#how can I snooze and miss the moment you’re just too important
Text
touch
jenna ortega x fem!reader (no pronouns)
summary: jenna, your lovely girlfriend, has been away filming for far too long, in your opinion. she thinks so, too.
wc: 2.6k
tags: explicit, MINORS DNI. all characters are 18+. phone sex, masturbation, bad dirty talk lmao, this is basically all bad dirty talk, light D/s dynamics, name calling/slight degradation, praise, reader is a soft dom, strap-on referred to as “cock,” horribly excessive use of italics, feels a bit odd writing rpf…
a/n: @crazyoffher :) returning the favor!
masterlist
6:01 pm
call u in a sec?
A grin lighting up your face at the text, you hurriedly type an affirmative reply as you unlock your apartment door. Dropping your bag, you kick your shoes off, sighing as you shed your coat. Making a beeline for your bedroom, your eyes slide shut as you flop down on your gigantic bed. You’d washed the sheets earlier, and they were feeling extra soft. If Jenna were here, she’d be rolling around in them, covering her own scent with one of fresh linen.
Usually, she was—you were lounging in your shared apartment, a wide open space near the top of a sleek, tall building. Every evening in LA, the two of you could be found here, the appeal of a night in far exceeding that of a night out. A bottle of wine and a packet of popcorn to share wasn’t rare either, the expensive drink wasted on you two young lovers.
Everything had happened so quickly, but you loved it. A chance meeting on a plane had led to a long conversation about anything and everything, so common for new couples, and one-drink dates across busy nights had culminated into a fateful party invitation and an equally fateful blushing confession. Your relationship was wild, and crazy, and everything you could’ve wanted. A year later, Jenna had surprised you with a set of keys. It was a certain kind of promise that made those long nights, waiting for a phone call from half a world away, so worth it.
As if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Seeing the ID, you instantly pick up.
“Jenna?”
“Hey,” her familiar voice comes shyly through the speaker, a comforting sound. “Are you busy?”
“No, I just got home from work.”
Jenna hums in a way that tells you she’s plotting something, and her little stifled giggle just confirms your suspicions. You fake a sigh, happy to venture into her ploy.
“Jenna, did you have something to drink?”
“No.” She huffs a laugh. “I just miss you. Tired of me already?” She asks, with innocent veneer.
“Of course not,” you say. “It’s good to hear from you, you're so busy now, I had to talk to your secretary,” you teased. She was busy, but you’d already done the calculation of Jenna’s timezone to yours—for her, filming would’ve just wrapped up in the midnight hours. For you, the setting sun was just beginning to stream through the glass walls, and you pressed the button on the nightstand to draw the curtains.
“Well, if you’re not busy,” Jenna presses on casually, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too, Jenna,” you smile. It was a dialogue you two had often, something you never tired of.
“Mmm,” Jenna’s voice tugs in your stomach, lilting into a whine at the end of her emission, “I miss you, baby.”
Your mouth goes dry; it’s an automatic reaction. Damnit, this girl—she knew what kind of effect she had on you. You were glad the room was dark, because if you had to face your own blushing cheeks in the light, you might’ve just collapsed. You pull the phone away from your ear long enough to take a deep breath. “Do you, Jen?” Keeping your voice composed, you roll the end of the duvet between your fingers to keep you grounded.
“Miss you so much,” she says, the rustling in the background telling you she’s rolling on the covers. She lets out a lilting laugh, the sound sending a swooping, giddy feeling into your stomach. Jenna’s trying to lure you in; it was her game: enticing you with that docile, persuasive tone.
You decided to play, though you held back just a bit. “How much?”
“Some of your clothes still smell like you,” she says in lieu of a direct answer. “So I’m wearing your big shirt, the black one.” You’d been wondering where that shirt went, one you often slept in. Even now, you can see in your head how Jenna looked when she stole that shirt: it cut off at her thighs, the kind of sacrilegious short that inspired crimes. It reminds you of countless times she’d surprised you, when you slid your hands up under the hem to find—
“What else, Jen?”
“No bra,” she replies sweetly, laughing lightly at the end.
“No bra, huh,” you repeat. You can practically feel your pupils dilating, the heat around your collar. “Good.”
“And this,” Jenna sighs, “lace number I got here; it looks like the one you gave me last year.”
Your jaw clenches, and you glance at the clock, looking but not seeing. You remember what she’s talking about—a pair of panties, an expensive little excuse for fabric that grew dark at the slightest moisture. Jenna’s birthday had ended in a long, long night.
“It’s red,” she says, “just like my nails.”
Fuck. Everything feels hot, and you can just picture her in that standard issue trailer, lights dimmed, alone in a way that should be illegal. “How much time do you have?”
“Not a lot… got an early morning tomorrow.” There's a trailing edge of disappointment in her voice, but you’re familiar with her—she’s looking, hoping for you to guide her, to push her in the way only you know how.
You breathe in, deeply, your own desire quickly falling prey to Jenna’s. She had you wrapped around her little finger, that’s for sure, but she trusted you to hold her down. “Hand in your hair, Jenna. Gentle,” you instruct.
You hear her sharp inhale, but you have no question that she’ll listen. When Jenna gets like this, playful but pliant, you know she’s willing to go with just about anything you ask. It’s torture for you, each second you wait. “Now pull.”
Her responding whimper sends a bolt of heat down your neck, and you let out a silent breath. Jenna loved it when you would touch her hair, even when it was as innocent as just braiding it. The haze in her eyes when you’d tug on her locks, telling her how good she feels, was your favorite. “Harder. Do you like it?”
She breathes out, “yeah.”
“Good,” you say. “Tell me what’s been on your mind to get you eager like this.” She’s shy, you hear it in her sigh, even though her hands are still running in her hair. “C’mon.”
“I miss your mouth on my neck.” The words tumble out of her almost immediately, and you dare to wonder if that’s been on her mind all day. The bruises you’d left there before filming started were long gone, no doubt. She’d begged you to make them darker, and you were all too happy to please. “I miss the car, before the airport…”
Those frantic, heated ten minutes you two were able to spare in the car before Jenna’s flight were chastised by her manager and makeup team, but you wouldn’t have traded them for anything. “That’s perfect Jen,” you coax gently. She liked your encouragement, you knew.
“And…” it’s as if something snaps in the air on the telephone line, pushing both you and Jenna’s inhibitions to the ground. “I wish you were here,” she whispers, the cliche line sending equally cliche butterflies rushing through your lower stomach. “I’d be on my knees for your cock right now, and you’d pull my hair, so I’d-” she whines, a small and breathless noise-“suck it so good ‘cause I know where it’s going next—”
“Fingers in your mouth,” you interrupt, blood rushing in your ears. “And listen to me.” If you’d let Jenna keep going, you might’ve just booked a plane ticket right then and there. You can hear her obey you through the speaker, moaning softly. “Play with your nipples under your shirt. Be gentle.” It’s a warning, you know she knows, and a reminder that you control her pace.
“Mmm,” she hums, complying. It’s practically confession on bended knee, how her muffled whimper makes something shoot through your lower stomach.
“Press down on your tongue.” You hear her breath shaking, right in your ear. It makes you bite your tongue to keep from moaning out loud. “Don’t gag, don’t be greedy, Jenna.” She whines around her fingers, and you know her telltale little cry as she touches herself as instructed. You can hear that she’s not being as gentle as you wanted, but you had always been weak for your girl.
“You wanna put on a show for me, honey? Twist.” You wouldn’t know it, but Jenna instantly closes her eyes at the word show, her pulse spiking.
Jenna’s uneven breaths are pure song to you through the speaker, and it puts your every nerve on edge, remembering how she would sprawl on your sheets, just like how you were now, happy to be over or under you. She’s so vocal tonight, every exhale coming out with a small oh, and it makes you wonder if it’s because of something more than just the distance and time between you two.
The cadence of her breathing matches your stuttering heart. “For someone that likes having her mouth stuffed,” you mutter, “you sure wanna talk real bad.”
The whimper Jenna lets out is enough of an answer.
“Alright babydoll, you can take your fingers out.” Almost immediately, you can hear her panting. You keep your voice even, despite the heat on your cheeks. “I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you?”
Her voice is raspy when she speaks. “I am…”
“Two fingers in your cunt.”
“What about-” you can hear her swallow- “what about my underwear?”
“Push it to the side,” you say, dismissive. You could practically see Jenna like this, warm brown hair splayed on the pillows, shirt rucked up to her breasts, with enough want to end a war.
It’s silent on the other side of the line, save for the shallow breaths you hear her taking. “Are you waiting, good girl?”
She hums an affirmative.
“Go ahead, I won’t make you beg right now,” you say with a nonchalance you absolutely do not have, “fuck yourself.”
Her breathy laugh in response would drive a saint to sin, and she’s only all too eager to comply. Jenna’s shudder comes out in her moan as she shoves two fingers in herself, shameless in her need.
You close your eyes, her quiet little moan telling you all you need to know. The impatient groan she gives you is just vulnerable enough to be desperate, and it makes your head swim.
Jenna’s voice is small. “You know…”
“What is it, darling?”
“Wish I could put this on a camera for you, baby,” she whines, breath hitching. “Wish you could watch me right now.”
The mere thought of it is enough to have you biting your lip, hard enough to bleed. With the way that Jenna loved to perform, the idea had occurred to you before, but you were always too hesitant to bring it up. “You want me to see you, don’t you? Blushing and wanting all by yourself,” you mock, your arousal overriding your rationality, “you need someone to fuck you, is that it?”
“I need you to fuck me, fuck me so hard that I don’t remember it all, and,” her voice breaks, “you’ll make me watch our video later, to make me like this again.” You close your eyes again, your knuckles growing white around the sheets fisted in your hand.
“Like what, Jenna?”
“Messy, and-” her voice climbs higher with a gasp-“needy.”
The words cling in your mind, ivy on a terrace. It only takes half a moment for your mind to conjure her up again, flushed cheeks and two fingers deep in her pussy, framed by red lace.
“Is that what you are, mmm?”
She gives a moan, and you laugh because she’s embarrassed. It’s nearly pathetic, how bad you wish you could see Jenna’s face.
“Want…” There’s a hesitant pause. “Want your hand around my throat, too.”
God, no one knew how to play you quite like Jenna did. “Jenna,” you groan, your facade rapidly crumbling, “you’d look so pretty like that, baby.”
“Yeah,” Jenna agrees mindlessly, “I like it ‘cause…” her voice is strained in a way that you just know she has her head thrown back, strong and delicate, “you’re so gentle.” It’s with a bleeding intimacy that momentarily makes you forget you’re thousands of miles away from Jenna, and the only thing you can think of is her warm eyes on yours, just begging for you to touch her.
She quiets down, and in the damning silence that follows, you hear her fucking herself. And because you know your girl, you know she wants you to hear.
“That’s filthy, Jen,” you say, matter-of-factly. It makes your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening.
“I know,” she whines, and you can hear her going just that bit faster. “Fuck-” she exhales sharply- “I’m—I’m close.”
“Already?”
“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispers, and you know with every hitched moan, she’s hitting that spot inside of her. She’s not sorry, and you certainly aren’t either. “I can’t help it…”
You hum noncommittally, feeling anything but. “Don’t come until I say, alright?”
Jenna moans right into the receiver, and you can tell she’s frustrated to high hell. You laugh lowly, something cruel, and it only serves to fuel the way your fingers crave the smooth of her skin, how your tongue wants for her taste.
But that’s when you hear it, blazing through the fog in your mind, of brown eyes and pink lips. “Please…”
“Please what?”
She falters, breathing ragged. “Please let me…” A beat.
“Let you…?” You press on.
“Please,” her voice edges on the right side of desperate, the side that makes all of you pulse. “Baby, I’m so close…”
“I know,” you say simply.
There’s a silence that hangs in the air, and you know without seeing that Jenna’s cheeks are so red with her embarrassment that you could’ve slapped her and not gotten that same glow. You wait, patiently, nails biting into your skin.
“Let me come, please.” Her voice comes out like a quiet sob, resistance broken by her desire.
Letting out a long breath, you press the phone harder to your ear, feeling your fingers tremble. “You’re such a needy slut, Jenna.” She whines again, pleading and keening.
“I know,” she’s soft with it, “I am… so, please?”
You bite your lip, mind swimming, letting her plea hang in the air.
“Come for me, Jenna.”
It's quiet, at first, and then you hear it—a soft, little ah from where she’s clapped a hand over her mouth, and then muffled moans spilling out from behind as she tries so desperately to not let anyone else hear. You clench your jaw, wanting so bad to tear Jenna’s hand from her mouth just so you can take in every little whimper, quiet her with your mouth instead. But you whisper praises into the phone instead, coaxing her through her orgasm. She comes hard, you can hear it in the way she pants after she’s calmed down.
Jenna’s breathing evens out, and you know it before she does—she’s asleep. Your eyes close again, fist clenched in your bedsheets. It wasn’t the first time that she’d fallen asleep right after she came, and it makes a soft little grin play on your lips. The other end of the line is a loving, sated silence. You keep your voice low, not wanting to wake her.
“God, the things I’m gonna do to you, Jenna.”
--
please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!
masterlist
#project wes#fanfiction#jenna ortega#jenna ortega x reader#jenna ortega smut#smut#jenna ortega x fem!reader#jenna ortega x reader smut#reader insert#self insert#jenna ortega fanfic#jenna ortega fanfiction#jenna ortega fic#lgbtq#jenna ortega x y/n#wednesday addams x reader#how can I snooze and miss the moment you’re just too important#tara carpenter x reader
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✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。GOODBYE KISS — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)
contents. college! au, rich boy! gojo, established relationships, morning cuddles wif toru <3, morning tantrums with toru too lol, ft. our fav: momjo !!
satoru’s head is on your chest as he snores softly—normally, you adore the feeling of him so close to you, but right now, it’s five minutes until your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm will go off. you’ve already hit snooze on the other six—how satoru’s slept through them all is a mystery to you.
you peer down at him, watching the way his lips are parted as soft breaths escape him in gentle sighs. his hair is messy over his forehead, and the sun makes his skin glow in that way only satoru could glow. you sigh, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, and as if he feels the affection in his sleep, he hums a little while still unconscious.
too bad you’ll have to break this peace in just a moment.
and this is going to work out poorly—you already know that. if you move from under satoru, he’ll wake up. if he wakes up, he’ll realize you’re trying to leave. if he realizes you’re trying to leave, he’ll have a meltdown. if he has a meltdown, he’ll surely win and convince you to stay. if you stay, you’ll miss class and fall behind on the notes. if you fall behind on the notes, you’ll procrastinate on catching up. if you procrastinate on catching up, you’ll know absolutely nothing by the time the next exam rolls around. if you know nothing by the time the next exam rolls around, you’ll have multiple mental breakdowns and lose yourself to stress the night before as you cram all in one sitting.
simply put, your entire grade resides on the fact that satoru is currently sleeping on your chest, and he definitely won’t let you leave.
you try anyway—and just as you suspect, you fail.
“huh? wha—where are you going?” he groans, rubbing his eyes as he blinks them open. “wait a sec—baby no,” he whines.
“shh, toru, you’re dreaming,” you kiss his forehead, “i’m not actually leaving.”
“i’m not stupid!”
“shhh, your dream is tricking you,” you insist, “i’m still right under you.”
“you can’t gaslight me! i’m not falling for your tricks,” he huffs, “how gullible do you think i am?”
very, you want to say—but that would be a bad idea.
“you’re not stupid at all, toru,” you say sweetly, “you’re the smartest man i’ve ever met.”
“this is definitely not a dream because you’re even meaner to me in my dreams,” he raises a brow, “dream you would never be this nice.”
“what do you mean i’m mean in your dreams?” you gasp. you’re not mean to satoru—you wouldn’t have to yell at him if he just behaved half the time.
“they’re more like nightmares,” he huffs, “last one, you made me sleep outside. that was rude.”
“how could you dream me being a jerk?” you ask, offended—and before he can answer, your wake-up-for-real-this-time-or-you’re-late alarm blares.
satoru glances down at your phone and stares for a moment—and then he flops back against his pillow as he whines miserably.
“don’t leave,” he begs, “please, just skip this one class for me? i get so cold in the mornings,” he pouts.
“then put a shirt on,” you sigh.
“i’ll be lonely!”
“not if i’m bullying you in your dreams, apparently.”
“baby, i can’t sleep without something to cuddle,” he tries again—that one almost makes you cave. you have to admit that cuddling isn’t something you enjoy passing on either, but class is important. more important than class is your sanity that you would like to keep intact instead of lose while cramming six chapters in one night.
“cuddle my pillow,” you sigh, “satoru, please. i’m already late.”
“just this once, okay? i won’t ask again,” he says innocently, his eyes wide and pleading as they peer up at you.
“you said that last time.”
“last time i crossed my fingers,” he winks, “so it didn’t count. so now you have to—”
“goodbye, satoru,” you mumble.
he slumps in defeat, grumbling under his breath before rolling over to turn his back to you petulantly. you sigh, rolling your eyes—though fondly, before you head to the bathroom, getting ready for the day.
by the time you’re out, satoru has fallen asleep again—you know it’s because he’s stayed up late again to play video games with suguru. because you don’t want to disturb him from his much needed sleep (and because you don’t want to risk waking up him and dealing with another tantrum), you decide to gently pull the blankets over his bare chest and skip the goodbye kiss.
it won’t be a big deal if he doesn’t get a kiss goodbye while he’s asleep, right? he won’t even be awake to notice.
evidently, you realize in the middle of class that you’re wrong. very wrong.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:32 AM
baby boy 💋:
you left without a goodbye kiss???????????
are you ignoring me????????????
baby
sweetheart
sunshine
angel
peaches
i know you’re reading this.
ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤToday, 8:41 AM
mrs. gojo ❤️:
please answer satoru. i really don’t want a headache today
this is very short and silly sorry. anyway rip momjo she deal with too much that boy is a handful
#teepods.writings#drabbles.#rich boy! au#gojo x reader#gojo fluff#gojo x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk fluff#gojo satoru fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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hello i was wondering if i could request male reader x any of pedro’s characters tbh i don’t really care which one so i’ll leave that up to u. the request would be a fic based on snooze by sza. not really a song fic more like just writing a story based on the song. if you don’t know the song it’s mostly about trying to live in the moment and in love with ur partner. some of the lyrics are
“I don't got nobody, just with you right now
Tell the truth, I look better under you
I can't lose when I'm with you
How can I snooze and miss the moment?
You just too important
Nobody do body like you do”
if you choose to do this request you can make the story fluff, angst, smut or whatever u want i don’t really mind.
We've got each other
Hey anon!! Love the request, I chose Javier for this fanfic cause of his job being dangerous and reader and him being 2 men in love in the 80s :)
Pairing: Javier Peña x m!reader
Warnings: It's SFW fluff, but there's a mention of sex and reader getting disowned by his family for being queer
Spanish is spoken so translations at the end!!
You knew that you and Javier wouldn’t be seen as a real couple, two men together “didn’t work”, Javier swung both ways, he could perfectly just marry a woman and live a normal life, but he didn’t. He loved you too much to be able to even think of being with anyone else, he would’ve loved to be able to hold your hand in the street, allowing everyone to see that he was yours, but society wasn’t ready for you two.
But you had both learnt to cuddle at home, love each other as much as possible behind closed doors, in a way, it taught you to be grateful for each other. You’d eternally thank him for pulling you out of your misery, your family had recently disowned you after they had caught you with a man, and after a few months of confessions and being friends you eventually fell for each other.
Javier’s job was dangerous, that was no secret, so you constantly tried to live the moment with him, you knew it was unlikely, but in case fate ever decided to take him from you, you had to live the moment with him, he was what kept you going. You had been together for so many nights, you’d moved in with him by that point, he was always next to you when he could, be it just watching a movie or on sex-filled nights, he never left you.
Today he came home and he had a bruise on his eye, “No es para tanto amor” he claimed, but it was no use, you were already taking out the ice packs to put on his eye to make the swelling go down, “You… didn’t need to-” he kept saying as he finally let you take care of him. He was always like this, putting up walls and being stoic when in reality he just needed to be taken care of, even like this, bruised and almost beat up, you thought he was the most beautiful man alive.
“¿Necesitas algo?” you asked him,
“Water would be good” he smiled,
“I’ll go get it then” you said as you got up to the kitchen to get a glass of water, “Here” you said, giving him the glass, he looked so vulnerable, “Why do you even bother being with me? We’re a same sex couple and my job can get me killed any time,” he said, he always tried to protect you, even if being a couple implied a risk, “Because I live to enjoy the moment, and so far, you haven’t been killed, and living in this moment, in love with you had been the happiest I’ve been in my whole life” you said as you looked him in the eye.
“Well, every time I walked into work before I met you I just said “If I die, no big deal, not like anyone would care” but now… but now I try to be careful, you’re the only thing I’m holding onto” he confessed, allowing his walls to come down, you roped him into a hug, “Mi Javier, mi hermoso Javier…” you said as you kissed his hair,
“My life has all the ingredients for it to be shit, but you make it enjoyable” he said as he sobbed into your shoulder, you were now on the bed, holding Javier, “You’re too important to me for you to not have a good time in life,” you reassured him.
“Tengo una propuesta” he said, wiping tears off of his eyes,
“Tell me” you said, smiling at him and helping him wipe his tears,
“When my eye looks better, let’s go to a restaurant,” he said, “and if anyone says shit about us, I’ll kick their ass” he said half jokingly, half serious, you almost said that was too risky, but… “live the moment��� was what you said, and you hated contradicting yourself, “sounds like a plan” you chuckled,
“Come here” he said as he kissed your lips softly,
“You have such soft lips” you complimented him, “You’re in for an evening full of kisses”
“Mmm but Javi-” you started
“Hey, I’m the injured one” he joked as he returned to kissing you, yup, you wanted to live the moment.
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Translations:
"No es para tanto" - "It's not that bad"
"¿Necesitas algo?" - "Do you need anything??"
"Tengo una propuesta" - "I have a proposal"
#javier peña#javier peña x male reader#javier peña fluff#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x male reader#pedro pascal characters
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Could you write a fic where gnmc can go home and how leona reacts? Up to you if its happy or sad end :3
Home
Fandom: Twisted Wonderland
Leona Kingscholar/GN!Reader
Word Count: 2,189
Note: I can't bring myself to make Leona sad. Well not for this one at least... I hope I didn't write him too out of character.
Warnings: None
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Snuggling against Leona’s chest, you sigh in content. His arms are securely wrapped around your waist as he snoozes. Laying on the couch in the lounge of Ramshackle, all is quiet on a lazy weekend. You find peace in listening to the steady thump of his heart and feeling the way he breathes in and out.
The tranquility is broken as the front door opens with a squeak and Grim calls your name. Sighing, you manage to get out of Leona’s hold without disturbing him and meet Grim in the hall. “What’s up?”
“The headmaster’s looking for ya. Said he’d be in his office,” the cat explains, yawning the whole time. “Imma go take a nap.”
Glancing at the sleeping Leona, you decide not to bother him. Leaving the dorm, you head to the main school building. A few students bustle around here and there, but most seem to be taking it easy. The hallways are mostly deserted though you do see a few students in classrooms for club activities.
Arriving at the headmaster’s office, you knock firmly before entering. “Crowley, you wanted to see me?”
Sitting behind his desk with a stack of paper, the man looks up with an almost relieved expression on his face. “Please, come in. Sit!” He shoves the stack of work aside.
Sitting down, you eye him suspiciously. Usually his chipper moods meant he wanted something from you. Being his gopher for the better part of the year made you wary. “Sir, did you need something in particular?”
“I have wonderful news! After much work on my part, I’ve found a way to send you home!” He smiles broadly as he puffs out his chest. “No need to thank me. I’m just too kind that way.”
You blink once. Twice. “I-I can go home?” you whisper in disbelief.
“Yes! I can send you home right now if you wish.” He watches your expressions carefully.
You’re staring off into space. The idea of returning home had slowly become less important the longer you stayed. You of course want to go home, but you didn’t want to get your hopes up if Crowley never found a way. You won’t lie and say you don’t miss your friends and family. The first week was the worst because you felt utterly alone and afraid. But eventually you pulled yourself together and made the best of the situation. Now being presented with the opportunity to return, you found yourself hesitating.
Pulling yourself out of the daze, you ask, “Can I get some time? Or at least get myself together?”
Crowley agrees. “I’ll give you until next week.”
Leaving the office, you walk back to the dorm at a slow pace. Your thoughts are a mess as you try to sort out your emotions. You want to go home because you miss everything. Plus, it’s where you’re meant to be. Yet, you don’t really want to leave the friends you made and the experiences you created.
You don’t want to leave Leona.
Arriving back at Ramshackle, you linger just at the entrance of the lounge. Leona is still sleeping where you left him. You want to go back to snuggling with him on the couch pretending everything is fine. However, you can’t and decide to wake the sleeping lion.
“Leona?” you call his name, gently shaking him.
He grumbles before opening his eyes. “Where’d ya go?” he asks.
You smile fondly. “Crowley wanted to see me. He had some…news.” Leona sits up and stretches and yawns. “He’s found a way to send me home,” you continue.
He pauses mid-stretch, his face neutral though you notice the way his ears twitch. “You can go home,” he states.
