#this has been sitting on my desk half finished for AGES while i waited for my eyes to be not-fucked again it was driving me nuts
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Office days
* English is not my first language I apologise
* Gif is not mine
* Triggers
- Summary: you work at the McLaren headquarters,
Y/N POV
“So the drivers will spend the last few days off here in the office.” CEO Zak Brown said. “Are there any more questions?” We all shook our heads. “Alright, let’s prepare and finish the other half of the season with a good sprint.” We all stood up and walked to our own offices. “Y/L/N.” Zak called me. “Yes?” “Can i asked you something?” “Of course.” “Lando requested if it was possible to spend the few days at your office, he’s willing to learn more about the new developments for the next few years.” “Of course he can, I have a few interesting days come along, it will be interested for him.” “Good to hear that he’s welcome at you office. I will send him Monday to you department.” “Good, I’ll see him then.” We both parted our ways. I had a big smile on my face. ‘Lando Norris is interested in my work.’
——— Monday Morning———
I was sitting at my desk when I heard a knock on my door. “Come in!” The door opened and Lando stepped in side. “Hello Lando, please take a seat.” I pointed at the seat in front of my desk. “Thank you.” He smiled and took place. “I heard you wanted to look more into our next generation race cars.” “Yes correct, with new rules and developments, I want to understand our vision a bit more for in the future.” I nod at his response. “Well we are very busy with that, the team is already striving for the newest car for next season.” He nods. “But we also would like your opinion and feedback for in the future.” “I can do that.” “Good, let’s take a walk than.” We both stood up and walked to the factory. “Here is the team, collecting data and transmitting it on our newest design. We change this very often with the data we get from the race results.” We walked through the factory, everyone was at work, behind the computer, simulators and more. “This factory is different from the one at level 3.” “Yes we are looking more into the future, while they look at the present. Our work will get there when we are ready.” He nods, looking around the facility. “Have you ever been to a race?” “No I haven’t. I hope in the future.”
We went on a lunch break. Lando followed me behind, asking a lot of questions about the department but also about myself. “So you are 24 years old?” “Yes, same age as you.” “And already this high in the cooperation?” “I had some help to get me here, my farther works at the factory at level 3.” We both took place and started to eat lunch. “I still find it impressive what you do.” “You do? It’s not like racing and training every day.” “No but we need everyone’s effort to make us win.” I smiled at him. “I hope you learn something in these days, it’s not like I can help you with the issues you have now on your car.” “But it makes me understand more about the team.” He said while taking a bite from his sandwich.
——— Friday———
Lando walked in and plopped down in the chair. “Good morning Lando.” “Good morning Y/N.” I was typing a mail as he was spinning around in the chair. “So what’s the plan today.” “Driving.” He stopped spinning his chair and looked at me with a shocked face. “Driving?” “Yes driving.” “But we can test the cars during the season.” “We know, we are not going to drive a F1 car.” I finished the mail and stood up. “McLaren has a new car for our McLaren customers and we are going to test it.” “Really?!” He jumped up. “Yes really, we work very close with that department, so are you ready?” “Hell yeah.” We both walked through the hallways, arriving outside where they where waiting. “Ahh there you are.” Head of customers Josh welcomed us. “Hello Josh, nice to see you too.” I gave him a hug. “Josh, Lando is joining us today, if you don’t mind.” “Of course not, welcome Lando I hope you can keep up with her.” As he nodded at my direction. Lando looked a bit unpleasant. “ of course, she a good teacher for that matter.” Josh smiles and turned to me. “Let me show you our newest car.” He guides us to the new car. “The new generation of sports car, newest model with our newest engine….”
Lando POV
I was looking at how Josh was trying to impress Y/N. She looked very excited as he stood close to her, telling about the newest car. “You want a test drive?” Josh asked her. “Me? I think you should asked our driver Lando.” Josh didn’t look at me, he just huffed at the idea. “No… I think it’s better that you drive, he needs to focus more on driving his car to the finish line.” I was shocked what he just said. “I’m sorry?” I asked while Y/N looked between us. Josh just smiled sarcastically at me. “I think we should let the lady drive, it’s called manners.” This guy… “okay, let’s not get to that path of the road. I’ll drive it.” Josh smiles at her. “Let’s get you in the car then.” I stayed behind watching him flirting with her. I felt jealousy creeping in. ‘Lando forget it, he’s more mature than you are.’
“Thank you Josh.” She stepped out of the car. “No thank you.” He gave her a wink. “Lando did you see the inside of the car yet?” She looked at me while Josh closed the door quickly. “Yes.” She was surprised with my short answer, she quickly smiled. “Okay, Josh thank you for showing us the new car, I assume you already mailed me the details about this car?” “Yes i did, I’m fast you know.” “I know, then we are done here, we have to go back we have a meeting.” “I understand, I’ll hope I see you very soon Y/N.” She turned around. “Let’s go before we are to late.” Josh didn’t say anything to me as we walked away. “What a beautiful car, don’t you think.” I hummed at her question. “We’re using some of the data to our f1 cars, mostly engine wise.” I just nodded. She didn’t say anything, looking a bit hurt from my behaviour. We both walked into her office as she closes the door behind us. “Lando are you alright, you seemed so quiet.” “No I’m fine.” I said in a flat tone. “Well you don’t behave like your fine.” She sits down on her chair. “Since when do you care, all you care about is the stupid car.” Her smile fell, hurt was now on display. “Well I’m sorry Lando that I’m passionate about my job, I think it’s time for you to leave, I have a private meeting in a minute.” She didn’t looked at me, her eyes where looked on het computer screen. “Yeah of course.” I walked out of her office. ‘Stupid idiot!’ I walked quickly through the hallways, trying not to lose my shit.
Y/N POV
I sat in disbelief in front of my computer. ‘What did I do wrong?’ I stared at my screen, my agenda was empty. I got a notification from Josh. “Newest developments for our smartest woman Y/N” I cringed at the mail. “Weirdo.” I said while opening the data. I read everything till it was time to go home. I made sure everything was off in the office and walked through the empty hallways of the department. Then I saw Lando sitting in the main hall, looking at his phone. “Lando, im heading home, I hope i see you monday.” He looked up, eyes where bloodshot, likes he’s been crying. “Lando are you okay, what happened?” He’s hooked his head. “Nothing important, I want to apologise for my behaviour earlier today.” I nod at him. “I hope I didn’t ruin your vibe for your meeting tho.” “I lied there was no meeting.” “But you said it twice, you said it to Josh.” “Yes for us to escape, I’m not there to listen to his insults. Josh likes me but I already told him I’m not interested, doesn’t listen to me.” “You don’t like him?” “No he’s weird and besides I already like someone else.” “Oh. Lucky guy then.” Lando looked at his shoes. “He is, because he did hurt her feelings today, saying she only cares about that stupid car.” His head shot up, looking surprised at me. “Wait you like me?” “Of course, I didn’t just did this for the team, I was happy you wanted to look at my department and stuff.” He laughs. “No freaking way, I told Zak I wanted this because I already had a crush and needed a reason to talk to you.” We both laughed. “Do you forgive me and give me a proper chance?” I prentend to think. “Don’t know, Josh already asked me….” I cracked a smile at him. “No that would be a mistake, you need someone with manners.” “I think your right.” He walked up to me. “So you give me a chance?” “Yes of course I will. You’re to handsome to not give you a chance.” He got a blush on his cheeks. “Well thank you, your beautiful as well.” We both walked with a smile on our faces to our cars. “If you have time we can hang out tomorrow?” “That would be nice.” “Okay, I’ll text you.” I nodded. “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then.” I hopped in my car. “Yeah see ya tomorrow.” I waved at him and drove off. Smiling like a idiot. ‘I’m falling for Lando Norris.’
#x reader#imagines#imagine#lando x reader#lando norris x reader#lando norris x you#lando norris imagine#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#x y/n
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someone sent me the loveliest ask about bday party matty following girly around after tour ends that i accidentally deleted because i saved to drafts and couldn't edit on mobile SO i shall discuss it here. yes, you're right, he is without question in groupie mode (well, more so than usual lol) - after some, um, morning bedroom activities, he'll hover over you and kiss your nose like "so, my sweet girl, what's on your agenda today?", and when you tell him you've got an interview or a radio appearance or a signing he's like "that sounds fun. can i tag along, darling? i'll hold your handbag for you" lol bless him. and he's determined that everything is about you; he makes it so clear to the interviewers or presenters that "i'm only here in bf mode! it's my girl's moment! please don't mention me", but he caves a little when you pout and say "but i want to talk about you. half of these essays are about you", gives you a little nose kiss and says "well, alright, if you insist lol", which in turn makes you roll your eyes and say "bloody narcissist. but i love you!" lmao it's all very cute and fun. throughout the interview, he looks at you like you hung the moon, his eyes never leaving your face and his smile never leaving his - an audio clip from your radio interview goes viral because the host says "no wonder you're writing all these wonderful essays about being in love and being loved - the way your other half (matty tears up at this btw lol) looks at you, and has done the whole time we've been talking, i don't think anyone has ever been so loved as you are by him", and you get all blushy and bashful and giggly before you say "well, he has, by me", and the world seems to really love this little insight moment. and when you get home at the end of the day, matty's insistent on being the one to make dinner because "you've been working, darling, relax"; you sit in the kitchen while he cooks, mayhem at your feet and a glass of wine in your hand, and nothing has ever been so domestic and perfect. speaking of domesticity, actually - on your days off, the two of you have been rearranging the house somewhat. partially in prep for christmas decorations, but also partially because even though you moved in ages and ages ago you haven't really had the time to find the right places for all your things. matty had the kinda cute, kinda egotistical (thus, extremely him) idea of putting all your awards and most cherished writing bits in the same room as his music equivalents, so you've had to source appropriately nice bookcases for that to happen; the room looks so cool once it's finished, books interspersed with music scores and brits surrounding the booker nomination, and matty's like "you know, this is really fitting, given that we inspire each other so much. and it's also cool as fuck. like we really are the coolest couple on the planet" lol. he puts a desk in there under the guise of that being the best room to do video interviews from, but really it's so he has something to bend you over; of course thinking about the two of you being so hot and cool and accomplished gets him going, it's matty we're talking about lmfao. but really, at his core, he's a sweetheart completely in love with you - once you both got the christmas tree up and decorated, you tugged him into the kitchen like "ok, it's time. you said we were having chicken for dinner, yeah?", and matty nods in confusion and then gasps when he sees the potatoes and the baking tray and your seasoning mix on the counter like "wait, is this what i think it is? you're-" and you nod like "teaching you the roast potato recipe. this is it, healy, you're stuck with me forever now". and matty - crying, obv - just grabs your face and kisses you deeply, murmuring "can't fucking wait for that. i love you". cute as hell <3
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Stepbro!eddie installment #4
*disclaimer that you are 18*
Warnings: stepcest, masturbation (male and female), oral sex (f receiving), fingering
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It was a Friday night, meaning your parents were out doing whatever it is middle aged couples do, and your stepbrother Eddie was supposed to be doing some nerdy shit with his friends in one of their basements, probably. You decide to light some candles in your room and you close your blinds.
A feeling has built inside of you for the last few minutes, and you can’t quite think of a reason, it was just a random and spontaneous need. So, you slipped off your pants and layed back in bed, shutting your eyes and trying to get to a perfect place of fantasy.
As you rubbed your clit with gentle pressure at first, you moan slightly at the feelings of it being met with your cold fingertips.
Soon after, your hand slipped lower, dipping into the source of your wetness and spreading it around before pushing a finger in. In and out, in and out, and then another.
You were in your own world, only thinking of one thing in this moment: an orgasm. You needed it. It’s been long overdue, you’re so pent up because of how busy you’ve been and not being able to do “me time” on the regular.
Your bedroom door opens almost silently, but clicks shut loud enough to snap you back to reality.
Your step brother was standing there with his giant brown eyes, absolutely enamored at the sight in front of him. You scrambled to sit upright, pulling your blanket over your mostly exposed body.
“Get. Out.”
You were mad because he wasn’t supposed to be here, and DEFINITELY wasn’t supposed to be in your room.
You were more annoyed than embarrassed, you were pretty sure most people masturbated and so you didn’t feel too much shame.
Instead of heeding your warning, the lock clicks and your heart drops.
“DUDE, get out.” You repeat yourself.
“Wait, let me help you.”
The idea of something so forbidden happening was keeping you going, even without touching yourself.
“No, you can’t.. please just get out.”
“Close your eyes again. Do you trust me?”
“No, not a whole lot, Eddie.”
“That’s fair.” He shrugs, “but do it anyways, because I know some part of you would love to have a guy in here with you, replacing your own lonely hand with someone else’s.”
“I’m not lonely and neither is my hand.” You retorted.
“Either keep going while I watch you and jerk myself off, or shut your eyes and let me come over there and help you finish.”
You look down and sure enough he’s hard, even though he didn’t see much.
You don’t think he did, anyway, but he had come in so quietly there was no telling how long he’d been standing there. Heart drops again. He was serious, he wasn’t going to leave.
“Fine, you can watch but you can’t touch me.”
He seems satisfied, so he drags your desk chair closer to your bed and to you and pulls his halfway hard dick out of his pants. You looked quickly back at the door, just to make sure it was in fact locked.
You sighed,and pulled the blanket off of your body, leaving your half naked body on display for him to see.
At this, he starts to stroke himself, completely hard now even more than before. You watch him as he does this, bringing your fingers back down as you moved your fingers in and out of your desperate hole.
“Fuck, you’re so- you’re so perverted”, you tell him.
“Maybe, but so are you. Who were you thinking about? I know you were doing something in your imagination, that’s what gets you off, is fantasizing.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I think it is, actually, because it was me. Am I right or am I wrong? Say it, who was it?”, he’s speaking to you while still stroking himself faster and faster.
“Say it.”
“You.”
“Again, full sentence.”
“Fuck, I was thinking about you, please.”
You weren’t sure what the please was for, maybe to just get him to stop making you embarrass yourself. He pumps his cock faster in his hand, groaning at both the feeling and the sight he was seeing.
You were trying so hard while watching him, but you couldn’t get close enough on your own. Maybe it was the added pressure or the sudden interruption.
“I can’t, can’t do it.”
He huffs at your changing mind and indecisiveness. “That’s okay, shut your eyes.” You finally do as he says, you feel and hear him approaching your bed. He grabs your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed and then you feel his hot mouth against your pussy in an instant.
“Oh, oh fuck, mmh, fuck”, you whine at the sudden sensation, squirming around because it felt so good. He puts his hand onto your lower stomach to hold you in place, bringing the other to your cunt and starting to finger you.
It was infinitely more pleasurable than when you were doing it by yourself. He stays down there and eats you relentlessly until you can’t take it anymore and cum all over his fingers and tongue.
“Oh my god, oh my god, shit”, you cry out, trying to come back to earth, eyes squeezed shut involuntarily this time. He stands up quickly after that, lifting up your shirt to expose your abdomen before jerking himself again but rapidly this time and almost instantly spilling warm cum all over his hand and painting your stomach with it.
“Oh” you comment, not really expecting that so soon.
“I was already close, I’m sorry, you’re just too hot. Almost came hands-free.”
You threw your head back on your bed and try to breathe normally again.
��Next time, you help me.”
You threw a pillow at him. “You wish.”
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Mr. Gallagher and Me
Jim x Reader
Masterlists Playlist Chapter 17
Author's Note: I've completely given up on posting this on a Friday because this has been sitting here for more than a month.
Chapter 18
Summary: Y/n and Jim come clean about their relationship and consequences ensue.
Mid February- 2 days later.
They’d managed to get Nadia to give them a meeting early Wednesday morning, at seven am; outside of her usual office hours and before the department was even open to anyone else but staff. Jim had urged that it was an emergency, citing that time was coming short and of the essence- he wasn’t lying. He hadn’t offered many details though, not with the intention of ambushing her at the meeting, but instead deciding that disclosing that he’d gotten into a relationship with one of his students and subordinates was not the kind of thing anyone did over the phone, but especially someone that wanted to salvage their job- and their girlfriend’s future.
Bright early, they’d been there before seven, and had opted to wait in his car until Nadia came in, so their could start their meeting as early as possible- that may have involved a little bit of ambushing. “Miss Y/l/n,” Nadia knitted her brows and flashed the pair a confused smile as they stepped into the elevator behind her, “I didn’t realize you’d be joining us for this meeting.”
“Uh….Mr. Gallagher didn’t mention that?” She glanced at Jim, wide eyed and worried that he’d forgotten a crucial specific.
Nadia shook her head with a chuckle, “He might have, but honestly, it was so early when he called on Tuesday morning, I must have been half asleep still.”
“Er, sorry about that,” Jim apologized, running a hand nervously through his hair, “This is just….really important.”
“Of course,” Nadia nodded with a smile, “Though, I wish I could have been more prepared, you didn’t mention what this was about,” just then, the elevator doors slid open and before Jim or Y/n could respond, a kind faced, middle aged janitor walked past them, pushing her cleaning cart slowly.
“We’d prefer to discuss this in your office,” Y/n interjected suddenly, “In private,” she smiled tightly. As they stepped out of the elevator, Jim rested a guiding hand on the center of her back, and they both missed the odd look that Nadia flashed them before shaking her head and leading them to her office down the hall. While she opened up; unlocking the door, turning on the lights and setting her bags down, they waited outside, until she invited them.
“So,” she huffed, sinking into her chair after they’d claimed the ones on the other side of the desk. Her office was larger than Jim’s, and by extension, every other lecturer in the department, with space to host small meetings, more books and some other personal effects. “What’s this about? Where’s the fire?” She chuckled lightly, referencing Jim’s apparent haste.
Instead of starting off, Y/n glanced at Jim, hoping he’d take the initiative, and sighing softly in relief when he did. “Uh…well, Y/n and I are well aware of the university’s position on fraternization-”
“Oh my God,” Nadia sighed heavily and mood quickly changing as she cut him off, easily deducing where he was going before Jim could even finish. “How long?”
“Just over a year,” Jim answered softly, averting his gaze from Nadia’s.
As she glanced at Y/n, she knitted her brows, “I’m assuming the baby is his?” She nudged to Jim and Y/n offered an unsteady ‘yes’. Silent for a moment, Nadia leaned further into the back of her chair, clasping her hands together in front of her and she propped her elbows on the leather upholstered rest. “You are a month and a half away from graduating, and up for an amazing job from this university,” she pointed accusingly at Y/n, “No one knew about this,” Nadia glared them both, “So why are you here this morning? As Mr. Gallagher has mentioned our policies on teacher/student fraternization is very clear; you two could have gotten away with this without making it my problem, so what else is going on?” She questioned sternly.
“There’s a video,” Y/n breathed.
“A video?” Nadia pressed her lips together.
“Yeah,” Y/n licked her lips, as as she sorted her thoughts, Jim threw her a concerned glance and reached over to her lap to take her hand, keeping their joined hands on her thigh, squeezing soothingly as she went on. “Of us…..in his office.”
“Jesus,” Nadia hissed, “You-”
“Not us,” Jim injected pointedly, offering her hand another comforting squeeze, “Someone else, a student,” he clarified pointedly, “Took it, and now they’re using it to blackmail Y/n,” he glanced at her and Y/n bent her head, even more embarrassed than before.
