how he covered the gunpowder in his scent, he’d yanked you down, either offended or annoyed, trying to make you realize he didn’t have a scent.

Originally, Price had assumed it was the gunpowder or Simon’s faint omega scent that had set you off, but with a bit more information, he realized it might’ve been the motion of the action.

A forceful scenting.

And if you’d been a victim of abuse, then it could have been quite the reminder.

He let out a hefty sigh, glancing up at Laswell, knowing he’d have to tell his boys about this and that they wouldn’t be happy.

~

“They fuckin’ what?”

As expected, they weren’t happy. Ghost was sitting silently, brooding per usual. Soap was cursing everything to ever exist. And Gaz had this feral look in his eye. Of course they all hated the thought of an alpha being abused, but it was personal for Gaz, given he had Alpha sisters. He had an almost direct view into how messed up the system was. How cruel it was towards alpha’s.

“Give me a name an’ I’ll focken—“

“This is all we know right now. All we can do is focus on rehabilitating them.”

Gaz had remained silent, anger brewing in his gut into a nasty, bitter stew that would consume him if he continued letting his emotions add more ingredients to the pot.

He took a deep breath.

And he didn’t let it go, no, he would find the bastard that did this to you, but he would keep calm for now. Being angry wouldn’t make anything better.

“I’ll go get them some food.”

He said quietly, getting up from his chair, pushing it in, trying to relax his tense muscles as he walked to the canteen, passing fellow soldiers, giving the proper hello’s, nods, and salutes if he had to.

It seemed like a blur as he entered the large lunchroom, walking to the chef and asking for a bowl of soup, whatever they had on hand. He wasn’t exactly sure what you liked; but since you didn’t seem to be in a talking mood he’d figure it out through trial and error.

It was only his second day of doing this, but it was the thought that counted.

The chef passed him a bowl of what looked to be some sort of creamy tomato soup, and after sticking his finger in, he decided it was warm enough and nodded his thanks before walking to your room.

He knocked quietly first, not wanting to startle you, before opening the door up just barely enough for him to squeeze in.

Ever since Soap had spent a night cuddling with you, you’d at least moved from under the bed to the floor on top of a mattress and some blankets. Better than nothing, in his eyes.

Your eyes were on him as soon as he entered the room, he could tell despite his eyes not having adjusted to the darkness yet.

“I brought you food, thought you might be hungry.”

He tried speaking in a soothing tone, or at least one that hookups in the past had said was soothing. Kyle approached you cautiously like one might a wild animal, sitting on the outside of your ‘nest’ which you’d made to mimic an omega’s.

His heart ached.

Truly, he wanted to ditch any personal space and grab you, hold you and coo to you for hours, keep you from being distressed, but he knew that would throw away any progress he’d made.

Setting the tomato soup bowl on the edge of the mattress, he watched as you glanced at it, then didn’t seem interested, only sitting up the tiniest bit with your back against the now mattress-less frame of your bed.

“You need to eat, look, it’s good.”

He said, taking his own spoonful and eating a bit, trying not to cringe. Kyle had always hated tomato soup, even his own mother’s recipe hadn’t tasted like anything more than mushy baby food to him, but you had to eat. Being as tall and muscular as you were, if you didn’t get at least one meal a day could very well starve.

Your narrowed eyes pinned him down as he took another spoonful of the soup and offered it to you, holding the spoon to your mouth.

For a moment, Kyle thought you might slap it away or just throw the bowl at him. He wouldn’t protest if you did.

But instead, you opened your mouth, taking a bite of the soup. He saw the cringe in your eyes, as well, when you tasted it, but you swallowed despite it. He’d fall out of a helicopter ten times over just to see you eating after so much protest and refusal yesterday.

As he lifted the spoon again, and you took another bite, he got the feeling that you weren’t doing this because you wanted to, simply for the fact that every instinct in your body told you to keep your omega happy, even in spite of your own feelings.

And Gaz didn’t know if that was good or bad.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

Jason being an older brother.

Headcanon that Red Hood is Red Hood and Jason is Jason but. he will be. unbelievably soft with his younger siblings.

Like he will be a little rough and he will wrestle Tim to the ground, fight like hell during training with Damian, will go on ruthless prank wars with Steph, will headlock Duke, but at the same time.

He will hold back sometimes with Tim because he knows that Tim gets nightmares of the RH incident. He'll make sure that Damian isn't hiding any injuries. He'll punch anyone who looks at Steph too bad if she doesn't do it herself. If he hears about Duke getting bullies by crappy jerks at school he will find their houses and threaten heir faces.

He'll chase both Damian and Tim all around the house and tickle the shit outta them because they're his little bros and he loves them. He'll let Steph ambush him because. That's his sister. He'll randomly give Duke the most insane fighting tips that work cause his bro is doing solo patrol constantly.

He and Dick break into WE, grab Tim who is sleep-deprived, take him out of the building ("He's our brother, we're not stealing him." ~Jason to a confused employee) and drag him to Bruce, tattling tthat Timmy hasn't slept in five days.

He and Cass collab to have Damian play a game or something cause he's ten. He tells Damian stories from when it was just him, Dick, and Bruce because Damian likes those tales.

Jason and Steph prank each other but also join forces on the pranks. Bruce fears these alliances. Unless they are egging the Drake House. He allows that because it's Tim's neglectful parents who have to suffer for that.

On multiple occasions he's broken into the school (Normal returning student stuff) and just chilled in his little siblings' classes. He found some new kid being racist to Duke and threatened their face. Then he paid for Duke's lunch grinning like a cat that got the bird.

He actually is one of the people able to calm Tim's panic attacks and nightmares (He's pretty good at making Tim stop trying to get away from a hug or hair ruffle so).

Damian lets Jason read to him sometimes.

Steph spars with him and it gets wild.

Duke has learned many, many weird techniques from Jason and they are all successfull.

Jason sometimes conks out on the couch or in an armchair and wakes up to one of the smaller ones in his lap or on his shoulder, or wakes up in his room to one of them asking for comfort after a nightmare (Usually Dick or Bruce are the go-to's for this but he gets it too). He does secretly like it when he has to scoop one up or whatever reason and carry them. He gets why Bruce did it a lot now.

They are his little siblings and he loves them.

[youraverageaemondsimp]

“Meant for him” // Stalker!Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader [ONE SHOT]

THIS IS A DARK FIC SO PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE INDULGING // based on this request.

WARNINGS: MDNI! heavy noncon to dubcon, canon typical incest, creepy behavior, jealousy, dark!aemond, possessiveness, p in v sex, breeding kink, knife kink, pain kink, dacryphilia(?), violence, + not proofread!

block the tag #MAE:DARK!CONTENT to avoid seeing dark content from me.

You wished you hadn't ventured out alone at this ungodly hour, the keep was deadly silent except your footsteps, you got lost, having not been here for a while and now you were just walking around trying to remember the pathways until you felt someone grab you from behind, slapping a hand over your mouth so you don't scream and dragging you to a more secluded area.

You struggled in the man's tight grip, writhing and kicking, but he remained firm and kept dragging you until he shoved you roughly against the wall, your head making hard contact with the brick wall, causing pain to shoot up your skull, making you close your eyes and wince.

You finally opened them to see the familiar head of platinum-blonde and a violet eye, you frowned, it was your uncle, Aemond.

“Fucking cunt, playing hard to get.” he sneers at you, you felt panic rise in your veins.

Aemond has been after you for many years, from the moment you were born to now, he was ever the dutiful son in everyone's eyes, but to you, he was a force not to be reckoned with.

What started off as curiosity to see his niece at a young age, manifested into pure obsession and twisted love for you, As a child, he had asked his mother to betroth you to him, your age gap wasn't that big, only being two years younger.

Alicent was reluctant at first, because she knew you were a bastard but saw this as an opportunity to make amends, but rhaenyra refused, saying that you were too young, being only seven, and Aemond just nine.

Aemond was frustrated, you were his birthright, you'll be betrothed to him in the future anyway so why not just do it now? He liked you very much, he followed you in secret, when he wasn't studying or training with his brother, he would be stalking you.

He would collect things you left behind to keep as some kind of twisted souvenirs.

And then came the driftmark incident, you weren't involved in any of it, sleeping soundly but you were woken up, being a child, you were terrified when you entered the chamber to find Aemond's face all bloodied up, his face being stitched by the maester, and then you turned your head to the side to find your brothers bloody too, not as much as Aemond, but you rushed over to them.

After they had explained what happened, you felt angry, he insulted your brothers? You also felt bad for him because he lost his eye but it angered you more to see your brothers hurt, you shared the same womb after all.

In that time, Aemond proposed for you to be betrothed to him once again, saying how Lucerys has a debt to pay, but he's willing to move on if your hand is promised to him, and Viserys also thought it was a good idea, but you blatantly refused, in front of everyone.

And then Alicent went crazy, coming towards Lucerys with a knife but your mother had stopped her in time, the situation terrified you, and she slashed your mothers arm when pulling away, and reading the room, Aemond stepped in bitterly, saying it was a fair exchange to de-escalate the situation. Even though he knew deep down that it was never fair.

And that's when his liking for you took a turn, you dared reject him in front of everyone, he never forget about it.

Over the years Alicent has sent few ravens, proposing the same thing over and over again, but you refused when your mother had bought them up, saying you won't be marrying someone that dared to insult your family's honour.

Aemond knew you would say no, but he still asked his mother regardless, Alicent knew her son was going mad and was about to tip over the edge, and she wouldn't know how to deal with that.

Just then, Vaemond bought a petition to question Lucerys' succession to driftmark, and your family returned to the keep, Aemond's mind was racing with your thoughts, he wondered how you looked now, he knew you would've grown into a beautiful woman.

And so when he spotted you with your brothers through his periphery, he was excited and it made him defeat cole in the training, earning applause, before he addressed your brothers, “Nephews, have you come to train?” he asked before focused his attention on them, they were speechless.

“Niece,” he began and you looked at him with a frown, he took in your appearance before a smile grew on his face, “You've grown.” he stated and you never wanted to punch him so bad, that was until you were interrupted by the entrance of Vaemond.

The court had ended with Lucerys being reaffirmed as the heir to driftmark and with Vaemond's head on the floor, cut cleanly by your step father, daemon. You admired him a lot.

Alicent once again proposed your betrothal in private to your mother, as much as your mother loved the idea, she was planning on betrothing you to Cregan stark, and so alicent nodded sadly.

And the dinner? It was a mess.

Everything was fine until Viserys left the room, and the pig arrived, Luke let out mocking laughs looking at Aemond, and so he slammed his fist on the table before picking up the wine glass and toasting to your brothers, he was already pissed off from the news his mother delivered to him before dinner begun and now this ticked him off even further.

'Strong boys.' he had called them, which pissed both Jace and Luke off, and so it ended in such mess, being sent to your chambers by your mother.

You went out for a walk when everyone was asleep, not being able to stand the suffocation in your chambers, you didn't realise then that it would be such a big mistake.

“U-uncle please-” you begged in his grip, his hand shot out to grab your neck, cutting off your air supply which had you choking, clawing at his hands to make him let go of you, kicking your feet.

He pushed you further against the wall before pressing his forehead against yours, “How many years will you have me toiling after you? I fucking wanted you. Yet you refused me. Each and every fucking time.” he grip on your throat tightened, making you see stars and you struggled in his grip.

“You are to be betrothed to Cregan Stark? Do you think he'll marry you if I ruined you?” those words made your eyes widen, surely he isn't suggesting that.

“N-no-” you croak, his hand leaves your throat and you gasp for air, breathing heavily, and then he presses his dagger to your throat, not cutting you but enough to have to stop moving.

He undoes his breeches, pulling out his semi hard cock and giving it a few pumps, you dared not to move because if you did, the dagger would pierce through your skin and you would bleed out.