“Yes… If I want to, that is. He said he’ll give me the week to decide,” you explain, watching him closely. Yet, you can’t read him at all.
He regards you for a moment, before standing. “Should head back to the dorm,” he mutters, walking past you.
“Leona, wait!” You follow him to the front door. “I…I don’t know what to do…”
He finally looks at you. Those forest green eyes you love so much are suddenly distant. “Do what you want, herbivore. I ain’t gonna stop you if you decide to go back. I’ll see ya later.”
You watch as he walks off, not looking back once. Closing the front door, you go to your room and lay down. Staring at the slightly cracked paint on the ceiling, you very much wish Crowley had never called you.
---------
He’s keeping his distance. Whenever you go to look for him at his usual napping spots, he’s nowhere to be found. When he does show up for class, he sits in the back away from you. You try your best to talk to him when you’re able to catch him, but he merely brushes you off. At first you’re upset though you sort of expected it. Leona has put his walls back up and is trying to distance himself. You feel hurt to think that your relationship is so weak that it can just fall apart at something like this.
Now, now you’re just seething with anger. How dare he ignore you like a petulant child! Instead of acting like an adult, he runs away with his tail between his legs. You are just as unsure and hurt as he is, but Leona’s only thinking about himself. Perhaps you expected this from Leona when you first met him, but after everything that has happened, you thought he had matured.
Storming into the Savanaclaw dorm, you ignore the other students. They all give you a wide berth seeing the fire raging in your eyes. No one stops you when you push Leona’s door open without knocking. The door bangs loudly as it bounces off the wall.
Ruggie jumps and turns to you. However your gaze is focused on Leona, who is sitting at his desk. For a split second worry reflects in his eyes before the neutral mask falls into place. “I need to talk to Leona. Alone.”
Not needing to be asked twice, Ruggie quickly makes his exit with a “we’ll talk about it later,” muttered to the lion.
Leona sighs as he leans back in his chair. “What do ya want?”
You close the door with a soft click before turning back to him. “Why are you acting like this?”
“Like what?”
“Don’t play dumb, Leona! You’ve been ignoring me. Whenever I come toward you, you find a way to leave. I thought we agreed on communication. Talk to me if you’re upset!” you implore him. You stay near the door though you want to run into his arms. He has his arms crossed against his chest as he barely glances your way.
He sighs. “Tsk. What do you want me to say, (y/n)? Do ya want me to beg you to stay here? ‘Cause I won’t.”
Your shoulders drop and the fire that had been burning dwindles to a smolder. “You want me to leave?” you ask quietly. “Do you not…” You can’t finish the sentence as your eyes drop to the floor.
Leona growls before you hear his chair scrape the floor. Heavy footsteps walk across the room in a few strides. He’s standing in front of you, but you only look at his boots. His warm arms embrace you as he pulls you close to his chest and buries his face in the crook of your neck. You let out a sigh as you melt into his embrace. Tomorrow, you’re supposed to go home, but at this moment you want to stay wrapped in his arms.
“I won’t stop you because I know you wanna go,” he says in a low tone. “I don’t want to be the only reason you decide to stay.”
“So you were trying to push me away?”
He lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Thought it’d be easier to leave if you didn’t have any attachments. And…I wanted to protect myself too,” he admits.
Sniffling, you weakly slap his arm. “For someone so smart, you're an idiot, kitkat. You could’ve just told me at the start.”
He pulls away enough so that he can look into your eyes. “Seems when it comes to you, I lose a little bit of my brain,” he teases.
Rolling your eyes, you squeeze him a little tighter. “Are you implying I make you dumb?”
“Mmm, maybe.” Pulling away, he guides you to his bed where you both cuddle together. “I won’t be comin’ to see you off,” he says.
You don’t respond because you know his reason. Your hands run idly through his hair, occasionally scratching his ears. Leona purrs from deep within his chest. You lay like this together soaking in each others’ presence. Peace and tranquility for a brief moment is all you need.
---------
“Mr. Kingscholar, if you don’t start improving yourself, you will fail my class!” Crewel snaps as he slaps his teaching pointer on the desk to drive home his words.
However, Leona ignores him as he leaves the failed quiz on the desk. “Whatever…are ya done lecturin’ me?”
Crewel shakes his head. “Leave. Hopeless…”
Exiting potion class, Leona heads off to the garden. It’s been four months since you left, and he still feels the empty ache in his chest. Ever since you left, he’s been moody and skipping classes more. Before, you managed to convince him to go to classes, but now he doesn’t see the reason to.
Instead, he sleeps most of his days away. It’s easier that way because then he isn’t thinking about you, or so he had hoped. Even in his sleep he can’t escape the thoughts of you. He dreams of you and wakes up feeling tired. He snaps at anyone who happens to mention you; the students of Savanaclaw are careful never to bring you up. Even Ruggie finds himself walking on eggshells around him.
It’s getting tiring.
Finding his usual spot to nap, Leona lays down and closes his eyes. He misses napping together. He misses feeling your warm body next to him, and he misses the way you would run your fingers through his hair. He misses the way you would hum under your breath as you did work while he used your lap as a cushion. He even misses the way you would scold him when he skipped classes.
He misses you severely.
But he knew you had made your choice the moment you said Crowley had found a way to send you back. He was always second, even to you. But he doesn’t blame you. He blames himself for getting attached to someone he knew would eventually leave. He lowered his walls and opened his heart to you despite his better judgment.
He’s dreaming; he knows because you’re there running fingers through his hair as he uses your lap as a cushion. You’re humming a nameless tune as you gently comb out any tangles. He wants to open his eyes but keeps them closed; opening them will ruin the dream.
“Leona?”
“Hmm?” Even in dreams your voice is clear.
He feels a light brush against his forehead. “I love you.”
“Mhm…” he grins inwardly, knowing there’s probably a pout on your lips when he doesn’t respond in turn. The dream, no memory, feels so real.
Your fingers stop moving through his mane. Instead you poke his cheek. “You’re supposed to say it back.” He pretends to fall back to sleep even as you continue to poke his cheek.
“Lee-o-na~” Poke. Poke. Poke, poke.
Brows drawing together, he realizes that the poking isn’t a dream. Someone actually dares to touch him while he’s napping. Eyes flying open as he sits up, he glares and snarls at the offender. However, the snarl immediately dies in his throat.
He can only stare wide-eyed at your face. Your lips are pulled into a smile and your eyes sparkle with mirth. “Hello, kitkat,” you greet. You're crouched over him as your smile grows wider.
“You’re here…” he breathes, as he reaches out to touch your face.
You grasp his hand and place a kiss on his palm. “I made a deal with Crowley that I could attend NRC as a student while also being able to go back and forth. It took a lot of convincing, but he finally agreed,” you explain.
His eyes narrow. “What did he want in return?”
You wave off his concern. “I just have to do odd tasks here and there. The usual.”
Seeming satisfied with your answer, he wraps you in his arms and pulls you down. You wiggle around until you find a comfortable position. You can hear the steady ‘thump thump’ of his chest. Leona holds you tighter than usual as he inhales your scent.
You nearly fall asleep when his voice catches your attention. “Did you say something?” you ask, looking up.
He presses a kiss on your forehead. “Nothin’.” His sudden affection leaves you a bit flustered, so you bury your face in his chest. “Just couldn’t sleep very well.”
Leona has the best sleep in a long time.
#twst imagines#twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#leona kingscholar#twst leona#leona kingscholar x reader#leona x reader#reader insert#scenario
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Practicum
Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader
Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it
Words: 12,857
“So, you just want me to read from the book?”
“Yes.”
“And...answer questions?”
“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.
You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.
“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”
Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow.
this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito & @kugutsuu for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!
Practicum
prac·ti·cum
/ˈpraktəkəm/
noun
a practical section of a course of study
It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on.
Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class.
It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.
That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date.
It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings.
‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’
‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’
But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away.
Fuck.
Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors.
Perfect.
Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students.
Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.
This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now.
When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.
“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.”
Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess.
“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”
The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.
“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”
“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously.
“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”
You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”
You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number.
Despite all that caution, you’re lost.
In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?
Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago.
Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class.
Ugh, why is this so stressful?
It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too.
You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.
Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing.
The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you.
Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall.
Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine.
He’s watching you.
The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.
“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”
He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt.
“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”
“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”
“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”
“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms.
“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness.
“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”
“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”
Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass.
You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his.
You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence.
“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”
Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either.
You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.
“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”
“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”
“You’re a senior, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”
You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–
“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”
You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.
“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”
“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”
“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”
You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”
You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged.
Wait. Did…did he really just say that?
Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied.
The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.
He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class.
Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his.
Wait. Sexy?
Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you.
“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit.
At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium.
“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”
“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race.
Maybe it’s those eyes of his.
They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed.
You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?
“Did you need something?”
His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.
“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.”
“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”
“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”
“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”
“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”
He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips.
The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon.
The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares.
At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.
“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”
“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs.
He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.”
“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare.
“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”
“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”
Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”
“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.
“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”
“Sometimes it takes more than that.”
“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?���
“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”
God.
You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.
The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.
The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade.
No. No, no, no, no.
You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA.
God fucking damn it.
You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces.
It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips.
No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.
Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door.
“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”
“Gimme the paperwork.”
Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves.
You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you.
Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence.
When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips.
“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”
His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea.
Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N).
“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright.
“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk.
He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line.
“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow.
“Something came up.”
“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression.
“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult.
“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair.
“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”
He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”
“Um, yeah. But–”
“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”
You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”
“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”
“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”
“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”
“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”
“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name.
“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again.
“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.
“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question.
“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”
You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.
“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.”
Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”
“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.
“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move.
“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”
You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”
“Yes.”
“And… answer questions?”
“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.
You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.
“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”
Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”
“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”
Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him.
He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.
“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him.
“Want me to throw a curve in?”
“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”
“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin.
“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”
“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead.
“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”
Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.”
What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that…
Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.
“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.”
You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.
“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side.
“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”
You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.”
Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand.
“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”
He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.
“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.”
He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin.
Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.
“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes.
“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”
“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully.
“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath.
Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences.
Wait. Didn’t you just…
“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”
“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”
The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed.
“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.
The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter.
“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice.
“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”
Thank God.
True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back.
“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips.
He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”
Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.
“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”
Damn it.
“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs.
“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”
His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold.
“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”
“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.
“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing.
“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?”
Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more.
“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless.
A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.
“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”
“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you.
“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”
“W-what? The cell… ah–”
“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements.
His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.
“I said, answer me.”
“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”
“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.”
“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis.
“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N).
The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet.
Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”
He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright.
“What is the cell membrane?”
You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain.
You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance.
“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”
“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”
He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer.
“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”
He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you.
“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin.
“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”
“Let’s try another.”
It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.
“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.
“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips.
“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.
“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”
“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”
“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.
“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior.
“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.
“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.
“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”
“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”
“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”
“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine.
“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus.
Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision.
Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather.
Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait…
There’s a faint clicking sound.
It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper.
Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.
God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade.
Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise.
He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.
“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts?
Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”
“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit.
“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”
“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”
There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.
You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg.
He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by.
“Hold still,” he commands.
It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit.
Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form.
You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm.
“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?”
You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.
“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face.
“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.
“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you.
“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance.
“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”
“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think.
The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.
“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–”
“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips.
“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.
“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”
“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”
Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass.
He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need.
The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness.
This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.
But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice.
Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.
“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head.
“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again.
“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms.
He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good.
His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face.
His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.
“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting.
You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips.
“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release.
“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”
He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”
Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs.
His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release.
“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders.
“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”
“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you.
“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy.
“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”
tags: @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx, @yixxes, @ghstmthr, @rekoii, @diaouranask, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love, @libiraki <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here.
notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu
#shigaraki tomura#tomura shigaraki#reader insert#shigaraki x y/n#shigaraki x you#shigaraki x reader#bnha smut#9 to 5 collab#bnha degeneracy server#collaboration#tw: unhealthy relationship#tw: teacher/student#tw: dubcon#tw: bribery
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Wanshi/Banji : Fate (Voicelines)
Construct Acquisition: Nice to meet you, I’m Wanshi from the Strike Hawk squad. Is this gonna be another troublesome mission…? I’m so exhausted… zzz…
LVL Up: Feeling a bit more lively… I think.
Promotion: If this is how you show your approval, then, perhaps I can accept this.
Evolve: Looks like I’ll have to take things just a bit more seriously now.
Skill Enhancement: Reloaded, prepared, examined, hah-- about time I take a break and sleep.
Equipment: Accuracy, range, ammunition capacity… it’s a reliable firearm.
Added to the squad: Huff-haaaa… time to get back to work.
Appointed as captain: If you’re the Captain, then does that mean you get a longer rest time…? I see, looks like that’s not the case, huh.
Mission Complete: Hah… then, is it alright if I go take a nap now?
Daily Conversation 1: (Yawn)...
Daily Conversation 2: Is there trouble brewing again? Mn...(yawn)… Captain Chrome should be on standby back at base right now, and there ought to be about 5 more minutes left till the next mission starts.
Daily Conversation 3: Reclaim the Earth and defeat the Punishing. What a lofty goal, that is…
Daily Conversation 4: “As long as you have the resolve, then everything will go well”… From whom did you hear this? Kamui?
Daily Conversation 5: I think the location of the base’s break room is… yeah, I remember it now.
Daily Conversation 6: The “wish-granting machine” setting only works for children, you know. Are you a child or what?
Daily Conversation 7: You want to see how I look when I’m serious? It’d probably be for the best if you were to never encounter any situation where I have to give it my all, at least that’s what I hope for.
Daily Conversation 8: What? You want to know… if it’s possible for a Construct to see the Commandant in a dream? …Mn, yes.
Daily Conversation 9: Looks like we meet again, Commandant. Hm? When was that, you ask? It was last night when I was already in bed… ah, Captain, please stop hitting me, I was just kidding; I was talking about my dreams, we met in my dreams!
Daily Conversation 10: Presumably, a Construct has no definite lifespan, meaning that the emotional data within their sea of consciousness will only continue to grow and accumulate. It’s almost like a never-ending, infinitely-expanding dream… rather interesting, isn’t it?
Daily Conversation 11: It’s because of you that this foreboding world I keep waking up to doesn’t seem so bad.
Daily Conversation 12: What incredible recovery abilities… oh, no, I wasn’t talking about Liv; I was referring to you, Commandant.
Daily Conversation 13: … Since I’m usually lazy and listless, when do I usually get serious, you ask? Right now, I’m serious about you.
Daily Conversation 14: You are the beautiful eternal dream I have fallen into ever since the very beginning, and one I do not wish to wake up from. This isn’t an excerpt from anything in the Captain’s book collection, nor is it something I’m saying casually. … I’m completely serious.
Daily Conversation 15: Whenever you’re here… I don’t feel like closing my eyes at all, how odd.
Increased Trust 1: If there’s nothing else at the moment, then can I go to the break room now?
Increased Trust 2: How utterly troublesome…
Increased Trust 3: I can sleep almost anywhere, and at anytime, to the point that… (snoozes)
Increased Trust 4: Do you want me to pass this on to the Captain, or is this for Kamui? It’s for me…?
Increased Trust 5: Whenever I spar with the Captain, I can’t help but get serious, and as a result I end up burning through my energy consumption and get extremely tired afterwards…
Increased Trust 6: I’m truly grateful.
Increased Trust 7: Exhaustion? There’s no such thing. Regardless of how troublesome the problem or the situation is, it’s all just a matter of how time-consuming it is.
Increased Trust 8: Cuddling with you to sleep every day…? … Just how much has Kamui told you, honestly…
Increased Trust 9: Compared to reaching for such lofty ambitions, it’s far more difficult to protect the things you really care about. That’s why, Gray Raven Commandant, you really are incredible.
Increased Trust 10: What you give to me belongs to me alone. That’s why, please don’t give others the same thing.
Increased Trust 11: You look like you’d be perfect to hold close and sleep with… Hm? What’s wrong Captain? [You can’t go and say things like that]? It’s not like I meant anything strange with what I just said… Huh? What did I mean by strange? Well…
Increased Trust 12: What I want? Hm… A new pillow, eye mask, an enhanced version of my resting cabin, and… you.
Increased Trust 13: A wish-granting device, a place to return to (refuge), resting cabins… hah, these are all these features I’d like to add for the sake of a certain someone.
Increased Trust 14: The gift you’re giving me isn’t you this time either?
Increased Trust 15: I've finally found a reason to keep waking up from my lonely dream.
Increased Trust 16: My return gift is right in front of you. Yeah, it’s this tall, and this big… you can’t miss it, right?
Idle/Ignored 1: Zzz…
Idle/Ignored 2: Too tired to even move… eh? The Commandant as well?
Idle/Ignored 3: Seems like the Commandant is also the type of person who needs to take breaks on occasion.
Idle/Ignored 4: Tired? There’s still space left in Strike Hawk’s resting cabins. I won the right to use it for an entire year.
Idle/Ignored 5: I’ve made a recent discovery. Being able to quietly watch over you is also another effective way of rest and recharging myself.
Long time spent online 1: It seems like the Gray Raven Commandant is the same type of person that Captain Chrome is.
Long time spent online 2: How odd, isn’t being able to rest and sleep the best thing in the world?
Long time spent online 3: It’s time to go to sleep now, good night.
Long time spent online 4: Would you please dream of me…? Since you’ve promised that now, then isn’t it your turn to fulfill my wish from earlier?
Long time spent online 5: Have a good night.
Login 1: If Captain Chrome comes here, can you please tell him you didn’t see me at all? Thanks.
Login 2: “It is precisely because you are yourself that [you] are important; you are important, no matter what, even until the end of time.” ...Heh, it’s nothing. It’s just something I’ve read from one of Captain Chrome’s books.
Login 3: (yawns) Good morning, good afternoon, good evening… one of them’s bound to be the right one, yeah?
Login 4: Since the first thing I saw when I woke up was you, it looks like today’s going to be a good day.
Login 5: Maybe it’s not a bad thing to feel energetic and full of life on occasion, is what I just realized. The reason being, because then I’d be able to do and enjoy a lot more fun things together with you.
Login 6: What a wonderful dream. Well, it’s not entirely wrong either way.
Login 7: I’m having a good dream right now.
Login 8: Whenever I wake up, I see you; and even when I’m in my dreams, I always see you.
Long time offline 1: To think that I’m able to only dream of you… how troubling.
Shake 1: Hey Commandant, have you ever heard of the word “wake up”... hmm?
Shake 2: Medicinal malpractice is strictly prohibited, you know.
Shake 3: Alright, alright, quit fooling around now.
Continuous tap 1: Are you doing a physical examination?
Continuous tap 2: Huhm… please don’t cause a scene here.
Continuous tap 3: Behave yourself now.
Activity MAX: Now that I’ve rested up enough, I feel completely recharged. A bit unusual, but I feel like moving around more now.
Battle begins: (yawns) Let’s get this done quickly so we can go home sooner.
Battle 1: It’s time to sleep, you guys.
Battle 2: How fortunate you are to be able to sleep forever.
Battle 3: I will shoot to kill.
Ultimate: Shooting to kill-- close your eyes, and rest in peace.
Hit: I don’t plan on sleeping early this time.
Serious injury: Going to bed early… though it seems like I woke up a bit too early.
Unable to fight: It’s okay, I’m just… gonna get a good night’s sleep.
Support: Backup, assistance, aiming a killshot.
QTE: Let’s quickly deal with this guy, since it’s an emergency and they like to disturb other people’s sleep.
Battle end: Haah, how exhausting.
#punishing gray raven#pgr#戰雙帕彌什#战双帕弥什#パニシング#パニシンググレイレイヴン#pgr wanshi#pgr banji#voicelines#fan translations#mun yasu#will move on to his affections stories... or do selena's voicelines.#either of the two#🤡🔫
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Could’ve Just Asked
Yami Sukehiro x Reader
Fandom: BC
Summary: After touching one of Captain Yami’s most prized possessions, Y/N finds herself on thin ice.
Warnings: Smut/notsfw, spanking, masturbation, very slight praise and domination
Word Count: 1.3k
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Captain Yami was out with the other members of the Black Bulls upon request of the Wizard King. Today you weren’t needed, because you visited him a couple days prior about the new mission. While you could’ve gone anyway, this was a good time to catch up on some well needed cleaning. You dusted, moved someone’s random pair of shorts, and threw away an oddly immense amount of trash. You got to the split corridor and took a little detour down the men’s living quarters. You’ve only been down there a couple times, but curiosity was getting the best of you.
There was no denying that you enjoyed looking at your captain and often wondered how he would feel on top of you, but because of the dynamic you two shared it made it almost impossible to express how you felt. Since you’d joined the Black Bulls, it’s always felt deeply inappropriate how hot this man made you with only a couple words or a pat on the back. It was even worse when you two would train alone, away from the others. Maybe your little flirts weren’t enough for him to catch on or possibly he was simply ignoring your advances.
As you passed Yami’s bedroom it took everything in you not to look at his door. You walked a little further, but quickly turned on your heel to walk back towards his room.
“Hm, I don’t know if I… no…” You contemplated intruding while your hand remained on the doorknob.
“Fine.” You opened the door.
It was… normal? A small pile of clothes and an unmade bed but nothing out of the ordinary. You did notice though, a shimmer from across the room. After quickly shutting the door, you made your way to the glimmering object to find a brand new katana placed against his nightstand. You knew it was a bad idea, but you really wanted to see the beauty of this finely crafted sword. You pulled it out slightly admiring the polished finish — possibly too long to not notice Yami entering his room.
“Get out or I’ll kill you!”
“Ahh! I’m so sorry! I’ll leave, j-just let me explain!” You sputtered hoping he wouldn’t kick your ass.
“I was cleaning a-and I wandered down the hallway a-and I saw your room. Then I-I saw—”
“Shut the hell up!”
“I’m sorry capitan,” you apologized.
Why did you have to keep doing stupid shit like this? No only did you invade his privacy but you also touched his brand new katana— Yami’s katana. Shit, you put your position in the squad in jeopardy and ruined the chances of him ever being interested in you. What would the other squad members thi—
“Hello? I asked you to hand it over,” Yami pointed to the sword with his eyebrow raised.
“You’re being creepy…” he continued and eyed you.
Yami grabbed your arm and released the katana from your grip. He laid the sword flat on his palms and pulled it out completely, inspecting it.
“Well, I guess you didn’t mess it up too bad. You know, acting like a dumbass and all,” Yami spoke and shook his head.
You opened your mouth to protest but remained quiet instead.
“You came in here just to look at a sword? Gonna steal it or somethin’?”
“No, I was just snooping. It was rude of me,” you muttered.
“Stop apologizing. Don’t care, just don’t do it again,” Yami grumbled.
He closed the katana back down into its scabbard and sighed.
“Ok, get out,” he spoke suddenly and walked you to the door.
After you walked out, Yami leaned against the doorframe.
“You know Y/N, you don’t have to sneak around. If you wanted to visit and talk you could’ve just asked,” Yami laughed and closed the door.
Did he say visit? What did that even mean? Well, you were just glad you made it out alive. Your palms were sweaty and after that encounter you needed a cold shower.
The next day...
After breakfast, all the squad members sat in the main room chatting. You assumed no one knew about what happened the day before, but you sat by yourself just in case. Well, not entirely by yourself since Zora was across from you snoozing, as always.
“Be quiet and sit down,” Yami clapped his hands together, “I’m sending a couple of you on a mission.”
“Julius needs to speak to Asta, Finral, and Charmy again. So, go do that or whatever,” Yami announced nonchalantly and sat back down to read the paper.
Everyone else traveled to the Noble Realm to shop or went outside to train. You quietly sat and drank your coffee hoping no one would notice that you were missing.
You heard a gruff voice from above you, “Y/N, come here.”
Yami?! What does he want? He stood over you and motioned you to follow.
“Yes, captain.”
You both ended up outside his room.
“What are we—”
“We have free-time. I thought you wanted to talk,” Yami shrugged.
“Sur— I mean, yeah we can,” you smiled awkwardly.
Yami sat down on his bed and stared at you, blowing out a puff of smoke from his cigarette. You stood against his desk, in the corner of the room, assuming it wouldn’t be appropriate to sit on his bed with him. The uncomfortable silence made you flustered and you slightly pinched your leg to right yourself.
“Are we gonna stare at each other all day?” Yami surmised.
“I don’t really have anything to talk about necessarily,” you spoke.
“Mhm, ok well we can leave—”
“Wait! I-I mean um… hold on. Tell me about your katana, please captain,” you blurted.
“You wanna hear about my katana? Nothing else you want to talk about?” Yami asked.
“Yeah… Well, no. I’m just interested in learning about it. It looks like it’s made with good craftsmanship.”
Yami stood suddenly, pulling his katana from the holster on his waist and motioned you over. He sat back down on his bed and waited for you to join. You awkwardly sat beside him and you couldn’t help your cheeks from turning bright red from the closeness.
“Put your hands out,” Yami instructed, “The blade is sharp so don’t do anything stupid.”
The sword laid balanced across both of your palms.
“The handle is called tsuka,” Yami began and stroked the top, “...and the blade is called sori.”
He took two fingers and slowly ran them across the surface of the blade.
“The only authentic ones are from back home, but since I haven’t gone back, I get them imported.”