“Who is it?” she asked, lurching forward, and when they both hesitated, she pressed, “Look you two have gotten yourselves into a mess and this could become the university's problem- I need to know,”
“Emily Warner,” Y/n spilled after another moment of hesitation, “She’s the one with the video….she told my ex boyfriend, his name is Kyle Grayson, I don’t know if he has a copy.”
Shaking her head, Nadia seethed, reaching for a day planner and a pen on her desk, “First of all, the two of you being together is totally against the university’s code of conduct. Second,” she paused, seemingly searching for the right word, “Intimate relations in your office,” she glared at Jim, gaze hard and warning. “Is completely inappropriate- it would be an embarrassment, you could be fired- and I can’t even begin to tell you both how disappointed and furious I am, at both of you,” she shook her head and sighed, “You know, just last week I talked to the headmaster about offering you tenureship,” Nadia sighed again, “And you’re up for valedictorian, and you were this close,” she gestured with her fingers, “To having a job that most students are begging for. Now I have no choice but to report you both to human resources, so they can open an investigation.”
At her words, Y/n sucked in a breath; she didn’t like the sound of that, it really just sounded like a subtle way of saying that both their futures had just been destroyed. Of course, she hadn’t expected it to go any better; they’d broken clearly written rules and any hint of a scandal ran the potential of destroying the university’s reputation. “What does that mean for right now?” Y/n stuttered, nervous to even ask.
Nadia exhaled loudly, placing to fingers at her temple and Y/n and Jim shifted their hands to interlock their fingers, their grip tight. “It means….” She drew in a breath, shaking her head, “It means that pending the outcome of the investigation, I’m going to have to suspend you,” she glanced at Jim, “If I file the report this morning- and I am going to- then Human Resources should have a report ready by……” she gestured openly with her hands, “Late March….maybe April. And you,” she turned to Y/n, “Will obviously be taken out of the running for valedictorian-”
“What about the Assistant Professor job?” Jim interjected, leaning forward slightly, intent on getting an immediate answer, “There is no one that deserves that job more than she does-”
“That is no longer for you to decide, Mr. Gallagher,” Nadia hissed testily, “And frankly, your sway in Miss Y/l/n’s abilities no longer holds the weight that it used to, the only reason I haven’t brought your thesis into this is because of your practically flawless defense and your transcript, but that doesn’t mean that the folks at H.R. won’t be suspicious of the fact that one of the best MBA students is involved with her supervisor. So where the job is concerned, that I am going to advise that no decision be made until after report.”
Knitting his brows, Jim protested, “That’s not fair-”
“It’s fine,” Y/n regarded him and gave his hand a squeeze, encouraging him to look her way, “Its okay, if I don’t get it because of this, that’s okay. It’ll go to someone that deserves-”
“You deserve it,” he argued heatedly, “You deserve it,” Jim repeated in a whisper, “What I did was a clear violation of the rules of my job, that shouldn’t have anything to do with you getting a job that you’ve worked hard for.”
“I broke the rules too,” Y/n reminded in a hushed tone, swallowing thickly, “Look, let’s just….see what happens, okay? No use in making a big fuss when nothing’s been decided yet.”
“Right, right,” Jim nodded reluctantly, “You’re right. Backing off,” he announced quietly, raising one hand in surrender.
The rest of the meeting went by with Nadia detailing, with evident fury, what the investigation would entail; a through audit of anything they’d done together in a professional and academic capacity over the past year, separate interrogations by a human resources officer, a review of Jim’s previous conduct, possibly a call to Y/n’s former university in San Francisco to confirm that there hadn’t been any similar occurrences- there hadn’t-and dependent on the outcome of the probably call, a rigorous review of her thesis. After she was through with glossing over the specifics of the investigation, Nadia reluctantly invited their questions, and when they had none, she dismissed their meeting after informing them she was about to call over to human resources.
They’d separated to leave her office, not wanting to exacerbate her anger, but from the minute Y/n and Jim were secured in the elevator once more, their fingers were locked again. Unpeaking, they rode the elevator down, and even though she’d been the one to talk him out of a verbal argument back at Nadia’s office, he could tell she was scared. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared too, he was scared for his future in teaching and for his and Y/n’s overall future- suddenly, he felt solely responsible for the entire mess; maybe if he hadn’t gotten so mad at her for such an innocent little comment back then, they wouldn’t have reconciled in his office, and if they hadn’t reconciled in his office, then there wouldn’t have been anything to film.
“I’m sorry that I got you into this mess,” Jim spoke abruptly, just as the elevator doors were sliding open. Caressing the back of her thumb with the pad of his, he added, “If I hadn’t gotten so upset with you-”
“There are a lot of ‘if’s that could have prevented this,” Y/n frowned, “If you hadn’t gotten mad, if I hadn’t asked you out. If,” she shook one shoulder, “If those things hadn’t happened we wouldn't be here,” she gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Right here we’re in a lot of trouble,” he quipped as they stepped out of the building.
“Yeah. Its pretty scary,” she frowned, eyes welling up as she glanced down at herself, “But its also pretty good. You know….we have each other, we have our baby,” she sighed unsteadily and sniffled, “If I lose that opportunity, its gonna suck, but I’d rather lose that than not have you.”
“I’d rather lose my job than lose you too,” they paused at the bottom of the weather beaten front steps of the building.
“You love this job,” Y/n smiled sadly, “And you don’t have to just say that because-”
“I’m not,” he shook his head, promising earnestly, “I’m not just saying that,” he inched closer, “There are other universities, and if I can’t teach at one of those then.......economics is a very lucrative field,” he teased, earning himself a smile from her, the first real one he’d seen her wear in days, “The point is, there are other jobs,” he bent his head so his forehead could touch hers, “But not another you.”
Unlacing their fingers, Jim clasped her shoulders and she brought her hands to his forearms, “This, us, more than anything, is what I want,” Jim reassured, fighting the urge to say what he actually wanted to- or rather ask- but that wasn't the moment; that couldn't be the moment. Instead Jim added, “I promise you, this is more than enough for me,” probably more than he deserved.
“This is more than enough for me too,” she added with a soft smile, and after another moment spent lingering like that, and deciding that any more affection would draw far too much attention to themselves, Jim and Y/n resumed their walk towards the parking lot. They were almost there, Jim could see his car a few feet away, parked near a street lamp. More cars had come in since they’d first gotten in that morning and Jim recognized most of them as those of his colleagues, though they still seemed to be the only ones out there.
They had just passed the first line of cars when Y/n stopped abruptly gasping, her hands immediately moving to cup her bump. Panicked by the thought that something was wrong, Jim hastily returned to her side, one hand reaching to soothingly rub up and down the small of her back, “What?” He assessed her agape jaw and wide eyes with worry etched on his features, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she breathed with a breathless smile. “Gimme your hand,” she was already reaching for his free one and Jim offered it up willingly, letting Y/n position it right next to hers. After that, it had merely taken a second before Jim felt it; a subtle patter under his palm, so light he might have missed it if his hand hadn’t been flattened against the gentle curve of her stomach. “Do you feel that?” She glanced up at Jim, eyes bright and alight.
“Yeah,” he rasped excitedly, amazed by the feel of their baby’s first kicks. It had been so long since he’d felt something like that, maybe going on sixteen years, since before Ben was born- the last time Jim had felt little fluttering kicks against his hand had been when Danielle was pregnant with his son. He’d been so much younger back then, and even if the experience with both children had been immortalized in his mind, being there and going through it with Y/n was practically brand new. “That’s amazing,” he grinned widely before bending his head a little so he could converse with their little one, “Is that you Jellybean?” It took a couple seconds, but Jim felt another gentle kick, as if their baby was responding, “Are you trying to cheer us up?” He asked, sparking another spur of barely-there, fluttered movement,
“I think that’s a yes,” Y/n giggled musically, and Jim’s heart sighed at the sound-like her smile, that had also been a rarity since the evening after her defense. It was good to see her happy again; she’d finally started feeling good about the pregnancy after the horrible morning sickness in her first trimester as well as the falling out with her mother- who she had yet to reconcile with- and then her insecurities about her changing body at the beginning of the second, and now more than anything, Jim wanted her to enjoy the rest of it.
They both laughed softly, perfectly happy with standing around in the parking lot until Jellybean decided that they’d be taking a break from the movement. Even then though, their smiles didn’t fade, and eager to keep the cheery mood live, Jim claimed Y/n’s hand once more, that time leading her towards the car with vigor, “Come on,” he urged, “We’re going to the diner.”
“Why?”Y/n chuckled softly, knitting her brows as Jim opened the front passenger door for her.
“Because,” he pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, at that point not caring who saw them- his mood had completely turned around and he was hoping to do the same for her, “We have to get a Knickerbocker Glory, to celebrate,” he knew that it had already become one of her favorites since the first night he’d coerced her into trying it, but of late, it had also become one of her more ordinarily palatable cravings. Pickles with peanut butter, Dragon Fruit- she’d actually cried when they couldn’t find any at their regular grocery, prompting Jim to drive around town in search of some- and of late, Knickerbocker Glories.
“It's so early though,” she protested weakly with a giggle as he helped her into the car. “You said it was too early yesterday,” Y/n reminded with a pout as Jim got into the driver’s seat a few seconds later.
“That was yesterday,” he said simply, taking her hand and kissing the back, “Besides, you had it anyway.”
“After you so graciously made me one,” she teased with an unwavering grin,”Because you are the sweetest.”
“That’s true, I am,” he joked, exaggerated pride in his tone, “But now I’m taking you to get a proper one. We didn’t have the nuts, or raspberries.”
“But it was amazing anyway,” Y/n praised as they pulled out onto the street.
Jim shrugged, “I guess, but it was an injustice. You’re not Irish, you wouldn’t get it,” he taunted and she scoffed, feigning offense, “But Jellybean.” he reached over the console and touched her stomach, “Is, and I wouldn’t be a very good father if I didn’t get them a real one.” Following his words Y/n simply laughed, and as they put the campus in their review, all thoughts of their meeting from just a few minutes ago temporarily melted away.
For just a little while, they could go back to living in unhindered bliss.
#cillian murphy x reader#cillian murphy x you#cillian murphy#jim x reader#the delinquent season#mr. gallagher and me
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Hmm, you know, it's New Year's Eve, so I figured, why not do something random before the year's done.
I was just reading various people's answers to various tickle related questions I found on Quora, and I thought I could share some of the ones I thought were pretty cute/funny/amusing/interesting. Just because, since I'm bored. 🤷♀️
(Fair warning this post will be pretty long)
So, here goes!
Who is the most ticklish person you've ever met?
Answer from Courtney Gibson:
"One of my best guy friends in university. In first year we'd have classes in this big lecture hall with swivel chairs that attached to tables in sets of two and I'd usually sit next to him. Before class would start, I'd usually get antsy and fidgety so I'd swivel back and forth in my chair, not realizing my elbow was brushing up against his side each time. Eventually I looked over at him and he through a clenched jaw he said "please stop. You're tickling me."
I pretty much made it my goal that year to "desensitize" him from being tickled; it did not work. To this day whenever I see him working on campus I'll run up behind him and jab him in the sides to make him jump, usually freaking out whoever is sitting next to him. "
Second answer from Chelsea Mercer:
"This girl that started at my school a few months prior to finishing gr.7!
Her and I were both rather shy, so we instantly became friends.
She was much on the smaller side for her age…so she got teased a lot for it. One time a bigger girl poked her in the belly and she instantly shrieked, and keeled over, protecting her ticklish spot.
Another time she was sitting in my lap, and I put my arms around her waste (NOT intentionally trying to tickle her at all!) She instantly burst into hysterical laughter and begged me to remove my arm!
I kind of regret it now, but I did take advantage of her weakness…It was hard not to! "
(I can't say I blame her, lol. I probably would too~ 🤭)
What has your experience been with having ticklish abs?
Answer from Natalie Chen
"I’m ticklish everywhere. I’ll just say it isn’t fun. People may poke you accidentally and you jump up because you’re THAT ticklish. When people say they will tickle you, you already start feeling the tingles. Before the hand even touches you, you’re already squirming.
The worst experience was when a friend of mine whom I just met on that day itself helped me to get rid of something on my neck, cloth or cotton. I’m extremely sensitive and when my friend just touches my neck, I went nuts. I squirmed and shouted because I was shocked and ticklish. Worst first day ever."
Sencond answer from Lesley Ann Barklay:
"I don’t just have ticklish abs.
I have ticklish everything.
In 2005 my husband and I were travelling to the USA. We arrived at the airport only to find out that when I canceled a connecting flight the night before, I had actually cancelled our tickets altogether and the flight was full.
Half an hour and $600 later, the airport staff had found us two separate seats. We proceeded to the departure lounge, and went through the extra security check. We had our hand luggage throughly searched, and then we had a pat down.
I went into the curtained off area, and stood with my arms out as the female guard began to pat me down.
I bit my lip as her hands glided over my outstretched arms.
I cracked a smile as they moved towards my under arms.
As her hands moved down my body I burst into laughter.
The guard backed away, staring at me in suspicion.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I’m sorry,” I sputtered between giggles. “I’m so sorry, I’m just really ticklish.”
“Oh,” she said, slightly mollified as she finished her job.
I went through and sat in the waiting area with my husband.
Just as the plane began boarding, our names were called, requesting that we proceed to the help desk.
We raced back to the security area. “Excuse me,” I said, “May I leave my bag here while I go back to the help counter?”
“No!”
“But -” I stopped when it looked like they were about to arrest me for terrorism. “Never mind, I’ll just take it with me.”
We rushed back, hoping against hope that we wouldn’t miss our flight, only to find that they had managed to get us two seats together.
Then we had to go back through security again.
“Don’t worry, she’s just ticklish,” the first guard said to the other one as she patted me down again. "
What did you think about getting raspberries blown on your belly as a kid?
Answer from Jamie Rice:
" I have loved getting belly raspberries for as long as I can remember. I'm sure I have told this story somewhere before but growing up without doubt one of my favourite games was when someone would check my belly button for 'Belly Button Fluff'. I'd lay down on the bed, sofa or just on the floor and they'd pop a pillow or cushion under my back, pull up my top if I had clothes on (often I’d just be in shorts or my underwear) and get me to stretch out as big as I could. Strangely there was never a day that went by when they couldn't see some fluff in there that needed to come out. Ha-ha!!
Step one to get the fluff out was they'd wiggle a finger around in my belly button. My belly is one of my most ticklish places, so I’d immediately start wriggling and giggling. The fluff never came out, but it was only the start and, as much as I loved it, I knew better tickles were to come.
Step two was to tickle the whole of the wider belly area with fast, spidery fingers in the hope that by exercising my tummies 'tickle muscles' they'd force the fluff to pop out. It rarely worked but I loved it all the same and would be in fits of giggles. Usually by this time someone else had joined in too and was holding my arms over my head to stop me covering my tummy with my hands. Sometimes they'd swap and take turns trying to tickle the fluff out. Other times there would be up to three people tickling me (one holding my arms, one holding my feet (and often tickling them) and one tickling my belly). Being as ticklish as I was, it could get quite overwhelming but the tickling was always only gentle and very playful so it was never any more than just joyful fun. I'd also get regular breaks to get my breath back while they stopped to check my button for the 'dreaded fluff' before swapping or carrying on again.
Step three was the one I really adored though, and I always looked forward to happening the most. 'When all else fails' the fluff would have to be blown out......cue endless repeated ‘Belly Raspberries’ on my belly button !!!!
As much as they tickled, I just could never get enough of them. I loved the warm feeling of someone lips on my skin, I loved seeing my Mum, my Aunty, Nan, or big sisters smiling face and how their cheeks puffed out just before they blew the raspberry. I loved the silly noise every single raspberry made, how some would be wetter than others. But above all I really loved how much it tickled. I'd be literally screaming with laughter but if they stopped too soon, once I got my breath back, I’d say that I was sure that "it hadn't gone yet", just to make them carry on or get them to swap and for someone else to do it to me instead.
BEST GAME EVER !!!!!! "
Are you ticklish? Where?
Answer from Chelsea Mercer (again):
" Very much so, and in a lot of spots.
If someone wiggles their fingers at me and threatens to tickle then I start giggling. My usual defense is to either run away if I can, or try to wrestle the ticklers hands away from my sensitive body! This is extremely difficult when someone stronger than me is tickling me!
Worst of all is the fact that there are a lot of spots to choose from… "
"Ears and neck: I can’t be kissed there without giggling and pulling away
Armpits: This is true torture…even touching the armpits without wiggling fingers is downright awful. The worst part of armpit tickling is the fact that I bring my arms down in self defense but then the person’s fingers get trapped in there! Once they are trapped in the armpits I never know what to do…terrible situation to be in
Entire torso: The belly and sides are super ticklish, and spots between the ribs actually make me scream! "
(Not gonna include every spot listed since some are a bit nsfw)
How do sleeping people respond to tickling?
Answer from Lesley Ann Barklay (again):
" If my husband tried to wake me by tickling, he would be risking getting kicked or kneed in a very sensitive place.
Thankfully, my husband knows me well by now, and does not attempt such tomfoolery.
Seriously, though, you are risking life and limb when you tickle a sleeping person. "
Did your parents tickle you as a punishment?
Answer from Lesley Ann Barklay:
" My parents never tickled me ‘as punishment,’ but I am so insanely ticklish that anytime my parents tickled me, it felt like punishment.
Pretty much as soon as someone starts to tickle me, my body starts writhing like a jellyfish on LSD.
My bone structure collapses and I fall to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs and giggles.
I cannot be held responsible for what I do when someone tickles me, particular after I cry uncle. Once, I kicked my dad in the balls in a frantic attempt to escape. "
(Boy, Lesley sure has a lot of interesting tickle stories. I'd say RIP to the dad but he probably had it coming. 🤷♂️ )
Do you prefer to be tickled or to tickle?
Answer (once again) from Lesley Ann Barklay:
" I hate being tickled, so I definitely prefer to tickle.
I love to tickle my daughter’s tummy before bedtime, and see her wiggle and squirm and giggle and beg me to stop.
I always stop when she asks.
Then I watch the delighted glow in her eyes as she waits to see if I’ll keep tickling her. She watches my hands like a hawk.
“Don’t tickle me, even if I laugh,” she admonishes.
“Okay,” I say.
She giggles. “Don’t do it.”
“I won’t.”
I rest my hands on her sides and she tenses in anticipation. She grins. “Tickle me!” "
(Awww~! ^_^)
Ok, that's all of 'em. Hope you enjoyed. And have a happy and (hopefully) better & brighter New Year! 👋😄
This is several days after New Year's Eve as I've been busy, but I appreciate the sentiment!!
Ngl I'm not totally sure why these were sent but I guess thank you asfhghi
Happy New Year's as well anon~
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The World At Our Feet: Epilogue
Summary: It's been eighteen months since Alexa Rushmore broke the man she loved out of prison. She and Daryl now live in fear, unable to let their guard down in case their true identities should be revealed. When Daryl's brother tracks them down, life becomes even more difficult. Will Merle Dixon prove to be their downfall? The third and final instalment of the Conviction trilogy that began with 'In Dark Corners.'
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OFC
Warnings: Mentions of the death penalty
Word Count: 2,375
Check out my bio for a link to my Masterlist!