He began to hike your skirt up gathering them in one place before he pressed himself against you, you sobbed when you felt his cock rubbing against your cunt, he slammed his lips against you in a rough kiss, you didn't kiss him back, just cried. He licked your tears away before pulling back with a smirk. You looked at him with teary eyes.

His free hand cupped your cunt before he rubbed small circles on your clit, you gasp as he presses meanly against the flesh.

Unsatisfied with the position, Aemond throws you onto the ground, you make sure to land on your back and avoid getting your head hurt again, but your back burns with pain at the impact, causing you to wince. Aemond straddles you, skirt gathered in your lap as you cry out, he slaps your face before shutting you up with a hand over your mouth.

“Do you know how much I wanted you? How much I pined after you? You rejected me. I still haven't forgotten.” he spits on your face.

He moves himself down and spreads your legs wide, you try to push him away with your free hands but you fail, he lines up his cock against your entrance before prodding at the opening with it, “A-aemond— uncle, please stop” you say weakly.

He kisses trails kisses up for your neck, before finding your sensitive spot and sucking in the skin there, causing you to whine, he pulls away before grabbing his dagger once again and ripping the bodice of your dress, causing your breasts so spill out of their confines. You gasp when you feel the dagger poke at the flesh, he presses hard for it just sting but not pierce the skin.

He lets go of the dagger before grabbing both your tits and squeezing them roughly before his mouth descends to take one in his mouth, he licks the nipple before sucking on it, your hand flies up to his hair, gripping it tightly, not knowing whether you want to push him away or hold him tight against you.

He leaves your breast with a pop, hearing you gasp, he sat back, admiring how your cunt looks, all wet and dripping, “You're dripping way too much for someone showing such resistance.” he comments before he pokes at your hole his tip, causing you to clench around nothing.

He knows you wouldn't be able to take him, and that he should prepare you first, but he couldn't hold himself back, and without a warning, he shoves himself entirely inside of you, causing you to scream before it gets cut off by him slamming his lips against yours.

The pain was unbearable, he was too big, and you were a maiden too, it was burning and aching so much, but for some reason you liked the burn, the stretch, you thought you were going insane.

He had the basic courtesy of letting you adjust to him, albeit for a moment before he pulled back and started thrusting wildly into your cunt, causing your body to jolt up against the stone floor.

He spread your legs wider, holding them apart from beneath your knees, and you held on to his shoulder for support and threw your head back, feeling pleasure creeping up your spine.

“U-uncle p-please.” you begged, you had no idea what you were begging for anyone, you didn't want to lose yourself and so you tried pushing him away but he didn't budge, and so your hands fell limply to your side as you let him have his way with you.

His good eye was wild, pupil almost engulfing the violet of his eyes, he watched as your breasts bounced up and down as he continued to thrust into your core, before he grabbed them meanly and pinched both your nipples, twisting them causing you gasp in pain.

One hand left your breast to grab the dagger on the floor next to you before he bought it up to your face, tracing it on the side of your cheek, you flinched when you felt the sharp material press against your face, it trailed down to your neck and he light put pressure there, causing the blood to come up to the surface of the skin but not entirely piercing it.

You felt your arousal dripping onto the stones below at that, you felt embarassed, that your body was liking it, he sat back on his haunches and rammed his cock in and out, watching the blood of your maidenhead coat his cock, causing him to let out a small gasp.

He bought your hips onto his lap, the new angle hitting the rough patch inside of you, causing you to mewl, you gripped his arms which held you up by the waist, nails biting into the leather material. “F-fuck, look at your cunt. Gripping me tightly.” he said between heavy breathes, groaning as he felt each and every ridge of your wet heat, making you clench around him.

“Oh gods, you were meant for me.” he breathes

His hand gripped your cheek tightly, parting your lip before he leant down and kissed you, tears flowing freely from your eyes as he licked them and kissed them away. “Shhh, take it like the good girl you are.” he coos in your ears and you just close your eyes.

And then felt the band in your stomach begin to tighten, you knew what this meant, and aemond was able to tell too, by the way your cunt was clenching tightly around him, his hand moved to your bud and rubbed small but fast circles, and you shook your head, “N-no!” you moaned, refusing to let yourself peak but it is violently ripped through when he pressed meanly down onto your clit, cause the band to snap, mouth parted in a silent moan, eyes clenched close.

Your cunt pulsed around him, making him groan at the sensation, he kissed you once again, lips moving against yours in a passionate manner, tongue swiping against your bottom for entrance to which you grant him, too lost in the high.

You were breathing heavily when you felt his thrusts become sloppy, and the way he was groaning, “I'm gonna cum inside of you alright? breed you, watch you swell with my heirs.” he babbles, and you gulp, “beg for it.” he suddenly says and you look at him wide eyed, another orgasm rapidly approaching you.

“P-please aemond—” you groan, feeling his hit the rough patch again, “Please what?” he asks, trying to contain himself from spilling already, “P-please cum inside me- need you.” you beg humiliated and just then your second orgasm hits you hard, causing you to moan loudly.

“F-fuck, I'm gonna make you a mother, you would love that right? and finally I'd be able to marry you, watch your carry my children, you're going to give me so many understand?” he rambles on before he reaches his peak, coming inside you with a satisfied moan, he rides his orgasm out before he pulls out, watching his spend leak out of you.

You thought with a heavy heart on how he ruined you, no man would want you now.

The next morning, your betrothal plan to cregan was called off on your wish, you asked your mother to get you married to Aemond, he has officially ruined you and damned you to himself, and you were only afraid that if he didn't get what he wanted this time, he would go further and kill your any man you get betrothed to.

And so you quickly accepted your fate.

———

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Can u please do smut or fluff of this with rooster or hangman:

Y/n: hey can you zip me up?

R or H: Sure!

...

Y/n: I said zip me up not down

Ooh thank you for this sweet request, I had so much fun with this one!!

The Zipper Incident

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're running late and need some help zipping up your dress. After recovering from the initial shock of seeing you all dolled up, Rooster is more than happy to assist.

CW: Fluff, angst, swearing, a pinch of smut. You stand up your date, which is shitty of you, but it's probably worth it.

I’d like to think that this little drabble could be a prelude to this fic but it’s absolutely not a necessity to read it first. I just had this particular dynamic in mind while writing this.

You rush out of the locker room in a panic, whipping your head around to see if anyone is still around. Your date is imminent – t-minus twenty minutes and counting – and you’ve spent the last forty-five on your hair and makeup only to suffer a devastating wardrobe malfunction at zero hour.

You’re sure that everyone is long gone but you nonetheless shuffle over to the guys’ locker room on the off chance that perhaps somebody might still be in the building.

Just as you’re coming up on the door, Bradley walks out and you nearly collide with him in your haste.

“Woah!” he yells, holding his arms out in case you wouldn’t be able to stop in time.

“Oh my god, Rooster! Thank god!” you shriek.

Now that he’s had a moment to process the situation, Bradley is blinking at you oddly, his eyes slipping briefly to glance at your dress before reverting to your face.

While you’re flattered that your outfit has rendered him speechless – the guy’s never seen you in anything but a uniform – you hardly have time for this kind of delay. “Rooster, can you do me a favor, please? Can you zip me up?” You turn your back to him promptly and twist your arm behind you to point to the zipper that’s gotten stuck halfway up.

“Uh.” Bradley stalls and you look over your shoulder to see his gaze trailing down your bare back as he tentatively lifts his hands.

“Bradshaw, today!” you urge, bouncing slightly on the spot while you hold up the front of your strapless dress.

You feel his fingers graze your back as he pulls gently on the zipper. “It’s jammed,” he says a little hoarsely.

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No shit,” you reply. “Look, I’ve got a date in” – you close your eyes and whimper desperately – “fifteen minutes. Could you maybe put those big, strong muscles to good use?” You throw him a deriding look before glancing pointedly at the arm that's taking up approximately half of your field of view. His bicep is even more pronounced than usual in the tight, black t-shirt he’s wearing.

Rooster exhales slowly, tugging more deliberately on the zipper. “I don’t want to break it,” he says.

This statement gives you pause and you spin around sharply, nearly taking Bradley’s hands with you. “You can’t break it!” you exclaim. “I have nothing else to wear!”

Bradley watches you steadily. “Well,” he says with a small smirk. “Don’t rush me, then.”

You eye him warily before turning back around. “Okay,” you say. “But you don’t have all day,” you mutter when he starts to fiddle with the zipper once more.

His hands stop moving and he clears his throat. “We had a deal.”

You sigh, starting to tap your foot, when your feel his hands close around your shoulders.

“You’re wiggling,” he says.

“I’m anxious,” you retort sourly.

Bradley steps closer until his chest is brushing lightly against your back, and leads you out into the center of the corridor. “I need more light,” he says.

You close your eyes. “It’s a fucking zipper, Bradshaw. You operate a fifteen tonne, seventy-million-dollar government vehicle fifty thousand feet off the ground but this is somehow a struggle?”

Bradley’s hands stop moving. “That fifteen tonne vehicle came with an instruction manual and five years of training.”

“Oh, hang on,” you say. “Let me just pull out my zipper manual. I don’t go anywhere without that thing.”

Bradley snorts. “You’re distracting me,” he says, yanking slightly on the zipper and, in the process, pulling you closer.

You hang your head defeatedly, trying to stay still while he works to fix your dress.

After several moments of silence, Bradley speaks again. “You have a date, huh?”

You stare at the space where the floor meets the wall, taken aback by his question. You and Bradley have but a smidge of history; you met a few months ago when you were brought in for a mission together, and have since been assigned to the same squadron. You’ve flirted here and there, exchanged a few meaningful glances, but nothing more than the occasional tease has ever come to pass. You’re both professionals and, as such, are amply aware that any sort of romantic entanglement would quickly dissolve into a logistical nightmare fraught with more paperwork than either of you would care to complete. And yet, the insinuation in his tone, paired with the intermittent brush of his hands along your back sends a quiet thrill through your body, resulting in a soft blush that heats your cheeks and creeps down your neck. You nervously pat down your hair, making sure it obscures your reddening face before you respond with a casual, “Mm-hm.”

“Anyone I know?” he asks, his thumb sweeping over your shoulder blade as he takes a break from wrestling with the zipper.

Suddenly you’re extremely aware of how short your dress is and how very loosely it hangs around your sides as you clutch it to your chest. “I doubt it,” you say quickly, wondering how you hadn’t noticed the obvious draft coming from the vent overhead until right now while firmly pressing the material of your dress against your rapidly hardening nipples.

“Well, you look nice,” he says, his voice a little rough as he resumes his efforts with the zipper.

You bite down hard on your lip, trying to suppress the shiver triggered by his words. “Would be nicer if I were fully dressed,” you respond flatly.

“Debatable,” Rooster counters.

You swallow uneasily as Bradley continues jerking at your dress. He’s flirting with you now? Ten minutes till go time? After weeks of avoiding every instance of physical contact, including that time you sprained your ankle and he called Phoenix over to help you get to medical instead of taking you himself?

Suddenly, you feel the waist of your dress release as the zipper gives. You gasp, pressing the fabric against your body as it starts to glide.

“Bradshaw!” you yelp. “I said ‘zip me up!’”

“Sorry!” Bradley fumbles with the dress. “It slipped.”

“Sure,” you say with a note of cynicism in your tone.

Bradley chuckles, sliding the zipper back up. “I promise, it was unintentional.” He pauses for a moment, his fingers still holding the clasp even after having completed the task you’ve given him. He runs his palms along your shoulders before they come to rest on your upper arms. “You’ve got a nice back,” he says quietly.

You freeze, trying to come up with an adequate response to the most unexpected of compliments, but you can’t bring yourself to face him because you’re blushing anew. You take a second to gather your thoughts, close your eyes to savour the moment. You’ve completely forgotten about the time and how much of it you might have left because all your concentration is devoted entirely to the gentle sweep of Bradley’s fingers as they slide down your arms.

