#it hurts to even think what could have been
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[11:05pm]
MDNI, f! reader, established relationship (you’re married), calls you “love”, “baby” + “my beautiful wife”, reader wears a dress, fingering, brief masturbation (satoru, while fingering you), takes you against the wall, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, not proofread, wc: 1.7k
satoru’s been having a hard time keeping his hands off you, looking for ways to get into your pants all day.
but alas, you both have been busy organizing the housewarming party — picking up decorations for your new house, putting them up to create a festive atmosphere, dealing with caterers all day and eventually the party itself and entertaining your guests.
towards the end of the night, he was running out of patience. you could tell by the way his hands were constantly clutched around your waist, pulling you closer against him and subtly rubbing himself on your ass, and also the few hints he gave you here and there (every 5 minutes) to go help him find something (release) in the storage room. to you, he’s always been an open book.
“fucking finally”, closing the door after seeing off the last few guests, satoru sighs with content.
“that’s so rude, satoru”, you nag at him.
stepping closer to you, he grabs your chin and makes you look at him. his other hand circling around your waist and stopping at the small of your back to press your body against him. “what’s rude is making me wait so long. i’ve been hard all day, it hurts”
“my bad”, you grin at him innocently, finally giving in after an entire day of resisting his desperate attempts. you hug your arms around him, “what can i do to atone for my bad behavior?”
“let me think”, he gives you a rascal smile before pulling you in for a kiss. his lips soft but dangerously desperate and yearning for yours, mashing against your mouth as he slowly walks you against the wall. ass and back pressed against it and with him in front of you, it feels like you’re now squished in between two walls with nowhere to run. not that you complain at all, and not that he’d hear you even if you did. all he can think about right now is how badly he wants to be inside your tight pussy, stretching you until he bottoms out.
“lift you dress up for me, baby. i’ll handle the rest”, he whispers, the lust thick in his voice.
“here? in the hallway?”, you blink at him.
“yea”, he swipes his tongue across his lips, “i’m afraid, i can’t wait till we reach the bedroom. we were bound to christen the hallway sooner or later anyway”
scoffing at him, you push him back. slowly riding the dress that’s tightly wrapped around your body up.
the sight of you giving access to your cunt for him to fuck drags a long groan out of him. he always loved watching you get undressed for him, it tranced him. but there was something very, very special about you pulling your little dress or skirt up for him to hit it while you kept the rest on. it was so dirty, but in the best possible way. turned him primal, made him lose his mind every single time.
“s-shit…”, he groans once again, his hands working on unbuckling his own slacks all while watching you rid yourself of the underwear and toss it on the floor. “you’re making me crazy, baby”, he whispers audibly, to which you smile. it was cute to watch him crumble like that.
you lean against the wall, observing the way he slides down his pants to his hips and then, with a quick swift move, whips his swollen cock out and it slaps against his belly. what a beautiful sight, what an obscene sound, you think. it makes you shudder. being painfully familiar with how good and even more massive it feels inside your tight pussy, you find yourself clenching on emptiness, eagerly anticipating him.
he steps close, one hand slowly stroking his cock and the other reaching in between your legs, fingers in seek of your heat. “so pretty. so soft. so wet for me already”, he quietly speaks into your ear as a thick digit slides into your weeping cunt.
“nghh..”, you flinch and step on your toes from the sensation of his finger, squeezing him unintentionally.
“is that not enough for my baby?”, he coos. “then how about another one?”, he pulls his finger out only to return with two of them. “better? mm?”
“stop teasing me, you idiot”, you nuzzle your head against his chest to muffle your moans, hands grabbing at his shoulders.
“does this translate to ‘fuck me properly’, hm? my beautiful wife wants my cock so bad?”, he teases even further, plunging his fingers in and out of your slick pussy. the hallway filled with loud squishing noises from his fingers fucking you. if anyone were to walk by your front door, you’re pretty sure they would hear the inappropriate sounds your pussy made.
“don’t act all high and mighty on me now”, you tap on his shoulder, then grab him harder to support yourself as you press and hump against his hand. “i know you want to fuck me properly too, you’ve been yearning all day. no?”, you lift you head to look up at him. “just look at yourself — so desperate for it that you’re wanking off both of us yourself”
he chuckles at your words. true. as his fingers fucked themselves deep inside you, his other hand moved in slow strokes around his cock. he had to go slow, because he was way too aroused. if he were to pick up the pace, he’d unload his balls and blow his cum right then and there.
“it’d be such a waste if you finished now…”, you stroke his cheek, “while you have the option to stuff me full”, knowing well he wouldn’t resist your words.
“you’re so manipulative, love”, his fingers slam harder for one last time, making your whole body jerk forward, before he pulls them out, covered and glistening with your arousal that he cleans with his mouth. “always getting under my skin…”
you shoot him a victorious smile which he wipes off with his lips. part of him embarrassed that he caved in so quickly, falling weak to his desire of you. he wanted to tease you a little bit longer, but you always had your way with him. making his resolve crumble with a single word.
“…but i’ll get under yours now”, breaking the kiss, he whispers. then bends a little to catch your leg in the crook of his arm, stands straight and lifts it, opening your thighs wider while your leg dangles in the air. the head of his cock taps against your belly and you feel the pulse throbbing in it.
the only support you have right now is your other leg, the wall behind you and satoru who holds you in place. both of your hands wrap around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss, as he starts guiding his cock towards your entrance, his head slowly slipping inside.
“oh god” — you both simultaneously moan out. a deep groan follows shortly after and vibrates through his throat and into your mouth from feeling you open inch by inch for him as he slides it almost entirely in. he needed to go deeper though, the root of his cock still out and uncovered by your walls.
he pulls out and grabs your other leg into his arms, hoisting you into the air and pressing you harder against the wall while you hold on tight to his shoulders. after looking down and catching a glimpse of your dewy pussy lips pouting open for his cock, he throws his head back and curses under his breath, desperately trying to hold in the load in his balls. he shuts his eyes close and counts to ten, then looks back at you. eyes lovesick, yearning and a little bit watery. “what you do to me is not humane at all”
“hmm, don’t you love it?”, you crane your neck enough to press your forehead against his, looking deep into your favorite pair of eyes.
“oh, i do. i so do love it”, he breathes out, staring back at yours. then takes a deep breath before he enters you again. spreading your lips and diving deep until he bottoms out in you in a single thrust. you’re so wet and welcoming, his cock goes all the way in effortlessly. the position being perfect, too, to fully hide himself in you.
your legs lock around his back as his pelvis starts rolling and jarring against you, panting breaths of pleasure and skin slapping against each other echoing throughout the hallway of your house. satoru’s hips were charging with such desperation, slamming against you so hard, that you were sure the places where his flesh met yours were already red.
“nghh…”, you mewl through gritted teeth, feeling yourself starting to cum as you suck him as deeply as possible, your wetness increasing now and bathing his cock in it. “…d-don’t stop, d-don’t…augh”
“f-fuck…you say that as if it’s easy, baby. do you have any idea how good you feel?”, he barely drags out. your added slickness making it hard for him to control his thrusts now, too difficult to adapt and stop his cock from sliding in and out of you too quickly that his legs start shaking.
seeing him so desperate and sloppy with his movements was such a turn-on, it was really doing it for you. not that his cock wasn’t hitting the sweetest of your spots. but that was the last push you needed towards your climax.
“i’m— ah, i’m cumming”, you stutter, your orgasm coming onto you hard. head falling in the crook of his neck, nails digging into his clothed shoulders, eyes rolling back as he keeps hitting his cock into your sore cunt, chasing his own release.
“s-shit—“, he grunts throatily. his cock feeling bigger, more bloated and harder than ever as he pounds a few more times into you before burying himself still and emptying his balls into your sopping hole. hot spurts of cum gush inside you, his body jerking after each load.
both of you stand there for a few minutes, trying to catch your breaths — you’re still wrapped around him while his cock’s got you nailed against the wall.
“you think i can carry you to the bedroom without pulling out? it should work, right? my cock’s big enough, won’t slip out”, satoru breaks the silence.
“you flexing now?”, you chuckle. “why don’t you give it a try? i don’t feel my legs anyway”
“oh my, did i make it hard for you to walk?”, he sneers at you proudly.
“oh shut up and carry me”
#ઈઉ — ai writes#[ ♡ ] — satoru#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut
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do you believe me now? | 6
in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.
series masterlist
this series is 18+
warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously
a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe
The car ride is the worst of your life.
Neither of you speak.
And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything.
Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue.
Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again.
When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on.
For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away.
“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes.
“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted.
Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart.
But you never claimed to be strong.
Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.
“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”
Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands.
The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”
He’s sorry.
For not loving you?
If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?
But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces.
As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied.
“I don’t understand you.”
The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears.
“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed.
“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”
“Explain what?”
You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding.
He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for.
“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”
A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath.
His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond.
“Love you back?”
You blink.
Your stomach drops.
For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself.
What a way to make an exit from your relationship.
Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something.
What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know.
“I didn’t…”
“You didn’t mean it.”
The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp.
“That’s not what I was—”
“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”
It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions.
“Spencer…”
It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable.
He swallows.
“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”
For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.
“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”
“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”
And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice.
“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”
You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her.
“Wait.”
He says your name.
And of course you pause.
You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle.
“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?”
You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again.
The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring.
“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”
You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about.
Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break.
“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”
Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly.
“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”
You blink.
And for some reason, begin sobbing.
Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in.
“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”
You take a shuddering breath.
“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”
Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper.
You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty.
“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”
“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”
You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly.
“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”
His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel. Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this.
“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes. “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”
Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft.
“How could I not be so in love with you?”
Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold.
“Really?”
“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”
The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw.
When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat.
“Too honest?”
You shake your head as if in a fog.
“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”
He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone.
“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”
“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder.
“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”
There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up.
“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”
He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning.
“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”
You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him.
Spencer kisses you on the cheek.
“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”
As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is.
“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room.
“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on.
“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand.
“Ambience over everything, baby.”
His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other.
“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”
You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy.
Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.
He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this.
“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets.
“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”
He knows he hasn’t.
“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”
Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC.
“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”
“I missed you too,” you admit softly.
He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes.
Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck.
“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs.
Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.
His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.
Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon.
And he’s laughing.
“What were you drinking?”
