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randomshyperson · 8 months

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I Put A Spell on You - Wanda Maximoff Kinktober #03

Summary: After a tense week and a training session, Wanda finally had enough of your attitude.

Warnings: (+18), heavy smut with power dynamics, brat tamer!Wanda and sub!Reader, edging, orgasm denial, slapping, a lot of teasing, blindfold and magical restrictions, enchanted strap, kind of rough, implied enemies to lovers, some cursing | Words: 3.559k

A/N-> This is almost late. I totally forgot I had to post the stories.

General Masterlist | Kinktober Collection | AO3 | Wattpad

-&-

It was Natasha's idea, or at least it was a Black Widow kind of thing.

Most of what Wanda knew about it came from Steve's official report on the training, and the rest of the story came from Sam gossiping around the tower.

But in a nutshell: You had your vision temporarily impaired on the last mission, you were knocked out by it and it almost fucked everything up. Wanda would have thought that this was all it took to diminish your ego a bit, but instead, you and Nat had a weird widow's agreement about eliminating weaknesses or whatever, and this was adapted to your training.

The whole story was the reason you were training with a blindfold on.

And don't let Natasha hear this, but you were an impressive fighter, even more than the older widow. Somehow you were more agile and stronger than Nat, and it was the kind of thing that made Clint remark worriedly about how much harder your widow training could have been and secretly made Wanda's heart beat faster.

But back to the point: Wanda shared very few training shifts with you. Steve and Nat found peaceful interaction between team members advantageous, so as you didn't get on so well, she had fewer training sessions in your company.

Well, that changed because you seemed determined to prove that you could block blows without seeing them.

"Wow, you're still here." It came out more ironic than she wanted, but Wanda was actually almost impressed. It had been nearly a month since the whole thing had started, and this training was coming after a particularly exhausting mission. She was just going for a quick session - so that the muscles wouldn't lose habit as Steve liked to say - when she found you in the empty tower gym.

The eyes covered by a black cloth were an almost comical sight, or at least, Wanda assumed that finding it funny was what she was feeling, every time she saw your serious and concentrated form, sweating in the gym.

"Good evening, Wanda." You greeted her without looking at her, your head down. You were listening to her movement she assumed.

Wanda muttered the greeting back, busy leaving her belongings on the bench and looking for a treadmill. But you cleared your throat. "Don't you want a real challenge?"

She chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Oh, and that would be you, of course."

You smile, your hands behind your body. Wanda thinks she likes the blindfold, it allows her to stare you brazenly, without you even knowing.

"I'm a legendary fighter, yes."

She has to laugh at how naturally you say that. She takes a quick look at the treadmill, and well, smashing your ass really does sound more interesting.

"Okay, real challenge, show me what you've got."

Wanda positions herself on the opposite side of the mat from you, and clears her throat when you remain static.

" Won't you take your shoes off?"

She grimaces softly. Yeah, your hearing was starting to impress. Sighing begrudgingly, she uses magic to make the shoes come off and float away, and before she even has a chance to speak, you do.

"No magic tricks." It sounds like a serious warning, rather than a request, and Wanda doesn't miss a chance to torment you.

"Oh, is that too much for a legendary fighter?" She mocks, but all she gets back is an easy chuckle that she isn't able to reciprocate because you adjust your training gloves and the movement is distracting enough.

After a moment, you get into position. "I'm ready."

"At last." She scoffs, stepping forward.

Ultimately, she's impressed. And she almost begins to believe that maybe the cloth is fake - there's no chance that you can dodge absolutely all the blows she's so exhaustively learned with such ease.

It doesn't take long for Wanda to start getting impatient, and for you to start smiling at her, in that smug way that makes her skin itch.

She makes a mistake, and it's enough for you to knock her to the ground.

"Again." You say, standing next to her, equally out of breath but without a scratch. Wanda huffs.

"How the fuck are you doing this?" She asks, getting to her feet with a magical push. You swallow dry, taking a step back, very alert.

"Practice, of course." You mutter. "Are you ready to continue?"

But Wanda narrows her eyes, her head tilting slightly at your sudden alertness. She decides to test a theory, and red sparks appear in the air near your head.

The leap you make in the other direction makes her giggle playfully.

"Something wrong, darling?"

You grumble, raising a hand in warning, irritably hitting exactly the right spot to point it at her. "Stop this. I told you, no magic."

But Wanda is tired, and she's feeling naughty tonight. Something about your vulnerability makes her body heat up.

She chuckles darkly, taking steps away that only make you swallow dry. "Someone's scared." She sighs, and the sparks appear again. You gasp, clearly anxious and not knowing where to strike.

It's Wanda's fault, there are too many of those and magic is much harder to defend against.

She chuckles at your state, and you snap back almost immediately."That's not funny, Maximoff."

A magical tug pushes under your knee, behind your elbows, near your foot. Everything makes you jump with fright and sends Wanda into a fit of giggles.

"You're not so cocky when you're scared."

In a desperate attempt, you try to attack the magic, which only disappears into thin air against your skin. Wanda just stands back, watching the scene with amusement.

With an impatient grunt, you raise a finger at her. "Stop this shit, I'm warning you-"

"Don't be rude, darling. I like you best when you're polite." Wanda interrupts, and your exclamation of indignation turns into a grunt of pain when a magical tug forces you to your knees on the mat.

"What the hell?" You gasp, raising your hand to remove the blindfold.

But the sensation that follows is like ropes grabbing your wrists and pinning your fists behind your back. Your heart is racing at the same moment. "Wanda, what the actual fuck you're doing?"

Although you can't see her, you hear her very well. Her slow steps towards you, until she makes you jump gently when she touches your cheek. You swallow dry. "Stop this bullshit, Wanda, I'm serious."

She pushes her tongue into the roof of her mouth, a clicking sound that makes you swallow dry again. Her fingers caress your cheek, and the lack of visibility makes everything all too vivid.

"You have a very dirty mouth, kotenok (kitten)." She retorts in a tone that makes you shudder from head to toe. With a dry throat, you look up, even though you can't actually see her.

It must be a good thing for your sanity, though. God knows what you would have done if you could have seen the way Wanda's eyes darkened with hunger when she saw you on your knees, looking up at her.

Licking your lips, you say calmly: "Be very careful with your next action, Wanda. It will be definitive for our future interactions."

She bites back a smile, and her hand leaves your cheek for your hair, the motion in the strands at the nape of your neck drawing a stubborn sigh from your lips.

"See, it's much better when you're polite." She says softly, letting her fingers slide between the strands, stroking your hair gently. "That's how it goes. You behave nicely, and you're rewarded. Behave badly, and well..."

To illustrate, she moves her free fingers. You hear the magic before you feel it - right under your blouse, like a rough tug on your left nipple that makes you grunt in pain.

"Fuck, you little shit-" But swearing at her makes it worse. The sensation is repeated on the other nipple, not real enough to hurt the flesh, but enough to cause pain. And in the current scenario, on your knees and blindfolded, just the right amount for a wave of pleasure to wet your panties.

It takes you by surprise, so much so that instead of grunting in pain, you practically moan. And that makes Wanda smile, especially as she can see the blush rising on your face.

"You need to improve that attitude." She starts again, adjusting the grip on your hair to force your face in her direction again. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, certain that this time, you would have whimpered. "You've been acting like this for too long, you've gotten comfortable in your naughtiness. I can fix that."

"Wanda..."

"Shush, darling, now you don't talk. You listen. Isn't that what you were hoping to train yourself to do?" She teases, and the grip loosens. You don't have to obey, but you're desperate to do so.

With a lump in your throat, you nod and remain silent. And the next second, when the sound of a zipper fills the room, you grow restless and alert.

You're ready to question when Wanda sighs.

"Shit, honey, that's been working for me too." She panted and you were dying to understand what the hell she was talking about when, along with her shortened breaths, you heard a sound that shook your body to its core.

Was it really possible that Wanda Maximoff was fingering herself right in front of you?

"W-wanda-"

The slap isn't magical - nor is it weak. Your cheek burns, but Wanda grabs your face anyway.

"I told you to be quiet." She grunts, and in a way, the affected voice is confirmation enough of your suspicions. You can feel your underwear starting to feel uncomfortable with the dampness gathering. "You've talked a lot of shit since I joined the team, now you listen, you brat."

Not only do you hear it, but as the movements continue, you can smell it. Her sweet, intoxicating essence is enough to make you moan for the first time in the night.

Wanda let that one slide, because the sound is too good to punish you for it.

And because you've held still long enough for her fingers not to be enough anymore, she's decided that you deserve a reward.

"Open your mouth, darling, I've got a little treat for you." She sighs, and you obey almost immediately, even though your face is burning.

Wanda removes her fingers from inside herself, sighing softly as she does so. Unhurried, she presses them against your tongue and has to bite down hard on her own when you buckle forward, sucking on her fingers with enthusiasm.

"Look at you, who knew you were such an eager little thing?" She taunts, although the sensation of your tongue on her fingers is almost making her lose her train of thought. She can only imagine how deliciously warm you must feel elsewhere.

You just keep moaning, sucking all her wet pleasure from her fingerprints, and Wanda has to reach down and grab your hair once more to regain some of her sense of grounding.

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks again, but you don't seem to mind. "Did you like your treat, darling?"

You open your mouth to reply but hesitate before doing so. And Wanda smiles proudly when she realizes. "Oh, dear, you can speak if it's to answer my questions. Tell me how much you appreciated your treat."

Swallowing dryly, you lower your head. "I loved it, Wanda. And I would love to taste it from the source."

She bites back a giggle, using one hand to lift your chin. "You didn't even thank me."

"Th-"

The magic squeeze comes directly to your clit now. You let out a little yelp, but Wanda's hand doesn't let you lower your head.

"I didn't tell you to thank me. Rather, I was reprimanding you because good manners don't come to you naturally." She clarifies, and with tears of pain and pleasure in your covered eyes, you nod in understanding. Wanda sighs. "I'm going to make a good girl out of you, even if I have to keep you on edge all night for it."

The whimper that escapes your throat is humiliating, Wanda loves the sound.

The next sensation on your skin is that of a chain, wrapping itself around your neck.

"We need to continue this in a more private place, darling. Where no one will interrupt us." Wanda guides, and the chain gives a gentle tug, the hint caught just in time by you, who are on your feet almost immediately. Wanda bites back a smile. "Fuck, I could get used to this."

She manages to lead you quietly and obediently through the empty corridors, but your anxiety overcomes you at the door to her room.

You stop walking, gulping. Wanda smiles because you're waiting for permission to ask a question, even when you're dying to have it answered.

"It's my room." She clarifies, but you shake your head, signaling that it wasn't your doubt. She shouldn't be impressed that you've already become able to memorize the sound of the way to the rooms, but she is. Smiling, Wanda brings a hand up to your face again. "What do you wish to ask, darling?"

You sigh at the permission granted. "Are you... are you sure? About this..." Wanda is taken aback. Your hands are still bound, you're still blindfolded, at her mercy, and yet you're worried about how sure and comfortable she is. You take a deep breath as if trying to find the right words. "This is important, Wanda. We can't go back to how things were before if I come in. And if you're not sure, send me away, and I swear we won't talk about this again and-"

Wanda moves in, it's quick and less hungry than she thought your first kiss would be, considering recent events and frankly, the way she's been craving you.

Your lips are soft and kind of addictive. Your mouth kisses her with real confidence as if you've done it a dozen times, and Wanda has no idea how often you've done it in your dreams.

But reality is superior to any of those.

You grunt against her mouth, impatiently, and Wanda knows it's because of your trapped hands. But all she can do is smile mischievously, using hers to pull you by the shirt into the room.

The door is magically closed behind the two of you.

You're not surprised to be put on your knees again - even if a moan of protest escapes you. Wanda smiled, feeling a wave of excitement at your vulnerable anxiety, your eyes blindfolded and your head moving gently as if you expected to hear what she was up to.

Wanda bit her lip, working on her own clothes without magic, so that you could hear the motions. It brought a shiver to watch you squirm gently, swallowing dry as if you could picture her naked. And your pleading sigh, practically meowing her name, made Wanda lose her mind.

Now wearing only her underwear, she grabbed your face again and kissed you with everything she had - teeth and tongue - and swallowed every throaty moan until she needed to breathe again. When she pulled away, a line of saliva connected your lips.

"We need a system, darling..." She murmured, her fingers working to open the belt loop of your sweatpants. "You know the color one? Green for go, and red for stop?"

"Y-yes, Wanda, please, just keep going-" She interrupted with a kiss mixed with a giggle at your desperate response, the hands that had opened your pants helping you to the bed, laying you down. The magical chains had adapted, and your hands were attached to the headboard now, holding you open for Wanda. Your arousal grew so intense that Wanda could see your muscles twitching.

She sighed contentedly as she sat on your hips, watching your curious and expectant movements. Magic did the work of removing your pants, but Wanda was taking her time teasing your skin under your blouse, having the best time in the world watching you squirm and gasp.

"Tell me what you want."

You swallowed dryly, forcing your voice out: "Anything you want to give me."

Wanda bit back a giggle, her fingers tracing your torso. "Good answer, darling." She sighs, and in one tug, rips off your shirt. The remaining pieces are swept away as you try to keep your breathing under control. Wanda adjusts herself and sits on your stomach, her wetness and warmth against your skin making you wince. "I have an idea, you let me use you and I might consider letting you touch me, what do you think?"

"Fuck." You moan, and Wanda can't let that one slide, though the slap on your cheek is light, and much more of a teasing warning than a punishment. It makes you throb inside.

"Language." She warns, and you sigh.

"I'm sorry."

Wanda strokes the soft red on your cheek, leaning in in a way that makes her wetness slide down your abdomen. The involuntary contraction of your muscles draws a gasp from both of you.

"Behave yourself." She warns, and it seems to be as much about the language as your slight movements, and although you nod, you repeat the gesture. Wanda gasps and grips your cheeks tightly. But you force your body upwards, and her grip loosens as she begins to grind against your stomach, giving in to the sensation.

It brings some kind of pride to know that she's just as affected by this as you are, but even as she's drenching your skin with her hot pleasure, Wanda lowers herself to wrap her hands around your throat and as she uses your tense abdomen to reach her own orgasm, her grip warns you who's in charge. She doesn't take long to come - all the teasing outside has gotten under her skin - and it's the hottest thing that's ever occurred to you, even if you can't see it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She gasps through the last waves of her orgasm, her hips thrusting hard into you, who pants beneath her. Her juices run down your belly and you squirm impatiently.

"Please, Wanda. Let me touch you." You beg breathlessly, but she kisses you hungrily, her hands going down to your waist. At first, you think she's going to give you what you want, but Wanda gropes you in an unusual way, and you hear her magic before you feel a new volume between your legs. It takes you by surprise, the enchanted item and your tense body makes Wanda break the kiss.

With her forehead pressed against yours, she asks: "Red or green, darling?" As if to encourage an answer, Wanda grabs the conjured fake cock in her hand. It's really enchanted because you feel everything and the pleasure of the moment's stimulation brings a gasp. You move your hips, in the same direction as her without realizing what you're doing, and Wanda giggles. "I still need words."

"Fuck, green, yes." You moan and Wanda gives you a warning bite on the lips for cursing, but your head is spinning with pleasure from the movements that continue between the two of you.

Toys are nothing new - but a magic strap-on that you can feel as an extension of you certainly is. And Wanda seems willing to drive you to the brink of insanity when she simply adjusts the toy at her entrance and sinks in all at once.

You whimper, almost coming at once. She rocks gently against your lap without caring.

It's hard to breathe, especially when Wanda picks up speed and practically jumps on your cock, her warm walls clenching around you, trying to stop you from pulling out. Everything is too hot and just when you're ready to come, Wanda grabs your throat.

"Hold it." It's an order, almost impossible to obey when she rides your lap with such determination. You choke, struggling against the chains, the hot knot in your belly begging to break.

You almost sob. "I-I can't... please-"

She lets out a wicked giggle and doesn't stop moving. "Don't worry, babe, you're not coming. No matter how much you want to."

Wanda moans, and suddenly her movements stop. She groans heavily, gets impossibly tight and you think you're going to come, but something holds you back. Almost like a force of strength, and when Wanda falls limp against you, and her body continues to tremble from the intensity of the orgasm in contrast to yours, burning with more frustration, you understand what she's done.

"Wanda, what the fuck?" you gasped in a mixture of disbelief and irritation. And instead of losing her temper, she giggles mischievously at you.

"That's why you don't deserve to cum, baby. You're a foul-mouthed brat." She bites your jaw as she sits up, and you gasp, feeling her clench around you. "You're not coming until you improve this attitude."

She thrusts into you as a warning and although you feel as if you could come, your body simply won't obey. Because of the blindfold, you can't see her red irises either.

"You're so mean, Wanda." You groan, sighing at the sensation of her pulling out.

"Oh, darling, we have barely started."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #kinktober 2023 #wanda maximoff oneshots

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lostfracturess · 3 months

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symptoms and causes | ch. 08

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 11.8 k

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood / abuse, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note just wanted to shout out a big thank you to everyone who reads and support my story !! your support seriously means the world. thanks for sticking around, and i hope this chapter was worth the wait. dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts !! ♡ (fanart in the header)

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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Sunlight sliced through the thin gap in the curtains, painting stripes across your heavy eyelids. It felt warm, comforting—almost like an unspoken apology for the reality it foreshadowed. The plush hotel bed clung to your body, and for a blissful moment, you'd almost forgotten where you were.

Almost.

Until the steady rhythm of breathing beside you brought you back to reality. Satoru's arm was draped casually over your waist, his body moulded tightly against yours.

You wanted to stayed forever like that, suspended in the lazy lull of the morning, the world outside momentarily forgotten. But then, your gaze drifted across the room, landing on the digital clock.

The bright red numbers screamed it was far later in the morning than it had any right to be.

Fuck.

Panic slithered through your veins.

Today was the day of the lecture, the reason you were here in this sun-drenched coastal town, in this hotel, in Satoru's arms. And you were oversleeping.

You propped yourself up, elbow digging into the soft sheets, and turned to the white-haired man beside you. "Satoru." You nudged him, gently at first, then with increasing urgency. "Wake up."

No response.

"Satoru," you repeated, a little louder this time.

Still, nothing. Not even a twitch.

His features remained serene, his breathing steady, as if the world beyond his dreams didn't exist. His white lashes rested softly on his cheeks, his mouth slightly parted. He looked so peaceful. It almost hurt to wake him. But only almost.

With the clock ticking menacingly, reminding you of every second slipping away, gentleness was no longer an option. You drew your leg back and delivered a swift kick to his side. "Satoru!"

With a startled yelp, Satoru rolled off the bed and landed with a thud on the plush carpet below. He was immediately jolted awake by the cold floor against his skin.

"What the—," he sputtered, propping himself up on the edge of the bed, a look of utter confusion crossing his face. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction.

"We overslept!" You throw off the covers and scramble out of bed. "The lecture, Satoru! We're late!"

For a moment, he just stared at you, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Then, realization dawned on him, his eyes widening. "Shit!"

"Yeah, shit." You were already rummaging through your belongings for something suitable to wear. The lecture was in less than thirty minutes, and you had yet to prepare yourselves, let alone rehearse the final points of your presentation.

He sighed. "Maybe we should just skip it."

"Come on, Satoru, we don't have time for this." You tossed a pair of trousers at him, which landed on his head. He yanked them off, looking slightly bemused.

"So you're deciding what I wear now?"

"It matches my outfit."

As the two of you scrambled to get ready, the room turned into chaos. Clothes were hastily thrown on, shoes mismatched in the rush, all while you tried to rehearse the presentation.

"Satoru, have you seen my laptop?"

"Check under my bag." His voice muffled from the bathroom where he was attempting a speed-shave. "And remember, the key point on slide seventeen is the statistical improvement in patient recovery rates."

Finding your laptop and opening the presentation to quickly recall everything you tossed another question back at him. "What about the potential side effects? How are we addressing those?"

"Slide twenty-two, we're emphasizing ongoing research and monitoring," Satoru called back, emerging from the bathroom with a small cut on his jaw, but otherwise looking more like the composed professor he was supposed to be today.

The flurry of preparations continued unabated as you both sifted through documents, gathered laptops and chargers, and double-checked that the USB with your presentation was safely in your bag.

You turned to see Satoru fumbling with his tie, his hands shaking slightly.

"Let me." You closed the gap between you, the scent of his aftershave sharp and familiar. You unwound the tangled mess he'd made and started afresh, draping the silk fabric neatly around his neck before proceeding to tie it. "How are you holding up today?"

His hands reached up to smooth down your hair. "I'm managing. But you're here. That's all I need."

You looked up briefly to meet his gaze, a smile forming on his lips. "Regarding the Q&A, we shouldn't overlook the upcoming clinical trials," you reminded him while adjusting the knot of his tie to perfection.

Satoru nodded. "Right. And if anyone asks about the implant's durability, you'll take that question. You know the technical specs better than I do."

Once the tie was neatly in place, your hands lingered on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. His gaze was heavy on you, and when you finally met it, his eyes held a tenderness that made your breath catch.

He looked at you as if you were the only person in the world, as if the very sight of you filled him with an awe he could hardly believe.

His thumb traced the curve of your cheek, a touch so light it was almost a ghost against your skin. Time seemed to pause as you both lost yourselves in each other's eyes.

But just as quickly as the moment had enveloped you, reality came crashing back. With a jolt, you remembered that you were indeed late for the lecture.

"Let's quickly run through the opening of the presentation once more." You broke the stillness and resumed the morning's hurried pace. "I'll begin with an introduction to the progression of neuroimplant technology, followed by your detailed discussion of our research findings."

Satoru shook his head, as if snapping back to reality. "Sounds like a plan." He picked up the room key and led you to the door. "I'll conclude with our study's implications for future research and potential applications."

Just as you were about to hurry out, Satoru's voice halted you. "Wait."

You turned to find him stepping closer. In a seamless motion, he bridged the distance between you, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck. He leaned down, and his lips met yours. The kiss was sudden but tender, a moment of calm amidst the morning's frantic rush.

He pulled away reluctantly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "For luck."

Satoru grabbed his suit jacket in a swift motion before you left the hotel room.

"Sure you'll need it? It's going to be a scorcher today."

He smirked. "I have a feeling I might."

─── ·✧· ───

As you entered the auditorium, the sheer scale of the event stole your breath.

The room was packed beyond capacity. Every seat taken, attendees sitting on the floor and along the stairs, every face—hundreds of them—turned toward the stage in anticipation.

You squeezed through the crowd, Satoru's hand a steadying presence at your back. You made your way to the front of the room, the eyes of the audience following your every move. The podium felt like a different world, a spotlight that left no room for mistakes.

As you set up your presentation, your gaze inadvertently swept across the faces in the crowd, searching, scanning until it landed on him—Sukuna.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, a smirk playing on his lips. Your stomach twisted.

Satoru, sensing your tension, leaned closer. "Deep breaths. Eyes on me," he whispered. "Forget him. You know this material better than anyone. You're brilliant, and today, everyone else will see that too."

You nodded, drawing a deep breath.

As Satoru began to speak, his voice carried across the room, clear and confident. The initial nerves faded away, replaced by the passion for your subject that always fueled you as you took the stage. The presentation flowed from introduction to in-depth analysis, from new research to potential implications for the future.

The audience was captivated, their attention unwavering as they followed along. The content you had both worked so hard on was being received with the enthusiasm and seriousness it deserved.

By the time the final slide flickered onto the screen, the room erupted into applause. You looked over at Satoru, finding him already looking at you. He smiled.

As the applause died down, the room transitioned into the Q&A session. Hands shot up one after another, questions being fired at you and Satoru with eagerness and curiosity. The exchange was lively, with both of you addressing each question with detail and clarity.

The scheduled time for the session quickly passed, yet the audience's thirst for knowledge seemed unquenchable, with more hands remaining raised, more questions waiting to be asked.

Suddenly, Sukuna raised his arm, his mere presence commanding attention. The room instantly fell silent, all eyes turned to him. He cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on you.

"I must admit, your presentation is both ambitious and promising," he began, his voice carrying across the packed auditorium. "However, I can't help but wonder about the long-term risks. How do you propose to overcome the inevitable immune response that will reject the implant? Or is the plan just to pump patients full of immunosuppressants until their bodies give out?"

Oh, he was such a dick.

"And another thing," Sukuna continued, not giving you a chance to respond to his first jab, "how do you plan to maintain the efficacy of the neural interface when the brain's neuroplasticity will likely render it obsolete in a few years? Or hadn't you thought that far ahead?"

Oh, he challenged you. You could clearly see it.

Satoru opened his mouth to respond, but you were quicker. Without hesitation, you stepped forward and cut Satoru off.

"Thank you for your interesting questions," you began, the edge in your voice mirroring his, "it seems you don't understand the scope of our research. As for the immune response, we don't rely on brute force immunosuppression. Instead, we're taking a new approach using biocompatible materials designed to integrate seamlessly with human tissue."

"And as for neuroplasticity," you continued, locking eyes with Sukuna, "our interface is designed to adapt as the brain changes, using algorithms that learn and evolve. We're not talking about a static piece of hardware, but a dynamic system. But perhaps the concept of adaptive technology is new to you?"

It was disrespectful, to say the least.

Bold. Stupid. Risky. All of the above and worse. No student should ever speak in such a dismissive tone to an experienced professor, let alone the head of the university who had specifically invited you to give this lecture, but God, you had had enough of his arrogance.

The room fell silent for a moment.

Then, Sukuna started to laugh—a shrill sound that filled the space. "Thank you," he said, his laughter fading into a smirk. "That was a truly refreshing lecture."

The audience erupted into applause once more.

Satoru strolled over to you, giving you a reassuring smile. In the moments following the lecture, as the last of the attendees began filing out of the auditorium, Satoru turned to you. "You were incredible out there," Satoru began, his voice carrying a warmth that made your heart flutter. "I'm proud of you."

"I couldn't have done it without you."

Satoru stepped closer and reached out, his hands finding your waist, drawing you into him. You tilted your head back, your gaze on his lips as the distance between you dwindling to mere inches. Just as his lips were about to meet yours, a familiar voice interrupted the moment.

"Quite the performance," Sukuna's voice intruded. His eyes, locked on yours, held a predator's gleam. "You have a sharp tongue, woman. I like that. Keeps things... interesting."

Satoru's hand tightened briefly around you before he let go. Satoru then casually shrugged off his suit jacket, wrapping it neatly over his right hand.

"Thanks for having us," you replied as Sukuna made his way over to you.

"I'm sure my colleagues would like you both to—," Sukuna begann but was quickly shut silent when Satoru's jacket-wrapped fist met his face. The sound of the impact echoed through the empty auditorium.

Oh, great. Another lawsuit.

"So much for wanting to 'talk' about it," you said dryly.

Satoru turned to you, a beam of satisfaction in his eyes. "I wrapped my hand in my jacket so I wouldn't get hurt. Didn't want you to have to patch me up again," he said, a hint of pride in his voice.

That's nothing to be proud of. Still, you appreciated his thoughtfulness.

Turning back to Sukuna, who was rubbing his jaw, Satoru added, "You should be thankful that I didn't do it in front of your students. Now we're even."

Sukuna's laughter filled the room, a sound of genuine amusement. "You haven't lost your old charm, Toru," he said, rising to his full height. "Still a man for dramatic gestures."

With a step forward, Sukuna enveloped Satoru in a tight hug. "Just like old times, eh?" he said, clapping Satoru on the back.

What was going on here. Was this normal?

Satoru chuckled. "Exactly like old times. But let's not make a habit out of it."

You stood there. Stunned. Speechless.

You had questions, a million of them.

Sukuna took a step back. "Well, I shouldn't keep you. I heard you have a long drive ahead," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. "I do hope you'll consider coming back to give another lecture in the future."

"We'll think about it. And thanks for the hospitality, Sukuna," Satoru said.

"Always a pleasure to have you here. Safe travels back." With that, Sukuna turned and left the podium, leaving you and Satoru alone in the now-empty auditorium.

"Ready to head back?" Satoru then asked, extending his hand towards you.

You took his hand, your fingers intertwined with his. "You have really strange friends, Satoru."

─── ·✧· ───

"Sent another one off yesterday," Maki sighed, the ice clinking in her empty cup. "Feels like I've exhausted every hospital within a thousand-mile radius."

"It'll pay off. You're brilliant, remember? They'd be fools to pass you up."

The city pulsed with life under the lazy afternoon sun.

You and Maki navigated the crowded sidewalks, the scent of roasted coffee beans and fresh pastries swirling in the warm air. Laughter bubbled up from overflowing cafes, their cheerful chatter a counterpoint to the impatient honks of taxis.

The cool condensation on your iced coffee cup was a sweet relief against the prickle of sweat forming on your skin. But your conversation carried a weightier theme: Maki's internship applications.

Maki huffed out a mock-dramatic breath. "Well, if all else fails, there's always plan B: becoming a professional medical drama consultant."

"Medical drama consultant? Is that... a thing?"

"Think about it," Maki explained. "I'd be the go-to person for TV shows and movies to ensure their medical scenes are accurate. I'll be the one yelling at the screen, 'That's not how you do CPR!' or 'Nobody wears high heels in the ER!'"

"Yeah, why do they always wear heels on these shows? It makes no sense—" you began, then your phone buzzed, cutting you off. You couldn't stop the smile from spreading across your face as you read the message.

[5:12 PM] Satoru: Got any plans later? I might have something in mind for us.

Maki's eyebrows shot up. "Who's that? Making you smile like an idiot in the middle of the street?"

"Nothing, just—"

But Maki was faster. With a flash of her hand, she snatched your phone. "Let me see."

"No, wait—" you protested, but it was too late.

Maki's jaw dropped as she glimpsed the name at the top of the chat history. "Satoru Gojo?" she breathed, her surprise quickly morphing into something bordering on glee. "The Satoru Gojo?"

Maki's eyes flicked back to the screen, scanning messages with lightning speed. An audible gasp escaped her lips. "And what's this?" she read aloud, her voice barely a whisper, "'I'd rather have you wear nothing'?" Her eyes glittered with mischief. "Oh my god!"

"Maki, it's nothing really." You tried to reach for the phone, but she danced out of reach, her eyes still glued to the screen.

"You and Gojo, huh?" Maki finally looked up from the phone. "Why didn't you tell me? How long has this been going on?"

You sighed, knowing there was no point in denying it any longer. "A while now. But it's complicated."

"Men are always complicated," she said, her fingers already tapping out a reply.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

"Texting your man back," she said with a wicked grin.

Before you could stop her, she snapped a photo of the lingerie store you were standing in front of. She hit send, adding a caption that made your heart leap to your throat.

[5:15 PM] You: Thinking of you.