“First date?” he asks.

You’re furious. You’re livid. Where was all this attention four weeks ago when all that glorious flirting amounted to absolutely nothing. “Second,” you respond curtly.

“Getting serious,” he says wryly, his hands trailing all the way down to your fingertips before they finally fall to his sides.

You chuckle and, although it’s becoming increasingly difficult to restrain yourself from turning to face him, you mutter a quick, “Thanks, Rooster,” while smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of your dress.

Bradley walks around to take a look at you from the front and now you have no choice but to meet his gaze. You give him a tight smile and do a little curtsy and he laughs, shaking his head.

“That’s a hell of a dress,” he says.

You give him a serious look. “It’s not the dress, Bradshaw. It’s the model.”

He grins at you in amusement. “Can’t argue with that.”

You nod slowly, slightly lost in his eyes, when you suddenly remember that you’re running late. “Shit! What’s the time?” You lunge forward to grab his forearm so that you could check his wristwatch. “Fuck! I have to run!”

You drop Bradley’s hand, glancing up at him sharply. He’s watching you with a bewildered expression, as though he wasn’t expecting you to actually leave. “Okay,” he says. “Have a good time.”

You nod and start to draw back, finally turning and escaping down the hall and into the women’s changeroom. Once the door is closed behind you, you sink down on a bench, bringing a hand to your unsettled stomach. The interaction with Bradley has resulted in a revival of that ridiculous crush you had on him when you first arrived on base. You’ve been fairly successful at quashing those feelings, right up until ten minutes ago when Bradley was able to effectively resuscitate them with a vengeance.

You let out a frustrated sigh and start putting away your belongings. You step into your heels and sit back down to do up the straps. Walking over to the mirror, you fix your hair and take a moment to admire your makeup. No wonder Bradley was flabbergasted. He’s never even seen you wear lipstick.

You pick up your purse after shoving your backpack into a locker and head for the door but, when you walk out, Bradley is still there, waiting for you.

You waver on the spot upon seeing him while he hesitates slightly before approaching you. His eyes rake over your figure before finally resting on your face. “I can’t let you go on that date,” he says, his rasp more pronounced somehow, perhaps because he’s trying to keep his voice down.

You gulp nervously, blinking up at him as your cheeks flush. “Why not?” you ask quietly.

Bradley bites into his bottom lip as the corner of his mouth curls upward mischievously. “Because even thinking about you on a date with someone else is making me angry.”

You let out a shallow breath as his eyes focus briefly on your lips. “Why?” you whisper.

You feel Bradley’s hand cup your waist, pressing you gently into the wall at your back while he takes another step forward. He lowers his head and you lift your gaze as he towers over you, as he places the palm of his other hand on the wall behind your head. His breathing is heavier than usual but he comes closer still, caging you in. “Because it should be me,” he says hoarsely.

You lower your gaze but soon feel his fingers under your chin, lifting your face to look at him. “You didn’t ask me,” you manage to say despite the distracting pounding in your temples. “Are you only interested because I’m unavailable?”

Bradley slowly shakes his head, bringing his forehead to rest on yours. The hand that’s been leaning against the wall slips down to your shoulder as he takes another step closer and his body brushes yours. “You know that’s not true,” he says.

You put a hand on his abdomen, pushing him away half-heartedly. “I know that you’ve had plenty of opportunities to make this happen and chose not to.”

Bradley brings his hand down on top of yours on his stomach. “Maybe I was intimidated,” he mutters with a grin.

You roll your eyes. “Am I less intimidating in a dress?”

He shakes his head, his smile widening. “More.” His fingers close around yours, still pressed against his rock-hard abs. “But you left me no choice. I had to just bite the bullet and go for it.”

You glance up at him reproachfully. “I’m late,” you say.

Bradley pulls his lips into a frown as his eyebrows crease. “Stay,” he pleads.

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, Bradley,” you say. “You’re late too.” You start to peel your back from the wall, forcing him to back away from you.

He takes several steps backward, the disappointment evident on his face. “You don’t want to go,” he says quietly.

You raise your eyebrows. “How the fuck do you know what I want?” you ask, offended.

He watches you piercingly. “I can tell you want to stay.”

“If you can tell, then why didn’t you ask me out before?” you say angrily.

“Because I’m an idiot!” he responds heatedly.

“Well, at least we agree on that,” you say.

Bradley sucks in his cheeks, nodding contemptuously. “Now what?” he asks. “Ball’s in your court.”

You stare at him crossly. “Now nothing, Bradley,” you say. “You didn’t start anything because you knew that it would be a conflict of interest. That, if anybody found out, one of us would end up being reassigned.”

“Who has to find out?”

You close your eyes briefly before giving him a withering look. “Well, now we know where your head’s at.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just want to fuck,” you say matter-of-factly.

Bradley stares at you, speechless for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“Sorry, Bradshaw,” you say. “That’s not my style.”

But when you turn to leave, Bradley springs after you, grabbing your arm and pulling you back around. “You’ve got it wrong,” he says. “I promise you.”

You eye his fingers, still wrapped firmly around your arm. “Come on, ‘Nobody has to know?’” You glance up at him disdainfully. “You obviously don’t see a future here.” You regret the words the moment they leave your mouth, recognizing how unreasonable it is to expect him to see much of anything with someone he hardly knows. But his words have caused quite a sting which, in turn, has made you slightly irrational. “You know this is a bad idea,” you say finally, reluctantly.

Bradley takes a step forward, simultaneously pulling you closer. He takes a moment to study your features before speaking. “I know that if you go on your date right now, I’m going to lose my fucking mind,” he says with a small chuckle.

You watch him carefully as he brings a hand up to brush some hair away from your eyes. “I’m really late,” you whisper, your hands moving of their own accord to rest on his hips.

Bradley brings his face down to meet yours, his nose brushing along your cheek. “I really want you to stay,” he says in a low voice, his grip loosening on your arm and his fingers gliding gently up to your shoulder.

You lift your face slightly to let him brush his lips with yours. After an excruciating pause during which his mouth hovers tantalisingly over yours, Bradley finally bridges the gap, confidently capturing your lips in his. His fingertips dig into your shoulders as he presses his body against yours, directing you backward into the wall. He leans into you eagerly, his kiss overriding each of your senses as you adapt to its unpredictable rhythm. Slow and deep, then soft and sweeping, evolving with your every movement. His hands twist rabidly into your hair, rough but restrained as he paces himself while you breathe unevenly against his mouth.

He's warm; swathed around you almost possessively; protectively. You aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. You pant when he finally releases your lips, struggling to steady your heartrate.

Bradley lowers himself slightly to diffuse kisses along your jawline, the pressure of his lips on your skin quickly escalating as the two of you sink into one another. You open your mouth to sigh against his ear when his hand slips underneath the hem of your dress. “Bradley,” you whine as his finger drifts along the line of your panties.

“Yeah baby?” he breathes, his finger tracing circles into the already saturated lace.

“This is a terrible idea,” you whimper as the most torturous desire pulsates through your body.

“Yeah, baby,” Bradley agrees, continuing the gentle strokes of his finger over your soaking panties.

You bite your lip trying to suppress a moan, fevered and nearly shaking, sweating and breathless, unsteady in your heels. You feel transported but unsettled, euphoric but wanting. You nip at Bradley’s earlobe in response to which Bradley presses his mouth into the crook of your neck and releases a muffled groan. You continue sucking on his ear and kissing his neck and the hand that’s been hovering between your legs suddenly grips into your thigh. You let out a soft cry and Bradley stifles it with a passionate kiss. His hand coasts upward, cupping your ass cheek as he presses himself against you, pinning you to the wall. “Bradshaw,” you murmur against his lips. “Can you do me a favor?”

Bradley’s teeth catch your bottom lip before he starts gently pecking your swollen lips. “Anything,” he responds in his grating rasp.

You let out a shallow breath. “Can you unzip me?”

Bradley’s mouth curls into a smile against your lips as his hand glides down your back. “I’ve got you, baby,” he says softly, pulling on the zipper. “I’m an expert.” You chuckle as your dress comes loose but, a moment later, Bradley mutters, “Fuck,” right into your open mouth.

You pull back to stare at him mutely as he gives the zipper a few more tugs. “Don’t tell me,” you say in disbelief.

“What is it with this thing?” Bradley says in exasperation, spinning you around to inspect the contraption. You giggle, resting your forehead on the wall resignedly but, the next moment, Bradley grabs you by the waist and pulls you in. “Fuck it,” he says, lifting the skirt of your dress. “I can work around it.”

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[callsigns-haze]

You knew? Part 2 of 3

Part 1

Pairing: Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader! Callsign Ace

Chapter Summary: A week after Ace's near-fatal crash, she finally wakes up in the hospital, recovering from her injuries. Rooster, who has avoided seeing her since the email debacle, finally gathers the courage to visit her. Their conversation is tense and filled with unresolved emotions, as Ace confronts him about the betrayal she felt after discovering he was behind the anonymous flirtatious emails.

This chapter contains themes of emotional conflict, betrayal, and recovery from a near-death experience. Expect tense dialogue and unresolved emotions.

The sun cast a golden glow over the runway as the Daggers prepped for another intense day of training. Jets roared to life, ready to take off into the clear sky. The Dagger Squadron was assembled, but there was a noticeable shift in the air.

Ace, usually vibrant and at the centre of their group, had been distant for the past two months. Ever since the email incident, she’d cut ties with Rooster, Phoenix, not really Hangman as he was her wingman so she forgave him, steering clear of their usual hangouts at the Hard Deck and avoiding meals with the squad.

Now, she focused solely on her flying. Her interactions were brief, professional, and limited to the cockpit. As she strapped into her Dagger and prepared for the upcoming dogfight training, the silence between her and the rest of the squad was deafening. Today’s exercise was set: a mock dogfight in the air, with Ace flying solo against Coyote in his own Dagger, while Payback and Fanboy flew as a pair.

The jets ascended into the sky, climbing higher until the blue expanse stretched endlessly beneath them. The radio crackled with orders as they spread out, the simulated combat about to begin.

"All right, Ace, you’re up. Let’s see what you got," Coyote’s voice buzzed through the comms, a hint of competitive energy in his tone.

Ace’s eyes narrowed in concentration, her fingers gripping the controls as she scanned the sky for her opponents. She banked sharply to the left, cutting through the clouds as she trailed Coyote from above, attempting to line up her shot.

"You’ve gotta be quicker than that, Ace," Coyote taunted, pulling into a sharp climb to shake her off.

She smirked, pushing her Dagger to match his altitude, refusing to give him an inch. Behind them, Payback and Fanboy weaved through the air, keeping their distance while searching for an opening to strike.

The chase was fast and relentless. Ace and Coyote danced through the sky, trading sharp turns and evasive manoeuvres. The thrill of the hunt filled the airwaves, with each Dagger trying to gain the upper hand.

Then, without warning, Ace’s jet jolted.

"Warning: Engine failure. Malfunction detected," the voice in her cockpit announced in a cold, mechanical tone.

Her heart rate spiked as she checked her instruments. Something was wrong. The controls were sluggish, her jet unresponsive to her commands. She tried to stabilize, but the Dagger began to spiral out of control.

"Ace, what’s going on? You’re dropping altitude!" Coyote’s voice crackled over the radio.

She fought against the controls, panic clawing at her as the Dagger dipped into a sharp nosedive. The ground rushed toward her, but her body felt heavy, her vision blurring at the edges. She was slipping into G-LOC—G-force-induced loss of consciousness. Her breath became shallow, her body unable to react.

"Ace! You need to eject!" Payback’s voice boomed over the comms, urgency bleeding through the static.