You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.
“Water.”
“Before that, baby. At the bar.”
You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall.
“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”
“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”
Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige.
Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all.
“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip.
“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face.
It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same.
“Love you.”
He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own.
“I love you.”
It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips.
A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately.
Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first.
“I’m sorry.”
You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology.
“For what?”
The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly.
“For what I said at the bar.”
Oh.
That.
It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth.
You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you.
At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth.
“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”
Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak.
“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”
“It is not. I made you cry.”
Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him.
“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”
You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back.
“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”
You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly.
“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”
“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too.
But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight.
“You know what you could do right now?”
The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would.
“What’s that?”
You smile slyly.
“You could kiss me again.”
“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”
“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours.
“I thought I was already forgiven.”
“Apologies can be retracted.”
“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”
Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel.
As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks.
Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee.
Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now.
But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy.
“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.
He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming.
“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”
Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him.
“Playing nice?”
“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”
Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his.
“According to who?”
His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?
“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”
You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart.
“What?”
“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”
You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall.
“I think I’m in a great place.”
At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet.
“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”
“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours.
“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”
Reluctantly you nod.
“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”
In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier.
“Hey.”
“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly.
“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”
That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would.
“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”
He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”
“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”
“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”
You turn back around, brows raised.
“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”
“Uh-huh. Come here.”
Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case.
But at the same time—everything’s different.
And you won’t make the same mistake twice.
“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face.
“Hey what?”
“I remembered what I was gonna say.”
The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about.
“Tell me.”
“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”
“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”
“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”
“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”
It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.
“You already knew everything.”
“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”
And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all.
“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top.
“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled.
Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage.
Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.
Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you.
Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement.
The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself.
Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest.
“Jesus, you—”
But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs.
“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic#criminal minds fanfic
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hii hope youre doing well! could i request coworker!james where r comes in to work sick and he gets worried?
fem!reader, 1.3k
It’s getting old, the whole charade. James didn’t like you and now he does. You used to piss him off, now you don’t. Somehow, someway, he’s seen parts of you he couldn’t help but love, in your voice, how you talk; in your hands, your touch; in your emails worst of all. Who ever thought that James could fall in love on Outlook?
Dearest desk mate,
Where are you? It’s 9.45 and you aren’t here. You realise work starts at 8.30? Besides my worry, I need the invoice for Lang and Co. and Remus doesn’t have them either.
You’re my only hope,
James
You email back a stringy fifteen minutes later.
James,
I’ll be there soon. I can’t attach the file from my phone but I will send it to you the second second I get there, I know you asked meyesterday. I’m sorry for holding you up .
James reads your email with a frown. Your typos are unlike you. He wonders if perhaps you’re texting and driving, which is abhorrent, but you walk into the office a minute later, so you must’ve been responding to him as you walked.
You duck straight into the manager’s office. James can hear you say sorry before the door is fully closed, craning his neck for a good look at you.
Remus laughs shamelessly. “Worried about her?”
“About who?” he asks, even as his chair creaks and threatens to snap under his weight, leaning back to see you through the frosted glass.
“She’s not going anywhere now she’s here, James. Nobody stops by for social visits.”
James relents when he realises you may be in there for a little while. The rain today is aggressive against the window, condensation dripping down the windows to pool atop the radiators. You hate it; you love the radiators when they’re working in the winter, but sad summer days with rubbish weather bog you down. Either way, the condensation wets your elbows or gathers on your desk —it’s not nice. James grabs a wad of tissues from the box on his desk and begins his quick mission.
“Oh, my god. Jamie, you can’t be serious.”
“I'm avoiding electrocution.”
“You’re cleaning up for her,” Remus says, putting his face in his hand to watch him with a softer smile, “it’s nice of you, really, but you can’t expect me to pretend I believe you when you say you don’t like her for much longer if you’re going to do stuff like this.”
“Now say that five times fast.”
His heart drops when you clear your throat, caught, sodden tissue in hand. You don’t eyeball him, there’s no scorn, you clear your throat again and all but collapse into your seat.
“Hey,” James says.
You tip your head back. “Hi, James.” Your eyes are bloodshot, and, to James’ surprise, you aren’t wearing a lick of makeup. You look very pretty but very tired, too.
“You okay?”
Remus bends around the desktop. “Yeah, are you okay?
“I’m fine,” you drop your head back with some vertigo, and press your hands to your eyes. “I’m not very well, is all.”
“What’s wrong?” Remus asks.
“Just poorly. Um, I have a bad headache, and my ears are ringing, but it’s not unmanageable. I’m full of sudafed.”
“Can’t you go home? We can manage without you until you’re better,” Remus says.
“I had all that time off a few weeks ago,” you say. You’d been ill not so long ago.
“You can have some of my sick days,” James says immediately.
You rub your eyes hard enough to make James’ ache in sympathy. “Doesn’t work like that.”
“You really shouldn’t be here if you’re sick,” James says.
“I won’t get you sick, I promise. I brought hand sanitizer, I’m not sneezing or coughing, I’m just aching.” Your movements are lethargic as you lean back in your chair, the slow roll of your shoulders and the limp cross of your arms over your stomach hard to ignore.
James rounds the desk to chuck his tissues in the little bin beneath it. “I don’t think either of us are worried about you getting us sick, lovely.”
Your face crumples quickly and neatens up again just as fast. “My head just hurts,” you say, rubbing your forehead. You manage to summon a wobbly smile despite your pinched brows. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”
If it were Sirius, James would thrust a bottle of water and a pack of ibuprofen at him and tell him to chill out. It it were Remus, the expression would turn his heart, and he’d give his friend a good pat on the back. You aren’t Sirius nor Remus, you’re not so close to him that James knows what to do, but what use is he if he doesn’t try?
“Can I make you a cup of tea?” James asks.
“That’s cruel,” Remus says, “your tea is like milky disappointment.” He stands with a smile James hates, some playful conniving mixture with good intentions deep, deep down. “I’ll make it. James, why don’t you turn the radiator?”
“Is that okay?” James asks.
“What?”
“Do you think that’ll make you feel better, the radiator?” James asks.
“I can do it.”
“No, it’s okay, it hurts your hand. I’ll turn it up.” He weaves back in between your chair and the radiator. Your desk is close enough to be faced with your thighs, but James doesn’t get half as distracted by them as he does your twitchy face.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.
“You and Remus worry too much.” You give him the side eye. “Why do you care?”
“I think we’re a little bit past pretending we don’t like each other, aren’t we?”
He turns the radiator on with less struggle than he’s anticipating and holds his hand to the bottom until he feels the metal warming. “Tell me if that gets too hot for you,” he says, standing.
“Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.”
“No, really,” you say, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “thanks for worrying about me. I’ll feel better in an hour.”
“Did you eat breakfast?” He brings his hand up to wipe a stray fibre from your cheek, “Why were you late?”
“I…” Your eyes follow his hand as he lowers it. Emboldened, James raises it again, wiping at a phantom fibre. “What is it?”
“Little hair on your cheek.”
“I slept late, and I felt strange in the car so I parked for a bit, and… I don’t know. I should’ve stayed home, but you know what he’s like about sick days.”
“You feel alright now, other than the headache?”
“Just heavy.”
James spots Remus coming back and steps away. “You’ll be alright, okay? Don’t worry too much. Do some of the top spreadsheets and we can manage the rest.”
“You don’t have to do that for me.”
James does, really. Remus gives you your mug of tea and one of the plastic wrapped muffins from the kitchen, both boys keeping watch over you like a vigil. If you were well enough to notice you’d complain, but you spend the next few hours sipping at your tea as it turns cold, and nibbling at little bits of muffin, clearly tired.
You email James the Lang and Co. invoices four hours after he’s asked for them with a sorry and a frowny face emoticon. James wants to kiss you on the forehead, feels it so strongly it becomes a different kind of wanting, to look after you and for you to want him to do that. He’s in way too deep. There’s not much he can do.
“You want some more tea?” he asks, leaning over to grab your discarded mug.
“Yeah, please, Jamie.”
James’ fingers wobble around the mug.
Remus glances up from his phone.
“Of course,” James says, smiling, “coming right up.”
Jamie, he thinks. Friends call him Jamie. He can be your friend, he’d love to be your friend, but Jamie. Even sick, you say it sweetly. He trips over himself trying to get what you asked.
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x y/n#james potter x you#james potter fic#james potter fluff#james potter blurb#james potter drabble#james potter imagine#james potter fanfic#james potter fanfiction#james potter scenario#james potter oneshot#the marauders#marauders era#marauders
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Take it Off - Azriel x Reader
Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?
Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him
Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes
Is this a fucking game to you?
Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.
Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his meta’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin.
I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.
Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips.
You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears.
The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was.
But that was his own fault.
You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.”
No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing.
Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered.
“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there.
You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass.
His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured.
As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now.
Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame.
No.
Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.
You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own.
Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.
“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you.
You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.
You held one up for a better look.
“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!”
“I have more just like them.”
You huffed, fists balanced on your hips.
Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel.
“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.”
A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I doubt that.”
There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out.
He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another.
You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo.
“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.”
Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word.
“Yes… I know.”
How long do you think he’ll last?
Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.
Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home.
Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.
Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter.
Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching.
He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it.
It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him.
He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again.
I give it another week. Nesta declared.
Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.
In the end they were both wrong.
It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.
“Take it off.”
You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand.
“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows.
Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching.
“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin.
It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it.
Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him.
He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else.
“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.”
“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.”
“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.”
“I like it when my clothes are loose.”
Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth.
“I’m… going to leave now.”
“Wait—Feyre!”
The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door.
Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing.
She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others.
It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.
Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now.
I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward.
I won the bet, Nes.
You didn’t win, we both lost!
Semantics.
Why you bas—
Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome.
“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!”
Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered.
You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go.
He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace.
“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.
“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?”
He flinched at that word — friend.
“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!”
“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.
“Clearly it’s not nothing.”
“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”
You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.
“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care.
His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.
“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!”
“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”
That was… not what you were expecting.
You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face.
“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating.
“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled.
Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”
Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”
You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave.
“Well?” You snapped.
Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.”
You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”
“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.”
“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”
“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy. “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…”
You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.”
Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”
“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.”
“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was.
Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged.
When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—”
“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly.
Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his.
Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs.
His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic.
But his hands.
His hands.