The deed done, Maki handed back your phone with a grin. "There, now he knows what he's missing out on."

Your phone buzzed almost immediately, Satoru's response popping up. Both of you leaned in.

[5:15 PM] Satoru: Don't tease me, you might regret it later.

[5:15 PM] Satoru: You should come over after your shopping trip and show me.

Maki raised her eyebrows. "Oh, he's good."

"He's an idiot." You locked your phone, shoving it deep into your pocket.

"So, spill it," Maki began, her eyes wide. "How serious is it?"

You sighed. "It's somewhat serious."

Maki's eyes narrowed. "You know what they say about him, right? He's a brilliant surgeon, and an even better heartbreaker. Are you sure he's not just playing his usual game?"

"I just know." The words ringing with a conviction that surprised even yourself. "He might be a bit of a mess, but there's something about him. When I'm with him—" You trailed off, searching for the right words. "He gets me."

Maki's gaze softened, the sharp concern replaced by a familiar, almost sisterly look. "I'm not judging," she said. "Gojo's—well, he's intense," she added with a wry grin that almost made you laugh. "But don't forget who you are in all of this."

Maki squeezed your hand. "You've got this amazing research project, a brilliant career ahead of you—don't let any man, not even Satoru Gojo, mess that up."

Yeah, it was far too late for caution, wasn't it?

Before you could answer, Maki's attention was drawn to a shop across the street. "Ooh, let's check this place out!" She darted off before you could protest, giving you time to answer Satoru.

[5:25 PM] You: 8 pm?

[5:26 PM] Satoru: I'm impatiently waiting for you.

─── ·✧· ───

When you arrived at Satoru's apartment, the door was slightly ajar. Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, calling out his name. You immediately noticed the flavors of thyme and ginger in the air and the soft lo-fi music coming from the kitchen.

Rounding the corner, you found Satoru in a scene you never thought you'd witness. He stood over the stove, tossing vegetables in a pan with practiced ease, humming along to the music playing softly in the background. The sight was so unexpected it stopped you in your tracks.

"You hungry?" he called out.

You moved over to him, and leaned against the kitchen island. "You're—cooking?"

Satoru glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why does that surprise you so much?"

"I didn't think you knew how to cook."

Satoru and cooking were two concepts you'd never thought to pair together.

"Why not? I'm living alone, what did you think?"

"I don't know, that you live off delivery service."

"Ah, the misconception strikes again." As if to prove his point, he gave the pan in front of him an expert toss, sending its contents flipping neatly in the air before landing back with a satisfying sizzle.

"What are you making?"

"Ah, that would be telling. You'll just have to wait and see," he teased, the button-down shirt straining slightly across his broad shoulders as he reached for a spice jar. A kitchen towel was slung over one shoulder, like a damn real chef.

The light from the setting sun filtered through the window, casting a warm hue that highlighted the sharp angles of his jawline, the concentration in his eyes as he tasted a sauce, and the small smile that played on his lips when he was satisfied with the flavors.

Your gaze drifted to his forearms, where the veins were subtly pronounced against his pale skin. Your mind wandered to how his skin felt against yours—smooth, yet with a hint of roughness. You imagined the touch of his long, perfect fingers, their gentle caress—

"So, how did your shopping trip go? Found something?" Satoru's voice pulled you from your daydreams, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement as he caught the distant look on your face.

"I wasn't the one who sent that message, just so you know."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk forming. "Figured. You're not usually so straightforward with your flirting. So, who knows now?"

"Maki knows."

"Maki Zenin?"

"Yes."

"I see," he hummed, stirring the pot thoughtfully.

"She won't tell anyone," you added.

"You know, I wouldn't mind if people found out about us," he commented casually, sending a playful glance your way.

You scoffed, pushing yourself away from the counter. "You're seriously too laid-back for your own good, Satoru."

You wandered into the living room, the warm, spicy scent of his cooking clinging to you.

"Still haven't answered my question, love," his voice came from the kitchen.

"And which question would that be?"

"Did you find anything interesting on your shopping trip?"

"Ah, that would be telling. You'll just have to wait and see," you mirrored his words back to him, casting a glance over your shoulder to catch his gaze.

Your attention then shifted to a shelf beside the TV in the living room. Medical textbooks and dusty journals formed a stoic wall, interrupted only by a somewhat abandoned plant gasping for water. But your attention settled on the gleaming basketball trophies nestled between them.

Polished silver and gold surfaces reflected the warm light, each etched with names and dates, whispering stories of past matches. You couldn't resist. Your fingertips glided over their cool smoothness, tracing the inscriptions, a faint metallic tang lingering on your skin.

Meanwhile, Satoru's voice announced from the kitchen, "This will need a bit to simmer properly," followed by the sound of a lid sealing the pot and the soft thud of a towel carelessly tossed aside.

He appeared behind you, a familiar warmth radiating from his body as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you close. The spicy scent of the cooking clung to his shirt, mingling with his own clean, masculine fragrance. His chin rested gently on your head.

Curiosity piqued, you asked, "Which one means the most to you?"

He guided both of you towards a shelf to the right, his hand leading yours to a particularly well-worn trophy, its surface already dulled. "This one is from our last match at university."

You traced the engraved plate at the base of the trophy, listening intently.

"It was against our biggest rivals," he began, his voice laced with a hint of nostalgia. "And honestly, we were the underdogs. First half was brutal, we were falling behind, and morale was low."

He paused, and you could almost hear the silence of that locker room, the taste of despair in the air. "But then, halftime hit. Suguru... he gave that speech. I don't remember the words, but it was something else. Somehow, he always knew exactly what to say."

You glanced up at him, your curiosity piqued by the sudden softness in his voice. You watched as a smile crept across his face. "After that, we just clicked. Everything fell into place, and we played like never before. We caught up, and in the final seconds, Suguru passed me the ball."

You leaned closer. "And?"

"And I took the shot," he said, a laugh bubbling up. "And it went in. Just like that, we won." He sighed, his gaze returning to the trophy. "That's why this one means so much. It was the end of an era for us, a perfect closure before we all went our separate ways."

"But you and Geto stayed close, you even did your residency years together. And Kento's still around."

"I know," he murmured, a shadow flickering across his face. "But things were never quite the same."

Before you could delve deeper, his phone began to ring, slicing through the moment. He reluctantly let go of you and picked up the phone, a slight frown forming as he glanced at the caller ID.

"Sorry, I need to take this," Satoru said, the warmth in his voice replaced by a hint of tension.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just a call I have to answer."

He quickly excused himself, moving towards his study with brisk steps. "Won't be long," he called over his shoulder before slipping through the door and softly closing it behind him.

With Satoru momentarily gone, you wandered through the living room, each step echoing slightly in the spacious area. Eventually, you stepped out onto the balcony, the cool evening air a welcome caress against your skin. The setting sun painted the sky in breathtaking shades of red and orange, a canvas of fiery hues that seemed to set the world ablaze.

After a few minutes bathed in the dying light, you glanced back over your shoulder, expecting to see Satoru returning. But the door remained closed.

Each minute stretched longer than the last, the beauty of the sunset gradually giving way to the twinkling lights of the city below. As you lingered on the balcony, soaking in the last hues of the sunset . Then, a sharp, acrid scent suddenly sliced through the air, pulling your attention away from the serene view.

Wrinkling your nose, you realized it was the unmistakable smell of something burning.

You hurried back into the apartment. At the same time, Satoru emerged from his study and hurried into the kitchen to turn off the stove. You stood behind him, trying to peak over his shoulder on your tiptoes to see what was left of the evening's meal—but the food was beyond saving, a blackened mess at the bottom of the pot.

He let out a heavy sigh, a boyish smile playing on his lips as he turned to you. "So, what type of takeout do you want?"

Leaning back on your heels you tiled your head. "Pizza sounds good."

"Then pizza it is," he declared with a chuckle, already reaching for his phone to place an order. "Sorry for that, the call took longer than I expected."

"Who was it?"

"Just hospital stuff," he mumbled, his eyes flitting away for a moment. "Nothing important."

"Really? Because you seemed a bit stressed—" you prodded gently. But just as you touched on the subject, the pizza place picked up his call, cutting the conversation short.

"Ah, hey, I'd like to place an order," Satoru said, turning slightly away.

You exhaled, frustration rising within you.

You stepped back onto the balcony, the lingering scent of smoke clinging to the air. Leaning against the railing, you watched the people weaving through the streets below. Streetlights flickered to life, painting the streets in a garish orange glow as the evening deepened into night.

His footsteps broke the silence before you felt his arms encircle you. The warmth of his body drove away the chill of the night. He rested his chin on your shoulder, his breath lightly brushing against your cheek as you both looked out over the cityscape.

"You've got this really huge balcony, but there's practically nothing on it. It's like you just moved in." You turned slightly within his embrace to gaze at the unused space, which indeed seemed unused, almost stark in its emptiness, except for the vast view it offered. "How long have you been living here, anyway?"

"You probably don't want to know." Then, a spark of something new flickered in his tone. "I have an idea."

His sudden shift startled you. "What?" You turned to face him, your back now leaning against the railing but he already wandered off.

He hurried inside, his movements a blur as he vanished into the living room and then the bedroom. Moments later, he reappeared, arms laden with pillows and blankets. He tossed them onto the cold stone floor. In an instant, the balcony was a sea of softness and warmth.

"What's all this for?"

Without skipping a beat, Satoru plopped down onto the blankets, patting the space beside him with a wide grin. "Come here."

You hesitated only for a moment before joining him, the softness of the blankets enveloping you. You leaned back against Satoru, finding a perfect nook between his outstretched legs, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer into his embrace. His lips found the crown of your head in a tender kiss.

Enveloped in the soft embrace of blankets and cushions, with the city's lights below mirroring the starlit sky above, you found yourself sinking deeper into his embrace. The warmth of his body, the rhythmic beat of his heart—it felt like coming home.

Satoru's hand moved then, fingers brushing against your arm, as it seemed the traced the very veins beneath your skin. Surgeon's hands, you thought. Hands trained for precision.

His hand found yours then, carefully intertwining your fingers with his. His hands, large yet so slender, bore the faintest marks—tiny stitch scar here, few freckles there.

"It healed well," you murmured, thumb tracing the mark on his hand where you'd stitched a cut, after he punched that student weeks ago. "Barely a mark left."

His fingers grazed your cheek, then cupped your face, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Because one of the best surgeons took care of it." He tilted your chin upwards him, his eyes searching yours. His lips were inches from yours, a promise hanging in the air.

Then, the doorbell rang, a harsh, jarring sound that shattered the moment.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath. "Pizza's here."

He eased away, leaving the warmth of his touch as an imprint on your skin. Moments later, he returned, pizza boxes in hand. As you settled back into the cozy nest of blankets, the scent of melted cheese and herbs filling the air.

Midway through your slice, Satoru's voice broke the silence with a question that felt like a thunderclap on a clear day.

"So, when do I get to meet your mother?"

You nearly choked on your bite. "My mother?" you repeated. "You know she's... well, not exactly the conventional type. She's a bit out there." Understatement of the century, you thought.

"Can't be any more 'out there' than mine. Besides, she's your mom. I'd like to get to know my future mother-in-law."

"What?"

"Aren't we there yet?"

"Where? What are you talking about?"

"What, is the thought of you marrying me so absurd?"

"Kind of, yes."

"I'll just pretend I didn't hear that," he replied, undeterred.

"Are you serious?"

"I am serious." His tone softened, his eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "I mean, isn't that where this is heading? Us, together, for the long haul?"

Your heart raced.

How could he just blurt something like that out and act like it was nothing?

He dropped the idea of marriage as casually as suggesting a trip to Ikea next weekend—as if marrying him wasn't just a possibility—it was a given—as if being together with him—like forever—like until death do us part—was the most natural thing in the world.

Of course you're getting married, didn't you know?

Like, in his mind, marrying you was as natural and inevitable as the sun rising each day. He wasn't just proposing a future together. He was stating it as a fact, something he'd considered a done deal from the beginning and he'd simply been quietly waiting for you to catch up.

The silence stretched, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

"Or are you planning to dump me once the new semester starts?" he added.

"If you keep saying things like that, then yes."

In response, he closed the gap between you, his presence overwhelming. "Fine, then let me be clear—I absolutely do not want to marry you. In fact, I really can't stand you," he moved closer with each word, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "seriously, marrying you? Sounds like an absolute nightmare."

"Very funny, Dr. Gojo. Can't you ever be serious?"

His blue eyes held yours, the smile on his lips a shade bolder. "Dead serious."

His lips hovered just inches from yours, a promise of a kiss hanging in the air. "I'm merely contemplating the perfect moment to ask my future Mrs. Gojo to marry me. Or perhaps you'd like to keep your last name?"

"You're impossible," you breathed, the word barely a whisper.

"But that's why you love me, isn't it?"

His words were barely audible, drowned out by the frantic pounding of your heart, his lips so cruelly close. But just as the distance between you was about to disappear, a harsh, jarring sound shattered the moment once again.

Satoru froze, a frown marring his handsome features. He glanced at his phone, the annoyance evident, before pulling away with a resigned sigh. "I'm sorry, I need to take this."

"It's okay, go ahead," you said, despite the disappointment that fluttered in your chest.

Satoru offered a strained smile before stepping away to answer the call. You watched him as he moved to a quieter corner inside his apartment. The ease and warmth that had enveloped you both just seconds ago were replaced by a sudden chill of distance.

As you waited, the unease settled in again, heavier this time. You watched him, he paced the room, seemingly distressed. When Satoru returned, his expression was unreadable, a mask that gave nothing away.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just work stuff," he replied. "Where were we?" He leaned in, attempting to recapture the lost spark, but the interruption had fractured something.

You frowned slightly. "You're hiding something."

He paused, a mere heartbeat away, his gaze lingering on the curve of your lips. "Nothing to worry your pretty head about."

"So there is something," you pressed.

Then, with a deliberate slowness, he closed the distance, his lips finding yours in a slow, deep kiss. Satoru's lips were warm and soft, his breath mingling with yours as he deepened the kiss. His fingers traced your jawline, a feather-light caress that belied the urgency in his eyes.

"It's nothing important," he murmured against your lips.

Your heart raced, matching the rhythm of his own. The heat in my stomach flared to life, a familiar, treacherous heat that threatened to drown out your doubts.

Slowly, his tongue slipped past your lips, parted them, and then licked along your lower lip.

"You're really testing me with your secrets," you breathed into his mouth. Yet, you parted your lips further for him to claim.

"You're really testing my patience with your stubbornness," he said before claiming your mouth once more. His hand slid down your neck, tracing the outline of your collarbone before venturing south. His fingertips danced over the fabric of your shirt, sending shivers up your skin.

You clung to him, wanting more of his kiss, feeling yourself falling deeper under his spell. Satoru responded in kind, his hand venturing lower, sliding beneath the fabric of your leggings. "I wouldn't be so stubborn if you would just tell me."

"But stubbornness suits you, sweetheart." His fingers moved further down, pushing aside the already damp fabric of your underwear. "It adds to the thrill." As his fingers brushed against your sensitive skin, a soft moan escaped your lips and the treacherous heat in your stomach flared higher.

"Has anyone ever told you you're impossible?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you never stop talking?" he countered, before sliding a finger inside you, eliciting a moan from your lips. You closed your eyes, biting down on your lip as he added another finger, and then a third. "That's how you like it, right?"

His fingers moved with deliberate slowness. Each teasing touch sent shivers through your body, eliciting moans that escaped your lips uncontrollably. Your hips arched towards him, seeking more of his touch. Satoru smirked, sensing your surrender. "Good girl. Let me hear those pretty little sounds."

This man.

This fucking man, did always know how to play you, how to make you weak, how to make you forget all your good reasons, leaving you desperate for his touch. He was a dangerous addiction, and you craved another hit, consequences be damned.

But can anyone blame you, when fucking Satoru Gojo's fingers were in you?

"You can't just fuck your way out of every argument," you protested, though your voice wavered.

"Oh really?" With a subtle grin, his movements intensified, his fingers delving deeper and faster. You grasped at his shoulders, tugging him closer as the pressure built inside of you. "I might want to try it anyway."

Suddenly, he withdrew, pulling down your leggings to reveal a new pair of lace underwear. "So you did buy something?" he remarked with a playful smirk.

"I never said I didn't."

Satoru's eyes gleamed as he admired the delicate lace accentuating your pretty curves. His fingers traced lightly along the edges, grazing over the fabric that barely concealed the allure of your skin beneath. "You look so fucking hot in that, what a shame I have to get you out of it."

"Then I should just keep it on, don't you think?"

His lips twitched into a half grin. "Just how I like it."

With a swift movement, Satoru pulled you onto his lap. He drew you close as his lips sought yours once more, deepening the kiss, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies. You reached up, your fingers tangling in his silvery hair as you pressed your lips against his.

His hands roamed restlessly across the hemline of your shirt. With a quick, eager tug, he pulled the fabric upwards, exposing your chest to the cool night air. A shiver ran through you, goosebumps rising along your arms.

He smiled wickedly, his teeth flashing white against the darkness as he took in the sight of the delicate lace of your matching bra. "You really have good taste."

"I know." Every inch of your skin tingled under the weight of his gaze as you closed the distance between you once more, your lips eagerly seeking his. Satoru pulled you tight against his chest, his lips devouring yours with fervor.

His hands wandered over the intricate pattern of your lace bra, exploring every curve and contour. His touch was both gentle and possessive, eliciting a soft gasp from your lips as you pressed your breasts against his hand, craving more of his touch.

His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your neck. His tongue teased over your collarbone and then down over your breasts as he worshiped every inch of your skin with fervent devotion.

His hand deftly pushed aside the thin lace to reveal your bare skin. His tongue traced circles around the sensitive nipples, causing you to gasp aloud.

"So, where's that attitude now?" he teased.

"Still here," you managed to breathe out.

"Then I'll just have to work harder."

With a sudden surge of energy, he pushed you back, pinning you down onto the soft bedding below. One hand closed around your throat, applying just the right amount of pressure to send a thrill through you. The other hand wasted no time and was already between your legs.

Without hesitation, he slid three fingers slow and deep inside you, filling you completely. His grip on your throat tightened with each inch he buried his fingers deeper.

Your breath caught in your throat, a mix of pain and pleasure wracking your senses. Yet, somehow, it felt right, exactly how you needed him to be in that moment.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes," you moaned as he began to move his fingers within you.

As if reading your mind, Satoru shifted his attention to your nipples again, caressing them hungrily with his tongue. The contrast of the roughness of his grip with the velvety softness of his caresses left you dizzy with excitement, your body responding eagerly to his every move.

Your mouth fell open, unable to contain the moans that escaped freely from your lips. You didn't care if someone could hear you. Someone must definitely hear you, how loud you were.

With each passing second, your breath grew shallower, your heartbeat faster as you lost yourself entirely to him. With each stroke of his fingers, he coaxed another sigh, another whimper from your throat. Every inch of your skin tingled with heightened sensitivity, urging you forward towards release.

"You have anything to say now? Or did I find a way to shut you up?" he teased.

"You're such a dick sometimes."

With those words, his lips found their way back to your ears, breathing hotly against your skin. "Maybe," he whispered, "but remember how that 'dick' can make you feel."

He suddenly intensified his rhythm, each thrust deeper and more forceful than the last. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him towards you, and you opened your mouth wide beneath his.

"Tell me," he breathed against your lips, "how bad you want to cum?"

You moaned deeply into his mouth. "I don't."

What a lie.

"So stubborn." He broke from your lips to trail feather-light kisses down your jawline and neck. His teeth grazed lightly over the pulse point at your collarbone. You gasped, your body arching toward him. He looked up at you with a wicked grin, knowing full well how close you were now. "Seems like someone's pretty close for not wanting to cum."

"Shut up and finish what you started, Satoru," you demanded.

"You're not the one in command here." His grip on your throat tightened, sending a jolt of excitement through you. For a moment, you struggled against his hold, desperate for oxygen. Then, just as abruptly, he released you, allowing you to catch your breath.

"Now tell me, how bad you want to cum?" With swift movements, he descended lower, planting wet kisses over your chest, his tongue flicking teasingly over your skin.

"You're such a bitch," you gasped, but your defense was wearing thin as you sensed that you couldn't hold it in any longer. "Fuck—Make me cum, Satoru," you begged, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Your heart raced as his fingers increased the pressure. His thumb found your clit, pressing firmly and beginning to rub in slow, deliberate circles. He pushed you closer and closer to the edge, until you rolled your eyes back in your head, screaming out his name in sheer pleasure.

As you lay gasping for breath, your limbs heavy with satisfaction, he moved closer, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. Your mouth fell open, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as his fingers, still buried deep inside you, coaxed out every last bit of your orgasm.

"Good girl," he whispered against your lips, "all messed up and so pretty for me."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure you do." He withdrew his fingers, which were soaked up to his knuckles. Bringing them to his lips, he licked from his knuckles upwards to his fingertips, savoring your taste. "So, what were we arguing about just now?"

"I know exactly what we were arguing about," you said, a sudden surge of energy coursing through you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and rolled over, pinning him beneath you.

His hands found their way to your waist, pressing you down against his already hard bulge. "What's with the sudden power play?"

Your hands slid under his shirt, exploring the contours of his chest, eliciting a shudder from him beneath your touch. "Shut up and take off your shirt."

Without hesitation, he straightened up and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside, his lips hovering just before yours as he did so. "Trying to take charge, are we?" His gaze was fixed on your lips, anticipation evident in his eyes.

With his shirt discarded, you placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down.

"So, are you going to tell me now?" You began to rock back and forth against him, grinding your hips into his groin, leaving him gasping for breath beneath you. He let his head fall back, his eyes fluttering shut as he surrendered to the sensation, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp.

"Didn't we already go over this?" he breathed out, his voice strained with the effort to maintain control amidst the overwhelming pleasure engulfing him.

"You're dodging the question."

Leaning forward, you pressed your body flush against his, trailing soft kisses down his neck, savoring every inch of his heated skin. Your breasts pressed firmly against his chest, and he responded eagerly, his fingers clutching at your curves hungrily.

As you ground deeper against him, your movements became more intense. He let out a raspy moan, unable to hold back his noises any longer. "Please... Please, just keep doing that," he begged, his hands gripping your hips tightly as if trying to anchor you to him.

"Still avoiding my question," you persisted.

"You really can't enjoy a single night without having to start an argument," he countered, drawing his brows together. His chest rose and fell with each deep breath, his body consumed by the intoxicating sensation of your touch. "Ah fuck, right there."

"You're a real pain in the ass," you gasped, though your own moans betrayed the words as his trousers rubbed against your core, the sensation of his hard length pressing against you sending shivers down your spine. Your gaze fixated on his lips, still glistening from your kisses.

The sight of him beneath you was both thrilling and intimidating—his muscles flexed and rippled under your touch, his skin sheened with sweat. Drops of moisture formed at the corners of his eyes. "I told you there's—ah, fuck—nothing to worry about, just let me—ah—handle it," he strained to articulate, his words punctuated with moans.

You weren't sure if you wanted to punch him or admire him for his persistence.

"I swear, you're going to kill me with this," he gasped, his fingers digging into your waist as if anchoring himself to reality amidst the overwhelming sensation. "But damn it, keep doing it anyway."

You trailed your fingers down his chest, marveling at the play of muscles beneath his skin. As you grazed your nails across his chiseled abs, you noticed a subtle tremble in the muscles beneath your fingertips. They rippled and contracted, revealing the urgency that radiated from him.

"Fuck, I can't hold back any longer. Let me fuck you already, or I'll cum in my pants," he groaned.

"Oh, you want to cum?" you tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips. "Then tell me, what's going on?"

"God, damn it. Leave it be, and let me fuck you."

You abruptly stopped grinding on him, releasing your hold and leaning back slightly. "No telling me, no fucking me," you declared, standing up and moving away.

"Ha? Wait, what?" Satoru's eyes shot open immediately, frustration evident in his expression as he watched you retrieve your leggings and cover the lace underwear you had worn just for him.

Popping himself up on his elbows, his heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to control his breathing. "Are you fucking with me?"

"Apparently not." You tossed his shirt onto his chest as you walked past him. "How about a movie?"

─── ·✧· ───

Your hands were under the steady stream of water once again.

The familiar adrenaline rush was there, but less this time. It was already your sixth surgery. Everything went well. No complications. No problems.

Each time, it felt just a little easier to breathe.

The sterile quiet of the washing room was almost comforting, except for the distant echo of pacing from the hallway outside. You glanced through the small window, seeing Satoru's silhouette through the frosted glass.

He moved restlessly, a phone glued to his ear. Even from this distance, the tension in his shoulders was palpable. Every now and then, he'd run a hand through his hair.

Then, the door swung open with a jarring noise, and Satoru stepped in, filling the small space with his presence. You turned off the tap and dried your hands, watching him closely.

He moved to the sink beside you, his steps a touch too heavy. The tap screeched under his grip as he wrenched it open, the water spilling in an almost violent rush. The scrub brush trembled in his grip, his knuckles white as bleached bones against the harsh fluorescent lighting.

"Satoru, what's wrong?"

A muscle jumped in his jaw before he forced a smile. It stretched his lips but didn't touch his eyes. "Everything's fine," he said, the words coming out a bit too quickly, a bit too rehearsed. "Just hospital bureaucracy, you know how it is."

You didn't believe him. Not one bit.

"Really? Because you seemed pretty stressed just now. And we're about to perform a rather complicated surgery in a few minutes."

He turned off the tap, his back to you for a brief moment to dry his hands that felt like an eternity. When he faced you again, the smile plastered on his face was a poor mask.

"I'm fine, really. But thanks for asking," he replied, his tone softer now. "How are you feeling? Ready for this?"

"You know, it's getting annoying to hear the same lies over and over again."

He cut you off, a little more sharply than intended. "I said it's nothing. Let's focus on the surgery, okay?"

He's in withdrawal.

He's in withdrawal and there's probably something going on that you don't know about.

He's in withdrawal and there's probably something going on that you don't know about and he's not ready to share it yet—to protect you or whatever stupid reason he has.

He's in withdrawal and there's probably something going on that you don't know about and he's not ready to share it yet—to protect you or whatever stupid reason he has.You had to remind yourself of that to keep yourself from stepping up to him and fucking spitting in his face.

Still—

His words cut deep.

As Satoru made to leave the room, he hesitated momentarily beside you, a silent struggle evident in his stance. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words barely audible. "Let's talk about this later, okay?" With a gentle kiss on your temple, he made his exit, his presence fading along with the scent of his cologne.

You followed him into the operating room. A knot formed in your stomach, the weight of silence a heavy cloak between you.

But professionalism took over as you both slipped into the practiced rhythm of your teamwork. Each movement was precise, a result of hours of practice and the deep understanding you had developed of each other's methods and thoughts.

The silent communication between you, carried by mere glances and subtle shifts in posture, made the complex procedure flow smoothly. As usual.

For a time, everything progressed as planned.

The humming of the equipment and the occasional soft command from Satoru were the only sounds that broke the concentration in the room.

Then, without warning, the steady rhythm of the operation was shattered. A sudden hemorrhage began in the brain. Blood, crimson and shocking, bloomed on the screen. The calmness of the procedure was replaced by a sudden urgency.

"We have a bleeding," Satoru's voice remained steady, his focus unwavering on the operative field.

Fuck.

This shouldn't happen.

This couldn't happen.

Panic clawed at your throat.

Breath... where was it?

Each gasp a futile fight for air that never came.

Your hands, slick with sweat inside the gloves, fumbled like a stranger's.

The room tilted, the harsh ceiling lights blurring into blinding white.

Do something—why can't I think—was it my fault, my fault, my—

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Satoru's voice cut through like a lifeline, commanding your attention. "Focus on my voice. Just my voice, can you do that for me?"

You met his gentle gaze, the slight furrow in his brow softening as he looked at you. "You're not alone in this, just follow what I'm saying, okay?"

Fuck, get your shit together.

You weren't alone. You had him.

You nodded, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

"I need you to apply direct pressure here," he said, pointing with his instrument to the bleeding vessel. Your trembling hands fumbled for a moment before you grasped the sterile gauze, positioning it with painstaking care over the spot Satoru had indicated.

"Good. Hold it there while I cauterize the vessel. We need to stop the bleeding without compromising the surrounding tissue." Satoru took the bipolar forceps and skillfully maneuvered it around the critical area.

"You're doing great," he said, his voice calm but focused as he worked to seal the bleeding vessel. "Just hold steady."

After a tense few minutes, the bleeding was controlled.

Satoru took a moment to assess the situation, ensuring that the bleeding had indeed stopped and that the patient remained stable. "That should do it. You can release the pressure now."

You slowly released the pressure, your hands betraying a slight tremor.

You hated it.

Hated how weak and powerless you felt in those moments.

Hated the fear that had momentarily choked you.

"Do you need a moment?" Satoru asked.

You wanted to say yes, to let the tears of relief roll down your cheeks, but something held you back. "No, I'm okay," you replied. But you both knew you weren't.

His gaze held yours, his concern evident. He wasn't fooled by your bravery, seeing the tremor in your gloved hands, the slight tightening of your jaw. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice softer now. "It's okay to step out if you need to catch your breath."

"No," you insisted. "Let's finish this."

Stepping away from the table, you took a deep breath, trying to dispel the lingering fear. With a determined shrug, you forced a smile. Satoru returned the smile and together, you dove back into the task at hand, closing up the patient with practiced precision.

The rest of the operation proceeded without incident. With each suture placed, with each step that brought the procedure to its close, the unease that had gripped you began to recede, inch by painstaking inch.

Relief washed over both of you as the final sutures were placed, sealing the wound and marking the end of the surgery.

─── ·✧· ───

Later, you found yourself in the observation room, awaiting the results of the CT scan on the patient with the bleeding. You wanted, needed, the scan to be flawless, a clean slate erasing the memory of trembling hands and breathless fear.

A tense silence suffocated the observation room, broken only by the rhythmic hum of machines and Satoru's relentless fingers tapping impatiently on the wooden tabletop. Your eyes glued to the CT machine through the window as you waited for the images to appear.

Satoru's gaze then flickered to you, concern etching lines on his brow. "You look pale," he observed quietly. "Are you okay?"

You forced a smile, the gesture feeling brittle. "Yeah, just the adrenaline, I guess. Long day." The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

Satoru studied you for a moment, his silence more telling than words.

He always saw too much.

"I'm starting to think I might not be cut out for this," you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them.

His reply was immediate. "That's not true. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for."

"I almost panicked back there. If you hadn't—"

"So what," he interrupted gently. "That's perfectly fine. You're still learning. Believe me, I messed up way more when I was starting out."

"Hard to imagine."

"Don't get down on yourself," he said. "You're doing great."