But no one saw her eject. Her Dagger spiralled, falling faster as she lost the battle to stay conscious. On the ground, the entire squad was glued to the monitors, watching the terrifying descent. Rooster, Phoenix, Hangman, and the others stood frozen, their eyes trained on the screens, waiting for the tell-tale flash of her ejection.

But it never came.

"Come on, Ace… pull the damn handle!" Rooster muttered under his breath, his fingers white-knuckled around his headset.

"She’s not ejecting. Is she unconscious?" Phoenix asked, her voice tight with fear.

Coyote pulled his Dagger up beside Ace’s, trying to get a visual. But it was too late. Her jet continued to plummet, the altitude rapidly decreasing.

"Mayday, mayday!" Coyote called out, desperation lacing his voice as he watched helplessly.

From the ground, they saw her jet spiral down until it disappeared from the screen. Silence filled the control room, the team paralyzed with shock as the realization hit.

"Did she—" Hangman started, but his words were caught in his throat.

No one saw her eject.

Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback, who had been up in the sky with her, were immediately recalled back to base. The radio buzzed with orders.

"Coyote, Fanboy, Payback—return to base. Now," the voice over the comms was firm, but there was no mistaking the urgency.

"Roger that," Coyote responded, his voice unusually sombre. He felt a weight pressing against his chest. None of them had seen Ace eject, and the sinking realization of what that might mean gnawed at him as he flew back.

The three Daggers touched down swiftly, their wheels skidding across the runway as they taxied to a stop. Before they could even unstrap from their jets, the rest of the squad came running, concern etched on their faces.

Rooster was the first to reach Coyote, grabbing his flight suit as he yanked him toward him, eyes wide with fear and questions. "Did you see her eject? Did she make it out?"

Coyote shook his head, face grim. "I didn’t see anything. I tried to get close, but she wasn’t responding. I couldn’t—"

Rooster let him go, stumbling back slightly as his mind raced. "No... no, no, no..." he muttered under his breath. Phoenix and Hangman rushed to Fanboy and Payback, their faces pale, voices rapid with questions.

"How low was she?" Phoenix asked, her voice trembling. "Did she even have time?"

"She was already in a nosedive when I saw her," Fanboy said, his hands shaking slightly. "It happened so fast."

Payback wiped his face with his gloved hand, trying to steady his breathing. "She didn’t respond to any of the comms. I don’t think she had time to eject."

Behind them, Maverick appeared, his expression stern and focused. He didn’t ask questions. Instead, he headed straight for the medical search plane, already prepared to take off. Without a word, he boarded, motioning for the search crew to follow.

"Let’s go. We need to find her," Maverick ordered, his voice commanding, though there was a heaviness to his tone that wasn’t missed by the others.

As the search and rescue plane lifted off, the remaining Daggers were left on the tarmac, standing in a tense, suffocating silence. Rooster, Phoenix, Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, Payback, and Bob all stood in a loose circle, watching the horizon, their minds racing with the possibility of what they might hear next.

Minutes passed like hours. No one said a word. The weight of what might have happened to Ace settled over them like a heavy blanket, each of them replaying her crash in their heads, trying to make sense of it.

Finally, the radio crackled.

"We’ve located her Dagger," a voice came through. "Wreckage is extensive... no sign of an ejection. We’re sending in the medics now."

Rooster clenched his fists, trying to hold himself together. Phoenix closed her eyes, a silent prayer forming in her mind. Hangman paced back and forth, unable to stand still, his face tight with worry.

Maverick’s voice came next, calmer, but tense. "We found her. She’s alive, but barely. She’s in bad shape. Get the medics ready at base—she’ll need immediate attention."

The relief was immediate but short-lived, crashing against the rising tide of panic. "Alive" didn’t mean safe. Rooster stepped closer to the comms, trying to catch every word, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table.

"Severe condition," Maverick continued. "Multiple injuries, possibly from G-LOC and impact. We’re stabilizing her now, but it’s critical. She needs to be flown out immediately."

Phoenix covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with tears she fought to hold back. Fanboy turned away, unable to face the others as the reality hit. Hangman stopped pacing, his fists clenching by his sides. The usually cocky pilot was quiet, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his posture was clear.

The medical team on base was already on standby, rushing toward the landing area as the search plane prepared to return. The remaining Daggers gathered near the runway, standing in a tight group, waiting for any sign of Ace. Each of them wrestled with their thoughts, guilt creeping into their minds—wondering if there was something they could have done, something they missed.

Minutes later, the medical search plane landed with Ace on board, strapped to a stretcher and surrounded by medics. They worked quickly, moving her onto a gurney as they rushed toward the base’s medical centre. Maverick followed closely behind, his jaw set, but the worry was clear in his eyes.

Rooster watched, his heart pounding in his chest. The brief glimpse he got of her was enough to make his stomach drop—she was pale, her body bruised and battered, a mask over her face supplying oxygen. It was clear she was hanging on by a thread.

"Is she going to make it?" Hangman asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

No one had an answer. The squad stood in stunned silence, watching as their teammate, their friend, was whisked away to the medical wing, her fate uncertain.

Phoenix swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper. "She has to make it. She has to."

-

Ace was rushed through the hallways of the base’s medical centre, her stretcher surrounded by a flurry of medics shouting urgent commands. The sound of her ragged breathing through the oxygen mask was barely audible over the hurried footsteps. Her face was pale, her body still and battered from the G-LOC and subsequent crash. The medics moved with precision, wheeling her straight to the emergency trauma unit.

“We need to get her into surgery now!” one of the medics yelled, pushing open the doors to the operating theater.

The surgeons were already scrubbed in, awaiting her arrival. IV lines were attached, monitors were set up, and the sound of beeping machines filled the room. Her vital signs were weak, teetering on the edge of stability. The head surgeon quickly assessed her injuries, noting the signs of severe trauma from both the high G-force and the crash impact.

"She’s got multiple fractures, possible internal bleeding, and signs of severe G-LOC trauma," the surgeon announced, as they began prepping for surgery.

The doors to the operating room swung shut, and the medics filed out, leaving Ace in the hands of the surgical team.

-

In the Hallway

Outside, the Dagger Squad sat in the waiting area, the tension suffocating. None of them had said much since Ace was wheeled away. Rooster leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground as if trying to make sense of the last few hours. His mind was racing with worry and guilt. He’d been tough on Ace, both in the air and on the ground, and now she was fighting for her life.

Phoenix sat next to him, her foot tapping nervously against the floor, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She couldn’t shake the image of Ace’s jet spiralling out of control, nor the sight of her pale, motionless body when she was brought in. "Come on, Ace," she whispered under her breath.

Hangman paced the length of the hallway, his usual bravado completely absent. His jaw was clenched, fists balled tightly at his sides. He’d been the one who set up the whole email situation, thinking it was just some harmless fun. Even though she forgave him, they still weren't back to normal. Now, guilt gnawed at him with every step he took.

"She’s tough. She’ll pull through," Hangman muttered to himself, but it sounded more like a prayer than a statement of confidence.

Coyote sat further down the row, staring blankly at the door leading to the operating room. He replayed the training flight in his head, going over every detail, wondering if there was something—anything—he could have done differently to prevent the crash.

Fanboy and Payback sat together, whispering to each other every now and then, though their voices were low and full of worry. Bob, the quietest of the group, sat against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, his face a mix of worry and helplessness.

The minutes dragged on. Every time a nurse or doctor walked through the hall, the squad straightened, hoping for an update, but the news never came. The tension was thick in the air, each of them lost in their own thoughts, consumed by fear for their friend.

Maverick entered the hallway, his face a grim mask of calm. He had been overseeing the rescue efforts, but now that Ace was in surgery, there was nothing more he could do but wait. He exchanged a few silent nods with the group before sitting beside Rooster.

“How is she?” Rooster asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“They’re doing everything they can,” Maverick replied, his tone steady but strained. He knew better than anyone how critical the situation was, but he didn’t want to add to their already overwhelming fears.

Hours seemed to pass as they sat in silence, the only sounds in the hallway being the occasional shuffle of footsteps or the distant hum of medical equipment. No one knew what to say, and the weight of uncertainty hung heavily over them all.

Every so often, one of them would glance toward the operating room doors, hoping to see a doctor emerge with good news. But the doors remained shut, and the tension in the room grew thicker with each passing second.

Finally, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall. The squad all turned toward the noise, holding their breath. A nurse approached, her expression neutral, but the look in her eyes was serious.

“The surgery’s still ongoing,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “It’s going to be a long one. She’s stable for now, but it’s critical. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

“Stable,” Phoenix repeated, the word a fragile lifeline she clung to. “That’s something.”

The nurse nodded. “It is. But it’s still touch and go. We’ll keep you updated.”

The squad nodded in unison, though the news wasn’t as reassuring as they’d hoped. The wait continued, with everyone’s minds now filled with images of Ace in the operating room, fighting for her life.

Each of them sat, stood, or paced, trying to pass the time, but every second felt like an eternity as they waited for any sign that Ace would be okay.

----

One Week Later

The sterile scent of the hospital room lingered in the air, blending with the steady beeping of the machines that monitored Ace’s vitals. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room. Ace lay in the bed, her body still aching from the injuries she’d sustained, but she was finally awake. Her head throbbed faintly, and her muscles felt weak, but she was conscious—and alive.

It had been a week since the crash. A week of surgeries, recovery, and slowly regaining her strength. The Dagger Squad had visited her throughout the week, offering support and well-wishes, but Rooster hadn’t shown up once.

She wasn’t surprised. After the email situation, their relationship had soured more than ever. The betrayal she’d felt after realizing it was Rooster on the other end of those flirtatious emails still stung, even more so after the crash. She had expected him to stay away.

As she stared at the ceiling, lost in thought, the door creaked open. She looked over, and her eyes widened slightly as Rooster stepped inside, his expression uncertain.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a little rough, like he had rehearsed what he was going to say a thousand times but still wasn’t sure how to begin.

Ace tensed slightly but didn’t say anything right away. Her eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and something else—resentment, maybe—but she masked it quickly, keeping her face neutral.

Rooster took a few hesitant steps toward the chair by her bed. He looked uncomfortable, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his flight suit as he stood awkwardly by the door, unsure if he should sit or not.

“I—uh, I thought I should come by,” he continued, finally deciding to sit down. He ran a hand through his hair, the familiar nervous gesture she had seen countless times before, but now it felt different. “It’s been... a lot.”

Ace raised an eyebrow, though the movement sent a dull ache through her head. “A lot,” she repeated, her voice flat.

Rooster winced at her tone but didn’t back down. “I know I should’ve come sooner. I just—didn’t know what to say after everything. After what happened with the emails and then... this,” he gestured vaguely toward her, indicating her injuries.

Ace remained silent, her eyes focused on him but her face giving nothing away. She wasn’t ready to make this easy for him, not after everything that had happened between them.

He sighed, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I know I screwed up with the whole email thing. I didn’t mean for it to... go the way it did, I didn't know it was you at the start either. It was supposed to be some dumb fun, but it hurt you, and I’m sorry.”

Ace’s jaw tightened, her mind flashing back to the moment she had discovered Rooster was the one behind the anonymous emails. The betrayal still felt fresh, even after weeks of avoiding him.

“You have no idea,” she said quietly, her voice cutting through the room like a blade. “You have no idea how much that messed with my head, Bradley.”

Rooster flinched at the use of his first name, a sign of how serious things had gotten. She almost never called him that. “I know. I get that now.”

“No,” Ace interrupted, her voice stronger now, though strained from disuse. “You don’t get it. You thought it was a game. I thought... I don’t know what I thought, but it wasn’t that. You led me on, Rooster. And for what? A joke? Some sick competition?”

Rooster looked down at his hands, guilt written all over his face. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t—” He paused, searching for the right words. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. It just got out of hand.”