You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste.
He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.
This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree.
You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there.
He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt.
You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.
Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt.
Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.
You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.
Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more.
“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving.
He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.
“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…”
“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.”
One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth.
Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago.
“I’m so sorry—”
“Azriel, it’s ok.”
“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—”
“You can buy me more.”
Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?”
“You can.”
He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—”
Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it.
Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried.
He couldn’t help himself.
He started laughing too.
What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support.
Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled.
“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.”
Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes.
Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere.
Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance.
“A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily.
His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes.
“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones.
You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”
“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.”
“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.”
“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away.
Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!
His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.
“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted.
A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone.
“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in.
Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”
Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt.
“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides.
The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath.
He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.”
His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening.
All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore.
You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this.
A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears.
“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.
He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms.
“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.”
“We’re not going to my bedroom.”
“Well we missed my bedroom too.”
He didn’t respond.
Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions.
Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.”
“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”
He smiled. “Only for you.”
“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”
“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House.
“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.
“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself.
Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.
"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.
"Ready."
You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air.
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okay imagine a reader who’s clumsy asfff, and aaron is always there to stop her from falling flat on her face ahaha
falling for you
cw; clumsy bau!reader, established relationship, aaron's injured and minor blood mentions, angst? if you squint, fluff <3
A rural town surrounded by acres of woods: a serial killer's perfect playing field. Plenty of remote, secluded places to dump victims.
The trail on which you were walking was barely passable; narrow, obstructing hanging branches, the dirt path littered with slippery rocks due to the rainstorm the night prior.
One wrong step, poor footing on an angle, could result in sliding down a steep ledge. It wasn't comparable to a cliff - an eight foot incline at least - but could easily result in injury nonetheless.
Which naturally you of all people were bound to intercept; always moving too quickly for your own good, more focused on the destination rather than the journey - ultimately feeding into your habitual clumsiness.
Aaron took notice of the rock slab before you did, reaching out suddenly to grab at your arm the second your foot took a dive off the side. While you managed to escape unscathed due to his heroism, he wasn't as fortunate.
You had coerced him onto the passenger seat - if it were up to him, the two of you would've continued to the crime scene - cleaning and bandaging the bloody gash on his forehead yourself. He hadn't fallen, but knocked into a firm, solid branch, as well as scraped his arm on another, ripping his sleeve in the process.
"Stop moving so much."
Aaron's chest huffed in a faint laugh, "I'm not even moving."
A subtle glare came from you, "You could be concussed."
"I'm not concussed. Banged up maybe, but not concussed."
"Maybe?" The sight before you tore at your heart, Aaron's pretty face scraped up. "You mean definitely. And prove it."
A clever, amused expression formed on his face, "The United States government consists of-"
"Okay, okay." You surrendered with a playful eye roll, dismissing his impending recitation.
Admittedly you were flustered, solely for the fact that it should've been you - the one bumped up and bleeding. Your bottom lip was sticking out in a pout, cleaning his wound with an alcohol wipe.
He winced briefly at the sting, eyes watching your movements. "I know what you're thinking."
"You should've let me take the fall." As if by clockwork, the bandaid in your hand fell onto the wet asphalt. Annoyedly you reached down to pick it up, hastily tossing it to the SUV's floor before grabbing a fresh one from the first aid kit.
Aaron scoffed lightly, "Yeah, right."
"I'm serious," Your lip jut out even more, pulling your gaze to his exasperatedly. "Or Morgan should've at least accompanied you."
"Sweetheart, you know I'm in better company when you're around."
"He's more coordinated than I am," you insisted, your fingers fumbling together as you peeled the bandaid open, smoothing it over his broken skin. Carefully. You repeated the same for the gash on his forearm. "He can duck and leap from side to side without a second thought, has a much faster reaction time and, well, he's Morgan."
"Sweetheart-"
"He's not clumsy," you huffed out, crumbling the plastic in your fist. Your clumsiness, as incredibly inconvenient as it was, had never 'bothered' you to an extent.
But now that you had caused Aaron to get hurt, everything changed. It was a surprise it hadn't happened sooner, and it was only a matter of time before you caused another incident. One with a larger, more menacing result.
"In a terrain that's damp and woodsy and has twigs and leaves poking out, I should be the farthest person away," you rambled, covered with guilt. "Why they even let me join the field in the first place... I don't know."
"Because you're an outstanding profiler, have a keen eye that catches details the rest of us overlook, never backs down despite heinous barriers. Must I go on? I can, the list is quite extensive."
"Regardless, it doesn't excuse the fact I'm accident prone." You insisted, your sentence ending on a deep sigh.
"You aren't-"
"Aaron," you interrupted, "how many times have you reached out to stop me from flying into a table, or have reminded me to slow down. Look what just happened."
"You didn't fall because you're clumsy, honey. You fell- no, tripped because it rained and your shoes lacked the proper traction."
"But because of me, you're hurt." Your voice wavered the smallest amount, you could cry if pushed.
"And I'd do it again if it meant saving you." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, eyeing the CSI agents not too far away. "And again," Another kiss, this time on your lips, "and again. It's a small price to pay if you're unharmed."
"Kissing me at a crime scene? You must be concussed." You quipped softly, lips itching to smile. Although you wanted to continue sulking, he was making it awfully difficult.
A laugh exited him; the rare laugh of his that minimal people experienced, and one that could lift your spirits in less than a milli-second. "How many times do I need to tell you? I'm not concussed."
You still weren't convinced - your inelegant tendencies not to disappear by morning - but you did feel better compared to how you felt five minutes ago. "Thank you."
Your hand grabbed onto his arm lovingly, a grateful gesture, but produced an immediate flinch from Aaron.
Your eyes widened in horror, heart nearly stopping, "I'm so-"
"You're welcome." Aaron stopped you, grabbing your hand and providing a reassuring squeeze. His expression was kind, compassionate although you should've been the one soothing him.
You exhaled deeply after a moment, readjusting his rolled-up cuff sleeve. "I owe you a new shirt too."
He smiled, his hand lifting to chuck you under your chin gently. "I'll add it to your tab."
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotch x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#criminal minds#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds x you#criminal minds drabble#aaron hotchner drabble#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fanfiction#hotch imagine#criminal minds x fem!reader
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hii! could you please do like after a really big argument it like gets to the point that the reader wants to break up with then and how they would handle it? i just request that choso is one of them<3
WANT US TO BREAK UP, YOU SAY?
featuring: choso kamo. gojo satoru. nanami kento. fushiguro megumi.
n. hi nonnie! thanku for the req. i usually don't write for choso, this is the first time i'm writing for him, i hope it doesn't stray out of his character. confession: i didnt proofread so.. enjoy </3
GOJO SATORU
the room was heavy with silence after your heated argument. you stood near the desk, arms crossed, emotions swirling. as for him, gojo leaned against the wall, his sunglasses off, revealing eyes that bore into you with a mix of frustration.
"this isn't working, satoru," you fidgeted your nails and shifted your feet. "i think we should break up."
he pushed off the wall, taking a step closer to you. "hell no," he said firmly, those blue eyes you know so well never leaving yours. "i'm not letting that happen."
you clenched your fists, anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. "you can't just decide that for me. we’ve been fighting constantly, and it’s exhausting.”
the man crossed the room in a few quick strides, stopping just in front of you. "we're not breaking up," he repeated, voice low and steady. "you're upset, i'm mad, and we had a fight, but that doesn't mean we break up."
tears welled up in your eyes as you met his gaze. "you don't get it, satoru. i can't keep doing this.”
he reached out, his hand gently but firmly grasping your wrist. "you’re not leaving," he said, his tone softening but still commanding. "we can fix this. together."
you tried to pull away, but his grip held you in place. "toru, this isn't just about one fight.” then his grip changed into him interlocking his fingers with you. “we keep hurting each other…”
his expression softened, but his grip remained steady. "i know, and i'm sorry, darling. but running away won't solve anything. i love you, and i'm willing to fight for us."
NANAMI KENTO
nanami’s expression remained calm, but you could see the tension in his eyes. he took a deep breath and walked over to you, his movements slow and deliberate. “please, sit down,” he said softly, gesturing to the couch. “we need to talk about this calmly.”
you hesitated, still seething with emotion, but his gentle tone made you relent. you sat down, crossing your arms defensively. nanami sat beside you, maintaining a respectful distance but close enough to show he was there for you.
“why do you want to break up?” he asked, his voice steady and soothing.
“like i said,” stating once again. unlike his, your voice cracked. “i feel like we don't have time for each other, not like we used to.”
he nodded, listening intently. “i understand,” he said, his tone even. “but breaking up isn’t the solution, sweetheart. we need to address it.”
nanami reached out, taking your hand in his. his touch was warm and reassuring. “every relationship has its challenges,” he said gently. “what matters is how we handle them. i believe we can work through this if we’re both willing to try.”
CHOSO KAMO
his eyes widened in shock, and before you could react, he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you. his embrace was firm yet gentle, a stark contrast to the turmoil in your heart. “please, don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. “you can’t just say that, baby.”
you struggled against his hold, tears streaming down your face. “choso, don’t hold me back..”
he held you tighter, saying soothing words despite the urgency. “i know it’s been hard for both of us, but never say that, i don't want to hear you say that again.”
feeling the warmth and genuineness of his embrace, you drew in a shaky breath and found yourself losing resolve. “i just, i don’t know what to do with us.” your voice breaking.
choso loosened his hold just enough to meet your gaze, his love and concern visible in his eyes. “every relationship has its struggles, but i'm sure we both can overcome them. i love you, and i’m committed to working through this with you. so please, i dont want to give up on us yet."
he gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch warm and reassuring. “i’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this work. are you?”
FUSHIGURO MEGUMI
your boyfriend’s shocked eyes became wider. “what? no!” he took a step forward, expressing a mix of disbelief and urgency. “that’s not how you solve this problem.”
with a hand raked through his hair, he was clearly frustrated. "i understand that we've been fighting a lot, but splitting up isn't the answer. we have to discuss our concerns and work towards–”
“i’m fucking trying, okay?” you hurried to cut his explanation. “you always have a logical answer for everything,” biting your lower lip, is he seeing that you don't need reasoned answers? but simply, perhaps some reassurance? “but it doesn’t change how i feel. it hurts, and i don’t see a way out of this.”
megumi took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “i’m sorry.”