A flicker of doubt sparked in the back of your mind. Were you?

After a moment, he added softly, "Look, I know I've been asking a lot of you. If you need to take a step back—"

"No," you interrupted, the word sharper than intended. "I don't want to give up."

"Taking a break isn't giving up," he said gently. The concern in his eyes made you want to squirm.

His offer, meant to be supportive, struck a nerve—chipped away at your carefully constructed armor. No, you couldn't accept that. Couldn't face the echoing void it would leave, the fear that without this, there was nothing. You were nothing.

The pressure built—an unseen weight crushing your chest.

So, you did what any rational human being would do in that situation, right?

You pushed back.

"When will you stop shutting me out?"

"Can we not do this now?" There was a weariness in his voice that you hadn't heard before.

"So when, Satoru?" you pressed. "When is the perfect time to tell me what's going on?"

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "This isn't the time or place," he insisted, his voice tight. "We need to focus on the patient."

"You're impossible!" The accusation hung in the air. "How can you stand there, acting like nothing's wrong, when it's so obvious something is?"

He held your gaze, the storm in his eyes mirroring your own. "I know what I'm doing," he said, each word clipped. "But you—what's happening with you right now?"

As if on cue, the door opened, and Geto stepped inside.

"Heard there was a bit of excitement in surgery," Geto remarked, his breezy tone a stark contrast to the lingering anger in the room. "What happened?"

Satoru tore his gaze from you, reluctantly shifting his focus. "Not sure yet. We had an unexpected bleeding. We're waiting on the pictures to get a better idea."

Geto's eyes flickered to you, a hand coming to rest on the back of your chair. "You look pale. How are you holding up?" he echoed Satoru's earlier observation.

Were you really that pale or what?

"I'm fine, just tired."

Satoru's phone suddenly vibrated, the jarring sound cutting through the already strained silence. He glanced at the display, his expression hardening. "I need to take this."Without another word, he stepped out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.

He was gone, but the tension lingered, a suffocating presence in the small room. Geto watched Satoru's retreating form, a sigh escaping his lips. He turned to you, settling into the chair Satoru had just vacated.

You couldn't quite meet his gaze. It was clear he sensed the unease that hung in the air.

"Is everything okay between you two?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I don't know." You scrubbed a hand over your face. "I'm stupid, Geto."

"Why that, pretty?"

"It's just... there's something off, and I'm not making it any easier for him to talk about it," you said, the words barely a whisper. "I feel like things are getting worse again."

"Makes sense. He's been cutting down his meds too quickly. It's no surprise he's in heavy withdrawal."

"Cutting down one milligram every two weeks isn't too fast," you said, slightly offended that he questioned your perfect withdrawal plan. "That's standard protocol."

Geto's reply was blunt, cutting through your denial like a knife. "One? He slashed his dose in half. That's reckless, even for him."

"What?"

"Huh?" Geto's brow furrowed, surprised by your reaction.

"What did you say?"

"That he reduced his dosage by half, hasn't he? Like, he went from ten milligrams down to five."

The room felt smaller, the air heavier.

"You didn't know, huh?" Geto's voice was soft now.

Admitting it out loud felt like unraveling a tightly wound string. "I didn't. He mentioned six milligrams—" Your voice trailed off, a sickening feeling spreading through your chest.

Geto's expression softened. "He's good at hiding things."

"And there's something else," you said, sinking deeper into your chair. "Something he's been hiding ever since that we got back from that coastal university."

A slight smile flickered across Geto's face. "Heard you managed to put Sukuna in his place in front of everyone."

"Sukuna's insufferable. I can't believe Satoru ever saw him as anything close to a friend."

"Friends? No, they were more like enemies drawn together by their shared taste for self-destruction rather than real friendship."

"Yeah, I saw as much."

Geto leaned in slightly. "But Sukuna... he was a particularly bad influence on Satoru. It was better for both of them when their paths finally split. After all, Sukuna was the reason for Satoru's addiction."

"What?"

"Sukuna was the one who introduced him to that whole scene. Kept him well-supplied until they both got hooked."

The revelation hit you like a physical blow, the air knocked from your lungs as the pieces fell into place.

"You didn't know that either, huh?" Geto observed.

Silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

Finally, Geto spoke again, his tone weary. "Look, it's how he's always been. Walls up before anyone gets too close, pushing people away because—" he paused, a flicker of pain crossing his face, "—because he's convinced that deep down, he's broken. That if anyone truly sees him, they'll run for the hills."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "For someone who warned me to stay away from him, you sure are making it awfully hard to hate him, you know?"

"You two are like a car crash you can't take your eyes off. And honestly? Trying to separate you is pointless. I'm just trying to make it less painful for me to watch, because Satoru—," he trailed off, shaking his head, "—Satoru sure knows how to screw things up."

His words stung, but there was truth in them.

You both knew Satoru's tendency for self-sabotage.

Geto paused, searching for the right words. "Thing is, back then, Satoru was different. Restless, always trying to prove something. Sukuna saw that vulnerability and played on it. Offered him what he thought was friendship. But it was all just a trap, a slow poison."

He shifted in his seat, "Satoru lost himself to that addiction before he even realized how deep he was in."

He leaned closer, making sure you were listening. "But you? You're good for him, whether you see it or not."

"Hard to believe that right now," you mumbled.

Geto's reply was immediate. "The fact he's opened up to you at all, about this?" He shook his head, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. "Hell, you survived meeting his mom. That's unheard of."

"Has Satoru ever actually dated anyone?"

"Not seriously," Geto shrugged. "He's always been too good at sabotage, pushing people away before it gets real."

Your mind lingered on a seemingly offhand comment. "Wait, what's the deal with his mom?"

"Lovely woman, isn't she?"Geto leaned back in his chair, his gaze on you suddenly darkening. He pulled out a cigarette, the click of his lighter cutting through the tense silence.

You raised an eyebrow. "Seriously? Smoking here?"

"Ah, come on, don't start," he retorted, a wry smile playing on his lips as he inhaled deeply, the smoke curling toward the ceiling. "Satoru's upbringing was intense, to say the least. Top surgeons, generations of them. The expectations were sky-high."

"What about his father?"

Geto exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Absent. Barely even speaks to his mother now."

Your head spun, piecing together fragments of Satoru's past.

Must feel exhausting.

Must feel suffocating.

Must feel cruelly lonely, growing up in a family devoid of love, chasing a lifelong search for validation in a family that valued success above all else.

Must feel even more cruelly lonely when you can't even talk about it, can't open up to anyone about it. Maybe it was easier for him to give in to his addiction.

Talk about a vicious cycle.

Then suddenly the pictured of the CT scan appeared on the monitor, reminding you that you were still in charge of a patient. Geto leaned in, studying it with practiced eyes. "Looks like Satoru managed to control the bleeding, everything's looking stable."

"Good work, both of you," he added as his gaze flickered back to you.

His praise fell flat. You mustered up a weak smile in response.

As you sat there, a sudden vibration from your phone broke the tense silence. You glanced at the screen, seeing Satoru's name flash across the top. The message was brief, almost curt.

[3:31 PM] Satoru: Had to go somewhere. Don't wait for me. Go home.

A lump formed in your throat. "It's Satoru."

Geto leaned over to glance at your phone screen, his eyebrows knitting together as he took another drag from his cigarette. After a moment, he exhaled deeply, his hand absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Standing up, he flicked ash into a nearby trash. "I'll take you home."

You looked up at him. "But, the patient... I should stay."

"I'll ask one of the residents to keep an eye on things."

"But—"

"Don't," Geto cut in gently. "You've done enough for today."

You knew he was right.

With your mind all over the place, it was probably best not to keep an eye on a patient fresh from brain surgery. Not without Satoru. You wanted to do nothing without him.

You nodded, the fight draining out of you. "Okay."

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, under the amber glow of the setting sun, you stood at Satoru's door.

Maybe you were stupid. Maybe you were just in love. Maybe both.

Anyway, after a moment's hesitation, you pressed the doorbell. Its chime seemed overly loud. The door creaked open, revealing Satoru.

The spark you always adored, the one that danced in his eyes, was dimmed. Fatigue etched itself onto his features, a heavy cloak weighing him down. He appeared genuinely taken aback to see you standing there, a momentary flicker of confusion crossing his face.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

The question wasn't accusatory—it seemed more like he was genuinely confused, as if the concept of someone showing up at his door unannounced was a puzzle he couldn't quite solve in his current state.

"I messaged you," you started, holding up the bag of sushi takeaway as if it were a peace offering. "Thought you could use a decent meal."

"Sorry, I've been..." He trailed off, a hand running through his unkempt hair. "I haven't checked my phone."

Without waiting for further invitation, you pressed the bag of sushi into his hands and pushed past him into the apartment.

Inside you were greeted by a chaotic mess throughout the living room. Papers spilled across the living room floor like fallen leaves, medical journals and crumpled notes forming chaotic constellations on every surface. The sight stopped you in your tracks.

"What's all this?"

Satoru closed the door and followed your gaze around the room, as if seeing the mess for the first time.

"Been trying to make sense of what happened today in the OR." He sounded tired, the weight of his concerns evident in the slump of his shoulders. "I feel like I'm missing something—it's driving me mad not knowing."

He moved to clear a corner of the coffee table, the papers scattering under his frantic hands. You watched him, a knot forming in your stomach.

"Let's take a break," you suggested, settling down on the floor in front of the couch. You began to clear more space on the coffee table, making space for the sushi.

Looking up at him, you saw that he just stared at you, as if unsure if he was even allowed to sit at his own table next to you. "Come on, Satoru, sit down."

He sank down opposite you, papers rustling beneath him. Your chopsticks snapped with a harsh crack, the sound jarring in the strained silence. "The CT scans came back clear," you began, "the bleeding was fully stopped. No further complications."

"Good to hear," he said with a snap of his chopsticks.

"What do you think went wrong?"

He paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "Hard to say. Everything was textbook until it wasn't. Maybe it was some anatomical abnormality we missed, or perhaps it was just one of those unpredictable factors that remind us we're not as in control as we think."

"Isn't that how it always is? Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You taught me that."

He sighed. "That's just something we teach young doctors, so they'll not lose their minds. In the end, we can't control shit. It's just an illusion we comfort ourselves with to keep from drowning in our own insignificance."

"Is that how you see things?"

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. "I don't know... I'm talking nonsense," his voice trailed off, "I just feel like today was one of those days that reminds you how fragile everything is. How quickly things can change, despite our best efforts. Makes you wonder... what's the point?"

"There is no point, neither in life nor in death." His eyes widened slightly as you continued. "But you can either cry about the whole meaninglessness of the world or try to find meaning in it, to do something that gives meaning to life."

"Is that how you see things?" He reached for a sushi roll, fingers hovering for a moment, then lowered the chopsticks back onto the table. "Doesn't that drive you insane?"

"Perhaps, but still more sane than you."

He huffed, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Fair point."

Silence enveloped you as you simply gazed at each other.

His eyes, that captivating shade of blue, held yours with unwavering intensity—demanding nothing and offering everything—a silent conversation where words were unnecessary.

It felt like drowning—looking in his eyes felt like drowning—strangely, yet in the best way possible.

No fear. No need for rescue.

This man.

God, this man is it.

Even with all his stupidity and flaws.

A flicker of warmth spread through you as you traced the faint stubble on his chin, the scar at his temple—imperfections that made him all the more beautiful in your eyes. Every detail seemed newly etched, like you were seeing him for the first time.

In that stretched thin slice of eternity, a thought pierced through your mind, terrifying in its clarity. If his love were a sharp blade aimed at your heart, you'd gladly embrace its piercing edge, for what is love if not the sweetest pain?

His breath caught, a tiny hitch, and his eyes softened, the sharp edges melting away. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, tentative at first, then widening.

You couldn't help but mirror him.

Then without warning his voice, low and rough like velvet rasping against stone, shattered the silence.

"I love you."

Ha?

"And I got sued."

Haaaa?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: first, a huge THANK YOU to everyone reading and supporting my story! it seriously means the world. hope you loved this chapter, and i can't wait to hear what you think!

also, i'm considering writing the next chapter from satoru's pov to delve deeper into his rather messed up head, so that should be fun. hopefully, it'll finally make sense why he does… well, everything.

quick note about the reader's doubts, i know it might feel sudden so i want to clarify that a bit more. essentially, she grew up with a highly skilled surgeon as a father, so death wasn't something she dwelled on much and she never really questions herself until things happen.

but with this new approach to surgery, where there's no blueprint and every procedure is high stakes, doubts start creeping in. not to say that satoru is a terrible surgeon, he is indeed the best in his field, but you get it, right?

there is more potential for some unexpected things to happen during surgery and also the reader is unlike in her past along side satoru responsible for the outcome and not merely assisting. plus, the overall stress that comes with being around pain-in-the-ass satoru gojo.

speaking of satoru, i wanted to add that he never really learned how to communicate or articulate love in any form of relationship, neither to his family nor to a potential partner. so he's very clumsy with it, despite being quite sure about his feelings towards the reader. i think that adds a fun touch to the story but also makes the reader lose her mind.

regarding his upbringing, which was pretty much filled with emotional neglect and high expectations, it left him feeling pretty much unlovable unless he excelled at everything he does.

this eventually led to his addiction, which started innocently with ritalin to focus during exams, as mentioned in chapter nine, to meet the high demands of his family but at the same time he used it also to numb deeper pain. and eventually everything spiraled out. a vicious cycle indeed.

so yeah, there's a LOT going on under the surface! i'm excited to explore it more, i just love troubled humans omg. what do you think so far? does his character make sense (or am I totally crazy here)?

okay that was much text. thanks again for reading! love you all! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #professor satoru gojo #satoru gojo #satoru x reader #satoru x you

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limarieb · 3 months

Text

i come around (when you least expect me)

Pairing(s): emo!Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader

Summary: After a one-night stand during a party, you find yourself in an odd gray area with your best friend's sister. It just so happens that your best friend's sister is also the person that has been making your life a living hell for the last few years... all without your best friend knowing.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, cursing, mentions of drinking/parties, high school au, Wanda lowkey kinda mean but i SWEAR its lowkey, non-graphic scenes of kissing/making out (no smut... yet...?)

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: sorry for my lack of posting, but i promised it would come soon(ish)! here's that 100 follower special i promised — oh, and thank youuuu all for the follows and support... i love you all <3 (title from 'heartbeat' by childish gambino) ... also, requests/asks are still open!

Main Masterlist | ao3 | Wattpad

...

Pain. Throbbing, aching pain. The discomfort from your current hangover surrounded every inch of your mind, physically and metaphorically. Well, almost every inch... because memories from last night were finally reaching the surface now that you have awoken, conscious and, unfortunately, sober.

The sweet lips on yours.

The feeling of skin, hot and sweaty, against your own.

The perfect dichotomy of soft hands on your body as they gripped at your skin roughly, almost primal in nature.

And they all belonged to your best friend's twin sister.

You started to get ready for the day — whoever talked you into attending a party the day before the school year began should be arrested and fined for such a disservice.

Thankfully, you planned enough ahead to bring clothes to the twins' house for today. The outfit you had chosen was relatively casual: the worn-down, navy blue sweater that had been your father's during his college years and the comfiest pair of jeans you could find.

Venturing downstairs to the kitchen, you finally felt the extent of how poorly your stomach felt due to the heavy drinking from the previous night. You opted for something easy, pulling the first box of cereal that your fingertips touched out of the cabinet. You never liked cereal too much, but anything went during difficult times like these.

As you poured yourself a bowl of the bland cereal, footsteps sounded throughout the house. They were coming closer and closer to your location. You assumed it had been Pietro.

You were... close — it was her.

When you looked up from the bowl to see who the person was, you were displeased to find the girl standing there, simply observing you with a smirk on her face. It reminded you of the villainous expressions from the television: conniving and mischievous.

"Stop staring at me like that," you sneered, trying to keep your volume low enough that Pietro would not hear you but loud enough that she would sense the harsh seriousness of your tone.

Wanda maintained her gaze, simply tilting her head as if to challenge you, "Like what?"

"Like you know what I taste like."

The faux innocence in her expression slightly faltered. Her eyebrows rose, the shock from your words evident on her face. As Wanda opened her mouth to form another witty remark, the sound of a door opening made the two of you go effectively silent. Wanda looked toward the direction of the sound, awaiting his entrance in a way that demonstrated her indifference toward last night's events. You, on the other hand, completely averted your gaze from both of the twins due to the shame that coursed through your veins.

The rational part of your brain begged for you to tell Pietro about what happened last night; it would resolve the guilt that clawed at you with each passing minute, lifting the weight off of your shoulders entirely. Yet, each time that you began to plan the exact words of your apology, any ideas you had conjured seemed to fall short. It was not as if you could search the internet for a script concerning "how to tell your best friend that you mistakenly (but not so mistakenly that you stopped it) hooked up with his emo, bitchy twin sister at a party."

Your eyes swiftly returned to Wanda, watching her inch closer to where you stood by the counter. She reached her arm behind you, leaning in close enough that your breath mingled with hers. If asked, you would completely and utterly deny that part of your mind was anticipating the vibrant feeling of her lips on yours again; however, the fleeting glance at her lips revealed otherwise.

Wanda noticed. Of course, you would fall into her trap, and she noticed. She smirked in response to your reaction before leaning away and taking a few steps back. A banana was in the hand that had been behind you. Scoffing at yourself, you cannot believe that you let her tease you again.

"See you at school, Y/N," she declared with narrowed eyes, looking you up and down once more before waltzing out of the front door.

You took a deep breath, attempting to recuperate your mind for the day ahead of you. As soon as Wanda had left, Pietro walked into the kitchen, ignorant of what had just occurred.

Standing still as if in a daze, you could only sense Pietro race around the kitchen, grabbing various items he needed for the day ahead. After a few minutes, he slowed to a stop after closing the door to the fridge. He must have sensed your unusual stillness, then he asked, “You okay? Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You shakily nodded. “All good,” you forced yourself to stutter out. Not even you believed your words, but it seems as if Pietro was too busy in his own world to truly notice the lack of honesty in your reply. “I’m all good. Now come on, we’re gonna be late.”

The two of you scurried out the door in the hopes that you had not missed the bus. It was a bad habit that you both had been trying to break for years now but remained relatively unsuccessful.

As the two of you approached the classic, yellow school bus that sat on the corner of the street, Pietro raced ahead in order to save you the extra minute of running. He gracefully entered the bus, climbing its stairs with ease; meanwhile, you were audibly out of breath and tried to ignore the glances the bus driver gave to the two of you.

Pietro, like most mornings, found himself sitting with some of his friends from the cross country team, leaving you to fend for yourself. You quickly scanned the bus for an empty row so you could sit by yourself, but you quickly realized that was a luxury you could not afford after such a late arrival. While you could not find an empty row, you were about to find a single empty seat towards the back of the bus.

You shuffled your feet to the empty seat but stopped as soon as you noticed its other inhabitant: Wanda.

Bile suddenly formed in your throat at the thought of having to spend more time with her — more specifically, without her brother, your friend, and coincidentally the only person to keep her dangerous, spontaneous nature in check, present. You approached her, simply attempting to take the bus ride silently and one minute at a time. You swore to yourself internally that you would not respond to her, irrespective of whatever she may say or do.

The bus slowly pulled away from the stop and started its route toward the high school. For the first few minutes, everything seemed to be going unusually fine. Wanda sat silently beside you, wired earphones trailing from her phone to her ears. As her gaze remained fixed toward the window, you wonder if she had even noticed that a person had now occupied the seat next to her, let alone that person being you.

You naively took her initial lack of response as a victory. With a sigh of relief, you allowed your body to relax in the seat and closed your eyes for the remainder of the ride.

Then, you felt something.

The brush of something on your thigh.

You opened your eyes to scope the scene, making sure you had not imagined the sensation; however, it seemed to be just that: nothing. The only thing positioned in your lap was your backpack filled with your books for the upcoming year. You closed your eyes and began to drift away once again. Maybe you were going crazy, you pondered. (Maybe you could blame your irrational behavior last night on such insanity. Would the insanity defense work for things like that, too?)

Then, you felt it again.

Without much hesitation, your eyes shot open once more. Only this time, you were met with the sight of a hand, decorated with several rings and chipped, black nail polish, situated comfortably, almost possessively, on your upper thigh. You peered toward Wanda's face, which was still facing the opposite direction, attempting to gauge her reaction. Yet, you saw nothing; her expression was rather unchanged, leaving you more confused than anything.

Before you could think about what to do about the situation, the bus drove over a mountainous bump on the road. You internally cursed the local government officials for the obstacle, for whether it occur by accident or intention, Wanda's hand flew directly into the apex between your thighs. Eyes widened in shock, your lips drift open as you gasp from the sensation.

It finally gave you the courage, however, to shove her hand away, but not without seeing the signature smirk she acquired in the process. Anger began to boil inside you. You repeated to yourself that it was because the brunette's touches were unexpected — not that she had been victorious. In the end, you just silently thanked yourself that you had chosen jeans, or else that could have ended much differently knowing the Sokovian.

Days turned into weeks, each bringing the routine of snide comments and less-than-playful banter between you and Wanda. You still had not found a way to enlighten Pietro about your issues with his sister (both the endless torment and... that night), given that (1) she was his twin sister and (2) she always seemed to be around. The cynical part of your brain believed that her unusual proximity was purposeful — she probably just wanted to see the fallout.

While the two of you had not gone further than your typical banter again over the past few weeks, though, you still felt incredibly agitated. (You chalked it up to anger because it definitely could not be the possibility of pent-up sexual frustration between the two of you.)

However, one day differed from the rest.

You noticed early in the day that Wanda was being extraordinarily quiet. Part of you was thankful, praying that her silence would continue until the end of the school day.

It was a Thursday in late October. Like most days, you followed Pietro to his home after school, venting to him about how you were excited it was Friday tomorrow because you were simply over all of the midterms being assigned and just wanted time to relax.

(You continued to ignore the underlying guilt that sat in the pit of your stomach from remaining silent about everything that happened with his sister weeks before; you attempted to ignore it even more by rationalizing your silence, stating it was "only one time" and a "mistake that would never even happen again.")

As you entered the house, Pietro immediately drops his bag on the floor and runs up to his room. You rolled your eyes at this typical, teenage-boy messiness, and opted to place your bag on the hooks that Agatha designated for such items.

Feet padding across the wooden floors, you wandered into your happy place of the home: the kitchen. You opened the fridge, looking for a small snack that could satiate your hunger until dinner. Finding nothing of interest, you closed the door. Your body jumps, though, at the figure that had been hiding behind it: Wanda.

The patience you once had had officially worn invisibly thin.

“What the fuck, Wanda? What do you want from me?” you asked exasperatedly, the energy you once had for such shenanigans having become completely depleted after a difficult week of school. "Listen, I don't know what I ever did to you for you to treat me like this, but I'm over it."

“Are you…” She started but quickly cut herself off. Her head tilted, trying to figure out if you really did not know the answer. You noticed the way her mouth opened and shut out of pure bewilderment; while you normally would make a comment about it in an attempt to tease her in return, you figured now was not the time. When Wanda found no evidence of lies in your expression, she continued to speak, “You really don’t remember, do you?”

You threw your head back, a chuckle escaping from the back of your throat, primarily due to the exhaustion caused by this long-awaited conversation. “No, Wanda, I don’t remember! If I had, don’t you think I would have apologized by now! Don’t you think that maybe, just maybe, I would have given you an “I’m sorry” so we could have avoided all of this? So that I would not have to deal with your bullshit for the past decade? So tell me, Wanda, what did I do to deserve this?”

“First day of school. Second grade. Recess," she spat out. Her words were so quiet but uttered with such venom.

Your brows furrowed in confusion at the seemingly random series of words, "What?"

She rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated with your lack of memories. While you could not remember what made her act this way, it had evidently stuck with her for years.

"It was my first day at this school," she began, her expression turning from red, hot anger into a stoic and collected nature. "Pietro and I had just moved to the States after losing our parents a few months before. Agatha was the only family member, albeit a distant family member, who was alive and willing to take us. So, we left everything behind and moved here."

You already knew the majority of this information, mostly after hearing it in brevity from Pietro. He had never truly talked about his time in Sokovia in depth, finding it distressing and uncomfortable to recall. You only discovered this one day when you both were 9, and you had followed him to his house after school for a play date. In a state of innocent curiosity, you asked him why he called (what you had assumed to be his mom) by her first name upon entering the house. He explained the basics, and that was the end of that. You understood and respected his quietness on the subject since then.

"Pietro has always been the better twin — better at school, better at sports, better at making friends. And, I'm just... me. So, he has always been better at the whole 'socializing' thing, even as an immigrant child with little knowledge of the States. Everybody seemed to like him, I guess. I, on the other hand, refused to talk... well, for the most part, at least. Anyway, on the first day of the second grade, my first day of school here, I was sitting on the edge of the concrete, picking at the grass."

She paused her speech, shifting her gaze to meet yours. "Then, this girl approached me. I thought, 'Wow, maybe I will have friends, maybe I will have friends and will finally be like Pietro.'” Wanda shook her head, shutting her eyes as if to remember each minute, each second, of that fateful day. Her accent was unconsciously growing thicker by the minute. “So, I greeted them, introduced myself like our mama had taught, and asked if they would like to play with me. You want to know what she did, Y/N?"

She opened her eyes, locking them with yours in a harsh stare. "'You talk funny,'" she hissed. "That's what the girl had said before running back to her group of friends. Truthfully, it's not even that deep of an insult, but it somehow spread like wildfire how the 'new girl' was abnormal, how she couldn’t even talk normally, how she was dirty with her dirty shoes and probably had fleas from her even dirtier home country, how no one could touch her or else they would be 'infected' by her."

“Why are you telling me this?” you stuttered out. “What does this have to do with you being a complete and utter bitch to me for the past ten years?”

Wanda huffed, “That girl was you, Y/N.”

Every breath you had suddenly left your chest. Your eyes widened, unsure of how to respond, “What?”

“You say I made your life a living hell? Bullshit. You ruined mine. You have everything I have ever wanted: friends, good grades… parents,” she said, her tone becoming soft with insecurity toward the end. “You even got my brother, my fucking twin brother! For fuck's sake! And yet, you still had to ruin my life."

"Wanda, I'm..." you began, but all of the words you have acquired in your seventeen years of life were failing you. "I'm sorry. I- I don't..."

This time, Wanda laughed, but it was not the depressed, low chuckle like before. No, this was something else entirely, a burst of maniacal laughter that indicated an unfound level of absurdity. Your eyebrows furrowed.

"'You don't' what, Y/N?" the brunette taunted.

You decided to be honest with her, "I don't know what to say."

"Of course not. 'Little Miss Perfect' never knows what to say when she finds out she's not so perfect after all."

Your sympathy gradually faded to the original anger you had been feeling. Your eyebrow involuntarily quirked, "Hold on, now... I never claimed to be 'perfect.'"

“Oh, please,” she replied, belittling your attempts to argue her predetermined notion of you. She began to mock you, “My name’s Y/N. I have the best grades in the entire school, all my friends love me, and, at night, my parents tuck me into bed and call me their little princess…”

Slowly but surely, your vision turned red. You stepped closer to Wanda, hoping the proximity would deter her from making additional snide comments about you.

“We all have our shit, Wanda,” you sneered. “You better quit now before I give you a reason to.”

She scoffed, “Oh, really? What are you gonna do? Tell mommy and daddy I…”

Her words were cut short by the placement of your lips on hers.

Truthfully, you were unsure of why you decided that this was the best course of action; perhaps your brain was simply shut off by the rage coursing through your body. Yet, that confusion did not stop you from continuing. In fact, it did not hinder either of you from continuing.

The kiss was forceful, containing all of the emotions you both have felt since that fateful night. Her mouth pushed and pulled roughly against yours; you returned the energy just as much. There were no thoughts, no rationality, behind both of your actions — only pure lust and passion.

Your hands started at her jaw but slowly drifted upwards toward the roots of her brown, messy hair, gripping and tugging at the strands. Parting from your lips for the first time in what must have been minutes, she released a moan from the sensation and continued to drift southwards toward your neck. As her teeth scraped at your pulse point, you were finally brought back to the reality of the situation.

You used the hands that were still threaded within her hair to pull her away from your neck; although, neither of you immediately stepped away from the other. You took the opportunity of your closeness to note how swollen her lips had become, how hot she looked under the dimness of the kitchen lighting.

"What are we doing?" you mumbled into the open air, not exactly expecting a response from the Sokovian in front of you.

She remained quiet, eyes flickering between your eyes and your lips. Her tongue darted out briefly, licking over her own lips in (what you assume to be, at least) preparation for more.

So, you seized the opportunity of her quietness to continue, "I'm not... I'm not perfect, okay? My parents... it's complicated. Sure, they're alive and whatnot, but... they don't care. Honestly, half of the shit I do — the grades, even — I do it so that they might finally pay attention. So, like I said, we all have our own shit to deal with."

Her lips parted, eyes stilled and staring into yours.

"And, l am sorry that that comment fucked you up as a kid. If I had known, even as a kid, I would've not said anything like that. I know I can't reverse time but..."

This time, her lips effectively ended your speech; however, the kiss was much softer than earlier, showcasing a newfound appreciation and, perhaps, feelings.

"I know," she acknowledged in a whisper after pulling away. "I'm... I'm sorry, too, by the way. I shouldn't have acted like that — it was cruel. We can talk more about it, about our... issues, later, but um- I just want to start over. Just us."

You nodded in affirmation, a blush flooding your cheeks.

"Just us."

The two of you sealed the agreement with a soft peck.

The sound of a glass shattering on the floor captured the attention of both of you, ending the kiss with the redirection of your heads in order to discover the culprit.

In the doorway of the kitchen, Pietro stood surrounded by broken glass splattered across on the wooden floor.

With widened eyes, you said the first and only thing that came to mind: "Oh, shi—"

End.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #limarieb wanda maximoff #limarieb #marvel imagines #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Text

Ghost & König w/ an S/O who Wears Glasses

Warnings: Brief mention of sex, No pronouns used for Reader except for 'You', implications of violence (not towards Reader), wholesome content on the whole, etc.

Ghost

If you can't see jack shit without your glasses, this man is relentless.

Hides your glasses where you can't reach them if he's bored and looking for amusement.

Won't do this if there are any dangerous obstacles around, though; he's not a monster.

He is, however, cruel (on occassion).

"Babe, have you seen my glasses?"

Ghost, wearing them , knowing full well you can't see them: "Nope, sorry. Want me to help you look?"

Knows what actually annoys you, and will make a concerted effort to not do that.

Won't just randomly tear your glasses of your face and be like: "WoAh, ThEsE aRe StRoNg! HoW cAn YoU wEaR tHeSe EvErYdAy? HoW cAn YoU sEe ThRoUgH tHeM??"