“Wow, it’s a really beautiful sword,” you admired softly.
“Mhm, it’s quite… personal to me,” Yami cleared his throat and grabbed the katana from your hands.
He glanced over at your face with an unreadable expression and shifted away.
“I think that’s enough talking for today. I’m gonna take a nap,” Yami rushed and stood from the bed.
“Can I come back tomorrow?” You asked quietly and walked to the door.
Yami pulled his cigarette from his lips and crushed the butt into the cigarette tray on top of his nightstand.
“Eh, I don’t know… I think today was enough,” he responded curtly.
“Did I do something wrong?” you began to pry.
Yami stood silent staring at you for a moment. He finally made his way over, and towered over your small frame.
“I hate it when you act innocent,” Yami growled lowly and tilted your chin upwards slowly, “You know exactly what you’re doing, princess.”
“Captain… What are you talking about?” you questioned, puzzled by his sudden change in mood.
“I haven’t caught on for a while, but I’m not stupid. You like when I tower over you like this… or when I command you to do what I want,” Yami taunted and rested his hands above your head.
“You snooped in my room because you couldn’t get enough of me, huh?” Yami chuckled and stared deeper into your nervous gaze.
“C-captain I-I,” you stuttered and clenched your thighs together to suppress the tingling from your core.
“There’s no need to confess, Y/N. I already know how you feel,” Yami said. “I guess I was a little oblivious. I thought you had a childish crush, but it seems like there’s something more.”
Yami scratched the back of his head and his eyes traveled down your body to your clenched thighs. With one hand still above you, the other traced down your side and gripped your thigh gently. He began to rub small circles on your skin with his thumb.
You bit your lip and glanced up at Yami’s dark gaze from under your lashes.
“D’ya like that princess?” he teased as his hand traveled further underneath your skirt.
“Yes captain,” you sighed.
You were soaking through your panties and you were nervous about what Yami would think. His low voice and his digits pressed on you made your skin burn.
Yami’s eyes grew a little when he reached your panties. He took his middle finger and ran it over your heat feeling how your wetness pooled under you.
“You want me to touch you some more?” Yami spoke into your neck.
You nodded eagerly, opening your legs wider for his massive hand.
“Mm…”
Yami rubbed faster over your clothed pussy. He pulled his hand away and leaned down to your ear.
“Get on the bed. Head down and ass up, now.” Yami ordered you.
He could tell you liked being dominated, but you also like being praised and he stepped into that role nicely.
You scurried over to his bed and did what you were told. A little part of you wanted to push him further.
You reached under your skirt and played with yourself, bucking into your hand. You pushed your ass out and turned your head to watch him.
Yami cooly walked to his nightstand, grabbed a cigarette and lit it while he watched you. That was definitely not the reaction you expected.
Smoke billowed out from his lips as he spoke, “That’s a nice show you’re putting on. Maybe you can get yourself off instead.”
“Wha- no, I was just—”
“Touch yourself,” Yami demanded.
He watched as you hesitated and moved your hand away. Yami roughly pulled your hand back under you, placing it on your core.
“Do it.”
You had no choice other than to play with yourself in front of him, but it was technically your fault. You gently rubbed over the fabric and grazed across your aching pussy. The constant friction of the panties across your clit made it difficult to stay steady on your knees. You moaned incoherently into the bedspread and began slowing your movements.
Yami grabbed a handful of your ass and smacked it harshly, “Faster. Keep going like a good girl.”
“Yam-Yami please. I c-can’t…” you panted.
“Do I have to tell you again, princess?” Yami threatened while pinching your ass.
“No, sir… but I just need you,” you pleaded and grinded into the air.
With a grunt, Yami pulled you to the edge of the bed with your ass propped. He tore your panties off of you and spread your pussy open to rub harsh circles on your swollen bud, making your toes curl.
“Mm fuck. That feels so, so good, captain!”
“Something tells me this is your favorite place to be touched,” Yami chuckled, quickening his movements.
You bucked harder, fucking yourself down onto Yami’s hand.
“Shit, it looks like your gonna come, princess.”
He pulled you back into his chest and continued his movements while you came undone. You felt yourself on the brink of tears as you slumped down into Yami’s arms. You heard him breathing hard behind you as his erection poked into your lower back.
“Damn princess, that was only the first round! Hah! I knew you weren’t that innocent,” Yami teased and wrapped his arms around your waist.
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A/N: I hoped you like this Yami smut! Thanks for reading 💕
— bugs
#not sfw#black clover imagine#black clover yami#black clover smut#yami sukehiro x reader#black clover scenarios#black clover x reader#yami sukehiro#requests open#black clover fanfiction#yami sukehiro imagine
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royal!AU tag
*shows up a year and a half late with Starbucks* uhhhhh 8D
a lot of people that talk to me regularly know that I’ve been having a hard time with life lately. I started this next part of the royal AU shortly after the last one and just a few days ago finished it because of all the aforementioned life stuff. I really appreciate everyone’s patience and anyone who inquired to whether I would continue this or anything like that. you’re all the best :D
I really should have made this a multi-chaptered fic, but oh well! I would highly recommend reading at least the previous two parts, which you can find in the tag above or in the AO3 collection here. I’ll be posting this one on AO3 soon as well!
Back when she’d been in the Guardian Corps, struggling to survive in Eden’s slums, Lightning’s unofficial nickname had been “Captain Dangerous.” Once she’d completed her training, everyone on the force soon figured out she was, well, a force to be reckoned with. Few people could move as fast as she had, and she was able to push herself through just about anything. She’d done flips on twisted ankles, attacked enemies when she had wounds bad enough to need stitches, and never missed a day at all. She’d been unstoppable.
So when Lightning woke up with a raging headache and her limbs feeling as heavy as stone, it was honestly a new sensation for her...one she could have done without, to be honest.
“She’s awake!” a shrill voice cried, which made Lightning close her eyes again and rub her forehead with a groan. “Mr. Katzroy, the princess is awake!”
Oh, right. Princess. Which meant her. As insane as it still felt, even after quite some time now, Lightning was the recently discovered princess of Eden.
And apparently princesses got people to watch them at their bedside, only to yell for their annoying advisers once they woke up.
Honestly, Lightning wouldn’t have mind hitting the snooze button on whoever had called for Sazh. She had no idea how long she’d been out, but she felt like she’d been hit by a truck.
What the heck had happened, anyway? Her mind was fuzzy and bleary from sleep or unconsciousness or whatever the heck had happened, although she figured that if it’d been really serious, she’d been in a hospital and not her luxurious bedroom in the palace.
A flash of heat on her chest served as a reminder. She pressed at the spot, knowing the brand for the fal’cie Phoenix was scorched on her skin. She’d had a ceremony with it so that she could officially be accepted as the new future ruler of Eden – which was kind of a big deal, considering that the fal’cie Phoenix was the sun that provided for all the other kingdoms in the world. While fal’cie didn’t really care about human affairs, a ruler that could connect with it was extremely important.
Apparently she’d passed the test.
The memories were slowly coming back in her fuzzy mind. Ugh, her tongue felt fuzzy, too. How long had she been out?
Let’s see...
There was all the preparation for the ceremony, Sazh’s last minute advice, the actual meeting where Phoenix accepted her, and...
Lightning abruptly sat up, immediately regretting the action and clamped a hand over her mouth. It wasn’t exactly the motion that sent a wave of nausea through her, though...well, that was probably a good sixty percent.
But the rest...
Her eyes darted around the room, but she wasn’t surprised that her personal bodyguard was nowhere to be found.
Maybe because, as Phoenix had shown her before she’d blacked out, Hope was no bodyguard.
He’d certainly acted as much, though. Or she assumed, anyway, never having had a bodyguard before. Hope saved her from poisoned food, kept her from harm’s way, gave her a moment of peace during her introduction ball and…
Ugh, why did that kiss always come into her memory at the worst times?!
Focus, she told herself. For now, she was in her ridiculously huge bed, dressed in some silk pajamas – though she hated to think of who’d put her in them – and blessedly alone, although she assumed that someone would come in right about...now.
“You’re awake!”
Lightning slowly lowered her hand as the nausea ebbed. Luckily, Sazh’s appearance only filled her with the usual annoyance instead. “So it seems.”
“You, uh - ” Sazh glanced over his shoulder, where a couple of maids were visible through the open door in her bedroom, tidying up the sitting room. Her suite was obnoxiously large. He glanced at her and then jerked his head to the door, to which she nodded, feeling oddly relieved when he closed it and it was just the two of them. Sure, there was always a chance a maid could eavesdrop, but this still felt more secure, somehow.
She sighed heavily once they were alone and rubbed her forehead again. “What happened?”
“You’re askin’ me that?!” Sazh said in that weird sort of whisper-yell that defeated its own purpose. “You came back from the ceremony and passed out! It’s been two days!”
“Two days?!” This was bad. Very bad. A lot could happen in two days, especially involving a certain not-bodyguard…but she couldn’t make Sazh aware of that. Not yet. “Does Serah know?”
“I just told her you were sick and highly contagious. Figured that saying you were on a vacation or something would be a hard sell.”
“You got that right.” Lightning honestly couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken any sort of vacation, unless she counted the days she lazed around the palace when Sazh wasn’t around to tell her to stop slouching. “Does everyone think that?”
“Yep.” Before she could argue, Sazh barreled on, “You completed the ceremony, right? I mean, I guess you’d be, you know, dead if you hadn’t, but a little confirmation’s a good thing.”
“Right.” Lightning pulled down the collar of her sleep shirt a bit. There, on the left, right above her heart, was the intricate brand of Phoenix. She’d seen the brand dozes of times in designs on her gowns, some jewels, coats of arms, but to see it on her own skin was incredibly strange. At least it would vanish once she was officially crowned.
Sazh let out a sigh of relief. “Good. One less thing for me to worry about.”
“For you to worry about?!” Lightning barely remembered to keep her voice down and hissed out, “Don’t play games. Where is Hope?!”
“I - ”
“And don’t lie to me! He was there when I came back from meeting Phoenix, so why the hell isn’t he here now?!”
She knew even as she said it that it was a stupid question. While she was basically positive that Hope hadn’t given Sazh any explanation, she knew that Hope knew that she knew...more or less.
And she honestly wasn’t sure he’d stick around, knowing that she knew.
...Ugh, her head was spinning.
“He managed to sneak you back in here, in your room,” Sazh replied after a pause. “Which, y’know, quite a feat when there’s always someone nosing around. But he hightailed it on outta here once he knew you were safe and I haven’t seen hide or hair of him since.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not that I’ve been lookin’ for him. Gotta keep you outta trouble even when you’re passed out, right? Some bodyguard he turned out to be.”
Lightning just shook her head a little, her fingers gripping the sheets so tightly it was a wonder they didn’t rip. It might have been no big deal to Sazh if Hope had vanished – after all, they could just hire a new bodyguard.
But none of them were Hope.
And none of them...
“Hey hey hey! Just where do you think you’re going?!”
“I have to find him,” Lightning said as she scrambled to get out of bed. Even before she was fully on her feet, she could tell that standing up was just about the worst idea ever. Everything started to spin and her head bloomed with pain. “You don’t understand - ”
“All I understand is that you’re gonna be flat on your face if you go anywhere, and that ain’t a way for a princess to conduct herself.” He forced her back into the bed. “You’re gonna lay there and rest, damnit.”
“Fine,” she muttered, though she knew she wasn’t in any condition to argue. It’d already been two days – what difference would a few more make?
Maybe she’d never see Hope again and this would all resolve by itself. Not exactly the sort of thoughts a royal should have, but what else could she do?
And why did the thought of never seeing Hope again cause pain in her heart that was worse than her headache?
“I’m gonna get a doctor to look you over,” Sazh said once he was convinced that Lightning wasn’t going to try and get up again. “Better safe than sorry.”
“What will you tell them?”
He waved a hand as he headed to the door, his communicator already out. “I’ll think of something. You just stay put, damnit, all right?”
“...Sure.”
She waited until Sazh had left before she sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. Rest was impossible, though.
Everything was going to feel impossible until she saw Hope again.
–
Most people probably would have enjoyed a week of being pampered and having all their meals in bed, but Lightning had never been most people. Sazh had continued the charade that she was contagious. Not that anyone would think to directly question the princess and her adviser.
The one silver lining was getting to see Serah in a largely uninterrupted visit, once it was 'safe.' Of course, she spent a lot of the time gushing over the Patron of Yusnaan – an idiotic guy Lightning had met at her introduction ball and had been extremely unimpressed with – but it was still nice to feel sort of normal again for awhile, even just a little.
She wondered what Serah would do in her predicament...yell at Hope and throw something at him, most likely.
But Lightning said nothing about Phoenix or Hope or anything, just listened to her sister’s lovesick rambles and asked questions about her schoolwork. It was almost like being at home in the slums, except the slums didn’t have king-sized beds and silk pajamas and sheets as soft as butter.
And when she was finally well enough to get out of bed and act normal, Sazh had to go and drop a bomb on her.
“We’re hosting a ball tomorrow night to commemorate the anniversary of Eden’s establishment.”
“Excuse me?!” Lightning had been puttering around her sitting room, just basking in the marvel of being able to walk without the room spinning. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You haven’t heard the hustle and bustle, even from your room?”
“I can’t hear anything in there and you know it. Those walls are like cement.” She shook her head. “Why would you tell me this now?! I can’t go to a damn ball!”
“So sue a guy for not knowing if you’d be well enough.” Sazh rolled his eyes. “You don’t really have an excuse. People know you’re getting well, not to mention that it’s, you know, being held in your own palace.”
Lightning rolled her eyes right back. “It doesn’t feel like mine. But whatever.” She shook her head, hands on her hips. “This is ridiculous. I can’t go.”
“Look.” Sazh sighed and his shoulders drooped a bit. “This ball’s not just for other kingdoms and all them important people. It’s one of the few events that’s open for the whole kingdom. This thing’s only held every twenty-five years and it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for a lot of people. Some spend their life savings on tickets. It’s the first chance a lotta citizens in Eden will have to see you, as well.”
As Sazh talked, Lightning felt her anger slowly dwindle. She’d assumed that every ball would just be for all the other royalty and whatnot, but now that she wracked her memory, some faded whispers of conversations tugged at her mind, from when she’d been a child and lived comfortably with her parents. Had her mother gone to this ball twenty-five years ago? She had no idea, considering that would’ve been before she was born, but it was a possibility. Where else would she have heard of such a thing? Not the slums, that was for sure.
“...The tickets cost money?” Lightning asked, and continued after Sazh’s nod, “What’s done with it?”
“Usually spread amongst several charities. Some’s kept in the royal treasury, y’know, for upkeep and salaries and the like.”
She frowned a bit and stared out one of her large windows. The side her suite was on faced the more well-off side of Eden – not a coincidence, she knew. But she knew what was on the other side.
You’ve seen both sides. You’re the one who can make a difference.
“...All the charity money is to be given to the slums,” she said. “It can be spread out according to need, but I’d rather focus on the schools and housing.” When she finally looked at Sazh again, he was raising his eyebrows in surprise, which was how she knew that this was not usually how royal ball profits were spent. “That’s my condition for going to this ball.”
Sazh opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, looking like he wanted to argue, but something changed in his expression as Lightning stared him down. She and Sazh usually got along well – except when he was annoying her – and she usually deferred to his decisions since she still didn’t know much about being a princess.
But clearly she’d picked up a thing or two somewhere. Or maybe it was because of Phoenix’s confirmation that she was, indeed, royalty.
Whatever it was, eventually Sazh bowed his head slightly. “You got it. Want me to send a maid up here to help you with a gown and all that?”
“Sure, I guess.��
He nodded and left the room, and she could’ve sworn he was smiling in approval.
–
Even though this was an event to celebrate the kingdom more than just herself, Lightning still had to be announced. Apparently it was some etiquette rule she was quite sure Sazh had just randomly made up.
Luckily, unlike at her introduction ball, there was way less fanfare and she didn’t have to give a speech. In fact, other royalty was getting announced from different entrances, so not everyone even paid attention to her.
Still, hearing someone call out, “Presenting Her Royal Highness, the future regent of the kingdom of Eden, Princess Lightning,” was weird.
Serah seemed to enjoy being announced much more, although her introduction lacked the ‘future regent’ bit. Lucky her. Lightning wondered how her sister would fare during her own introduction ball...probably way better.
No matter. She let out a breath as she descended down the ballroom stairs into the crowd, knowing the hard part was over, at least. Her dress swished as she walked, which was a fairly pleasant feeling. It helped that she liked the gown quite a bit – it was a gorgeous silvery-gray color that set off her hair beautifully. The bodice was a bit darker, with off-shoulder sleeves and intricate embroidery of flowers and Phoenix’s brand all over that was studded with tiny jewels. Her hair was loose and curled – largely on purpose because it helped hide her Phoenix brand, which she’d covered with makeup besides – but she still wore a tiara that had flower-like designs, all covered in diamonds. She also wore some diamond studs and a bracelet, not because the outfit really needed them, but because it was just sort of expected of her. After all, she was Eden’s princess and needed to look the part in front of the public.
Surprisingly, it was fairly easy to get into the persona of ‘princess.’ Maybe it was because there was a little less pressure this time around, or perhaps because this was the first time since being discovered that she would interact with ‘normal’ people.
It was clear that a lot of them were simply in awe at being in the palace, surrounded by real royalty and such finery. It made Lightning feel strange that she’d been like that not too long ago – someone who would have hardly believed that things could be so grand. Not that she ever daydreamed about stuff like this. Hers were more along the lines being Captain in the Corps someday.
Everyone who spotted her immediately bowed or curtsied or some combination of the two. Weirdly, none of them came very close or even attempted to talk to her. It wasn’t until several minutes later that she noticed two men in tuxedos basically creating a bubble around her, so that people could look, not touch.
Not that she wanted people to touch her, but that was beside the point.
“Excuse me,” she said, moving a bit away from the crowds. “Who are you, again?”
“We’re here for your protection, your highness,” one of them said.
“Protection?”
“Everyone who comes to the anniversary ball is thoroughly background checked and vetted,” the other explained. “But better safe than sorry, your highness. You never know who can slip through the cracks.”
“...I see.” Lightning closed her eyes for a minute, trying to contain her aggravation. She had no doubt Sazh had set this up, but seriously? This was a ball – a glorified, overly expensive dance, and one that he’d basically forced her to attend, at that. What the hell did he think was going to happen? And sure, it wasn’t like she could hide a gunblade in her gown, but she was used to doing the protecting. If something did happen, she could totally hold her own.
“Your highness?”
“I won’t be requiring your services,” she said.
“But your highness - ”
“I’ll talk to Sazh. Don’t worry about it.” She sighed heavily. “Instead, go find my sister. If she doesn’t have anyone guarding her, you can have the job.” She had no idea if the Patron was here, but if he was...no sense in letting him get too close to Serah.
The two men glanced at each other, and after they exchanged tiny shrugs, bowed their heads at Lightning. “Yes, your highness.”
When they walked off, she took a moment to kind of gather herself. This gathering wasn’t like her introduction ball, where she’d been specifically told to schmooze with the other royals and basically get on their good side. No, this one was more like a celebration – celebrating Eden, she supposed. There were many eyes on her – too many – but it seemed to all be out of curiosity than anything.
Which made sense, because it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never held any kind of press conference or something. Everyone knew who she was and they’d showed a picture of her on practically every news station in the world when Sazh had discovered her.
But no one really knew about her thoughts. Her desires. Her ideas.
The only one who had an inkling was probably long gone by now.
People were inching in a little more closely now, probably just for a look at her, although no one attempted to make conversation. Oddly, it didn’t feel as intrusive as she thought it might. Maybe it was because her mind was a million miles away, or maybe a part of her had actually accepted that this was her life now. Nope, no more struggling to survive – from here on out, it was whirlwind balls and parties with gowns and jewels worth more than an entire year’s salary from the Corps.
Ugh, she was getting nowhere with these thoughts. Maybe she needed to find Serah. Pretending that everything was fine was easier when her sister was right next to her.
Lightning walked through the crowds, wanting to just run, but of course that was impossible in her gown and heels. She really needed to insist on wearing more practical footwear next time she wore a gown. Who the heck was going to look at her feet, anyway?
Her gaze idly darted over the crowds milling about, half-listening to the conversations as she passed them. A lot of people seemed to be business owners trying to get loans or investments from the wealthy – which she supposed made sense. On their turf was the best way to approach them, like a soldier scouting an enemy. Then you had to lure them to your side.
It was at the moment she thought this that she saw achingly familiar silver hair out of the corner of her eye.
Of course, it was also at this moment that someone tried to approach her for conversation, but she couldn’t think about etiquette and abruptly lifted her gown so that she had the space to run away...or run as best as she could in her heels, anyway.
She ignored the crowds, though they didn’t seem to pay her much attention anyway. It didn’t matter! None of it did! Hadn’t he just been right here - ?!
Lightning heard a door open as she looked down an empty corridor. Before she could turn her head to investigate, someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into another room.
Naturally, she reacted on instinct by punching the offender in the face.
“Damnit!”
That voice...
“Hope?!”
Instead of answering, Hope – it was definitely him! - kicked the door shut and staggered so that he was leaning against a wall, one hand clutching his nose. There was no light in the room except a dim bulb that illuminated his face.
“I know you were trained in the Corps,” he said, his voice muffled by his hand, “but I wasn’t expecting that.”
All of a sudden, her anger and confusion since the ceremony with Phoenix bubbled to the surface and she let go of any sense of decorum. “Are you serious right now?! You took off and then grabbed me out of nowhere! What the hell did you think any sane person would do?!”
“...Point taken.” He finally lowered his hand and winced. His nose did look a bit worse for wear, but she highly doubted she’d put enough strength in her punch to actually break it. He’d probably just have a huge bruise tomorrow.
Served him right.
“What the hell is going on?” she demanded when he didn’t say anything else. “I know you’re - ”
“Shhh,” he murmured, holding up his hand. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for something, and his arm flopped back to his side after a minute. “Sorry. You never know if someone’s listening.” He finally turned to face her. “And I wanted to talk to you in private.”
Lightning ignored the way butterflies immediately fluttered in her stomach when their eyes met. This was not the time for that! It would never be the time for that!
“...Phoenix showed me. It showed me everything.”
Hope’s hands clenched into fists, but he relaxed them a second later. “I doubt it showed you everything.”
“You told me when we first met that you built Academia’s fal’cie,” she said, basically ignoring him. She sort of paced a little, thought it was difficult because of her gown and the small size of the room, which she’d just noticed was some kind of abandoned pantry or closet, judging from all the dust she could see on the shelves in the dim light. “I didn’t know what that meant. I knew it was a big deal, but I was barely used to the idea of being a princess. It didn’t mean anything to me.”
“Your highness, I - ”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “Why the hell would you call me that now, when you know I know everything?!”
“Not everything.”
“I told you, Phoenix showed me!” Only the darkness of the room kept Lightning from shouting, like it required her to speak quietly. “You’re not a bodyguard at all! You’re the damn President of Academia!”
Hope opened his mouth a little, then sort of sank back against the wall some more with a groan. “...Yes. I am.”
Even though she already knew that, hearing Hope actually say it out loud caused her butterflies to turn to lead. Because of that was true, then everything else...
“The fal’cie branded you. Right?”
He was quiet before a minute before he lifted an arm and slid back the yellow wristband he always wore. It was hard to see in the dimness, but she could just make out the black arrows – just like Sazh’s – etched across his pale skin.
She stared at his wrist for a long time before looking him in the eye. “Why?”
“Phoenix didn’t show you?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically.
“No, I mean why the hell would you become a l’cie?! They’re stories. Legends. Did you think you were going to be some war hero?”
“I was forced into the branding.”
That actually shut her up for a moment. Every bedtime story she’d ever heard about l’cie painted them as people who’d willingly taken the risk in exchange for power. Even in Sazh’s case, it’d been done willingly. The thought of someone being forced to become a l’cie went against everything she’d ever known about them.
Then again, she wondered, had the same thing not happened to her? She unconsciously touched the spot where Phoenix’s brand burned, still hidden under makeup. Though it was nowhere near the same thing – after all, the brand would disappear once she was formally crowned – she’d more or less been forced into it. Get branded in exchange for royal power that wouldn’t be possible otherwise.
But with an actual l’cie, they were given a focus.
“The old family had died out,” she said. “And your focus was to come and take ownership of Phoenix so that Academia would have the power. Its fal’cie wanted you to eventually conquer everything. Isn’t that right?”
Hope shook his head, but it was in that weird, slow way where the truth hurt and you just didn’t want to hear it. “It was Adam – the fal’cie – that sent the sickness to the old family.”
That gave her another pause. Phoenix hadn’t showed her that, but as Sazh had told her, fal’cie didn’t care about human affairs. “What?” Another pause. “Also, Adam? Seriously?”
“My colleague named it,” Hope muttered, then shook his head again. “But it sent a plague of sorts through Phoenix. I’m still not sure how it did that. When I began all the construction, I thought it would run on autopilot and provide, like any other fal’cie. I never dreamed it would get so power-hungry. And I have to fulfill this focus or it’ll just turn someone else into a l’cie and make them do it.”