Author’s Note: It’s finally finished! The journey that began at Carrington Prison in In Dark Corners back in 2019 has come to an end. I can’t quite believe it. If you’ve read the first two series of this saga recently, you might notice that I’ve stolen bits and pieces from them (particularly the first part of IDC) to really give a feel that we’ve come full circle, but that’s just me being emotional and pretending to be a proper writer who uses fancy devices like that. I have put Alexa and Daryl through hell as they’ve journeyed from Carrington to Mexico, and I am now finally going to leave them in peace. I really hope you enjoy the ending. Thank you for sticking with me. For the last time, here we go...
*****
Alexa was tired. It had been a long day, and her eyes had that grainy feeling that could only be attributed to a lack of sleep. It was warm in her office, which did nothing to relieve her lethargy, the blinds raised to allow the golden sunlight to filter inside and light the room, and she stretched, feeling the muscles in her back complain after sitting in her chair for most of the afternoon. Pale fingers ran through her hair, working the knots free from her ponytail before twisting it up into a messy bun and securing it with another band, allowing the breeze from the air conditioning unit in the corner to cool her neck as it churned out cold air, humming quietly. She had less than an hour left to go before she could leave behind the working week and head home, and the second-hand of the clock seemed to be rotating impossibly slowly, taunting her with the promise of freedom.
When she’d decided, at the age of thirteen, that her future was in medicine, she could honestly say that she’d pictured herself in a place just like this. The small-town medical practice was a red brick building, set just off the main street, instantly welcoming and a million miles away from the concrete hell of Carrington. The patients were mainly locals, older people with their various health complaints, and young mothers dragging in their children. It wasn’t as exhilarating as patching up the knife wounds and injuries of the prison inmates, but she genuinely enjoyed the work and had settled in quickly since taking up the position six months ago. She was a creature of routine, of habit, and she enjoyed having her weekends free to spend with Daryl and the familiar faces of the other doctors and nursing staff. Plus, it was only a ten minute stroll from home, so, really, it suited her down to the ground.
Speaking of… Her eyes flicked to the clock once more, and she sighed when she realised she still had over half an hour to go. She’d completed her paperwork on the patients she’d seen since she’d started work at nine that morning, so there was little more for Alexa to do, and she stifled a yawn as she sat back in her chair and toed off her heels, drumming her fingers on her desk. She could, she supposed, slot the few files that were still lying on top of her printer, waiting to be put away, into the filing cabinet. That might pass a couple of minutes, at least.
It was while her back was turned to the door as she did exactly that that she heard a soft knock, and she turned towards it with a grin, already anticipating who would be on the other side.
“Come in.”
She was met by the gentle face of Hershel Greene, smile half-hidden by his bushy white beard, eyes sparkling as he stepped inside. “Doctor Dixon. Hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d drop in and check on you.”
“Not at all.” Alexa motioned for the older man to take a seat, propping herself on the edge of her desk, her hand coming to rest instinctively on the curve of her stomach.
“So, how are you feeling?”
“Good,” she assured him, and it was true. With the stresses and strains of the past couple of years behind them, she finally felt like herself again, gradually growing out the dark colour that disguised her coppery waves, the tension that had forever seemed to hold her rigid, jarring her joints and tightening her muscles, ebbing away, until she found that she was filled with a sense of hopeless optimism that she’d thought had disappeared with her youth. “Really good, actually.”
“Morning sickness?”
“Finally seems to have eased off, thankfully.”
“I’m glad. You’re well into the second trimester now, so I was sure you wouldn’t be suffering with it for too much longer.”
“It was worth it,” Alexa admitted, despite knowing how many days she’d showed up to work over the past few months looking drawn, her skin clammy, having to avoid the break room in case anybody should have brought in anything remotely odorous for their lunch. Still, she’d been waiting for this for such a long time now that it was a small price to pay, and she’d never complained, even when she’d been feeling particularly unwell. “Eighteen weeks and counting. I have a scan booked for Tuesday.”
“How exciting! Are you planning to find out the sex?” She nodded, and he leaned forward to take her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of her knuckles. “I’m very happy for you both.”
Doctor Greene owned the practice and hadn’t hesitated to offer Alexa a job, despite her record. He’d made a point to reach out to her when she’d first started, putting her instantly at ease with his innate kindness and soft-spoken voice, and, as time went on, he’d become the closest thing to family she had, other than Daryl. He’d heard their story - of course, everyone had - and he’d seemed to understand that she was in a strange period of adjustment, that she was desperately trying to get her life back on track, even arranging with the local pastor for Alexa and Daryl to be married in a tiny private ceremony, with only Hershel and one of Daryl’s co-workers at the auto-shop as witnesses, which suited them just fine - they’d been living as husband and wife for the past couple of years anyway, so it seemed pointless to make a fuss. He had two daughters, one of whom was only a little younger than Alexa, but they’d both moved away, and so, it seemed, he had affection to spare, and she considered herself lucky to be the main recipient. “What about you? Only six weeks to go until you retire! How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m just looking forward to being able to slow down,” he told her, though she knew he would miss his patients and working in the practice that he’d helped to build every day. He wasn’t selling up, but he was stepping away from taking patients, and the community would miss him just as much, she was sure. “The farm could use my attention, so I’ll have plenty to keep me busy. And, of course, I’ll be on hand should you need anyone to watch the little one when you go back to work.”
Alexa felt a glow of warmth in her chest at the generous offer, and she gave the other doctor’s fingers a tight squeeze. “You know we don’t expect that.”
“And I know you’ll want to make your own arrangements. But things come up, and you’ll need someone you can count on. I just want you to know that I’m here.”
Maybe it was the hormones, or perhaps it was the fatherly nature of the gesture, but tears were pooling in Alexa’s eyes, threatening to spill over and trickle down her cheeks, and she hurriedly brushed them away, casting around for a change of subject and catching sight of the clock once again. “Oh, hey, look: home time!”
Hershel huffed a laugh and levered himself to his feet, planting his hands on his hips as he stretched out his back. “I’ll leave you to get going then, Lexi. Have a good evening.”
“And you.”
Gathering her belongings and stuffing them into her bag, she hitched it up on her shoulder, pausing only to shut down her computer and slide her feet back into her shoes before making a hasty exit. The warmth of the day was still lingering, the sky a vast cloudless blue, and she wanted to make the most of the last hours of daylight before the evening crept in. She called goodbye to the girls on reception as she stepped outside, ready for the walk home, only to find her attention captured by a broad figure leaning up against the wall of the parking lot.
Daryl Dixon still had the ability to make her knees go weak, pure want and need flooding through her as she drank him in: his dark waves, shorter now, though no less unruly; the crooked smile that was still reserved only for her; the jut of his collarbone above the neckline of his tank top, and the way his overalls emphasised how the width of his strong shoulders tapered down to a narrow waist. She could feel her cheeks flushing as she made her way over to him, and she felt the rumble of his chuckle as he reeled her in and cradled her against his chest. “I wasn’t expecting you to meet me.”
“Quiet day. Jim said we could knock off early.”
“You didn’t wanna go grab a beer with Glenn and Aaron?” She knew that was the standard practice when they had an early finish, especially on a Friday, but Daryl just shook his head, pulling back so that she could push herself up on tiptoes and steal a kiss.
“Nah. Thought about it, but I missed ya. Wanted to see how you an’ Li’l Asskicker were doin’.”
“We are doing just fine.”
He smiled, ducking his head as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, and she laced their fingers together as they turned and started towards home, a small one-storey house on the edge of town. It wasn’t much, but Daryl had fixed it up, just as he had their tiny casita, and it had a wraparound porch that they spent most mornings and evenings on, sipping coffee or beer and looking out over the neighbourhood. “Heard from Merle today.”
Alexa cast a glance at her husband, trying to read the look on his face, only to find it schooled into an expression of nonchalance. “Oh, really? How is he?”
“Gettin’ by. Lawyer’s still tryin’ to get the death penalty off the table. S’draggin’ on.”
“Even so, he’ll still be looking at life, right?”
“Mmhmm.” Daryl sighed, rubbing his free hand over the back of his neck, and Alexa leaned into him, trying to lend him some support. “Honestly, think he’s only fightin’ it till the baby comes. Wants to meet his li’l niece or nephew ‘fore…”
“We’ll visit as soon as we can,” Alexa assured him. A small part of her hated the idea of taking a newborn into a prison, remembering the type of men she’d had to deal with at Carrington, some of whom still haunted her nightmares on occasion. But she also knew how much Merle had given up for them, how much it had cost him to do the right thing, and she couldn’t deny him the chance to see the result of his sacrifice.
Reaching their yard, Alexa waited for Daryl to unlatch the gate before stepping through and meandering up the path, pausing to admire the flowers that bloomed in the beds that he’d planted for her when they first moved in. Moving ahead, her husband jogged up the porch steps and unlocked the door, flinging it open to release a speeding blur of black fur.
“Perro!” he shouted, his voice gruff, though softened by affection, as the Calupoh barrelled towards Alexa, narrowly missing colliding with her before circling back and jumping up to rest his paws against the swell of her belly.
“He’s okay. He’s just been shut in for too long today.”
“Needs to be more careful round ya,” Daryl grumbled, but he still dropped to his knees, calling the dog to him so he could stroke along his sides and scratch at his belly, finding himself rewarded by a slick tongue licking up the length of his face. “Disgustin’ hound.”
Alexa was laughing as she lowered herself to the ground at Daryl’s side, slumping against him as she finally gave in to the ache in her lower back that was plaguing her through the second trimester. As if he could feel her pain, his hand came up to rub soothing circles over the base of her spine, and she hummed in contentment, tipping her head back to let the rays of evening sunshine dance over her face. The yard wasn’t big, but she could picture all too easily where she might put a paddling pool through the hottest days of the summer, could hear the giggles and splashes of children as they played, could smell meat grilling as Daryl tended the barbecue, his arms painted a deep golden-brown by the sun. She could feel the grass between her toes as she picked her way over to him, barefoot and glowing, her auburn locks back to their natural glory and burning like fire in the bright light of the afternoon, could imagine the kiss he’d brush against her lips as the kids shouted their disgust at seeing their parents indulging in a little physical affection. The scene played out in her mind as if she was seeing it on a cinema screen, and she knew her mouth was curved in a dreamy smile as Daryl glanced down at her where she rested against him.
“Y’alright?”
She nodded, craning her neck to press a soft kiss to the line of his jaw, wrinkling her nose when his scruff tickled her skin. “Mmhmm. Just trying to imagine what our life’s gonna look like ten years from now.”
He huffed a laugh, his breath ruffling her hair. “Ain’t never been able to do that before, I’ll bet.”
“No,” she admitted, “but I feel like I can see it now.”
“And?”
“And it’s gonna be perfect,” she told him with absolute certainty.
“M’finally gonna be able to give ya the life y’always wanted.”
“It’s only just beginning really, isn’t it?” Daryl nodded, and Perro let out a soft groan as if he, too, was agreeing. Alexa rewarded him with a scratch behind the ears, the one thing they’d brought back with them from their time in hiding, the first addition to the family that she was determined to grow with the man at her side. “I love you so much, Daryl Dixon.”
“Mmm.” He wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her closer so that she almost wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. “Love ya right back.”
*****
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#the walking dead#the walking dead fanfiction#daryl dixon#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl dixon x ofc#daryl dixon x oc#twd#twd fanfiction#conviction#the world at our feet
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Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day.
While The Trouble and I are eating dinner, we like to watch something light-hearted that will make us smile. We’ve just finished re-watching every season of ‘The Big Bang Theory’ (by the end, I was ready to waste Sheldon), and we are now going to re-watch every season of ‘Modern Family’ (which almost made me choke on my dinner the other night!) While The Trouble has been busy, I’ve been watching ‘Uncoupled’, which I enjoyed and, while I’m working, she watches ‘The Flash’ in our front room. Can you see how different we are?
I work from home Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Naturally, I do not sit motionless for hours on end. A very beautiful HR woman told me NOT to sit in the same position for more than 30 minutes so, every half an hour, I get up and walk about, make another cuppa, powder my nose or just shake my booty! Working from home is blissful but you need to be business-like about it!
Yesterday, I had a MAMMOTH task to do. I’ve got to admit: I was struggling. Naturally, in these situations, you have to talk to yourself. The mammoth task is NOT going to go away or conveniently disappear. At some point, it needs to be done, and this is why some mammoth tasks DON’T get done; most people do NOT like hard work! I said to myself (in my best Mr. T voice), “Listen, fool, stop bugging about this mammoth task because there’s another task just round the corner!” Indeed. A Wesker’s work is never done.
You literally couldn’t make this up. Earlier in the week, I talked about the UK’s polluted rivers. The greedy and hapless water companies have been dumping raw, untreated sewage into our rivers, while paying themselves and their shareholders huge amounts of money (like they’re doing a good job!) And now children aged one to nine and living in Greater London will be offered a polio vaccine after the virus was detected in sewage. The virus, which can cause paralysis, has been found 116 times in London's wastewater since February. The urgent immunisation campaign will see nearly a million children offered the vaccine, including those already up to date with their jabs. The alarm was first raised in June after a series of tests at Beckton Sewage Works, which serves north and east London. More detailed analysis of the sewage system has since found the virus in: Barnet, Brent, Camden, Enfield, Hackney, Haringey, Islington and Waltham Forest. This is what happens when you put profit above people.
This story from The Guardian on Monday, “Incidents of DIY dentistry, including people using superglue to stick homemade teeth to their gums, are increasing across Britain as more than nine in ten NHS dental practices are unable to offer appointments to new adult patients. According to a survey by the British Dental Association and the BBC, 91% of NHS practices across England were not accepting new adult patients. The survey also found that of the practices that were not taking on new adults in England, only 23% had an open waiting list, and 16% said the waiting time was at least a year, or were unable to give an estimate as to how long it would be.
One of the major problems with intelligent people is that you can’t tell them shit! They know it all! It takes a special quality to sit and listen and evaluate and re-evaluate but, even then, the intelligent person will say, “I have to go with my instincts!” And what can you say? The intelligent person always has a rational, logical argument why they’re about to do something really stupid!
Have a throbbing and thrusting Thursday (with hopefully a few thrills through your thoroughfare?) I love you all.
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extra help | gojo satoru
what’s a teacher to do when his student is building up so much cursed energy? help her get it under control, of course.
pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader
wc: 4.7k
warnings: smut, 18+ (minors dni), teacher/student relations (reader is of age), fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, unprotected sex (do not do this), lowkey corruption, squirting, exhibitionism (?), creampie, gojo refers to himself as “teacher” because i said so
note: barely edited, something to ease the brainrot. gojo satoru hollow me challenge.
“Can you maybe, I don’t know, shut the fuck up?”
The jab spews out of your mouth before you can stop it. Your filter is long gone, the thoughts that pop into your head forming into verbal words without the chance to even process them. Once you hear it, you mentally slap yourself. Now you just look like an asshole.
“Jeez, no need to be a bitch about it,” mutters Nobara. She rests on the concrete steps on her elbows, appearing utterly disinterested with her head tossed back and eyes closed, soaking in the fresh air.
“I’m not being a bitch.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m not!”
“You kind of are,” Megumi says quietly, shrugging slightly when your incredulous expression finds his to be stoic and unmoving. He leans down to scratch behind one of his dog’s ears. His nonchalance boils your blood even further, effectively working you up past your melting point. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.
“...You motherfucker-”
“Good morning, everybody!”
You sigh, lips hanging open with the rest of your insult frozen where it was interrupted. From over the small hill behind you, Gojo Satoru greets everyone with a bright energy you aren’t capable of returning this early in the day.
You try your best to shake it off. The other students wave back happily as you sulk, aimlessly stretching your arms over your head in an attempt to push out the thousand things running through your mind, not one of which you’re capable of dealing with.
And maybe it is a good morning - the sun is out, the air is cool, there’s not a breeze passing by to mess up your hair. It’s a lovely day to be training. Megumi has been walking his dogs around the field, Yuuji has been racing himself from one end to the other, meanwhile the others take turns sparring. The springtime weather is rewarding, which is why it’s such a shame you can’t enjoy it.
Gojo reaches up a hand to lift one side of his blindfold. Though he’s standing all the way over on the steps, you can see his eyes clearly, crystalline blue and staring with scrutiny. The man leans forward into his gaze, and the way he’s inspecting you soon irritates you further.
“What’s with all the cursed energy?” he asks, letting his blindfold fall over his eye again.
Yuuji perks up at the comment from where he’s been sitting after his run, pulling out blades of grass between his fingertips. “So it’s not just me?” he pipes up, pushing himself up to his feet. He seems relieved, turning his attention to you. “I thought maybe you just had a bad day but it seems like it’s seeping off you all the time now.”
Your lips press into a thin line as your eyelids droop in annoyance, trying to think up a reasonable answer quick. Unfortunately, you don’t get the time to do so.
“I don’t need to see it to feel it,” Maki adds. She finishes tying up her laces, objectivity unmoving with the deadpan spreading across your features. Your jaw tenses. “Didn’t want to say anything in case it would make you angrier.”
“Too late!” you snap, huffing as you place your arms over your chest. The number of eyes on you has your cheeks burning, and paired with your current vexation, makes you feel even worse.
“Well, what are you angry about?” Yuuji asks.
“I’m not angry about anything.”
“That sounds a little defensive,” Gojo comments.
“You seem frustrated, that’s all.” Yuuji looks at you with a genuine curiosity that makes it hard to be mad at him. His doe eyes couldn’t possibly imagine what the real issue at hand is.
“Yeah, she’s frustrated all right,” Nobara juts in. Her tone is whiney and annoyed, and you hope the glare you send her will shut her up, but she acts as if she doesn’t see it, only looking down at her nails in distaste. Then comes the zinger. “It’s because she hasn’t gotten laid in months.”
“That is not true!” you yell, but the obvious rage bubbling out of you gives it away.
“Cursed energy can build from that?”
“It would explain a lot.”
“That sounds definitely defensive.”
“Shut up!” you shout, throwing your hands over your face to hide your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Then you’re sitting back on the field, hanging your head low over your knees. Quietly, you mutter, “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”
☆☆☆
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
The walk here had been nerve wracking enough. Your heart had been stuck in your throat since the track this morning, if not from the sheer embarrassment of Nobara telling everyone you were sexually frustrated, then surely from the way Gojo had asked you to meet with him later in an old classroom rather seriously before walking off.
It scared you half to death upon hearing it, and just thinking about it scared the other half, so you’re hanging on by the thinnest of threads. The others comments hadn’t helped either, teasing about the frightening methods he’d use to dispel the energy, or how he’d berate you for being so stupid, or whatever else the maniac of a man had to offer.
Gojo leans back lazily in his chair, long legs thrown over the desk for his comfort and leisure. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan with his arms straightened behind his head as you close the door behind you.
“About time you got here. Been waiting forever.”
The lights are off, but evening sun pours in through the wall of windows that look out over the courtyard to brighten the room. He tosses a small apple plush above him with a smooth flick of his wrist, catching it on its down arc with ease. It looks like a marble with how it sits in his massive palms.
“Well, this wing is on the other side of campus,” you swallow, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. That reminds you...“Why are we this far, anyway?”
He sighs, placing the toy back down at the top of his desk and resting his chin on his palm. You can feel his eyes on you through his blindfold. “To solve your problem, of course.”