Gets mad angry if someone else does that to you.

Especially if it's someone you don't know, either well or at all.

He will straight-up snatch those glasses back off them and give them a Glasgow Kiss (or a punch; he'll try and avoid a migraine, if possible).

They're the ones who will be needing glasses by the time Simon's done with them.

Ghost thinks your glasses make you look really attractive :-),

Thinks they make you look intellectual and refined - like "A hot teacher."

"...What do you mean by that, Si?"

He may ask you to keep them on during sex :>.

He thinks they make you look that hot.

He obviously thinks you look just as attractive without them, though <3.

König

In a similar vein to how Ghost thinks you look like "A hot teacher," König thinks you look "Cool" when you put your glasses on: "Like Clark Kent and Superman!"

Gets excited when you put them on, so he'll basically always have them to-hand in case you ever ask for them.

Need them to see when you wake up in the morning? BAM, König's got the case in his hand right now.

He also keeps track of all your other belongings, too, for the days when you lose your glasses and need a really specific thing and can't find it because everything's blurry.

"Köni, please would you pass me-"

"Here's your notebook, laptop, pastel highlighters and a snack. Was there anything else, my love :>?"

Is constantly aware that your visual impairment may affect your ability to gauge distance.

If you get new glasses or are getting used to contacts, he'll keep you close to him until you're able to get used to the new adjustments.

If you're outside in a crowded city or somewhere similar, he'll have an arm around your shoulder all the time, using his immense height and build to act not only as a force field, but a deterrent against others who might come too close to you.

He sometimes gets a fright when you take your glasses off because he thinks you're a different person for a few moments.

Same as when he's drunk and trying to push you away because "I'm already taken~" not realising it's actually you just trying to get him home before the sun rises.

"Come on, champ, let's get you home--"

"No! I'm going home with (Y/N)!"

"I am (Y/N)!"

If he's anything, it's loyal, and, though a bit of a hindrance to you both getting home, you find it massively endearing :-).

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #konig x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #konig mw2 #konig headcanons #mw2 ghost x reader #konig x you #konig call of duty

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loveindefinitely · 4 months

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

10 — I'D KISS YOU AS THE LIGHTS WENT OUT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

[I HIGHLY RECOMMEND LISTEN TO DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED BY TAYLOR SWIFT FOR THIS CHAPTER FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE!]

The wraps, as promised, taste heavenly.

“Fuck,” you moan around a mouthful, covering your face’s lower half with your hand. As you chew around the food, then swallow, you move your palm to beam at Gaz, whose chin rests on his fist, split between watching you eat and looking through a notebook.

“Glad I can add you to my list of customers, Sweetheart,” he smiles, skimming through his book, the lamp standing in the corner of the room your only source of light. It’s well past midnight, now, curtains drawn and the lights of the hallway turned off.

“Seriously,” you use a napkin to wipe at the corners of your mouth, “That was like. Orgasmic.”

He huffs a laugh, dropping his notebook on his bed, arms outstretched behind him as he leans back against them, legs spread. You sit at his small desk, the wooden chair uncomfortable underneath you, but durable.

“Your shoulder feeling alright?” He asks, lazily looking over your form, dark features soft in the dim light. He looks like sin incarnate, and you feel as helpless as a moth to a flame.

Rotating your shoulder a bit, you shrug. “Hardly feel a thing. Get used to the pain, after a while.”

He hums, before moving to stand, heading to his wardrobe and looking through it. Having changed out of his uniform, he now adorns a faded green shirt and deep grey sweats, not unlike your own.

“Looking for Narnia?” You taunt, making sure that the desk is free of crumbs as you stand, moving over to stand behind him. “Think pushing you in could help?”

Moving back, you regret your words as you see the instrument in his hands.

“You…” You swallow. “You play guitar?” Looking to him, entranced by the tendons in his hands, the intricate wood of the acoustic in his gentle grip. The pick hanging from the chain around his neck makes sense, now.

If his cheeky grin is breathtaking in the light of day, it’s deathly stunning in the darkness of night.

“Yeah. I play guitar,” he mocks, giving back what you gave. With a jerk of his head, he encourages you to sit beside him on his bed, which you do quickly.

“Playing and being good at are very different things,” you retort, but you find the usual energy in your words is lacking. You don’t entirely believe them, not with the way you’re watching his hands, the way he so carefully holds the instrument. The way he had so carefully held you.

Positioning the guitar to be played, he leans his head back, looking to the roof with a soft hum, contemplating. Folding your legs beneath yourself, you watch him with lidded eyes as he starts to slowly strum unmatched notes. Gathering a feel for his rhythm, the weight of the guitar in his hands, the tempo playing in his head.

“Don’t make fun of me,” he warns, shooting you a knowing look as he starts to hum along to a broken tune. “I’m not known for my singing.”

Your chuckle is a light, airy thing. “If I know the song, maybe I’ll join in,” you shrug, body loose where you sit.

The lighting, the smell of boy in his room, that masculine scent you can’t quite place, and the heat of his body, it’s all a concoction for comfort. You feel oddly safe, protected, like you belong, maybe, if such a thing is possible for someone like you.

Clearing his throat, Gaz gets comfortable, starting to build a rhythm where he strums his calloused fingers against the strings, his other hand moving around the neck with practised ease.

I loved you in secret

First sight, we loved without reason

Oh, twenty-five years old

Oh, how were you to know?

You feel trapped, almost, fully encompassed by the beauty of his skill, the beauty of his voice – the beauty of him. His hair looks suddenly too pullable, like it exists purely for you to grip onto and hold against your aching body.

When was the last time you’d done anything close to romantic? Sexual?

Being with Graves was like using your own hand. Maybe worse, on a bad day, and it had rarely been a pleasurable experience.

Right here, with Gaz softly playing the guitar, dim light haloed around him, voice velvet against burning hot coal, feels closer to freedom than sex with your Commander ever had.

An angel.

Kyle Garrick looks like an angel.

All smooth skin and dimples, light freckles and saccharine smiles. The light smell of citrus and cleanliness, honey and mildew. With the lamp where it is, it colours the tips of his curls, highlights the depth of his face, the chocolate of his stunning eyes.

Like a punch to your gut, you realise the effect this man has on you.

In a way no one else – not before leaving Graves – ever has.

And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis

People started talking, putting us through our paces

I knew there was no one in the world that could take it

I had a bad feeling

Focused on his hands, the placement, the speed – Gaz doesn’t notice the way you watch him. How you hang onto his every movement, the indent his teeth leave on his lower lip, the dip of his brow, the slope of his nose.

If only you could preserve this moment in time forever.

Where nothing mattered, but you and him. There was no impending doom in the form of Phillip Graves, no distrust in the eyes of Ghost, no haunting spectre from your past.

Just you and Gaz and his music.

Your heart aches with the bittersweet of it all. How nothing would be normal, not after the past few days. But maybe now, just for one night, you could pretend to be normal. Pretend that it was just you and a friend spending time together.

Pretend that everything’s okay, and your world as you know it isn’t falling apart at the seams around you.

Pretend that you’re okay.

I’d kiss you as the lights went out

Swaying as the room burned down

I’d hold you as the water rushes in

If I could dance with you again

He feels so close. In every sense of the world. And you yearn and you yearn and you yearn.

For what? For a sense of belonging? Haven’t you always yearned for that – desperate to hide the loneliness in your chest and replace it with bravado? Pretend that your baggage is simply a crate locked and stored away forever?

The beat in your chest, matching the beat of the song, Gaz’s skillful fingers against the strings. Oh, how you suddenly wish to be a poet, just to capture the feeling within you with mere words against paper.

What was it like to be loved?

Honestly and deeply – earnest and true. To be held against a chest for the simple feat of existing, that very truth alone enough to be deserving of such a gesture. The very thought sounds so perfect, now, to be cherished in such a pure way. But who could give that to you?

Gaz?

A fool’s hope. A fool’s dream.

Dancing with our hands tied, hands tied

Yeah, we were dancing

Like it was the first time, first time

Yeah, we were dancing

With the final strum of the final note, you understand what being alive is truly like.

The two of you sit in silence, for a moment, and it’s like a hurricane of emotion and need and want crashes into you all at once, leaving you breathless.

As he, at last, looks back up to you, expression almost shy, every word evaporates from your brain. Like a drop of water against a barren desert floor. Gone.

“How’d I do?” He asks, voice breathy and tense and oh.

You feel so, so utterly lost.

Nodding, hand gripping the sheet atop his bed, you wet your bottom lip. “Good. I’m – you’re really good, Kyle.”

His name tastes like dew on your tongue, a blessing to even say the syllables, form the sounds in your mouth. A gift from the gods, a treasure to be varnished and cared for.

Sparkling brown eyes track the movement of your mouth, his own eyes half-lidded and hazy in the low light, and your stomach heats with something you’re not sure you want to place. Something you’re not sure you’re allowed to.

“We should get some sleep,” you find yourself saying, almost on autopilot.

Gaz nods, eyes still transfixed on your mouth, before shaking his head lightly as if to gather his thoughts once more. He gets up, stiff in his movements, carefully putting the guitar away.

“You sure you’re fine sharing a bed?” He asks, ever careful and gentle.

“Yeah,” you say, a breath, “It’s fine. I’m a soldier, I’ve experienced worse.” An attempt of a joke, one that falls flat in the unbreakable tension of the small room. “Do you have a bathroom?”

He jerks a nod. “The four of us get special treatment ‘round here. Ensuite. Help yourself.”

Getting up on shaky legs, you give him a quick smile, before heading in to brush your teeth and splash your face.

When you look in the mirror, you see a version of yourself that makes you wipe at your eyes.

You look. New. Changed. Different. Any multitude of words to say that you aren’t the same woman that you were days ago. Not the same woman you were under Graves’ leadership, and certainly not the same woman that you were under Shepherd’s training.

If only she could see herself now.

Using the hand towel to wipe off the water, you allow yourself a moment to expel the air from your lungs, and inhale deeply.

Shutting the door behind you with a soft creak, you find the lamp to be turned off, the only light coming from Gaz’s phone as he scrolls through it, laying on his side against the wall.

Awkwardly, you find yourself moving to lay down beside him.

“Sorry,” you whisper when you brush against his arm, the narrow design allowing for next-to-no room for either of you.

Squeezing in closer to the wall, he murmurs back, “It’s alright. Just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Silence falls between the two of you as you get yourself situated, managing to not press against the man again. He’s silent, except for a few breaths, as he looks through his phone. As soon as you’re still, however, he shuts it off, plugging it in and leaving it to sit underneath his pillow.

Sleep clings to your eyelids, a taunting thing, but your body still feels the need to move – to release the energy building up within your limbs.

Minutes pass, like the tick of an analog clock.

It’s about ten minutes of silence, before Gaz breaks it with graceful ignorance.

“You feelin’ alright?” He asks, truly meaning the words – and expecting a proper answer. The ruffle of the singular blanket has you focusing on his movements, but he does nothing more than roll over, facing you now.

“It’s,” you nervously look to the roof, the pitch black of the room doing nothing to aid your internal dilemma. “It’s just a bit cold.”

“It is, innit?” Gaz nervously laughs, and his obvious hesitance, surprisingly, has you more comfortable. You, too, roll over, your faces mere centimetres apart. He seems so warm. Even without the ability to see, you can almost feel his eyes searching your face, desperate for answers to questions he doesn’t want to ask.

What is to live, if not to take risks? The only reason you were here, in this very bed right now was because of a risk, right?

His breath fans against your face, and even that small warmth has you leaning in closer to the Sergeant. As he swallows, it’s an audible sound, the slope of his neck bobbing with the movement.

“Can I hold you?” He asks, a gentle thing, and without a word, you curl up against him.

Bulky, trained, masculine arms wrap around your torso, pulling you in close, sharing the warmth of your body with his own. Your face buries against his shoulder, into his neck, and his scent is so him that it has you burrowing in further. His own hands tighten in the fabric of your borrowed shirt, and what a feeling it is.

You can only wish that you never escape the hold of his arms, if only so you don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, without his frame to keep you upright.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear as he speaks. His hands move in circles, a kind motion, and you melt against him.

His thigh slides between your own, an unexpected motion, and you barely conceal a whimper as it slides against your clothed pussy. The sweats do nothing to conceal the heat, the ache you feel between your legs, and the sudden presence of him has you freezing up.

Without a word, he just lets it rest there, continuing to rub soothing circles on your back.

Your lips fall open, spit-slicken, and your nails bite into his back as he leans in closer, pushing his thigh in closer to your core.

Your breaths become shared in the small space between you two, harried and genuine in the sudden intensity between you both.

“Sergeant,” you breathe, brows furrowed, mouth open as he leans in closer, hands slowly moving from your back, trailing down to your hips, pulling you forward against his thigh.

It's quiet, for a moment, a gentle pause in the current rushing between you both. His hand smoothes over your cheek, cautious and adoring, a reassurance more than anything.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“Colonel,” he returns, and presses his lips against yours.

His mouth moves against your own, sensual and slow, easing in the way he darts his tongue over your lips, meeting your tongue. He tastes like the sweetest of candies, a forbidden fruit’s nectar. Hand moving from your cheek to your neck, he pulls you in closer, turning his head to devour you against his pillow.

A moan slips from you, drowned out by his being melding with your own as he grinds his thigh higher, a perfect pleasure shooting up your spine at the movement.

Thoughts are a difficult thing, at the moment, a rare commodity. When your brain comes back online, you’re sure to hold some regret – but now? With his soft lips on yours, his grip on your neck, the bulk of his thigh? Regret is the last thing on your mind.

When he breaks away, finally, to breathe, a soft sigh escapes his plush mouth.

“Is this okay?” He asks, the words asked in a whisper against the corner of your mouth as he presses gentle kisses along your cheek, the crease of your eye. “Please, love, tell me.”

Your exhale is shaky, but you nod, meeting his lips with a turn of your head. A quick, reassuring exchange.

“Yeah,” you chuckle lightly, thighs squeezing around his, tits pressed against his own flat chest, “This is okay, Kyle.”

“You’re so beautiful,” he gasps, a devotion, before moving to straddle you, hands falling into your hair like a lifeline as he ravages your mouth once more. Small nips to your lips, a tongue searching your own, his pelvis pressed tightly against your soaking pussy.

“Fuck,” you whimper, turning your head to breathe as he moves one hand to slowly follow your frame, brushing your collarbones, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. Your nipples feel unbearably tight, achey, and you’re desperate for his touch.

“Can I take this off, love?” He asks – a plea, really. “Let me see your pretty tits.”

You’re nodding, frantic, as he pulls the shirt over your head, helping you sit up a bit to take it off entirely, throwing it to the floor with little care.

His hands are warm against your cold chest, careful as they first graze your tits, both of you letting out tense breaths as he cradles them in his hands, feeling out the weight of them, entranced. The heel of his palm presses against your nipples, and you let out a small cry as he rubs them in those circles he loves so much.

“Shh, Sweetheart,” he whispers, noting your noises. “I’ll take good care of ya. Y’know I will.”

Your eyes shut as he leans in, licking a stripe across the expanse of your breasts, using one hand to squeeze while he uses his mouth to treat your most needy spots.

Hand moving to rest at the nape of his neck, you form a tight fist in his hair, pulling him in closer to your body. He lets out a low hum, the vibration of the sound sending sparks shooting behind your eyelids as he toys with your nipples, meticulous.

“Sergeant,” you whine, breathless, wanting, “Sergeant, please.”

He moves away from worshipping your tits to meet your lips, licking into your mouth with the energy and fervour of a virgin. The brush of your naked chest against his clothed torso has you aching.

“Colonel,” he challenges, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth, drawing a drop of blood, “Let me lick your pussy, love, c’mon. I’ll kiss ‘er real nice.”

You’re helpless to do anything but nod.

With one hand, he undoes the tie of your sweats, pulling down the pants as he goes. Lifting your legs with ease, he takes them off all the way, chucking it over the edge of the bed to join your shirt.

His hands rub soothingly over your bare skin, slowly moving upwards on his knees until he meets your thighs. Leaning down, like a beggar at an altar, he starts to leave open-mouthed kisses on the skin near your pulsing heat, sucking on the unseen area and leaving behind marks. His hands hold onto your hips like they’ll provide him mercy.

Both hands in his hair, lightly pulling, you start to grind against his face when he starts leaving kisses around your folds, fingers leaving imprints with the viciousness of his grasp around your hips.

Your mind feels numb, no goals, no thoughts, other than that of pleasure.

The first lick against your pussy has a desperate whimper bubbling out of you, nails scraping against his scalp as he flicks his tongue over your swollen clit. There’s a viciousness to it, one that he embraces, his teeth softly grazing your tender bud as he caresses you.

“Oh,” you moan, head flung back, mouth fallen open as you grind against his giving mouth. “Fuck. Please. Feels so good.”

He pulls away, just far enough back so his lips brush against your core as he whispers, “Gotta stay quiet, love, yeah?” Smoothing his hand over your stomach, pressing you down further into his bed, you clasp one hand over your mouth.

Smirking against your thigh, he praises, “Atta girl.”

Your lower stomach burns with need, and you feel electricity line your veins as he savours your taste, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his calloused hand. He’s passionate about it, laving over your pussy with precise strokes. Your thighs squeeze around his head, and in response, he only lets out a long, drawn-out moan, muffled by your body.

His finger moves to rub at your entrance, rubbing softly around it, before slowly thrusting his index finger in.

Swallowing a whine, you pull him in closer, your stomach tightening as he pushes in a second finger. He’s good with it – knows where to touch, how deep, the movements. Practised and skillful in his strokes – a musician, through and through.

“God, Kyle, you’re doing so good,” you mumble, hair splayed on the pillow beneath you as you rut against him, using him for your own gain. It feels perfect, the way he’s putting your pleasure over anything else.

So unlike any other man you’ve been with.

“If I could spend my days with you sitting on my face,” Gaz admires, leaning back, heaving deep breaths, continuing to lazily finger you as your grip loosens in his hair, “I’d do it in a heartbeat, Colonel.”

“Don’t stop calling me that,” you order, tightening your grip once more and pulling him back. He goes without a word, energy increasing tenfold, two fingers turning into three. He goes at it like a man starved, and the noises that leave your lips are nothing but sex-addled.

He tries to reply, but it’s muffled as he continues to eat you out, relentless in his devotion to the act.

Hand softly moving from your stomach, he outstretches it, searching for your own hand with small squeezes. When you shakily meet it with your own, he intertwines them, pushing them to the mattress with strength and determination. With every thrust of his other hand, or lick of his tongue, he tightens his grip.

You find your core tightening, your release coming up quick as he plays you like the instrument now lying in his wardrobe. The pure darkness of the room only aids the sensuality of it all, the air existing between just the two of you.

Any thought of right and wrong feel nothing but unnecessary, now, and utterly pointless. What's the purpose of worrying about the morality of it all, when you're both consenting and wanting and ready? When it feels so fucking good to have him servicing you between your legs?

If only you could see him, the beauty of his pussy-drunk face, the glisten of you on the stubble of his chin.

“I'm close, Sergeant, fuck,” you gasp, gyrating your hips against him, his nose bumping your clit where he licks in your entrance.

He doubles his efforts, fingering and savouring and worshipping.

Your release comes when he broadly licks over your clit, fingers pressing against just the right spot inside of you, his moan a small vibration against your sensitive bud. Keening, hand coming up to slam over your mouth, a tear drops from your clenched eyes as you ride out the aftershocks.

Allowing you to use him for the last few moments of pleasure, he doesn’t untwine your hands, but he does stop fingering you to rub at your thigh in reassuring circles.

When your hips start stuttering, your keens turning into overstimulated whimpers, he slowly moves away, licking over the essence coating his mouth and lower face. His hand still remains in your own as he leans in, opening your mouth with languid strokes and smooth kisses. You arch into it, breasts pressing against his still clothed chest.

Breaking away from the embrace, thumb stroking over your inner wrist, he brings up his slicken hand.

“Gotta clean up your mess, love,” he gently encourages, opening your jaw with a soft grip of your chin, before slowly dragging his fingers over your waiting tongue. His breath brushes your cheek as he explores your mouth.

“Sergeant,” you mumble around the intrusion, eyes blissfully shut, “Need to make you feel good too.”

He freezes, a moment, a barely noticeable thing. “Makin’ you feel good got me off. Don’t worry, Colonel – next time.”

Now it’s your turn to freeze as he extracts his fingers, wiping them off on his own shirt. “Next time? I,” you swallow, “What is this, even? What are we doing?”

Reality and consequences and everything hit you all at once, your chest tightening even in the afterglow of your orgasm.

He furrows his brows, untwining his fingers from yours and rubbing soothing patterns over your hand, his other carefully pulling back your messy hair behind your ears. “We can’t tell the guys,” he admonishes, slowing his movements as he realises. “We can’t – they’ll crucify us both, and –”

“And?” You ask as he trails off, your brows matching his, now, as he rolls to his side, pulling your back to his chest. He rubs at your waist, your hips, lips pressed to the back of your neck.

“Nothing,” he’s quick to amend, “Don’t worry about it. Just… focus on the feeling. Gonna be a shit show, the next couple of days. Lay with me, get some rest.”

You hum, non-committal. Relaxing further against him, his head resting in the crook of your neck, your breaths come out slow and calm. “You and Price,” you start, a niggling in the back of your mind that yearns for information causing you to speak the words. “The two of you – you’re different.”

He halts his movements, head slowly moving back from your neck. “What – what do you mean?”

Hand searching behind you, you pull him back in, his head burrowing further against your shoulder, your skin. You try and think of the best way to put it, the comfortable silence helping you gather your thoughts as you do.

“You’re… You like him, don’t you?”

Gaz’s responding laugh is grating, a choked off thing, a sad one. Your heart sinks to your feet, his body suddenly stiff against your own.

“No. I don’t like my Cap,” he huffs, indignant. Like it’s the craziest thing you’ve ever said, and not something based on quiet observation.

“You’re sure? Or is it just that you think he doesn’t like you?”

He pauses. Stilling, but processing your words for what they are. His response is a sceptic, “Like is a juvenile idea, anyways, Sweetheart.”

“I like you,” you admit, words soft as they leave your mouth, kind. Genuine.

“If it was that simple, everyone would be too busy getting with everyone they liked to live,” he admonishes, just as soft, as respectful. He’s so introspective – the most underestimated of the 141, but the most receptive. Understanding and watchful.

“It can be that simple. Sometimes.”

“Didn’t realise you were a dreamer, Colonel.”

“What else combats the nightmares?”

Silence. Your most common enemy and foe, fills in the blanks between you both. He holds you against him tight, now, like you’re an anchor, and he’s a yacht in the stormiest of seas.

“We can’t tell ‘em,” Gaz states after the silence takes hold for minutes on end. “We’re dead if we do – can’t let ‘em figure it out, either.”

“It was just a lapse in judgement,” you say, not believing the words as they fall from your lips. Hate yourself for saying them. “No one has to know. I’ll be out of your hair after this is all done with, anyways.”

He doesn’t respond to that. Not for a long while.

It’s only when you’re a single step away from sleep that he does.

“I really hope that’s another lie, Sweetheart.”

“Gaz, Sweetheart – get yer arses up, Laswell got more intel!”

You groan, lazily rolling onto your back, body burning hot from your bedmate’s clinging form. His arms hand around your waist, his entire being pressed against you, snoring softly where his chin rests atop your head.

Wiping at the sleep from your eyes, bleary and tired, you groan when Gaz just squeezes you tighter, pressing his face to your bed-hair.

That same voice calls from outside the door once more, loud knocking following his Scottish lilt.

“Aye swear to god, if either of ye are naked or I see jizz–”

“We’re up! We’re up!” You call out, cheeks heating from how on the nose his joking goad is. “Give us a minute!”

“Hurry up, Sweetheart, or aye will carry ye out over my bloody shoulder.”

Gaz yelps when you scramble out of bed and pull the covers clean off, uncaring of your naked frame as you hop on one leg to tug on the spare sweatpants from last night.

He shoves a pillow over his eyes as you rip open the window’s curtains, allowing the late morning light to filter in as you tug on your shirt. His sweatpants hang loosely around you, and you tie them off with one hand while the other pulls at his arm.

“Gaz – get up!” You hiss as he tries to hit your arm away, you dodging every half-hearted swing with ease. “Unless you want Soap to come in and –”

“Fuck, woman, I’m up!” He instantly acquiesces, sitting as soon as the name Soap leaves your mouth.

You try to hide your smirk, but you obviously fail miserably, as a moment later a pillow is flung into your face. Hands on your hips, you raise a brow, glaring at the man rubbing his palms over his eyes.

Moving to the door, you open it, focusing entirely on not looking like the cat who got the cream.

Technically speaking, Gaz fit that description more accurately, but you weren’t about to get into the logistics. Not when Soap looks at you, then over your shoulder, then back at you. You swallow.

“Mornin’, Sleepin’ Beauty,” he winks, and you barely suppress a groan. He pulls you in with an elbow around your neck, rubbing at your bed hair with a chuckle. “Or is Rapunzel more fittin’?”

“If she’s Rapunzel, you’re the bloody chameleon, you twat!” Gaz calls from further in the room, walking over to join the two of you while latching his watch around his wrist. It’s silver – not too over the top, but good quality, too.

Your cheeks ache with the smile stretching your face, following as Soap swings his elbow around yours, and Gaz follows behind with a hand on your lower back.

“What kinda intel?” You ask around a giggle, and you realise your mistake as the mood sours almost immediately.

Soap nervously darts his eyes to the surrounding hallway, as if the metal will provide him answers. They don’t.

“Soap?” Gaz, too, asks, hand moving to between your shoulder blades in a comforting gesture.

His blue eyes meet yours. Guilty, almost, pitiful. As if he knows the next statement will ruin your fantastic mood, the jovial air between the three of you.

When he says it, he does so with a firm expression.

“We got intel on Shadow Company – and where to find the deal Graves made with Shepherd.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re @oreo-cream @someonepleasedateme @letmeapologise @uhhellnogetoffpleasenowty @inarabee @simp-sentral @littlecellist @clear-your-mind-and-dream @browtfyoudoing @oreo-cream @fanngirl19

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solarsa1nt · 4 months

Text

𐚁֙࿐ APPEARANCES

ryōmen sukuna x fem!reader

Tags — fluff , cuddling , innate domain , soft sukuna

Notes — none

It's ironic, Y/N supposes.

How one of the most insufferable beings to her was the one who brings her the most comfort on nights like these.

There was an unspoken arrangement— Y/N wasn't sure how it even started, mostly remembering vague images through the tears that had blurred her vision that night.

Of the sea of blood that coated the ground beneath them, of the ribcage trapping them inside like the cage, of the soft white of the kimono she clung onto.

Y/N shifts her leg so her calf was no longer pressing into one of the sharp horns that constructed the throne they were atop of.

The arms around her waist tighten at the action, unconsciously pulling her closer as a small sigh leaves Y/N's lips.

She didn't even know Sukuna could sleep. Y/N thinks to herself, unamused gaze tracing over the curse's features— vaguely noting how they seemed sharper than Yuuji's.

Actually, he seemed to be overall different than Yuuji. Sure, it's undoubtable that they looked uncannily similar, but Sukuna makes Yuuji seem older— the way he wore Yuuji's skin was so different that after truly looking at him, it's a surprise that they're meant to be identical.

And their faces... Y/N raises a hand, curiosity making up her expression as she goes to grab his face— wanting to tilt it to get a better angle.

Her plans come screeching to a halt as a tattooed hand grabs her wrist.

The hold was tight, yet somehow not painful. Two red eyes peer open, the bottom pair narrowed at her as the main set stays closed.

"And what do you think you're doing, brat?"

Y/N stays silent, continuing to stare at him wordlessly as her lips part slightly in surprise before closing once again.

The top set of eyes eventually open to glare at her directly, puddles of red that showed mild annoyance mixed with something unreadable deep within them.

"..Your face is different from Yuuji's." Y/N voices her observation quietly, as if she were still only just processing that fact herself.

"Oh? And that's what made you grow bold enough to touch me without permission?" Sukuna questions, yet still lets go of her wrist, allowing it to fall between them.

The one hand still around her waist tightens, the other raising to lean his head against as he continues to stare at her.

Y/N blinks back at him with an unfazed expression, "Is it because of the amount of fingers he consumed? Can you alter your appearance— if so, why only slight changes? Could you return to your original appeara—"

"Enough questions." Sukuna cuts her off before she could voice the rest of her thoughts.

An agitated frown tugs on her lips, but Y/N remains reluctantly silent. She knew what limits she could and couldn't push— she couldn't bring herself to risk whatever was going on between them.

Moving his hand that was propping up his head, he pushes her head against his shoulder— momentary confusion stemming from Y/N before she decides just to accept whatever was happening.

He's comfortable, so who is she to complain?

Vaguely, Y/N wonders how anybody else would react if she told them about using the king of curses as a pillow— a comfortable pillow, at that.

Well, whatever, it's not like she plans on telling anybody about this. Ever.

© 𝓢OLARSAINT 2024 ─── all of my works belong me alone! do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or spread any of my works in any other social media platform. these have only been reloaded on my own accounts on ao3 and wattpad

#ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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drcydrift · 1 year

Text

𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘷!𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘳𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴

pairing || ethan landry x afab!reader

warnings || mentions of sex toys, ethan being a pervert (obviously), mentions of underwear, ethan having a voice kink, reader has boobs, somnophilia (i think that's it)

word count || 229

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT — 18+ ONLY

† — Perv!Ethan who would definitely steal your underwear and jack off to it later while moaning out your name not caring if anyone heard him. He would also return your underwear, cum all over it and with no shame whatsoever.

† — Perv!Ethan who would get off to your voice like you two would be on call and he would be palming himself through his sweatpants while your completely oblivious as to what's happening behind the screen.

† — Perv!Ethan who would use your pillow and plushies to get off because he says that it "smells like you" and he "likes your scent,"

† — Perv!Ethan who would purposely drop something just so he can have a chance to look up your skirt and he might even snap a picture if he gets the chance too.

† — Perv!Ethan who sneak into your room at night, slowly build a collection of photos of you sleeping until he eventually has a whole stash of them under his bed.

† — Perv!Ethan who would purposely leave out a whole box of sex toys on your bed and when you find them you get super embarrassed and he just silently laughs to himself.

† — Perv!Ethan who at the beach would purposely touch your boobs when you ask him to put sunscreen on you and when you tell him about it he just says it was an "accident,"

all rights belong to © drcydrift — do not repost my work on instagram, wattpad, ao3 ect.