“…”
“look, i need you to hear me,”
“i don’t want to fight either, heck, i’m too tired to argue,” he gently pulled you into an embrace. “but i don’t want to lose you. i can't promise you, but we can find a way to make this better."
"let’s be patient and work through our problems one step at a time.”
@uzurakis
#.writing#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk fanfic#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#gojo fluff#nanami kento x reader#jjk nanami#nanami x you#nanami kento#nanami x reader#jjk choso#choso kamo#choso x reader#choso x you#megumi fushiguro x reader#megumi fluff#megumi x you#fushiguro megumi x reader#fushiguro megumi#jjk megumi#fushiguro x reader#jjk angst#jjk gojo
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i feel the weight [7x09 coda, bucktommy]
Buck hadn't actually been planning on seeing Tommy tonight but the late night pit-stop at Eddie’s has him freaking out, so he shoots Tommy a text from the dark driver's seat of his jeep: kinda need to get out of my head. Could you come over?
The response is almost immediate: already in bed. If you’re safe to drive there’s a spot next to me waiting, followed by a selfie, Tommy shirtless sitting up in bed with his readers on.
Buck’s keys are turning in the ignition before his phone screen goes dark, and he’s pulling out of Eddie’s driveway to hurry over. Tommy gave him a key last week, and despite an odd track record staying over at exes’ places instead of them at his, he’s excited he finally gets to use it.
He lets himself in, kicking his shoes off and is still half tangled in his jacket when he nudges Tommy’s bedroom door open. The overhead light is still on and Tommy’s got what is clearly a World War Two biography thicker than a Tolstoy novel in his lap, fingers keeping his spot in place. He puts it on the nightstand and smiles so softly for a big guy, gives a little chin tilt greeting.
“Hey you,” he says. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” Buck replies, taking broad strides over to his bedside and then climbing in Tommy's lap, straddling Tommy's hips, getting hands on his face to trace the rim of Tommy’s glasses with his thumb. “These are staying on, by the way.”
“Fine by me,” Tommy says and sighs, searching Buck’s face for a second. “Okay, sweetheart, let me take care of you.”
And then Buck loses himself for a little bit.
He comes back to himself sweaty, minus his pants, and come drunk, panting at Tommy’s side some time later. Tommy’s leaning on an elbow, looking at him. His glasses are crooked, and Buck reaches out to straighten them.
“Thanks.” Tommy snorts. “So, you wanna talk about it? Something happen during your shift today?”
“Not really. Sort of.” Evan sighs, and Tommy pets his hair, pushing the curls stuck to his forehead up. “Something going on with Eddie, and I feel like I shouldn’t even be talking about it, but I’m scared he’s going to hurt himself. I’m scared he’s going to do something that’ll hurt Chris in the long run too.”
“Sounds difficult.”
“Yeah, I mean, you guys are close too, so if you see him this week or sometime soon, just— could you check in with him? I don’t think I’m overreacting, but the situation seems crazy, and it just makes my head hurt." He sighs. "I'd honestly rather talk about anything else.”
“Okay, I can do that.” Tommy doesn’t sound placating. He never does when Buck talks about Eddie, which is a novel experience compared to Buck’s other relationships. And maybe that’s because Tommy is friends with Eddie, but also maybe it’s because Tommy’s just different like that.
Good for you, Bobby had said.
Buck smiles. “There is something good that happened earlier today, actually. I can tell you about that. Bobby told me he uh, approves. Of us.”
“Oh? Do all your relationships need Bobby’s stamp of approval?” Tommy asks wryly.
“No, no, it’s not like that. It’s just. Bobby’s seen me go through a lot of relationships, and I think he worries, you know? I have a tendency to not do the right thing sometimes, compromise too much, maybe, try too hard. And I think he’s seen how settled I’ve felt. At ease, you know?” Buck sighs. “It felt really good to hear.”
“That is good to hear.” Tommy’s hand combs through Buck’s hair down to cradle the back of his head, and he pulls them together for a soft kiss, just one. “I’m glad your dad approves of us, Evan.”
“Stop,” Buck says, but he’s smiling.
“Not in a million years,” Tommy replies, and he’s smiling too
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Can you do a Mapi x Ingrid x reader where maybe the reader is struggling with depression and Mapi and Ingrid help her?
We'll help you through it// Ingrid engen x mapi lèon x r
Least to say that you we're struggling life sucking every single one of your motion to keep living it felt like you lost all hope in your self you didn't know what it was but your mental health decline took a toll on you.
Every day felt like a struggle to be alive and keep on breathing. but thanks to your amazing girlfriends who were able to notice what was wrong with you.
It all started with when they had to leave a lot for away machetes you get that it was apart of their job but sometimes you felt lonely and jealous about what the two could be doing without it.
You doing what you do best overthink the whole situation but nevertheless you were able to push back.
You stopped answering there calls and texts whenever they sent in one. Just wachting the phone ring away without trying to pick it up.
Feeling worthless and unimportant as life would have been better if you just stopped living you thought to yourself.
But you never get close to doing it. It's been weeks since you last saw them as you've been ignored them.
You had a new routine now wake up work sleep and eat. And well repeat totally ignoring your other aspect of life.
Mapi and Ingrid had obviously noticed the pattern in your behavior and decided to vist you as soon has they could.
"Ingrid you think all this is enough". Mapi asked Ingrid showing her comfort bag that they brought for you filled with your favorite snacks to everything that you like.
three different brands of your favorite chocolate, huge ass blankets you wanted to get but didn't they had it your favorite movies had it makeup,dresses, aersoiess they had it all but mapi over here was still worrying that it wasn't enough.
"Mapi it enough or maybe to much". Ingrid questioned.
"Let's just go". she said to her girlfriend
They finally got your place with the spare key and weren't really expecting to see you in the condition that you were in.
With just one look at you it was quite obvious that you weren't getting enough sleep nor eating enough.
They both immediately dropped the things they had rushing to your side. It hurt them to see you this way like you were waiting on death.
Ingrid was the first to speak up. "Baby I'm so sorry we haven't been there for you".
"Nothing is your fault I'm particularly to blame".
"No don't say that about yourself".she told you
Mapi on the other hand didn't know what to say so she just pulled you three into a hug. you all stayed like that for a while before Ingrid started cleaning.
the whole place and convinced you to go take a bath so you could feel more relaxed. mapi was changing your bedsheets and placing the things that they got you.
By the time that you were out your places was looking better than it was before.
Ingrid made you a bowl of spicy soup putting it down and helping you with your hair and clothes on. You ate what Ingrid had prepare with mapi feeding you and not missing a single drop.
After that they both convinced you to leave the house for some fresh air. And that what you did getting in the car mapi first went back to there place to pick up bagheera to join you guys.
Having bagheera join you guys on the beach was perfect the cat being there made you perceived and calm. It wouldn't have been your normal couples walk if mapi didn't start talking you and Ingrida ears.
off something that you missed even though she could go on for hours she was recently yapping about. how patri and pina were quite obvious about each other but to afraid to confess and how she was going to play cupid.
Let's to say you felt happy and a little better all you need was come comfort and love from you girls which they understood.
#mapi x ingrid#mapi x ingrid x reader#mapi leon imagine#mapi león x reader#ingrid engen imagine#ingrid engen x reader#ingrid engen#mapi leon x ingrid engen#mapi leon x reader#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso blurbs#woso oneshot#woso fic#woso fluff#woso angst#woso imagines#woso#woso community#barcelona femeni#barcelona femeni x reader#barcelona femeni imagine#fcbfemeni x reader#fcb femeni x reader#fc barcelona femeni#espwnt x reader#espwnt imagine#norwnt imagine#norwnt x reader
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not so different
for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt ‘graduation’
rated t | 994 words | cw: mention of past character death, mention of alcohol, language | tags: childhood friends, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, good uncle Wayne Munson
🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦
Steve Harrington didn’t cry, not even when he fell off the slide at the playground and his knee bled for 15 minutes and his nanny had to call his mom.
But this was a special instance where he was allowed to be sad. His nanny even said so. He watched all the kids in his kindergarten class taking pictures with their moms and dads, uncles and aunts, grandpas and grandmas, and wondered why he didn’t have anyone here for him.
He found an empty classroom in the big kid hall as soon as the ceremony was done, sat behind the teacher’s desk, and cried into his knees.
“Did your daddy not show up either?” A voice asked from in front of him.
He lifted his head, vision blurry and face wet, to see Eddie.
Eddie had already done kindergarten once, but he had trouble with his phonics, so they kept him behind. He was the first kid to talk to Steve in class, but within a few days, Tommy and Carol and Heather had scared him away from Steve entirely.
“Um, no.”
“What about your mama?”
“She’s with my dad.”
“My mama is with God. Or that’s what a lot of people say. I dunno if she was friends with him or not, though. I think she just got buried in the ground and people are scared to tell me,” Eddie was sitting next to Steve now, his leg knocking against Steve’s.
Eddie didn’t sit still very well, and the teacher always said he had ants in his pants. Steve hoped he didn’t have them in there now; he didn’t want any ants on him.
“Where’s your dad?”
“He’s probably getting ‘rested again. He showed up being silly and my Uncle Wayne had to take him outside,” Eddie shrugged.
“Is he tired?” Steve asked, sniffling and leaning more against Eddie.
“No. Uncle Wayne says sometimes he has too much of the drinks in the bottles I’m not allowed to touch and it makes him act like he don’t got a brain,” Eddie didn’t sound that sad, but Steve still wanted to hug him. “So your daddy isn’t here?”
“No. I think he forgot.”
“Sorry he forgot. My Uncle Wayne never forgets. He even came to the lunch room for my birthday. He brought me a piece of pizza!” Eddie always sounded more excited than anyone else. Most of the kids in the class thought it was stupid, but Steve kind of liked the way his eyes got wide and his smile got so big it took up most of his face. “Maybe he can bring you a piece for your birthday next year.”
“He doesn’t even know me.”
“You can come meet him!”
The classroom door opened just as Eddie started to stand and reach for Steve’s hands to pull him up.
“There ya are, Ed! Been lookin’ everywhere. You want some ice cream?” An older man stood by the door, button up plaid shirt only half-tucked into his jeans.
“Can we bring Steve? He’s my friend.”