“My… my problem? No, I don’t have any problems,” you say with a shake of your head as genuine as you can muster, a nervous smile flashing across your expression as he stands. His hand trails along the desk as he moves around it. When you get the feeling he doesn’t believe you, you start again, “If it’s about what Nobara said, it’s really no big deal-”
“While you’re a talented sorcerer, you’re not a very good liar.” He comes to a stop in front of you, towering over your small frame. His head is turned down toward you but you refrain from making eye contact. Trying to maintain your composure, you look straight into his chest and then avert your eyes to the sid, looking anywhere else in the room but him - the chalkboard, the windows, the posters on the wall - that is, until he takes your chin in his hand and tugs your face up to look at him directly.
He’s taken off his blindfold, the black cloth crumpled in his palm and already tossed to the floor.
The way you’re staring at him, that desire that lies just below the fear, has his dick tenting in his pants. When he focuses, he can see the cursed energy radiating from your body, dark and cloudy as it surrounds you. “Yuuji’s right, it’s practically seeping from you,” he coos, eyebrows drawn together in concern.
He drinks in your apprehension with a sadistic sort of delight, and you don’t miss the feel of his eyes as they trace down your body. “My student is struggling,” he says tenderly, tapping his index finger along your cheek lightly. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help?”
He eats up the way you look at him, swept away and hazy, your brain turning to mush at the sound of his voice. Heat pools in your panties, and the subtle manner in which your thighs shift against each other is not lost on him.
The tension in the air is electrifying. Leaning down to your ear, he says what’s been on his mind for weeks. “Don’t think I can’t hear you at night, touching yourself, trying so hard to make it go away on your own.”
His words leave your throat dry and stomach churning. Your face burns, thinking of him listening to your pitiful attempts to get off. Clearly, the sleepless nights of trying to cum, letting slip the small whimpers you couldn’t care to hold back, hands buried in your panties and writhing in your bed sheets, were no secret to anyone but you.
You’re almost mortified. You would be, if it wasn’t for your hot teacher standing in front of you, smiling as he remembers how pretty you sounded, offering to fuck the shit out of you to sate your frustration.
And god, just how pretty you sound. He’d never admit it sober, but the times he’s taken “random” late night walks around the buildings that have ended up at the outside of your bedroom door are far too many to count. Palming himself through his trousers, panting as he pictures you just through the slab of wood exactly how he plans on having you now.
“I...I don’t know if we should be doing this,” you mumble in a moment of clarity, gaze flickering to the window in the door that lets you see into the empty hallway just outside. Swallowing hard, scenarios of your classmates walking by, peering through, clouds your head. “What if someone…”
“They’re on the other side of campus, remember?” he teases. His fingers slide back along your jaw, brushing your hair from your forehead before settling to cup the side of your face. “You can make all the noise you want out here.”
Heat spreads through your core and inner thighs accompanied by a visible shiver, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The proximity alone is making you wet. His presence is overwhelming with the unimaginable power he holds over you.
His neck tilts down to reach you, hovering with his lips not a breath away from yours. Gojo waits. Tentative, you press your mouth to his and your eyes flutter shut, feeling him smile as his hands make contact with your hips. He’s gentle and slow, his lips pillowy and soft against yours, moving carefully as if not to scare you away.
He muffles a timid whimper with his mouth and takes the lead, kissing you harder and pulling you into a firm lip lock before spinning you around and walking you backwards toward the desk. Hesitant hands reach up to his shoulders, something Gojo senses immediately, shy hands working up the confidence to splay over his broad shoulders. He knows you so well by now - there’s a reason you’re his favorite student.
“Let me help, princess,” he insists, breaking away to quell your uncertainty. “You know I’m the only one who can.” Gojo’s voice is hypnotizing, his promises filling your head with a desiring haze.
Your tiny, timid fingers hanging around his neck, crawling up his nape as if searching for safety, have him reeling. He might just devour you, so cute and innocent and willing in front of him.
You’re melting into his touch as his hands squeeze your hips, rubbing up your sides until they lay a firm grasp on your hips, sitting you fully on the desk. His touch is teasing and featherlight as he drags it up your calves, hiking up your skirt to get where he wants to be, situated right between your thighs.
“None of the other guys fuck you the way you need to be fucked, right?”
He may be cocky, but it’s for good reason.
Gojo Satoru is older, he’s experienced, he knows what he’s doing. He knows you, in fact, more than you think. Don’t be fooled - he sees you sneaking off campus, sees the texts you send to the boys in the nearest town, overhears how you talk to them over the phone when you think no one is listening. He also sees how disappointed you look every time you return from one of your escapades.
You’re mature for your age, but no one is willing to fuck you like it. Except him, of course.
A large hand cradles the back of your head to keep kissing you. His mouth is ravishing, absolutely eating up the feeble mewls that escape you. Deft fingers unbutton your uniform with ease and slip it down your shoulders to reveal your chest as if he’s done it a thousand times.
He moves to unclasp your bra, but is surprised to meet your bare skin. He pulls back from your mouth to meet your eyes, and you already know what he’s thinking with the way he looks down at you, head tilted back with a dark mirth.
“No bra?” he inquires, rolling your perky buds between his fingers, and your lack of verbal response, that guilt in the slight raise of your eyebrows, tells him everything he needs to know. “Naughty girl. Makes me think you were expecting this.” He makes you purr like a kitten, free hand kneading at your chest, coaxing out sweet little noises that make his dick throb in his pants.��
You inhale sharply at a particular tweak of your nipple that has your body tingling, arching into him. “Sir, I-”
His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot below your ear, just next to your jaw. The feel of his teeth gently scraping down sends chills through your shoulders and down your back, subconsciously tilting your head to the side and exposing more to him, inviting him to your body even further.
“It’s okay, you can tell me how bad you need my cock,” he says against your skin.
Your body flushes hot beneath him. A hand cups your clothed core. The friction has your hips lifting in desperate motions for more, pushing against his fingers for some kind of relief.
“Poor thing, too horny for your own good,” he says, peering down at you. He tugs at the tiny, delicate bow sewn into the lace band of your panties, a smug expression passing over his features. “But don’t worry, teacher’s here to make you feel better.”
He hooks his pointer finger underneath the center of your panties and pulls it up, forcing the fabric taught against your slit between your folds, urging a cry to fall from your lips. You’re absolutely aching for more, pussy desperate for contact as your hips buck. His opposite thumb goes straight to your swollen clit where it bulges through the thin cotton, reducing you to whines as he applies light pressure.
“So sensitive,” he says with a teasing lilt in his tone, caught between looking at your pussy and your dazed expression. “You want my fingers?”
He knows he’s supposed to be helping you, but he can’t stop himself with how cute you look like this. He’s already thinking of just how far he can push you, just what he can get you to admit to him.
“Yes, please,” you’re begging, pulling your lips under your teeth, and how can he say no? He has no other choice but to indulge you.
He pulls your panties to the side and finally, his long, thick fingers sink inside you without warning, pushing a lewd moan from your throat.
He groans at the way you pulse around his digits. Your walls suck him right in. “Fuck, look at your pretty little cunt. Feels good, huh?”
Your mouth falls open as you nod, staring at him through half-mast, glassy eyes. Light amusement covers his face as he works your walls diligently, curling up and massaging that spongy spot he knows you like from the sounds you’re making.
“Yeah, I know it does. Need it so bad, don’t you?”
“Yes, ah, need it so much,” you whine. At this point, you’d follow his every command, answer his every question, if it means he’ll keep doing what he’s doing. He connects his lips to yours again, swallowing up the noises that leave your throat, before moving down. He trails his mouth over your sensitive, flushed skin, burning to the touch as he leaves harsh, bruising marks behind. He’s kneeling down and throwing your legs over his shoulders without hesitation.
He has you desperate and shameless with how he’s making you feel. It doesn’t matter that he’s your teacher, it doesn’t matter that you’ll have to face him in class after the fact, all that matters is how hot and aching your core is, how bad you need him there to fix it. “More, sir, p-please.”
He groans at the name you’ve given him, that you’re addressing him by so earnestly. He never even asked you to, so when it spills out of your mouth so submissively, he can’t help the way it goes straight to his cock. “So polite, aren’t you? Let me hear you, be specific.”
His fingers leave you clenching around nothing as he pulls them out of you, watching the string of slick stretch until it breaks. He slips them right into his mouth, licking your arousal off of his fingers, humming in delight.
You’re fixated on his glossy, wet lips, entranced by the slight smile to his words. “Please, your mouth,” you plead breathlessly through a gulp.
He presses a chaste kiss to the plush of your thigh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His lips ghost over the tops of your knee socks and nip at the slight pudge that squeezes out.
“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs. Then, he’s diving in, latching his warm, wet mouth onto your pussy. You feel yourself gush under his lips as his tongue laves harsh strokes against your entrance. He has you quivering, your hips moving on their own accord over his face.
You squirm under his relentless tongue, swiping through your slick and spreading it all over your inner thighs. He laps at your fluttering hole before suckling your clit into his mouth, hot tongue flicking over it before releasing with a playful pop.
He thrives off of the whimpers leaving your mouth. A loud moan tears from you as his fingers plunge into you again, hands shooting to his snowy locks to ground yourself. You’re throwing your head back, keening in the firm grip he has pushing back your leg, his tongue swiping at you expertly while the pads of his fingers curl up into the spot you need him at, keeping his head pressed tight to your drooling cunt.
Pointed flicks of his tongue target your clit, puffy and sensitive, and you can’t help the way your hips buck up for more, babbling nonsense. His firm muscle prods at your hole before flattening and licking wide and short strokes up your folds.
“Aw, you wanna cum, don’t you? Gonna cum for me like a good girl?”
You only have the strength to nod, eyes squeezing shut and your lips parted in choked breaths.
“Look at me,” he commands sternly, and your lids are prying open immediately, struggling to keep your gaze on him with the pleasure he’s relentlessly forcing on your body. His plump lips are lustrous with your arousal. “Go ahead. Cum.”
His eyes bore into you as your face contorts, body tensing all over as you tip over the edge. That coil in your stomach which Gojo has so masterfully built snaps like a rubber band, shattering your mind as pleasure ripples through your body. You’re still as your release surges through you, making him moan against your pussy.
“That’s it, there you go,” he says with a growl as you take your first breath after the inhibiting pleasure fades, eyes darkening as he watches you, keeping pressure on your nub with his thumb, smooth strokes working you through your high.
He carefully helps you drop to your feet, rubbing soothing circles into your hips, planting kisses to your temples before spinning you around to face the desk. You’re wobbly, but it’s nothing he can’t compensate for with his natural strength.
“Gonna take such good care of you,” he mumbles, large hands exploring the expanse of your back. He pushes you down, gentle fingers trailing up your spine until they find their hold on your hips like they were meant to be, loving how pliant you are beneath him.
The anticipation has you dripping, heart pounding as he flips up your skirt again, pussy aching to be filled. You hear the tugging of his trousers down to the floor, and a hefty exhale as he gives himself a few strokes in his palm.
His cock, hot and heavy and hard, presses into you slowly. You feel his girth immediately, cunt stretching deliciously to accommodate his size. It’s instant relief, finally the pleasure you’ve been desperate for, a drug you have to be careful of or you might just get addicted.
“Fuck,” he groans lowly, “So fuckin’ tight for me.”
You’re stuffed to the brim, focusing on how full you are, his fingers massaging the flesh of your ass as he gives you a moment to adjust. He feels his self-restraint thinning as you squeeze him. He’s gonna make you drool for him, make his cute innocent student into his little whore, make sure teacher’s the only one who touches you like this.
At first, his pace is slow and steady, sensual pumps that expertly drag against your gummy walls. You can feel his tip spreading you open, every burning curve and vein and ridge of his head as your pussy molds to him. But once your legs start shifting back for more, he speeds up the rocking of his hips, fucking you brainless on his cock.
“How we feeling, princess?” he pants. He’s the only thing you can think about, mind scrambled from the white hot feel of being fucked so well.
He doesn’t have to ask to know - the string of heedless whimpers that you make are evidence enough, on top of the obscene squelches that echo every time he pounds into your sopping cunt. He pulls your wrists back from where they cling to the desk, white knuckled, to your sides. A strong arm snakes around your front, pinning your arms and waist close to his chest, caging you in while the other seeks purchase on your breast.
“F-Fuck, I- ah - so good, sir,” you sob, feeling your brain blank with the way his grip moves up to your neck, expertly pushing into the sides to cut off your blood flow. It’s dizzying, your pussy tightening around him for more.
And then he stops.
You’re about to whine, your walls fluttering around him, begging him to move, when his hand reaches to cover your mouth. He shushes you gently, snapping quietly towards the door.
Someone is calling your name outside. “Hellooo? Hey Y/N, you over here?” It’s Yuuji, pacing the upper floor, walking straight down the hall and soon to pass the very door.
Your heart jolts in panic - why would he come looking for you? Why would anyone? The whole point of being out here was so that no one would come, right?
“Sorry to go back on my word, princess,” Gojo whispers. A wave of his hand creates a small masking barrier in front of the window, but it does nothing to hide the sound. “Gonna have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”
You nod your head, wiggling back against his hips pressed hard and unmoving to your ass. He pulls out slow and thrusts back, mindful of the noise of contact. It takes all your focus to bite back your moans.
“Don’t want your classmates seeing how slutty you are for a good fuck, do you? What if they walked in, saw you like this on your teacher’s cock?”
The thought has your hole constricting his length. You can already envision Yuuji’s shocked expression as he stares you down, his respected senior, nothing more than a babbling mess as Gojo Satoru fucks you raw in an empty classroom. The man behind you holds back a laugh.
The footsteps pass without the hint of something much filthier than extra help transpiring beyond the thin walls. You think you might have even seen a tuft of pink hair whizz by in the corner of your vision - whatever the matter, he’s gone, and you can finally catch your breath.
“Dirty girl,” Gojo rasps from behind you, slamming into you roughly, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, “you - hah - you fucking love it.”
That spring in the base of your tummy starts to coil taut, rising faster than ever. “Love it,” you choke, stimulated tears forming at your lash line, “love it so much!”
His pace is relentless, your slick gushing all around him. He’s building you up just to break you down, the only one who can help you take the edge off.
“Tell me what you want,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it to you.”
Holding you tight to his chest with locked arms, he completely covers your body with his tall stature, inescapable and confining.
“Fuck, wanna - wanna cum so bad, so bad, sir.”
His large hand trails its way over your waist, soft fingers moving down, down, until they slip right over that little sensitive bundle at your front, cool and wet, that has your breath catching audibly in your throat.
Gojo places his mouth just behind your ear, tone soft and sultry. The pad of his index finger rubs firm circles over your swollen, aching clit. It elicits a filthy sound from you that makes his cock twitch inside you. “Right there, huh?” He feels you clench as your legs tremble beneath him.
Your climax crashes over you in hot, unforgiving waves, tightening your walls and creaming all over every inch of his length. “Come on, give it all to teacher,” he encourages through heavy pants, making your skin prickle, and it’s just what you need. A chorus of loud, high pitched, breathless moans tumbles from your mouth as you ride it out.
You’re drenching his fingers, making a mess as your squirt drips down and coats his cock, making him growl into your hair. He coaches you through it, stringing out his praises, “Just like that, mhm, good girl.”
His eyes fall shut as your cunt suffocates his cock, feeling his hips stutter as you suck him in. With a guttural, hungry groan, he’s burying his load in your waiting hole. He snaps against you once, twice more, hard and quick as he starts to come down.
A moment passes to catch your breaths, heartbeats beginning to slow in tandem. Gojo nuzzles his face into the back of your neck and sighs before placing an affectionate kiss there.
Your legs are jelly beneath you so he’s careful when he releases his grasp, slowly turning you around to face him and sit back on the desk.
“You alright?” he asks, wiping away the wetness under your eyes.
It’s safe to say that you’re relieved, in more ways than one. Your shoulders feel lighter and as does your chest, like everything you’ve been shackled to has been lifted off with a good fuck.
“Yeah, much better.” There’s a tired grin to your words.
He wipes away the sheen of sweat that has collected on his hairline and reaches over you to grab a few tissues off the desk. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, dabbing up sweat and cum from where it drips down your thighs.
“You should get some rest. I’ll get you out of class tomorrow morning if you need it. Make up an excuse or something.” He pulls up his own trousers and helps you button up your top again, then lowering you back to the floor so you can be on your way.
“Let me know if you ever need any more assistance,” he winks, patting the top of your head. He smooths down a few stray hairs, putting you back together in at least a somewhat presentable way. “My help is always available to students that need it.”
Because while all that cursed energy may be under control, your relations are far from over.
#gojo satoru smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojou satoru smut#gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader smut#jjk smut#jjk x reader#gojo satoru x reader smut#gojo x reader smut#gojou satoru x reader
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love café
⚬ pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader
⚬ word count: 17.6K
⚬ warnings: some vulgar language, i guess!
⚬ genres: big time nsfw, dirty talk, lap dances, quickies, bath shenanigans, exhibitionism, overstim - you get what i mean. big ole romance, angst, fluff, jeonghan is very rich and very hot, joshua has a not so subtle crush on you.
✧✎ synopsis: while you’ve spent the last few months pretending the love café doesn’t exist, you realize you need its services now more than ever. this brings you face to face with jeonghan, the son of a luxury fashion designer who’s got money to burn. your exchanges are strictly business. until they’re not.
✧✎ a/n: YES, ANOTHER REWRITE. the original love café was just so unsalvageable that i almost fully wiped its plot, minus the actual concept of the café. so, this should read as fairly new! I HOPE U ENJOY IT !!
It’s not that you were desperate. Because you weren’t.
You were actually more than desperate at this point, and no longer could you sit on that uneven couch with the broken leg, staring at the chipped paint, listening to your neighbours’ screams, believing you should continue like this. More than anything, you were shortchanging yourself. There was no point in holding onto that little string of hope in which those employers might phone you back. It would be impossible to contact your family when you had affirmatively cut ties with them ages ago. And, it was becoming increasingly foolish to ignore your one saving grace, just a street over from your rundown complex.
But, could you really commit to it? Would anyone even be able to look at you and think you were someone desirable enough to reward?
Those thoughts often hung over you like a dark cloud, and poured down so heavily that you were metaphorically drenched, in your own pessimism. However, on that day, you were beyond patience with the cards you’d been dealt. Such a despairing apartment, with all its bugs and drafts and horrible neighbours, could not be your brightest and most fortunate future. There had to be something you could do.
Even if it meant going to the Love Café.
In other words, an easy gig to financial heaven, in exchange for sexual pleasures of course. You walked into your bedroom and sat down in front of the wooden vanity, clicking on a dim, flickering bulb to help illuminate your face as well as its lifeless expression which stared back at you. It didn’t take more than ten minutes to pat your skin with some emptying makeup and thinning pans of eyeshadow. Then, you fixed up your hair and chose a simple, mute-coloured dress from your closet, immediately swallowed by the large winter coat you cozied into.
You hurried quickly down the corridor, ignoring the muffled shouts from your argumentative neighbours bleeding through the nickel-thin walls, past the barking dog which jumped against the door, scratching its nails whenever you waited for the elevator, and you didn’t even spare one glance at the very strange man who always hovered in the central lobby and watched you ignore his coos every single day. By the time you arrived outside the Love Café, you were breathing like a marathon runner. Despite the cold weather, you felt a sweat run like a breeze down your temple as you wiped your face before heading inside.