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eetherealgoddess · 4 months

Text

ꨄCellmateꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Prison/Bonten Au

❦Y/n goes to prison and meets an interesting group of men❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Japanese Language is Red

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

I based this Japanese prison off of some research so some parts may not be accurate. I only know some things about American prisons already so it might be combined with that just to make this easier for me to write. All in all I know barely anything about prison tbh so some of this will probably be made up.

It also said somewhere that they have either different sections or prison for foreigners (take what you will idk for a fact) but for the story’s sake, Y/n will be in the same area as the rest of the main guys.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Cellmate

The male walks down the hall with two guards guiding him from both sides, passing the cells as some of the fellow inmates stare and call out to the newcomer whereas others stay in their own zone, not paying any mind to the nervous man who kept his gaze on the floor, his cuffed wrists in his peripheral. He only looks up when the prison guards halt in front of his designated cell.

After they motion for him to walk in, he complies, the men closing the door and locking it behind him before walking away. He only stares at the door in disbelief as he rubs his released wrists before turning, almost jumping out of his skin when he meets golden eyes.

“Who are you?” Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, shrugging before telling him that he couldn’t understand what he just said. The man smirks before nodding.

“I said, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Y/n.” The newcomer eyes the tiger tattoo on the other’s neck, feeling a little anxious as he glances at his obviously toned exterior.

“Hanemiya. You don’t look like you belong here.” He says as he walks to his futon, plopping on it as he leans his back on the wall. “What got you locked up?”

Y/n walks to his own spot, setting his blanket and sheet down, along with his pillow as he sorts them on the cushioned surface.

“W-well, it’s a long story.” He curses himself for stuttering before he sits, attempting to avoid eye contact with the intimidating glare placed on him.

“I’ve got time.” He shrugs in response before pulling out a cigarette, lighting it as the tobacco fills up the room. Y/n’s eyes widened as he frantically looked between Kazutora and the door.

“What are you doing? Won’t you get in trouble for that?” A chuckle falls from his lips.

“They know who to mess with. I won’t be here for long anyway.” He takes a pull from his cigarette, Y/n slightly coughing as he turns his head.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s complic-.”

“Y/n, don’t annoy me. Say it.” He says with a stoic expression.

“I killed my brother.” Kazutora raises a brow.

“You?” He snickers in disbelief. Y/n nods with a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. It was an accident, anyway. Won’t be out of here for a while, though.” He said before lying down completely, staring at the ceiling. He turns his head slightly to meet Kazutora’s gaze. “What about you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Y/n scoffs.

“Why not just say it now?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

Before they could continue their conversation, the door opens to reveal a guard. Y/n stares in shock as he sees the guard ignoring his cellmate putting the cigarette out. He doesn’t even confiscate the makeshift ashtray. He announces their departure to the outside area, cuffing them in the process before guiding them down the hall.

“You’ll get to meet my… friends.” Kazutora says without a care for the rule that demands inmates to remain silent when walking with the guards. Y/n nods before eyeing them in confusion.

He must be someone important for them to ignore him. How weird. Guess I’ll find out.

When they reached the outside, they were released from the handcuffs. Y/n glanced around at the different inmates, ranging from biggest to smallest. He eyed the different ‘cliques’ sitting amongst each other, some sitting at different tables whereas others were busy working or exercising. Some stood around while they glared at the newcomer, eyeing him up and down.

Knowing he wanted to shrink under their gazes, he ignored his anxiety and puffed his chest out subtly, straightening his back to not reveal how scared shitless he was. Kazutora eyes him from the side before finding humor in his little display of strength, the word ‘cute’ being prominent in his mind.

“Come on. They’re over here.” He drags him by the wrist gently yet forceful enough to make him move along.

Peeking from behind Kazutora as they walk, Y/n eyes a table that stands out from the rest. A short silver -headed man sits on the table’s surface, his feet plastered on the seat as he’s bent over, arms resting against his legs. Next to him is a head full of pink, a person sitting next to the man but on the seat. Behind them were two purple haired men sitting beside each other facing the other way.

Y/n took a deep breath as they got closer, right before stopping in front of them, gaining a better angle of all of their features. His hand immediately goes to the back of his neck as his heart begins to pound, sweat sliding down as intense gazes bore into him, the twins turning their head to lock eyes with e/c.

“Who’s this puny little thing?” A silky voice says with amusement, a smirk falling under the lazy purple eyes as he runs a hand through his short hair.

“Why’d you bring this scrap to the King?” The pink haired man narrows his eyes at Kazutora who only gives a closed eye smile back.

“This is Y/n. He’s my cellmate.”

“Cellmate, huh? Who cares?” The purple mullet questions with a bored expression.

Y/n shifts uncomfortably as he listens to their discussion, though the only word he recognized was his own name, he couldn’t help but fidget amongst the sunken dark voids plastered on him. The energy emitting from all of these men, especially the one with scars, is anything but welcoming.

What the fuck was this dude thinking when bringing me here with these guys?

“Well he’s cute and could be useful.” Kazutora shrugs, walking to the short man’s left and plopping on the seat before bringing one leg up to rest his arm over, leaving Y/n to awkwardly stand in place.

“You didn’t care if he was useful. You’re just bored and horny.” The scarred man hissed in response, a sneer on his face as he side - eyed the brunette.

“Bitter, Sanzu?” He responded, challenging him with a smile.

“Enough.” Amused gazes fell as the quiet voice silenced the space.

Although he spoke to the group of intimidating men, his eyes never left Y/n’s orbs, the dull expression painted on his face.

What is this guy looking at? What are they even talking about? I just want this to be over.

“Sit.” Hesitantly, Y/n complies, following Kazutora’s hand tapping the seat in between him and the tall man. Fingers wrap around Y/n’s hand, bringing the appendage to soft lips.

“Call me Ran. This…” He motioned to the man sitting beside him. “…is my younger brother, Rin.”

“Ah, okay. Well nice to meet you.” Y/n sheepishly responded, nerves still wrecked by the aura these guys emit.

His hand is released before a tap on his shoulder causes him to turn toward Kazutora. He motions for him to lean closer as his lips hover over his ear.

“That guy in the middle is my bo… name is Mikey, but you’d call him whatever he tells you to.” He whispered, breath hitting against Y/n’s ear.

Well, I won’t be saying anything to this guy cuz after this I’m keeping my distance. He seems dangerous.

“Hikaru!”

Y/n looks around in confusion until he spots a man walking from behind them, landing in front of Mikey as the Haitani brothers stand up from their seats as well as Sanzu. They all face the male and his groupies who stood behind.

“What’s going on?” Y/n questions as he watches them speak in Japanese.

“Someone fucked up.” Kazutora responds. The vague information causes Y/n’s eyebrows to furrow as he watches the unknown man and his goons with the expression of nervousness on their faces.

Mikey gives a motion with his finger before the Haitanis, Sanzu, and Kazutora walk towards the group. Y/n gasps as Sanzu’s fist lands on Hikaru’s face, the guy immediately falling to the ground despite his size. The Hataini brothers and Kazutora began to beat the rest.

Y/n watches with wide eyes as skin makes contact with skin, the amount of blood causing the impacts to create this sick squelching sound as the wet skin is broken. He covers his mouth when he sees Sanzu pull out a small knife, turning his head before hearing the slice of skin along with a blood curdling scream. He looks around to see if anyone was watching only to find everyone minding their own business, including the prison guards who are purposefully turned the other way.

Who the fuck are these guys? Why’d I have to be a cellmate to one of them? I know I killed my brother but it genuinely wasn’t a malicious act. Defense is different compared to whatever this is.

When all the men were completely knocked out and near death, they stopped their assault, blood splattered on their own uniforms as they turned back to their seats. They say back down in the same spots while fixing up their hair and wiping excess blood from their skin.

Kazutora chuckled at Y/n’s disturbed expression. His hand squeezes his thigh with a slight caress of his thumb, smearing some of the red liquid on Y/n’s uniform.

“You’ll get used to it.”

No I won’t.

Y/n could only watch as the guards pulled the victims out of their eyesight without saying a word.

After a while, everyone was ordered to go to their rooms before dinner. Instead of going to the cafeteria, Kazutora and Y/n ‘sneak’ off to Mikey and Sanzu’s cell where the rest of them are as well. He tried to stay back, claiming to have wanted to get used to his cell life only for the tattooed man to pull him along.

They spoke about Kakucho picking them up and Kokonoi’s connections in releasing them soon. They have contact with few people who are messengers from the outside that come during visitation and update the executives. Of course, Y/n just sat there feeling out of place and a little stupid for not understanding them.

Why couldn’t everything with my brother happen at home instead of this place I barely know anything about? Why’d it have to happen during a vacation?

Mikey sits on his own futon, seeming to be a part of the conversation yet his eyes look heavy. It’s as if this guy hadn’t slept in months. Y/n couldn’t help the small feeling of pity to form as this man hadn’t smiled once though who’d want to smile in prison? It reminds him of when his brother would have episodes and they would terrify him as a kid because he could hear everything being thrown around and it would distract him from sleeping. Especially when the physical fights between his brother and his other siblings or mother would occur.

During the times they would all hide in their bedrooms, and the only way for him to fall asleep was his mother who would hum a lullaby or speak affirmations as she caressed his head and face until he fell asleep. Logically speaking, he knew to keep his mouth shut and mind his business. However, considering he’s going to be here a while, he decides to step out of his comfort zone and offer some help.

He is currently sitting on the dresser next to Kazutora in between Sanzu and Mikey’s futons.

“Um, excuse me?” He dares to gently poke the short man’s leg. Black eyes meet his colored orbs.

“Do you… can I help… help with your, uh sleep?” He asks while scratching the back of his neck. Mikey stares at him in wonder though it’s blocked by his stoic expression. Finding the question interesting considering nobody has ever asked him about his problem with sleeping, he turns his head to everyone else in the room.

“Leave.” Everyone, except Sanzu, pauses their conversation before hopping up and heading to the exit of the cell. Kazutora motions for Y/n to follow who hops up from the dresser, nervous that he had somehow pissed off this guy from not minding his business.

“Y/n stays.”

Kazutora looks at Mikey and then at Y/n in confusion. Y/n shrugs, still not completely understanding what’s happening, though not wanting to be left alone. Kazutora turns and walks out, leaving Y/n with Mikey and Sanzu.

“My king, why is he here?” Sanzu glares at Y/n.

“Fall back, Sanzu.” Mikey replies before motioning for Y/n to help him.

Y/n immediately positions himself on Mikey’s futon above his head that lies on a pillow, mimicking how his mom would position herself. Sanzu reluctantly lays on his own futon, still keeping an eye on Y/n for any suspicious activity.

A little uncomfortable at first, Y/n asks, “Can I touch you? Sorry if it’s a bit much but this is what my mother used to do. It won’t be lower than your head anyway.”

Surprisingly, he nods.

“I’ll kill you if this doesn’t work.”

Although Y/n’s breath hitched, he nodded and began quietly caressing Mikey’s hair, gently working through some of the tangles before he started lightly humming. When the tangles were gone he freely caressed and pushed his fingers through the silky hair, the whole process slow and tender. The tips of his fingers accidentally stroked the pale man’s face, causing his eyes to flutter close.

Y/n’s favorite part used to be falling asleep to the sweet affirmations his mother came up with so he began singing those positive words, hoping to bring some kind of comfort so he wouldn’t be killed. After a while, steady breathing could be heard, indicating that Mikey had fallen asleep. Y/n sighs in relief, so focused on the fact that what he did worked, he forgot the eyes that had been watching the display the entire time.

After he got up slowly, he made his way to the exit before being yanked back, pulled until his back met the floor with a thud. Legs climb on either side of him before Sanzu sits on top of him with the knife at his throat. His wrists are pinned above his head.

“What did you do to Mikey?” Sanzu hissed.

“W-what do you mean? I j-just sang him my mom’s lullaby and said affirmations!” He whispered - screamed, not wanting to wake up the man who promised him death.

Blue eyes pierce his own irises as he stares him down, gazing at the terrified expression on his face. An unexplainable warm feeling bubbles in Sanzu’s stomach as he eyed the new inmate’s features. Sanzu uses the knife to slice a small wound on his arm, eyeing the pained expression that is causing his face to heat up.

He’s always liked bringing pain and fear to others, especially those deemed as traitors or scraps. However, this gave him a different type of satisfaction. He watches as Y/n sucks his teeth in pain before biting his own lip. Tears forming in the corners of his eyes yet he keeps them in, not wanting to seem weak though they already see him as fragile, unknown to him.

“I didn’t do anything to hurt your king, just let me go!” Y/n says in frustration, not understanding what the real problem is. Sanzu quietly eyed his lips, soft and a little chapped though biteable regardless. Before he could lean down, his shirt is grabbed from behind and he’s pulled off of the man.

“Why are you scaring him?” Kazutora asks, rolling his eyes as he releases the pink haired menace and helps a shaken Y/n from the floor.

“It’s small but we still have to clean it. Thanks for the extra work, I guess.” Kazutora says with his eyes half lidded, walking out with Y/n, hand in hand. Sanzu eyes the blood on the knife before bringing it to his lips and licking it. He eyes Mikey once last time before setting the knife down and laying in his futon.

The next day, for the first time Y/n got to spend his time getting used to his schedule in the prison considering Kazutora had been gone since he woke up. He hadn’t seen any of them for the entire duration of the day and it was already past lunch. He’s currently reading a book in the common area, bored out of his mind as he tries to retain the information, to no avail. Rereading the same lines just so they’ll stick in his head.

Everything has been so weird. Life doesn’t feel the same and it feels like a new season to my own show. Makes sense considering the circumstances, though.

He eyes the bandaid in remembrance of the night before. He shudders, recollecting Mikey’s threat and Sanzu’s crazed glint in his eyes. He subconsciously rubs his wrist as he shakes off the anxiety to try and focus on the book. A figure sitting at his table caught his attention, causing him to lower his book and meet gazes with an unknown man.

“Don’t worry about any greetings. I came to warn you before it’s too late.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Newbie, I see you’re getting close to those crazy hair colored guys. Be careful, you don’t want to catch their attention.”

Too late for that.

“I know it’s hard and probably too late for that, but you gotta keep your distance without pissing them off somehow. They’re Bonten.”

“Bonten? What’s that?” The mystery guy’s eyebrows rose.

Y/n drops his book when the guy explains everything he knows about Bonten. Now everything is clicking. Especially when they beat those men to pulps and the guards did nothing.

“I-I’ve been talking to yakuza?” The guy nods.

“Well how am I supposed to not be around them when one of them is my cellmate and I’ve come into contact with all of them?”

“I don’t know, but you have to find a way. No matter if they like you or not, it’s not good to be in contact with those unpredictable psychopaths.”

“Oi Y/n. Is this guy bothering you?” Ran asks as he stands with a lit cigarette in hand, both men surprised as they turn their heads to meet with those lazy eyes.

“Sounds like you’re spouting bullshit, Yasu. I’d be careful running that mouth. You could lose your tongue.” Rin says with a smirk showing off his teeth.

The man known as Yasu eyes Y/n one more time. He nods at him before walking away.

“Let’s go somewhere private, shall we?” Ran throws his cigarette before motioning Y/n to follow. Although he wanted to stay in his spot, he knew that it would end badly for him if he didn’t listen.

He walks behind the brothers, leaving the common area and walking to a cell. The guards pay them all no mind as they walk into the room and shut the door.

The brothers sat on a futon, Ran pats the space in between them with a mischievous smile.

“I can sit on the other futon, there’s barely any room over there.” Y/n shrugs. He flinched when their gazes turned sour, a stoic expression that felt cold. The older brother pats the seat one more time with extra pressure. Y/n complies, sitting in between the brothers uncomfortably as the warmth from their bodies radiate against his own.

Y/n stares ahead at the opposite futon as the smiles reappear.

“So, Kazu said that you’re here for killing your brother. What’s that all about?” Rin questions. Y/n’s eyebrows furrow.

Guess I should’ve known he would’ve told them. Who asks something like that so carelessly?

“Well, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Why’d you kill him? Was it really an accident?”

“Yeah it was but I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hm, how do you accidentally kill your brother?”

Y/n hops up from his seat.

“I said I didn’t want to fucking talk about it! It’s none of your goddamn business!” He growls, angry at the persistent disrespect.

His eyes widen when his shirt is grabbed and he's pulled back onto the futon, roughly hitting the back of his head against the wall.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Ran taunts.

“Remember who you’re talking to, Y/n.” Rin states as his grip tightens on the shirt.

“Now get over your little hissy fit and answer our questions.”

Y/n stared back with a mixture of fear and anger.

This isn’t fair.

“I-I accidentally killed my brother because he was attacking our mother. He ended up killing her right before I killed him trying to save her.” Y/n held back tears, not wanting to break down from the memories of that night being brought up. Especially not in front of these men he barely knows.

Unfortunately, the tears fell on their own, though he didn't begin to cry they still streamed down his face. Both brothers watch the tears with amusement, finding the display of his uncontrollable emotions interesting. They couldn’t help their small smirks from forming. Rin releases his grip before Ran wipes his tears.

“Now was that so hard?” He taunted.

“Fuck you.” He says before he could stop it, too caught up in his own emotions to give a shit about his well being. He goes to stand up once more before he’s blocked from moving by a hand on his chest.

“Hey, we can make you feel better.” Ran says before pulling him back to his chest by holding his shoulders. Rin places Y/n’s legs on the bed before crawling in between them.

Y/n’s eyes widen, surprised by what is taking place. His eyebrows furrow as he uses his hands to stop Rin in place.

“W-wait!”

He was interrupted by the younger brother’s lips on his own. A hand wraps around his neck from behind as Ran’s breath hits his ear.

“Kiss back with no biting or I’ll break your wrist.”

Rin moves the hands pushing him back from his body, pinning them down as he leans into the kiss, eyes staring intently into Y/n’s wide gaze.

Considering he knew that their threats were promises, he gives back, moving his lips along though still with restraint. Ran squeezes his neck as his other hand runs down his side slowly, landing on his thigh as he pulls up once more. Y/n’s skin tingles from the contact through his uniform. He tears his gaze from Rin before pulling his face back.

Turning away only forces him to reveal his neck. The only sounds that could be heard were lips smacking against skin, Rin nibbling and suckling against Y/n’s neck. Behind him, he could feel a hard pressure against his lower back. He breathes heavily once he feels Ran’s fingers rolling and pulling his nipple.

“Guys, please wait.” He says as he struggles in the brother’s tight grips. He feels his wrist become released as a new pressure forms on his erection.

“You Sure about that?” Rin asks against his neck, lightly squeezing as emphasis. Y/n’s cock twitches in response, though he uses his free hand to push the younger Haitani back.

“Yes I’m sure!” He exclaims, frustration occurring as his emotions have been dragged all over the place. He gasps in pain as both his nipple and cock are squeezed tightly, bringing discomfort from the force.

“Haven’t you guys had enough of assaulting Y/n?”

Y/n sighs in relief as they stop from hearing Kazutora’s voice, the thankful man eyeing his standing figure.

When Rin pulls back and Ran releases Y/n, he awkwardly pushes himself off the bed, not even bothering to cover his hard - on in desperation of escaping out of the situation.

“Well, we were just getting started.” Ran shrugged. He kept his legs wide open without a care of his own erection showing through his pants.

Kazutora gives them a bored look before grabbing Y/n’s wrist and pulling him along. They walk down the hall, heading to their cells.

“You just can’t keep them off you, huh?” He snickers. Y/n gapes.

“I-I don’t even do anything! I’m so confused. Also why did you tell them about my brother, Hanemiya?”

“I already told you to call me Kazutora or Kazu, L/n. Don’t be a jerk.” Y/n’s eyes widened as they reached their cell. They walk in and shut the door before Y/n continues.

“I never told you my last name.”

“It’s not hard to find.” Kazutora shrugs.

“Why did you tell them about my brother?”

“I don’t like how you’re treating me after I just saved you, Y/n. I can talk about whatever I want.”

“Yeah, but they just used that shit against me! Fucking interrogating me about my own life because you ran your mouth!”

“That’s not my problem. I can’t control what they do.” He stares at Y/n with a stoic expression.

“It’s only the second day and there’s so much that has happened.” Y/n paces as he takes deep breaths, still angry from his interaction with the brothers.

“You’ve only had like two incidents.”

“Yeah I got threatened like 3 or 4 times, cut with a knife, and sexually assaulted.”

“Welcome to prison? I don’t know what you want me to say.” Kazutora chuckles.

I know I’m in prison but this is a lot, or am I just overreacting? My emotions felt valid but now I’m second guessing it all.

Y/n drops on his futon and turns over into a fetal position. Numbness taking over as the feeling of loneliness crept in. He covered his whole body, including his head with his blanket. Kazutora sighs.

“I’ll help you rest, yeah?”

Although Y/n shook his head no, he didn’t push Kazutora away when he sat above his head and began to caress him while humming the tune he listened to when he was eavesdropping on Y/n and Mikey. The melody echoes through the quiet room as Y/n drifts off to sleep, Kazutora watching the entire time after he pulls the cover off of his head. Once he woke up, Kazutora was nowhere in sight. A guard took his place, telling him that it was time for showers.

Once he is guided to the showers, the guard releases him. He walks to one of the faucets and turns it on while placing his supplies next to him, along with his towel and clean uniform. He undresses and he washes his body as well as his hair, adding shampoo when needed along with conditioner. Once he’s finished with his hair, he focuses on soaping his body up and rinsing. Once he turns the faucet off he dries himself off before lathering himself with lotion and applying deodorant. He dresses himself and heads to his cell to drop his stuff off before dinner.

When he reached the cafeteria, he went to the line. He grabbed his tray of food and looked for seating. He found an empty table and sat, the group he knew non-existent. Once he finished eating, he throws his stuff out and exits along with a guard. He grabs his hygienic supplies for the bathroom before heading there.

When he reaches the room, he hears thuds and impacts. Furrowing his eyebrows, he minds his own business, beginning to brush his teeth before he looks through the mirror at a familiar guy getting stabbed repeatedly.

“Yasu!” He exclaimed before he could stop himself. The group of men scurry off when they’ve been caught, giving menacing looks as they leave a beaten and bloodied Yasu on the ground, laying in his own pile of blood and bathroom grime.

“No, no, no!” Y/n yells out as he crouches over. Sure they barely know each other but Yasu was a nice enough guy to warn Y/n of prison troubles. He didn’t deserve this brutal death.

“Y-y/n!” He coughs out. “Th-they did this. St-stay away!” He gasps as he gags on his own blood.

“Y/n.” The voice startles Y/n as he looks at the culprit. He breathes in fear as he sees Mikey and his mad dog staring at the pair.

“We need to talk.”

“I-I would need to drop my stuff off in my room.” He says as he stands from his position, moving away from the dying man.

“The guard will do it.” Mikey responds before turning on his heel, walking out of the bathroom. Sanzu follows as Y/n hurries behind them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! How am I supposed to stay away from them? They’ll hurt me if I reject them.

“Uh…um Mikey? I’m pretty tired. Could this wait till the morning, maybe?”

They all halt their movements. Only Sanzu turns to side eye Y/n.

“How dare you question the King?” Mikey holds a hand up to Sanzu.

“Come on, Y/n.”

They all begin walking towards Mikey and Sanzu’s cell. They walk in before the guards lock the door behind them. Sanzu pulls Y/n on the futon while he sits behind him, mimicking Ran’s position from a few hours before only this time, their feet were plastered on the floor.

“Uh, what’s going on? Why am I here?”

“My king wanted to thank you for last night.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed. “So be grateful to his generosity.” He grips Y/n’s waist, his nails digging into his sides through the fabric causing him to flinch.

When Y/n saw Mikey position himself on his knees, the idea flew through his head.

“Oh, uh! Mikey! You don’t need to do this!” He exclaims. He uses his hands to block Mikey which did nothing considering Sanzu helped him undo his jumpsuit.

When his chest was revealed, they completely forced it off of his arms as Sanzu circled his arms back around Y/n’s waist. Mikey pulled the suit completely off as well as pulling down Y/n’s underwear.

“You’re already hard.” Mikey murmured, wrapping his hand around the veiny girth.

Mikey dragged his tongue up the length before circling his lips around the head. The cock twitches as he sucks softly before dropping his mouth all the way to the base, deep throating the length as he holds it there before pulling back and repeating the process. Y/n holds back from moaning as he bites his lip, his fingers digging into the futon and grabbing the blanket. His head drops on Sanzu’s shoulder as the pinkette dips his head low, biting the skin on his neck until he draws blood and a cry out of that pretty mouth.

Mikey continued bobbing his head as he accelerates, gag reflex non-existent as he takes the dick in his throat like a pro. Saliva and precum drip down the length and stain the corners of his mouth as he sucks it all the way in. He stops for a moment before sucking his own fingers thoroughly, allowing saliva to drip down his hand as he wets his fingers. Sanzu takes the opportunity to grab Y/n’s thighs and pull his legs back to give Mikey more of an opening.

As he pushes the finger in, he takes his cock in his mouth once more. Y/n clenched around the finger as his cock throbs. Sweat drips down his forehead as he rocks his hips forward in reflex, a small groan escaping his lips as Mikey eyes him from below.

“Feels good?” Sanzu whispers in his ear.

Although the pleasure is overtaking the pain from his ass, Y/n doesn’t want to enable what they’re doing so he ignores him. Only for nails to dig into his thighs roughly, leaving indents and small bleeding cuts. Sanzu’s cock twitches at the way Y/n’s body reacts to the pain by tensing and yelping.

“Tell me, Y/n. Does it feel good?”

“Yes!” He exclaims in pain when Mikey adds two other fingers at the same time, angling it to his prostate as he sucks his cock faster. Y/n’s hips rock as his spot is beaten and cock is engulfed by warmth. His mouth hangs open as he closes his eyes. His back moves against Sanzu’s erection through his fabric causing him to give small moans in his ear, pressing it harder against his back. The sound of Mikey’s wet mouth rubbing against his cock brought a warm sensation to his stomach, his body tenses as he convulses, finally releasing into his throat as the short man swallows it all.

They all breathe heavily when it’s over, Sanzu and Mikey’s cocks are completely hard and ready for a release. Not wanting to rile them up further, Y/n jumps out of their holds and quickly puts his underwear and jumpsuit on before rushing out of the room. Embarrassment colors his face as he damn near runs to his cell.

They’re using me as some fucking toy because they’re bored. They’re taking me as some kind of whore they can do whatever they want with at anytime and it’s not fucking fair.

When he reaches his cell, he immediately goes to his bed and covers himself, drifting off to sleep after a while of shameful sulking.

“Rise and shine, Y/n. Time for us to go.” Kazutora smiles.

Huh? What do you mean?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.

“We’re being released from prison.” He states with excitement.

Y/n sits up with his eyebrows furrowed.

“They know who to mess with. I won’t be here for long anyway.” He takes a pull from his cigarette…

“Yeah you’re leaving, but I’m supposed to be here for years.”

“Then why did the guard come to release you as well?”

“Hurry up inmates, we’re on a schedule.”

“We’re not inmates anymore.” Kazutora sticks his tongue out.

The entire process of release Y/n was very confusing as he followed the guards and rest of the yakuza out of the prison. After they walk out in the original clothes they wore when they were imprisoned, Kazutora pulls Y/n to the black tinted car that’s waiting for their arrival.

Y/n hesitates.

“Wait, this means this is a goodbye. I’m going home.”

Kazutora halts his movement, still gripping Y/n’s wrist before turning to face him with a smile.

“You are coming home Y/n. Why do you think we went through the trouble of breaking you out?”

“What?”

“Yeah. You have nobody else nor your mother’s home anymore so where else would you go? Who else would’ve picked you up?”

“N-no, my siblings…”

“Your siblings abandoned you here. They didn’t want to be around a murderer.” Kazutora’s face turned stoic as he spoke.

“Don’t say that. It’s not like that and you know it!” He yanks his wrist out of Kazutora’s grip.

“I’m just saying their point of view. It doesn’t matter anyway considering they’re all dead.”

“What the fuck are you saying to me, Hanemiya?” Y/n exclaims.

“I’m just telling you the truth, L/n.”

“No, did you and your goons do something to them?”

“I’d watch what comes out of my mouth if I were you. Come on.” He yanks Y/n along as they walk to the car. Y/n pushes him away as he yanks his arm back though Kazutora doesn’t release in the slightest. His grip tightens painfully as it causes Y/n to almost drop to his knees, his free hand grabbing Kazutora’s wrist in reflex.

“Let me go, Kazutora!”

“Go where? You have nowhere else to go. You should be grateful.”

“Y/n!” A voice sung, interrupting their dispute.

He gasps in response as he sees a gun pointed in his direction from a certain pink - haired fiend.

“Be a doll and get in the car, yeah?”

With one last look at the golden eyed man with anger plastered on his expression, he makes his way to the car, Kazutora walking behind him.

148 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 6 months

Text

Glimpse Of Us | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: After a painful breakup, you and Spencer try and move on, but find yourselves seeking out each other in different people. Inspired by "Glimpse Of Us" by Joji.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted

wc: 7.1k

content warnings: soul-crushing angst, emotional turmoil

His fingers find the velvet box in his pocket and he opens it. The ring inside is divine, he had it created just for you. The gemstone in the center reflects the warm light of his apartment beautifully as he admires it. He can't help but to imagine what it would look like on your finger, where it belongs.

As she exits the bedroom, he's quick to hide the box from her view. For the rest of the night he feels as if he's putting on a performance, one in which he half heartedly kisses her while he thinks of your lips, and he holds her with your body in mind.

-----

Closing the door behind him, Spencer is welcomed home after a long day with soft lighting and the smell of dinner. He shrugs his coat off and places it on the rack beside the door, thankful for the warm air after being in the cold most of the day.

As he takes his shoes off, he feels her arms wrap around him, her forehead resting on his back as she embraces him from behind. Spencer's eyes close in comfort, thankful for her loving ways. He turns around and hugs her back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I ran you a warm bath and I'll have dinner waiting for you when you get out." Her voice is soft and warm, full of nothing but the most tender love. Spencer pushes a strand of hair behind her ear with a small smile on his face,

"Thank you." He presses a second kiss to her forehead before retreating to the bedroom so he can indulge in a warm bath.

The water relaxes his tense muscles and offers a much needed reprieve. The case the team had closed today was nothing short of miserable. The air was unforgivably cold, the wind was harsh, and of course they were searching for a body for most of the day. He had wanted nothing more than to come home since the first moment he stepped foot outside this morning.

After putting on the sweats she had laid out for him on the counter, he joins her at the dinner table where a plate and a glass of wine waits for him. They eat in silence, comfortable with just the presence of each other. There's never any pressure to make conversation, they both have a mutual understanding that sometimes silence is more appreciated, especially after particularly difficult days. But what she doesn't know is that when silence settles, his mind drifts to you.