Ace clenched her fists beneath the hospital blanket, frustration bubbling up inside her. She had spent weeks—months—trying to figure out why she had been so blindsided by him. It wasn’t just the betrayal, it was everything leading up to it—the animosity, the tension, the constant bickering. And then, suddenly, the emails had made her think there was something different, something more.

“Out of hand?” she echoed, her voice bitter. “You humiliated me.”

Rooster’s gaze shot up, his expression pained. “I didn’t mean to.”

Ace exhaled sharply, leaning back against the pillows, exhausted from the conversation but too frustrated to stop. “And then you didn’t even come to see me. Not once. I almost died, Rooster.”

He looked like he had been punched. “I know. I was... I didn’t think you’d want to see me. After everything.”

“That’s your excuse?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. “I’ve been lying here, dealing with all of this, and you just couldn’t be bothered to show up because you were afraid?”

Rooster opened his mouth to respond but stopped, realizing there was nothing he could say that would make it right. He couldn’t take back what he’d done, and he couldn’t fix the way he’d hurt her.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “For everything. For not coming sooner. For the emails. For being an idiot.”

The room was thick with tension, the air heavy between them. Ace watched him, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She didn’t know if she could forgive him—not yet, maybe not ever—but part of her was too tired to keep fighting.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” Rooster added, his voice almost a whisper. He looked at her with genuine concern, the guilt and regret clear in his eyes.

Ace didn’t respond right away. Instead, she closed her eyes and let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know what to say to you right now, Rooster.”

He nodded, standing up slowly. “I get it. I won’t push you. But I’m here if you ever want to talk. I mean it.”

Ace opened her eyes, watching him as he moved toward the door. He hesitated for a moment before glancing back at her. “Take care of yourself, Ace.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts, the weight of their conversation settling heavily on her shoulders.

Please comment, like and reblog!

[yourlocalbreadenthusiast]

ask for infodump about Chernobyl as someone who has never even heard of it

INHALES

Chernobyl is considered to be the worst nuclear disaster in history, rated at a 7 on the International Nuclear Event Scale (INES), the only other disaster ranking at a 7 being in Fukushima back in 2011. The disaster occurred on April 26, 1986. The Chernobyl Nuclear Power plant was located in Ukraine, which was under the control of the Soviet Union at the time. It was only about 16 miles from the Belarus-Ukraine border, which was also under Soviet control. There were two main towns nearby, Chernobyl itself, which was older, had only about 15,000 residents, and was actually farther from the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant than Pripyat, which had about 50,000 residents, and was only about 2 miles from the plant. Pripyat was newer, and residents had an average age of about 26. The town itself was filled with young, well educated people starting new lives. A large number of public buildings were located in Pripyat, including a school and a sports complex, which contains the famous Azure Swimming Pool. The plant supplied Pripyat with energy, and the place was considered a sort of "dream city." The plant was an RBMK-1000 type reactor, a generation I nuclear reactor, which are the earliest, and generally most hazardous, nuclear reactors. RBMKs were used to produce Plutonium, a radioactive material primarily used in nuclear weapons. However, they could also be used to produce civilian energy, so a few were constructed to supply parts of the USSR with power. At the time of the incident, there were four reactors in operation, with reactors 5 and 6 under construction. A test was scheduled to be conducted to see if the backup generators could successfully turn on in time to keep the cooling systems running at safe levels. However, the test was delayed until the less experienced night shift was in. They turned off the reactor's shutdown feature and lowered the power to the reactor. Reactors need energy to function, as they have to be cooled. For these reactors, large amounts of water were used to cool them. Without the shutdown function, the reactor was in danger of overheating if it wasn't cooled. Regardless, they ran the test. When the backup generators took too long to turn on, panic set in, and the reactor began to overheat. Then, somehow hit the AZ-5 button, which lowers all control rods into the reactor at once. Control rods are used to absorb excess amounts of shed neutrons from the nuclear reactions. However, they momentarily increase reactions when first introduced into the reactor chambers. The undertrained staff of the night shift were not aware of this. With the increased reactivity, the reactor was now dangerously hot, and the casinging around the fuel rods began to rupture, causing white-hot radioactive fuel to come into direct contact with steam. At 1:23 A.M., April 26, 1986, Chernobyl Nuclear Reactor #4 exploded. The contact between the fuel and the steam caused a steam explosion, blowing the 1000 tonne reactor roof into the air and spewing radioactive debris and particles into the air.

Two plant workers were killed instantly by either the force of the blast or from being hit by debris. Although plant workers realized what had happened rather quickly, superiors were slow to act. Firefighters were called in, but they were not told the dangers of the radiation. Most died within a few months. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. In Pripyat, the Amusement Park that had been scheduled to open the next day was hurriedly opened a day early to distract residents from the fact that the reactor was on fire.

It took 36 hours for Soviet Officials to finally begin to evacuate Pripyat, only after residents had begun to report nausea, dizziness, fatigue, vomiting, and headaches, all symptoms of radiation poisoning. A few weeks earlier, citizens were trained with gas masks in case there ever was an incident. Officials said that they didn’t need them, as they didn’t want to cause a panic.

Residents were also told they would be returning soon, and to leave everything behind. They did not come back. This left Pripyat as an eerie ghost down where everything seemed to have simply been dropped and left. Today, it is still abandoned, and is being slowly reclaimed by nature.

During the cleanup of the incident, “Liquidators” were called in. Some knew the dangers, others didn’t. The fire of the reactor was too hot to be put out by water, so tons and tons or boron, sand, and lead were dumped onto the burning reactor by helicopters that flew over. It didn’t help much, and the reactor finally stopped burning after about 2-3 weeks. A structure dubbed “The sarcophagus” was built over the reactor to contain the radiation, though it was rushed and leaked radiation. A large area of woodlands was contaminated by the radiation, and it turned red and died, earning the nickname “The Red Forest.” Most of these trees were cleared and buried. Highly contaminated houses were knocked down, animals were shot, and crops destroyed. Absolutely everything that was highly contaminated was at least attempted to be destroyed and buried. Still, not everything could be destroyed and buried, there was simply too much. One object, dubbed “The Claw of Death” was, according to conflicting accounts, either used to assist in the overall cleanup or was used specifically in the cleanup of the plant roof. It is radioactive enough to give a lethal dose if sat in for about 11 hours.

Another rather infamous object is “The Elephant’s Foot” which is a mass of sand, concrete, and melted reactor fuel that had melted its way through the floor and down into the basement. Upon discovery, the sheer amount of radiation it gave off was enough to give you a fatal dose within about 90 seconds. Today, that’s increased to about five minutes. The foot was unyielding to sampling tools, so, they shot it with a Kalashnikov Rifle (AK-47) to get a sample.

After a very short period of time, the remaining three reactors were up and running again, as the USSR simply needed power desperately. By December of 1987, all three reactors were up and running again. They were operated for years, until the last reactor was finally shut down for good in 2000. Being so close to the border, and with the wind conditions of the time, mass amount of radioactive particles were blown north to Belarus. The Soviet Union had planes fly over and seed the clouds with chemicals, forcing them to rain on rural land instead of heavily populated areas, but this still had a major effect, as about 1/3 of Belarusian farmland was contaminated. However, the winds began to shift, blowing radiation towards Europe. Sweden was the first to sound the alarm, asking if something had happened after detecting dangerous amounts of airborne radiation and determining it was not from any of their own reactors. The USSR finally admitted there had been a “very small” incident at Chernobyl, and was very reluctant to give the world information. Careful monitoring protocols were put on resources everywhere in Europe, from grain to milk to wood, all were carefully measured for radiation. Years later, after the Sarcophagus was determined to be unsafe, the New Safe Confinement unit was constructed, which is a semicircular dome over the existing Sarcophagus. The New Safe Confinement was finished in 2018. 

DONE!

(For now)

@not-wizard-council-aristocrat @anarcho-neptunism @siley-the-wizard @villainessbian

[azulsluver]

Can i get yandere Floyd, jade and Azul with reader that keep getting save by rsa student? You know how heroine in most otome gamd usually got saved by this protagonist and fall for them?

I wonder how they will react knowing that the stupid cliche is actually happening and in this one, they're the villain.

My lovely trio! I love cliche scenarios like these, but there’s never a good ending to them in this blog..

You’ve ever seen a jealous Floyd? Now the word jealous and Floyd shouldn’t be in the same sentence. The look on his face is one of disbelief as an rsa student hold you close while checking over your injuries. The pristine white uniform and silky voice is enough for him to get up and personal.

Floyd expects you to pull away. Come back to him by his side so he can snidely tell Prince Charming that you’re alright. Failing to meet these expectations are met with a heavy tension brewing. A fight is bound to happen. If you curry in favor of another’s well being you would get the message, it’s hard not to, not when Floyd is hunching and gritting his teeth.

But to have this done multiple times pisses him off. He doesn’t want to share, it’s his turn to play with you. It honestly overstimulates him a lot, you get your injuries sorted AFTER he’s done.

Whether you put him as the protective type, or he doesn’t actually see you as a person but his ‘thing’ to play until he’s bored. Floyd enjoys reminding you on just why he keeps you around. See, he jabs and nags you like an annoying brother in public, a bit extreme since he has no problem letting you humiliate yourself. But when he’s got you cornered and alone he’s much more needy and serious. Somewhere away from everyone, away from people who sympathize you, give you looks of pity, they don’t matter. And he hates nothing more than people getting into business they shouldn’t bother themselves with.

Jade holds up his hands in fake surrender as you’re swept off your feet and into the arms of another. Not just a student, an rsa student. Jade is caught off guard at being confronted so boldly but easily masks it with a narrowed closed eye smile. He meant no harm, just fun poking. But the student isn’t convinced when you’re practically on the verge of a panic attack.

Annoying. Jade confidently uses his status and height to intimidate people around him. He’s so used to people just watching. Watching and shutting up. But this idiot wasn’t doing either. But he can’t be brash now. Smoothing out his tie, he gets right on to justify his actions. A story that comes out of his mouth is too convincing, and just a small glance towards you he expects you to follow along. He expected one day someone would have the guts to call him out on his cruelty. That’s why he trained you to swallow and nod.

He’s pulling you away from the student with a gentle tug, you’re even heartbroken at how easily they bought it as your face collides with his chest. He’s sorry he’s scared you to death, he’ll brew you some tea and get your favorite snacks, so bury your face in his chest quickly and let out a small okay. You earned yourself a more comfortable day with Jade.

Jade is very, very unhappy with this incident. And many more to come with these snobby rsa students. He won’t let them touch a hair on your head again. As long as you continue to stay by his side, he’s much more kind. Not in the way you would want. The subtle possessiveness is hard to convey under his gentlemen like face.

Where Azul watches from afar in the midst of chaos, he’s more stuck into his studies and work. He refuses to engage with you or those hooligans, whatever happens to you isn’t his problem. Drowning over deals, during times of interrogation he’s more violent and demanding, slipping away from his calm and calculating manner. Just when he thought he could go on with his day, he’s too busy laying in bed with the image of you with a good boy.

An over thinker. Because people don’t help you, he won’t help you, yet it makes him pull at his hair when he recalls your face of shock. Gentleness. It’s almost enough to make him vomit from the sheer stress, if he wasn’t such a stuck up you could look at him just like that. Lean into his touch with a shudder and pout in relief.

It takes a long time before Azul could step up. Snapping at anyone getting close to you or showing an ounce of respect. You learn to fear, fear feeds and he wants to protect you. Azul Ashengrotto wants to keep you. Do you hear how stupid that sounds? He’s a hypocrite, a selfish lowlife who thinks he deserves your affection. But you don’t have much of a choice to begin with.

A tug and push. He’s always indifferent about your sad reality. He wants no trouble but would like to stick his nose in places, but to be outshined through something a child would think of, playing knight in shining armor when he’s no better than the rest. Azul would imagine that it’s he who you could relax around. You’re the only person he has trouble keeping up with his big boss personage. Jealous, jealous, jealous, even he won’t deny it.