Steve’s head turned, shocked that Eddie would say that.
“We gotta ask his parents first, Ed.”
“His parents didn’t come.”
“Oh.” The man looked Steve up and down before seemingly settling on something. He gave a small smile and gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your favorite flavor, then?”
“I dunno. Never had anything except vanilla,” Steve admitted, afraid to look at the man who had to be Eddie’s Uncle Wayne.
“Well, that just won’t do, will it? Let’s go try every flavor at the diner. Benny just added a few new ones. Think there’s even a bubblegum one.”
Eddie clapped his hands and dragged Steve out the door by his arm.
“I bet you’ll like mint chip,” he said as Wayne followed behind them, fond smile on his face.
🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦🍦
Steve Harrington had only cried a few times in his life, but this was the second time it was happening in front of Eddie.
Eddie wasn’t conscious this time, though.
“If you wake up, I’ll take you to the diner and we can have ice cream. They’ve got a new raspberry white chocolate flavor that you’d like. I could use some mint chip right now,” Steve said around the tears.
Wayne had left the hospital an hour ago to freshen up and grab one of his crossword puzzle books. Steve had been crying for most of that hour, holding Eddie’s hand and quietly begging him to wake up.
Two days without hearing his voice or watching his smile light up the room was too long, especially after having it for the last 13 years.
“How’re you gonna walk at graduation if you’re still asleep here, huh?” Steve closed his eyes and wiped at his cheeks.
“You can walk with me.”
Steve’s head shot up at Eddie’s quiet, but surprisingly strong voice.
“Eddie!”
“Hey, Stevie. Heard you’re takin’ me for ice cream,” Eddie’s smile was crooked, the bandage on his cheek covering one of his dimples.
It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except for Eddie being awake, being alive, being okay.
“Yeah, Eds. Every day if you want,” Steve wanted to crawl into the bed with him, hold him close and feel him breathing and listen to his heartbeat, be sure he was there.
“Gonna hold you to that.”
“Soon as you can leave, that’ll be our first stop. Promise.”
Eddie closed his eyes, but the smile remained on his face. “You slept?”
“A bit.”
“So no.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “A bit.”
“C’mere.”
“Honey, you’re hurt-“
“Come here.”
Steve got in bed slowly, making sure he kept space between himself and Eddie’s injuries.
“Think I’ll graduate?”
Steve snorted. “They’d be stupid to hold you back after you saved everyone.”
“Yeah. ‘M a hero. Fuck Hawkins High.”
Steve could feel more tears trickle down his cheeks, but these were different.
These were relieved tears, happy tears.
“Yeah, honey. Fuck them.”
“Love you, though.”
“Love you so much.”
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#steddieholidaydrabbles#graduation#childhood friends#friends to lovers#wayne munson#hurt/comfort
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Aloe Vera
Summary: When on vacation with your boyfriend, things are great, the drinks, the sex, and the pool. What wasn't great, was the sunburn? But you're dating the strongest sorcerer of the modern age! He’ll take good care of you!
Characters: Gojo Satoru x FAB!Reader
Word Count: 1,408
Warnings: language, sunburn (please wear sunscreen!) fluff~!
A/N: As someone who lives in the desert, this happens a lot. My S.O was sweet enough to rub aloe on me last week, thus my muse!
“Oooh fuck me.” You whine, shuffling into the bathroom. “Fuuuuck me.”
Satoru is right behind you, towel wrapped around his neck, sunglasses pushing his bangs out of his face. “I told you to put on sunscreen! But nooo, somebody stayed by the pool because someone wanted to live, laugh, and work on her tan.”
Your boyfriend was right; you had said those exact words to him earlier that day. When he specifically tried to get you to put more sunscreen on. You had a shirt for him and that you were fine. The sunscreen you put on four hours prior was waterproof, as you floated in a donut.
But the sunscreen had to be reapplied every four hours. If you had taken the time to read the bottle, you think you would know. You really should have listened to your boyfriend. But you were so excited that summer was just around the corner; the only sound you wanted to listen to was the sound of margaritas being made and beach balls bouncing.
If your skin ever felt like skin again, you would listen to whatever the sunscreen bottle and your boyfriend told you to do.
Your skin was so burnt it wasn’t even funny. It was painful and hot; it hurt to move with every step you took towards the shower. Satoru winced, watching as you whimpered, stepping out of your swimsuit and turning the water to a lukewarm temperature.
You don’t even have a chance to step in as arms gently wrap around you. Satoru intended it to be a comforting gesture. Instead, it had you jolting in pain as the cloth of your boyfriend's jacket rubbed against your burnt, sensitive skin. Your yelp had him pulling back, arms held out in front of him.
“F-Fuck baby! I’m sorry!”
“N-no, it’s okay, it’s fine, I-I’m just going to sit here and suffer for all eternity.” Satoru doesn’t say anything as you step into the water. You try to hold back the cries of pain that threaten to pass through your lips, but Gojo can still hear them. The tiny, pained whines have him wincing along with you. He hated seeing you in pain and regretted not making you put on more sunscreen. If he had been more stern with you, then maybe he wouldn’t be in the position that you are right now. But it wasn’t like he could go back in time. You had neglected to put on more sunscreen, and he had failed to pin you down on the pool deck and rub it all over your stupidly cute face. He could not go back in time to change the outcome.
There was, however, one thing he could do.
“Hey, I’m going to step out for a little bit. I need to run to the store in the lobby and grab a couple of things. Are you going to be okay?”
A pained yes is all he hears before you slowly sink to the shower floor, allowing the cold water to run over your burnt skin. Gojo wastes no time; the second who knew you would be okay on your own for a bit, he was bolting out of your hotel room and running down to the hotel store.
You shower to your best abilities without being in excruciating pain. Skipping on the rag and the loofah, you gently wash your body with your hands, which still hurts. You made a vow to yourself with the showerhead that you would never forget to reapply your sunscreen again. Even if you were to fail, your boyfriend wouldn’t.
For the time being, the only thing you could do was try to relax, even though it felt like you wanted to peel your skin off of your body. After your shower, you shuffle back into the main room, collapsing onto the bed, bare butt naked, enjoying the cool crisp sheets underneath you. Between your still-wet skin and the air conditioning, You felt some form of comfort as the hotel room door opened.
At first, you jumped, searching for anything to cover your skin, but quickly, the door shut a second later, and you heard the wrinkling of a plastic bag heading further into the room. “Toru?” You call down gently, lifting your head to search for your boyfriend.
“It’s me; you weren’t doing anything naughty, were you?” he teases, even though he knew the only thing you could do was cry in pain from the sunburn that covered most of your body. Having sex like this was out of the question.
“If by naughty you mean laying my naked ass on our bed, then yes, I am being naughty.”
You can hear his running footsteps just before his shadow spreads on the bed before you. For a second, you think that he’s going to wolf whistle or fist pump or even make some crude comment about how sexy you look naked on his bed, and he didn’t even have to ask you to do anything. Instead of crude comments, the bed dips under his weight as he flops near you.
One second, you're lying there in silence, and the next second, a cold jelly-like substance is squeezed on your back. Said jelly instantly eases the burn on your back, making you moan softly as Satoru’s hands gently rub the cooling, earthy-smelling liquid over your irritated skin. The contrast of cool against your burning skin felt magical. The pain subsided from a persistent throbbing or a mild sting.
“Mmm, Toru, that feels good~” You smile happily, “Thank you, baby.”
“You're welcome, sweetheart. Just remember this moment when I'm lathering sunscreen on you from now on.”
You scoff as Satoru rolls you onto your back so he can rub aloe vera over the front of your body. “Oh please, you think I’m ever going to get this burnt again?”
“You won't once I lather you up in sunscreen.”
“I just wanted to get a little tanner to give off goddess vibes.”
“Babe, you already do that.” The way your eyes widen and glimmer at his words makes Satoru fight the urge to pat himself on the back. “My sunburnt goddess.” He admires the lighter skin tones from where your swimsuit was to the darker tones of your sunburn. God, your skin was so pretty, even when it was burnt.
“Oh, haha, asshole. Sunburnt Goddess, my ass.”
“It's true; allow me to lather you in aloe vera and fan you with a palm tree leaf.”
You rub your face against the sheets. “But of course, my devote ivory follower~”
“Heeey, why am I the ivory follower?”
“Have you seen your pasty ass?”
Your boyfriend's hands stop their treading as he sputters in shock. “Pasty ass?! Pasty!?” You laugh out loud, lifting your head to look up at him. “I do not have a pasty ass!”
“I'm sure the astronauts in the space station can see your pasty ass when you're naked,” Gojo grumbles, digging in the bag and opening something. “The aliens can see your glorious ass from galaxies away. The honored one's ass, the strongest ass of the modern age.” Gojo perks up with a smirk, nodding as he slaps a cool patch on your forehead.
“Keep going, sweetheart~ I'm almost there~.”
You don't get any further as Gojo grabs one of his oversized t-shirts and carefully slips it on you. “Thank you, Satoru, for taking such good care of me, Satoru.” Your boyfriend grins, eyes shutting as he lies down next to you, teaching into his bag, handing you a popsicle.
“You're welcome, sweetheart.”
You both lick at your popsicles in the cool air of the hotel room. When a single thought crosses your eyes, wander over your boyfriend's exquisite body. “Hey Toru?” the man is sucking down on his popsicle like he was giving it the gluck-gluck-five thousand.
“Yeah?”
“Can you get sunburned with infinity?”
“Huh,” he blinked slowly, “I mean, the special grade curse Jogo didn't burn me—so I'm assuming not. Just another benefit of being the honored one.”
“The honored one with a pasty ass.” A smirk pulls at the corner of your mouth as Satoru chokes on his sugary treat.