Spencer is beyond thankful for her devotion despite the chaotic life he leads. If there's one thing he can count on, it's for her to brighten his days and take the weight of the world off his shoulders when it becomes too much for him to bear. She is nothing short of perfection, a genuine blessing that Spencer is glad to have.

And because she's so perfect, it makes Spencer feel all the more guilty when he finds himself wishing it was you waiting at home for him instead of her.

The guilt has been eating at Spencer for a while now. He knows it's unfair to her, to constantly be comparing her to you but he can't quite bring himself to break up with her. It wouldn't be such a big deal if he didn't see bits and pieces of you within her. With her, he's reminded of how you laughed, the way you hugged him, and so many more small details that he just can't let her go; for if he lets her go then he would lose all of those small reminders and memories. It's selfish, he knows, but the appeal of seeing flashes of you through her is more compelling than doing what is fair for her sake.

Once dinner has been finished and cleaned up, the two of them find themselves on the couch, cuddled under green and umber colored faux fur blankets while a movie plays. But Spencer isn't really paying attention to the movie, no, his focus is on how she holds him and how it isn't quite right. Her grasp is always too loose and her hands never find the right spots. While her embrace is comforting, it's nothing compared to how you used to hold him so tight, and it all felt so right.

During a particularly quiet scene, she looks up to Spencer with doe eyes, and he can tell she's studying him, like she has him figured out down to a science.

"What's wrong honey?" She asks him, running a comforting hand up his arm. Shaking the thoughts of you from his mind, he smiles down to her with guilt creeping up within him.

"Just had a bad day." Is all he tells her. For he can never tell her the truth, that he'll never love her the way he loved you. It wouldn't be right, and none of it is her fault. He doesn't see the need to tell her he's only passing time in her arms, the ones that will never hold him the way he needs.

With big, beautiful eyes she continues to look at him, appreciating the tiny details that makes Spencer so beautiful. And while he should be appreciating her with the same loving gaze, all he can bring himself to do is think about how you used to look at him the same way.

As he looks into her eyes that look eerily similar to yours, he's catapulted into a memory, a time where things were perfect.

- - - - -

"Well why not both?" You ask Spencer, who's holding up two blankets to choose from. It's the first winter that you two are sharing together in Spencer's apartment and you both found out the hard way that even Virginia can get quite cold.

"You want them both?" He asks you, eyes glancing between the dark green and the rich brown colored blankets in his hands, both made of warm, plush material. You nod your head and motion for him to put them both in the cart.

"Yes, both of them. The colors compliment each other and they'll look right at home on the couch." A smile finds its way to your face as he places both of the blankets into the cart.

Spencer didn't need much convincing and you both knew it. All you had to do was give him the puppy eyes and he would bend to your every will. He would do anything to keep a smile on your face, and if that meant getting two blankets instead of one, then it was a small compromise he was happy to make.

Later that night the two of you sit entangled on the couch, under one of the new blankets. Spencer sat with his back against the arm rest and he had pulled you between his legs, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. Your head rested back on his chest and your eyes closed as soft music played from the vintage record player Spencer had recently bought.

Spencer savors the way you warm him, the way your body feels soft under his touch, and he appreciates the smell of vanilla that you always seem to have. He watches with adoring eyes as your chest rises and falls evenly, letting him know that you've fallen asleep. The apartment is dimly lit from a lamp, and its warm glow illuminates your features perfectly. Spencer can never get enough of just looking at you, each time he finds something new to love.

His eyes trail from the slope of your nose to the curve of your lips before noticing the way your eyelashes softly lay against the top of your cheekbones, gentle like a feather floating through the breeze. He had never seen such effortless beauty, both inside and out, and his heart feels like it could explode from trying to fit all the love he has for you within.

Kissing the crown of your head, he gently wakes you up and leads you to bed, and he can't help but smile as you hold his hand the entire way there. Your small hand fit into his like they were made for each other.

Once the two of you had settled in bed, you reach your arms around Spencer and hold him close to you. While you enjoy being held by him, you like to return the favor. You want him to come to you for comfort and security, you want to provide a loving warmth to him, to show him how much you love him when your words fall short of expressing the truth depths of your adoration.

His skin is warm under your touch and you press a soft kiss in between his shoulder blades. You're not sure if he'll be here in the morning due to work, so you hold him tight and soak in every second you get with him.

As the two of you drift off, Spencer rests his hand atop yours that rests just below his chest, not able to get enough of you tonight. There was something in the air this evening that made Spencer realize that you are the love of his life, and he wants to spend every night with your arms around him.

- - - - -

Snapping out of his daydream, Spencer realizes that the movie had come to an end. His hand lingers on the blanket for just a moment longer than necessary before he heads to bed, where she is sure to join him soon. He gets underneath the covers, his hand resting on the empty space beside him. His chest aches and he bites the inside of his cheek to stop from getting emotional as she walks in, a sleepy smile on her face.

Spencer goes through the motions of bidding her a goodnight before he turns away from her. He doesn't know if he's disgusted with himself for thinking of you while she lays next to him, or if he's sad he let another woman take your spot. As her hand makes its way around his waist, he's unable to stop the single tear that drips down his cheek.

He waits for her to fall asleep before he slinks out of bed. He puts his shoes on and shrugs on his coat before leaving. The walls of his apartment seem to be closing in on him tonight, and perhaps he needs some fresh air. Snow flurries fall as he walks the empty streets, illuminated by street lamps and starlight.

Spencer wipes his eyes of the tears that form in his lash line and sniffles every few seconds. He has no destination in mind, but he know where his body will take him. It's the same place he goes every time, the spot where he met you.

The bench is covered in a light layer of snow along with everything else in the park. He's unable to tear his eyes away from the spot he first saw you at, as if you would suddenly appear out of thin air. Spencer remembers very vividly the day he met you. He was at the park playing chess, trying to get better so he could finally beat Gideon, when he saw you.

You had your nose buried in a mystery novel, your hair was partially pinned back so it wouldn't get in your way, and you had the prettiest sundress on that complimented your skin tone wonderfully. Spencer had never been one to believe in love at first sight until he saw you. He swears that day the sunlight was focused on you alone, as everything else became utterly dull.

And Spencer had never been one to go out of his way to talk to a woman, but something within him told him that if he didn't seize this opportunity then he would regret it. So he pushed himself out of his comfort zone and talked to you. You were the sweetest woman ever, and he's still surprised to this day that you had given him your number after he babbled and rambled trying to get to the point.

What he wouldn't give to be able to go back and do it all over again.

- - - - -

Three months after you had left Spencer he found himself once again being interrogated about his love life by his coworkers. They mean well, and he knows it, but he wishes they would stop bringing the topic up, because every time they do it's like reopening the wound. But he doesn't want to concern anyone with how poorly he's actually handling the separation, they all have their own issues just as he does.

"You sure you're ready for that date?" Derek asked him one Friday afternoon, asking about the blind date he had set up for Spencer.

"Of course I am, I think I'm finally moving on, and I'm sure she's lovely." Spencer smiles to Derek, but there's a bitter taste on his tongue.

There's no chance that this mystery woman could ever compare to you. But he tells everyone he's moved on from you so that they might stop bringing you up in conversation. Though he knows that you had made friends with his coworkers as well and he knows they probably miss you too. But for his own sanity, Spencer had to find a way to keep them from speaking about you; and what better way to do that than date someone new?

But while Spencer was busy acting like he had moved on, it seems that you actually had.

A year after you had left, against his better judgment, Spencer looked you up to see how you were doing. He had refrained from doing so up to this point, but he couldn't help himself. He had to know, he had to see you.

What he found devastated him. On your Instagram was a photo of you and a man, cheeks pressed against each other's with wide smiles. The first thing Spencer noticed was how your smile finally reached your eyes again, how you looked genuinely happy. A look he hadn't seen in a long time.

But he couldn't stop there, he had to know more. He had to make sure that this man wasn't some psychopath. And it turns out he seems to be the embodiment of the American dream. Spencer found that your new man works in wealth management, owns his own property with a fenced in yard, and appears to be head over heels in love with you.

The man's social media is cluttered with photos of you. You smile in each one as if you were seeing color for the first time. Spencer goes through his photos, looking at vacations you took to Europe, evenings spent on a boat, and every small detail in between that the man had posted about. Spencer had to put his phone away after he saw a picture of you in the man's lap, his hands on your waist as he kissed your cheek while you smiled at the camera.

Spencer thinks often about how the man treats you. He wonders if the new man appreciates your tender touch, your kind heart, if he cherishes you like he used to. Spencer can't help but to ponder if your new man gives you everything he couldn't; if he comes back home to you every night and if the two of you plan to have a family one day.

And when those thoughts get to be too painful, Spencer wonders if you ever think of him. He hopes that you search for pieces of him in your new man, even in just the most minuscule details. Sometimes with this hope comes along the thought of if you will ever come back to Spencer.

But that hope is usually crushed with the realization that you're living in a new chapter, one in which he will never have the privilege to read.

- - - - -

The sweet smell of blueberry pancakes wafts through the house and wakes you. You take a deep breath of the fruity scent and stretch, enjoying the way that today has started. There are definitely worse ways to wake up. Instead of getting up right away, you opt to stay snuggled under the warm covers, your eyes closed as you breathe in the sugary sweetness.

"Good morning honey." You hear your boyfriend open the door, his voice deep and raspy from the night. At the sound of his voice, you can't help but to open your eyes and smile at him.

"What's the occasion?" You stretch once more as he walks over to you, looking down at you with doting eyes.

"Oh I don't know, I think it might be someone's birthday. Yeah, I think I remember someone telling me that the most beautiful girl in the world has a birthday today." He leans down and presses a kiss to your lips, the taste of blueberries lingering between you.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast." You sit up, pushing the covers away so you can go enjoy the pancakes that were so lovingly made. Your boyfriend only smiles wider,

"Don't worry this is just the beginning. I've got a whole day planned for you, baby." You try to fight the smile, not wanting him to know just how excited you are.

The two of you eat pancakes together at the table, your heart swelling with love from his gesture. Both of you know he's not the best cook in the world, but to you these are the best pancakes you've ever had. In fact, they could be burnt to a crisp and you would love every bite because he took the time to try and do something nice for you, and it's the effort you appreciate above all.

Licking syrup off your lip, your eyes find themselves fixated on your boyfriend's face and you can't help but be mesmerized. His eyes are kind and gentle, his smile is wide and welcoming, and you just don't know if you will ever get enough of him.

Though a tiny voice makes itself known in the back of your mind and it reminds you of just why you find your boyfriend to be so beautiful.

But you try your best to ignore the voice that whispers to you from within your own mind. You don't want to hear how your boyfriend's hair is the same shade of brown or how his eyes hold the same hue of green that Spencer's did. The voice works diligently to remind you that your boyfriend's hands don't feel the same and that his lips aren't as soft, and you wish that it would just stop. Everything would be so much easier if you could just forget Spencer Reid even exists, but no matter how hard you try you can never silence the whispers.

You'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't still think of Spencer sometimes. Especially during the early days of your new relationship. When you first got together with your new boyfriend you were constantly reminded of Spencer. Your new boyfriend shared many features with Spencer such as his height, build, and hair color and you know it's no coincidence. You know full well that you gravitated to your new boyfriend because of these similarities, you were desperate to hold onto any part of Spencer that you could.

But your new boyfriend is different from Spencer in a lot of ways as well. He's more headstrong, he doesn't think things through as well, and he can't read you quite like Spencer could. But despite these differences you found yourself loving him for who he is.

Your new boyfriend practically worships the ground you walk on. He's entirely devoted to you and he reminds you every day of how much he loves you. He comes home at the same time every night, he's here when you need him to be, and just recently has opened up to you about one day possibly starting a family. He's everything you've ever wanted.

It had taken some time to adjust to something new and unfamiliar but it was worth it. You had been hesitant to get into another relationship, worried that you wouldn't be able to love anyone as much as you loved Spencer. It would be entirely unfair to the other person, and so you had asked your current boyfriend for patience; and this man had no problems waiting. In fact, you were convinced he would wait until the end of times if you had asked him to.

He was never overbearing, never pressured you for an answer or to go on a date before you were ready. Instead, the two of you built a friendship first. You would go for coffee on Saturday mornings, walks in the park after work, and even played a few rounds of mini golf. It was in those small moments that you found yourself falling head over heels for the man and eventually you felt that you were ready.

After a few months of being together, he had insisted you join him on a business trip to Europe. At first you didn't really know, you were nervous about being somewhere unfamiliar, but you trusted him to take care of you. And you're glad you went, it was the best trip you had ever been on. Your boyfriend treated you to candlelit dinners, a gondola ride, and the most tender, pure love possible. For the first time in a long time, you felt happy and it was all because of him.

Your mind drifts from memories of Europe to the conversation about starting a family. You remember the conversation almost word for word and you find yourself reflecting on it more than what is probably normal. But you can't help yourself, that conversation had opened your eyes about your true desires and left you feeling conflicted about a lot of things you still don't have the answers to.

- - - - -

It was a bright Sunday afternoon and you strolled down the street with your boyfriend hand in hand, enjoying the warm weather and freshness of spring. The grass was finally coming back to life, the trees were blooming, and flowers were beginning to pop up again.

"I want to ask you something, but you don't have to answer if you don't want to." Your boyfriend uncharacteristically stumbles over his words as the two of you veer off to a less busy path.

"You can ask me anything." You truthfully tell him, wanting him to know that he can come to you about anything. After all, there's nothing he can throw at you that would catch you off guard after your years with Spencer and the stories he would come home with.

"Have you ever thought about having kids someday?" Your pace slows down as his words sink in. You weren't quite sure what you were expecting him to ask, but it certainly wasn't that.

Instead of answering right away, you stop walking completely and look at your boyfriend, seeing nothing but complete seriousness and curiosity written all over his face. Your eye catches his, and your heart sinks when you see a flash of Spencer's eyes in your mind. Blinking away the fleeting image, you sigh and think about how to answer his question.

"I think some day, with the right person, I would most definitely want kids." Your answer is the complete truth, and yet you find yourself feeling guilty for not immediately imagining yourself having kids with your boyfriend, but instead with Spencer.

"Some day." A smile finds its way onto your boyfriend's face and he squeezes your hand lovingly.

Pushing the guilt and all thoughts of Spencer aside, you focus on what you have right in front of you. You have a boyfriend who loves you unconditionally, who wants nothing but the best for you, who you can see yourself spending forever with.

Yet despite loving him back and wanting a future with him, there's still a piece of your soul that yearns for Spencer.

- - - - -

After a long day of birthday celebration, you find yourself laying in bed waiting for your boyfriend to join you. The day had been filled with family and friends and it was probably one of the best birthdays you've had in a long time. But ever since this morning, the voice in the back of your mind hasn't let up.

While you were opening gifts you couldn't help but wonder what Spencer would've picked out. When your boyfriend asked you what top he should wear to best match the rest of the outfit you found yourself wondering what Spencer would've picked. During the drive to your friend's house you considered which songs Spencer would've played on the trip over. You hadn't really thought of Spencer much over the past year, seeing as how happy you were with your boyfriend, but lately you find Spencer infiltrating your thoughts more and more.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you give into temptation and grab your phone. Quickly, you look Spencer up on what limited social media presence he has. Your heart races as his profile loads, unsure of what you're going to see and what you want to see. The photos load and you realize he still hasn't posted anything since the photo you posted for him years ago.

You tap on the tagged photos tab and can't help the heaviness in your chest as you see a photo he was tagged in three months ago. He's got his arms wrapped around a gorgeous woman, her lips pressed to the side of his cheek. Within an instant, your mind replaces the woman's face with your own and you feel your throat begin to close up with emotion. The caption is something cliche about love, and with the same quickness as you had clicked on the photo, you exit out of the app.

It seems Spencer has moved on from you, and you're happy for him. You hope she can handle his lifestyle better than you could, but you can't help but feel sad that he was able to replace you. A tinge of regret takes residence in you for giving him the opportunity to replace you.

- - - - -

Spencer looks in the mirror as he straightens his tie and runs his hand through his hair once more. The velvet box in his pocket makes his heart hammer but the sound of her voice knocks him out of an anxiety-ridden spiral.

"We're going to be late, come on." She says with a smile on her face. Spencer knows he should be just as excited but the nerves take precedence.

The two of them enter the dimly lit restaurant and take their seat. The tablecloth is white, there's a candle in the middle of the table. Spencer knows it's the perfect time to propose. After all, today is their second anniversary.

She talks openly about what she's going to order and how she knows the food is going to be delightful. Spencer does his best to smile and nod, trying to calm his trembling fingers. He had considered proposing for a few months now and decided tonight would be perfect.

After the waiter comes and takes their orders, Spencer reaches across the table and takes her hands within his. Her skin is soft and smooth, but as he rubs his thumb across the back of her hand he remembers how delicate your skin used to feel under his touch.

Guilt intermingles with the nerves, and he feels disgusted with himself that even as he's about to propose he thinks of you. And the guilt is reinforced when he remember who he bought the ring for in the first place, it most certainly wasn't her.

Delaying the question, Spencer keeps making small talk until the food arrives. He takes glances over to her, and she always smiles back. And Spencer tries his best to act normal, but he knows he's failing.

For every time he looks at her all he can see is you. Every time he looks into her eyes he sees yours, he remembers how you used to gaze at him for what seemed like hours. Each time she pushes her hair behind her shoulder he remembers how yours used to always look effortlessly perfect. Even the shade of her lipstick brings him back to a memory when you wore a similar shade.

She laughs at a poor joke he made, and the sound of her laughter is replaced with yours in Spencer's mind. He realizes then that he can't possibly ask her to marry him.

When the two of them arrive back at the apartment, she rushes off to change into something more comfortable and Spencer hangs back in the kitchen, taking a seat at the dining table.

- - - - -

"Where are you going?" Spencer steps in front of her, blocking her path. He had returned home only an hour earlier to find that she had packed all of her things and called her friend to pick her up. She looks back up at him, and he clearly sees the disdain in her eyes.

"I can't do this anymore Spencer. I don't know what happened or what I did wrong, but I can tell you don't love me, and you haven't for a while." Her words shock him, but he can't find it within himself to contradict what she's saying; she's right after all.

"You didn't do anything, I'm sorry." Is all he's able to offer her as he steps aside and lets her go. She shakes her head, tears gleaming in her eyes as she grabs the handle of her last bag and leaves without looking back.

Spencer is left alone in his apartment and he bites his cheek as he looks around. She had taken everything she owned, not a trace remains. While he should feel devastated that she left him, he only feels relieved. The guilt that's been eating him alive for years is finally gone and he knows that this was the best possible outcome for her; he hopes she can find someone who cherishes her the way she deserves.

His eyes fall on the blanket draped over the back of the couch and suddenly this situation feels all too familiar. Spencer is unable to tear his eyes away from the blanket as his mind reminds him in perfect detail the most painful day of his life.

- - - - -

"Spencer, move. Let me go." Your voice is firm but it wavers as you finish the sentence. You had your last bag in your hand and you had hoped to be out of here before Spencer got back home.

"No, please don't do this. Please don't go." Spencer begs you as tears fall down his cheeks. Pained by his sadness, a tear falls down your own. You so desperately wish you could stay, that things could work between the two of you.

"Maybe if things were different I could stay." You say, using your free hand to wipe you eyes.

Before you can be convinced to stay, you step around Spencer and head out the door, leaving behind the best and worst days. When you hear the door shut behind you, you're unable to stop the onslaught of tears that flow down your face as you go to your car parked alongside the curb. The last bag gets carelessly tossed in your car before you drive off.

Spencer watches from his window as you leave, your car disappearing into the night. He collapses against the wall and sobs. It doesn't feel real, he can't wrap his mind around the fact that you had actually left.

Hours later he finds the will the stand up and he sniffles the entire way to the bedroom where there's a crisp white paper laid on his pillow. Spencer turns on a light before he grabs the paper and before he reads a single word he notices how some of the ink is smudged, like tear drops had fallen before it had time to dry.

Soon enough, his tear drops fall onto the paper as well. Each word is like a dagger to his heart and yet he reads it over and over and over again.

Spencer,

By the time you read this, I won't be here. Please don't come looking for me. We both knew things weren't going well for a long time, and I didn't see any way we could compromise. It's not fair to you and it wasn't fair to me to stay, we would drive each other to endless misery at some point if something didn't give.

I wish things could have been different for us, but I just couldn't handle it anymore. We both want different things and that's okay. You love your job and it was unfair of me to try and persuade you to pursue something else for my sake, and for that I am sorry. It would've been nice to have you home every night, to know that you could be here for the big and small moments of life. But I understand that that way of life isn't something you're made for, and that's okay too. I'm sorry I'm not built for the life you lead, I tried my best for as long as I could.

You will always have a piece of my heart for as long as I shall live. I wish you nothing but the best. You've got a lot to offer the world, my beautiful Spencer Reid.

I love you, always.

His heart may as well have been ripped from his chest and shattered into a million irreparable pieces. As he reads and rereads your words he can't believe that you blamed yourself, that you felt the need to apologize for wanting a normal life.

He recalls the first time you had asked him about a career change. To him it came out of nowhere, but when he really starts to think about it, he should've seen it coming. There were times he would come home and your eyes would be just a little bloodshot and your cheeks would be unusually red. Of course you told him it was just allergies, but the pictures of you two scattered over the coffee table should've told him it was something else entirely.

The texts asking him if he would be home for your birthday were answered with a negative, along with the questions about Christmas, Valentines Day, and just about every other occasion. He wanted to be there with you, there's no place he would have rather been, but the job required him to be across the country more times than not. He should've realized that you had stopped asking those questions a year ago.

His memory allows him to see into the past, and as it's said, hindsight is 20/20. The last year of the relationship he often found himself coming home to you already in bed, when you used to stay up and wait for him. Perhaps you had been so accustomed to disappointment that you had assumed something would come up and that he wouldn't be home when he told you he would.

Within those memories he also notices how sad you seemed. Though he didn't see it at the time, he sees now how your smile stopped reaching your eyes and you stopped trying to plan things for the two of you to do on his days off. Instead of going out, you told him that you just wanted to spend time with him.

There's a particular memory that comes to the forefront of his mind, about a month before you left he remembers the two of you on the couch. You had snuggled into his side, head resting on his shoulder as the two of you watched a movie. He really hadn't been paying attention, he was focused on how warm you were, how he was happy he could finally be here with you. But if he had been following the movie, he would've seen that you turned it off just before the happy ending where the two characters lived out the rest of their days together. He should've noticed then how the tip of your nose turned red and how you wiped your eyes, claiming it was just from being tired.

His chest aches deeply as he understands the pain he's put you through. All you wanted was him, and he had let you slip right through his fingers without even realizing.

For days, weeks, and months after you left Spencer finds himself sleeping with the blanket you had picked out, for it's the last piece of yourself that you left him with. And after a while, your scent faded, but the memories remain.

And ever since, he found himself chasing anything that could give him even just the smallest reminder of you. He only hopes that one day your paths will cross again and that you will find your way back where you belong; back to him.

- - - - -

The room feels colder and darker than usual. There's no sweet smell of pancakes floating in the air, there's nobody next to you to keep you warm. No, all of those comforts had left a week ago. The moment in which everything crumbled replays constantly in your mind.

In front of you, your boyfriend dropped to one knee and held out a glistening ring. With tears in his eyes, he poured his heart out to you, speaking about how he's beyond in love with you and that he wants to grow old with you. That there's nobody else on this Earth he can imagine coming home to, holding close, and cherishing dearly.

You could almost hear his heart break as you told him that you couldn't marry him. And not two days later, he had moved out without speaking a single word to you. Everything you spent years building, gone in an instant. But what haunts you the most is the look in his eye, it's the same despair you saw in Spencer's when you had left him.

But you knew you had made the right decision not to marry your boyfriend. You loved him deeply, but after the conversation about starting a family you realized that you didn't want that future with anyone but Spencer. But that future isn't a possibility, you're keenly aware of that. So it seems you're destined to live out your days reminiscing about Spencer Reid.

With time you know you had forgotten some of the memories and it's when you try to remember them that you find yourself wishing you had Spencer's memory. By now you figure he's done his best to bury the memory of you while you try to dig yours back up.

There's one memory you cling to the most, and when sorrow begins swallowing you whole, you relive that memory, wanting to go back in time and live in that moment forever.

It was a chilly fall day, the leaves had just started to turn colors. Spencer and you had been together just shy of a week but it seemed like neither of you could get enough of one another. In every second of free time you two had, you were together. He explained that his job required him to travel a lot, but you didn't really mind, he was worth waiting for.

The two of you walked with intertwined hands through the park where you met, and take a seat on the bench. Spencer wanted to come by after the date he planned, a cozy coffee cafe with your favorite pastries. You had never experienced someone taking an interest in you, and your heart felt full knowing he went out of his way to learn what you liked.

With lovestruck eyes, you look over at him and brush his cheekbone with your free hand, wanting to memorize every detail of him. His skin is smooth, eyes the most brilliant shades of earthy tones, and of course his chocolate curls had you swooning.

You see his eyes dance between yours and your lips, and before you could comprehend what was happening, he pulled you close and kissed you. Your hands had found their way to his face, cradling his jaw as he held your waist.

And as you pulled away you couldn't help the smile that found its way to your face. You had never been one to believe in falling in love so soon after meeting someone, but something about Spencer felt different. It was like your souls were meant for each other, there was an undeniable chemistry from the start. And though you wouldn't say it for another few months, you knew in this moment that you were helplessly in love with Spencer Reid.

But instead of leading a fulfilling life with him by your side, you find yourself utterly alone.

Eventually you make your way into the living room, which now has half of the furniture it did a few days ago. But you don't care, you convinced yourself that it was for the best, and that your now-ex deserves someone better than yourself, someone who wasn't still in love with the person who came before.

You decide to get out of the house and take a walk with no particular destination. The fresh air will hopefully make you feel better. Your mind is anywhere but the present and you hadn't realized that you had made your way to the park. The same one that holds too many bittersweet memories.

But instead of walking somewhere else, you continue on. You hadn't come back here since you left Spencer but it feels right. Lately you've found yourself considering trying to find him again, but ultimately you decide against it, recalling the words you left for him and the fact that it looks like he's found someone new. You love him too much to disrupt what love and peace he may have found.

Taking the familiar path you find yourself walking to the bench where Spencer first introduced himself to you, the bench that had started everything.

As you round the bend you see an older couple sitting there in the very spot you had all those years ago. The woman has her arm linked with the man's and the two of them laugh about something. The sunlight glints off of their wedding bands and you look away as they lean in to kiss each other. Walking by them, you offer a polite smile despite the turmoil you feel inside. They meet your eye as you pass and return your smile with warmth and happiness.

This trip down memory lane leaves you feeling like you had just seen a bit of what your future with Spencer could have looked like, the two of you grey-haired but still head over heels for each other.

But you know that can never be a reality, and so you'll have to find a way to settle for the fleeting glimpse you caught.

-----

Part Two

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desert-fern · 1 year

Text

A Gun Amongst Daggers - Jake “Hangman” Seresin X Fem!Navy Seal Reader

Part 4: Guess Who?

Summary: When Jake meets a woman at the Hard Deck, the last thing he expects is for her to be a Navy Seal. And not just any Seal, the Commander of Seal Team 3. She’s beautiful, smart, dangerous, and everything about her just makes him want to get close. Her name? Bear. When the Seals need backup, Cyclone puts the Daggers on their radar and now, Jake has to work with Bear and her team, all the while trying to stay professional. Can he do it? Or will he end up falling for the Navy sniper and mission Commander?

*GIF is not mine. I found it on Pinterest*

MINORS DO NOT ENGAGE! 18+ ONLY. MINORS & BLOGS WITH NO AGE/EMPTY BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, terrorism, bombings, cyber attacks

Word Count: 2.5k

Read in Wattpad or AO3

Masterlist >> Part 3 >> Part 5

===

Early in the morning, alarms in multiple homes, dorms, and other living arrangements went off. Most were those belonging to Navy Seals. The rest being those of the Dagger Squadron, who were awake bright and early for a debriefing that would provide details as to their next mission.

Jake shut the alarm off and got up. He was excited for this debriefing, mission assists like this were always something that he had enjoyed. Especially one this secret. The Daggers knew nothing of what they were deploying into, something that only happened if and when whatever was to take place was a mission of the utmost secrecy. He showered, dressed in his flight suit, before traipsing downstairs for something to eat. Minutes later, he left. Jake met up with Bob and Payback when he got to base, the three of them chatting among themselves as they made their way to the meeting room.

Bear, on the other hand, hit snooze and rolled over. She hated mornings. Always had. But ten minutes later, the alarm went off again and despite her desire to sleep in, she knew that this was a meeting that she absolutely could not miss. She had been up late pulling files and compiling information for the debriefing today and only late last night had she been informed that Seal Team 3 and the Dagger pilots would be working together. The thought of that alone made her want to bury herself under the covers. But she persevered and flung the covers off, showered, got dressed, ate, and departed for the base. She knew that she would be a little later than anticipated, but the meeting couldn’t start without her.

Meanwhile, the pilots had crammed themselves into the meeting room where Maverick had directed them. What they weren’t expecting was a group of eight to walk through the door and take seats on the opposite side of the room from them. “Ummm…we actually have this room,” Fanboy spoke up, glancing curiously around the small space. “We have a debriefing.”

“What a coincidence. We also have this room,” a small Indian woman in the corner replied sharply, eyes narrowed in challenge. The others around her bristled, ready if one of the pilots stepped up to them.

Maverick took this moment to walk in, folders in hand. “Morning.” He had heard the posturing through the open door and figured that if he didn’t want to end up filling out numerous incident reports, he’d better get in the room quickly.

No response. The tension was palpable, pilots and Seals glaring at one another, neither willing to back down.

“I’m fairly certain that when someone of a higher rank says good morning, you give them a reply, Bug,” a familiar voice rang out as Bear walked in. She met the stunned looks of the pilots with a wink, grinning a little at how most of the people in the room backed down as she entered. Hangman’s reaction in particular made her laugh. He sat back down, giving her a tight smile. Shaking her head in amusement, Bear closed the door behind her.

“Sorry Commander,” the woman who had spoken earlier replied. “Good morning, Captain Mitchell.”

Maverick just nodded, smiling to himself. “Good morning. Thank you to you and your team for taking the time to meet with us, Commander.”

“I should be thanking you. After all, you had no obligation to accept this mission,” Bear replied, dropping her folders on the table near her people. “And please, call me Bear. Everyone does.”

“So long as you call me Maverick,” he told her.