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter fourteen || lights

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 7.4k.

edited but not beta-read.

a/n || thank you so much for sticking with me through this fic and please enjoy the last chapter. ♡

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || end ✓

Silence plagues you. Lately, the silence in your mind and around the campus is louder than a rocket taking off, than a crowd cheering, louder even than the endless rambles of your boyfriend. You know he does it to fill the space, though. You don’t dare complain because it helps- god it helps- and he knows it.

Even during moments of silence with no shared thoughts between you and the curse, there was a constant drone, a hum that you had never paid any notice to until it was gone. Every loud noise felt sharper, every quiet night threatened to drown you.

Satoru had taken to humming until he was certain you were asleep in his arms, and even during the cooler nights of early winter he would leave the windows open in hopes that the whistle of the breeze would soothe the mind-numbing feeling of silence.

The silence was surely a side effect of your grief. Although you’d finally gotten to lay Kento’s body to rest at a proper funeral surrounded by the faculty and made peace with his loss, you grieved for the loss of the constant presence of Miriko.

There was no funeral to aid with the loss, as the people who truly knew her were limited so heavily, and there was no body to bury. Still, it didn’t stop Yuji from holding a small event in her honor with you, Satoru and Yuta in attendance alongside him. It was thoughtful of him and though you could never blame him for what happened, you know he feels guilty.

It was a strange time for the school in general. With Miriko, Kenjaku, and Sukuna gone, most curses remained in the shadows, dormant for the time being. Any that dared rear their ugly heads were generally an easy job for the students alone.

You had expected the lack of missions to get to Satoru, but he seemed content. He busied himself with continuing to train his students and, most importantly to him, taking care of you.

You’re capable of taking care of yourself of course even without Miriko, and he knows that too, but you wouldn’t dare turn down his kindness. In the dead of night when you’re at your most vulnerable, it’s him that brings you back to earth and calms the mighty storm raging in your brain.

This is one of those many nights. Not the first, and doomed to not be the last, either.

You jolt awake when Taro hops on the bed, seeking your warmth. Letting out a breath, you try to relax with the pup between you and your boyfriend’s legs and the sorcerer’s arm draped over you. Yet sleep eludes you, and now that you’re awake, the still air grows increasingly loud, like a buzzing in your ears.

Even with the window open, the air is so quiet that it threatens to drive you mad. Pulling your knees to your chest as you curl up under the covers, you press your fingers into your temples. Anything to dull the feeling that drags at your chest and clutches at your throat.

You breathe as steadily as you can but your heart pounds and races until it’s in your ears. The pounding, the ringing, it’s all so much that you can’t handle it anymore.

Flipping the covers desperately off of yourself, you clutch at the wall as you race to the ensuite, shutting the door behind you and gripping the edge of the sink. You fumble with the tap, turning it on and focusing on the running water in an attempt to drown out the deafening noises plaguing you.

It’s not the first time Satoru’s woken up this way, with Taro accidentally pulling you from the gentle hands of rest and the covers flipped over him. The sound of running water tells him everything he needs to know as he gets to his feet, making his way around the bed and to the shut bathroom door.

He knocks on the door once, twice, three times, a rhythmic sound. The door cracks open like a ritual, something the two of you have grown accustomed to as he slips into the washroom and envelops you in his strong arms.

Your tired and distant expression examines him in the mirror. He’s just in black boxers and you’re in one of his T-shirts. It hangs off your body like a dress and you know the sight of you in his clothes drives him crazy in all the best ways.

Right now, no matter how much he adores the sight of you in his clothing, that’s not at the top of his mind.

Like clockwork, he knows just what to do to bring you back to earth. He kisses your cheek, parting from you to turn on the bath. The tap is louder than that of the sink as he runs his hand under it to check the temperature and you’re thankful for the way your brain seems to soothe as the water drowns the silence.

While you wait for the bath to fill, Satoru returns to your side, humming to you the first song that comes to mind. His choices vary wildly by the day, ranging from whatever pop hit he heard the second-years listening to earlier to a rock song he heard while passing Kusakabe’s office.

Today, his choice surprises you. You don’t recognize it in the slowed, mellow way he hums it gently in your ear as he slips his fingers deftly beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. He’s soft and slow as he slides his hands up your body and slips the shirt over your head. Every movement is understanding, passionate, and filled with love.

No matter how tired he is, Satoru doesn’t blame you for waking him night after night. He doesn’t blame you for the amount of bath salts you go through. Which is a lot, by the way.

He doesn’t blame you for grieving. He had expected it to be similar to when you had awoken to the loss of Kento, but your grief came in a different form this time around. He knows it drives you crazy and he knows you feel guilty. You’ve expressed to him how weak you feel, although with his new insight into real strength, he would call you the strongest.

Carefully setting your shirt aside, he holds your cheeks as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. His eyes have dark circles beneath them, something that not even his reverse cursed technique can fix, but he doesn’t mind. Not when he’s doing it for you.

When the bath is drawn, he leans down and fills it with lavender bath salts, a sleep aid for the both of you. He drops his boxers to the floor after testing the water once more and silently guides you to the bath. He lets you get in first before sliding in behind you.

Strong arms pull your back against his chest. Your head falls back on his shoulder as he continues to hum a tune you still don’t recognize.

Taking a deep breath, you let your muscles relax in his embrace with warm water surrounding you, lashes fluttering as you stare at the ceiling.

“What song is that?” You ask him when your heart calms enough that you feel at ease for the time being. Your voice is hoarse, scarcely used for the past few hours and you clear your throat.

“It’s that Avicii song I really like,” he tells you. You tilt your head on his shoulder to get a better view of his face. His eyes are closed, but he still takes the opportunity to give you a little headbutt. He feels you smile against his cheek.

“The one that says ‘I could not live without you’, right?”

“That’s the one, baby cakes.”

You smile softly, shutting your eyes in turn as he continues to hum. His voice is always so sultry and you love the way it translates into his humming or even the way he loves to sing with goofy voices.

“Toru, I’m so-”

“Don’t even think about it, pretty girl,” he interrupts. “Don’t apologize for grieving.”

“I just feel bad for,” you gesture in the air at nothing in particular, “all of this.”

“You feel bad for giving me the time to have a nice bath with my gorgeous, wonderful, sweet, pretty baby girl?”

You can feel the way his lips pull into a grin against your heated cheeks when you can’t hold back a giggle.

Satoru can be… oblivious at times. For someone known across the world of sorcerers as the Six Eyes, he can be completely blind to very obvious signals from yourself and others. The same can’t be said when it comes to his attentiveness towards you.

While he may not always pick up on the obvious, he knows the subtle signals of your body like the back of his hand.

He knows the way your brow pulls together, knit with a look of pain and frustration when the silence gets to you. He knows the way your muscles loosen and your eyes light up when he drones on about some story that’s barely interesting, but you’re just relieved to hear something to ease your tension.

More importantly, he knows the way your body reacts to his every touch. He knows the subtle way you grind against him when you want something more. When you want a different form of stress relief.

He groans, hands moving to your hips to temporarily halt your grinding. “Are you sure, sweetheart? How’s your head feeling?”

“My head’s fine, just let me ride you,” you whisper breathlessly in his ear as he allows you to continue grinding against him. “I need this.”

Satoru’s head falls back against the wall of the tub, letting out a breath shaky with pleasure. He only lets you grind against him for a few moments before he turns the tables to put your pleasure first.

One arm snakes around your middle, holding you tightly against his broad and muscular chest. You can feel the way his breathing speeds up with his growing lust as it fans against your shoulders.

His other arm slides down your waist to your hip, before he squeezes a handful of your inner thigh. Your breath hitches when you feel his fingers lightly brush the puffy lips of your pussy. He kisses the shell of your ear lightly, repeating the movement.

You buck your hips, yearning for friction but he holds you tighter, keeping your hips still while he teases you with the tips of his fingers. You whine, gripping the edge of the tub as you wriggle against his grip.

Satoru’s warm and teasing chuckle sends a shiver up your spine. “Easy, baby. Le’me take care of you,” he hums, his voice low and honeyed like a sickeningly sweet tea. The effect his voice has on you drives you crazy as you moan his name from just his words.

“S-Satoru, please.”

His name on your tongue is like a drug that he can’t get enough of, a drug that sends him spiraling as he spreads your folds, desperate to hear it again. He drags his middle finger down your slit before sliding it into your entrance.

Your lips part in a silent cry of pleasure at the sudden intrusion, his finger dragging so deliciously and teasingly slowly that you arch your back until he sinks to the knuckle. He hums into your neck, kissing and nipping the sensitive skin.

His ministrations against your gummy inner walls are so slow that you can’t help the desperate whine you let out. Satoru takes that as his sign, gliding his ring finger in along with his middle finger. A sudden gasp cuts off your whine as your walls pulse and tighten, slowly adjusting to the additional digit.

“So tight, my love. Relax f’ me,” he hums against your skin, licking a stripe up the column of your neck. He pulls back to watch the way your jaw hangs slack, practically drooling with each slow curl of his fingers.

As he curls and shifts his fingers slowly, he knows he’s found your g spot when you cry out and arch your back so perfectly for him to drag his fingers at the perfect angle in your sopping cunt that you think you might just cum on the spot.

The coil in your stomach tightens as you teeter on the edge of release, only for Satoru to withdraw his fingers with a dark chuckle. “Not yet, my love.”

You let out a surprised yelp when he flips you to face him, your glazed over eyes and blissed out expression like a damn masterpiece in a museum to him. Your hands rest on his shoulders as you grind hard against his rock-hard, twitching cock in an effort to chase your release.

His breath hitches in his throat, his hands finding your hips to still your movements. “Shit baby,” he groans, exhaling as his cock twitches again. He has to remind himself that these moments in the early morning he always wants to focus on you, make them all about you. Your comfort, your pleasure.

He’ll chase his release through yours.

“Toru, please,” you whimper, having been so close to your release only moments ago.

“Patience, sweetheart,” he smiles cheekily, raising a hand to the back of your neck to pull you down for a heated kiss. You know from the sloppy way he claims your lips that he’s just as desperate as you are, and you use the moment to your advantage as his grip on your hips loosens and you’re able to grind your pussy against his hardened member.

He moans into your mouth, his hips bucking involuntarily.

“Tsk. What’d I say, baby? Patience,” he hums in your ear, tightening his grip on your hip again as he brings his other hand down to your clit, circling it slowly and teasingly. You throw your head back, writhing desperately as your nails dig into his shoulders, raking his collar bones.

“S-S’toru,” you mumble, your words catching in your throat. His cock throbs against your pussy, pulling another whimper from your pretty lips. “Please- f-fuck- le’me ride you,” you barely make it through the sentence, holding his shoulders tight for purchase.

“Ngh, you- hah- make a good argument,” Satoru barely manages to tie his sentence together, unable to resist the way your swollen lips seem to pull him in, the way you beg for him. “You sure, baby? We don’t have a condom-”

“Baby,” you groan, nails raking his skin when the tip of his cock brushes your clit as he moves his hand to grip both hips bruisingly. Your knees press together on either side of Satoru, closing around him as you seek friction and it drives Satoru crazy, he’s never able to hold back, to resist you, when you make it clear what you want. “I’m on birth control, just-”

Satoru gets the message loud and clear, wasting no time as he pumps his cock a couple of times before lining it up with your entrance. “S’ fucking hot, ah-” his mind blanks when you move to slide down on his cock, tightly gripping at his shoulders. “Shiiiiit- So fucking hot.”

The drag of his throbbing length in your tight walls pulls a gasp from you as you take him in one slow movement, swallowing every thick inch of him. Your body shudders involuntarily when you reach the hilt, chest heaving as you both stare at one another through lidded, lust-filled eyes.