“So what do you expect?!” she demanded. “Everybody knows now that I’m the princess of Eden, and even if something happened to me, I’m not letting anyone lay a hand on Serah. I survived Phoenix’s judgement. Adam is just going to have to deal with it.”
“It doesn’t work like that. If I fail, another person will just be selected.”
“So what exactly was your plan?” Lightning balled her fists up, all the anger that’d been brewing in her since the ceremony bubbling to the top. “Infiltrate the palace as my bodyguard and get rid of me? Is that it? You were going to find a way to kill me in my sleep before Phoenix passed its judgment?”
When Hope didn’t respond, she knew what the answer was.
Once again, her body moved instinctively, but this time it felt like it was in slow motion. Punching him wouldn’t do much good, but what else was she doing to do with her anger?
“Then why?!” Her fist connected with his jaw, only there wasn’t nearly as much power in it as before, and he barely even stumbled. She wanted to knock his damn teeth out. “You were my personal bodyguard for ages. Why didn’t you do it?”
His gaze, which had sort of been staring off into the distance, met hers instantly. A gasp escaped her before he even spoke the words her heart already knew.
“Because I didn’t expect to fall in love with you.”
Lightning gasped again, which trailed off into a low, totally un-princesslike croaking noise. What on earth could she possibly say to that?
But it didn’t matter, because Hope suddenly cupped her face and brought their lips together with a desperate sound.
Her hands immediately flew to his chest, absolutely intent on pushing him away, but the strength left her faster than even her post-meeting with Phoenix. She instead curled her fingers into his shirt, gripping tightly as though that were the only thing keeping her upright.
And it probably was, because when Hope’s hands slid to her shoulders and one traced the bare skin on her back, everything flew out of her mind except kissing him.
The closest she’d ever come to feel like this was that night of her introduction ball, when he’d kissed her on the balcony. That should have been the knee-weakening kiss that made her go crazy, given that it’d been a much more romantic setting than some dusty old closet.
Maybe it was the relief that he hadn’t left. Maybe it was his confession. Maybe it was finally knowing his story, or perhaps all three.
But when she pushed him against the closest wall and deepened their kiss, neither of them resisted.
Lightning had never really been interested in romance or any of the physical aspects that came with it. There just hadn’t been enough time – survival was the utmost priority in the slums, after all. The most she’d ever experienced was a few innocent teenage kisses with the neighbor boy back before her mother had died.
Naturally, this was nothing like that and she honestly had no idea what to do with all of this...desire. She wanted to be close to Hope in a way she’d never felt about anyone. Gone were all of her princess lessons about restraint and poise and who knew what else. None of that mattered here.
Hope clearly didn’t mind any of this a bit. In fact, she could somehow tell that he was holding back, but she still shivered under his touch and lips and tongue -
“Light,” he gasped out of the corner of his mouth, and as soon as she figured out how, she was going to pass a law forbidding him to say her name like that. If it wasn’t for her ridiculous ball gown, she might have actually jumped on him.
He’s supposed to kill you.
The intrusive thought was like a bucket of ice water.
Lightning abruptly broke the kiss and tried to scramble away from him, but his grip on her was too tight. She stared at his dazed expression, his eyes burning and his face flushed, and wondered if she looked the same way.
No! It didn’t matter! She’d already let this get too far!
Perhaps he knew what she was thinking, because he leaned down and gently pressed his forehead against hers, mindful of her tiara – not that it would’ve really mattered, considering all the hairpins keeping it on her head. Their shaky breaths mingled in the close proximity and all she wanted to do was close the distance between them again.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “Ever since your introduction ball, I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. And when I saw you go to Phoenix, I knew there was no way I could hide my focus from you for much longer. I wanted to go back to Academia and just accept my fate, but...”
I didn’t expect to fall in love with you.
Lightning shook her head a little and pulled back so she could look Hope in the eye. They’d both calmed down somewhat, but it was hard to think clearly when he was staring at her so intensely.
“Even besides...that,” she said, not quite wanting to address the confession. Sure, she was extremely attracted to him – it was ridiculous just how much – but anything more felt like too much at the moment. “How the hell could you possibly think I’d just want you to give up and die?!”
“You wouldn’t have known.”
“Bull!” She finally tore herself away from him at that. “This whole week that you’ve been gone, I’ve been terrified you were never coming back. The thought of never seeing you again, even after those visions from Phoenix, just...” She wanted to run her hands through her hair in frustration, but the tiara was in the way, so she settled for kind of slapping the wall. “It destroyed me. Or at least wanted to destroy me, but I just kept holding on to the hope that I would see you again. Even if I never got an explanation...” Her posture slumped, and she ignored Sazh’s voice in the back of her head telling her to stand up straight, “...All I wanted was to know that you were alive.”
Hope stared at her like he couldn’t quite believe his ears. “And now that you know,” he finally replied, “...what now?’
A princess was supposed to have all the answers, but from the second she’d stepped into the palace, Lightning had constantly been at a loss. Between dealing with her new reality, all of Sazh’s nagging, the importance of her position, the ceremony with Phoenix – there had only one constant (besides the nagging, which she was fairly sure was eternal at this point).
Him.
“All the storybooks say that a l’cie is bound by their fate,” she said. She clenched her fists and straightened her posture, looking him right in the eye. “We’ll just have to find a way to change it.”
“We can’t.” Hope sighed. “I told you, if I fail, Adam will just pick someone else – someone who wouldn’t hesitate to make a spectacle.” He reached out and gripped her shoulders. “I can’t let anything happen to you. Not just because you’re the princess, but because - ”
“ - Because you’re my personal bodyguard,” Lightning interrupted, and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that right?”
Something in Hope seemed to relax a bit and he smiled at the corners of his mouth. “Right.”
“Therefore, it’s your fate to protect me.”
“If only it were that easy.” But he was still smiling as he slowly drifted his hands off her shoulders. “Although you don’t seem to care for any other bodyguards, that’s for sure.”
“You saw that?”
“Yes. I, uh, was actually following you for awhile after you sent them off.” He cleared his throat. “I may have used a shroud on you.”
She frowned. “A shroud?”
“It’s an invention of mine I perfected with magic,” he said. “It doesn’t make someone invisible, exactly, but they’ll be far less likely to notice you.”
“That’s why people weren’t crowding me out there,” she realized. “I thought that was odd.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, but I needed to talk to you alone and I knew that if you got caught up in conversation, I’d never get the chance.”
Though she knew she probably should’ve been mad about it, Lightning couldn’t help but be impressed at such an invention. “Maybe you should get some more I can use for when I need to avoid Sazh.”
He frowned a bit. “You wouldn’t use them to avoid me?”
“You’re not a constant annoyance,” she replied. “Not to mention that you disappeared out of nowhere and now you’re confessing everything to me in a dusty closet. What the hell about that gives off the impression that I want to avoid you?”
“Because of everything!” Hope blurted out, his voice much louder than she’d ever heard it. He snapped his mouth shut and glanced towards the door like someone was going to burst in, but when nothing happened, he let out a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. “I can’t do this. I can’t be around you knowing my focus.” He opened his eyes and stared right into hers. “I promise that I’ll find a way to stop Adam and keep it from branding someone else. You will be the next queen of Eden, I swear it. I’ll keep you safe even if it costs me my life.”
Anyone else probably would have swooned at such a speech, but Lightning knew she wasn’t just anyone.
And neither was Hope.
“Big words,” she finally said after a long pause, “but has it ever occurred to you that maybe that’s not what I want?”
“What?”
“I know that Phoenix accepted me and I’m going to have to rule whether I like it or not.” She gestured to the area where her brand was hidden on her skin. “But it has zero say in the rest of my life. What gives Adam the right to dictate how you’re going to live yours?”
“You don’t know what it’s like to have a focus.” Hope gripped his wrist and rubbed the yellow wristband, like the brand underneath physically pained him. “It’s like a noose slowly closing around your neck. I would never wish it on anyone else – especially if the only way to destroy it is to destroy you. I told you, if I don’t do it, it’ll just pick someone else. I need to stop all of this, and if I have to sacrifice myself to do so, I won’t hesitate.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I know.”
“No,” Lightning said. “You don’t. Do you think I’d actually be happy if you went and got yourself killed for my sake?” She pointed, nearly poking him in the chest. “I just told you that it nearly destroyed me to think that you weren’t coming back. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?!”
Anyone else probably would have ignored such a declaration, but Hope, damn him, actually smiled. “It does.”
“It does?”
“Yes. And I’m honored. But...” His smile faded a bit. “There’s nothing I can do about it. There’s nothing either of us can do about. I’m bound to a focus, and if word got out about any of it, I’d never be allowed near Eden again, much less you.”
“So throw a shroud on yourself. Isn’t that how they work?”
“Not long term,” he replied, although the look on his face suggested he actually gave it consideration for a second. “Whatever...this is...” He gestured in the tiny space between their bodies, “...it can’t happen. If keeping away from you means that you get to survive, so be it.”
Lightning wanted to scream, even though this closet seemed way too small for all the noise she wanted to make. Plus, some guards would probably bust in and ruin the moment, as usual.
There was something way better she could do since they did have this moment.
She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him close, barely giving him a second to register what was going on before she crashed their lips together again. And it really was like a crash; she was totally off-center and he stumbled a bit from the force of her grabbing, so it was a wonder they didn’t actually tumble to the ground.
After the initial surprise, however, neither of them hesitated. Hope gripped her waist and she slid her hands up his chest and into his hair, a shiver going down her spine as he made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a moan. If she heard nothing else for the rest of her life, that would’ve been just fine.
Oh gods, what the hell was wrong with her?!
She was a fool, that was what. Lightning knew she wasn’t smart in every way of the world, but she never would have thought she’d fool enough to lose her heart and head to someone she, in all technicalities, barely knew. Oh sure, it was easy to see that he was smart and handsome and brave and caring and...and...
“Has it ever occurred to you,” she gasped when they paused for breath, only for him to immediately capture her lips again, like he knew what she was going to say. But she had to say it. “That maybe I didn’t expect to fall in love with you either?”
Their faces were way too close for her to see his expression, but she didn’t miss the way his breath hitched and his fingers tightened on her waist. It was enough to make her want to suggest that they just leave everything behind – damn her royal status, damn his presidency and l’cie brand. To hell with it all!
But Hope let out a long, low breath and pressed his forehead against hers. It was an achingly intimate gesture, especially after all of their frenzied kissing a minute ago, and it sent shivers down her spine in a completely different way.
“I don’t know why you did,” he murmured, “or how you possibly could have.”
“I could say the same to you.”
“True.” He huffed an amused breath and tilted his head so they could brush their lips together before he spoke again. “I meant what I said. I’ll do anything to make sure you survive.”
Lightning paused for a second. “What if I did the same?”
“What do you mean?”
“What good is having all this power if I don’t use it?” She shook her head a little. “I know that, for a lot of things, I’m basically a figurehead. But you’re the one who told me that I can inflict change, because I’ve seen both sides.”
“There’s a difference between bettering the lives of those living in poverty versus going up against a fal’cie,” Hope pointed out.
“Right. But even so...” She slid her hands back down to his chest, just kind of resting them there. “Giving in to a fate that was set by someone – or something – other than you is stupid. You decide your fate. And if there’s a way I can use my status to help you, then I’ll do it.”
He shook his head slowly, looking a bit dazed. “There’s really no need. You have far more important things to - ”
She cut him off with a hard kiss and looked him in the eye. “Have I not made myself clear?”
The dazed expression was still there, but now he smiled a bit, that tiny bit of cockiness she’d grown to...love apparent on his face. “Crystal.”
Her shoulders sagged a bit with relief. Maybe the situation was far from ideal – after all, there was always the chance he could change his mind and fulfill his focus – but she felt a little better knowing they were on the same page and he wasn’t going to disappear without a trace again. “I’ll see if I can sneak away from Sazh and look some stuff up in the library.”
“Perfect.” He chuckled. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”
“You would have eventually,” she replied with a flick to his forehead. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“I’m not sure yet. I think - ” Hope paused when there was a suddenly flurry of footsteps outside the door. She noticed that he held her more tightly against him at the sound...not that she was at all complaining. Was it because of his guise as a bodyguard or because of his feelings for her?
But again, so not complaining.
When the footsteps disappeared, he let out a breath and let her go, just a little. “You probably shouldn’t keep away for too long,” he said with obvious regret in his voice. “Someone’s bound to notice that I kept the princess locked up and then it’ll be off with my head.”
“I feel like I’m the one who’d make those kind of decisions.”
“I hope so. I’m rather fond of my head.”
“I’m sure.” She stepped away a bit more, though still didn’t quite let go of him. There was a tinge of awkwardness in the air now that she didn’t quite know what to do with, but at least now they were more or less on the same page.
And she wasn’t going to lose him again.
“Are you still going to act as my bodyguard?”
“I’m...not sure,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “Everything’s been a mess so far and I don’t want to arouse more suspicion around here, especially since I’ve been gone for so long already. I may need to keep traveling between here and Academia.”
“I see.” Lightning tried to ignore the actual pain in her heart when he said that. This was honestly getting ridiculous – she’d survived much worse than being away from someone she lov – er, liked a whole lot. There was also the whole deal with a man-made fal’cie ordering said person to kill her.
Honestly, it was all kind of a lot for anyone to deal with.
For a moment, Hope merely brushed some of her bangs aside – mindful of the tiara – and gazed at her with a thoughtful expression until his eyes widened a bit. “Wait a sec...I think I might have...”
“What?”
Instead of answering, he let go of her completely to rummage around in his pockets. A few seconds later, he produced a small, round object with some buttons and a tiny screen on the front and handed it to her. “This.”
She took it gingerly, like it was going to blow up, which probably wasn’t the best train of thought. “What is this?”
“A communicator I invented,” he said. “I can make it so that it’s only attuned to your commands. It’ll allow us to talk in relative secrecy – as long as this button’s on,” he pressed the one at the top above the screen, “no one will be able to eavesdrop. If they’re in the same room with you, they’ll be able to hear, but as long as you can’t see them, they can’t hear you.”
“Wow,” Lightning replied, honestly impressed. Hope had invented this? She supposed it wasn’t a stretch to imagine, given that he’d built a fal’cie, but still. “This is...thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He reached for the communicator and pressed a couple of buttons. “Press your thumb on the screen and say your name.”
She did as he indicated, hesitating for a second before saying, “Lightning Farron.”
“Affirmed,” came a robotic, female-sounding voice. After that, the communicator lit up and there was a flash of light that showed what looked like a city. Cars flew around and there were moving walkways lit up and buildings that could touch the sky.
“Academia,” Hope said.
“It’s...it’s amazing.” She stared at the image. “This is a hologram, right?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head a little, still awed. Sure, they had video calls and phones and tons of ways to communicate, but something like this just seemed...more futuristic, somehow. Like progress.
Was this why Adam wanted her dead? In the name of progress?
While she, of course, didn’t really like the thought of being a person who impeded progress, no matter how unintentional, it was kind of sick that she could understand the reasoning of a fal’cie. In a way, it was just an extreme and horrible version of what humans wanted.
“A-Anyway,” Hope said, covering her hand with his and effectively turning off the communicator. “This will allow us to speak when I’m not in Eden. Or even if I am.”
“So that you don’t have to use a shroud and lure me into a closet?”
“Something like that.” He chuckled. “Keep that with you. If you ever find or hear anything that may benefit this situation, let me know right away.”
“Right.”
He nodded slowly, satisfied with the answer, but then continued to stare at her for a long moment. She knew what was coming before it happened and gripped the communicator tightly as he pulled her close for another kiss. This one was deep and slow, completely unlike their kisses from earlier, but still spine-tingling in the best way. It was the way everyone should be kissed at least once in their lifetime.
When he pulled away, he stared at her a bit more before letting go with a sigh. She stepped back a bit, not because she wanted to put space between them, but because she didn’t really trust herself not to just stay in this closet with him for the rest of the night.
Ugh, what the hell was wrong with her?! He was a l’cie! He was supposed to kill her and all she wanted to do was kiss him in a dusty old closet!
Maybe she should have read some of Serah’s romance novels when she’d had the chance. Surely some of the heroines had been in situations like this before.
It was too late for that now, of course. All she could do was watch as he opened the door a crack and peeked out, presumably to make sure no one was going to come rushing down the hall again. When the coast was clear, he gestured towards the hallway with his head.
“Go down and make left, then leave from the door right in front of you,” he said. “Anyone who sees you will just think you came from the powder room.”
“Powder, dust, what’s the difference?”
“Allergies.”
“Good point.” Lightning flicked her eyes towards him at the same moment he did, and there was an instant charge in the air. She couldn’t describe it any other way – it was like they’d been struck by, well, lightning.
This was getting insane. She needed to get out of here.
Hope cleared his throat and looked away with a visible swallow. “The coast is clear.”
“Okay.” When he opened the door so that her massive ball gown could get through, she turned back for just a minute more. “...Thank you. Seriously.”
He shook his head, looking both grateful and sad. “I’ve done nothing worth your thanks.”
“Don’t make me punch you again.”
He chuckled. “Go.”
It was only when she heard the creeeeak of the door closing that Lightning finally hustled down the hall, following his instructions on where to go. Truthfully, it was nice to be alone – actually alone – for a few minutes to catch her breath and let her thoughts settle.
Who the hell was she kidding? Going back to kiss him some more would’ve been way better.
Lightning let out a long, low sigh and smoothed out an invisible wrinkle on her gown, then fussed with her hair a bit even though there was no mirror. Surely Hope would have mentioned if her tiara was askew, although there were so many hairpins loaded in there that it was basically all but cemented to her head.
When she finally collected herself enough to rejoin the fray, to her relief, the crowd had thinned considerably. There were still enough people to make her itch, but it was bearable.
Thankfully, before she could figure out where to go and excuse herself, Serah spotted her and bounded up to her side. “There you are! Guess what?”
“Snow asked me out to dinner!” Serah clasped her hands and twirled in glee, her silvery-pink gown billowing around her.
“Snow?”
“The Patron of Yusnaan, remember?”
“Right.” Lightning touched her fingertips to her forehead. How could she forget about that big oaf? Maybe it was because of a man who was anything but an oaf who kissed her like it was going out of style and -
Wait a sec.
“Sis?”
“He asked you out?”
“Yes!” Serah grinned widely, happiness radiating from her. “He knows about a private restaurant here in Eden where we can go. It’s supposed to have the best steak in the kingdom.”
Later, she honestly wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint exactly what it was that set her off. The idea of some idiot dating her sister? That idiot being another ruler? The steak?
“You can’t go out with him,” she blurted out.
It was like night and day. Serah’s expression immediately darkened and she frowned. “What?”
“How do you know he’s not going to try something? He’s the Patron – he could be after something from Eden.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Serah cried, but then glanced around at some murmuring around them from everyone else still in the room and lowered her voice. “I’ve been talking to him on the phone since your introduction ball and he’s the sweetest guy. It’s just one date – in a private location, besides!”
All Lightning could think about was the reason her feelings for a certain personal bodyguard were all but forbidden. Logically, she knew that not everyone was a l’cie tasked with taking over Eden, but fear gripped her at the thought of someone coming after Serah.
“You can’t go,” she said again.
She knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say. The dark expression on Serah’s face grew even more intense. “Just because you’re the princess doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do!”
“I’m not - ”
“You’re my sister, not my ruler! I’m going out with Snow whether you like it or not.” She huffed a little and gathered the skirts of her gown in her balled-up fists. “I’m going back to the dorms tonight.”
“Serah - !”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better.” With that, her sister spun around and all but stomped off, trying not to give away the fact that she was upset and angry. It was a walk Lightning knew all too well.
She also knew that going after her sister was useless – not because it would make people talk, but because she knew Serah wouldn’t listen. Not until after they’d both calmed down.
Lightning watched her disappear down the hall, hoping her expression was neutral enough. Some of the other guests were staring curiously, but most still looked to be in awe that they were in the presence of the real, live princess of Eden. Little did they know, she was marked for death by a man-made fal’cie and was supposed to be killed by the only person besides Serah who’d ever really made her feel like she mattered.
How the hell had things come to this?
She forced a smile on her face as she walked through the crowds. “Thank you for attending,” she occasionally said, in the ‘diplomatic’ voice that Sazh had drilled into her. After repeating variations of that several dozen times, the orchestra finally started to play a lively waltz, which actually took some attention off of her and she was able to escape.
Not that it mattered. Where was she going to go?
If she was going to do what Hope had always assured her she could and make changes to the kingdom, they needed to happen soon. She would show Eden she was more than a figurehead that wore shiny baubles.
Everything in her life depended on it.
---
((Lightning’s gown and tiara inspiration for this fic!))
#hopelight#hoperai#hopurai#hopelight fic#royal!au#also just as a warning#this ended up being 9k words.........#yeah lmao#I DON'T KNOW EITHER#THESE THINGS JUST HAPPEN#i'm also attempting nano#i'm not sure how well it's gonna go but#an attempt is already being made!#anyway thank you all who still read my stuff#and care and inquire and comment#and all that good stuff#it really means a LOT#like more than anyone could possibly guess#feels!!!!!!!
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Domestic Life Series: Izanami Hifumi
(here’s one of those things I said I finished and just never posted... ones are also done for Jakurai, Rei, Rosho, and Rio but I’ll scatter them through the queue so you don’t only have these to deal with if they’re not your thing!)
Izanami Hifumi
Who kisses the other on the nose and the one receiving the kiss blushes?
Hifumi loves little acts of affection and is quick to press a kiss to your nose when you least expect it, pulling away with a pleased (somewhat mischievous) smile as he sees your reaction. He loved when your cheeks grew hot at his actions even as you insisted you weren’t embarrassed, peppering them in even more kisses to make them heat up even more. If you were to do the same to him in turn you’d get much the same reaction as he’s used to being the one to give all the love but he’s always grateful when he gets to receive it, pulling you back and asking if you could give him a few more to get him through the day.
Who sits on their partners lap as they wrap their arms around their partners neck?
You don’t even have to make his lap your seat voluntarily as he’ll happily pull you right down onto him, arms like a vice refusing to let you leave him too early. He liked to do this whenever you walked past him with no care of what you had been previously doing, he had once even done it while you had a cold drink in hand which quickly spilled over both of you from the surprise; Hifumi had laughed it off, nuzzling into your shoulder as he apologized for getting ahead of himself. When you go to visit him at the host club, specifically wanting to have his attention on you for the night, he’s the one who seats himself on your lap, winking and asking if there’s anything special you’d like to request since you were a VIP customer to him.
Who kisses the inside of their partner’s palm before reassuring them everything is going to be okay?
Hifumi is surprisingly in tune with your emotions, always watching you carefully while a stressful situation is occurring and knowing when he has to step in to protect you best; when you’re feeling down and need someone to talk to he wants you to be able to confide in him, considering it to be one of the most important things to establish in a relationship. When he takes your hand in his you know what he’s about to do and you never stop him, feeling some of the tension leaving your body as Hifumi’s lips grace your palm, his kisses so light it almost feels like he’s simply brushing a feather there. He looked up at you with glowing eyes as he gives even more reassurance that everything will be okay as long as he’s by your side, refusing to allow anything terrible to happen while he was around.
Who initiates the forehead touch?
You and Hifumi take turns, the forehead touch being a nice way to show the other you were craving their attention. Hifumi especially knows what it means when you enter the house after having a hard day, holding his face in your hands as you pressed your forehead against his, saying nothing as words weren’t needed. Hifumi does it when he’s feeling needy, when you’ve been focused on other things all day and he wanted just a moment of your time, leaning down to capture your lips first before pulling away to take a breath and having his forehead pressed against yours. He loves to be close to you like that, squeezing your hands and keeping you pressed up against him until he’s satisfied (or Doppo comes along and gives him a look).
Where do they first say “I love you”?
Hifumi had just gotten home from his celebration fishing trip with Doppo and Jakurai, in a great mood and happy to finally be back home with you; he tells you over and over how much he had missed cuddling up to you at night. Doppo confirmed that Hifumi had said your name so much in his sleep that it had woken him up constantly all night and after apologizing to the poor sleep-deprived man who only had a boot and no prize money left to show from the trip that weekend you and Hifumi disappeared into your room. He wasn’t the type to seem to ever run out of energy but he wanted nothing more than to just be in your arms, telling you he’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of the day in bed with you. His ‘I love you’ is so quiet you thought he said it in his sleep at first but he was gazing up at you with the fondest look you’d ever seen on his face and you knew he meant it.
Who wraps their arms around their partner who’s cooking?
You generally do this to Hifumi as he always insisted on picking up cooking duty, telling you he enjoyed being the one to make breakfast, lunch, and dinner for everyone in the apartment so you didn’t have to worry about it. When you come to check in on him he always gives you a little taste of what he’s making, letting out a pleased hum when you hug him from behind as he’s working hard, warning you that you might get a little dirty as his apron did it’s job properly (flour just seemed as attracted to his clothes as he was to you). He doesn’t ever consider you a bother and in fact prefers when you keep him company when he’s in the kitchen.
Who breaks out the first aid kid when the other gets a paper cut?