Bear nodded at him. “Deal. Now, everyone. We should probably do introductions first, since we will be working together for the next while. My people here are four of my Lieutenants, plus our medic and detonation expert. So if you would introduce yourselves, and provide your official titles so that our assisting air crew can get to know you,” she said, gesturing to her people to start.

“I’m Bug, the Lieutenant of platoon one,” the first woman spoke up. Her black hair was neatly bunned back, dark eyes sharp as she took in the pilots in front of her.

Bear gave her a fond smile. “Bug is also my second in command. She does a lot of the logistics with both hers and the other teams.”

To her right sat a large man. “Name’s Marshmallow. I’m the detonation expert,” he announced.

“Sorry to interrupt, but why Marshmallow?” Phoenix spoke up.

The man let out a chuckle. “Because one exploded and scarred my arms badly when I was younger.”

A few chuckles rose up from the Daggers, who found it funny that the biggest man in the room was called Marshmallow.

“I’m Fireball.”

“And I’m Flare. We’re in charge of the recon and stealth teams.”

Payback leaned over to Bob and whispered “That’s ironic as hell.”

Bob nodded. “You’d hope that one of them would be ‘Ghost’ or ‘Shadow’ or something like that.”

“Yup.”

The second last woman sat quietly. She was tough; built like a rugby player with broad, strong shoulders, and piercing eyes. “Shrike.”

Her simple, firm introduction had a few of the pilots glancing at each other with worried glances, making Bear grin. Shrike was the longest serving member of the team. She had had numerous opportunities to advance but denied them all, preferring to stay in the field until she absolutely couldn’t anymore. “Shrike is our interrogation specialist. Interpret that how you will,” Bear informed the room.

At the very end, sat a young individual. “I’m the team medic. Nicknamed FAK. It’s short for first aid kit, in case y’all were curious,” they spoke. Perched on their nose was a pair of black glasses, a small smile on their face as they gave a shy wave. Shrike gave a small, almost imperceptible smile towards FAK, who grinned back.

“Good to meet you all,” Maverick replied. “This is my team-”

Bear cut him off gently, “My team has been briefed separately on your team and their identities. Just to save time.”

“I see. Well, in that case. Let’s get started.”

===

Two hours later, Bear was running through the logistics of what they knew and what was planned. “So, as it says in the documents in front of you, the Lincoln docks at the port of Jebel Ali in Saudi Arabia. The Daggers are flying into Riyadh Air Base with your planes. My people are leaving via helicopter and will depart before you guys,” she said, gesturing to the pilots, who were watching her closely.

Maverick spoke up. “We are landing in Air Force territory. So cooperation is extremely important because we are required for this mission to succeed,” he told his team. “We are in and out. No extra work. Keep it clean.”

“Exactly right, Maverick. Thank you.” Bear nodded to him. “My people know my standards. Don’t antagonize anyone, but don’t be a pushover. If something happens, find Maverick or myself and we’ll do our best to handle it.”

“Don’t let Shrike near whoever starts shit,” Flare whispered to Marshmallow, who snorted. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to hide his grin.

Rooster raised his hand. “Sorry to interrupt, but what happens if they mess with us? Can I punch them if they punch me?”

“Hopefully the base commander can keep his people in line enough to make it civil. If shit does go sideways, either because of us or them, the parties involved will be held responsible,” Bear replied. “That’s a good question, Lieutenant Bradshaw. Thank you.”

“This will be hypocritical coming from me, but listen to rules and do what you can to either stay out of the way or be helpful,” Maverick spoke. “But since this is Bear’s and the Seals’ mission, we follow their lead.”

“This true, Commander?” Bug asked from her spot near the front.

Bear nodded. “Yes. I’m technically running point on this mission, but I will be working closely with Maverick to make sure that everything is as smooth as possible before we send you out. And I hope that you guys get to know each other during this,” she added on, flipping through the pages in front of her. She knew that her people had smug looks on their faces at the prospect of having the pilots fall in line behind them, but knew that that was unlikely to happen given the level of collaboration required on a mission such as this.

“Coming back to the mission itself, the full details of the Seals’ mission cannot be shared. But the short of it is that Ibrahim al-Hammeed, Mikael Khrushov, and Helena Osmund are targets of the U.S. Government and we have been sent to handle the threat that they pose,” Maverick continued on, gesturing to the papers in front of him.

“As you now know, all three have been taking up the top three spots on NCIS’s most wanted list and other government organizations, including the NSA, CIA, and British MI6 have chipped in and provided intel for pinpointing their locations,” the Commander added. “al-Hameed is a Pakistani Salafist preacher and a key recruiter in the IJU, Islamic Jihad Union. Now I need to say this because some people don’t know that Islam isn’t a violent religion. The reason for this mission is because of the harm he has done in the name of religion and religious zeal. Am I clear?”

“Yes Ma’am,” the room said in unison.

“Good. Continuing on, Mikael Khrushov. An Estonian arms dealer and is practically a one-stop shop for terrorist organizations. He is suspected of supplying weapons and some training to would-be terror cells in and throughout Central and Eastern Europe. Helena Osmund, on the other hand, is American. She’s a former NSA chief analyst, responsible for numerous data breaches both at home and abroad among our allies. She has sold the stolen data and information to numerous individuals on our watchlists,” Bear paused, taking a breath. “The running theory is that Osmund is planning on selling some of the stolen data to al-Hameed and we suspect that the three of them are teaming up for the theft of U.S. Hellfire missiles among other equipment. And we definitely do not want these to end up in the hands of people this dangerous.”

Maverick took the pause to chime in. “We are responsible for the bombing run of Khrushov’s weapons cache. But if needed, we will also provide air support to the Seals outside al-Hameed’s compound. Does that make sense?”

“How many of us are flying this?” Coyote asked, jotting a few notes down. “It doesn’t seem like a full team is needed for this.”

Glancing at Bear, Maverick replied “As many as Bear and myself feel we need to send. You will know before the mission date, but until then, all of you are needed.”

The woman next to him nodded. “That’s exactly right. Maverick here will train you all for the likelihood of us needing air support. But it’s very possible that only a four to six plane team will be needed, combined with 4 Seal platoons. We likely will only require 2 at most, but given the level of the threat, we need to be prepared.”

Coyote nodded. He was poked in the ribs a few seconds later and saw Hangman make a gesture to his notebook. Rolling his eyes at his best friend, Coyote angled the paper towards him before glancing back at the woman in front of him.

Bear continued, a small grin on her face, “al-Hameed and the others have taken up residence in al-Hameed’s private compound just over 65 clicks outside the city of Ash Shamli, roughly 300 kilometers from Riyadh. However, Khrushov owns a major warehouse block, storage facility, and personnel base 10 clicks from al-Hameed’s compound. We suspect that Osmund also stores her servers in Khrushov’s building as well.

“Both compounds will be attacked simultaneously, and as Maverick mentioned, the Daggers will hit Khrushov’s compound while the Seals take down al-Hameed’s,” Bear announced, making eye contact with each and every person in the room. “Osmund herself is likely to be hiding out in al-Hameed’s compound. She is considered a slippery target so she will be one of our top priorities. Are there any questions?”

Marshmallow raised his hand. “Yes Ma’am. Do we have the layout to the private compound yet? If I’m placing charges…”

“Flare? Did we have that document?”

Fumbling through her papers, Flare nodded. “Yes Ma’am. Unfortunately, the drone used was damaged, so we have maybe half the data that we need. I will speak with my contacts on the ground about sending another one up. But we do have the satellite imaging of the compounds and the landscape around them.”

“Okay, see that that is done asap. Anyone else?”

“Umm yes. Do we know where our targeting is for this?” Phoenix asked. “I’d like to have the runs practiced as many times as possible, and I’m sure that everyone around agrees with that.”

“I’ll take this one,” Maverick told Bear. “I have the information for the bombing run, which I will give you when we start our training. For now, we will stick to what’s relevant for both teams.”

Shooting Hangman a side glance, Coyote raised his hand. Mischief shone in his eyes and Bear immediately pinned him in place with a stare, having an idea what the pilot was about to ask. “I would consider asking that question to a superior officer in a room full of Navy Seals, Lieutenant Machado,” she told him.

Nodding once, Coyote lowered his hand, lips pursed. He looked away from Maverick and made eye contact with Fireball who looked ready to jump out of his seat.

“At ease, Wilson. No harm was done. Now, before we send you all on your merry ways to complete the paperwork necessary to ship out on this mission, are there any more questions related to the mission?”

A chorus of no’s rang out. All in the room except for one of her Lieutenants had agreed. “Hazard? You had something else?”

“I did, Ma’am,” the tall dark haired man said. “I was wondering what role you’d be playing in this mission. Are you up or down this time?”

“Up or down?” Maverick asked. He looked confused, likely because he had no idea of her claim to fame as a sniper.

Bear hummed. “Yes. I’m typically a sniper. So he’s asking if I am fulfilling that place or if I’m leading the entry,” she clarified for the pilots in the room. “I will be both up and down. Bug and a few of you will lead the entrance, while I take care of any stragglers, but this will be explained in detail the closer we get to the mission date. Does that help?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Glad to hear it. Are we good to go?”

“I think so.” Maverick began collecting his papers, leading his pilots to do the same. Their burst of movement led the Seals to start packing up, looking to Bear for the all clear to leave. Her quick nod had FAK and Fireball rushing from the room with those still inside following them out, chatting among themselves.

Bear smiled to herself. She was ready for this. Her team was too. All she had to do was hope that the pilots could keep up with her expectations, but from their attention and questions asked, she found herself reassured that the right team had been picked. She sighed, tucking the loose papers back into their proper places before piling them up in front of her.

“So,” Maverick’s voice startled her from her reverie. “I think that went well.”

“I do too. Now let’s hope our people can get along for long enough not to kill each other,” Bear joked, shooting the man in front of her a teasing grin.

The pilot matched her grin. “Glad to be working with you, Bear,” he said, holding a hand out to shake.

Bear shook his hand. “As am I, Maverick. This will be fun.”

===

A/N: Once again, special thanks to @startrekfangirl2233 @sarahsmi13s and @dakotakazansky for saving my ass and proof reading! Bear wouldn’t be an icon without you all!

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lefteagleblizzard · 12 days

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𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖞 𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖘

Derek Danforth x gn reader

Summary: One stormy evening, the power goes out in the office building. You and Derek are now stuck in the elevator. The confined space ignites a passion neither of you expected.

Warnings: no pronouns used for the reader. unprofessional behavior at work. Smut in the elevator. Boss x assistant relationship. Is a continuation of the other stories I wrote for Derek but can also be read as a stand-alone .

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

Word counts: 3000 words

As the clock struck seven, the office building was nearly deserted, save for a few late workers finishing their tasks. You hurriedly gathered your belongings, eager to join Derek. Tonight, you were leaving together, headed for his luxurious house to spend the night.

'To be able to work together without too many interruptions, of course.'

You stand in front of the elevator, waiting for it to arrive at your floor. Your fingers tapping lightly against the sleek, metallic walls. Your colleagues shuffle past, casting furtive glances in your direction. They know, of course. Everyone knows about you and Derek. You don't care.

Derek, the CEO with a reputation that precedes him, is standing close. Too close, some would say. His presence is magnetic, his arrogance almost a physical force that compels attention.

His breath is warm against your ear as he leans in. "You look stunning tonight," he whispers, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. "I can't wait to get you out of that office attire and into something more... comfortable."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks, but you maintain your composure. You tilt your head slightly, allowing his words to wash over you, a sly smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"Is that so?" you reply, your voice steady. "And what might that be?"

He chuckles, a rich, indulgent sound that draws the ire of your coworkers even more. "You'll see soon enough. But first, we have to get out of here."

The elevator finally arrives with a soft ding. The doors slide open, and you both step inside, the space feeling intimate and closed off from the rest of the world. Derek wastes no time. As soon as the doors shut, he pulls you close, his hands roaming over your back.

As the elevator doors close behind the last group of employees, you feel a surge of excitement mixed with nervous anticipation.

His presence beside you is a comforting reminder of your relationship, a bold statement of defiance against societal expectations.

The elevator's ascent was slow, a crawl towards the freedom of the evening. Derek's hand was warm in yours, a silent promise of the night ahead. His thumb traced circles on the back of your hand, a small act that spoke volumes in the silence of the elevator, sending a thrilling current through your body.

His lips are close to your ear, and you can feel his breath as he whispers sweet nothings that make you blush.

The few remaining occupants of the elevator shift uncomfortably, their disapproval palpable, but it only adds a rebellious thrill to the moment.

You notice the glances from your coworkers, their eyes narrowed with irritation and perhaps a tinge of envy. The tension in the confined space grows with each passing second.

Derek seems oblivious, or perhaps he simply doesn't care, his focus entirely on you. He was the son of the president, after all, and his actions bore the mark of someone who knew they were above reproach.

His voice, low and intimate, carries words meant only for you but loud enough for others to overhear.

"You're irresistible" Derek murmurs, his hand trailing lightly down your arm. "I can't wait to have you all to myself tonight."

You feel a blush creep up your neck at his bold words, aware of the curious stares from your colleagues. The elevator moves slowly, each floor passing in what feels like an eternity. You shift uncomfortably, yet Derek's presence beside you is both a reassurance and a source of mounting desire.

"Do you remember the last time we were alone like this?" Derek continues, his voice a teasing whisper. "The way you looked at me when you thought no one was watching? I couldn't stop thinking about it."

One of your coworkers, an older man that you forgot his name, clears his throat loudly, a pointed attempt to break the spell. Derek glances at him briefly, a faint smirk playing on his lips, before returning his attention to you.

"You drive me crazy" he whispers, his lips grazing your ear. "Just thinking about tonight makes it hard to focus on anything else."

"Remember the party last month?" Derek continues, his voice low and smooth. "When we slipped away for a moment alone in the garden?"

You shift uncomfortably, the blush deepening as you recall that night, your mind torn between embarrassment and a thrill of anticipation. The elevator's soft hum seems to amplify Derek's words, making each syllable resonate in the confined space.

One of your coworkers, Rachel, stands rigidly to the side, her jaw clenched. She's the head of marketing, known for her professionalism and strict adherence to company policy. Yet now, she is forced into silence, her frustration barely concealed. She casts a quick, disapproving glance your way, but there's nothing she can do.

Across from her, James, the senior analyst, adjusts his glasses and clears his throat, a futile attempt to break the tension. He shoots a look at Derek, then at you, but ultimately remains silent, knowing that speaking out would only invite trouble.

Derek, seemingly oblivious or perhaps enjoying the discomfort he's causing, leans in closer. His breath warm against your ear as he kept talking.

Rachel shifts uncomfortably, her patience clearly wearing thin. She opens her mouth, ready to say something, but then catches herself, Her eyes flicking to the floor indicator as if willing the elevator ove faster. She remembers all too well the fate of a former colleague who had hoan hold enough to criticize your relationship with Derek. Derek had fired him the next day after hearing about the incident from you.

James fidgets with his phone, pretending to check emails but clearly more interested in avoiding eye contact. He steals another glance at Derek, his annoyance barely concealed.

The elevator dinged, signaling another floor, another departure. The doors slide open, and your colleagues practically rush out. This wasn't the floor all of the them asked the elevator to bring them to when they first entered, but they were too eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere.

His fingers tightened around your waist, possessive and unyielding. The space grew emptier, until it was just you and Derek, alone in the descending box.

Derek's lips found your neck, and you stifled a giggle. "Smooth move, Mr. CEO," you teased.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. "I can't have anyone disrespecting you, can I? We're just enjoying a moment together. No harm in that, is there?" His lips trailed upward. The world narrowed to the two of you: the CEO and his unapologetically affectionate secretary.

Derek's laughter mingled with yours. You feel a mix of embarrassment and exhilaration. Derek's confidence and indifference to their judgment is thrilling.

Derek's arm found its way around your waist, pulling you closer. "Finally alone," he breathed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. The proximity sent your heart racing, and you leaned into him, your body responding to his nearness.

As the elevator descends, you and Derek change knowing glances, the promise of the night ahead hanging in the air between you. The lights flicker, and for a brief moment, the elevator jolts to a halt. You clutch Derek's arm instinctively, and he steadies you with a reassuring squeeze of your hand. The silence is punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder from the storm raging outside.

The gentle hum of the machinery was a comfort, a prelude to the evening ahead. But as the elevator reached the middle floors, a sudden jolt brought it to an abrupt halt. The lights flickered and went out, plunging you both into darkness, the emergency lighting casting an eerie glow over Derek's features.

Derek immediately pulled out his phone, the faint glow of the screen illuminating his sharp features. His fingers danced over the screen as he tried to make a call, but the signal bars stubbornly stayed empty. He swore under his breath, frustration already seeping into his voice. Known for his short temper, you could see the annoyance building in his eyes, his jaw tightening with each passing second.

"Dammit, there's no signal in here!" he growled, pacing the small space. "Of all nights, it had to be tonight. This is ridiculous!"

You knew Derek well enough to understand his fits of anger, the way stress gnawed at his patience until he exploded. Tonight was no different, and you could feel the tension rising between the confined walls of the elevator.

Gently, you reached out, placing a hand on his arm to still his pacing. "Derek, it's okay," you said softly, your voice a soot contrasting to his irritation. He glanced at you, the anger in his eyes softening slightly at your touch.

You stepped closer, your hand moving to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair. "We'll get out of here soon," you murmured, your lips near his ear. "Just breathe."

Derek sighed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction as you continued to stroke his hair. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling against the building, but inside the elevator, you created a bubble of calm. Your touch was gentle, reassuring, and slowly, you felt the tension in his body start to ebb away.

You always knew how to calm him down.He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment.

"It's what I'm here for," you replied with a small smile, continuing to whisper soothing words. Your fingers traced small circles on his scalp, and you could feel him gradually returning to his usual self, the irascible edge dulled by your presence.

Minutes stretched on, but you didn't stop. The connection between you both deepened in the silence, the storm outside a distant roar compared to the intimacy within the elevator. Derek's breathing steadied, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours.

The confined space suddenly feels smaller, more intimate. Derek's eyes meet yours, and there's an unspoken understanding between you. His hand finds the small of your back, pulling you even closer, and you can feel his warmth against your skin.

"We might be here for a while," Derek murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. There's a playful glint in his eyes, and you can sense the shift in the air. The usual boundaries of your professional relationship blur, leaving only the raw attraction that has always simmered beneath the surface.

You lean into him, your body responding to his touch with a yearning that you've tried to keep in check for all day. The storm outside is a distant reality; inside this elevator, there's only you and Derek. His hands explore your back, tracing patterns that make your breath hitch. You respond in kind, pulling him closer until your lips meet in a searing kiss.

The passion that ignites between you is overwhelming, a rush of emotions that neither of you expected but both desperately need. Derek's hands are firm and confident, guiding you against the elevator wall as the kiss deepens. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of desire and something more profound that you've both been avoiding.

Every touch, every whispered word, fans the flames of your longing. Derek's hands find the hem of your shirt, and you shiver as his fingers brush against your skin, the sensation heightened by the thrill of being caught in this forbidden moment.

You break the kiss only to catch your breath, your eyes meeting Derek's with a mixture of need and uncertainty. His expression mirrors yours, a potent blend of lust and a deeper connection that has always been there, just beneath the surface. He cups your face in his hands, his thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

"Any... preferences?" Derek asked, breathing in your scent.

"I like the idea of mirrored walls," You admitted and Derek had to smile.

"You do, do you?" Derek growled.

Your eyes widened for a moment, then you shifted to spread your legs so Derek could easily stand between them, then you put your hands on the metal bar that ran all the way around the elevator.

Derek looked down for a moment, taking in the tight, white-knuckled grip. A smile escaped him.

Leaning in the last way, he captured your mouth in a sweet kiss, one that quickly turned nasty and openmouthed, making Derek groan. He slid his hands from the wall down over your shoulders.

Derek groaned into your mouth as his hands ended up on your ass, fingers tightening with nearly bruising strength. Shifting a little, Derek slid his hands down enough to boost you up against the wall, urging your thighs to slide up and around his waist.

The warm body with all its angles and planes and above all, the heat, made Derek forget where you were. All that mattered was the heat, the weight, the friction of your body against him.

And the noises.

The only sound filling the mirrored space was your harsh breathing, the wet sound of mouth upon mouth as you did your best to devour each other.

Biting into your lower lip before pulling his head back to break your kiss, Derek drew in air as if he'd never get enough to fill his lungs again.

Your gasps filled the small space and Derek turned his head, resting it against your shoulder as your bodies kept up the familiar dance. Derek caught the movement of your reflection of the elevator wall.

Oh, fuck... you looked like something out of a porn flick. Your head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open as you panted for breath. And Derek himself looked like he'd landed the best deal ever.

Which he had.

His fingers reached down to free you from these underwhelming clothes as your own fingers tugged down the zipper on his pants.

You closed again as he pushed himself into you, keeping his hands on your knees to keep you pinned to the wall.

You gasped and moaned as his lips crushed yours and muffled your sounds.

One of your shoes dropped to the floor as he thrust into you.

The storm outside seems to intensify, the thunder echoing your racing heartbeat. You press yourself closer to Derek, your body molding to his as if you were made to fit together. His hands roam your body with a possessive hunger, and you respond with equal fervor, your inhibitions melting away in the heat of the moment.

He switched nipples and pounded into you with more drive, his moans now equaling the volume of your gasps and whimpers.

You pulled him up to kiss him again, a kiss that made his brain spin and his heart race and his libido force his hips to pump even faster.

When the power eventually returns, and the elevator resumes its descent, you find the reality of your surroundings creeping back in.

"Derek" you whispered breathlessly into his ear as the elevator was close to reaching the first floor.

Soon the doors would open and everyone will see the both of you fucking.

"Almost there..." he moaned back, fucking into you hard and deep.

Each of his thrusts was greeted by an answering squeeze deep inside you. Each movement eliciting a noise of approval and desire.

The intensity of your connection leaves you both breathless, and you lose yourself in the sensations, in the feel of Derek's body against yours, in the sound of his voice whispering your name.

Finally, as the doors of the elevator opened, you both shuddered in mutual satisfaction.

You could barely hear the sound that came from the elevator with your heartbeat going so fast. You clung to Derek more firmly while one of your eyes opened.

You were relieved to see that the lobby was empty.

The connection between you remains, a tangible thread that you know won't be easily broken. Your legs were trembling as you tried your best to put your clothes back on.

In the hallway, Derek kissed you with a fervor that left no room for doubt. The industry might whisper, might gossip, but you were unyielding, a force to be reckoned with. And as his lips claimed yours, you knew that love and power were your greatest allies.

The storm outside is a reminder of the intensity of your emotions, a perfect metaphor for the passion that has finally been unleashed. As you make your way to Derek's car, you exchange a knowing glance, the promise of the night ahead a tantalizing prospect. The boundaries of your relationship have shifted, and you both know that nothing will ever be the same.

The drive to Derek's house is filled with anticipation, the silence between you charged with unspoken desire. When you finally arrive, you can barely contain your excitement. Derek's home, with its luxurious comforts and private spaces, is the perfect setting for the fun to continue.

As you step inside, you turn to Derek, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of anticipation and resolve. "Tonight," you say softly, "let's not hold back."

Derek's smile is all the confirmation you need. "Agreed," he replies, pulling you into another passionate kiss. The storm outside rages on, but inside, you find solace in each other's arms, ready to explore the depths of your connection without fear or hesitation.

Thank you all for reading. Hope you enjoyed this as much as I had fun writing it. I think the next one shot will be a Mike fluff but, if you want, I could squeeze in a smut scene. Let me know ;)

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randomshyperson · 1 year

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The List - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda shouldn't be sneaking off to your bedroom during the farewell party, and she certainly shouldn't be reading a list of pros and cons about the women you care about. Inspired by ‘Friends’ but make it Ross’s list something actually thoughtful.

Warnings: (+16) Some implications but nothing explicit, very brief angst of relationship going wrong and other lovers, implied friends to lovers, some Yelena x Reader and Vision x Wanda ‘cause they made bad choices, drinking, feelings talks, making out, getting back together, attempt to poetry and a hella of self-insert stuff. | Words: 3.052k.

A/N-> The author should be working on the last two Skam series but is doing midnight one-shots instead (self-criticism). This is short and dramatic and I just wanted something about one of the most popular scenes in Friends. Hope you like it.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

A full tower meant Wanda would be locked in her room. Or at least, that's how it used to be.

Tonight, however, there is a 'Good Voyage' banner in the middle of the room filled with friends and guests, each with their own glass of drink, wanting to celebrate your last night as an Avenger. Technically, this party was also for Wanda. In official terms, she didn't leave the team, but she had a room booked at the Harkness Residence and no belongings in her old room. For the two of you, this was the last night in the tower.

This is why Wanda was wearing a party dress and wasn't locked away from the celebration as she would have been years ago when she was a new recruit and you would sneak out of appointments to keep her company.

She tried to avoid staring so much. Whether it was the lost smiles between you and Yelena, or the lingering hugs and complicit whispers. There was nothing official, yet Natasha had commented that you had been sleeping in Lena's apartment for many weeks and that you were probably the only number saved on her secure cell phone beside the older widow.

"Would you like me to get you something to drink, Wanda?" Vision's voice made her jump in fright softly. She stared at him, and for a moment couldn't say anything, still getting used to the synthesizer's new appearance. Sometimes she missed the red, it was less intimidating than the full white.

"N-no, Vis. Thank you." She manages to reply when he looks at her curiously towards the silence. Wanda risks diverting her attention to you again, catching the moment when Yelena entwines her arm with yours and rests her head on your shoulder. It is so domestic that she feels sick. How many times has she made the same action? Swallowing dryly, she lets the robot beside her know, "I need some air. "

She left him before he could say anything else; and missed the moment he exchanged a glance with Natasha across the room as if asking her oldest friend for some kind of assistance.

Wanda lied - It wasn't her intention, she thinks, but her feet made their way alone. She went up the elevator in silence, offering nothing but forced smiles to any stray guests she met in the hallways to your old bedroom.

The place was dark and full of boxes ready for the move. All your belongings would be shipped the next day to somewhere in Europe, where you and Yelena continued on the mission to free the rest of the Black Widows, the personal operation that had to be paused for a few months with all the problems the Mad Titan brought to earth. With the victory of the Avengers, who were outnumbered for some time, everything needed to undergo some kind of reform. No one ever wanted to be caught as unawares as when Thanos appeared, and everyone had work to do. Wanda, and her growing magical power, included.

She let her fingers trace through the closed boxes, a red sparkle doing the work of turning on the lights at the entrance. Her mind was haunted by memories of a friendship long forgotten, glimpses of movie nights under those covers, stolen touches at breakfasts, and promises sealed with kisses that would be forgone and impossible to keep when reality fell on your heads.

When Wanda thought of you, she felt a pang in her chest. Missing you hurt her physically, and even with only a few rooms between you now, she felt as if the distance she had placed was much greater. She knows she would start to cry if she kept thinking about it, but there was no avoiding it, not when there were still some of her belongings scattered on your study desk and some of these were polaroids taken by Peter Parker with his intention to keep memories of his adventures with the Avengers.

She traced the photographs of younger versions of herself smiling beside you, but at the current moment, her smile was much more whiny than happy. She took her attention away from the pictures to the computer that turned on as soon as it recognized movement, and let her fingers play with the keys for a second.

"Welcome." FRIDAY's sudden greeting made her eyes widen softly at the fright. "Little witch."

She bit the inside of her cheek at the nickname she hadn't heard in a while. She lifted her finger to touch the colorful stickers you pasted on the device but bumped into the screen and was surprised by the automatic unlock. Her shock at still being allowed to access your belongings had to be forgotten because the open file was much more relevant than overthinking about this.

There were two columns in one document. Her name and Yelena's, below each a list of items.

The witch swallowed dryly and turned her face to the door. A peek at something that contained her name couldn't hurt...

Wanda.

‘Complicated.

Complicated friendship.

Complicated everything.’

Frowning, the witch felt something in her stomach sinking. When she read Yelena's first item 'It happened as it was supposed to' she understood that it was a list of pros and cons and she immediately regretted starting to read this at all.

But there was no stopping herself now. She needed to know where this was going.

Wanda.

‘Just because she was my first love, she doesn't have to be my last.’

Sniffling slightly, she looked at the next item on Yelena's list.

‘I don't have to fall in love with her just because everyone else thinks it makes sense.’

Wanda froze. A mixture of conflicting feelings surged through her chest. She wanted to be only upset by how distressed you felt, but she couldn't help the thread of hope arising from hearing your doubts regarding your feelings for Yelena.

Clicking to advance to the next lines, she held her breath without realizing it. The formatting of the list changes, taking away the bullet points for paragraphs that pull and bring the air out of her lungs with each sentence.

“Wanda only wakes up after all the alarms have gone off, I can always watch her sleep because of this.

Yelena never sleeps, and I can never fully relax knowing she's awake and haunted by horrors I can't take away.

They're both shorter than me, and they look adorable when they ask for help picking up something high up. Yelena kicks my ankle if I get too cocky about it. Wanda slides her hand under my clothes and turns me into a complete mess at her mercy, taller or shorter, she’s the boss.”

She pauses in her reading, a smile playing on her lips. She remembers doing the latter so many times. The memories hit her hard, and she had to take a deep breath to push them away and focus on reading again.

“Wanda feels so much that she explodes.

Yelena sometimes thinks the Red Room just left an empty cocoon behind.

I think I'm in the middle.”

Wanda pauses, thinking she hears someone approaching. With her heart racing with guilt and fear of being caught, she checks the door, but it's just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Wanda invades frequently. Privacy is a problem, especially because of her telepathy. I can never keep secrets from her, much less emotions. She gets so close that sometimes it suffocates.”

The witch pauses the reading with tears in her eyes. Guilt and shame burn her chest, and she takes a deep breath. She wonders how old the list is, or if the version of her that you have of it in your head is just the young girl who tentatively stumbled over her own feelings and traumas and hurt you even though she had no intention of doing so.

She sniffles again and controls the threat of crying before reading the next item.

“Yelena goes so far away that sometimes I wonder if she was ever here at all.”

The witch needs to stop; She has for a moment, the realization that perhaps, you are better off alone. For the way she and Yelena, even if in different ways, hurt you.

And the next part of the list does not make her feel better about this. In cursive letters, and repeated for three more paragraphs, there's the name of the person responsible for putting an end to the fragile relationship that you and she used to have.

“Vision.

Vison.

She notices a machine but she cannot notice me.

She loves a piece of tin, but not the one who finds pairs of socks for her cold feet at night.

She loves the tin-man who signed the agreements that say she should be locked up, and not the person who would fight the whole world for her.”

Wanda sobs, and has to sit up in her chair to keep from falling to the floor. She cries for a moment, all the emotions that seem to have built up since the whole impasse with the Avengers two years ago hitting her all over again.