The space felt warm. Everything was red, pink, or white. And when you inhaled, the air smelled like a note of rose petals and candy. It was surprisingly easy to sign up for a ‘Love Card’ at the front desk.
“This card has twelve punches per service with your partner. If, by the end of the twelfth punch, you’re not looking to pursue something serious with this individual, you can pay for another Love Card. If you do manage to find, ‘the one’, then congratulations, and well wishes. Since you’re a first-time client, you get twenty-five percent off your first card.”
Whoever the lady was, she seemed less than enthusiastic as she pushed a cherry-red paper across the counter with a finely manicured nail. You thought she must have given this spiel so many times, the script probably haunted her in her sleep. Nonetheless, you thanked her, and heeded her direction when she advised you to choose any of the free tables, marked with a pale rose. For some reason, you picked the very last table amongst the row and slid yourself onto the uncomfortable, white chair, the metal back moulded into the shape of a heart.
Whoever reserved the table wasn’t exactly punctual. About half an hour after being seated, ordering yourself a tea, and examining the different clients who filtered in and out the café, you were beginning to assume the worst. That they cancelled. Flaked. Decided to pull from the service and direct their affluence elsewhere. As you titled the last few droplets of tea around the base of the cup, feeling utterly depressed and bored, you heard the little bells clink above the door, followed by a gasp from the employee at the front desk. Considering her microscopic range of emotion, you figured whoever entered must be some flawless rarity.
“Jeonghan!” She fixed her slouched position. “I wasn’t aware you made a reservation today. I haven’t seen your name in the system.”
“No worries. I set an anonymous appointment the night before. After all the chaos I caused last time, I figured it’s best to stay under the radar. I know I’m late. I was finishing up a term paper.”
“That’s quite all right. Here, I’ll just quickly renew your information. One moment… Okay, Yoon Jeonghan, you’re all set.”
At that, your eyes practically bulged right into the teacup. You’d heard his name in some conversations with a few university friends, before you had dropped your program. His father was an inventive in the fashion industry for nearly a decade, and his brand was considered high-end luxury, with people forking up the big bucks just to wear a piece from the collection. His mother recently begun a perfume company. In fact, you had a bottle from her Sunrise series sitting on your vanity, though you used each spritz very sparingly considering its outrageous price point. According to the most recent gossip, Jeonghan had ended his relationship with a model who’d been strutting his father’s cloths.
You couldn’t believe he was here.
No – even worse, you couldn’t believe he was making his way toward your table. It had to be some sort of mistake. How could it be that you chose to sit here? Was the universe attempting another cruel joke?
His visual seemed even more daunting outside his photographs in the magazines. Beyond a glossy page, he was softer. Thick hair, shiny and dark brown, which swooped beneath his ears and parted smoothly at the forehead. His lips were the same shade as the windowsill roses, as well as the high arches in his cheeks. But then, he was sharper too, with a trim, angular jaw and such a defined yet judgemental brow. You had expected anyone else but him. And now, this esteemed, much too beautiful man had come to the very last table, wearing an expression of waning curiosity. Or, as you interpreted it, clear-glass disappointment.
Before Jeonghan seated himself, he untucked his phone from his coat pocket and clicked a side button to check the time. He then sniffled, looked straight at the wall, and sighed. Despite your now devoted wish to disappear, you attempted to begin a conversation that wouldn’t backfire.
“Yoon Jeonghan. I’ve heard the name. It’s nice to meet you.”
He settled one arm on the table, tapping his fingernails.
“Yeah. I’m guessing you’re not a regular here—” he then peered over at your bright red Love Card placed by the teacup to say your name.
Bouncing your leg underneath the table, you nodded. “No, not really. I’ve been debating for a while if this was a choice I should make, but I can’t seem to have ends meet doing anything else. So, I came here.”
Already, Jeonghan looked painfully bored. He stopped tapping his fingers and leaned his chin against the hand instead. You knew it was the insecurity barking. Unnecessarily, you apologized to him.
“I’m sorry, I know I’m probably not the woman you’re expecting and I get that. I wouldn’t be all that offended if you wanted to save the Love Card for someone else or—”
Out of the blue, Jeonghan laughed, though he attempted to mute the sound by digging the bend of his index finger between his teeth. Your sentence trailed off with an awkward, dying breath. He suddenly leaned back in his metal seat, shaking his head apologetically and pulling back some of the soft hairs from his eyes. You felt utterly confused.
“Sorry, sorry,” he smiled, “didn’t mean to discourage you there, sweetheart. I’ve just never had someone apologize for—well, their looks.”
“I-I don’t know,” you lunged for damage control, “I just thought you seemed disappointed and I… Well, I haven’t done this before, so I don’t really know all that well how it works. I… I should stop talking…”
It felt as though someone had swatted both your cheeks in an iron-slap, because the skin was stinging hot like never before. You knew he was staring at you, probably thinking to himself that you were a train wreck waiting to happen. Afterward, an employee visited the table to collect your emptied teacup, and asked Jeonghan if he’d like anything to drink. Refusing to look elsewhere but the clenched fists in your lap, you waited for the employee to leave once Jeonghan rejected the offer. He’d pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from his pocket. Uncapping the pen with his teeth, you watched him sloppily scribble something down.
“My number.” He said, sliding it across the table. “Listen, I’ve gotta go home and proofread that term paper before I submit it. Just send me a text, okay? I won’t be free for a few days, anyways.”
“Oh, okay.” You sniffled.
Quite frankly, you couldn’t comprehend that he was still interested in pursuing something venereal, even when you had embarrassed yourself like a circus act. He rose quickly from the table and wrapped the waistband of his coat tight around his small waist.
Staring down at the paper, you blurted out, “are you sure?”
Jeonghan titled his head. “Am I sure of what?”
“Never mind.” You answered. “I’ll text you later.”
“Okay.” He nodded, on the verge of walking away when he abruptly stopped himself. “Are you always this nervous?”
Caught off guard by his question, your elbow whacked the edge of the table and you meekly stuttered, “I-I don’t know…”
You were more than positive he was going to ghost all your texts.
To a degree, you were correct.
Over the course of the following week, you sent Jeonghan at least three texts, each on separate days, only to be rewarded with a demotivating lack of responses. You knew he was a busy individual who probably didn’t have much time to waste on promiscuous affairs, let alone a committed relationship. So, you tried very earnestly to not feel upset or unimportant at his methods – even despite the series of required payments glaring you down from those white envelopes scattered atop the kitchen table.
And then, during the black, late hours of a snowy Friday, you received a reply. A surprisingly urgent one which detailed that you make it to the downtown Opal Studio before eleven o’clock, as there would be a backdoor entrance left unlocked for your access. He mentioned a storage closet underneath a staircase, worded very sternly as: … Wait inside, and do not make yourself known. I’ll see you there shortly, and ensure you leave without being spotted. Uncertain of what the situation would entail, you phoned a cab and payed the driver using some remaining funds from a paper note purse. The studio’s front was a smooth, velvet black, with a wide window which illuminated several mannequins wearing Mr. Yoon’s newest issue. Each outfit cost a pretty penny.
Like you anticipated, Jeonghan was late to meet you in the storage closet; however, you were at no point going to scold his blatant disregard for scheduling when he’d pressed you tight against the door looking the way he did. Buttons popped down the chest of his unwrinkled dress shirt, sleeves cuffed to his elbows, and his neat, styled hair beginning to dishevel around those intense eyes. He braced his hand beside your head, studying your lips as though they were glittering.
“Can I kiss you?” Jeonghan asked. The question seemed to rumble from deep in his throat and you felt your knees weaken.
You nodded immediately, allowing his hand to frame the side of your cheek as his warm, soft mouth nudged against yours. It was gentle for a fleeting touch, and then there was pressure, teeth, a slick tongue running across your bottom lip and leaving you in such a sensual daze that you just stood there with a parted mouth. Jeonghan definitely knew what he wanted from you in that moment. And he wanted it quick. You were flipped around, chest pushed against the door, skirt hiked up impatiently as the fabric ruffled around your hips. His hand slid between your thighs to rub you through the thin pair of underwear, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the cold, thick rings on his fingers.
Eagerly, you began a slow gyration of grinding against Jeonghan’s touch while simultaneously biting down hard on your bottom lip, knowing embarrassingly well that you were already sticky and soaking and ready for him to use you like a designated fucktoy. He was rather flush to your backside as he dug the heel of his palm against your clit, so much yet not enough between the cotton. Something about his scent was beyond arousing, and it gripped to him like a web. An expensive cologne no doubt, mature, raw, and ocean-fresh. You heard the sound of his belt being whipped open, followed by a zipper.
“Alright,” Jeonghan hummed, passing a hand up his length, “let’s make this quick. Gotta be back upstairs in five to finish the measurements and tapering and all that boring shit. Now, just be a good, quiet little girl for me, sweetheart, and this’ll be a cake walk.”
Your mouth stretched into a low, whiny groan as Jeonghan held your underwear aside and began to sink inside of you, his hips stalled against your skin. His light breath then fluttered at your ear, “bet you’d make such a perfect toy to keep my cock nice and warm. Feels so perfect, being this deep inside you, sweetheart.” He shuddered against you, thrusting once, twice, slowly and teasingly dragging himself out before ramming right back in to pinch you against the door.
“Fuck,” he cursed between his teeth, “life would be so much easier if I could just keep you right here on my cock, wouldn’t it, baby?”.
Undoubtedly, that smooth-talking tongue of his was going to be an impending problem. You don’t know where he got off exactly on such scandalous thoughts, but you were too consumed in your own lust to care. The way he fucked you against that door with one hand scraping at your hip and the other wrapped up your throat, fingers pressing hot into your drooling mouth to keep you quiet, it was more bliss than a one-way ticket to Eden. Jeonghan timed his orgasm appropriately, slipping himself from your warmth at the last second and finishing himself off using the hand which had been maintaining your silence. His breaths were slow but husky in the aftermath, his fingers painted in cum.
“You wouldn’t want to use that pretty mouth of yours to clean this, would you?” He laughed.
Before you could respond, Jeonghan had grabbed some paper towels left to sit on a shelf and cleaned the mess himself. Then, as though nothing had happened, he asked if you were carrying that damn Love Card before you could even flatten down the wrinkles in your skirt. You grabbed the small note purse you set down next to the paper towels and revealed the obnoxiously coloured card. Jeonghan smiled.
“That’s the one.” He took a dry erase marker from the shelf and wrote his initials in the first circle.
“Here,” Jeonghan proceeded to offer back the card, “one session down. I need to scram. The hall should be clear at this hour, but have a cab ready just in case you need to bolt fast. Oh—before I go, you got the money to pay the driver? It’s no problem if you’re short. I can cover.”
“N-No, I should have enough.” You answered.
“Cool. I’ll transact you tonight.” Jeonghan nodded, tucking in his shirt rather poorly before slipping past you to exit the storage closet.
One week later, you were at the entrance to the library, pulling open the door with a big, cold huff. It was much warmer inside. You were beginning to feel the tips of your stiff fingers again.
Despite your service at the Love Café, you wanted one last time to test your luck on a receptionist position at the downtown hair salon, simply because you would think better of yourself if you weren’t relying chiefly on Jeonghan to pay your bills. His last transaction had been more than you anticipated. Finally, you were able to erase that huge electricity bill, and you still had enough of the money left over to supply some warm meals for the next few days. If you could just submit your newest resume to the salon, then you might be able to permanently cover the groceries.
Except, you needed access to a computer.
Ever since you tipped over a glass of water onto your old laptop, it had stopped working properly, and the library was the only place close by which let you use the computer room without fees. However, as you peered in through the backroom window to find an open space, you realized just how crammed full it was. Judging by everyone’s intense typing and unblinking eyes, you weren’t going to steal a seat anytime soon, which pulled out a frustrated sigh as you fiddled with the USB in your pocket. You thought about heading home, until you saw Jeonghan.
He was seated at the distant left corner, leaned back comfortably in the chair while he examined something on his laptop. A gym bag was slid underneath the table, and he was dressed as though he had some sort of sports practice; quite the contrary to his usual crisp, ironed shirts and heavy winter coats courtesy of brands you couldn’t pronounce. He seemed concentrated, chewing on his thumb nail while he tapped the touch pad. In fact, he didn’t notice that you had approached him until you said his name quietly from across the table and his eyes flickered.
“Uh, hey.” Jeonghan replied, sounding bothered while he pushed his thumb harshly against his bottom lip. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“And I didn’t expect to see you.”
He shrugged, maintaining his uninterested glance on the laptop screen. “Well, I’m looking over some notes. Last minute stuff.”
You nodded. “What’s with the duffle bag?”
“My friend Joshua – he’s been making me coach this Peewee soccer team with him at the Greenfield Dome.” Jeonghan puffed out his chest, letting an arm fall loosely to his side. “Those kids are insane. They have too much energy. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sweet talk me.”
At that, you giggled, though immediately hushed yourself when the librarian came by with a metal cart, filled with books to shelve. You stepped around the table to move out of her way. Jeonghan pulled out the chair beside him using his foot and nodded that you take a seat.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
You reached into your pocket and pulled out the USB.
“I need to upload my new resume. I mean, I probably won’t hear anything back from this place, ‘cause that’s how it usually goes. But, whatever. Thing is, I busted my laptop, and now the computer room is filled up. I’ll just come back later and hope it’s cleared out.” Staring down at your shoes, you avoided Jeonghan’s gaze. “I know I’m doing this Love Café stuff, but it would still be nice to have my own income, you know?”
“I get that.” He replied, scratching at his collarbone. “I’ve already got my laptop here and everything. You can use it, if you want.”
“Really?” You smiled wide. “Thanks.”
Jeonghan closed a few tabs that he’d been rotating between before sliding his laptop over to you. Wriggling the memory stick into the small slot at the side, you logged into your email account through the main search engine. As long as you could send your resume to the salon before they closed their application deadline, then you would hope for the absolute best, even if it was an unstimulating, lacklustre gig answering phones and scheduling hair appointments all day. Just as you went to drag the file into your email, Jeonghan’s laptop froze.
“Uh, Jeonghan,” you whispered, “nothing’s moving. Do I just wait? Does this normally happen? Did I screw something up?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Relax, relax. It’s been doing that a lot recently. I figured out if you hold down these keys—” Jeonghan suddenly scooted his chair in very close, his thigh pressing against yours as he reached a hand underneath your arm, the other lightly nudging your fingers off the keyboard, “then it goes back to normal. See?”
“O-Oh, yeah. It’s working.” You stuttered, not all staring at the specific keys he clicked because the side of his face was much too pretty.
Granting you access to the keyboard again, Jeonghan leaned away, though he didn’t move his thigh from yours even an inch. It was almost concerning how flustered you felt. Jeonghan had literally pinned you against a closet door and fucked his own hand right in front of you, and yet, your heart was fluttering tenfold. In a much different way. And it lit this spark of fear and adrenaline at the core of your chest like gasoline hitting a wicked flame. You detached the USB stick, logged yourself out from the email account, and moved quickly off the seat.
In a hurried breath, you said, “thanks so much!” and proceeded to leave the library as though someone were trailing you with a pitchfork.
While it was embarrassing, you knew it was necessary. There was no way you were going to crush on that boy. It was strictly business.
Tired. Aching.
Uncomfortable moisture covering the slopes and divots of your body. You didn’t think there was anything left inside you for him to so commandingly take, like his name were inked to your each and every limb. And yet, Jeonghan wasn’t ready to let you rest. The mattress dipped behind you, the heat of his chest sticking to your back, the weight of his erection pressed right at your tailbone. While his lips kissed softly up your neck, Jeonghan slid his hand in between your thighs to continue pleasuring you, ignoring the responsive whimpers attached to your sensitivity. He’d already brought you to two orgasms, though you were sensing the overbearing rush of a third.
An index and middle finger slid down to your entrance, the contact beyond slippery, a sort of wet velvet, and you hardly recognized the sensation unlike the first time he’d touched you. Jeonghan hooked the digits deep, using the heel of his palm to rub a thorough friction against your clit. Working faster and faster, his laboured breaths fanned hot across your neck while he sharply concentrated on making you starry-eyed. It was pain. It was bliss. It was exactly what you wanted most and everything you couldn’t endure at the same time. You came heavily, screamed as the pulsation at your core felt almost violent.
Unable to fully ride out the pleasure, you attempted to curl away from Jeonghan, hiding your face in the pillows and further tilting your hips. However, the boy followed your movement. He stayed snug to your back, practically leaned over top you with the latter arm braced next to your head while his hand pounded and pounded. The amount of liquid gushing onto his fingers and spilling down his wrist felt almost comical, and you were certain that you had never orgasmed so intensely in your life. To make matters worse, it seemed as though he’d taken that little memory box in your head filled with all your language and tossed it right out the damn window. You couldn’t form one word other than sobs.
Jeonghan breathed a light, shaky chuckle beside your ear. “Trying to run from me, sweetheart? When I can make you feel so good? Look at how much you can take, honey. Such a good girl when you cum so fucking hard ‘round my fingers I can barely move them.”
The sound of his digits sliding out from your entrance was the most impure, salacious noise you didn’t know could exist. Rolling slowly onto your back, you saw the immediate coating on Jeonghan’s hand and the drops beading down his wrist. He caught one with his tongue, licking all the way back up like he was cleaning the juice from a melted popsicle, and you almost couldn’t watch him. In fact, you were exhausted. There wasn’t anything left for you to offer, and the thought of moving from his bed when your core felt this utterly sore and your muscles this tight set a perfectly timed cue for your eyes to fall shut. It was heavenly.
Nonetheless, Jeonghan had a very specific rule. There was no staying past your session, and he was often strikingly clear about it. But this was the first time you’d been pushed to such a degree. He must be able to recognize that it was only a short nap you needed, and perhaps a quick minute under the shower to rid your skin of the sticky sweat.
Out of the blue, something was tossed onto your face. It was your t-shirt earlier stripped and thrown to the floor by Jeonghan. Cracking an eye open and peeling away the fabric to hang loosely from your grip, you sighed. He had already slipped back into his exercise pants.
“Seriously? I’m exhausted.”
He threw a loose flannel over the long, beaming red scrapes that you had clawed down his back, shaking his head with a huff.
“I’m not saying you need to get out right now. I’ve got a dinner with the parents at eight.” Jeonghan proceeded to drop the rest of your undergarments onto bed. “So, you gotta be gone by a quarter to, alright?”
Swallowing dryly, you nodded.
“Alright.”
The next morning, you were seated on the edge of your bed, staring with bleary eyes at the smooth, red Love Card that was initialed to its fifth circle, leaving only eight more sessions with Jeonghan. Though you approached the café with nothing more than an intention to earn money (even if the sex would be inexplicably dull), you were beginning to presume that there was more to this business than you thought. Because the sex wasn’t dull. It was concerningly amazing. And the very man who you had sworn to maintain a no-strings-attached type relationship with was throwing you for a loop. But he was boundary driven.
Be ready to go by this time. No sparkly clothes. Leave nothing in the washroom. Don’t show up here. Don’t show up there. Don’t text me unless this. Don’t call me unless that. Jeonghan knew very explicitly that you were a simple trick to relieving his stress and fulfilling his sexual desires, yet, anything further than that was laughably impossible. And, besides, it’s not like you needed to be in love or have this dazzling, perfect boyfriend. There was too much on your plate already.