Hifumi is always the one who takes care of you and tries to handle situations like this himself, even when his wounds are bad enough that he should seek out the help of others. You always scold him for trying to take the independent route when you’re right here and more than willing to coddle him, holding his cut hand in yours as you run it under the sink. The entire time that you’re cleaning and gently tending to his wound he’s insisting that he’s just fine while little hearts are floating around his head, thinking you looked cute when you doted over him. He still doesn’t think the cut is a big deal nor does he like the thought of you worrying yourself sick over him but he appreciates having someone to care for him.
Who cuddles up to the other?
If there’s anything that Hifumi is it’s cuddly, naturally finding his way snuggled into your side when you sleep next to each other at night. Even if you start off on opposite ends of the couch he drifts closer, Hifumi being on your lap an inevitability if you’re on the couch long enough. Stroke your fingers through his hair and listen to his sleepy ramblings about how much he loves you and you’ll have his entire heart, only able to drift off peacefully due to feeling safe with you by his side. Hifumi likes to be little spoon but he’ll be big spoon just as often if you want, curling up with you from behind and resting his head on your back as he listened to the sound of you breathing.
Who falls asleep on who? What is their reaction when the other falls asleep on them?
Hifumi is more likely to fall asleep on you before you do, nodding off constantly during movies or shows if he had worked the previous night. He goes to bed then wakes up early still to make breakfast, doing chores around the house until he finally takes a moment for himself at your insistence. You can never fault him for needing a little nap and quickly wrap a blanket around him, turning the TV down low and resting a hand on his head as he snoozes away. He’s always apologetic when he wakes up and seems to feel genuinely bad that he fell asleep on you but you reassure him it’s just fine as his sleeping face is rather cute to look at.
Who likes to be held and who likes to hold?
Please hold Hifumi. He needs the reassurance, the comfort, the feeling of safety that comes with being held in the arms of the person he loves the most. He’s always the one to initiate, to act first, to do all that he can to make sure you’re comfortable and happy that he sometimes forgets himself. Being a good partner means bringing balance, making him realize he deserves all the love you want to give him and more, gently reminding him of how worthy of love he is. He’s not foolish enough to get into a relationship where he’s not shown the basic levels of respect and kindness but having a person who goes above and beyond for him is what truly makes him realize the two of you are soulmates.
#Izanami Hifumi#Hifumi Izanami#Hypnosis Mic#Hypnosis Microphone#Hypnosis Mic Imagines#Hypnosis Microphone Imagines#Hypnosis Mic x Reader#Hypnosis Microphone x Reader#Izanami Hifumi x Reader#Domestic Life Series#if you've followed any of my other blogs you know I do these often lmao
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Distance Makes the Heart Grow
CHAPTER 1
Series Masterlist
Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader
Pronouns: She/Her
Word Count: 1.8k
Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?
Warnings: None for this chapter!
A/N: Nothing major happens in this chapter, this is sorta just like the beginning stages.
(Y/n) let out a load groan, hand searching aimlessly for the alarm clock on her side table. “Where is it?!” she continued to slap her hand around on her table, many objects falling to the floor before her hand finally landed on the right one, the rooster noises ceasing as her hand collided with the big snooze button. She rolled over, sighing as she stared at her speckled ceiling. “Perhaps I really should take the time to learn how to use the alarm on my phone.” it wasn’t that she was bad with technology persay. It’s just if it was produced after the year of 2008 you could forget it. Could you really blame her though? During all her years at Hogwarts, she had never made the switch her fellow classmates made with modern technology. Sure she had a smart phone but the only thing she could manage to do with it is call, text, and make notes in the notes app (something she had just recently learned as well).
Unwillingly, she crawled out of bed, stretching as she let out a large yawn, bones snapping and cracking like a New Year’s firework. She made her way to the bathroom, looking into the same mirror she always did, watching the light in the center flicker the same way as always. Life for (Y/n) was seemingly unchanging. Day after day, month after month, was spent exactly the same. She’d wake up, get ready for work, and then travel a few blocks down the street to open the bakery. Her bakery.
It wasn’t that (Y/n) didn’t enjoy what she did. She happened to enjoy her job very much. All her friends at Hogwart’s had encouraged her, giving her the push she need to travel the journey of opening her own business. It was something she had always wanted to do but her parents begged her not to. In their words they didn’t want ‘an over zealous and unrealistic’ daughter on ther hands. However, their rude words simply were fuel to the fire. During her 5th year, she began to busk tables at various shops in Hogsmeade. It was hard work, balancing long shifts at 3 different shops and still maintaining decent scores in each class. But, she knew if she couldn’t handle that then there was no way she’d be able to handle running a bakery. So day in and day out she’d work, and work, and work and by the end of her 7th year she had a decent amount of money saved up!
The first issue had been finding a place in a good area that would gain traction and attention while the second one was finding someone willing to sell to someone fresh out of school with no prior business experience. She’d spoken to many people in various different places, some good, and some bad before she finally had been blessed with the chance of meeting Mary and her wife Denise. It was a miracle really. (Y/n) was short on the money, exponentially so however, Mary had sold to her anyways. She said she saw a passion in the girl that she hadn’t seen for a very long time and that it was something she wanted to help foster considering she had had her time to live her dreams and explore passions of her own. So with that, a handshape was exchanged for a beat up envolope filled with the entirety of the girl’s life savings. She had invested every nickel and dime she had ever earned into the place and she prayed it wouldn’t blow up in her face.
Which brought her to where she was today: a proud owner of a highly successful business. And of course, with great business comes a nice chunk of money which caught her parents’ attention. They had began to call her everyday but when that they didn’t work, they showed up at her shop unannounced. At first, she had felt warm inside. Her usual cold and distant parents had come to visit her! However, when they started crunching out numbers and percentages, that short lived happiness was replaced by irritation in which she quickly kicked them out, placing a charm on the building that when they’d attempt to enter (if they really, truly, had the balls to come back), their bodies would be flung right back onto the sidewalk into the heaping piles of trash on the city side walks. Now, (Y/n) was by no means wealthy, but she made a nice amount of money to be engaging in something she enjoyed so heavily, which is why she was confused where they had gotten the idea she had money to share with the main two people who were the cause of her insecurities. Plus, every extra dollar she had she put right back into the shop. Paying her workers, building maintenance, ingredients. She wasn’t a fan of having too much money, her family had shown her what that could cause (and how easily you could lose it all).
Yet still sometimes she found herself wishing she could live the lavish lifestyle her parents once did. She mainly dreamed more so of the more engaging parts instead of the status and power that came with it. As she frosted various different cakes with thick buttercream, her mind would wonder to vivid imagery of beautiful hotel rooms, with breath taking views. Michelin five star meals, coated in delicious cream sauces. Endless adventure waiting to be discovered.
And yet here she was, sitting at a table as she stuffed her face with a raspberry marzipan cupcake. It was a Wednesday, first one of the month and as per usual, her and Twyla were set together, sampling cakes, chocolates, and other treats for the upcoming days. Wednesday had been the official day they had chosen due to the slowed flow of people that would come in. (Y/n) liked to have a different theme each day of the week. The customers lived for it and she had massed a group of frequenters who came each day, wondering what the theme would be that day.
“You know boss, I’ve gotta say it. Working here and sampling all these cakes with you is giving me quite the ass!” Twyla said, turning around as she wiggled her ass in the girl’s face for emphasis. (Y/n) giggled, rolling her eyes as she swatted at the girl, missing as she jumped away from her last minute. “Hey! You gotta take me out to dinner first for that.”
“Just because we’re sampling cakes doesn’t mean that the store is closed! Anyone could walk in at any moment and would you really want that to be their first experience here?” she asked, eyes scanning the silver platter in front of them. She decided on the new dessert flavored chocolates she had been working on. Popping it into her mouth, she let out a moan of approval.
“I mean, I dont’ see why not! We’d definitely make a lot more money with a cake like mine!” the blue haired girl said, sitting down as she grabbed a chocolate as well. “Besides, I don’t think those little noises you’re making would help the scene.” she stated, snickering as the girl across from her tensed up.
“It-it’s not like that! The chocolate- it just- I just- ugh!” she stuttered out, huffing as she crossed her arms over her chest, pouting at the girl. “If you’re gonna keep being mean we can end this process. Just tell me what you think of the blueberry pie chocolate so I can know if we’re adding it to tomorrow’s spread.”
“Oh come on (Y/n) it’s good! Every first Wednesday we sit here, you overly critique yourself, then me and Tiana end up picking out our favorites for the next day!” Twyla was right, even their patterns for trying new things remained the same. (Y/n) wiped her messy hand on her aprons, sighing as she stood up to go back to her position behind the counter. Her employee followed, grabbing the platter to put back into the kitchen before joining her boss behind the counter.
“You’re right. I swear everyday is beginning to feel the same.” She opened her notepad, beginning to take inventory of the sweets they had in the display counter. “I’m grateful for everything I have, I really am. But sometimes I just wish I could have something, anything….”
“New?” the green eyed girl added, catching the (h/c) haired girl’s attention. She nodded, looking at the girl who had snuck a cookie out of the glass case. “I feel ya, girl. Everyday feels the same. Sometimes even when new people come in, I can already tell how they’re going to be. How they’ll act, what they’ll order, what method of payment they’ll use.” (Y/n) eyed the girl up, raising a brow.
“Are you sure you’re not just using legilimens?” she questioned, watching as the girl shifted on her feet, scratching the back of her neck.
“Okay so maybe I do sometimes. But a lot of the times I don’t! Like the other day this weird guy came in and- woah. (Y/n) I don’t wanna freak you out but I have a feeling those hotties in suits across the street are going to be walking in here soon.” Twyla said, in an uncharacteristically quiet tone. The shorter girl followed her friend’s gaze, looking out the glass doors across the street. Three unfamiliar men were crossing over, all in suits that she could only assume cost as much as four months of rent. However, the one in the middle really caught her eye.
Before she knew it, the bell chimed and the three of them made their way in. They looked very out of place in the brightly decorated shop. The one in the middle looked the most important, towering over the other two men. He had dark slicked back hair, an eyebrow piercing, and tattoos that were visible on his neck and hands (which had a few beautiful looking rings on them (none of which were a wedding band…)), yet his hazel eyes held a soft look to them. To his left was a redhead boy, freckles danced all along his face. His eyes were bloodshot from god knows what. He had tattoos as well (not as many as the middle man) and a few unique ear piercings. The guy to the hot tall guy’s right was attractive too but not nearly as serious looking as the other two. In fact, he was humming a song under his breath, a smile causing the tattoo on the right side of his face to crease.
As she went to open her mouth to greet them, the man in the middle eye’s grew wide, his mouth gaping as he stared at her. He walked closer, examining her face closely which caused her to grow confused.
“I’m...I’m sorry. Do I know you?” she asked.
“(Y/n)?” she gasped at the sound of the familiar voice, her notepad and pen dropping from her hands. She made her way around the counter, staring up at the tall man.
“Neville?!”
NEXT||
TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @beewitchedlou @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically
#neville x reader#neville longbottom x reader#Neville Longbottom#neville x you#neville longbottom x you#Harry Potter#harry potter x reader#harry potter imagines#harry potter imagine#mafia#mafia!neville#mafia!au
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Dating Damian Wayne HC:
(imma do one for all of the guys I just had the writing idea for Dames first)
How You Met: Artist credit @axeeeee
. You went to Gotham Academy before him
. You were also making sure that you were top of the class and also maintaining class president
. Anyways, it was just something that you pushed yourself for
. Arts was another strength for you but that was something that you weren’t as inclined to maintain on an extreme level like everything else
. So it was your job to show the new people around the school before their first day which meant that you were showing Damian around
. Your parents already knew Bruce so you weren’t really freaked out at all
. It was just another day tbh
. That was until you met him
. It was weird since you were more of the person to not talk much about yourself
. No one really knew who you were and you were content to keep it that way
. Everyone’s friend but no one knew who you were really
. Damian was kind of the same way but not as friendly or open to people
. He was like the younger you
. Still, for some reason you were interested in him just as a person
. He was as well
. You didn’t immediately hit it off seeing as you are both reserved and closed off when it comes to personal things, but you hit it off faster than any one else
. A miracle in all honesty
. So you started hanging out and eating together in the lunchroom instead of either with a group or alone
. It was nice and then evolved over time
Friendship:
. So after a few months, you guys were getting closer and closer
. It was something that you just expected to happen and when it did you were ready
. You were starting to hang out outside of school whether that was at your place, the park, his house, maybe a café on a weekend
. Just anywhere
. If there were any galas, Damian would invite you and you him since you didn’t really feel great inviting anyone else
. Sometimes galas had this secret mandatory code to bring someone so it was nice to finally have someone to bring
. The media was all over it
. It was honestly really weird for a second and then you just accepted it
. Damian and yourself slowly started opening up to each other about everything
. Depending on how fast you pick up on things and possibly if you’re also a vigilante, this is where you figure out that he’s Robin
. He doesn’t call you by your last name anymore and instead by your first name which is fun
. It’s an honor lol
. If Damian is having an issue at the manor, you just have extra stuff for him to come over anytime
. It’s always there and you make sure to get more when you see something’s running low
. By the end of the friendship stage, you’re probably wearing each other’s clothes by now
. He gets flustered sometimes though
. That’s the first few signs
. Also very protective but we’ll get into that
Signs:
. So Damian now gets flustered?
. Not something that you ever thought you’d see
. Complimenting you too
. It was a mutual thing that you both started doing more and more
. Hanging around each other even more than before if that’s possible
. He introduces you to his pets
. All of them
. Even Goliath
. That was after watching random animal videos one night in the movie room of your house and seeing your reaction to them all
. You bout died meeting Goliath
. It was pretty awesome
. Damian was so proud
. Anyways, so you start getting more and more protective of each other
. Any stupid girls from the Academy were getting immediately shut down
. Same goes with the boys
. For Damian he was always making sure that no one was messing with you or making you feel uncomfy
. Death glares to all and smiles to none that tried it
. That was both ways
. Omg you guys have the death glare mastered
Confession/ Relationship:
. So now that his brothers have caught on, they’re hell bent on getting you two together
. So is Alfred and Bruce and that’s not typical at all
. Everyone ships you and you both know it just won’t accept it
. After some time though, you’re at this string of events and the press was just bombarding you for info on the relationship and whether or not you were dating
. You said no every time and then just moved on
. Damian noticed how much he missed you and loved seeing you thrive even from afar
. It was kind of like oh shit I’d better say something now cause they’ve got everyone wrapped around their finger
. So when you got back, he told you
. It was kind of informal and unexpected
. I mean finally but, out of the blue
. You were thrilled
. So basically from then on, it was wonderful
. Sometimes his brothers might tease you two and post really just dorky things about you guys
. Maybe one day it’s freaking out cause they found you in the movie room passed out on each other asleep with an older movie playing
. Picture of you not being apart at all
. The press loved it all
. You guys loved it all
. Now he’d spend the night all of the time but this time in your room, asleep, with you
. Not just in some guest bedroom or in the same room but apart
. Sleeping is actually a big thing since you both greatly lack it
. You’ll sleep everywhere
. The couch, a chair, the bed, in a car, on the floor sometimes, at a table just next to each other, anywhere
. It was something that like your friendship just evolved over time
. Eventually, you were taking vacations together during the holiday breaks and training together
. Your families loved the other
. Friend groups too
. Sometimes you’d fight but typically it got resolved quickly
. There was always this challenge of apologizing on Damian’s end even if it was really his fault since he just doesn’t know how to
. He got better with that real quick
. Basically, you just appreciate each other and see the other as your other half
. Nothing gets in the way of that
. Not even some stupid boy or girl hitting on the other or the media’s twisted perception of something taken out of proper context
. Those are typically what more serious talks are about but they’re solved quickly
Dates:
. You’re either going to a nice place or not staying in
. There’s no in between
. Either 5 star or the home theater at probably your place
. He loves taking you nice places even if you’ve already been
. Watching new movies
. Or really bad ones just to judge them
. Those are always really fun
. Sometimes you might go for a coffee date and those are typically just spur of the moment type things
. You might go to a gala and then go home and kick back
. Either way it’s the best
. Homemade treats and movies with a possible blanket fort and pillows everywhere over the couches in the movie room
. There’s always a chance that they might get cut short for heroics but that doesn’t typically happen since someone covers Damian’s or your shift
Hero:
. So if you’re a hero, it’s kind of an exhausting thing especially considering schooling and everything else
. Sometimes you find yourself not getting sleep for days
. There are times that you regret everything and Damian understands it all
. He’s just terribly impressed that you can do all of this like he does
. It’s great having someone like that
. Both of you are extremely well trained which sometimes Damian questions where you got your training since it’s so similar to his and his father’s
. Very calculated and precise every single time but also unpredictable which makes you dangerous
. It’s something that you always use to your advantage
. On nights that you patrol, you do it together and always tag team
. Damian knows that you put up one hell of a fight, but he’d rather be there incase something happens then not at all and have something bad happen
. Both of you are always stitching each other up and helping the other with nightmares
. It’s just inevitable at this point
. Staying over at each other’s places depending on how close you are or how badly injured
. You always go to the manor if there’s something really bad that happened
. That’s cause they have better medical equipment and Alfred who is a legend
. Alfred can fix anything and if he can’t it’s to the hospital but that pretty much never happens
Routine?:
. With everything, you have to have a routine
. It’s very exact and important
. In the morning, you both wake up together but not before hitting the snooze button three times
. You have the alarm set early enough to be able to do this
. Plus some time just to lay there for a second
. Damian is typically the cutest and most tired in the morning
. He hates them
. If you’re washing your face or doing whatever, he’ll just hug you from behind and lean against your shoulder
. Has fallen asleep before
. Then you both eat and head off to school
. After school, you go back to someone’s place to change into comfy clothes and complete homework which most is done at school since you wouldn’t have time otherwise
. If you have a meeting to go to, you’ll go to that and then head back
. After supper, it’s to patrol and then after two to three hours of that on average, you go back to one of your homes and shower typically together since you don’t have time to not
. It’s easier and more time efficient so you’ve said
. Also uses less hot water
. Then, you check your phones for any other emergencies and head to bed
. If you’re not a hero it’s basically the same thing but he comes into your room, locks the window again after he’s made sure everything is safe inside, creeps in your closet to get his nightclothes, looks at his phone for anything that might have happened since, goes to shower, and then gets into bed with you after making sure you’re okay without waking you up
. When sleeping, you’re either touching slightly or just on top of each other in some way
. Either way, you’re touching
. He can’t have you far from him incase something happens
. Never really sure what might happen, just that it could happen
. Since he’s a light sleeper, if you shift or move around, he opens his eyes for a second to make sure you’re okay
. That goes for hero or not
. It’s really nice and sometimes he’ll come in and you’ll still be awake
. Always asks why
. “Dami, I’m always awake at this hour.”
. “I know beloved, but you should sleep.”
. “Well then let’s go.”
. He’ll swing by for just a second during patrol to check in if you’re either grounded from patrol due to injury, sickness, just need a night off, or if you don’t do it
. Texts you updates every now and then since he knows you worry and it helps him when he’s home and you’re patrolling
. Basically keeps him from going insane so he does the same for you just incase
#dc x reader#dc comics#dc characters#batfam x reader#batboys x reader#batfam#headcanon#teen titans x reader#teen titans#teen titans x y/n#damian wayne x you#damian wayne x y/n#damian wayne x reader#damian wayne imagine#damian al ghul#damian wayne#robin x you#robin x reader#robin x y/n#robin
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Pregnancy Headcanons - John Wick x Reader
❧ may be read as a follow up to these.
warnings : pregnancy. smut. morning sickness mention. mega fluff.
words : 2.3k. requested by a lovely anon!
notes : remember ages ago when I said I’d whip these up? I did em! I couldn’t fit all my ideas. lemme know if you’d like to see another one of these with a similar concept. feedback appreciated as always!
I love headcanons. so easy. so carefree. so much to say. don’t forget that you can request headcanons, too! not just full fics or drabbles.
A few weeks ago, John and you found out you were pregnant. Initially, it’s been slightly frightening to know that in a mere nine months or so, John and you will have a baby, a little human, who’s entire world you two will be, and they will be yours in return.
You’re more frightened, being the one carrying your child. You have your fears of not being good enough, or not knowing how to be the utmost perfect mother you can be to your baby.
John, however, is ecstatic. He’s frightened as well; he’s never done this before. Yet, he keeps it under wraps for you. For you, John always puts on a brave face and holds your hand each step of the way.
He goes out of his way to make sure you’re comfortable and well taken care of. So far, your belly isn’t even showing; but there is life inside. John has always treated you as a queen, but it has intensified tenfold after he got you pregnant.
Not a dish in the house is allowed to be washed by you, not a cloth may be touched. John wants to you relax and take it easy, focus on yourself. He truly believes that as long as you’re happy and healthy, the baby will be too.
John has always been an absolute sweetheart; nonetheless, since you’ve gotten pregnant, he’s only gotten lovelier. Many times, you fear you’re dreaming, and may wake up soon. John Wick is quite literally;
too good to be true.
Each morning, he’ll nuzzle into your chest, smiling a goofy grin.
“Morning, beautiful.” He whispers into your hair, peppering soft kisses to your temples and forehead. “And to you too, peanut.” He smiles, heavy hand rested to your growing tummy. John never misses an opportunity to tell you how much he loves you, and your baby. Despite them not even being here yet. He knows that this pregnancy will take a toll on you; he’d wish for more than anything that he could carry the pain instead of you, which is why he showers you with love. He’d never want you to forget how important you are; how much you mean. You’re his entire world and this means more to him than you can imagine.
Morning sickness has been tough. Often, you’ll wake up feeling nauseous, however, you feel secure knowing you have a team player on your side. Occasionally, in the middle of the night when you’re up at 3:00am feeling awful, John helps you out of bed, holding your hair up for you and rubbing small, soothing circles to your back in the washroom.
“I’m going to make you ginger tea, alright babe?” He quietly speaks, leaving a speckled kiss to your shoulder as you freshen up. You feel awful keeping him up this late, John always needs rest due to his gruesome job.
Foot rubs and massages get a lot more common as your tummy grows. John doesn’t mind, he enjoys the intimacy and being close to you.
Speaking of intimacy…
You continue having sex for as long as you can, because you both know that down the road, as your hormones continue to fluctuate and your belly grows, it may not be something you’ll be able to do often.
John and you do, and always have had sex often for as long as you’ve been together. It helps John ease down, calm his nerves and relieve tension. You don’t mind making love to him either, of course. You feel lucky to feel him so close, and to be the only women who feels him that way.
“Close your eyes, Squish,” John whispers a chuckle, a delicate kiss placed to your bare belly, just where your baby rests. His heavier hands gently peel off the fabric of your bottoms, full lips trailing lower, soft kisses pecked to your inner thighs as he nears your heat. “Daddy’s about to do some real nasty things to mommy.”
You’re not sure if its just your hormones, or delicate emotions as of late. Nonetheless, having sex with John has felt…closer since you got pregnant. It truly feels like you’re making the sweetest of love each and every time. He kisses you so sweet, works you so slow, so intimately, so tenderly, it brings tears to your eyes.
Having him inside feels unreal, divine. He only picks up pace nearing climax, his expertise, skill and unmatchable affection never failing to spill you over the edge so well.
As your belly grows bigger and bigger a few months in, going places, and moving is becoming increasingly tough. Grocery trips have become progressively more tiresome; car rides gradually more uncomfortable. John tries his hardest to help, and understands if you snap at him a little too quick or accidentally pick a fight over something minor.
“Can you turn the music down? Please?” You interrupt a serene drive home from the market, voice coaxed with irritation, laced aggravation tinted across all tones. John’s hand rests to your thigh as he drives, his other placed to the thin steering wheel. You’d been complaining about discomfort the entire morning; he felt awful knowing you were in any sort of pain.
“Sorry.” He sighs, hand shifting from your thigh to crank the stereo of his beloved Mustang 69’ down. Passing traffic winds roar outside, the New York buildings passing in towering lengths. John’s palm immedietly rests back to your thigh; smooth, gentle strokes ran across the fabric clad to your lap. His eyes stay focused to the road, yet his hand stays touching you, letting you know he’s there.
That he’ll always be there, no matter how frustrated you get, how intolerable your nagging becomes.
He loves you, and he loves his baby. He’s waited far too long to have this; normalcy, something his, something his own; something created out of love, familiarity. Something he’d lacked for far too long.
“Ugh.” You exhale, after a moment of stretched silence, hand coming up to rub your weary eyes. “I’m being awful, aren’t I?” You whisper, saddened eyes locking to your husband’s street bound orbs. He turns momentarily to lock eyes, a gentle smile your way.
“No, sweetheart.” He assures, grip on your thigh tightening. You groan, rebutting. “No, John. I am. I’m sorry.” You sigh, reaching both your hands down to your lap to engulf his, holding his hand in a soft grip. You rub the top of his palm, relaxing, playing with his sturdier fingers. “I love you. I really do.” Sincerely, your eyes stay focused to his well defined features, the dark beard that rides his cheek.
And to the sound of your guilty voice, John chuckles, securing your hand in his, before brining it up to his lips for a soft kiss.
“I know.”
John has come to all your ultrasound appointments; he wouldn’t miss them for the world. He holds your hand the entire time, signature goofy smile daubed to his smoky features.