God, the feeling of the pulsing veins running along your walls raw as they clench around him already, it’s a layer of pleasure that makes tears prick in your eyes, the feeling so intense. You almost think you could unwind right then and there.

“S’ fuckin’ gorgeous riding me,” Satoru purrs, leaning his head back against the tub as he lifts your hips effortlessly with his built arms. The blues of his eyes are nearly invisible behind his blown pupils as he admires you, his gaze completely glazed over in pleasure, swirling with admiration and lust.

He’s slow and sensual, not moving with his usual zeal. He lifts your hips again, a deep moan parting his lips when your nails rake over his shoulders and collarbone as you slide back down on his length.

His grip on your hips grows stronger, more bruising, as it takes every last ounce of self control that he has to keep the pace slow, to focus on your comfort, your pleasure. He lets out a shaky breath, his baby blues flickering up to your blissed out expression as he leans forward, pressing tender kisses to your chest as he rolls his hips.

A breathy moan parts your lips when he sucks on your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened bud before nipping the skin. His eyes never once leave your expression, drinking in the way you gasp, the way your fingernails curl into his skin. He hisses through his teeth, releasing your nipple at the sudden sting of your long nails, but wastes no time paying attention to the other bundle of nerves.

The stimulation of your chest has you growing more needy as you take it upon yourself to move your hips faster. Satoru’s lips stutter against you as he loses his ability to hold back at the feeling of your walls clenching around him with each movement of your hips.

“Fuck, p-pretty girl,” he growls against your tit, nipping fervently at the plump skin. His strong grip stills your hips, smirking when you whine at the lack of friction.

In one quick movement, he fucks up into you, thrusting his full length into you until his swollen tip reaches your cervix as he so skillfully brushes your most sensitive spot with each thrust. “Ah! S-Shit-” Your mewls become mindless babbles very quickly, brain turning to putty as Satoru moves one hand from your hip to rub little circles over your clit with his thumb.

He pumps into you fast and relentlessly, moving his hips at an unforgiving rate as he chases your- and his- orgasms. The sounds of the warm water that surrounds you fills the air with rhythmic sloshes like music for the moans that leave your lips.

Pressure builds in your pelvis as the knot at the base of your stomach tightens. When your thighs press into Satoru’s hips, he knows you’re close. “T-Toru-”

“I know baby. Tha’s it, sweetheart,” his voice is strained as his own orgasm rapidly approaches. “Let go f’r me,” he hums sweetly, still focusing on walking you through your orgasm.

Your legs tremble as your climax barrels into you, pulling a loud cry from deep in your throat as you cling to your boyfriend’s shoulders for purchase, collapsing against him as he fucks you through the high. Your chest heaves, sweat-slicked as it sticks to Satoru’s wet skin beneath you.

He holds your hips still as his pace increases. “Where d’ you want me?” He asks breathlessly.

“Inside,” you whisper into his ear, entirely too exhausted to even lift your head.

Like music to his ears, Satoru’s climax hits like a tsunami as he unloads into you, painting your walls with his cum. He keeps you still as your walls clench around him, milking every last drop from his leaking slit while his cock throbs within you.

Slowly, he releases your hips and allows your body to slump forward against him. His breath hitches when your walls clench again with the movement, brushing his oversensitive length.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers into your ear, holding you tightly to him. Your eyes remain shut as you bury your head into his shoulder, slowly coming down from your high.

When the white-haired man beneath you begins to regain some energy, he runs the soft pads of his fingers gently over your bare back. The sound of the droplets of water falling from his hand soothes the silence, keeping your mind occupied.

You’ve come to know that Satoru isn’t necessarily tender, he doesn’t always know what you need, but he’s willing to learn. He wants nothing more than for you to be happy. You reciprocate those feelings but he insists that he is happy, simply because you accept him as himself. You understand him.

You see him for who he is.

Your communication isn’t perfect still, but you’ve both gotten better at it.

“I love you, Toru.”

His heart accelerates rapidly in his chest, you feel it as you lay against him with heavy limbs. Smirking, you kiss his shoulder as your heart speeds up in tandem with his.

“I love you too, my princess.”

It doesn’t matter how many times either of you utter those three loaded words, they never lose their meaning. They never fail to make your heart falter in your chest while your stomach flutters.

Satoru hums contently, squeezing you once before he pulls you off his cock, swallowing hard at the feeling of your walls attempting to hold him hostage.

“What do you say we get you all cleaned up?”

You pull back to look at Satoru, nodding with a blissful smile. You both help one another up as Satoru drains the tub and turns on the shower.

You rarely get moments with him where he isn’t a ping pong ball of energy or cracking jokes and flirting left and right, but these early mornings have become somewhat of a common occurrence lately. You do feel bad that he’s losing sleep, but you also cherish these moments. Away from work, away from your doubts and your anxieties, just you and him.

Of course, he panicked the first time he woke up to find you holding your head. He didn’t know what to do, how to help. He knows you’re strong, knows you're capable, but he still fears losing you. You already nearly died twice, so even so much as a headache seems to find him in a panic.

Eventually, you found the middle ground. You told him what was going on and what you needed. Satoru fell into the routine quickly and no words could possibly be enough to thank him properly.

“Turn around,” he instructs softly, pulling you from your thoughts. He lathers your back with soap, sweetly kissing your nape as he does so. You rinse off and return the favor, running your hands over the peaks and valleys of his abs.

A small smile graces your tired expression, one that Satoru regards fondly.

“Enjoying the view?” He teases, that familiar lopsided smirk returning to his lips.

“If I am?” You respond cheekily.

He playfully squeezes your waist.

“Toru!” You yelp in surprise, “that tickles!”

Your pout doesn’t stop him from grinning, pleased with himself. “Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.” His voice is low and sends electricity straight to your stomach that you choose to ignore as your legs still shake from the sex just a few minutes earlier.

You both finish rinsing off and shut off the shower. When the hum of the shower stops, Satoru mindlessly hums a tune, never once forgetting the reason you’d awoken in the first place. He tosses you a towel and grabs one for himself.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Satoru wraps a towel around himself, his humming coming to a halt as he stares at you.

“What’s up?” You ask curiously, tilting your head.

His smirk turns to a grin as he violently shakes his head like a dog, sending water flying across the bathroom.

“Satoru! Cut it out!”

He laughs wholeheartedly when you’re unable to contain your own giggles, unable to keep a straight face even as you reprimand him.

Using the back of your hand, you wipe the stray droplets from your cheek. “You’re such a menace,” you grumble, but your eyes shine with adoration even so.

“You love me,” he slips his hands beneath your towel, fingertips brushing your hips before he pulls you closer to him. His grin never once falters as he watches the way you try to contain your smile, but it spills over. “See? You looooove me,” he teases.

“Shut up, Toru,” you push half-heartedly against him, hiding your blush in his chest as you nuzzle into him when he doesn’t dare let you go. He envelops you in his strong arms, peppering the top of your head in kisses.

“Say it,” he kisses you again. “Say it,” and again. “Say-”

“Okay, okay!” You giggle, finally looking up at those eager blue eyes you’ve grown to love so much. “I love you, Satoru.”

“That’s my girl,” he smiles affectionately.

You lead the way out of the washroom, slipping one of Satoru’s shirts over your torso before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Not tired?”

Your brow knits with guilt as you look up at him. “Not really.”

He nods, sitting beside you. “I thought I had ya all tired out,” he chuckles.

Early morning light filters through the blinds from the window above the bed. A cool breeze brings with it the smell of fresh frost settling on the grass through the crack of the window. You shiver as it grazes your bare skin. 

“You know,” the white-haired sorcerer hums, “I have something for you. It’s… not quite ready but-” he pauses, glancing at the window. “Y’know what, get dressed.”

You tilt your head at him, curious. “What is it?”

“Get dressed or you won’t find out.”

Exchanging Satoru’s shirt for one of your own, you throw on a pair of jeans and a jacket, following your boyfriend to the door. Before he can open it, you suddenly gasp.

“Wait!”

Before Satoru can protest, you dash back up the stairs, searching for his glasses or blindfold. When you don’t find either, you grab the bandages you know he wore long ago, bounding back down the stairs.

It’s his turn to tilt his head curiously now, understanding when he sees what’s in your hand.

“It’s not a big deal, love, I’ll survive without it,” he assures you, but he still kneels to let you wrap it around his head.

“I know, but I want you to be comfy.” You brush his hair from his face as he lets you delicately wrap the bandages over his eyes. You can’t see the way his eyes close as he practically melts into your touch, his muscles easing beneath your oh-so-gentle fingers. You adjust the bandages over his eyes, leaning back to take a look at your work.

With a satisfied nod, you press a chaste kiss to his lips and head back to the door. Satoru pauses for a moment before following you, his hidden gaze locked on you. He knows you can’t see the love pouring from his eyes behind the bandages, but he does know you’ve grown to be able to read his expressions effortlessly in spite of the covering. When you turn to see why he isn’t following, you demonstrate that exact ability when you spot his smile and your gaze fills with the same outpouring of love that Satoru’s has.

You can’t see it, but you know.

Hand in hand, Satoru leads the way past the forest clearing, further into the trees on the outer edges of the school’s barrier. You lean into his warmth as the trees block the early morning rising sun from warming you.

Peeking through the trees, you spot a structure but can’t quite make out what it is. Ducking beneath a stray branch, Satoru picks up the pace and tugs you along with him until the structure is in sight.

Before you, a greenhouse stands in a small clearing. The door has no hinges and there’s tools and tables everywhere surrounding it, clearly unfinished.

Gaping at the structure, you round the front of the building, your stomach fluttering as you see four flower beds all protected from the cool winter air. Satoru lifts the door out of the way before replacing it as he nudges you into the greenhouse.

Each flower bed has a collection of flowers you’ve shown your boyfriend over the past few months and alongside the two blooms that follow you everywhere are blossoms that mean nothing but love. Roses, tulips, carnations, each one carefully chosen to wordlessly show his adoration for you, as if the act of building you an entire greenhouse wasn’t enough. Every single petal practically oozes with his undying love for you. Even the flowers that are wilting from overwatering show just how hard he’s trying.

The butterflies in your stomach stir to life as you turn to face him, stunned to silence.

“Do you like it?”

You can barely manage to squeeze out a single word as you glance back at the flowers again. “Toru- I-” Your throat clenches as you try to hold back tears, cutting off your words in the process. Silent tears stream down your cheeks, unable to hold them back as you stare in shock again at the sight.

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t cry. What’s wrong?” He panics with wide eyes, cupping your cheeks as he wipes the tears away.

“Nothing, baby,” you sniffle, chuckling as you wrestle with your disbelief. “I just- you made this? You built this?” Your voice is smaller than you intend, shakier than you intend.

“Yeah! Well, sorta. I can’t take all the credit, I’m not very good at building. Or taking care of flowers for that matter,” he chuckles, glancing at the wilting flower beds, “Kusakabe helped to build it. It just needs hinges for the door.”

“I don’t know what to say,” you shake your head in his grasp, chuckling again. You had noticed that Satoru had been disappearing on occasion throughout the day, though you had always assumed it was work-related, not that he was being a massive goddamn sap. “Thank you so much,” your words come out unintentionally as a whimper, another tear slipping down your cheek.

Your boyfriend’s thumb wipes the tear away and he kisses your nose. “Don’t cry, sweetheart,” he kisses your forehead gently. “I know you’ve been a bit lost lately without your technique and I don’t want you to feel like you need to be a part of-” he lets go of your cheeks, motioning to the school grounds behind you both, “-of all that, but I know you won’t go back to your cottage without me.”

You nod slowly, blinking as you take everything in.

“You know I can’t leave the school. So-” he inhales sharply. “I wanted to do something. For you.”