You had gone to bed in a thick wool sweater, layered with the heaviest comforter you had due to the broken heating. Ignoring the cold, your next-door neighbours had found themselves in another drunken argument, forcing you to hear the unnerving crack of beer bottles and an outrageous number of insults, ranging from the very straightforward, ‘ridiculous bitch” to the audacious, “go fuck yourself, narcissistic prick.”
Thankfully, the dramatics ended just before three am.
You set the Love Card back on your nightstand. After you splashed mild water onto your face from the sink, you started multitasking, attempting to brush your teeth and remove your pyjama bottoms at the same time. Then, there was a knock at your door. You spared a glance through the peephole while the toothbrush hung from the corner of your mouth and the frigid air hit your bare legs. Upon recognizing the face reflected through the fisheye lens, you nearly choked on the mint-flavoured spit collected at the back of your throat, which forced you to unpleasantly compose yourself at the kitchen sink.
He knocked again, and you pulled the door open almost immediately, probably appearing as though you just hiked through the wilderness. Jeonghan’s eyes widened as he smiled at you.
“Damn. Sleep well?” He remarked, looking you up and down.
You were in the midst of a yawn as you answered. “Um, yes. I-I mean no. Wait, I don’t know what I’m saying. What was the question?”
Jeonghan nodded. “I’ll take that as a no.” He then reached into the pocket on his flannel coat. “Anyways, I have your phone. You left it on my bedside table the other night. Figured it’s kind of useful, I guess.”
“Oh my god. I did that?” You winced, realizing you must have been so tired and discombobulated from Jeonghan blowing your brains out that you forgot. “It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
Leaning your temple against the door, you sighed. “How was that dinner thing with your parents? Was it any fun?”
The boy shook his head, pulling out his car keys and tossing them from hand to hand. “No. It was all business bullshit. What they want me to do with my future after I graduate uni. How to be responsible with my money since they think I’m gonna blow it in a few years. Trying to structure my life around stuff I don’t really give a damn about.”
“O-Oh…” You frowned, “well, was there at least good food?”
Jeonghan stopped playing with his keys and titled his head at you. “Yeah,” he said, his eyes gentle, “they had great red velvet cake.”
Unfortunately, your neighbours must have woken up and decided it was a little too peaceful at such an hour, because you heard a loud, clanging thump echo from the room beside yours, like someone had dropped a metal pot or pan on the ground. Of course, the yelling started.
It didn’t last nearly as long compared to the night before, just a few scolding comments which were ultimately muffled. You wondered what Jeonghan was thinking as he blinked at the neighbour’s door and realized how despairing the narrow, dimly-lit hallway looked. After visiting his high-end apartment numerous times based in the luxury core of the city, with its beautiful architecture and sparkle, you were frankly a bit humiliated he was witnessing this drab part of your life – the reason you were seeking his service in the first place. You apologized through your teeth for the commotion, though Jeonghan merely shrugged.
“It’s better than nothing, right?”
“Yeah, that’s true. But those two next door can be a handful sometimes. I don’t get it. If they hate each other, then just break up. Get divorced. It’s like they want to be miserable on purpose.”
“Bet you wish you could get the hell outta here, huh?”
“All the time.” You replied wistfully. “I’m thinking of going to the mall today, actually. I need a new bath towel. Whatever gets me away.”
“You want a ride there?” Jeonghan asked, shaking his keys.
At that, you smiled a little too wide. “Maybe.”
Carefully, you picked up a thin, glass bottle of pink perfume from the display counter, tilting the liquid back and forth as the lights gleamed off the gold nozzle. Everything inside the store was diamond bright and almost blinding, while the air smelled strongly of expensive floral. The employees were tailored in smooth, sophisticated suits, which made you more petrified than usual to touch anything, hence your very delicate inspection of the perfume as you waited for Jeonghan to finish his conversation with the front clerk. Since his father’s collection was sold at the boutique, Jeonghan seemed to have a cordial relationship with the staff, and they had recognized him almost immediately.
As most of their merchandise was quite expensive, you always ignored the boutique until Jeonghan suggested you stop by. It didn’t help that there was actually some cute clothing begging to be bought, though you knew one swift glance at the price tag would change your mind. You brought the perfume bottle close to your nose and inhaled lightly.
“What does it smell like?” Jeonghan asked.
You sniffed again. “It’s sweet, though it’s not strong.”
“Let me smell.” He said, and so you raised the bottle up to his nose. Jeonghan wrapped his hand around yours as he took a breath, shaking his head in disapproval. “That’s all wrong. I don’t like it.”
“It is kind of high schoolish.” You told him, setting the test bottle back onto the counter as though you were laying down a jewel. “I just need a new scent, you know? I actually love that one bottle your mom did, the summer tropic one. It’s so peachy but mild. I’m running out.”
“For real?” Jeonghan laughed, his eyes skipping over the different shaped containers. “You use one of my mom’s perfumes?”
“Um, yeah. Have you even smelled the tropic one? It’s amazing.”
“I don’t hang around her laboratory too often.” He replied. “It gives me a big fucking headache. Smells like this place times a hundred.”
You shrugged. “I guess that’s understandable.”
Suddenly, Jeonghan had latched his hand around your elbow, pulling you around to the opposite side of the counter. He grabbed a tall, slim bottle that was made from foggy glass and a chrome silver pump.
“C’mon, give me your wrist for a second.” He said. “Try this scent. I don’t know why, but it reminds me of you.”
Pulling up your sleeve, you stuck out your wrist and allowed him to spray a thin layer against the skin. Then, you sniffed the area. At first, your forehead crinkled as you attempted to decipher its concoction of notes. There was something a little fresh and cool, but then there was this oddly mature hint of a distinguished floral scent. You couldn’t pinpoint the flower, but it was certainly addictive and very intriguing.
“It’s called Orchid Night. Smells great, right?”
“Yeah,” you smiled, rolling your sleeve back down “just don’t tell me what it costs. It has to be at least fifty bucks.”
“Try sixty-nine,” Jeonghan corrected, “plus tax, don’t forget.”
Immediately, you grabbed the bottle from his hand and returned the perfume to its small podium on the countertop.
“Well, let’s put it back before we break it.”
Jeonghan smirked. “I could buy it for you.”
For a split second, you were tempted to succumb, though you snapped from the thought at the last second and shook your head.
“No way. I wouldn’t let you, anyways.”
He buried his hands in his pockets, rolling those gold-copper eyes of his. Jeonghan made sure to purposefully bump into you as he walked down the bright aisle toward the clothes. “Honestly, you’re so boring, man. That scent, on you? It would be sexy.” The boy then turned around to smother you with a burning gaze. “But, fine. Have it your way.”
You hurried after him, scoffing lightheartedly to camouflage the fact your heart was beating like a broken pendulum. Jeonghan had stopped at a rack of neatly pressed clothing to sort through the hangers.
“My way is the better way,” you smiled, “always.”
Jeonghan moved the long-sleeved button-up he’d been eyeing back onto the rack, merely blowing out a puff of air.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Besides, I still need to get my bath towel.”
“We can find it on the bottom floor. At the new essentials store that just opened up. The Shower Duck, I think.”
“The Shower what?”
He couldn’t help but cackle while repeating himself. “The Shower Duck. You thought I said something else, didn’t you?”
When you were too tongue-twisted to reply, Jeonghan decided to place his fingers softly on your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in very closely to whisper, “you’re such a dirty girl, you know that?” You almost hated how casually he pulled away and continued to examine the clothing, as though he hadn’t just murmured a lascivious comment into your ear while the employees were standing a mere few meters across the store. More than anything, you desired the courage to deservingly tease him in return, to break that relaxed little shtick of his. Except, you weren’t confident nor subtle enough to attempt anything in public.
But when your eyes landed on that brand-new lingerie set wrapped primly on the nearest mannequin, you had a wonderful idea.
“No, are you being serious? Why? Why?”
His blunt fingernails sunk into the leather arms of the desk chair, scraping upward, as equally frustrated with your cruel antics as he was aroused and impatient. Maybe it was somewhat meanspirited to strut the thin, beautiful lace and ribbons curled around your body in a baby pink, and indeed, there was a moment where you pondered leniency, though, you severed the thought, because Jeonghan would surely tear each garter and bow from your outfit like it hadn’t cost anything at all. Pursing your bottom lip, you smiled, sinister and cold.
“I am being serious,” you stated firmly, nearing closer to his desk chair, “your hands won’t touch a single part of me, Jeonghan.”
He glared up at you with a dark, flickering fire in his eyes, as if he were already weighing the consequence to breaking such rules. You began to sit comfortably on the boy’s lap, curling your arms around his neck while maintaining the intensity of the stare.
“And, if you do, I’ll grab my things and leave. It’ll just be you and your hand, for the rest of the night.” Purposefully, you brushed delicate lips, featherlight, along his warm, red-tinged ear, to which you could practically feel him harden underneath you upon the whisper, “and there’ll be nothing you can do other than remembering how good it felt when I was in your lap, grinding down on you, baby boy, just like this.”
Slowly and with focus, you rolled your hips in a deep, smooth gyration, ensuring Jeonghan felt the heavy pressure against all the right places. His hands keened for your waist, so you immediately reminded him of your unnegotiable rules, forcing them to settle on the arms of the chair. He drew in a sharp breath. And then, he started to laugh, like a beaten protagonist receiving their first, acrid taste of defeat. Jeonghan titled his head back to smile very lazily at you.
“Evil.” He said. “You’re fucking evil.”
“Mmhm,” you agreed, continuing the unhurried, steadfast pace of your hips rolling back and forth, observing with poorly hidden glee as the boy lost his smile, “but you’ll still cum, won’t you, Jeonghan?”
Before he could sneak in a clever rebuttal, you adjusted yourself even lower onto his lap, digging your nails down the back of his neck as you circled a thorough motion against his erection. Admittedly, it was difficult to maintain the domineering act. Even through the black material of the slacks, his cock was managing to create a friction with your lace underwear, a friction so rough yet fruitless that you were already tempted to take him, full and aching inside you. In order to distract yourself, you licked the tender side to Jeonghan’s neck, looping your tongue in a messy, warm pattern overtop a sensitive vein.
“Ff-fuck,” Jeonghan stuttered, scraping harshly along the chair, “you devilish little girl, c-can’t believe you’re g’nna make me cum like this—b-but it feels so damn good the way you’re moving, baby.”
You suckled until you’d drawn a shiny, wine-coloured hue to the surface of Jeonghan’s skin, to mark a dark bruise as a keepsake. He kept breathing through a parted mouth, each exhale shakier and more erratic than the last, his knuckles hard like stone while they gratingly tensed and betrayed his frustration at not being able to touch you. With slow, teasing hands, you began to drag them down his chest, nails clawing at the expensive fabric of his dress shirt. Jeonghan squirmed. He clenched his jaw and cursed rough under his breath. You focused on where his cock was poking you to apply the most dizzying pressure thus far, rolling your hips until something inside Jeonghan snapped and you felt him cum.
“Jesus—fuck!” He shouted, the loudest you had ever heard the boy, and there was a notable tear in his usually soft voice. “Keep going, keep going,” Jeonghan panted, squeezing his eyes shut, “keep fucking moving just like that, sweetheart. A-Ahh, ff-fuck, feels s-so good—"
At the pulsating sensation right beneath your core, you submitted to Jeonghan’s wish and continued grinding down, even if you were beginning to tire at your lack of stamina. However, there came a point where you were too breathless to maintain such a pace, so you trickled to a halt and steadied your hands on his firm shoulders. He tossed his head back, neck leaned against the edge of the chair. The hazy, glass look to his brown eyes and the rose glow smeared on each cheek made it appear as though he’d just touched down from heaven. As you shifted slightly in Jeonghan’s lap, you noticed the white stream of cum that had soaked through his pants, and that somehow, he was still hard.
“I didn’t know you could beg, Jeonghan.” You remarked, grinning, meanwhile attempting to catch your breath.
He shook his head. “Don’t expect it too much.”
“Well, I can tell you’re satisfied, either way.”
He chuckled, brushing some of the loose hairs from his face. You felt his hands settle upon your waist’s bare skin, warm and squeezing. In that moment, you just didn’t possess the same acuteness to scold him.
“Almost,” Jeonghan huffed, “but, what do you suppose you’ll do to please yourself, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, until his forehead was just a sliver away from bumping yours, the boy sliding a hand down your abdomen and beneath the lace underwear. As he stroked the tips of his fingers along your slit, he smirked. “I’ve never felt someone so wet before, dripping all over my fingers and I’m barely touching you. Did it turn you on that much, sweetheart? Feeling my hard cock right underneath this needy pussy of yours?” Jeonghan teased with a smirk and a low, calm tone. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to duct tape his mouth shut or allow him to keep talking, as there was something about his honeyed voice which wound you up like clockwork.
Yet, before you could even start the syllable of a response, Jeonghan pushed you strongly from his lap, his hands glued to your waist as he guided you to stumble against the bed. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets puffing up around you. And then, Jeonghan was kissing you, lips clashing messily while he took advantage of the switched power dynamic to run his hands over your every inch. One second, they were cupping your breasts overtop the baby pink bralette. Another second, they were grabbing at your ass and kneading so desperately. You were being ravaged. It was overwhelming, it was gratifying, it was needed beyond belief.
“Hey,” Jeonghan said, separating his mouth from the side of your throat to stare at you with an oddly sentimental eye, “before I get all up in your guts and everything— you look beautiful. Even if you did choose this outfit to be a big fucking tease.” His fingers brushed down the edge of your jaw, and he smiled at you in a way that wasn’t clever or teetering on sarcasm. Your heart leapt like a little frog in your chest.
“Really?” You questioned him, not because you didn’t believe the lingerie suited your figure, but rather, you weren’t expecting this sweetness from someone who was always so quick to get rid of you.
He nodded, raising a suspecting eyebrow. “Yeah, really. What, you think I’m lying to you or something?”
“No, I don’t think that,” you answered quickly, curling your fingers into the bedsheets, “I just—I wasn’t… Uh, never mind.”
“Alright,” Jeonghan laughed, lowering his head to delicately kiss your cheek, and then your neck, “you’re a bit strange sometimes, you know that?” He mumbled against the sensitive skin, even daring to dig his knee between your thighs to make you increasingly pliable.
“I-I know,” you stuttered, unable to help your embarrassing voice crack. But you still smiled, letting Jeonghan explore and pleasure your body with an uncharacteristic tenderness for the remainder of the night.
Twelve am.
Usually, at this time, you’d be at the bottom floor of his apartment complex, seated by the lobby water fountain. You’d be examining your face with a pocket mirror, awaiting the yellow taxi cab, and trying to avoid eye contact with the wealthy businesspeople filtering from the elevators in glamourous congregation.
However, tonight was different.
Tonight, you were in Jeonghan’s bed, with a white sheet covering the lower half of your bodies, an ear pressed to his bare, warm chest while you breathed him in like the wind on a bright summer’s day. You felt his fingertips trace long figure eights down your spine and then dance back up to the subtle curve of your shoulder blades. Sometimes it tickled, other times it was a touch so soft it was hardly there, and in between you thought he might have been tracing words. The room was quiet. But good quiet— the comfortable quiet. And then you heard Jeonghan speak into the crown of your head while his hand stilled at your waist.
“Did that salon ever call you back?” He asked.
You sighed, focusing on your thumb which brushed a small freckle on his pectoral muscle. “They emailed me, and said their position was already filled, but that they’ll try to look for another opening.”
Jeonghan rubbed your hip. “That’s good, right? I mean, they didn’t just flat out reject you. They’re gonna keep you in mind.”
“It’s better than what I’m used to getting,” you answered, pressing your lips together and tilting your head up at him.
And, that’s when it struck you, like someone had just clanged a bell right beside your head. You were still in Jeonghan’s bed. You were still in Jeonghan’s apartment. You were still with Jeonghan. Feeling as though you’d broken some vastly significant cardinal rule, you operated on a strange basis of panic and autopilot, already seated at the edge of the mattress while you tucked your underwear back on.
“I’m sorry,” you spewed, reaching for your shirt next and straightening it out frantically in your lap, “the time escaped me. I-I know I have to go. And, my Love Card, I think it’s in my purse or—”
“Can you slow down?” Jeonghan laughed, casting a hand through his loose, disarrayed hair which you had admittedly tugged earlier in the night like your life depended on it. The boy’s arms circled around your midframe, hugging your back to his chest. “I don’t care about that stupid card right now,” Jeonghan hummed into your ear, “stay.”
At that, you almost choked. “Stay? You want me to stay?” You repeated dumbly, dropping the inside-out shirt back onto your lap.
The coldest shiver split down your spine as Jeonghan buried his face against your neck, taking a breath of your scent, kissing your skin.
“Yeah,” he purred, now pecking the soft spot behind your ear, “I want you to stay. Or, if you really want to go home, I won’t stop you.”
“No,” you replied almost immediately, melting into his voice, his touch, his body, “trust me, I’d rather be here.”
Jeonghan’s arms relaxed their snug grip.
“I figured that.”
Even though you had strongly protested the idea, Jeonghan succeeded at wearing you down akin to an ocean tide forming whorls into rock, and now you were seated before your vanity with an array of makeup scattered at your fingertips as you prepared for a dinner. His parents were going to be there, in addition to some business partners and close friends, which sounded like something from a hellish nightmare. In fact, Jeonghan himself didn’t seem all that eager to attend. He’d been sprawled across your bed for the past half hour, with the long drapes of his coat fanned around him, as he flipped through an old magazine. You were certain he just didn’t want to tough another dinner alone.
After focusing a spritz of perfume to your neck (the orchid one, bought by Jeonghan, because he was very insistent that you not smell like his mother) you shut off the vanity lights and sighed.
“I think I’m ready… Physically though, not mentally.”
Jeonghan yawned, tossing the magazine aside before he pushed himself to sit upright on the bed. He rubbed at his eye.
“Trust me, it’s not going to be the big, royal midnight ball that you’re picturing. My parents have these dinners all the time. You’ll be the centre of attention for a few minutes, and then it’s pretty much just business central from there. You’ll be lucky if you can even get a word in. I stopped trying months ago.”
You smiled at him, feeling slightly better about the situation, and took one last, scrutinizing glance in the mirror. The dress was simple yet elegant, a mute shade of dark blue with a beaded, crystal belt that you had forgotten about, as you discovered it laying behind a stool shoved in your closet. The fabric had an elastic tightness to it and was hemmed shorter than you remembered, just above your fingertips. You tried not to judge or overthink the figure which reflected in the vanity glass, or what Jeonghan’s parents might assume upon their first introduction to someone who was so clueless on their accolades. It was merely a dinner.
“Stop worrying so much,” Jeonghan hummed, sensing that you were at the forefront of a spiral. His hands settled to your hips and he caught your eye through the mirror. “No one is going to judge you, or poke fun at you, or say anything mean. I promise.” He then grabbed your winter coat off the bed, helping you slide into the arms, and even doing up the buttons. “You’re gorgeous.” Jeonghan said, tapping your chin.
It didn’t help that he could fluster you so easily.
Joshua wasn’t at all who you expected him to be, while simultaneously encompassing everything you would indeed expect from the position of Jeonghan’s closest friend. He was a juxtaposition personified. Slick, ash blonde hair combed into a handsome wave, eyes which twinkled like the restaurant’s diamond chandelier, and a soothing voice which could be a cup of warm milk on a frosty day, though his interactions with Jeonghan portrayed him as childlike and frivolous. He greeted you, at first with a quick hug. You heard him exhale deeply.