The first ultrasound was incredibly emotional, you shed a couple of tears. John and you stare at the screen, a pea sized dot resting in the darkened frame. John’s hand holds yours so tight, so warm, you’d felt as if you could feel him within you. Like he was this significant, big part of you that you would cherish forever. Seeing him smile that day will be a sight you’ll never forget; a mural you’ll never surrender.
Through out your time together, over the timeline of your love, you’ve only seen John this way a handful of times. This happiness was different; held something sole, matchless. This was pure happiness, where nothing else tinted the depths of his thoughts. No insecurities, no doubts, no ghosts of his past. Apart from the day you said yes to marrying him, and the day of your wedding, you don’t remember John ever being this unconditionally, purely, happy.
You both sit on the couch later that night, John’s arms holding you close as your head lays to his broad chest, staring, smiling at the picture of your dream; the one that would conquer your entire hearts when they’d come.
John keeps a copy of the ultrasound picture in his wallet. He takes a moment to look at it, to remember what he has any time he needs a pick me up throughout the day.
John takes amazing care of you, your needs always before his. He monitors your eating and drinking, to make sure you and the baby are healthy. He gives you your supplements; you often forget the times throughout the day you need to take them.
Speaking of food…
Midnight cravings have become a usual for you. Normally, you suffice for waddling down to the kitchen, sure not to disturb your snoozing husband.
Gently removing his arm from your waist, you always smile a gentle, loving glaze his way. John sleeping is a sight you’ve come to adore over the years.
John at peace; is a sight you’ve come to adore. He deserves rest, he deserves peace.
Although, its tough not to wake John. More often than not, he’ll find you in the kitchen in the AM dark, smiling a cheeky grin as you devour left over dinner, or a questionable choice of midnight snack.
He’ll come up behind you, wrapping his arms snoozily around your mid, hands placed to your tummy. With a gentle kiss to the back of your head and his warm chest pressed to your back, his sleep thick, honey seared voice rasps a tender baritone in your neck.
“Hungry?” He’ll chuckle, quiet and warm. You only nod, lacing your hand to his that rests on your belly.
Of course, there have been rare nights where you crave something that isn’t in the fridge. John never turns you down, however. No matter how tired, how sleepy he is, he ventures to your local 24-hour market, or gas station in search of whatever you’d yearned.
“Should I come with you?” You bite your lip, pulling the comforter of your shared bed higher up your chest as you sit up. “I’m sorry I’m making you go out.” You frown, insecure. “But I just can’t stop thinking about how I just need a candy bar right now.”
John’s brown leather jacket shrugs onto his shoulders, and his lips smile your way, picking his wallet up off the night stand.
“Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be quick.” He whispers, a kiss to your forehead before he’s out the door, blinking away sleep dense orbs.
For you, he’d wake a thousand nights. A million slumbers may waste away.
Slowly, you build the nursery for your baby. John works away, painting once crisp white walls into something more pastel, something that would welcome your child with joyful colour.
John has definitely become more talkative over the pregnancy.
He never misses out on a chance to kiss your belly, or talk to them.
“I’ll be back soon.” He announces, car keys armed in his sturdy fingers. With a kiss to your lips, he smiles. “I love you, don’t forget it.”
“Hurry back please.” You frown, a light whine coated to your tone. John only nods, slightly dropping to his knee in front of you, a quick, brief kiss placed to your tummy. “Keep mommy company, squish.” He tells your belly, a quiet, barely audible ‘daddy loves you’ Fled into the air, before he’s up, his hold on your hand let go as you walk him to the door, wishing him a wonderful day with a final kiss to his cheek.
You shop for cribs, toys, decorations all together. John looks incredibly handsome building the crib, painting the walls, asking exactly where you wanted everything to be placed. You watch him from your rocking chair in the corner, a hand to your belly as you talk to John the entire time, about anything, and everything.
John is a wonderful listener. Together, you two often talk about your future. A future where you’ll move away somewhere out of town,
Somewhere closer to the water, down the road. Somewhere where John’s ghastly pasts wont haunt him no more; somewhere you’ll grow old together with a white picket fence, and a story.
Your story, that you’ll tell you grandkids someday, when you’re old and gray, slightly slower; but still, hopelessly in love.
John adores talking to the baby. On secluded, rainy evenings, or when the sun sets out the mauve horizon and the trees bid goodnight to cotton clouds, John and you lounge on the couch, a thick, heavy novel equipped in John’s palm as he reads to you, and your tummy.
With his head resting on your lap, you stroke his lengthy coffee mane, fully engaged, lost in his mélange voice; smoky and rich, beautifully saccharine. Your thumbs coax his tired temples; gently scratching his stubble ridden cheek when you please. Every now and then, John’s glowing eyes peer up, glossing over your features.
He looks lovely like this, at ease, immersed in art.
To you, he is the loveliest of art. He’s a story, he’s a piece of Neverland. He’s your love story, and it’s one,
for the ages;
your love is one for the ages.
Sometimes, he’ll fall asleep this way, head resting in your lap as you stroke his hair. Him and the baby rest together, so close to you.
This was what it meant to have true, wholesome, pure, purpose. To have security, to have something truly, only, yours.
They were yours.
Pregnancy would be tough. It would be a journey, things would change, you would change. But you weren’t scared, for a single moment.
Because you knew, that you had your dream, your mountain of a man beside you, holding your hand,
Each step,
Of the way.
And you knew, you knew well. That the day your baby comes, they will have the most amazing, wonderful father who loves them, and their mommy to the ends of the world, and back.
You’d felt love before, you’d had everything before.
But with this, with what you’ve made, with John; it falls incomparable.
He’s the love that made all the others,
Irrelevant.
➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴➶ ➴
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#john wick x reader#keanu reeves x reader#john wick fanfiction#keanu reeves fanfiction#john wick x you
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Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 12
II.I
Masterlist
Warnings: References to violence, canon-typical descriptions of violence, crime scenes, and death.
Song(s): "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi and "I Almost Do" by Taylor Swift
It’s almost eight years until you hear the name Aaron Hotchner again.
You’re anxiously awaiting the call about your reassignment within the FBI. You had completed your year of mandated leave, gone through the required psych evaluations, gone through the training protocols. You’re ready to get back into the action, or, at least, you’re ready enough to get back to work. That’s when you receive the final message.
Your reinstatement was to be within the Quantico headquarters. This way, the brass could keep a close eye on you, while still utilizing your skills in the best possible way. So you flew into Quantico late Saturday night, moving into the cheapest apartment you could find. It was in a terrible area but being out of work for a year leaves you without much spare cash to live lavishly. Without your government-issued weapon, you check the deadlock every time you turn your back to the door for too long.
You have hardly any furniture in the apartment, most of the decor being the piles and piles of boxes in the center of your living room. You’re exhausted, in every possible way, so you settle for a fast shower, during which you’re entirely paranoid someone is going to break into your apartment. You collapse onto your bed, barely having the energy to even put the sheets on the bed to make it. The call comes through your phone shortly after you fall asleep, which means you don’t check your messages until early Sunday.
“This is Erin Strauss of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. I’m calling to inform you that the council has processed your psych evaluation and administered a new gun registration and badge for you. You will now be working under me as a profiler within the BAU. It is my understanding that you’ve taken quite a few profiling classes in your training as a negotiator and you’re well equipped for this job. There will be a slight adjustment period but nothing that I do not believe you are capable of handling. You will start in your new position on Monday. Meet me at my office and I can brief you about the basics and then Agent Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, will take it from there.”
You practically drop the phone. Your hands shake slightly, as you click off the phone and place it back onto your bedside table. You write Strauss an email in response, apologizing for missing her call, accepting the position, thanking her for the opportunity, and expressing your immense gratitude for such an esteemed position with such a great team. But that’s a lie. For a split second, you believe it's possible that this Aaron Hotchner is a completely different one than your Aaron Hotchner. You’ve never been a believer in fate or destiny. But for this to be a coincidence is simply unbelievable. Isn’t he supposed to be tormenting more students, torturing more girls, breaking more hearts? How did he end up as the BAU Unit Chief within the FBI?
You’re in shock, Strauss only leaving you about 24 hours to process it all and prepare for a new job. There’s no way you could request reassignment to a different unit. You’ve already been given your second chance. It’s now or never to get back into the FBI.
You’ve been out of work for a year. For a year, you’ve been struggling to cope with the loss of coworkers and innocent people. A loss that’s completely on your shoulders. Blood that’s on your hands. It was enough of an adjustment to get back to normal. Well as close to normal as can be. Your government-issued therapist, as you like to call her, attempted to dismantle this idea. She tried her best to remove the guilt from your mind, but after the government aid for the sessions ran out, you abandoned all hope of restoring yourself to the mental state you were in before. Everything in your life now is the after. You can’t live in the before. It’s too painful.
But now? Now it feels like all the work you’ve done to heal, to move on, to continue your life is rapidly unraveling in front of you. How would you adjust to seeing Aaron Hotchner once again? You hope that by now, he won’t have as much of an impact on you. You’ve experienced so much life, so much living, so much loss since then.
You’ve had other relationships, loved other people, slept with other people, but the impact that Hotch had on your life is permanent. When you think about it too long it feels ridiculous, the fact that a silly little fling in your early 20s has managed to change you so much. So much so, that now, at 29, you can still sense remnants of his impact on your life. They’re small moments, in which you realize that your behavior has changed so drastically over the years because of him. Your tongue is sharper. You stand up for yourself more often, and you never ever let anyone walk all over you the way he did.
You spend the day worrying yourself sick about the new position. You can’t turn it down. This job is your last chance.
Monday morning, your alarm rings wildly next to you in bed, but your eyes are already open. You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past hour unable to sleep. You’ve been tossing and turning restlessly, unable to focus on anything else but the last few memories you have of Aaron Hotchner. Your mind first goes to that last day of classes, thinking about the way he smiled at you from across his desk. The way that damn leather-bound book felt in your hands. The way that he kissed you. He made you feel so special. Your mind then travels to the rest of that weekend, one in which he managed to rip your heart out of your chest and tear it into a million little pieces.
You think of the last thing you heard from him. Those same words he had spoken to you once before, but spoken to someone else. At that moment, you realized that you were nothing special. You were just another girl Professor Hotchner used for sex.
You’re hopeful that you will be able to move forward with professionalism. There’s a second where you consider the possibility of becoming friends with Aaron Hotchner, but you know that’s impossible. You can’t look at him and ignore all the hurt he caused you. You can, however, be professional. You know you can work with him. It might just tear you up inside, but you can do it. You have to.
However, you wonder what kind of person he’s become in the past eight years. You know you’ve changed dramatically, but what has happened to him? How has his life gone? How did he end up in the FBI?
You wonder if he’s learned to love. The man that you knew was one who was seemingly incapable of ever loving anyone. It’s clear to you that back then he was too selfish, too wrapped up in his own head to dedicate anything real to anyone else. And if he ever did feel anything real for you, he was too emotionally damaged to handle it, work through it, or to tell you about it.
Your alarm rings again. You snooze it again. What will you say to him? What do you want your first words to be to him? Will you tell him off? Should you even acknowledge the past? Or should you just put on your best air of professionalism and approach this as you would any new job? It seems impossible to push aside the past and treat him as a new person. Because he’s not a new person. He’s a man who has shaped every decision you’ve made in your life since knowing him.
You eventually convince yourself to get out of bed, reminding yourself that it’s pointless to fight inevitables. You dig through the moving boxes, pulling out your coffee maker and a thermos, filling it up to the top, already expecting the Quantico office coffee to be bad. You haven’t worked in a year, but you do remember always having to make your own coffee before work.
While the coffee brews, you pack a go-bag, an item that Strauss heavily emphasized the importance of for this job. You would be traveling a lot for each case, and you have to be ready to leave at any moment. You’re not sure why your reassignment is with the BAU. Your therapist emphasized a lifestyle of structure and predictability. If there’s one thing you’ve heard about the life of these profilers, it’s that the hours are irregular.
You get dressed, slipping on a clean pressed, black pair of slacks and a white button-down blouse. You slide on a comfortable pair of boots, ones that look nice and professional but don’t hinder your movement in the event that you get called away on a case.
One benefit of the irregular hours is that your personal time is limited. If you can occupy your mind with work, you can avoid getting sucked up into your own head. Like right now. You grip your bag as it jostles against your side on the bus. You drink your coffee a little too fast, which doesn’t ease the unnatural level of fear coursing through you.
This shouldn’t scare you so much. But the old wounds that you fought so hard to turn to scar tissue are reopening and they hurt just as much as the day Hotch inflicted them upon you.
You get to the Quantico headquarters a few minutes early, giving you enough time to get your new ID from the front desk. You get into the elevator, rocking back and forth on your toes anxiously. He’s here. He could be anywhere. Every time the elevator doors open to a different floor, you fear that you’ll come face to face with him. You’re sure that he’s probably on the sixth floor. The BAU floor. He’s probably in his office waiting to welcome the new agent. Does he know that you’re the new agent? Does he know who you are? Does he know what’s happened to you this past year?
You were assured that most of the details of your ‘leave’ were kept confidential. All that was publicized was a tragic bombing. The bomber sacrificed himself for the cause. Only a few people were able to escape, but all with severe injuries. The FBI didn’t want to admit their involvement. Their failure to save those people. Your failure to save those people.
You get to Strauss’s office, struggling to pay attention as she walks you through the basics, hands you your new badge, and a new gun. You holster the weapon, pulling your go-bag onto your shoulder, fiddling with the straps nervously.
Strauss finishes her introductory speech and takes a moment to look you over, “Agent, are you sure you’re ready to get back to work?” It doesn’t take a profiler to notice your nerves. Ever since the start of your leave, nerves and anxiety aren’t an uncommon occurrence, but this is more than usual. Your body is practically vibrating.
Despite the sick feeling in your stomach, you manage a nod, “I’m sorry.” You apologize for appearing distracted, “Yes ma’am. I’m ready.”
You can tell she’s unconvinced. Strauss leads you through the relatively crowded bullpen. You spot an empty desk across from a woman with long black hair, who is too busy laughing with the blonde sitting on top of her desk to notice that the tall skinny one across from them has just spilled coffee all over himself and his paperwork. You assume that the empty one is to be your desk. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you glance up at the two offices on the catwalk. One of them has the blinds tightly drawn and through the other, you can just barely see an older gentleman working on his laptop. David Rossi. You know him. You read just about every single one of his books on Sunday in preparation for this new job.
Your profiling skills are mediocre at best. Strauss argues that out of all possible candidates you had the most office experience and field experience. You’re really not sure how that helps. How could a traumatized and failed crisis negotiator who hasn’t been in the field in nearly a year provide anything helpful for the BAU?
Old habits resurfaced and you buried yourself in published literature and textbooks and research. You weren’t about to walk into a new job feeling unprepared, especially not one in which Aaron Hotchner would be your new boss. Now, at this moment, trailing behind Straus, as your body seems detached from your mind, dreading the moment that she opens that door to Aaron’s office, no amount of studying or preparation seems sufficient.
Rossi steps out of his office just as you and Strauss reach the top of the stairs. You lock eyes with him and despite not even knowing who you are, he gives you a reassuring nod. Damn profilers. Your body language is probably a dead giveaway. Strauss knocks on the door.
“Come in.” That voice. You could never forget it. Strauss reaches for the handle and you’re tempted to run away. Turn around and walk away. At least then you could leave with your sanity semi-intact. However, your curiosity has been piqued at this point. You have to know. You have to see him. You step through the doorway into the office and finally get a good look at the man.
He's hunched over, body turned slightly away from the desk. He has a phone pressed to his ear and he’s speaking in a gentle, hushed tone, "Yeah I know buddy." He glances over at you and Strauss. As if out of a movie, he does a double-take. It’s almost as if it takes a second for his eyes to really process what he’s really seeing. And what he’s really seeing is you. The look on his face tells you that he barely recognizes you, now eight years older, in professional clothes, and a face that’s just a little more weathered from all that you’ve been through.
Your memories of him are not faint as your eyes stay locked with his. They’re not just faded remnants of your moments together. Staring at him, eyes drinking in every inch of him, it all comes back more vivid than ever. You can practically feel his fluffy hair tangled in your fingers. From your position, you can just faintly smell his cologne. That’s a scent that hasn’t changed. The sensory memories are overwhelming. The passion, the secrecy, the pleasure. But that quickly changes, making the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach grow at an all-consuming rate. That night. That night he grabbed you by the front of your shirt, the way he snapped at you, the completely ice-cold manner in which you spoke those last few words to him, I’m done.
That Aaron Hotchner is not the man sitting in front of you. You barely recognize him. His hair is shorter, more strictly gelled in place. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up. He has a suit jacket on. His tie is done up perfectly. You can’t help but take note of the bags under his eyes, the increase of lines on his face. Obviously, he’s aged, but the way his face has changed, it’s not just age. You can see his eyes are dull, glossed over. For as neatly put together he is from the neck down, his face looks tired.
Hotch seems to forget he was just on the phone, entirely taken aback by the fact that you’re actually there, standing in front of him. "I’m sorry I can’t be with you right now but get a lot of rest and I’ll be home before you know it. I have to go. I love you too." He hangs up and you try to hide the shock on your face as those words come out of his mouth. Words you dreamt of him saying. Words that haunted you for months nearly a decade ago.
"Agent Hotchner, this is the crisis negotiation transfer I was discussing with you," Strauss nods at you, and Hotch stands up, smoothing out his tie, placing his hands flat on the desk. "This is Agent—"
"Y/N." His voice is firm. Hearing his name fall from your lips is enough to send you running in the opposite direction. Fear and anxiety overcome you, your legs going weak as he sticks out a hand to shake yours, but you can’t seem to get yourself to move forward to touch his hand, "I’m sorry, Agent Y/L/N." He corrects his mistake.
His hand hovers in the air for a moment, waiting for you to reach forward to shake it. Your shoes drag across the carpet, as you reach forward to shake his hand. His warm, rough hand envelops yours. At one point in your life, just the touch of his skin against yours would send sparks up and down your arm. Just that handshake would’ve been enough to ignite your skin and make you feel alive.
You feel nothing. Just a simple handshake. Your heart is attempting to jump out of your throat, beating rapidly and pounding against your ribcage so hard you think your chest visibly moves. However, his touch no longer thrills you. Maybe you are finally over Aaron Hotchner.
"You two know each other?” Strauss gestures between the two of you.
"No," You reply without missing a beat. You shake your head, finally able to get words out. You have to force your eyes off of Hotch and look at Strauss, "Well, yes. Agent Hotchner lectured at my law school a few times. When he was a federal prosecutor.”
Strauss gives a small nod of acknowledgment, “Agent Hotchner can show you the ropes from here. I expect updates from the field,” Her eyes shoot over to you. Updates about you, she means. In case you manage to fuck up again.
You watch as Strauss leaves the office not turning your eyes to Hotch at the desk in front of you. You look out the window, gesturing to the agents in the bullpen you passed, “I’m assuming the extra desk in the bullpen is mine?”
Hotch tilts his head down, letting out a small breath, “Yes. Agent Y/L/N—”
“And everyone in the bullpen, is that the whole team? I know Agent Rossi’s office is next to yours and I only saw three agents in the bullpen but I assume there are more?”
“Yes. We have a technical analyst and another member of the team. You’ll be introduced to them shortly, however–” that’s not what he really wants to talk to you about. Its clear that there’s so much he wants to say, but you don’t give him a chance to speak. You keep your mind focused on the important questions on there about the job. You know that a conversation with him about anything else just might break you.
“And in terms of training, you can see I passed my gun qualifications again. Are there any other evaluations or training protocols? Or will my time from the academy be sufficient preparation for this position?” You rattle off your questions. His face is a mixture of shock and frustration. He has his arms crossed against his chest. He tucks his bottom lip in, biting at it lightly.
“Y/N,” He places his hands firmly down on the desk. This time he doesn’t answer your questions. He’s tired of your avoidance, “What are you doing here?”
You take a pause at the sound of your first name, swallowing slowly, “I’m here on reassignment from crisis negotiation. I’m supposed to be working as a profiler on your team in the BAU.”
“You know what I mean,” Hotch presses the issue a little further.
“With all due respect, I’m not sure what you are searching for from me but if the implication is that I am here for anything other than the job then you are sorely mistaken,” You huff out and cross your arms against your chest, mirroring his closed-off body language. “Sir.”
“That’s not what I was implying,” Hotch places a hand on his forehead, rubbing roughly, trying to ease his frustration. You’re not quite sure where he gets off being so short and snippy with you. “I’m just… The last time I saw you, you were on track to be a lawyer and now you’re standing in front of me, in my office, joining my team. It just all seems very—”
“Sir?” You turn and see a different blonde standing in the doorway. She has a bright pink floral dress on, two large flowers in her hair, a file in her hands, and a pink fuzzy pen tucked behind her ear. “Sorry to interrupt,” She steps forward, stumbling a little in her high heels, sticking her hand out to shake yours, “Penelope Garcia, technical analyst, computer geek, and all-around wizard of the keyboard.”
You smile at her and stick your hand out to introduce yourself, “It’s great to meet you.”
“Sir, you remember that the Indiana PD contacted us about a possible serial?” She lets out a shaky breath, squinting her eyes and looking away as she opens the file, holding it out to Hotch, “Another body.”
Hotch has to reach past you to take the file and you audibly suck in your breath as his arm glides past your torso. “Same signature?” He looks over the photos.
Garcia lets out a small shudder, “Yeah the victim’s hands… the unsub he… don’t make me say it, sir.” She squeaks out.
“Gather the team,” He gives a nod before finally looking back at you, “You think you’re ready to get back to work?”
“Yes Sir,” You sigh, pull your go-bag further up your shoulder. You start to follow him out the door but he stops short in front of you.
“We’ll talk later,” He stumbles over his words a little. You’re making him nervous. You see his hand at his side. His fingers rubbing against one another. There’s one thing that hasn’t changed in years. He still has the same nervous behaviors.
“I don’t think there’s much to talk about,” You mumble under your breath as you follow him to the conference room. You speak quietly but from the way he tilts his head, stretches his neck, and takes a deep breath, you know your comment was loud enough for him to hear.
You take a seat at the roundtable, watching as the three agents from earlier are now joined by a tall, muscular black man who ruffles the top of the skinny kid’s head, messing up his hair, “I’m just teasing kid, I like the haircut. Makes you look young.”
“Yeah like I need anything to make me look younger. Everyone already thinks I’m a teenager,” The skinny one tries to smooth his hair back into place, but it doesn’t really help, leaving small strands sticking up in the air.
“Everyone this is Agent Y/L/N, she’s joining us from Crisis Negotiation,” Hotch pulls out his chair, right next to yours. You feel your whole body tense up, as the close proximity really allows you to smell his familiar cologne. Eight years and he still hasn’t bought a new one. Great.
“Joining us?” The muscular one stands just a bit behind you, making himself a cup of coffee but turns and walks to take a seat, giving you a slow once over. It’s not a flirtatious one, but a wary scan of your body. You’re becoming acutely aware of how exposed you feel in a room full of professional profilers.
“Strauss thinks we need the extra help, especially with the recent increase in requests for BAU help, and I don’t disagree with her,” Hotch looks around the table at his coworkers before looking to you, “Agents Prentiss, Morgan, Jareau, Rossi, and Dr. Reid.” Hotch points out each member, who all give you small nods and waves of acknowledgment as he introduces them.
“Crisis negotiation, huh?” Morgan continues to push the subject. You can tell he’s not really happy about a new addition to the team. You’re guessing it’s coming from a place of protectiveness of his team. You understand his hesitance. The team probably works well together, a new person is a whole new dynamic. If you could pick any other position you would, you have no specific interest in the BAU, but it’s a second chance and you’re not going to screw it up, no matter how much you wish that anyone else in the world besides Hotch was unit chief.
“I think the job took a small amount of profiling,” You shrug and give Agent Morgan a smile, hoping to get in his good graces soon, “Obviously not as much as this but it did take a level of interpretation of the behavior of criminals who take hostages in addition to a complex understanding of intergroup dynamics and how that might impact a situation.”
“There’ll be time to play nice and get to know each other later,” Hotch cuts the introductions short. “Garcia, the case?”
“Right,” She clicks on the monitor at the front while Hotch slides a tablet over to you. You take it from him, your fingertips just brushing against his. Everything about the interaction feels like eight years ago. He manages to keep his best poker face, all the while you feel the small sparks shoot across your skin. Those damn sparks. Except you’re very quickly realizing that the Hotch in front of you is nothing like eight years ago.
There’s something deeply broken about his eyes. You could never forget those eyes. When you first met him you thought they were deep brown. Then you spent enough time watching him, studying every detail of his face and learned that they were a beautiful light brown. Small golden flecks in his eyes become more pronounced in the sun. His eyes are different now. First of all, the deep undereye bags that frame them make him look years older than his actual age. His brow seems permanently set in that furrowed position. It’s a familiar expression of his. You had the joy of seeing that brow lift when the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Smiling seems to be the last thing this current Aaron Hotchner wants to do.
You realize you’re staring a little bit too long and tune back into Garcia’s case briefing, “All three victims were undergraduate students. Indiana’s campus hosts both undergrad and grad students from the law school and med school.”
“Which means a huge suspect pool.” Hotch points out.
“How are we sure that the unsub is from inside the community?” You look around the table. You can see the way that Morgan’s brows raise at the question. How else are you going to learn without asking questions?