Your lower lip trembles, unable to tear your gaze from him.

Somehow, this man always finds a way to surprise you. Life hadn’t been easy since Miriko’s loss. Between the silence, the grief, and the loss of your ability to grow plants on a whim, you’d been feeling rather lost. Of course, it’s not like you couldn’t take care of plants the usual way, but losing something you could do after ten years had its effect on you, especially given that you didn’t have a greenhouse at the time and winter was approaching, killing your summer flowers in the process.

In the span of one day, you’d buried a past lover, lost a friend, lost your passion and hobby, lost your job, and damn near had to bury your current lover. How were you not meant to feel lost?

“I know it’s not super big or fancy, or-”

“It’s perfect, Satoru,” you interrupt him, glossy eyes shining as you pull him down to you for a kiss. Your lips move passionately against his, trying to say everything words failed to. His hands find your waist and he pulls you flush to his body, holding you tightly to him. When your lips part, you finally get a good look at the garden before you. “You’re overwatering them, my love.”

He groans playfully. “How can you overwater something in the ground? What would they do if it rained too much?”

You giggle, lowering yourself to the ground to admire his work. Many of the flowers are wilting, there’s patches throughout each bed of flowers and it’s rather uneven, however it’s clear that he paid attention whenever you spoke to him about flowers. Lilies and Peonies sit at the edge of the closest bed of flowers just as you always have them, followed closely by hydrangeas, your favorites.

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you-”

“Y/n.” Satoru’s tone is firm as he tilts his head to look down at you. “My kids are alive because of you.” It’s rare he refers to them as his kids, but it warms your heart nonetheless. “Sukuna never got a hold of Megumi and Yuji is free from him, because of you.”

“But I’m alive because of you,” you insist.

He shakes his head, averting his gaze. “You know you were better off before I…” He trails off, not wishing to bring up how you ended up here in the first place.

“I love you, Toru. I don’t hold that against you.”

He grimaces, his adam’s apple bobbing as he sighs and plops down beside you. “I love you too.”

You know the guilt keeps him up from time to time. You’re sure it’s a part of the reason he seems to work overtime to impress you as though your heart isn’t already his to hold. It almost surprises you the tenderness at which he does hold your heart.

“Did you plant these all yourself?”

Tension seems to seep from his body as the air lightens around you and he details his endeavors with the garden until the sun has risen just above the trees. Although there’s still a pang of sadness that you aren’t able to use your technique on the flowers, you know you’ll get over it with time.

Eventually, his non-stop chatter begins to die down as he grows more weary from waking up so early with you and he pulls you into his lap while you tend to the garden. His chin rests on your shoulder as his strong arms hold you tightly.

His breathing gradually evens out and you’re positive he’s asleep until he whispers something in your ear.

“Let’s take a vacation.”

You jolt in surprise at the sound of his groggy voice, setting your shovel down. “Shouldn’t we stay here with Yuji and Megs?”

“They’re fine. We haven’t had issues with Sukuna gone. They have Kusakabe and Choso.”

You nod slowly. He’s right, a strong curse hasn’t been seen in a while.

“You can get on a plane now, right?”

“Yeah, I-” you hesitate, “-I guess I can.”

“It’s settled, then.”

“Is it?” You chuckle, given that none of the details have been discussed.

“It’s settled,” he yawns, weary body slumping onto yours again as he returns to his world of napping. You blink at him in surprise as he passes out on top of you, nearly toppling you over. You can’t bring yourself to move though, he looks too peaceful passed out on top of you.

A trip, huh? You can’t help but wonder where he has in mind.

–

A light layer of snow coats the ground beneath your boots, gleaming in the evening sunset light. The glimmer of the flakes that slowly fall before you is mesmerizing as you let Satoru lead the way through the Akureyri Gardens.

He seems to always find ways to surprise you, including when he had decided you would go on a vacation. You hadn’t expected him to choose Iceland in the middle of winter, but who were you to decline when he’d already booked everything?

It’s chillier than you’re used to, but it’s a good excuse to cozy up to your boyfriend and enjoy his body heat through the chilly nights. He’d booked a beautiful AirBnB isolated in the wilderness with beautiful glass panel ceilings to stare at the moon and stars before you slept each night.

Somehow, he never fails to find new ways to make you stumble over words as butterflies flap in your stomach.

He pulls you over a bridge, not missing the way your eyes sparkle as you glance down at the flowing river beneath you. It’s not cold enough yet for it to have frozen, and some small winter flowers still peek through the layer of snow that threatens their lives on the river bank.

He chuckles, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as you kneel down to admire the flowers.

“These are Lupine!” You smile at him over your shoulder, tips of your fingers gently sliding along the greenery. It has yet to bloom and though you long to see the beautiful purple flowers, you figure that gives you an excuse to come back someday. “They’ll be purple when they bloom.”

Satoru smiles wholeheartedly at you, the blues of his eyes filled with a gentle tranquility from behind his sunglasses. You return the smile, taking the hand he outstretches to pull you back up. He kisses your forehead languidly, clearly enjoying taking time off for what you can only imagine is the first time in his life. He moves slowly, with little regard for the world as the reality is that it’s just the two of you.

For the first time ever, it’s just you and him.

At least, he thinks so. With his arms wrapped around you in an embrace, enjoying the simple serenity of the Icelandic landscape, you don’t see the way his eyes flicker open. Over your head, something catches his eye as he stares down at the spot you were just sitting in.

Purple flowers sway in the breeze, in full bloom and Satoru second-guesses himself. Hadn’t you mentioned that they would be purple when they bloom? But that would have to mean they hadn’t yet bloomed, so why…? His brow furrows, deep in thought, before he comes to the conclusion he must have misheard you, because the other possibility…

No. He misheard you. That couldn’t be possible, not after all this time.

Brushing off the thought, he pulls back and smiles down at you, glancing at the setting sun and deciding the two of you need to keep moving.

“C’mon,” he tugs you gently along with him. It takes you only a moment to fall into step with him. “We’re almost there.”

“We’re going somewhere?” You had honestly assumed that, much like every other place the two of you had visited, you would just wander until one of you got hungry, but it seemed Satoru had other plans.

He hums affirmatively, rounding a small hill and hopping up a set of rocks, letting you use his hand as leverage to hop up. He repeats the action two more times until you’re standing before a small bench overlooking the entire garden.

A small gasp parts your lips. The view is absolutely breathtaking and as the last bit of light glimmers over the thin layer of snow on the ground below, the smile that plays on your lips is inevitable.

“It’s beautiful,” you mumble, pulling Satoru along beside you to take a seat on the bench.

He hums as he pulls you into his lap, enveloping you in his muscular arms. “You’re beautiful,” he mumbles cheesily in your ear, not an ounce of tension or worry to be found in the man’s bones as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

Your cheeks burn as you shoot him a sheepish smile. “You’re cheesy,” you giggle.

“Maybe,” he agrees, a dorky grin crossing his features. He doesn’t care how cheesy it is, he’ll spend every minute of every day telling you so if it means he can spend each of those minutes with you.

“Why were you in such a rush to get here?” You question, tilting your head to get a better look at the sorcerer. With a gray beanie adorning his snowy white hair, he has a sort of boyish charm to him that’s horribly endearing.

“So impatient,” he grouses playfully as he pokes your side. You yelp in surprise, wriggling in his hold in an attempt to return the favor but Satoru holds you too tightly. You pout at him when he grins victoriously. “Was worried we’d miss somethin’.”

You’re not quite sure what he means by that, but he’s clearly dead set on keeping the surprise exactly that- a surprise.

He hums softly in your ear, filling the silent air as he stares out over the garden with you. The silence gets more bearable with each day, but you’ve grown rather fond of his humming.

You’re not sure how long you sit together like that when suddenly, it happens.

You’re not sure why you didn’t connect the dots, but the conversation you’d had with him about vacations was so long ago you could barely remember. There was a reason, after all, that you had mentioned wanting to visit Iceland. A reason that Satoru had clearly held near and dear to his heart as he excitedly grins beside you, his arms tightening excitedly around your middle.

The sky becomes alight, very subtly at first, with gentle blue and green hues that fluoresce into purples and bright, brilliant blues like those of Gojo’s eyes.

Your eyes widen in awe, jaw slack as you watch in wonder as the sky dances before you.

“You chose Iceland in the dead of winter for this, didn’t you?”

Just like when he showed you the greenhouse, you want to cry. You feel the tears prick at the corners of your eyes and you find yourself giggling happily in an effort to dissuade your watery eyes.

“You said it was your dream!” Your boyfriend insists, his eyes glimmering as they reflect the beautiful hues soaring through the sky.

“I did, I just- I didn’t-” You shake your head, wiping the tears from your eyes as you chuckle again. “I don’t know what to say.” Your voice is small as you stare up at the aurora that paints the sky colors you could only have dreamed. “This is a dream come true.”

You can feel Satoru’s cheerful grin against your cheek when he nuzzles into you. “My pretty girl at a loss for words again? I’m on a hot streak,” he teases. Twice now since the green house, he’s pretty proud of himself for that.

“You’re such a dork,” you grumble, your cheeks alight with heat, but your heart pounds in your chest. He never fails to find new ways to make you tumble and fall head over heels further in love with him, if that’s even possible. “What’s your dream, Toru?”

He kisses your cheek. “I’m living my dream.”

“C’mon,” you roll your eyes playfully.

To your surprise, his simpering demeanor sobers. “I’m serious. You know how I was raised.” His brow furrows slightly. “I never thought I would have the chance to do something like this.” His irises seem to swirl like galaxies under the vivid lights as he turns you slightly in his lap to meet your gaze. “This is all I could ever want.”

Your lips part again and you lean in, kissing him unhurriedly, embracing the languid nature of your vacation. After all, you have a lifetime of moments like these to enjoy with him. It’s all so domestic, so sugary sweet it threatens a cavity.

“I think I’d choose a beach next time, though.”

You smile against his lips.

“It’s cold and I have Infinity off so it’s also snowy.”

You giggle now against his lips. He follows suit, his chest rumbling.

“A beach it is.”

He leans in again, savoring the taste of your tongue when he swipes at your lower lip. You grant him access, enjoying the taste of the tea you’d had earlier lingering on him.

You suppose now that you have the opportunity to travel and take vacations, not to mention Satoru’s seemingly limitless sorcery money, you’ll have to tighten up your bucket list given you’ve now crossed off the only real thing of substance on it.

You already know the first item, anyway. A warm beach, somewhere sunny and tropical, with your boyfriend (shirtless, of course) dripping wet from spending time in the ocean.

Yeah, that sure sounds like a dream.

You hold back a giggle at the thought, smiling against Satoru’s lips.

“What’s up, love?” He tilts his head slightly as he catches the action, his eyes flickering open to give you a lidded stare.

“Thank you, for everything, Toru.”

“Mmm, I should be thanking you,” he hums, his eyes flashing a glorious green from the vibrant lights above.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || end ✓

a/n || WOW if you're reading this THANK YOU for reading my whole fic, it's been such a fun experience to not only write a completed fic but also to get to share it with all of you (who have been so kind and lovely, btw) and each and every single one of your comments make me SO happy ♡ i'm not even really sure what to say aside from thank you so much for reading and know that my inbox is always open, i love chatting with y'all

on that note i do wanna give a shoutout to all of the lovely people who have sent me some love whether that be via my asks, comments, or reblogs, know that i love you all and it means the world. shoutout as well to 🌻 anon, you are such a gem ♡

i have quite a few other long oneshots and short series planned, as well as some drabbles and a rockstar!gojo longfic so it'd mean the world if you gave me a follow and stuck around for those as well ♡ i've also got a very cute (in my humble opinion) sukuna oneshot that i'd love if you checked out if that interests you, link in my masterlist.

ANYWAY thank you and ily all ♡