Forever Tag List:
@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks
#fluffy friday#fluff#jjk gojo x reader#jjk gojo x reader fluff#gojo imagine#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk#jjk y/n#jjk reader insert#jjk gojo smut#jjk gojo#jjk men#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jujutsu kaisen satoru#gojo x reader fluff#gojo x you#satoru gojo#gojo satoru#satoru gojō x reader#Satoru x reader fluff#reader jjk#jjk fanfic#jjk imagines#jjk fluff#jjk men smut#jjk satoru x reader#jjk satoru
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mistakes | s.r x fem!reader
ꨄ requested: anonymous
ꨄ genre: angst + fluff
ꨄ summary: you and spencer break up because he chose to believe someone else over you.
you phone had rang a million times, eventually you turned it off because you were tired of seeing the same name pop up each time: spencer. you couldn't imagine why he'd kept calling you over and over if he was the one who broke up with you because he thought you had cheated on him.
when everything had happened, you tried to explain to him that you didn't cheat and you were at home the entire day and the picture he saw was a picture from years ago. you don't know who sent the picture to him but it was a picture someone you used to know took of you at a party kissing some guy, it was old and way before spencer.
you hadn't gotten out of bed in a few days, only to shower and brush your teeth. your friends, really only one because the rest of your friends were spencer's friends and they absolutely hated you at the moment, came over to make sure you were okay.
a knock on your door pulled you away from your bed, you figured it was just your friend but when you opened the door it most definitely wasn't. spencer stood at the door with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, he was drenched
from the rain pouring.
you were upset with him and hurt but you weren't about to let him stand out there and get sick. "what is wrong with you? get in here before you get sick!"
"why are you here?" you crossed your arms over your chest and glanced over his entire frame. spencer held the flowers out for you to grab, you hesitatingly took them from him and brought them up to your nose.
you knew why he was here, to apologize and try to get you back. quiet frankly, you would problaby go back to him just because he'd only broken up with you a few days ago and because spencer is honestly the best man you've ever met and been with.
"you were at home, like you said. i should've believed you, i'm sorry. just- can we talk about this- us?" he pushed his hair out of his face. you stared at him for a few minutes before nodding your head.
what's the worst that could happen?
"i'm sure you still have some clothes here and because i'm not a horrible person, you can go shower and stay here until the storm passes." you mumbled and moved past him.
when spencer got out of the shower, he found you sitting in the living room scrolling through your phone. you looked up when you felt the couch dip beside you. you shifted on the couch until your body was sideways on it, you drew your legs up to your chest and stared expectingly at him.
"better get to talking before you're walking home in the rain."
spencer had to suppress the smile threatening to show, he liked that you were still just as snappy as before. he cleared his throat and started to tap his hand against his pants.
"i'm so unbelievably sorry. I should have believed you when you told me that the picture was old, I shouldn't have believed an unknown number before you." he looked down to his hands before looking back up, you hummed in agreement and continued to stare at him.
"i'm sorry that I ruined everything we had, it was a huge mistake and i realize that now. i've hardly slept since everything happened. you were the only person that stayed with me despite my job being the way it is."
"because i love you, that's why I dealt with it. when you came to me with those accusations, i wish you could've felt what I felt. ive never felt a heartbreak like that before." you wrapped your arms around your legs. it was silent for a few minutes, just you and him staring at each other, thought's racing in your minds.
"would you ever consi-"
"yes," you didn't even let him get the question out because you already knew what he would say. yes, you would consider getting back together with him and really there would be no thinking about it. "in a heart beat. i would get back with you because I love you and- and even though you hurt me, i still understand why you did it."
spencer opened his mouth to say something but you held up your hand because you weren't done. "i know that i'm your first real relationship and your vulnerable when it comes to me, you'll believe anything that's believable. you've seen what's happened with other's relationships because of your job so it's only reasonable that deep down you would be scared that i would cheat or find someone better, if that's even possible."
"you should become a profiler with your ability to read people." he couldn't help but crack a small joke but he knew that you were right, everything you said was true and there was no denying it. you let your legs down and nudged his thigh.
"i was thinking about it, really. i mean, id get to be with you every second of the day. didn't you say your boss was looking to fill a spot?" you reasoning was absolutely horrible but it made spencer laugh, a sound you'd missed hearing.
you moved closer to him and wrapped your arms around him. the second your skin touched his, he pulled you into him and held you so tight you almost couldn't breath.
"god, i missed you so much. i'll never to that again." he breathed, you nodded the best you could.
“you better not, i won't forgive you as easily if you do."
#golden1u5t#myrarants#criminal minds fandom#spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fandom#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x you#sub spencer reid#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid angst#dr spencer reid#soft dom spencer reid#dom spencer reid#spencer reid x fem!reader angst#spencer reid x fem!reader fluff
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i’d die a thousand times for you ┊ hurt/comfort, suggestive, MDNI, gn! reader, established relationship, pet names (pretty, love), lovely banter, v brief somno mention if you squint, this blurb was provoked by ch261 (no spoilers though), not proofread we die like this, wc: 1.1k
you watched satoru carefully.
searing every feature on his precious face deep into your consciousness while he was soundly sleeping next to you — the way his nostrils flared with each breath he took and the way his eyelids slightly fluttered in slumber, cheek squished against the pillow leaving his mouth agape and drooling from the corner of it.
you thought you’d never get to see him like this ever again, not after what you witnessed with your own eyes in shinjuku.
—you shut your eyes close, tightly. shaking your head, desperately trying to dispel that sight from your memories like your life depended on it. it always reached you in your nightmares but you’d never let it catch you when awake. not when he was here.
when he came back to you, for the first time in your life, you considered it possible — that there might really be god, because his return was no miracle. it was god having mercy on you for he would never give one more than they could handle.
you trailed your fingers along his forehead — tenderly brushing back his hair that felt fluffier than ever between your fingers — before sliding them down his temple to his cheek and then to his cutely parted lips that planted a soft kiss on your fingertip.
“morning, pretty”, satoru spoke with a sleepy timbre, eyes remaining close.
“morning, handsome”, you greeted him back. “did i wake you up?”
“no, been awake for a while”, he smiled, “can’t miss my favorite part of the morning — having you be the creep and stare at me while you think i’m asleep. makes my chest swell with joy”, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at you, his smile growing bigger.
“can’t have you be the creep all the time, that’d be unfair”, you teased, shifting into a sitting position with your back against the headboard of the bed.
he rolled closer and laid his head on your lap, taking your hand into his and pecking it sweetly then putting it on his chest, right on top of his heart, while keeping his over yours. “so we’re basically switching roles?”
“that’s right”, you gave a nod. “we are”
“then there’s a lot more you need to do, i’m afraid”
“walk me through it then, please”
“alright”, he cleared his throat. “first”, he shifted your hand from his chest to the top of his head, “you need to pat me and slowly run your fingers through my hair”, his hand carefully guiding yours. “then you need to lean down a little bit and kiss the tip of my nose”
after you did as he instructed, it took him a hot minute to wipe the silly grin off his face but eventually he continued, “and now you have to caress my cheek and think very hard about how you might just die from happiness because i look ridiculously cute and you love me so very much. after you’re done thinking, you have to whisper it into my ear. you have to be very thorough with your confession, by the way — the required word count is minimum 1k”
“now you’re just making fun of me”, you softly flicked his forehead with your free hand, “no way you’re doing this to me every morning”
“i do even more than this but i don’t want to freak you out, so i’m just easing you into the basic stuff”
“more than this?”
“well of course”
“what is it?”
“can’t tell”
“come on”, you insisted.
“try to guess”, he lifted an eyebrow with a challenging look.
“okay. give me a hint and i will”
“something a freak would do”
“oh……”, a gasp left your lips at the realization, “don’t tell me you…”, gasping again you covered your mouth with your hand.
“oh, yeah”, he shook his head affirmatively.
no words were needed, a quick glance at his idiotic grin was enough to provide you with the answer. it was written all over his face — satoru would often jerk off to you while you were sleeping.
“by the way — if you’re up to fulfilling this part of the creep role, i am definitely watching. heheh”
you laughed, “that’d be off-script though — you’re supposed to be asleep while i do that or it beats the purpose”
“i can pretend to be sleeping, don’t you worry”, he adeptly assured you.
“it wouldn’t be very creep of me if you’re not in deep slumber, so — no”
his lips curved down into a pout. “fine”, he mumbled. “at least do the last part — tell me you love me”
leaning down slowly, your lips charged towards his for a short peck before you whispered into his mouth, “i love you, stinky”
“i love you too, pretty”, he reached for the back of your neck and pulled you in for another kiss. “now — say it again, but louder”
and you did. you said it again and again and again, in between every kiss, until your eyes welled up and it got harder to speak while holding back the tears.
you leaned back and covered your face with both of your hands. “i’m sorry”, you muffled.
“hey, love”, he sat up and pulled you into his arms. “shhh, come here”
he knew exactly what crossed your mind right now for the same thought occupied his as well — just as much as he was grateful to be here, to be as lucky to have this morning banter with you — so were you. in fact, he was more than lucky, perhaps even god’s favorite child, to make it back to you. thinking about the possibility of leaving you behind, alone in this bed, in this house, in this life — made his heart ache, because he was on thin ice back in shinjuku. the pain and loneliness he would’ve caused you would be a one-way ticket for him to hell — and he wasn’t having it. before you, he didn’t really care whether he’d go to hell or heaven. but now, heaven is a must. because you were an angel, and that was the only place he could meet you again if the worst were to ever happen.
“i am here”, he whispered. “i am here”, his repeated a few times until his voice started cracking and he just held you in silence.
“you better”, you pulled away from his embrace and straddled yourself on his lap. cupping his cheeks in your hands, you nuzzled your nose against his and breathed in his scent. “if you die again, i swear i will kill you”
“but if you’ll hold me like this every day, i don’t mind dying a thousand times”
“don’t ever joke about this, you idiot”
“but i am not joking. i mean it — i’d pay any price as long as i get to be with you like this”
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heads up! reader works out and can lift a person.
one minute minghao is a step away from you, the next he's in your arms.
he doesn't register what's happening first. he let go of your hand a minute ago so that he could try to find where you're going on his phone. you shouted something, and then he was suddenly off of the ground and... still isn't on it, actually. you're carrying him bridal style, and yelling after someone who's hopped off their bike to profusely apologize. there's bike lanes, he thinks you say, there's no reason for this guy to be on the sidewalk and almost running over your boyfriend.
minghao can't focus too much on that, though. not when you're still holding him like it's the easiest thing in the world, one of his arms still thrown around you from when he instinctively held on for stability. he knows you've been working out a lot (hell, mingyu gloats about how well you're doing every time he's around--and you seem happy to have the man as your personal trainer), but to pick him up so casually...?
why the hell is he even more in love with you right now?
the guy apologizes maybe a million more times before you let him go, barking at him to watch out next time or he'll actually hurt someone. then you snap back to the reality that you're still carrying minghao, and you're already apologizing as you set him down.