Rossi, however, swoops in to save you from embarrassment, “The first victim had mace in her backpack, however, she never used it. The second victim had no defensive wounds on her body. The third victim—”
“Was killed in an office meeting room. To gain access to that building you need a school ID,” You nod, filling in the gaps. “I forget that technology and security have dramatically improved since I was in school.”
“Come on, kid, at least you had cell phones in college,” Rossi gives a small smile, nudging your arm.
“And how do we know these are all connected?” Morgan gestures to his tablet in front of him.
You scoff slightly and look up at Morgan, “I’m sorry, I know it’s important to find common victimology, MO, or signature before connecting the crimes but how many violent crimes occur on college campuses in this short of a time? They have to be connected.”
“Statistically, some of the most dangerous and violent college campuses report that nearly 10 students for every 1000 will be a victim of violent crime. However, that statistic seems to include any form of violent crime meaning murder, negligent manslaughter, aggravated assault, robbery, but most prevalent on most college campuses is rape as a form of violent crime. In terms of how frequent—” The tall skinny one, Reid, rattles off a series of facts at you and you can’t help but smile. He’s cute. He looks about your age, “That was more of a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”
You fight a smile at Reid’s confused face and nod. “All the victims had the same cuts on their hands,” Prentiss points up at the monitor.
“Weird,” You mumble under your breath.
“What?” JJ turns to you.
“Oh. Nothing it’s just… hands are a weird thing to mutilate. Damage to the face shows high levels of rage and a deep hatred for the victim, removal of eyes or ears or damage to the mouth could symbolize the removal of a sense in order to punish the victims for some misuse of those senses. But hands… hands are different.” You tip your pen back to your mouth, placing the end on your bottom lip, pulling it down slightly as you think. You can feel Hotch’s focus on you. If you turn, you’re sure you’ll just catch him as he looks away.
He’s profiling you. You don’t need to look at him to know that. He was always good at reading you, not that you did much to hide your feelings back then. You felt everything so openly. You were so full of passion, so determined to be the best at everything you set your mind to. Hotch made you realize that feeling everything so deeply, so freely, opens you up to a world of hurt. You put on your best poker face, keeping your body language neutral while you still feel his eyes on you.
“Hands are not inherently symbolic of one thing.” Reid agrees with you.
“So we have to try and decipher why this mutilation is a compulsion for the unsub,” Hotch nods, “Wheels up in 30.” Everyone tucks all their belongings away. Hotch is quick to stand up from his seat at the table, storm down the catwalk back to his office, closing the door loudly. You try to ignore the weird looks from the team as you introduce yourself to all of them.
You watch as Morgan is one of the first to leave the conference room, walking after him, “Hey, Agent Morgan!” You run to catch him at the top of the stairs, “Look I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come off so rude in there.” You shake your head.
“No problem,” He states simply, intending to walk down the stairs.
“I get it, I’m new, I’m throwing off the team dynamic and you don’t seem like the type to trust me immediately.” You stick out a hand to shake his, “But I’m committed to this team and I want to earn your respect in time.”
He nods, giving you one of those judgmental once overs again, “From what I can tell, Hotch doesn’t seem too pleased about you being here. Now just because he’s my boss, doesn’t mean I have to always agree with him, but if he’s wary, then I’m wary.” He avoids shaking your hand. Your suspicions about Morgan seem to be proven before your eyes. He doesn’t trust easily. He’s been burned by someone he trusted in the past. You can relate to that. You’re not a very open or trustworthy person anymore either.
“Agent Hotchner and I knew each other a really long time ago. A lifetime ago. Way before his time at the BAU. I’m sure he’s just not thrilled about his past colliding with his present,” You nod taking a few steps back to let Morgan continue down the stairs, “I just hope… I hope you can learn to trust me, and I, you.” You smile softly. Morgan seems stuck in his place. You can’t tell whether or not he’s surprised by your manners, or if you’ve just driven further the wedge between you two.
“See you on the jet,” He speaks up as he walks down the stairs, scooping his go-bag from under his desk and disappearing around a corner down the hallway.
When you turn to walk back to the conference room, you catch Agent Hotchner’s eyeline through the blinds of his office. He’s watching you, studying you, trying to read you. However, he definitely does not get access to you anymore.
You’re determined to keep your animosity towards Hotch private. No reason for the team to detect that anything is wrong. But throughout the case, there are moments it slips. First, it was on the jet...
You step onto the jet, looking around, taking the entire environment in. You were never blessed with a private jet in your time in crisis negotiation, just stuck with driving from place to place. Morgan reaches across you, taking your bag and stowing it away in the back for you. It’s a simple gesture, but from the look in his eye as he does it, you can tell Morgan is already reevaluating his judgment of you.
You’re one of the last on the jet and you see everyone settled around the table and surrounding seats. The only available seat is the one next to Hotch by the window. You’d have to ask him to get up… or squeeze past him. You try to cover it up but nearly everyone notices the way that you eye the seat before deciding against it. You end up leaning against the arm of the sofa that JJ is sitting on. Once again, Hotch’s gaze lingers on you as you do. He’s taking note of the way you’re actively avoiding him, and he’s right. You’re actively avoiding any alone time with him. Minimize the alone time, minimize the pain.
You run through the facts of the case again, Reid rambling on about the significance of hands throughout different cultures, the importance of sensory neurons on the skin of your hands, and how hand size is an indicator for a lot of things. You share a small smirk with Morgan, who is clearly warming up to you because you both know the one thing that hand size is rumored to correlate with.
Morgan shoots you a small smirk before saying what you were both thinking, “That’s interesting and all kid, but any knowledge in that big brain of yours about whether hand size is related to—”
Hotch cuts off Morgan, “Focus, please.” He gestures with his hand to stop the conversation and you have to hide your smile. It’s nice to smile. You weren’t expecting to feel anything but pain today. Hotch puts a fast end to that feeling of happiness.
“When we land, JJ and Rossi head to the local police and talk to the families of the victims. Prentiss and Morgan, you’ll head to the ME, get a better evaluation of the state of the body,” Hotch pauses for a second. He takes in a slow breath as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say. Once he says what’s coming next, it’s all official. You start your first case. He’s your boss, you’re his subordinate. You’re in each other's lives again whether you like it or not. “Y/L/N, Reid, and I will go to the most recent crime scene,” Hotch nods and you feel the blood drain from your face, that sick and twisty knot growing in the pit of your stomach. You knew you’d have to work with him, that’s part of the job, but he’s already keeping you close to him. Maybe he doesn’t trust you.
From the way he spoke to you in his office, it’s clear he thinks you’re here as some sort of revenge. Some convoluted vindictive scheme to ruin his life.
“You look terrified,” Prentiss tries to tease you.
You look around at the team and shake your head, “College campuses,” You scrunch up your face in disgust and shake your head, “Undergrad sucked because I was younger than everyone, so I missed out on all the fun.”
“Damn, we got another kid genius on our hands, don’t we?” Morgan reaches out a hand to high-five you. “Like our own female Einstein.” Your eyes immediately flick to Hotch. That nickname. No one’s called you any form of that nickname since him. “Watch out Reid, you’ve got competition.”
“I was 14 when I was in college,” Reid states in an attempt to one-up you, but it’s clear that he’s just joking. He knows he’s smart but he doesn’t seem like the cocky type, at least what you can tell so far.
“Don’t worry, brainiac,” You laugh at him, “You are the only genius on this team.”
“And grad school?” JJ pipes up, catching onto the way you dropped the sentence.
“I dropped out of law school after my first year,” You clear your throat uncomfortably, “Wasn’t for me I guess.” The air seems suffocating. Your face is burning hot. You feign extreme interest in the crime scene photos on your tablet, knowing that if you look up, your face will give you away to Hotch. The last thing you want is for him to know how much he affected you.
He said it himself: So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me. He wasn’t entirely wrong. Everything that has happened for the past eight years happened because of his impact on your life.
You remind yourself yet again to try and keep the conversations focused on the case. The team wants to get to know you, but every personal conversation seems to lead back to Hotch.
The second slip-up comes when you arrive at the crime scene...
“She told her roommate she was coming here to study, that she had booked the meeting room just for herself.” Reid lifts up the crime scene tape, holding it up for you to slip under. You give a small smile at the gesture.
“But she told her friends she was meeting with her professor here for extra help.” Hotch shakes his head, pulling on a pair of gloves. You glance over at Reid as he does the same.
He looks at you for a second before he raises his brows in realization, letting out a small ‘oh.’ He digs into his pocket and hands you a pair of gloves. “I usually grab them from the crime scene team,” He nods.
You take them from him, “Thank you.” You like Reid. He’s kind and smart and polite. He’s your age, but you can see that he’s worlds ahead of you in terms of knowledge. You wonder just how much is going on inside that brain of his. When you look at him you can see the gears constantly turning, he’s always working over something in his brain, forming theories, or running through facts.
“She was stabbed in the back and the back of the head, correct?” You glance over at Hotch for confirmation.
“Yes.” He plays with the fingertips of his gloves, paying more attention to you rather than the scene. Without the body, there’s not much to go on, it’s your average office space. You see a log on the wall with the names of who has scheduled the room. They haven’t wiped away the victim’s work from the whiteboard. It looks like some form of math.
“Linear algebra,” Reid speaks up as he sorts through some of the papers left on the table in the center of the room.
You nod and smile, “Math never was my strong suit in school. I was definitely more entranced by a book rather than formulas and numbers.”
Reid’s face lights up with joy, “If you ever want any book recommendations, please do ask. I just finished an absolutely amazing biography about Albert Einstein. It’s not that long of a read. It’s only about 1200 pages. You know I’m sure that I have a copy…” He catches sight of Hotch’s stern expression, stopping himself mid-sentence.
You both go silent as you skim through the pages of work scattered on the floor. You then analyze the writing on the whiteboard, leaning in close. Hotch speaks up again tilting his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in confusion at your behavior, “What are you thinking?”
“It wasn’t random. This was planned out. The unsub specifically sought out her.”
“How do you figure that?” Hotch questions you, but not in the hostile accusatory way you’re expecting.
You hesitate, losing your train of thought the longer you look at Hotch, so you look back to the whiteboard, “When you’re waiting to meet someone, you expect someone to come in, right? So if she had her back turned, writing up equations on this whiteboard, she wouldn’t think twice of the door opening. If you’re not expecting someone and you hear the door open.” You point at the whiteboard.
“You would turn around to see who it is,” Hotch finishes your sentence.
“That’s why all her wounds were to the back,” You fall into a rhythm with Hotch. He’s following your train of thought.
“So the unsub had to know she would be here ahead of time,” Hotch sighs and digs in his pocket for his phone, “Garcia, I need your help.” He clicks his phone onto the speaker and places it down on the table.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Her chipper voice comes through the phone. You can picture her office probably matches her appearance. Probably bright, full of color. For a technical analyst, she probably still has a hefty collection of colorful and funky pens. You remember the octopus mug she was holding when she walked into Hotch’s office this morning.
“This building has a key card access system. Can you access the log of everyone who swiped into this building on the day and around the time of the third murder?”
“Sir, it’s not a matter of can or can’t. You know I can,” Her voice is laced with a smile.
“Check that list for the professor that she claimed she was meeting with,” Hotch adds.
“He…” She trails and you hear the ambient sounds of her rapid typing and clicking. There’s a pause. Her voice grows small, “He accessed the building around the time of her death.”
“He’s our prime suspect. We need to bring him in,” Hotch concludes, “Garcia, you’re the best.”
“Aw I know,” She giggles softly, “PG out!”
“Imagine that,” You chuckle bitterly, “She comes in here to meet her professor, someone she trusts, and she gets stabbed in the back.” You shake your head, the words slipping out before you even realize the weight of what you’ve implied.
Reid doesn’t catch on to the look that you and Hotch exchange. Hotch looks as if he’s seen a ghost. He’s not shocked by what you’ve said, but by the fact that you even said anything. It’s the first sign of hostility towards him. The first crumb or clue into how you feel about him after all these years. The answer is betrayed. You still feel betrayed.
“We should deliver the profile.” Hotch leaves the crime scene at a brisk pace, leaving Reid clueless, and you and that damned twisting knot of anxiety in your stomach.
The rest of your interactions with Hotch are limited for most of the case, restricted to only group discussions that are entirely professional. No more slip-ups, no more sideways glances. What all your interactions were rife in, was that intrusive look of his eyes. Every few minutes you can feel his eyes on you, scanning your posture, your facial expressions, searching for any idea of what you might be thinking or feeling.
You try your best to avoid it, opting to go check out every lead, just for the opportunity to get some space from him. You feel smothered and suffocated. You’re so on edge, you’ve torn your nail beds to shreds. He is seemingly unfazed by your presence. That is if you don’t consider how often you catch him rubbing his fingers at his side or up by his face or biting his bottom lip. Every time you catch him, however, he stops.
You’re having a difficult time reading how he feels about you being here. You just want to know how he feels about you after all these years. Does he still harbor feelings for you? Does he still care about you? The sleep deprivation from working so hard and the excess caffeine you’ve consumed don’t help to slow down your thoughts which seem to be moving at a million miles a minute. At least while you’re working you can put all your energy into solving the case, helping the team, and parsing through evidence.
It gets worse at night when you’re alone in the hotel room. You try to bring the case file back into the room, working on it in bed until you can barely keep your eyes open, but you find that you don’t get any work done, your brain a continuous stream of questions.
You’ve been able to profile every member of the team pretty efficiently. You have a good understanding of how Reid’s brain works. The comfort that he has with numbers and facts. He uses his intelligence to cover up for his social insecurities. Morgan puts on a tough exterior, but really he’s hesitant to let people in and trust them. Prentiss, similar to Morgan, seems to keep everyone at arm's length, preferring to be the confidant rather than the one doing the confiding in someone else. JJ struggles to separate her emotions from the work, a quality that is not in and of itself a flaw, but you can tell it weighs on her heavily. Rossi has the most experience and constantly feels inclined to be a figure, a leader while trying to balance cooperation rather than individualism. He’s used to being a lone wolf, doing the job on his own.
This new Aaron Hotchner is a mystery. He’s closed off. He is entirely business. Even when Garcia cracks a joke or embarrasses herself. You all laugh and smirk at her, but his face never changes. When you all get off track, he sternly reminds you of the importance of the case at hand. That’s his job, but there’s something more to it that you can’t quite figure out. There’s a sense of urgency, as there usually is with these cases, but almost this feeling that he’s constantly running out of time.
Even his office provided you with very little to profile. You remember a few photos from Hotch’s office. One of him and a small boy. A son, possibly? There was another of him and a blonde woman hugging the little boy. Your first guess is wife, but you don’t remember him wearing a ring.
You can’t profile him. He’s closed himself off to that. Yet you find yourself coming back to the same question over and over again, does he still care about you? You get a glimpse at the answer as you and the team track down the location of your unsub, three days into the case.
You lean forward from the backseat of the SUV, looking between Morgan and Hotch in the front, “What does the profile say about this kind of unsub’s behavior once faced with police and authority like us?”
The two men exchange knowing looks. You have your suspicions but you really just want them to vocalize what you’re thinking, “He won’t let us take him in without a fight.”
“Suicide by cop,” You mutter frustratedly, “Great.”
“It’s likely, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try to talk him out of it.” Hotch clarifies, gesturing with an outstretched palm that he takes off the wheel temporarily. He pulls up to the small house, sirens off. “A big show will just scare him into making sudden moves to get us to shoot to kill. Morgan, you head around the back. Y/L/N and I will take the front.”
You nod, knowing the rest of the team isn’t far behind you all, but they’ve all been instructed to try and appear as discreetly as possible. You get out of the SUV, watching as Morgan runs around back. Both you and Hotch approach the door. Hotch kicks the door down. The unsub sits casually in an armchair, holding a gun that he twirls in his fingers. He knew you were coming.
Then Hotch does something that complicates your questions about him. It’s subtle but you notice it immediately. He instinctively moves a little in front of you. He doesn’t block your line of fire, but he blocks the unsubs. He’s shielding you with his body.
Your profile is right, the unsub doesn’t want to be taken in peacefully, resulting in Morgan putting two bullets in him from behind when he raises his gun to you and Hotch. AT first, you think Hotch put his body in front of yours by accident.
It wasn’t an accident. He gave a small look over his shoulder at your location before taking a few steps right, to block you. Then you assume it was purely because of his status as team leader. He doesn’t want the members of his team to get hurt. That also doesn’t seem to make sense to you. No matter how much he wants the team to be protected he wouldn’t do that. He would trust Morgan to get the shot if you two couldn’t.
So why would he shield you?
Almost everyone but you, Rossi, and Hotch are sleeping on the jet home. You have a book out in front of you, but you’re barely reading, just attempting to look deeply enchanted by the novel to avoid any awkward eye contact or conversation with Hotch. The only sounds in the plane are the whirring of the engines, the wind outside, and Hotch’s typing on his computer as he finishes up the report for the case.
Rossi sits down across from you on the jet, placing down a small glass of some amber liquid, which you assume is whiskey, in front of you.
“Trying to get me drunk, Agent Rossi?” You tease him, tearing your eyes away from the book you weren’t reading.
He laughs heartily, taking a sip from his own glass, “I thought I’d welcome you with something from my own personal stash.”
“Where do you keep it hidden in here? You know… just in case I’m curious,” You smirk and reach for the glass. It’s nice of Rossi to sit with you and talk to you.
Rossi just smiles, shaking his head a little, “You did well out there, kid,” He puts the glass down, to roll his ring around his finger. You’ve noticed he does it a lot when he’s thinking. “You can read all the books in the world, but profiling in the field, thinking on your feet, analyzing a crime scene, it’s all much different than the words on a page.”
“I’m realizing that,” You trail your finger around the rim of the glass, “My previous position incorporated a lot of what you guys do here.”
“I’m sure that makes this job a lot harder. You probably want to put the past behind you.” Your head snaps up to look at him. No one told the team where you came from. Even Hotch doesn’t know. “I remember hearing about the incident.”
“The FBI tried to bury their involvement,” You sigh and finish off the glass, noting how smooth the alcohol goes down. You’ve learned how to handle alcohol really well this past year. “They keep all the details top secret. However, that didn’t stop them from throwing me under the bus.”
“What happened in New York was not your fault.” Rossi’s voice drops in volume as he leans closer, keeping your conversation more private, “The brass has a habit of blaming agents instead of criminals. You couldn’t have stopped it. You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”
You exhale loudly, air rushing over your teeth as you give a little shake of your head in disagreement, “Agent Rossi, I’m sure you’re experienced enough to know this, but as reassuring and comforting it is to hear you say those words it doesn’t necessarily—”
“It doesn’t change how you feel. I know. I understand,” He pauses, “Don’t let it consume you. All of us have been where you are right now. Some of us are currently where you are right now, constantly consumed by guilt over something that wasn’t even our fault.” You get the sense that he isn’t talking about himself. You don't need to reply. The both of you sit in silence for a while.
You start up a conversation again, this time about Virginia and DC, where you’re living, when you moved, what you studied in school, where you grew up. Rossi loves to tease you and every few sentences he’ll simply reply, ‘I already knew that’ acting as if he could profile every fact about you.
You like him a lot. You like everyone a lot. Just as the jet lands and you’re all packing up your desks back at Quantico, Rossi offers to drive you home.
“Let me just check in with Agent Hotchner before I leave,” You glance up at the office. You know you have to check in with him, it’s your first case finished, you’re new, he’s your new boss, but so far, you’ve managed to avoid being alone with him and you’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.
You knock lightly on the open door, to which Hotch responds, “Come in.”
“I just wanted to check-in, you know, with it being my first case and everything,” You nod, taking just a few steps into the office, leaving as much distance between you and Hotch. He stands at his desk, focusing intently on your face. You know he’s trying to read your intentions. He’s searching for the hidden meaning behind your words. And for once, in the past few days, you don’t have any meaning behind your words. You have had enough small slip-ups and double meanings. This time, you truly just mean to check-in.
“You did really good work out there, Agent. You’re a fast learner, you pay attention to details, you work well with the team,” He rattles off a series of compliments, “Strauss is going to request a formal evaluation with me and I’ll be sure to report how quickly you’ve adapted.”
“Thank you, sir,” You try your best to function with the utmost composure.
“Hotch,” He corrects you.
You ignore the correction, “Is that all, sir?”
“If you need anything… I mean I’ve read through your psych evaluations and I know the details are classified but–“ Hotch is struggling with his words. You know what he’s trying to say. He wants to tell you he’s here for you. Funny. Really, it is. Funny that he doesn’t realize the one thing that might send you spiraling is being around him. “I just mean if it all gets to be too much, it’s okay to take a step back. I… I understand.”
“You do?” Your words come out more bitter than intended. You promised yourself you wouldn’t do this. You had gone this whole case without snapping. It’s childish and immature. You can be professional. But right now, you can only see one thing: boiling hot rage at Hotch. How could he possibly understand how you feel? You pause to take a breath, “Thank you, but I’m okay. Goodnight, sir.” You walk to the door, wanting to get away from him as fast as possible.
“Y/N—” Hotch calls out, his voice softer, less firm, less professional.
“Please,” You beg, finally breaking. Your voice is raw with emotion. You’ve been holding all the pain in for the past three days and your plea comes out sounding more broken than you intend to. You don’t turn around but place a hand on the doorframe. “Please… don’t make this harder than it already is.” You wait for a moment, hoping, praying, that he doesn’t try to talk to you anymore. A moment of silence serves as confirmation that he isn’t going to keep pushing you to talk.
You get down the stairs, meeting Rossi at the elevators. “Thank you… for driving me home.” You try and hide your face from him, hoping he doesn't see the sheen in your eyes as you fight away the tears that have been fighting their way out for the past three days.
“Anytime,” He nods, holding an arm over the elevator doors for you as they open. You think he can sense something is wrong. He’s probably been able to sense something is wrong between you and Hotch since the minute you made eye contact with him your first morning. If he does, however, he also knows not to ask or press the issue.
You flick the lights on in your apartment. You look over the boxes, still left unpacked. Not much of a home yet. You have no place of safety, of comfort yet. You feel like a guest in your own place. However, the thought of unpacking all the boxes right now is way too intimidating.
Deep steady breath in. Shaky breath out. You bite at your lip harshly. You haven’t cried over Aaron Hotchner in years. You drop your bag by the door, kicking your shoes off. You turn to close the door and everything starts to bubble up inside you. The anger, frustration, sadness, heartbreak. It’s all too much. You’ve been through so much these past eight years. This shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. But fuck. It hurts.
You let out a frustrated yell. It’s a scream that feels good to let out but ends up scratching your throat. You slam your fist against the door, ignoring the way it sears your knuckles. You pace your apartment, trying to steady your breathing.
You’ve been suffocating the past three days. Three long days of close quarters with Aaron Hotchner. Even after all these years, he manages to suck all the oxygen out of the room, leaving you breathless. In another life, you remember thinking how much you loved suffocating around him, but now, it tears you up inside. Your chest burns and aches, your head is fuzzy, and his presence is dizzying. It’s not exhilarating. It’s not exciting. It’s not all-consuming in the way you remember. You’re just trying to keep your head above water, but the current is strong and the rapids are relentless. You’re sinking under the surface quickly and you don’t know how to pull yourself up out of it.
You walk over to the stack of boxes, pushing them aside until you find the exact one you’re looking for. You rip open the top, tearing the tape off. The box is full of books, one of many that you brought with you. It’s organized perfectly so that when you unpack it you can set up your personal library just the way you had it back home in New York. So it doesn’t take you long to find that book. That damned book. The cover is faded. The dark brown leather is weathered and much lighter. The spine has lost all structure and the pages have changed color.
You sit down exactly where you stand, cross-legged on the floor, you open to that first page. You look at the all-too-familiar note. You were tempted, over the years, to burn the book, tear that first page out, cross out every one of his notes. But you never could do it. Deep down, no matter how bad he had hurt you, the book seemed to remain separate from that.
Maybe it’s because it’s a constant reminder that you weren’t some naive, foolish, young child. You hadn’t deluded yourself into thinking Hotch cared for you. He did. There was some sense of care and attention to detail. The book is evidence of that. However, it forces you to hold on to an image of Hotch that clearly is not the prevailing personality. Looking at the book reminds you of the bashful, almost embarrassed, man who handed it to you in his office so long ago. The careful way he traced your jawline, the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, pushing it out of the way to really get a good look at your face. That image of him sometimes wins out when you think of Aaron Hotchner. You want to remember him that way, but that only seems to prolong your pain. It makes you want him back.
You lay down on the floor pressing the book close to your heart. You could simply pick up the phone. You could just call him, tell him you want to start all over. But you can’t start all over. Being with Aaron Hotchner was a lifetime ago. That doesn’t change how vividly you can remember being with him. For the first few years, you hated him with every fiber of your being. You thought about what would happen if you ever saw him again. You would scream at him. Tell him off, curse him out. But as the years passed, you stopped hating him. There’s a fine line between love and hate. And as you know, Aaron Hotchner has always been good at keeping lines blurry.
Everything in you is screaming at you to pick up the phone. You’ve dreamed of hearing his voice tell you, “Let’s try again... please.” But you fight the urge. You close your eyes, the cold floor of your apartment sending a chill through you, enough to keep your wits about you.