“Wow,” Joshua commented, retreating to shake your hand, “you smell amazing! I mean—well, I hope that doesn’t sound weird.”
You laughed, and wondered how someone could smile with such a prettiness. “Thank you! I’d be upset if you didn’t notice, actually.”
Joshua continued to shake your hand. “Oh, yeah, agree. It’s wonderful to meet you. Jeonghan’s been trying to hide you, it seems.”
“Go shove a break stick in your mouth,” Jeonghan scoffed, blowing a loose piece of hair from his eyes, “and stop shaking her hand like that. You’re gonna snap her whole arm off.”
Finally, Joshua released his grip, and your arm fell back to your side like a limp noodle. His cheeks were starting to turn pink.
“I was not. Anyways—” he nodded at you, “like I said, nice to meet you. I hope we’ll talk more tonight and I’ll pick your brain.”
“Sure thing,” you answered, waving the boy off as he returned to the dinner table before facing Jeonghan. “He seems nice.”
“And totally into you. I haven’t seen him shake someone’s hand like that since I introduced him to Elouise from France. He’s gonna turn into a lost puppy all over again. Bet he’ll try to sweet talk you later.”
“Can’t wait.” You grinned, already giggling through your teeth.
Jeonghan c0nsquently thwapped your forehead with his finger.
However, meeting Jeonghan’s parents was starkly different than the good-humoured Joshua. They both appeared cross, and firm, and before you had even shaken their hands you were forced to wipe yours against your dress. The father was a bit softer around the edges, showing you a pleased smile that reminded you instantaneously of Jeonghan, while the mother was stone-faced and seemed as though she hadn’t slouched since birth. Even when she complimented your fragrance, there was a tartness to her voice which made it sound disingenuous.
“Well, Jeonghan,” she said, clasping her hands together, “I’m glad to finally see you with a lovely lady on your arm. I didn’t think it was possible that you could settle for someone after being with Baejin.”
“Oh?” The father piped up, “you’re my son’s girlfriend?”
Before you could respond, Jeonghan had beaten you to it.
“No, she’s…” he bit his lip hard, “she’s just a friend. Mom kept nagging that I always come to these dinners alone, and she was down.”
For some reason, it felt like someone had pierced a pin straight through your heart – a very tiny hole which shouldn’t hurt all that much, yet stung like flesh to orange, glowing metal. In fact, there was a visible shift in your countenance, from a nervous smile to a sunken frown, but you were able to veil it very quickly and pretend nothing was wrong. Why should you feel so disappointed that Jeonghan had introduced you as a friend? The promiscuous nature of your relationship didn’t immediately loop you two together as soulmates, or lovers, or even the mildest beginnings of boyfriend and girlfriend. You tried to refocus yourself.
Jeonghan’s mother nodded. “Even if she isn’t your next Baejin, it’s nice to meet a new face. The dinner talk might bore you no doubt.”
“No, not at all—” you forced a smile, “I’m just excited to be here.”
It was easier to endure the night than you thought, because true to Jeonghan’s word, the conversation was a bunch of business lingo that you didn’t exactly understand, with the occasional question flitted to you by Joshua who sat across the table. You had completely emptied your glass of ice water, and were halfway through your wine when two fancy, tuxedoed servers stopped by the table to collect everyone’s dishes. A distant relative was seated to Jeonghan’s right, and they had swept him into a discussion of whether or not he was interested in pursuing his current degree or if he would abandon it to work fulltime for his father’s brand. Meanwhile, Joshua had whisper-shouted your name.
You raised an eyebrow, “what?”
“Are you getting dessert?” The blonde asked, already shoving a small, plastic menu to his face. “I can’t decide what I want.”
“I guess so,” you picked up an extra menu sitting by a purple wine bottle and started to browse the list of decadent food.
Joshua sighed, “I usually get the cheesecake… but, I’m torn. What if I want the caramel apple baked pudding with black truffles?”
“The caramel apple baked what?” You questioned, laughing from the absolute mouthful that Joshua just worded so effortlessly.
“I know, I know. It’s a jumble. But my family and I come here all the time so I’ve gotten these names down pat. What are you thinking?”
“Um, I’m not sure. I’ve never been here before, actually.”
His eyes, glistering and delighted, locked with yours. “Can I recommend you something, then?” Joshua said while smiling. “Red velvet cake. It’s right at the bottom. Not to mention the slice is huge so there’s always leftovers for the next day. It’s a favourite here.”
The relative responsible for dragging Jeonghan into another trite conversation concerning his future had excused themselves from the table. He was finally able to return his attention to you, and you slid over the dessert menu so he could pick something. You noted that Jeonghan’s hand had fallen onto your thigh, right at the hem of your dress, and you could only surmise that trouble was brewing. Joshua took a sip from his water glass, then settled it back on the table while subtly eyeing you.
“So, I’ve never seen you around before. Are you in school?”
You tapped your nails against the white table cloth, shaking your head, “no—I had to drop my program. It just wasn’t what I thought it would be and, well, I took a huge hit financially. So, no school.”
“Not everything is going to be a bullseye,” Joshua said, “I’m sure there’ll be more opportunity down the road. This other friend of mine, his name is Mingyu, he does this thing called the Love Café—” the boy then gestured to Jeonghan, “and I know he’s done it once before. Have you heard of it? Maybe it’s not up your alley, but I hear it’s good money.”
The suggestion had quite visibly stunned you. It seemed that Jeonghan was intent to keep the foundation of your relationship as covert as possible, which prompted his ‘friends’ comment before dinner, therefore you had no choice but to follow the rouse, even if the boy was currently sliding his hand further up the inside of your thigh, pushing inch by inch under your dress. Jeonghan didn’t contribute a single word.
“Um, the name sounds familiar. I’ll have to look it up.” You then glanced at him, hanging his head over the menu like a child who forgot their glasses, probably hiding some million-watt smirk.
“Are you having dessert?” Joshua asked his friend.
Jeonghan sat up straight, nodding, “I am.”
“The red velvet cake?”
“Vanilla ice cream. The one that comes on the skillet.”
“Oh, that one’s seriously good,” Joshua groaned, “ask them to put a chocolate chip cookie on the side. It gets all warm and—”
“Joshua,” the young lady beside him, probably in her late twenties, with petal-shaped, twinkling eyes similar to his and ice-like smooth skin, suddenly wrapped her hand around his arm, “can you come outside with me for a few minutes? I think I left my wallet in the car.”
He pushed out his chair. “Sure thing—guys, I’ll be back in a few. I need to help my cousin. If the waiter comes, order for me please.”
While you might have promised Joshua to follow through on his unnecessarily complicated apple pudding, such thoughts were quick to be discarded the moment he’d left the table, as Jeonghan had given you much more to think about. The boy’s hand was wedged between the apex of your thighs with two fingers pressed flat against your underwear. You felt heat, and the faintest burning of pleasure, one that yearned for you to start a gentle undulation against his hand because your unruly body was already eager for stimulation. Jeonghan picked up his wine glass.
“What are you doing?” You tried to shelter the whisper from the table’s guests, hoping the business speech was too engrossing.
As laid back as an ironing board, Jeonghan took a long gulp from his drink, swishing the wine from cheek to cheek before he swallowed. He set the wide-rimmed glass back down and wiped his mouth.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” He said, raising an eyebrow at you as though you’d conjured a make-believe tale. However, the instant he started to slide up his index finger so it could push firmly against your clit, a smirk penetrated that complacent expression.
You grabbed his wrist, stared him dead in those honey-brown eyes. “Are you insane?” the whisper was harsh, “we’re in public.”
He tilted his head indifferently. “What’s your point, love? I get to play with your pussy whenever I want. It’s mine now. Remember?”
The dirty-mouthed comment split a fire beneath your cheeks like a flint cracking steel. Not only that, but Jeonghan studied each minor contort of your face as he slipped two digits beneath your underwear, brushing his fingertips ever so softly around your sensitive clit. You gulped, dry and gritty, hating that your thighs were starting to spread.
“Jeonghan!” A voice called his name from down the table.
Fear gripped your poor heart like latex glove. It was an older relative, asking him to pass down the remaining bottle full of wine.
“Oh, such a nice boy!” She chirped.
You nearly gawked at the remark considering the immoral placement of his hand and what he was doing. On the contrary – as much as you wanted to be embarrassed for allowing Jeonghan to touch you in public viewing– he knew his talents much too well, and the manner in which he used your own arousal to lubricate the massaging motion of his finger to your clit was an astounding bliss. Your legs fell wider apart, inviting him to explore a more rigorous touch, and that’s when Jeonghan curled his two fingers inside of you until his knuckles couldn’t fit.
Before your pinched expression could be caught by anyone at the table, you looked straight down at your lap, watching his wrist work beneath the navy-blue fabric. In fact, very faintly, you could hear the squelch from his digits pumping deep and slow into your warmth. Your bottom lip was quivering as he drew them out, now running the long length of his fingers upward to graze beneath the hood of your clit. He repeated a stroking gesture. It triggered the nerves to swell and pulse.
“I see Joshua walking back,” Jeonghan murmured, an arrogance thick in his voice, “and you don’t want him to find out about this, do you? Or, maybe I’m wrong.” He slid his entire hand beneath your underwear and cupped your centre, squeezing like he owned it. “Maybe you want him to know you’re such a whore of a girl that you’ll take my fingers anywhere. I mean, look at how much you’ve opened your legs, and I didn’t even ask you to. I love when you behave just for me, honey.”
Joshua collapsed back at the table with a huff, combing some snow flurries from his hair. “We found the wallet.” He said.
Yet, you couldn’t even bring yourself to face him. Jeonghan had spread your lips with his index and ring finger, using his middle digit to make rhythmic, deep circles around the bud. An erotic whine escaped your teeth and Joshua’s eyes widened; his face tinged with concern.
“Are you alright?” He questioned. “Did you get a Charlie horse?”
“N-No, I’m fine, really.” You composed yourself with a weak smile, and took a sip from your wine. “I got one of those rib pains.”
The blonde boy winced. “Ouch, those hurt big time.”
Honestly, you didn’t think it was possible to endure dessert without revealing to some degree that you were being, well, stretched open by Jeonghan. It was sheer torture staring at the waiter while he took your order, knowing the boy was lazily pumping his fingers inside you with a half-smirk seated so comfortably to his face. When that huge, delicious slice of cream red velvet cake was placed before you on the table, you could only fork a few pathetic bites, and when Joshua offered you to try a spoonful from his warm apple pudding, you nearly squealed the word no as Jeonghan rolled your sore clit between his fingertips. The most egregious aspect to the entire daubable was that the boy stripped your orgasm from you at the very last second, like stopping a rollercoaster just before it tips over the downhill plummet.
“How was the ice cream?” Joshua asked him innocently.
You observed with horror as Jeonghan brought that sinful hand to his mouth, lapping his tongue against his two fingertips as though he were actually savouring a sweet and flavourful vanilla.
“Delicious.” He grinned, catching your mortified stupor from the corner of his eye. “I’d taste it again in a heartbeat, Shua.”
Dropping the slice of bread into a shallow bowl, you used the spatula to submerge it underneath the milk, egg and cinnamon mixture until it was completely coated. Then, you slid the bread onto your buttered frying pan to let its surfaces crisp and brown. Since you began utilizing the service granted by the Love Café, life at your depressing excuse for an apartment was becoming more bearable, though your ultimate goal would be to ditch the paper-thin walls and insult-spewing neighbours once money was no longer a prevalent issue. You were still insistent on supporting yourself too, if you could ever score a job.
You flipped the bread onto its opposite face, pressing it down with the spatula as the pan sizzled and the butter popped. A few days had passed since your last intimacy with Jeonghan, and the proof would have been stamped to your Love Card if the boy had actually written his initials like usual. The thing was, Jeonghan – who had always been so firm and unwavering on the rules of the café – was now skirting about the regulations as though they were optional. There were days when he didn’t even initial the card, but still delivered his transactions. In fact, you were almost positive that sex had happened more than twelve times and that you could be renewing your card if wanted (you didn’t).
As silly and cliché as it sounded, you liked Jeonghan. You constantly thought about him and missed him and wondered what he was doing while you were trapped in bed listening to another argument between your spiteful neighbours. There was always a deep, electric pounding in your chest upon weaving the tips of your fingers along his skin, touching him, exploring him. Yet, when he held you close, tucked your body tight against his like there was nothing surrounding you but ice, comfort found a home in your belly like a warm, homecooked meal.
After spilling some icing sugar and strawberries across the toast, now fried a delicious shade of golden-brown, you took a seat at the counter and dug in. There had been an occasion where Jeonghan brought you breakfast after warping your legs into complete gelatine (you had no idea that kitchen table sex could be so fiery and passionate), which proved to be a pleasant morning, where you could still feel the softness of his thumb as he kindly brushed some whipped cream from your bottom lip. You sighed, sticking a strawberry into your mouth. How foolish it might be to fall this far and this devotedly for someone like him.
But you didn’t want to stop yourself.
In fact, you reached for your phone across the counter, swiped into your messages, and decided to be bold. You texted him.
[ 9:29 AM ]: Hey! I know that I’m not supposed to send you anything unrelated to our business lol, but
[9:29 AM ]: Just wondering if you’re available to grab a coffee with me or something along those lines?
Setting the phone down and turning it over so you wouldn’t be tempted to helplessly wait for a notification, you continued eating. After scraping the last few pieces of toast and syrup around the plate, there was a vibration and a quick, ding! Strangely, you were starting to sweat.
[ Jeonghan | 9:34 AM ]: Sorry. In a lecture rn.
Of course, your surge of bravery immediately dehydrated, and you decided it was best to pretend that you hadn’t asked him anything at all – for your confidence’s sake. The next two hours were spent cleaning the kitchen, taking a short walk outside the complex to feel the Northern air refresh your face, and finally, a long bath, in which you nearly fell asleep and drowned as the steam lulled your eyes shut. While wrapping your body snug in that new, hot pink bath towel, you heard a knock at the door. You assumed it was the painter who occupied the room directly below yours, as you had borrowed his vacuum the night before, though you weren’t exactly raving at the thought of answering him in a towel.
However, by squinting through the fisheye lens, you were shocked (and greatly relieved) to discover that it wasn’t the middle-aged painter dressed in his splattered, dirty overalls, but Jeonghan.
And he was holding a drink.
You unlocked the door.
“Uh, hello after all. What are you doing here?”
He smiled at you and held up the cardboard cup, “my lecture ended, and I thought I’d do you a solid. Couldn’t remember if it was two sugars-one cream, or two creams-one sugar. So I tossed a coin.”
“What exactly was the result?” You giggled.
“Heads,” Jeonghan answered, “two sugars-one cream it is.”
“You’re lucky that’s correct.”
Accepting the warm cup from his hand, you set it carefully on the kitchen counter. When you returned to the door, Jeonghan was evidently ogling you. He really suited the image of a casual university student when he wasn’t dressed to gems and jewels in his sumptuous clothing.
“I knew the hot pink towel would look good on you.”
You rolled your eyes. “I’m not dropping it, so forget it.”
“Whoa,” he chuckled, shaking his head, “I didn’t ask you to drop it, sweetheart. I’d rather you not actually, with this door wide open and everything.”
“Did I really just hear that from you, Mr, Dinner Table?” Folding your arms, you stared him down with an accusing expression.
He held up one finger in defense. “First of all, that was under the table, so unless someone bumped their fork or something, then we were pretty much safe. This is you dropping your whole towel right in the doorway like there isn’t a weirdo probably peeping you across the hall as we speak. And I’m not letting anyone look at you like that, ever.”
“Fine,” you sighed, hoping he couldn’t spot the flustered heart pumping your chest beneath the towel, “you’ve made your point.”
Jeonghan checked his silver wrist watch, “fuck. I gotta get going, need to be at the studio so I can be a taper dummy again.”
“Oh, okay,” you nodded, “talk to y—”
Suddenly, the boy was cupping each side of your face in his hands, and his lips pressed soft but quick to your forehead. Jeonghan then pinched your thigh under the towel, a gesture which felt oddly endearing rather than sexual, before he left the corridor.
“Later!” He’d called.
Shutting the door, you returned to your seat at the counter, holding the coffee cup up to your mouth as you took a small, nervous sip.
How could you let yourself fall this easily for him?
Jeonghan’s washroom was somehow nicer than your entire apartment, and you were fairly certain that your eyes had never seen so much white-grey marble, all squeaky-clean and aglow with lights. He’d shot you a text roughly an hour ago, right after he was released from the painful effort required to keep Joshua’s peewee soccer players in check, wondering if you were available to come over. Of course, the innocence to the term ‘come over’ was nothing more than a euphemism, a means of sugar coating what Jeonghan actually intended: to be inside you no doubt. And since the boy was so drained and unwilling to instigate any work himself, Jeonghan decided that a steaming, hot bath should do.
Well – a bath which involved you seated on his dick. The tub was dark grey tile, square-shaped, and practically the size of a small jacuzzi. It even had a bench to sit on. While it had been difficult at first to simply cockwarm the boy – when all you could feel was how deeply he spearheaded into your sensitive spot and how this shock would ripple from your abdomen at even his gentlest movement– you knew he wasn’t looking to make things quick and temporary. Therefore, you settled into his lap, wrapping your arms around Jeonghan’s neck while his circled your waist beneath the water. Both of you were starting to fall asleep.
“Jeonghan,” you whispered, lifting your head from his shoulder, only to remember that you were indeed naked and this heat lapping around you was definitely not a blanket, “can I tell you something?”
With his eyes still shut, he nodded, his fingers digging appreciatively at your hips. “Of course you can, baby.” He replied, his voice sounding deeper than usual as he orientated on the edges of sleep.
Smiling, you combed through the damp hairs at his nape, your voice reverberating like a musical instrument off the marble. “Remember the salon place? They called me two days ago, said they had an opening for me and that I could start next Monday. I… I wanted to text you about it, like, as soon as it happened. But I wasn’t sure if I should.”
“What? Really?” Jeonghan was staring at you now, his head straightened from its leisurely position against the edge of the tub and cocked with interest. The fact he seemed so intrigued, that you could read the genuine excitement building up in those brown eyes, had almost made you happier than the salon’s phone call. “Congratulations!” He leaned forward to kiss you, pecking your lips chastely the first time, and then slower come the second, his hands squeezing your thighs.
After a tiny laugh, you sighed contentedly. “Thank you. It’s going to be so nice having my own cashflow and everything. And if I can work my way up and become like, a kickass hair stylist? Can you imagine?”
“Should I grow my hair out more so you can practice cutting it? You’ve got a steady hand, don’t you?” Jeonghan asked, mostly teasing, as you could imagine his parents harping him during his next session at Opal Studio if he looked as though he’d ran through some hedge clippers.
Returning the affection, you kissed the rosy tip of his nose. “I think my hands are pretty steady. We’ll find out I guess, and we’ll know for sure if a huge chunk of your hair falls to the floor.”