"i just--i heard the guy coming, and i didn't think twice before i--"
minghao almost kisses you. but you're in public, people are still staring, and it doesn't feel proper. he just tries to steady his racing heart as he clears his throat. "it's okay," he says after a moment. "you kept me from getting hurt. i don't mind."
you take his hand and start walking again, just to get away from this whole dramatic scene. "are you sure? i mean, i don't like picking people up without asking unless it's a legit emergency--but it's fine if it bothers you, since--"
he shakes his head. "it's fine," he insists further, although the way his voice wavers clues you in on something.
and you're smart. minghao knows you are. because you immediately start grinning. "oh." you wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him into your side. you're careful to keep him from stumbling too much. "you liked that?"
"it was impressive," he says. technically, he is telling the truth: it was pretty damn impressive to see you effortlessly pick him up like that. "that's all."
"mmmhm." you just chuckle to yourself. "riiiight. just admit it," you tease, "you're in looooove with me."
minghao just stops you there, kissing you quick, just to see that cute smile when he pulls away. "fine," he says. "i'm in loooooove with you."
#nonranghaes.thoughts#seventeen x reader#nonranghaes.svt#svt x reader#seventeen imagine#seventeen x you#svt imagine#svt x you#the8 x reader#the8 x you#xu minghao x you#xu minghao x reader#minghao x reader#minghao x you#the8 fluff#seventeen fluff#svt fluff#xu minghao fluff#minghao fluff
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Peripety
Solomon can’t lose you. Not now, not ever.
Notes: angst, 1.1k words, mentions of death, but hey it’s a happy ending!
Pairing: Solomon x gn!reader
Solomon was no stranger to death. He had seen it so many times in so many ways that he hardly flinched when he felt the cold touch of a hand or saw the pale blue of another's lips. He had seen violent deaths and quiet sleep-ins; he had seen countless strangers and friends fade to another realm, so many that he had forgotten their faces and the sounds of their voices.
He had loved and lost and cried to a point where there were no longer any tears left in him. That’s why he found it easier to stay in the Devildom. Down there, death was hardly ever mentioned. It was the fewest of demons who actually knew what death was. Most of them hardly knew what the word meant or what it felt like.
You were a part of the equation that Solomon hadn’t predicted. Maybe that’s why he’d kept his distance at first, yes, it was definitely the reason why he kept to the shadows. You were unpredictable. You were beautiful. You were so full of life, with rosy lips and crimson cheeks and so, so human, with laughter that filled the room and caught the attention of any being, divine or not. The trust you so easily gave scared him and he hid it behind sly smiles and indifference. The touch of your hand was warm, and the beating of your heart was calm. To Solomon, you were his oasis, his saviour, his redemption.
When you became his apprentice he finally started lowering the walls he’d built so high. The gates he’d sealed shut had been opened slightly ajar and you had barged right in. The thoughts started haunting him. He was going to lose you, he knew he was going to lose you. It was as inevitable as the changing seasons, as summer turning into winter. He would wake during the night covered in sweat and gasping for air, yet nothing could fill the hole in his chest. He would dream of endless hills of sand and falling down, down, down with no end in sight.
Yet you eventually made enough pacts with demons for Solomon to feel calm again. He could see it in you, the same way he saw it in himself. The way your ageing slowed, the way wrinkles never emerged despite years passing, and the way white hairs only appeared by the decade. Eventually, Solomon was lulled into a feeling of safety. You were a great sorcerer, even greater than he was, he knew that, yet the fear never entirely left him.
You might have been immortal, but you weren’t invincible. If Solomon could, he’d have asked every single being in the world not to hurt you. He’d have asked every tree, every flower, he’d have asked every animal in the forest, and every fish in the sea. He’d have asked the wind and the sun, hell, he’d even have asked the goddamned mistletoe.
You might have been immortal, but you weren’t invincible. Your death was swift. In another life, that might’ve been consoling to Solomon, but in this one, it wasn’t. He would've selfishly savoured every second he could steal from the reaper, every single grain of sand from the hourglass, if it meant seeing the light in your eyes one last time. Instead, a feeble snake bite stole you from him, and you were gone within the minute. You’d think that the greatest sorcerer in the world would be able to make an antidote, but everything just went so fast.
Solomon didn't want to mourn you. He wanted you back. He’d heard about it before. Human beings had travelled far down to where the souls of the dead rested, so far down, way below the Devildom, past the river Styx, where the sun had never touched the ground and the wind had never cast a light breeze.
No one stopped him when he put on his coat and left.
He travelled for days, only accompanied by the sound of his heart beating. At some point, Cerberus found him. He supposed the big, three-headed dog was sent as company from Lucifer, and he welcomed it with open arms. It reminded him of his humanity, that there needed to be something left of him once you returned.
He walked straight for Hades' court, past the grey souls of the countless dead waiting to go on trial. He looked for you among them, but he already knew that you weren't there. He would recognize your soul immediately. It would shine brighter than any star ever could.
Solomon had no lyre to play for the god of the dead, nor did he have a beautiful voice to enchant the deity's wife. When he saw Hades sprawled on his throne, he knew that the god's power was not what it once had been. Hades' skin was grey and dull. The magic that once surrounded him and made it impossible for a human to look directly at him had been turned into a feeble glow instead making him look sick.
Solomon offered the godhead a spell in return for your soul. A spell that would allow Persephone’s flowers to grow in the ruler's kingdom, a thing otherwise impossible due to the low temperatures below the ground. Hades mulled the thought over, feigning doubt, but Solomon knew that the king was going to accept. He had seen the way the godhead looked at his wife, and it was the same way that the wizard himself looked at you.
The deal was simple. You and Solomon would walk out of the death realm together, but Solomon could not look back before you were completely out of Hades' grasp. It was simple, right? He was Solomon the Wise, not some delicate artist with a lyre. He could handle not looking back. He would do so easily. He walked for days and days, the only sound accompanying him being the beating of his heart. Yet he knew that you were behind him. He felt it within his bones. As he stepped into the sunlight, he decided not to repeat the mistake of his predecessor. He waited for you to walk out with him, but you did not. Solomon slowly became angry. Had he been fooled by Hades? Had the Godhead grown so weak, so desperate that he was willing to break his promise just to keep another soul?
That was until he felt the warmth of your arms wrap around him from behind. Solomon felt his breath hitch as he turned around to find you, glowing with health and smiling ever so beautifully at him, and for the first time in centuries, Solomon was able to relax.
He's no longer alone. You're with him now and he's never letting you go again.
a/n: Aaaaa, I'm lowkey so proud of this, it’s probably one of my favourite pieces I've written. Can you tell I'm experimenting with imagery?
I was thinking of just going with the ending where Solomon turns around and then reader disappears (like Orpheus and Eurydice in Ovid's Metamorphoses), but something caught me, and I didn't feel like writing a sad ending.
I don't know if anyone picked up on this, if you did I love you, but the mistletoe is a reference to the Norse myth where Frigg doesn't want her son Balder to die, so she asks everything on earth to not hurt him, but forgets the mistletoe, and Balder then gets shot by an arrow made of mistletoe and dies, which triggers Ragnarok (the end of the world). (Imagine being so loved that your death triggers the end of the world, damn, that’s crazy.)
I also don’t know if this is canon, but I like to imagine that Solomon had black hair and then it slowly turned white throughout the centuries, so eventually reader will have matching white hair with Sol!
Divider by @/cafekitsune, thank you!
#perse fics#solomon#obey me shall we date#obey me solomon#obey me swd#obey me solomon x reader#obey me x reader#obey me solomon x you#obey me x you#obey me x mc#obey me angst#obey me solomon angst#obey me solomon x mc
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La nueva g headcannons
Patri Guijarro x young physio!reader
-> what would it be like for a young physio to join Barça's nueva generación?
Meeting eachother
──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──
Being the new girl had always been your worse nightmare, being the new girl at your new internship, in a country you had moved into recently, sounded like hell.
Yes speaking the language made it easier, kinda, since everyone actually opted for talking in Català, much to your dismay.
Even in school most of your classes followed the same principle.
But you knew that wasn't the biggest issue. You were never good at initial introductions, despite the language.
So here you were, walking into the Barcelona Femeni's training grounds for your first day.
──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──
Soon training was over, the room was filled by a few players.
"Don't worry, they aren't all in recovery. Mapi is the only one who really is.
Pina is here for a look at a mild pull on her right hamstring, nothing to worry too much about. We are just keeping a close eye on it.
Vicky and Salma will head to cryotherapy, after a massage, for muscle relaxation." you took some notes as she spoke. "I'm focusing on Mapi, the second physio will be here in a little bit, to take care of Paralluelo. Can you check on Pina? You just need you to check her leg and write down how she feels, and pain levels, that should probably be low."
"Yes, of course."
You said, walking towards where the woman was laying.
"Hey, I'm Y/N the new intern. Since we have a couple players in today, I'm doing your check up." looking up from your notes to her. She had a stunned look on her face.
"Hi hm- I'm Pina, Claudia Pina." she said giving you a big smile. But you couldn't help but keep your eyes on the paperwork.
"Excuse me." you said moving to examine her thigh. "Tell me if it hurts too much."
"Okay." and you proceeded.
"Can you tell me how it hurt on a scale from one to ten?"
"Two."
"Did you feel it during training?"
"Just a bit. Do you think you could do some taping, just for caution?"
"Yeah, let me go get the kit."
you got up and came back quickly. You did your best and soon you were done.
"Thanks! Nice to meet you Y/N."
──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──
"Patri you're not going to believe! There's a new intern, she has the prettiest eyes and an accent, I don't know where from but, she's latina for sure." said the forward coming into the room where some of the teammates were in a ice bath.
"Did talk to her?"
"Not much. Just the check up. But she's your type."
"How so?"
"I don't know how to explain it. You have to see her." she said grinning widely at the thought of playing cupid.
──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──
But you two didn't have the chance to meet, until the next game.
Patri had fell to the ground harshly, and didn't get up, after getting hit from behind from the other team's player.
You and the other medic ran straight in. You weren't even supposed to be on field duty but the head physio didn't show up in time, so you had to improvise.