——
Hotch runs a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes forcing himself to stay awake, forcing his attention back to the case report. His attempts to work fail, his mind always traveling back to you. He knew you would be a different person. It’s been eight years. He’s a different person. What he didn’t expect was how much of you is still the same.
That bright look in your eyes while discussing the case was one he had seen so many times while you poured over a novel in his office. You still talk with your hands, punctuating every sentence with a little shake or gesture of your fingers. You crack your knuckles when you’re thinking.
The differences are clear to him too. You don’t hold your tongue. You’re blunt. Brutally honest, almost to a fault. You seem to have pushed aside any attempt at politeness, or social niceties. You no longer feel so openly. He finds it much harder to read your face and body language. Your thoughts are not as clear to him as they used to be. He used to know exactly what you were thinking. He can tell you’ve practiced your poker face. He tried his best the past three days to get a read on how you feel about him. He doesn’t want to dwell on the past. All of that was before Haley. And indulging in thoughts of before is just simply too painful for him.
He walks to the window, looking out at the city. He wonders where you are tonight. Are you thinking about him? Are you hurting? Or has it been so long that he’s unimportant to you? Is someone holding you close to them, pressing soft kisses to your lips, whispering comforting words?
He could just pick up the phone and call you. He could profusely apologize. Not that his apology would mean anything, but it’s a speech he’s been rehearsing for years. He loved Haley with his whole heart. She was his whole world, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t regret how he treated you. Haley showed him a world of love, yet he managed to ruin that as well. He prioritized the job over her. Look where that got him.
Hotch knows you will never forgive him. He has never forgiven himself, but he can’t help but think about what would happen if he showed up on your doorstep. Would you immediately turn him away? Or would you let him in? Would you hear him out?
He shakes his head, tearing his eyes away from the lights of DC. He walks to the kitchen, pouring a fresh mug of coffee. He can’t call you. Too much has happened. He thinks about the sleeping little boy upstairs. Every night he’s tormented by memories. He can still remember what it felt like to hold Haley’s lifeless body in his arms. When he does get sleep, visions of Haley’s dead eyes, his bloodied clothes, Foyet’s knife, invade his dreams. He frequently wakes up coated in sweat, the scars on his chest and stomach stinging with the same intensity as the day Foyet inflicted the stab wounds.
Which is why he feels immense guilt over the fact that three days ago, he shook your hand to welcome you to the team, and it ignited every nerve in his body. Everything has changed, but your hand in his made him feel alive.
Chapter 13: II.II →
#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds#wanna be yours fanfic#hotch#hotchner#hotch x reader
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The Road to Normal - Colson Baker
Requested by @catlady495 : are you taking requests? if so i think it would be so cute if you like took your kids to see colson on tour and have it like really fluff/cute family crap 🥺
Word Count: 1929 Warnings: None really. Fluff and kids. A/N: Gif by me. Sorry this took so long but I had no idea what to write for a while and kept deleting stuff. Anyways, Stream Tickets to My Downfall!
Going on a flight with 3 kids was just as hectic as it sounded. You were starting to question whether it was worth it. A 2-year-old half asleep on your lap, his feet dangling in your face for an hour. Because if you moved even an inch, he would wake up and you weren’t emotionally prepared for that.
Bella had finally stopped asking questions about the plane, how it flew and when she would see her dad. Her sister distracting her with her tablet. You were always thankful for Casie, she was the best big sister that you could ever ask her to be. Even when you didn't ask, she was awesome. 5 months and 25 days without him and you were going a little stir crazy. It was the loneliness more than anything that got you. The kids hated it, and seeing them like that made your heart hurt.
Colson was feeling it too, though he would never admit how much. Tour was insane like always, but he loved it. The mess, the noise, the crowd. Performing was like breathing to him - the only thing he would change was you. Without you there, it was like a piece of him was missing. A late-night phone call and "I miss you" couldn't get you to drop everything and fly to another country. Now you had kids, it was a lot more difficult to bring them out on road. The circumstances were understandable but hard to take. So this plan was put into action. The plan that involved your legs being scrunched up against a chair for 5 hours and trapped in a metal tube. The ride to the hotel was thankfully pretty short, and you met your favourite co-conspirator there.
"Hey (Y/N)"
Ashleigh hugged you tight, bright smile on her face now that you were finally here. Colson needed this, and she knew you did too.
"How are you guys?"
She was attacked with cuddles in response, laughing as the kids could barely contain their excitement.
Colson, completely unaware of his almost screaming children in the lobby, was in his room. He had called you, just before you'd left for the airport. Panic filled your body. Trying to brush him off was difficult. Normally you'd talk for hours but your terrible excuse of “crying kids and needing to go grocery shopping” was enough to prevent any questions. Thankfully he was too tired to probe any further. You probably made his shitty day even worse, the sadness in his voice killed you.
“No- its fine baby, we can talk later. It was nothing important, I just miss you and the kids like crazy. I love you”
At least now you could make his day a whole lot better.
"Which way is it?"
Casie asked once you were out of the elevator, and finally at his floor. She was bouncing with more energy than you'd seen in a while. Looking determined, concentration etched on her face as she matched the number on the keycard with the doors in front of her. Eli tried to escape from your arms getting antsy, wanting to go where everyone else was.
"Okay, okay. You'll see Daddy soon I promise"
You gently shushed him, eyes widening at the mention of his father. You followed your girls to make sure they didn't scream the entire way there.
"(Y/N), come on!"
Casie ran back and her hand tugged yours. Bella was behind you using all of her might to push, her little arms only reaching your lower back. You laughed, while they hurried you to the door. Now only a few steps separated you from him. Colson didn't flinch at the sound of the door handle, presuming it was Ash coming to talk about the show later. Looking up from his phone, he sighed, waiting for another lecture. His mouth fell open when he saw you all standing there.
"Dad!"
Bella ran towards him and Eli wriggled out of your grasp, climbing over the mattress with his sister's help. Casie made her way around the bed, diving under his other arm.
"What are you doing here?"
That smile you loved so much was plastered on his face, unable to hide it at seeing his babies. They were actually here and not buffering pixels thanks to terrible hotel Wi-Fi.
"Came to see you, duh"
Casie shrugged like it was the easiest thing into the world, burrowing back into his shoulder, while her father laughed.
Finally hearing that laugh in person was heaven. His eyes met yours across the room. After months, those blue eyes were staring into yours, lingering on your figure in disbelief. For a while, he would get to be Colson, instead of Kells.
He escaped the grasp of your children, making his way over to you. Enveloping you in a hug and almost lifting you off the floor. Pressing a kiss to his lips your hand caressed his cheek, drinking in your favourite view. Cuddling you tight to his chest for a few seconds, Colson planted a kiss to your hairline. God, he was so happy. You could hear Casie sighing from the other side of the room. Reaching over dramatically to cover her sibling's eyes, both of you chuckled at her antics. Finally, everything was back to your crazy kind of normal.
The few hours you got to yourselves were gloriously spent doing nothing. Colson listening attentively as Casie told him everything that had happened at school. Bella showed him how far she had got with the guitar. The instrument was bigger than her but she was determined to prove that their facetime lessons were working.
Eventually, you made it to soundcheck. The kids all looked so cute in their matching tour shirts. As you strolled in, Casie was glued to his hip, she was definitely going to be taller than him soon. They were all taller than the last time he’d seen them, which Colson hated. His tiny humans were getting bigger by the second and he was missing it. But the feeling of having them here made him forget that pain of leaving and missing them every second.
You plonked yourself on a seat next to Mod, watching a few rows back with Eli on your lap. While, Bella and Casie went wandering backstage with Ash.
"Daddy up there?"
His small voice asked, swinging his legs on the chair. He had gotten bored on your lap after a while. You pointed up to the stage, where Colson was currently talking to Rook about a drum solo.
"Wanna see!"
You lifted Eli off the chair, holding him above your head to see the stage.
"Wanna see Daddy!"
You pointed to the stage with your free hand but it was no use. Eli sniffled, pouting at you. Those big brown eyes blinking up at you, and you instantly melted.
"Fine. We'll go even though he's only over there"
Mod laughed, as you trudged up that stage, crying toddler in tow.
AJ and Baze waved at Eli who gave them a small wave back, but his eyes remained fixed on his father. Slim pointed for Colson to turn around.
"What's up?"
Colson reached out, taking your son in his arms, eyes scanning for any injury. Eli wrapped his arms around his neck and immediately shut up.
"What's wrong? Why you crying?"
"Missed you"
The baby mumbled into his tattooed shoulder, and Colson’s arms squeezed him a little tighter.
"You were just over there!"
He laughed, pointing to where Mod was, who waved back at him.
"You wanna stay up here with me?"
His voice was softer as he asked the question and Eli nodded intently.
"Guess I'll sit here then"
You made your way over the side of the stage, laughing at the thought Colson jumping around with a baby in his arms. He'd done it before. It was difficult but still unbelievably cute.
Casie appeared next to you, back from hanging out with Ash and Ash.
"Hey Casie B"
She rested her head on your shoulder, her curly hair tickling your forehead. At least she still wanted to hang out with you.
"You doing okay?"
She nodded. Casie would have a good time no matter what, she just wanted to see her dad.
“Thanks for bringing me”
“No problem, you’re a delight. Plus who else is going to watch the madness with me?”
She agreed wholeheartedly, and almost on cue, soundcheck was yet again interrupted by one of Colson’s tiny humans. It was less troublesome than the usual chaos that followed your family around, but it was to be expected. Bella walked onstage confidently, not unlike her someone else you knew, planting herself in front of her uncle. Slim leant down, the five-year-old whispering in his ear, to which he nodded.
“Rookie, you’re out the band”
“Again?”
His accent rang in the air, still sounding dejected at the words he had heard so many times.
“Yeah” Slim nodded, helping his niece over to the drums “Bella is replacing you”
“Do you need some help?”
Rook asked, seeing the concentration on her little face.
She paused, thinking about this life-changing decision for a second.
“Maybe a little”
Her tiny hands grabbed the sticks, whacking the drums and cymbals with some sense of rhythm. She was taking advantage of her moment. Soaking up the applause and cheering, you took that as your cue to leave so they could actually rehearse.
The show was phenomenal, as always. Surrounded by music and the unreal energy that came in waves from the stage. To you it was beautiful. Although that may have been just because of who was jumping around shirtless on stage. Colson winked at you and all the girls screamed but you just shook your head and blew a kiss back. Bella was disappointed to not be on drums, but she still had a good time. Bopping along with her tiny headphones, giggling when her dad made funny faces at them. Eli had fun clapping to the music, occasionally half wobbling half dancing with his sisters. The babies got tired quickly, eventually leaving to snooze backstage. Casie was wide awake, watching with awe as her father jumped across the stage. She shot you another smile, and you just felt happy. Nothing could beat that feeling of spending time with your family, the ones you love. Or an amazing concert.
After the show, you were welcomed into a hug by smiling, and very sweaty, Colson. And you wouldn’t change a thing for that sight. Eventually, you’d make it back to the hotel, basking in the almost silence of nighttime and enjoying each other’s company for the first time in a while. Bundled on the bed, cold because your children had claimed ownership of all blankets and comforters. Whispering due to your sleeping kids, you would attempt to have a conversation but Colson would still make you laugh without even trying.
“Quiet is so weird to me now”
The blond hummed, agreeing with your statement. It was nice but strange to not have a constant stream of noise filling the room.
“You wouldn’t rather be out having drunk lightsaber fights right now?”
“I mean, if you’re suggesting it-”
He abruptly sat up, attempting to move off the edge of the bed, amongst the sea of people on the mattress.
“Nope. This is perfect”
Colson shook his head, moving back and resting comfortably on your shoulder. And you knew, he meant every word. Despite the tantrums, very long flights and awkward facetimes. This was worth it and always would be.
#mgk imagine#colson baker x reader#mgk x reader#colson baker imagine#machine gun kelly x reader#machine gun kelly imagine#neviwrites
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kit/santi + waiting all day to tell them any kind of good news that you got because you're most excited for their reaction and encouragement than anyone else's, no matter how hard it is keeping it from others throughout the whole day 💐💐💐
When the point standings update for the A-rated jumper finals, Kit snoozes the notification on her phone and goes to work.
It’s only when the horses are turned out and the stalls mucked that she pauses to eat a quick morning snack and see what margin she missed by this year; She and Babs always do well in the circuit, but never well enough to beat out the kids whose parents can afford to import warmbloods and put them in full board and training at places like Mannor Hall.
With all this in mind, it’s no wonder she chokes on her granola bar when she reads the word ‘QUALIFIED’ in big, beautiful, impossible-to-miss lettering. Qualified!
Now she doesn’t know what to do with herself - she’s been fidgeting all day.
“What’s gotten into you?” Victoria snaps when Kit misses the buckle on Knight’s throat latch for the third time in a row. “At this rate I’ll be late for my lesson!”
“Sorry,” Kit mumbles. Her hands are still twitchy, but the buckle finally latches - not too loose and not too tight.
Victoria huffs imperiously before snatching the reins from her and stomping off to the arena for her jump lesson. The big liver chestnut lumbers after her, and Kit watches them go bouncing on the balls of her feet. It takes a moment to come back to herself and move on to the next horse that needs to be tacked, the next bridle that needs to be cleaned, the next stall that needs to be swept in.
She just can’t stop thinking about it. She’s qualified.
There’s still plenty to sort out, like whether she can afford the entry fees, and how much it will cost to trailer out to the venue, and a million other obstacles like that, but for now she’s just excited. Everything in her wants to shout the news from the rooftops!
But - but - she wants to tell Santiago first.
She can’t even really say why, just that it feels important. Feels right.
…It’s a long day of waiting for a girl who hates secrets.
She almost mentions it to her brothers when they call in the middle of the afternoon asking for her Netflix password (they’ve been kicked off the Kelley parents’ account for breaking yet another vase while roughhousing). The words start to form in her mouth before she snatches them back, stuttering and then silencing herself.
“What’s that about?” Nick teases.
“I’ll tell you later.”
She says it too fast and can feel their sneaky glances through the phone, but manages to hang up without giving anything more away.
Then, after work, she starts to tell the cashier ringing up her groceries - ten cans of ravioli that were on sale and a tub of strawberry ice cream.
“Sorry,” she apologizes when she cuts off halfway through a sentence.
They flash her a puzzled smile but don’t press the issue. Just a, “Have a nice night now, Sugar,” before sending her on her way.
When she finally makes it to Santiago’s place she’s buzzing with a mix of excitement and nerves. Is it weird of her to have waited to tell him first? Will he be as happy as she is? What if she’s being too much? Should she have called ahead? She’s definitely being too—
“Hey, Kit,” Santiago says with a puzzled smile as he opens the door.
“I brought dinner,” she says, lifting the double-bagged cans of ravioli like they explain her sudden presence at his doorstep.
In true Santiago fashion, he waits patiently through the warming of the ravioli and the setting of the table and the ramblings about Kit’s day until they’re finally sat opposite one another at his modest kitchen table.
“Sooo, I didn’t come here just to feed you shitty ravioli from a can,” Kit admits, fidgeting with her spoon.
“Really?” The fake surprise in Santiago’s voice is entirely kind, but she still scrunches her nose at him.
“Asshole. I’ve been waiting to tell you all day!”
“Waiting to tell me…?”
“Babs and I qualified! We finally qualified for jumper finals!”
The smile that lights up her face while she shares the news is nothing compared to the one he gives her while hearing it.
“Congratulations, Kit! How do you feel?”
“Like a million bucks! That’s why dinner’s on me.”
His smile softens to a look of fond exasperation. “If I knew we were celebrating I would’ve made you something a little nicer than Chef Boyardee.”
“You’re such a snob,” she says. “This shit was on sale - be grateful!”
“Thank you for dinner,” he says to appease her. The look in his eyes is terribly fond and makes her wiggle in her seat, unable to sit still and trying hard not to meet his gaze. “And thank you for telling me. You should be so proud of yourself and all the hard work you’ve put into competing this season.”
Kit stutters out something close to a “thank you” and pointedly ignores the pleased flush spreading across her face at his words.
It’s… nice.
She thinks telling him first was the right decision. When he reaches across the table to place an encouraging hand on hers, she knows it.
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Our Love Is God pt. 2
Dabi x Reader
Warnings: mentions of noncon/somnophilia, abortion, dark themes, yandere characteristics, dabi just being a rat tbh
A/N: so like I said that I’d get back to this fic when I got bored or other, more important things were a drag to write and, well, I got bored/other,more important things were a drag to write. TW for talk of abortion. Dabi doesn’t take things lightly and thinks certain things that may make anybody who has had an abortion or has deep feelings about abortion either really guilty or really angry, but that’s not the point. The point of this fic is that he’s a bastard and not a savior. This is pretty short! And yes I plan on writing more, but that’s when I get bored or other, more important things are a drag to write!
Dabi found himself panting when he finally lifted himself up onto your balcony. It had been, what, almost two months since he’d last snuck into your room? Too long, but you hadn’t called him, and he had been busy to see what the hell was up with you. Now he had a couple days to himself, and he couldn’t shake the pestering feeling of wanting to spend them with you.
The door to your balcony was unlocked, thank god; he really didn’t want to have to burn the knob off—why make a reason for you to get pissed at him already? Dabi smirked. You were fucking cute when you were angry, but he wanted his return to be at least a little pleasant.
Unsurprisingly, you were passed out underneath that ugly-ass, pink canopy, snoozing away peacefully and unexpecting. Your bed was built for a princess, but with you sprawled out on your back with your arms splayed apart, your tank-top rising up to expose your soft belly, and your blanket tossed down so only one of your feet were covered, you looked nothing short of a cavewoman. Still hot though, and Dabi missed you.
That was it. Dabi missed you. He never really expected to miss anybody he fucked. He made plenty of girls mad in the past, so when you last kicked him out, it shouldn’t have been any different. He’d gotten used to a routine: sleep with some chick, piss her off, do crime, then forget about her. But since the night you’d kicked him out, he couldn’t get your bratty fucking face out of his damn mind. Was it that you were stubborn? Or was it that you came across as such a lil do-gooder, daddy’s favorite princess and all that bullshit, when you were really just a filthy slut on the inside?
“What is it about you that makes me crazy, baby?” Dabi asked aloud, tracing a finger up from the hemline of your pajama shorts to your bare ribs. He watched goosebumps appear on your tummy and flattened them out with the palm of his hand.
Your only response was a soft snore. Dabi scoffed.
The first time he fucked you, you had been asleep. Or at least, you were asleep when he began. He visited you a couple nights after he and Twice tried to loot your father’s safe. He’d thought you were a cute little shit, and just wanted to see your frightened face again. He climbed in through the balcony and found you asleep in your bed like you were now, only you were laying on your stomach. After sniffing around your room a little, he couldn’t help but crawl into your bed. He wanted to hear you scream, but you stayed asleep, even when Dabi’s hands inevitably started exploring your body.
Dabi couldn’t forget how deliciously wrong it felt to pet your pert little ass while you slept, how exciting it was to rub a knuckle over your clothed slit, how incredibly hot it was for you to cry out when he plunged two fingers into your sopping wet pussy. Yes, you cried, but you also moaned, and Dabi felt you clench around his fingers when he wrapped his free hand around your neck, pulled you back, and whispered to you, “I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna love it, babydoll.”
Dabi made good on that promise that night. You took him so well, and it really didn’t take him all that long to get you to sing for him. You liked being taken advantage of, and Dabi learned that the more aggressive he was with you, the easier it was to make you cum. And oh, baby girl, it was just too easy to make you cum.
He was hard now, and he wanted to fuck you, but he wouldn’t. Even though you snored, there was something peaceful about watching you sleep. Of course, that didn’t stop him from palming your breasts, if only just to see your nipples pop against your tank top.
“Why haven’t you texted, huh? Was I really all that bad to you?” Dabi’s voice was soft against your neck as he placed gentle kisses along your warm flesh. He nuzzled his nose behind your ear and inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of your washed hair. “You know I could be real good to you if that’s all you want from me…”
Calloused fingers brushed across flowery lips, the vast contrast between him and you burning a hole into his chest. He leaned over to see your mouth part subtly, invitingly. Dabi took the initiative and planted a light kiss on you. He whispered, “there’s no way you haven’t missed me a tiny bit.”
At this, you hummed, and Dabi felt tension melt from his shoulders. That was an affirmation if he’d ever heard one, which gave him permission to run both of his hands down your sides to take their sharpened places at your hips. He pulled you against his hardened groin and let himself grind his strain courteously into you.
“You know how hot you are, babe? You know how much I missed having you wrap around my cock?” God, he wanted you. He wanted to be inside of you. He wanted to kiss you, and mark you, and love you, and-
You let out a little, “uhh,” from the very back of your throat. Dabi could have damn well nearly melted into you from that tiny noise. He could only imagine what squeaks and squeals you had saved up from him when you woke up.
For a moment, he thought that he would break his resolve to not fuck you—you wanted him to anyhow—and honestly, he probably would have, had it not been for your phone lighting up, snapping his attention to your side table. It buzzed twice, which he could have ignored, and then two more times, which made Dabi grab it, reading the I.D. tag, ‘Daddy.’
Dabi scoffed and used your thumb to unlock your phone. He found that it was your father that texted you, asking about a visit to the doctor’s you made. Dabi kicked back on your bed and decided to dive into the depths of your phone, check your social media PM’s, calls you’d made, etcetera.
There were quite a few messages from boys in there. Some of them were coming on to you, others were asking when they’d see you again. Dabi’s jaw clenched when he read those messages, but he was pleased to see that you’d left all those jagoffs on read, even the ones who were more persistent. Dabi would be lying if he said he didn’t go out and sleep with a couple chicks while you were there ignoring him. You couldn’t blame him. He was a man with needs. But he never called them again. None of them mattered like you mattered, and by the look of things, it seemed like you felt the same way.
Dabi checked your photo album, finding nothing more interesting than the racey selfies you took of yourself, probably trying to feel good about yourself (Dabi sent those pictures to his own phone, before deleting the evidence). Then he went to your search history, smirking at the very specific websites you visited.
“You’re absolutely filthy,” he chuckled in the middle of watching a video you seemed to frequently visit. He couldn’t wait to try this out on you—a little make up sex surprise. In response, you turned in bed, throwing your arm around Dabi’s lap, your elbow just a few centimeters from his erection. Dabi frowned down at you, and clicked out of the video, knowing that it was just gonna spur him on. He decided to look back to see what you searched when you’d last saw him—see if you looked up anything close to ‘sex with a villain’ or the like. But he didn’t find that. What he found was weird. What he found made a pit form in the bottom of his stomach.
‘how to deal with heartbreak’ first caught his eye. Dabi thought that this could have been about him but this was about seven weeks after he’d last seen you. As he kept scrolling, it only got worse.
‘depressed after termination’
‘how to stop the pain without taking medications’
‘best ways to clean blood off of linens’
‘discrete doctors near azabu’
‘should i tell the guy im not dating about pregnancy?’
‘is there anything i can eat to not be oregano?’ (Dabi couldn’t even sneer at ‘oregano.’)
‘top 10 signs you are pregnant’
Dabi’s chest constricted. He nearly dropped the phone on your arm, but that would definitely wake you the hell up. “Pregnant?” He whispered out loud. It only made sense. Dabi never wrapped himself up with you like he did with other girls. There was something so fucking dirty about you taking him raw when he knew you didn’t want to. He knew you were clean because you didn’t fuck around—at least, not before him, which made his frown deepen.
Fuck. Despite the unusual shattered feeling Dabi felt deep in the pit of his stomach, he was still so fucking hot for you. He turned you over so that you were on your back again so he could examine your belly. He kissed you below your navel, wondering that if you hadn’t been ‘depressed after termination’ would there already be a little bump there?
There was a brief flash of a little hand pressing against the swollen stomach of a white haired woman, but Dabi quickly shook that memory away.
“Why, babe?” Dabi kissed your stomach again. Seriously, why? Did you think Dabi would be a shit dad? He probably would be! But he’d still be a dad, if he were raising a kid with you. Did you not know that? And it wasn’t like you didn’t have the funds to raise a healthy child with everything it could ever want and more! You were a spoiled brat and you would’ve raised an equally spoiled brat, and Dabi would’ve loved the hell out of the kid! What the fuck?!
Dabi’s mental fit was interrupted from a little bleep! chiming from your phone. It was from Snapchat, of course, because you were a little social media whore. Not even caring how it could look once you woke up, Dabi opened the snap to see a picture of city lights taken from high above with a little tag that read, ‘wish you were here.’ The user who sent it was nicknamed ‘K’ and their username was something indecipherable. Probably just another one of your rich-bitch friends, showing off the view from their penthouse apartment.
Dabi discarded your phone on your bed and brushed his hands through his spiky hair, cursing softly. He decided to leave then. He needed time to think and reflect. He’d have to bring this up to you sooner or later...if not, he’d figure out a way to work himself back into your life. You probably hadn’t called because you were feeling guilty, rightfully so. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to have you anymore. In fact, he wanted you more than ever before.
Jumping out of your window, Dabi decided then and there that he’d be back. He’d make you talk. And he figured that if he could get you pregnant once, he sure as hell could do it again. Easy peasy. He’d have you calling him daddy again in no time.
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