You've got it all wrong. If there was a way, she would have gone back and done everything differently. She would have told her stupid young self that you were hurting like her, and that you always noticed her like she pretended not to be doing.

That forcing yourself to invest in Vision was hurting you like it was hurting her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda tries to stop crying to finish the list at once. It seems to be ending at least.

There is one note crossed out, and she needs to make a change and remove the underline to read it.

“Yelena never seems as happy with me as she is around Kate Bishop. She always diverts from the subject when I try to bring it up. It reminds me of Wanda when I would ask about him, and she would say they were just friends.

I wonder if I will ever be someone's first choice.”

Wanda shakes her head in indignation. You are her first choice. And her second and third. You are everything. You've always been too precious to risk losing. How can you not know this?

"People say that Yelena and I are very similar while Wanda is my opposite. Peter has been helping me try astrology and everything from Hogwarts houses to numerology.

I liked the phases of the moon where Yelena matches mine while Wanda is the part I am missing.

While Yelena mirrors me, Wanda completes me.

They say that the former is more important: That real, routine life is better with someone who resembles you. Yelena and I like the same pizza and the same movies. We never fight over silly things.

Every time I argue with Wanda I want to make her scream for another reason. She always looked so pretty moaning my name-”

The witch jumps to the next item, her face burning just like under her dress. She clears her throat quietly, fighting other memories that try to rise into her mind and which most likely would take away her ability to read anything.

‘I could write pages and pages of this, but this would be just me, running away from the truth. There is only one answer to your question, Captain Rogers.

Yelena can read me like a book, but Wanda is the only one who can edit the words.

I will meet a hundred people, and none of them will be like Wanda.

You told me that in order to make this decision, I needed to think about something simple. Who would I miss more if I had to lose in life, Wanda or Yelena? It was not so simple.

Because Wanda left me first and I had to get used to the pain day by day. But Yelena will never let me in enough to miss her. Not when she also knows that I'm always looking back, just like a little kid, waiting for the moment when Wanda Maximoff will have a spare piece of attention to trade with me.

I know I can survive missing her in my life because it is a feeling I am used to.

I just don't want to lose her again. I don't want to survive without her, I want to live with her.

I will tell her.

I will.

I-”

"Having fun, Maximoff?" The witch jumps out of her chair at your sudden arrival. It is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, she cringes like a child being caught and her face burns even more at your relaxed posture, waist resting on the doorstop and arms crossed. Her favorite smile on your face.

"I-I was just..."

"Snooping." You complete, but you don't sound the least bit angry, just provocative. You uncross your arms to reach for the cell phone in your jeans pocket. "Yeah, I got a notification of a small change in my drive. I guess I was right about the boundaries issues topic..."

Wanda steps forward, almost desperate. "I didn't mean to! I-I accidentally clicked on it, and when I saw my name, I couldn't help it-"

You chuckle, nodding in her direction as a sign that it was okay. "Relax, I'm just teasing you."

Wanda chuckles nervously, aware that you were getting too close. She holds her breath but you only lean toward the computer, humming in confirmation that it is indeed your list that she has spent the last few moments reading before turning your attention back to her.

"I'm really sorry." She murmurs embarrassedly, looking down at her own feet. Wanda really expects you to yell at her, to be angry at her for breaking your privacy and invading what is clearly a very personal vent. But you just stare back at her, and completely tear her apart as you take one of your hands to her hair, gentle fingers tracing the loose strands behind the nape of her neck to the front.

"I didn't get a chance to say that red really suits you."

"T-thanks." She risks a look into your eyes, and her heart explodes at the intensity she finds.

"Actually I didn't get a chance to say much at all." You continue, a small smile appearing on your lips. Wanda tries to focus on your next words and not on your hand playing with her hair. "You ran out of the party. I was planning to ask you to dance."

She swallows dryly, trying to calm her own nerves. She's tired of games; they've hurt you both enough.

"I don't understand your list." She retorts in an affected voice, her gaze in a mix of hope and fear. "You say...you say you're going to tell me, but you're leaving-"

"We both are." You retort as if you are reminding her. Without stopping smiling, you use your free hand to search for something in your coat pocket. "It turns out, Nat and Lena really do have a lot of time catching up to do. And well, I know you do magic portals now, but I still trust planes."

In your hand are first-class tickets to Central-Southeastern Europe. You let Wanda hold them, appraising the item in shock as you clarify:

"Agatha mentioned that you need to find out more about yourself, and I thought, there is no better place than where it all began. Unfortunately, Sokovia no longer has an airport, but we can stay around. And get a car..."

She looks at you with watery eyes. "And y-you want to come with me?"

You smile at her so tenderly that she would have burst into tears if she weren't already doing so. Your hands find her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears as you clarify:

"Isn't it clear yet, Wanda? I'll go wherever you want me."

Something mixed between a sob and a relieved laugh escapes her; You have a very similar expression, and as you wipe away her tears, you kiss her cheeks and the tip of her nose to reassure her.

Wanda sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.

"Detka, I'm so scared." She confesses in a whisper. "We've hurt each other before. I don't want to ever hurt you again."

You nod and wait for her to stare you in the eyes.

"There is no such thing as a perfect relationship, Wands." Your tone, while firm, is also tender. "And we're both complicated. But I want this, us because I'd rather work on our differences than start anything new with someone else. You're the only one I want."

She stares at you trying to absorb all the sincerity in her words. For a second, even with the list, she takes a chance:

"But Yelena?"

You give her a small smile, holding her hand in yours at the height of your heart. "She could tell even before me that there was no one but you. Lena will continue the mission with Natasha, as it should be. And I will stay with you if you choose me."

She laughs tearfully, nodding. "Of course, I choose you, idiot." She assures. "I love you." And Wanda repeats and repeats until you kiss her.

It seems ridiculous that Wanda has gone without it you when your lips meet again. The worst part is that she only realizes how much she has missed you once you touch her again. The needy sounds that escape her are almost desperate, full of passion, and tugging at your clothes, trying to bring you closer than is humanly possible.

You give her everything. Your mouth, your tongue, your hands. She is pressed against the table, kissing you as if she wants to make up for all the time wasted in a single night.

There is a ripping of clothes, her dress will end up in a pile on the floor. No hesitation: Wanda gives you the green light as she snaps your belt off. There’s a promise of a future together that she can’t wait to live in the way you worship every corner of her body that night.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen x reader #marvel imagines

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justsome-di · 1 year

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Now a Pulitzer Prize winning book (don’t fact check this, just trust me) and featured on Obama’s 2023 Summer Reading List!

You should be reading Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs! Why? See above.

It’s a good story if I do say so myself. And if you read it, you’re a cool kid. Don’t you want to be a cool kid? This is something called peer pressure, and it usually works.

But for real, if you read Nobody Ends Up Dead then you’re going to go on a good adventure with good characters I guarantee you will love. Not to brag, but it is a pretty good story. There’s funny one-liners, a cute plot, and relatable characters that have been developed for years. Just heed warnings at the beginning of chapters. NEUD deals with some heavy topics such as eating disorders.

NEUD is officially all online for free. But you can still access bonus chapters and short stories on Patreon for only $4.

Links:

AO3

Wattpad

Patreon (Patrons had early access to the whole novel and also get exclusive short stories with the characters and sneak peaks for new projects!)

Netflix Previews

Characters’ Playlists

You can also check out my carrd if there are any updates to how/where I post, it’ll probably be the most accurate place to find new or updated links.

Transcript under cut:

The Story is Dope

A New York office worker and a sex worker get set up on a date--one thinking it's a real blind date, the other under the impression it's an ordinary appointment. After realizing it was all a shitty prank, they set out for revenge. Their plan: show up to an upcoming Halloween office party as a genuine couple, convincing the pranksters they genuinely fell in love and refusing to let themselves become the butt of the joke.

Our main characters are Alex, an awkward admin assistant for a medical company who hasn't been on a date since he was a teenager, and Damián, a sex worker who seems way out of Alex's league but keeps insisting on spending time with him so they can perfect their revenge scheme.

The novel features a diverse cast and explores sex positivity. I also like to believe that it portrays sex work well. Damián is a hardworking man, doing what he loves, and meeting mostly great people along the way--but he also would benefit greatly if sex work was decriminalized and therefore had better resources at his disposal.

If you're looking for a story with LGBT characters that's mostly light-hearted but still packs a punch every few chapters, this is it! Overall, it's a happy story.

The Characters!

oh boy the characters!

we got Damián who's hardworking and doting on his lil bro but oh wow does he have some angst

we got Alex who is nothing more than a burning ball of anxiety trying his best--all too relatable

Leo, Damián's bro, is an ally, and he will make sure everyone knows. Also has angst.

Eve, Alex's lil sister, is an edgy teen who's failing calc and runs a queer book club

together, they're a weird lil dysfunctional family

I'll be honest. There's a lot of love in this story. From me and among the characters. The characters love each other, and I think the readers love them, too.

It touches on a lot of loneliness--inspired by how I've felt since Covid started--and a lot of the conflicting emotions that come with being gay. What happy endings do we deserve? What about happy middles?

It's a touching book about learning to be a better person and finding people who love you--platonically and romantically.

Here are some of my fave parts:

And then there was a streak of gray hair that shocked Alex. A streak of gray hair off to the side, nestled close to a salt and pepper beard. Textured hands held cocktails. Little, subtle lines creased when mouths laughed. Alex held his breath. On the packed floor, they were the only people Alex could see. They were laughing and holding each other and enjoying themselves, firmly in the place they knew they belonged. Flashes of teeth pressed against each other, disappearing for long seconds at a time.

“Sorry,” Alex said. “Your arm got heavy on top of me.” “You’re a little mouse of a man. I didn’t mean to crush you.” “I’m what?”

“A dog!” Damián cooed as he sat across from the lesbians. “His name is Yam,” Martin said.

“His name is Yam,” Damián cried. Kris and Clara released Yam and gently nudged him to Damián. Ecstatic, Damián picked him up and set him on his lap. “His name is Yam,” he repeated to Alex. “I heard.”

But he couldn’t deny that he was having a good time. It was like intense yoga with the perk of having a cock shoved up his ass. He was going to feel limber as fuck after.

“Can I do anything?” Alex asked. “To help cheer you up?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’d like to. If you let me.”

“Wow this sounds great where can I read it?”

Tumblr @justsome-di

Watpadd @justsome-di

Patreon @just some di (link on Tumblr)

AO3 @justsome_di

Updates every friday!

#writeblr #writblr #nobody ends up dead

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xreaderbooks · 1 year

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All I breathe (6)

Pair: Azriel x Vanserra! Reader

Warnings: language and allusions to sexual content

Summary: Confessions of a fire-wielder and a Shadowsinger

Word Count: 1k

Also available on Wattpad and AO3

playlist

a/n: ngl I lost where I was going with this story but I didn't want to leave you all hanging so I give you this...

Previous Chapter - Series Masterlist - Navigation

Eris found you walking back to your room, determination written on your features, he attempted to stop you to ask what had happened that you left the party but something must have told him not to because the moment you brushed past him he curled his back into himself and didn't say a word.

In your chambers, you ignored the Shadowy figure of a man and began to pick out the gear you were going to wear for your mission.

"Where were you?"

You opened the wardrobe's doors and ransacked the bag Azriel had said you were welcome to take from and opened your own bag, stuffing the clothes you chose and the knives you took.

"Y/n," He expected you to answer him but you weren't going to. It was what you always did with him and you were not up to arguing, even if you were he didn't deserve the words you had for him. "Talk to me, curse my name, shout at me if you want but please-"

"Why?" You dropped the bag you had in your lap as you crouched down and stood to face him. "Why do you beg for me now, Azriel? We were at each other's throats not two days ago."

He was silent, as he always was and it frustrated you.

"Since when do you care if I talk to you when all you have ever done is belittle me, berate me, tower over me to make me feel inferior to you from the moment you showed up on the ice in the Winter Court." You remind him of the day he saved you, Lucien, and Feyre, with Cassian. "You didn't care then as you do not care now, do not start now because you pity me, it is more of an insult than the words you've said to me in all our time together."

You gathered the bag from the floor and stomped your way to the washroom, swiftly getting dressed into the leathers gifted to you by Feyre when you started training. You strapped the dagger you stole into the hidden compartments of your suit.

When you walked out, Azriel had an incredulous look on his face. He wasn't expecting this clearly.

"Where are you going?"

"Beron wants a prisoner, I'm going to give him one," You secured the strings on your boots.

"I have told you that I will find the prisoner and hand him over to you for Beron," His jaw ticked. You were testing his patience now, this was the longest time he had lasted not saying something distasteful to you during a 'discussion' and you could tell staying quiet while you said all that you did was getting to him.

"Plans change," You crossed your arms. "As you've told me before, this is my Court, I shall do what I want in it."

"That is childish, you are going to get yourself killed."

"You are not my keeper, Shadowsinger."

"You are my mate-"

"Your mate," You laugh almost hysterically. "Tell me, mate, why is it that you didn't tell me that we share the bond?"

He had no response, you weren't going to deal with his arguments any longer. You started for the door about to turn the knob when he shout.

"Y/n, do not walk out that door!"

You whirled around to face him, fury in full display, marching up to him face-to-face not caring about the short distance between you, "You have no right to shout at me like that, I do not belong to you!"

"Please, don't leave," His voice softer now almost vulnerable. The proximity in which you were with him was compromising, his eyes flickered from your lips to your eyes and back again.

You turn away from him and step away, the heat between you becoming too much.

"You think I take pleasure arguing with you?" You felt him come up behind you, so close your back to his chest, "I wanted you to love me."

Your heart stopped, you were sure it did.

"But I hate you. I hate the way my name falls off your lips," His left-hand tickles yours, slowly whispering up your arm. "I hate that the same fire you wield so perfectly burns within me whenever you are near. I hate that the color of your hair and eyes are all I see, your voice is all I hear when the sun rises in the morning and the birds sing."

" My shadows crave your light," His lips brush against your ear as he speaks. Your heart flutters but you hold still, your back was leaning into his chest at this point. "Most of all I hate the way you consume my very being."

He smoothly twists your body so that your chest to chest now, his forehead meets yours, sharing the same air, "You are all I can ever think about, you are all that I breathe."

Your breath hitches as his palms caress your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips meet his and you felt your anger rushing away, you could feel the cold wind of his shadows swirling around you, willing you both closer as if it was even possible. Your hands travel from his waist, up his arms and shoulders to tangle your fingers in his hair.

He lifts you and your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, you felt the marble of the wall on your back.

You broke the kiss, "I love- I love you."

You kiss his lips once more before continuing, "Love might not even be a strong enough word for what I feel for you. No words can express enough what I feel for you and it's not the bond, despite everything, it's you. It's you. The passion I feel for you, good, and bad, none of it made sense; bond or not. All I know, all I will ever know is you."

His mouth is on yours before you know it, kissing you deeper than before, pouring every ounce of emotion into you. He detaches from your lips to your cheek, leaving a trail of kisses down to your neck. His body rolls into yours, you felt him against you and you gasped, he teased you through your clothes. Your arm that dangled over his shoulder, clawed at his shirt to remove it. With his wings, it made your job impossible so you settled for ripping it off of him.

He chuckled against your neck, halting his kisses. "Desperate, are we?"

"Shut up," You kissed him to stop his laughter.

~~~

Taglist:

@americancowgirl19 - @feyres-fireheart - @brekkershadowsinger - @marina468 - @highladyofhogawarts - @kuraikei - @parker-natasha - @awkwardnerd - @honestlywtfisgoingon - @judig92 - @valeridarkness - @a-mexican-waffle - @weirdo-fun - @s-sabbas - @graciereads - @cmay25 - @cult-of-enji-todoroki - @morks-watermelon - @bruhhvv - @nanamihokage98 - @turkishgirlslife - @holywolfsstuff - @acourtofmarvels

(if your name is crossed that means tumblr won't let me tag you)

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x vanserra! reader #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel fic #acotar imagines #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #cassian acotar #rhysand x feyre #eris vanserra x sister reader #lucien vanserra x sister reader #all i breathe xreaderbooks #azriel/reader #azriel/you

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andreafmn · 2 years

Text

Speak - Chapter 3

Word Count: 3K

Story Description: Bella Swan was a disaster when Edward had left. Deciding she needed a little help, Charlie Swan receives with open arms his younger daughter (Y/N) Swan. She helps Bella during her depression and becomes inseparable from her long-lost friend Jacob. What she didn’t expect was falling for a hotheaded short-tempered silver wolf.

*DISCLAIMER* I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment. The only thing I own is Swan Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ storyline.

Chapter: 3/?

A/N: oh oh, Paul seems to be sneaking into (Y/N)'s thoughts... Also changed up the story to third person POV, cause I couldn't continue in first. 😅

If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories. You can request at any time any story or one-shot you desire. Hope you enjoy, and all constructive criticism is encouraged.

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Chapter 3

For the past couple of days, a smile had been plastered on (Y/N)’s face. The nightly phone calls with Jake had started growing longer, even though they didn’t have much more to talk about. But his voice was a comforting embrace during Bella’s tortured screams. As time passed, the girl just seemed to get worse.

As Christmas day finally approached, Charlie and (Y/N) thought she’d be happier. At least just a bit better. It had always been a cheery holiday regardless of their familial situation. Renée made sure that the girls woke up to presents under the tree and spare cookies “Santa” had left behind. Even if Bella never said she liked the theatrics of it all, (Y/N) could tell she enjoyed the thought that went into it. Those were moments the younger Swan was sure would overshadow whatever black cloud that was hanging over her.

Granted, she had no way of knowing how deeply in love Bella was with this Edward character. In less than a year, he was able to cause more damage than their parent’s separation had ever been able to, and she had been devastated – for a bit.

“Hey, Bells,” (Y/N) tiptoed into her room. Much like every other day, she sat on her office chair staring into the endlessness of the woods behind our house. “I was gonna wrap up some presents for tomorrow. Mind if I do it in here for a bit of company?”

A grunt of agreement.

(Y/N) rolled her eyes as she placed everything on the bed, unloading the unnecessary amount of presents in her arms. “You know, Uncle Billy invited us over to spend Christmas with him and Jake. Dad is gonna try to put on a barbecue in this snow,” she chuckled, and she could have sworn she had heard the skin on her cheeks creak up into a smile. “I still remember when we were little, and he tried so hard to light the barbecue during a blizzard. And the wind just kept blowing the flame off. He was so pissed and packed the steaks away.

But, yeah, I’ve never understood why they like meat so much. I mean we’re in freezing weather and he still wants to do a cookout.”

“Just be thankful there’s something he can cook,” she croaked out. (Y/N) almost leaped off the bed when she heard the sound. But treating her like a wild animal was the best route – no sudden sounds or movements. “And that you eat meat.”

“Right, the vegetarian thing. I mean, I can make you anything, so you don’t feel left out.” (Y/N) softly prodded around the situation, maybe she could catch her sister in a moment where she’d finally agree to leave her bedroom. “I’m sure everyone would be more than delighted if you were there.”

“I’m not going, (Y/N),” Bella whispered. Her shoulders slumped once more and all the liveliness that (Y/N) could have sworn had returned to her body, dissipated in a breath.

“Come on, Bella,” she complained. “You need to leave the house for another place other than school and the Newton’s store. You were broken up with, you’re not dead.”

Bella’s body morphed back into the statue-like position she rested in most of her days. Her sights were once again frozen on the window, searching for something – someone – that simply was not there. (Y/N) had joked to their dad that they should throw the chair away while she was at school, but as each day passed it seemed like more of a possibility.

“Fine, Bells,” she sighed and gathered all her things. “You know, this guy must have been heaven on earth, cause no one’s worth this much pain.”

It’s difficult to pull someone from a hole they created for themselves. Bella was stuck deep in this hole, but she was making no effort to get out of it, regardless of how many people were trying to help her. (Y/N) found it almost baffling how many people cared for her sister, but she only cared for the one guy that left her to rot.

The girl finished wrapping the rest of the presents in her room before starting a quick dinner for her father and herself, knowing Bella would most likely not eat anything, like every other night. (Y/N) knew her irritation was visible. She loved her sister, but her behavior was starting to become unbearable. A couple of more months of this and she was sure she’d go insane. It had been four months and, as time passed, she seemed to be getting worse rather than better. It was exhausting.

After finishing up a pot of spaghetti and meat sauce, (Y/N) left a plate served inside the microwave and a note on the fridge for her dad. She was far too exhausted to clean up and left all the dirty dishes in the sink. Dad could clean it, she thought. Instead, she went up the stairs and plopped onto her bed, allowing the warm comforter and the pillow to pull her into a deep sleep.

But before she could truly succumb to slumber, her phone rang. Jacob’s name lit up the screen, and under the words, “come outside” were displayed. Instantly, a smile spread across the girl’s face. If there was anyone that could put her out of my sour mood, it would be him.

Running out the door, she put on her boots and wrapped a jacket around her body. She was met with the visual of Jacob in his truck wearing a devilish grin on his face. He reached over and opened the passenger door for (Y/N) and beaconed her inside. Trying to avoid spending more time in the cold she jumped into the truck, sighing contentedly as warmth engulfed her.

“Hey,” he smiled. Jacob leaned over the center console, placing one hand on her cheek and pulling her toward him before placing a kiss on her lips. “Couldn’t wait until tomorrow to see you.”

“I noticed,” she chuckled shyly. There was no reason for her to still be nervous around him, but she simply couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach. What she didn’t know at the time was that the butterflies were a warning. “I’m glad you couldn’t wait.”

“Were you able to convince Bella to come?”

“I tried,” she sighed. “There’s just no getting through to her right now.”

“Man, that Cullen bastard really did a number on her.” She could see the anger coming from Jacob. It was like a burning aura that surrounded him. His teeth were gritted, and his hands had closed into a tight fist. “Where does he get off abandoning her like that? If I were him, I would have never let her go. She doesn’t deserve that.”

That had stung. (Y/N) knew he was probably not over his silly crush on Bella, but to mention being with her while being with (Y/N), hurt. But she knew she couldn’t bring that up without causing a fight. “Can we please not talk about that,” the girl said instead. “I feel like my life has become Bella Swan’s Days of our Lives.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he laughed awkwardly. “You know, something weird happened the other day.”

“What happened?”

“You remember that guy that was staring at you at the bonfire a couple of days ago?”

“Paul something?”

“Lahote, yeah,” he corrected. “He came over and told me I should stay away from you. Did something happen there?”

He was... jealous? The question came out of nowhere. (Y/N) thought she had been clear that she had never met him before seeing him that night, and that she wanted nothing to do with him. Although ever since that night she could not get his addictive stare out of her head. When she closed her eyes at night, even if she started by thinking of Jake, her brain couldn’t help but dissolve into his piercing brown gaze. Her head would not shake the image of the boy from it.

“Jake, I already told you that you have nothing to worry about there,” she smiled at him in an attempt to subdue his anger. “I don’t know who this Paul guy thinks he is, but I am not interested in him in the slightest.”

“It’s just, the gall this guy has to think he has some kind of claim over you. As if he doesn’t know who you are to me.”

“What am I to you exactly?” she teased. They had yet to have any conversation about where this relationship was headed. It had been such a short amount of time, but they had known each other for a lifetime. "I would like to know."

“Well, I’m hoping you’d like to be my girlfriend,” he grinned, any sign of anger disappearing. “What do you say?”

“I don’t know,” (Y/N) giggled coyly. “Maybe I should keep my options open just in case Paul decides to ask me out. Wouldn’t want to close out the market.”

“You’re funny.”

He leaned in once more for a kiss, but this one was different. Jake scooched closer to (Y/N), doing his best to deepen it. She ran her fingers through his long hair as his hands rested on the sides of her face. This was desperate and passionate, just the thing to push Paul Lahote out of her mind.

As the windows started fogging and their hands started traveling south, a knock on the window startled the teenagers apart.

“I really hope that’s not you, Jacob Black, with my daughter,” Charlie spoke through the fogged-up window, flashlight in hand.

Jake flashed her an apologetic smile before rolling down the window on his side. "Hey, sheriff. How’s your night been?”

“Well, it was a very uneventful one at first,” he grumbled. “Until I came home, and I saw your truck with misty windows and my daughter in the passenger seat. Hi, (Y/N).”

“He~ey, dad.” She gave him a small wave and covered her reddened face with her hands. “We were just talking.”

“Last time I checked talking doesn’t fog up windows, honey,” her father countered. “Let’s go, (Y/N). Jacob, get home.”

She jumped out of the truck after squeezing Jake’s hand as reassurance and joined her father’s side. Promptly, he pushed her behind him, acting as a barrier between Jacob and the girl.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Jacob.”

“Alright, Mr. Swan,” he responded. She could tell he was swallowing the laughter that had bubbled in his throat and was threatening to spill. “Bye, (Y/N).”

“See you, Jake.”

“Get in the house, (Y/N).”

Her father’s reaction was perplexing. He’d always liked Jake. He even joked when they were little that they would make a cute couple. Now, he was acting as if he’d caught her with a dangerous stranger. She wondered if he’d reacted this way when Bella first brought Edward around.

“What was that spectacle outside, (Y/N)?” Charlie finally broke the silence, fuming. “What exactly did you think you were doing?”

“Um, I was kissing my boyfriend,” she responded matter-of-factly. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Boyfriend? Since when is Jacob Black your boyfriend?”

“As of five minutes ago, roughly?” She was trying to liven the mood adding a tone of comedy, but she could tell her father was having none of it. “I don’t get why you’re so upset, dad. You’ve always loved Jake.”

“I’ve already got one heartbroken daughter,” he sighed. Charlie rubbed his temples, hiding the fear in his face. “I don’t know what I would do if both of you were. Jake’s a good kid but I could never forgive him if he hurt you, honey.”

“Let’s not get ahead of this, dad,” she chuckled dryly. (Y/N) had faith in her relationship, but she couldn’t help the doubt that crept into her head when her dad mentioned Jake breaking her heart. “We literally just became official. You’re ending us before we’ve even started. One thing I can tell you is that I won’t be like Bella.”

“Sweetheart, you don’t know that. I just don’t want to see you in the same pain your sister is going through.”

“Dad, I understand you’re worried,” she smiled at her father. To calm him, (Y/N) grabbed his calloused hands and gave them a squeeze. “But I am not Bella, and Jacob is not Edward. Have a little faith in me, yeah?”

“I can’t help it, (Y/N),” Charlie said. “It kills me to see Bella like this. I don’t want you to go through that.”

“I know, and I promise you that you will never have to go through this again with me,” she said. “Now, why don’t you go eat and go to bed? We have a long day tomorrow.”

“Alright, darling,” he responded defeated. “Good night.”

“Good night, dad.”

(Y/N) disappeared up the stairs, passing by her sister’s room. She mumbled a good night to her stoic sister before finally getting into her bed to hopefully sleep this time. She wanted to rest. Yet, when she closed her eyes the same ones that had been haunting her dreams stared back.

Something about him called to her. She only knew his name and still, he took possession of her thoughts. Deep inside her, something begged her to get closer to him. There was no reason for him to be in her head, much less in her dreams.

She was standing in a clearing, looking over a still river. Her body was clothed in a white flowing dress and her feet were bare. (Y/N) turned, taking in the scenery and breathing the fresh air. The sun felt warm against her skin, beckoning a smile to her face.

“You look beautiful, darling,” a voice spoke. “Absolutely radiant.”

“Thank you, Paul. And you look as handsome as ever,” she giggled. “Come here.”

He walked slowly to her, a playful grin propped on his face. His arms circled her waist and wrapped her in a tight hug, lifting her from the ground and spinning her around. As he slid her back to the ground, he placed a hand on her cheek, his thumb running through her cheek. (Y/N) closed her eyes and enjoyed the touch, his warmth feeling better than the one the sun provided.

She felt different with him. Unlike with Jake, Paul didn’t make her feel butterflies. He made her feel calm, at peace. There was a homely feeling to being in his arms. Like she had found the right place to be in. She fit perfectly between them like she was made to be there.

(Y/N) allowed him to pull her toward the water, sinking into the comfortable river. She gave him a smile and shrieked happily as the coldness seeped through her bones. Her white dress quickly soaked and his denim shorts darkened.

“This water is freezing, Paul,” she whispered to him. He kept her close, his arms wrapped around her. “Don’t you dare let go.”

“I would never, beautiful,” he grinned. (Y/N) could feel his breath tickling her face, cooling the droplets of water that had splashed on it “I’ve got you now, and I’m never planning on letting you go.”

“Is that a threat?” she joked, copying the smile on his face.

“It’s a promise, darling,” Paul said. “It’s a promise.”

He closed the space between them and pressed their lips together. (Y/N) felt sparks running through her body, the feeling of belonging washing over her. This is where she was meant to be. He was who she was meant to be with.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you more, Paul.”

(Y/N) woke up with a startle, her breathing uneven and heavy. Her whole body was overheated. Her blanket felt too warm. She didn’t understand what that dream meant. More importantly, why it felt so real. She knew she loved Jake, and she didn’t even know Paul. What pull did he have on her that she kept dreaming of him?

She got up from her bed, going downstairs to get a cup of water. She was startled when she found her sister staring at the sink, the faucet running, and an overfilled glass under it. (Y/N) ran to the sink, turning off the water and putting a rag on her sister’s hand to soak up the water that had run down her arm.

“What’re you doing, Bells?” (Y/N) muttered.

“S-sorry,” Bella stammered finally realizing what she had done. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “Why don’t you sit and drink that water? Have you had anything to eat? I can make you a quick sandwich.”

“Uh, sure,” the girl breathed out. “I, uh, overheard you and Charlie.”

“Oh?”

“You two are together?” Bella questioned. (Y/N) was surprised that her sister seemed interested in her life. Rarely was the time she inquired in (Y/N)’s life. “I didn’t know you liked him.”

“You’ve never asked,” she chuckled dryly. “But we’ve just been talking these past few days. Most we’ve done is kiss a few times. Tonight, he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

“Well, that’s nice.” (Y/N) placed a cheese sandwich before her, and Bella started picking at it and placing small bites into her mouth. “I always thought… never mind.”

“What, Bells? What did you always think?” She knew what her sister was thinking. Bella had always known Jake liked him. If she didn’t, she at least had to have an inkling. “That he liked you?”

“I thought so…”

“Well, maybe he did,” she sighed. “But that’s neither here nor there. He’s with me now, and that’s that.”

(Y/N) got up from the dinner table, leaving Bella by herself. She had no idea where that conversation was going, and she didn’t want to see where it would go. Her whole life she’d been second to Bella. To their parents, their friends – though, they wouldn’t notice – to Jake. This was the first time she felt she was being put first, and Bella wasn’t going to take it from her. Not this time. As much as she loved her sister, it was time to put herself first.

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