"Hey tell me where it hurts." you whispered in her ear so she could hear you.
"My right leg, I'm not sure what happened but everything hurts!"
"Can you keep going or is it bad?"
"It's bad."
"Vale, we're doing a change." the head doctor signed for you to head to the locker room to evaluate her, while he stayed there at the pitch.
you only nodded and helped Patri.
"Lay here so I can take a look, please." you started to examine her thigh and knee, moving down to check her ankle.
"It doesn't seem anything too extreme, but we are definitely going to run some screening."
"I'll be fine for next game, right?"
"Not quite sure. Sorry."
"You're Y/N?"
"Yes."
"It's just, my best friend had told me about you."
"Pina?" you said sitting on the chair next to her.
"Yeah." she said thinking what to say next. "You usually aren't here for the game right?"
"Yes, but they had an emergency so I had to step up. But don't worry I'm on my last year, that means I can take care of you."
"I didn't mean it like that, you look very qualified an- I-"
"It's okay." you let out a soft laugh. "You would think for a physio team of a big club, they would be more prepared for this situations."
"Wait, what happened?"
"Head physio is running late, the secondary is supposed to be off today. So just me."
"You are quite young, for a doctor."
"I'm twenty five, getting my masters degree. And you are quite young to be a football star." you said preparing some ice to press onto her leg that was already starting to bruise.
"Touché. Ouch." she said through her teeth.
"Now we wait."
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"Yeah so, good news and bad news." said the doctor. "It's a moderate strain. There's no tear though. You're out for the next few days and then rehabilitation."
"Goddammit!" she said throwing the water bottle she had across the room, missing you by a couple of centimeters.
"Ay chica!"
"Sorry, I forgot you were there." she said looking up, where you were standing on the other side of the room.
"Didn't you hear? You're on physio sessions, you need me alive!" you said tying to cheer her up, seeing how tense she was from the situation.
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Monday morning getting to the training grounds, you saw Patri getting out of the car, Claudia was the one driving.
"Oye Y/N!" said Pina getting your attention. "Can you help Patri get to the recovery facility? Here's her stuff." she finished putting two bags in your arms.
In truth her friend didn't need that much help. She could walk on her own and Clau could have carried it there. But what would be better than this for her to get you two together?
Patri had her mouth agape. Sometimes she could not believe the way her best friend would act.
Good thing you let out a small laugh, indicating you were okay with it. But before you could even say anything she was gone into training.
"Bon dia."
"Bon dia, sorry about her. You can give them to me."
"Of course not! She's right." you fixed the bags in your arms, so you could keep a free hand, to help her out. "Let's get you there. How was the weekend? Did you rest like you were supposed to?"
"I tried not to, but they stopped me. Overall, it didn't hurt that much."
"Are you saying that so I'll put in a word that you're doing better?"
"It hurt like hell. But I swear it already feels somewhat better." she confessed.
"That's what I thought."
──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──
Thanks to everyone for the ideas and special thanks to @itzzzitzelll and @s0ciety-cxv for basically co writing the plot and everything! 🩷
There will be more parts kind of like 'healers got to date protectors'! So send your requests in!
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James Potter x shy Hufflepuff fem!reader
Summary: You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.
Genre: Fluff 🫶
Warnings: drinking, being drunk
~ directly inspired by the song So High School by Taylor Swift. thank you to the anon who requested this! ily! ~
Your cheeks burn from your embarrassment and the fire-whiskey in your blood-stream as your ears ring from the loud music dancing around you and you shake your head.
Lily Evans laughs as she glances around the Common Room. "C'mon, this is your chance," she insists, "They're playing Kiss, Marry, or Kill."
When Lily sees your confused and frankly frightened expression, she quickly explains, "It's a muggle game—it's harmless and fun—c'mon," she says again and pulls on your arm.
"Gentlemen," Lily declares when you approach the circle of students near the fire and she looks at the ring leaders of the group, The Marauders.
They're the ones that had planned this party—or Sirius and James had while Remus and Peter tagged along.
Sirius grins when he sees Lily.
"Aw, are you joining us, Red?" he smirks and then he sees you, "And who's your friend?"
You smile shyly. You know Peter from Care Of Magical Creatures in your third year, and you often seen Remus in the library (you've even spoken to him a few times), but you've only ever seen and heard James and Sirius from afar—
—which definitely never helped the stupid, baseless, soul-crushing crush you have on James Potter.
Remus, who is sitting criss-cross ext to Sirius, speaks up, "Y/n, yeah? You're a Hufflepuff—I see you in the library." He smiles kindly and pushes on James's shoulder, who has the latter almost choking on his beer, so you can sit next to him.
James frowns but he recovers quickly and looks up, his glasses crooked on his nose. He's wearing his Quidditch sweater, his brown hair a tangled mess, but he's smiling now.
"Hi," he moves so you can sit next to him and Remus as Lily grins like a fool. You feel her hand on your shoulder as she plops you down next to James and she sits across from you.
Apart from the Marauders, other students are also sitting around the circle and chatting. Sirius is by far the loudest of them all, and you think James is the funniest.
It becomes honestly embarrassing how hard you laugh at any stupid joke he says. You can't help it, your tipsiness impairs any rational thoughts you may have, as you cover your mouth and stifle your laughs.
James notices immediately and he grins.
"Never had this much success, dove," he says, as charming as always, "You're cute."
This causes you to become even more flustered and you don't even know how to answer him. So, you hide from him, turning your head in the opposite direction. Lily sends you a knowing look.
James leans his knee closer to yours and you have to convince yourself he did that by accident or you'll simply implode.
"Okay, Jamie, Kiss, Marry, Kill—me, Lily, and our new sweet little Hufflepuff," Sirius suddenly says, pulling your attention to the group again. You still have no clue what this game is and your eyes round.
Sirius seems quite pleased with himself.
James sips his drink, "Hmm, Kill you because you're a pain in my arse—"
Sirius dramatically puts a hand on his heart, feigning hurt at his best friend's words. "And here I had the ring all prepared," he whines.
James chuckles and continues. "Then um," he looks between you and Lily for a moment and your heart sinks.
Everyone knows James had a thing for Lily in second to fourth year. How could you, someone who had been too shy and awkward to even talk to him, compete with smart, incredibly witty, and beautifully stunning Lily Evans?
"Kiss Lily and marry Y/n," James shrugs, smiling lopsidedly as he looks at you and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "Lils' seems like she'd be a decent snog, but I like them sweeter for the long run," he reasons and winks.
Lily laughs and rolls her eyes, "Smooth, Potter."
"No need to get all green-eyed on us, Evans," James says and turns his attention to you again, "Whadd'ya say, lil' puff, June 17th in six years?" he says, planning the future fake wedding.
You look up at him, your eyes round and you blink—unable to laugh it off as your heart thumps so loudly you can barely hear a thing anymore.
"I think you broke the poor girl," Remus chuckles and then turns to Peter to steer the attention away from you, "Okay, Wormy, your turn."
Thank Merlin for Remus Lupin.
* * *
A while later, you stand in the corner of the room, your mind still stuck on how James's teasing that you don't hear the man in question come up to you.
"Hey, dove," he whispers and you spin around.
"Oh–hi," you whisper. You must look so smitten because you can just feel your cheeks burn.
James smirks. "It's late. Where's Lily?"
You frown as you look around, "She's talking with um—some of her other friends over there—" you point, expecting James to walk to her and leave you behind.
Instead, he stays. "You think she'd mind if I walk you back to your Common Room, you seem a little tipsy."
You're at a loss for words but then you stutter, "O-oh, no, I don't think she would mind," you whisper, "That's very kind of you, James. I c-can walk alone if it's a bother—"
"Nonsense. If it was a bother, I wouldn't have asked," James takes your arm, pushing some hair from your face with his fingers.
"Cute ribbon," he adds, looking at the red ribbon in your hair, "Very on brand with Gryffindor pride," he chuckles as he clearly enjoys the flustered look you're wearing.
"You're adorable," he says and he takes your hand, leading you out into the hall. The corridors are empty and dimly lit at this time in the evening and it feels surreal to walk the halls hand in hand with James Potter—especially when he keeps looking back at you with that look on his face.
When you arrive at the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room, James turns to you and he keeps his hand in yours. He's blushing obviously now and you can smell the beer on his breath.
"If we weren't so tipsy," he mumbles, his knuckles caressing your skin, "I would kiss you right now."
Your eyes widen and your breath leaves you. "Pardon?"
"You heard me, love—where have you been all my life?" he sounds lovesick and one of his palms press against his warm cheek, "Is this what love at first sight is supposed to feel like? Because I was convinced that was all bullshit until now. What charm have you put on me, Y/n?"
You look away because if you look into his eyes any longer, you'll faint. Your hand squeezes his as his words make you feel dizzy and all fluttery. "I think you're just a little drunk, James."
"Drunk in love, yeah," he half-jokes, his tone soft as he leans in and his lips find your forehead.
You shut your eyes, wondering how he could make you feel like this in a mere matter of hours and although your insecurities creep in, you stay in the moment.
"Where can I find you tomorrow?" James whispers against your skin.
"I'm in the library a lot, especially in the mornings," you say, having no expectations of ever seeing James Potter again. You and him live on completely different planets.
"You can find me there if you'd like," you finish and James nods, his lips kissing your temple one last time and then he whispers a small, sweet dreams into your skin.
* * *
In the morning, you ignore your hangover and find your usual spot in the back of the library as you open an old book written by an ancient muggle philosopher.
Last night's events in the Gryffindor Common Room play in your head as you read.
"Mornin'." You're startled by a familiar voice and you look up from your book. James stands in front of you, a Quaffle under his arm as his hair splays messily across his forehead.
He's still dressed in his Quidditch Uniform and he walks closer, smiling. "Sorry I'm late—practice ran later than usual. Whatcha reading?" he asks, sitting across from you and draping his arm across the chair next to his as the Quaffle sits in his lap.
"You came," you whisper with a smile, your heart fluttering.
"Yeah, 'course I came," James says so casually as he leans over the table and taps your book, "Whatcha reading, dove? Do tell me all about it,"
You feel all warm and fuzzy like all your wildest dreams have come true, when you say, "Only if you tell me all about Quidditch practice after?" you look at him shyly.
"Your wish is my command," James grins, a faint blush on his cheeks.
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