Your laughter immediately mingled, and you hid your smile against the boy’s neck, a very moonstruck, loopy smile which felt like riding a blazing comet between the stars. If you were legitimately able to climb higher amongst the business, then you could picture a life in which you didn’t need to lean on Jeonghan and the Love Café for financial support. In fact, there were moments where you felt rather dirty using his money even when he was completely insistent on such matters, like buying food and paying off bills. You held tight to a certain hope, that you could become independent again, and maybe, just maybe, be able to keep this beautiful boy whom you once thought would hate you.
His fingers tapped up your spine, urging you to face him.
“Seriously,” Jeonghan said, “I’m happy for you.”
“I know,” you answered, so quietly he could hardly hear it.
And then, you decided to kiss Jeonghan, placing your damp hand upon his cheek while your mouths slotted together. The contact had lost its grace almost instantly, and the kiss turned from a sweet gesture to a sensuality so thick you could feel it swelter the air and pool between your legs. He offered his tongue for you to suckle by sliding it smoothly into your mouth, and from there, Jeonghan’s intended relaxation had vanished. His hands grazed to the front of your body, reaching up and sliding back and forth over each breast. It wasn’t until Jeonghan began massaging his thumbs in circular motions around your nipples that you moaned into his mouth, a sound which flicked a smirk to his face.
Once his lips were shiny and slick with your saliva, he moved each kiss down the side of your neck, now pinching at your nipples, even twisting gently and making sure to ease the dull throb by rubbing them afterward. It was becoming unbearable. You needed to move. However, the second you started a rhythm in Jeonghan’s lap, he shook his head.
“Be still,” he told you, lightly gripping your chin.
The desperation in your whine was horribly apparent, almost soaking each word. “No Jeonghan, I-I can’t do that anymore—” ignoring him, you continued to grind your hips and move the water around you, feeling his engorged head tick against that one spot of insane pleasure, “I need t’cum now, all over your cock.” With every bounce in his lap, you begged, “please, please, please.” This prompted Jeonghan to grab your waist much tighter than usual and slam you down, holding you still.
“No, not like that,” he grunted, and you wondered if his control was simply otherworldly or if he was just that talented at hiding how good he felt. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart,” Jeonghan nodded, “but you can’t move. I just want you to sit there, all the way down.”
He then leaned in close to your face, nearly pressing his forehead to yours, and that’s when you felt his thumb brush with a featherlight, fleeting touch across your clit. The sudden stimulation jerked your body. Jeonghan bit his lip and grinned while continuing the sensitive touch, the pressure becoming heavier with each minute that passed. Your thighs started to tremble, and your moans were echoing around the washroom.
The honeyed dirty talk crawled up Jeonghan’s throat. “You’re such a cute little cocksleeve, sweetheart,” he purred, titling his head as he rubbed his thumb faster, “oh, look at you, baby. Shaking and crying and taking it like it’s the only thing you’re good for—” a messy kiss to calm you down, thin strings of saliva hanging in the air each time your mouths separated, “I bet you’re gonna cum for me soon, right?” The boy encouraged, keeping his forehead flush to yours so he could observe with utmost clarity the beautiful contortions of your face. “I know you are, sweetheart. Because it feels so good, right?” You nodded frantically, digging your fingers into his neck like a cat sinking in its claws. Jeonghan’s thumb pushed beneath the hood of your clit, directly massaging the soft bud, and the pleasure inside you leapt to a new high which made you dumbly lose all sense.
“Cum.” Jeonghan commanded so gently, his gaze burning against your eyes, squeezed shut. At the straightforward word, you allowed the sensation to swallow you like a current, and the hot, teary cry you mewled had been quickly snuffed as the boy pushed his lips to yours.
“Can feel you clenching so fucking tight around my cock,” he chuckled, digging his nose into your hair and speaking warmly beside your ear, “and how much you’re throbbing right under my thumb. Must feel so good, sweetheart, cumming all over me like such a good girl.”
You slumped against him, overwhelmed, emptied, and breathing so heavy that you were afraid the oxygen might dwindle completely from your lungs. The fact Jeonghan could remain so composed while buried to the hilt in your heat was something else that frightened you, though, in the moment, you preferred not to think about it, instead concentrating on the distant sensation of Jeonghan drawing galactic shapes to each your shoulder blades.
Hopefully, he’d let you stay the night.
Once you started the receptionist job at the hair salon, you had bumped into Joshua on a Friday evening. While his platinum blonde look was indeed enchanting and princely, he complained that it was difficult to maintain the roots, and that he often found himself back in the stylist’s chair for a touch up. He’d come in on a whim. Luckily – due to the late hour – there was an open seat, and Joshua puffed a great sigh of relief as he hooked his jacket onto the salon coat hanger. Curious if there was more behind the reason to his abrupt appearance, you conversed with him while he waited for the stylist to tidy up her work area.
That’s when Joshua informed you of the Opal’s Galleria Night, a fashion exhibition which would display Mr. Yoon’s newest edition for his upcoming Spring line. Joshua seemed surprised that you hadn’t known about the Galleria, or, that Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned it to you. Oddly enough, Jeonghan had been radio silent the past three days; not a phone call, or a voice memo, or even a text. Yesterday you had hoped to catch him stuck in the books at the library, but the area where he usually sat was occupied by a study group of freshman. It concerned you a little.
An ungraceful quickie in the washroom after his three-hour lecture ended on Tuesday was your last encounter. Not to mention, there was only one more opening left on your Love Card.
“He didn’t say anything,” you told Joshua, pretending to act indifferent “so… I don’t think he wants me there. It’s not a big deal.”
Yet, that’s not how you truly felt. There had to be some reason for the boy’s keeping you in the dark. Did he not want to explain the ‘friends’ trope to all the Galleria members, like at the dinner? Or, was he thinking that you wouldn’t be interested? It wasn’t easy to seem unphased.
“Jeonghan doesn’t need to invite you,” Joshua had said, “cause I’ll invite you myself. Mr. Yoon said it was more than fine if I brought someone along. So, why not you? It’ll make the night more fun.”
At first, you vehemently rejected the invite, no matter how sweetly Joshua attempted to rope you into a night of free perfume samples, delicious catering food and a chocolate fountain perfect for dipping strawberries. However, when the hair stylist pulled Joshua away to fix his darkening roots, you had much time to mull over the offer, and even the fact you felt poignant about dismissing it. As you tapped a pen against the desk, staring out the window into the grey, dulling sky, you convinced yourself there could be no harm in attending the Opal’s Galleria Night. Besides, you and Jeonghan weren’t cast in stone. He probably wouldn’t bat any eyelash anyways, knowing his eased nature.
And so, you caught Joshua just before he left.
You told him you’d changed your mind.
When Jeonghan first saw you at the Opal Galleria, it was from across the ballroom that had been temporarily converted into an exhibition space, stood next to a mannequin draped in a cherub-pink slip dress. Almost comically, he gagged on some sparkling champagne held in a thin and tall glass, though he recovered smoothly as to not interrupt the conversation his father was sharing with the dense crowd. You waved at him, not too noticeably of course, but he either didn’t catch it or had decided to ignore the gesture. Shrugging, you tried not to overthink it.
Mannequins were lined up along both sides of the ballroom, adorned in the mild tones baring semblance to Spring, with the blips of baby blues, clementine oranges, and cream violets transforming the Galleria into an acrylic painting. Jeonghan’s mother took the opportunity to offer some spritzes from her most recent line, which had both you and Joshua smelling like a tulip garden. While exploring the room with the blonde boy, you stopped to examine a mannequin dressed in a relaxed, high-waisted pant and a lace camisole that seemed breezy and flowing. This collection was definitely tamer compared to the usual extravagance you had always seen through the store windows and in magazines.
“Would you wear it?” Joshua asked, chewing on a strawberry that he might as well have plucked from thin air.
Tilting your head and squinting, you took a moment to contemplate. “If it was my size I might, if I could find a price hanging off somewhere. But I don’t want to even touch it. Mannequins are weird.”
“No prices are usually displayed at the Gallerias,” Joshua informed you, “though, I will agree. It’s probably a Toy Story thing where they all start moving at night when no one’s here. Spooky, huh?”
You sighed at him, “thanks for the nightmare material.”
Suddenly, there was a tap to your bare shoulder, and you nearly yelped like a cat with a stepped-on tail as Joshua laughed between bites from his juicy strawberry. Turning around, you were met with Jeonghan, who had this flat-lined, unenthusiastic smile hardly touching the corners of his mouth. He looked rather agitated in fact, and you felt cold inside.
“Hey!” Joshua exclaimed, punching his friend’s arm. “Finally escape your dad’s novella-length speech on the pink slip?”
The crowd once gathered around the mannequin had started to disperse, with the visitors now exploring the rest of the outfits.
Jeonghan hardly payed any mind to his friend, throwing out an impatient, “yeah, it was whatever,” before he began questioning you. He started with a rather inhospitable, “why are you here?”
“I invited her,” Joshua announced, “since I ran into her at that salon place. I thought it would be nice and everything. The Gallerias can get pretty stiff if you come alone. Plus, there’s chocolate fountains.”
He appeared nettled, like he’d woken up and spilled coffee on his favourite shirt. You couldn’t place the exact emotion, nor could you identify the reason behind Jeonghan acting as though there were one-hundred choice words waiting to zap off the tip of his tongue. For an instant, you wondered if it would be worthwhile to question him, though there was a shout of the boy’s name and you spotted his parents beckoning him over from across the exhibition. Jeonghan merely rolled his eyes, disappearing just as quickly as he’d arrived to accompany them.
You folded your arms concerningly. “Do you know if something’s wrong? I haven’t seen him like that before.”
Joshua dropped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “He’s probably stressing over something. I wouldn’t worry too much. He’s not really one to blow up or get all in your face. I’ll talk to him later.”
Seeing as there were others who wanted to examine the camisole mannequin, you and Joshua seated yourselves at a tiny table right beside the chocolate fountain and catering foods. Though, you were unable to quell the curiosity at what Jeonghan was needed for, prompting your eyes to wander as unnaturally as possible in his direction. He’d just pulled a young woman into a hug, and she was positively gorgeous, dressed in a silk-fabric dress, form fitting and ruby red, with an elegant slit parting up to her right thigh. Her ponytail was slicked shiny as though her hair had been styled professionally, and she flaunted a dreamy smile that reminded you of a vintage female heroine.
And then, like a slap to the face, you realized she must be the woman whom Jeonghan’s parents seemed to be obsessed over.
Baejin, his ex-girlfriend.
She mentioned something into his ear, and they became giggly, the two pulling in again for another short hug. Jeonghan’s father gestured back to the pink slip mannequin, and the four walked over to discuss it for the umpteenth time. You wondered if she was going to be modeling some of the clothing. The assumption felt correct as Baejin touched the dress’ delicate fabric and the beaded, glimmering string tied around the tiny waist. Quickly, Jeonghan fetched the girl a champagne glass, the two drinking together while the father appeared to be entering another in-depth explanation. And, perhaps dignifiedly so, you were feeling mislead and upset. You speculated if this could be the reason for him to keep the Opal Galleria a secret – Jeonghan didn’t want you to catch even a glimpse of him reuniting with Baejin.
They hardly portrayed two ex’s who were now settled on different chapters to their lives. The longer you stared, the angrier, yet, more confused you felt. As you thought before, the odd relationship between you and Jeonghan was not set in stone, and it certainly didn’t ignite with the intention of actual love taking a blossom to your doorstep. It could be that you were jumping to conclusions, misreading things, or disillusioned by your tendency to wishfully think. Nonetheless, the sight still hurt.
Joshua bumped your elbow.
“Are you hungry at all? The scent from the catering tables is getting to me. I can grab a plate for you, if you want.”
With a sigh and a fragile smile, you shook your head. “No, I’ll come with you. Besides, you don’t know what I like anyways.”
“Fair enough.” Joshua agreed.
He stuck out his hand for you to take while rising from the chair.
Grabbing a small plate, you started at the end of the catering table and began making your way down, using the plastic tongs to serve yourself some spring rolls. Joshua filed after you, instead taking a bowl and scooping up some of the fresh zucchini pasta. Admittedly, you had lost your appetite after watching Jeonghan act so cordially with Baejin, though you were determined to not let the plight sour the otherwise enjoyable night you were having with Joshua. Once you reached the chocolate fountain, you swore a sparkle jumped into his eye.
“Why are you so obsessed with the fountain?” You had tried not to laugh as you asked the question.
The blonde boy looked aghast. “Because, it’s beautiful!” He picked up a strawberry arranged neatly around the base, dipping the edge briefly beneath the chocolate. “I mean, how can they make it so delicious and velvety? When I came to my first Galleria, I spent like, half my night just standing by the fountain, eating the fruit.”
You couldn’t help but think Joshua was adorable, and you grinned at him, “well, maybe I don’t have as much of a sweet tooth.”
“Just shush up and try this.”
He held out the strawberry, inviting you for a taste. At first, you paused, wondering if there was some flirtatious intention behind the gesture or if Joshua was just being his overtly kind self. And then, you held onto his wrist and took a bite from the strawberry, the warmth of the melted chocolate satin-smooth against your tongue.
Wiping the edge of your mouth, you nodded. “It is pretty tasty, actually. Let me try dipping it. You make it look weirdly fun.”
After setting down the catering plate, you took Joshua’s strawberry while he picked up a new one. Together, you pushed your fruits beneath the streaming chocolate, twisting it at the green leaf to fully coat the sides. So it wouldn’t drip, you immediately took a huge bite with a hand placed just below your mouth, humming contentedly.
“Okay,” you mumbled, still chewing, “I can see why you like this so much. I think I could get addicted to chocolate strawberry dipping.”
“Me too,” Joshua chuckled, “oh! Look, there’s whipped cream here and I didn’t even see it!” He set down his plate beside yours and grabbed the bottle like an eager little child. Popping off the cap, Joshua shook the can and pressed his fingertip against the nozzle, spraying a white-frosted peak onto the top of another strawberry. You copied him, though you had accidently sprayed too much. Once you licked the cream off your finger, you poked the entire fruit into your mouth like a funfetti-sized cupcake. For some reason, Joshua started giggling at you.
“What?” You glared at him playfully. “What’s wrong?”
Rosy tinges flushed to the arch of Joshua’s cheeks. “Uhm… Well, l-let me just—” he stuttered, cupping his hand gently to your face, his thumb brushing at a spot right below your bottom lip. “You had some whipped cream on your… chin slash lip. Sorry about that.”
“O-Oh, it’s okay.” You were stumbling yourself, tongue darting out instinctively to ensure there wasn’t anything still there.
At random, you felt this prickle tiptoe up the back of your neck, a sensation that was hardly perceptible yet singeing enough for you to notice it. Gulping, you peered toward that faceless mannequin draped in its pink slip dress, toward Jeonghan, Baejin, and his parents who were enthralled in a conversation with her. Jeonghan was glaring so blatantly at Joshua that you’d forgotten how to speak, and you couldn’t even pronounce a single word of warning as the boy started storming his way across the ballroom.
His grip was on your elbow like a viper’s teeth.
“Geez, where’d you come from?” Joshua said, though he was able to note the tension this time, and Jeonghan’s surly behaviour.
“I need to talk to you,” Jeonghan murmured by your ear, ignoring Joshua yet again, “in the hall just outside the exhibition.”
You didn’t want to agree. Strangely enough, you felt this urge balloon inside you, an urge to cause a gigantic scene with screaming and thick tears and unnecessary curses, because as much as you wanted to dismiss your anger, there were jealous, wronged feelings inside, on fire and itching to escape from your gut. Miraculously, you held your composure, and announced to Joshua that you’d talk to him later.
Jeonghan then tore you into the empty hallway.
It was like a lightning bolt, how quickly he exploded.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Jeonghan ranted, pacing back and forth as the distant echo of music bled through the wall. “Seriously, I don’t text you back for like, three days, and you’re already going on a date with my best friend—” he softened his voice in a purposefully mocking way, “letting him get all delicate with you, feeding you all lovey-dovey style and wiping that cream off your lip. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”
“Excuse me?” Your brow instantly creased like a folded map, and you felt an intense ache hit the front of your skull. “Um, you’re one to talk! How come you didn’t tell me about the Galleria? Because you didn’t want me to see you with your arm around your ex’s waist? Because you don’t think I’m good enough to show off to your parents?”
Jeonghan gawked at you. “Baejin? For real? You think I’ve been secretly dating her behind your back or something?”
“How am I supposed to know?” You barked, tucking your arms defensively across the chest. And, while it might have been too early into the argument to pit such a statement, you had already started bubbling, and you knew there was nothing to snuff your fire. “Besides, you hardly ever get back to me apart from when you want to fuck!”
At that, the boy was momentarily stumped. What sounded like a rebuttal fizzled at the back of his throat, though it faded away. The silence worried you, because it echoed a confirmation that Jeonghan might’ve actually never seen as you as anything more than an outlet to alleviate his carnality. That, once the Love Café ordeal was finally over with, he could forget you had ever existed like erasing a mistake of smudged lead. The thought made you glassy-eyed and thus, terribly vulnerable. However, you also craved the truth to your relationship.
“Just admit it,” you beseeched him, “admit that you want me only for sex and nothing else. Is that why you didn’t bring up the Galleria? Because you think it’s easier to shove me in the dark when it’s convenient for you? Is that why you were acting so mad?”
He skimmed a hand exasperatedly through his hair. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m not dating Baejin behind your back, I have never once thought you weren’t good enough to show off to my parents, and I didn’t purposefully hide the Galleria from you.”
“Right,” you scoffed, “but you’re fine with labelling me as a friend and pretending like we don’t hook up every week.”
“It’s…” he clenched his teeth and growled in frustration, “it’s complicated, alright? Can’t you just accept that?”
“Complicated?” A shudder coursed down your spine at having to repeat the boy, and the tears sprung from your eyes with such a sharp sting that it became impossible to hold them back. You felt each drop, cold and runny, drip along your face. “That’s the word you’re going to use? You’re going to look straight at me, after the entire span of our relationship since the Love Café, and tell me we’re summed up best as complicated?” Again, the word struck you like a stiff punch. If he was going to regard your connection so trivially, then you didn’t care whether or not he knew the verity of your heart. Like it would affect him anyways.
“I would’ve said we were in love,” you shrugged, watching his expression drop in a mere instant, “but—sure, let’s call it complicated.”
And, with the tears shining like salt stars on your face, you stalked out the building into the softening winter weather.
You didn’t know it could be so difficult to ignore someone, especially when you were supposed to hate them. The effect Jeonghan had on you was almost phantom-like; a constant lingering, even if the boy himself wasn’t palpable and poised right before your eyes.
It had been three days since the outburst at the Galleria. That night, you cried, and wept, and broke out the amber bottle stored beneath your sink which was only sipped from in occasions of complete misery – very well suited to the situation at hand. You had questioned calling the Love Café’s customer service desk to issue a termination of your card, and, at one point, you were standing drunkenly by the toilet contemplating your decision to rip up the red paper and flush it. Though, nothing ever came of either idea. Instead, you faceplanted onto your bed and allowed the intoxicated dizziness to fade black. The next morning, you were faced with multiple texts from Jeonghan, missed phone calls, voice notes. But you didn’t listen or respond to anything.
Complicated. That was the word you kept hearing.
Absolutely not, you had thought that morning, you weren’t ready to speak with him, even if the temptation seemed like it could be promising. The air was still too bitter. And you couldn’t handle another argument.
On the second day after the outburst, you were seated at the receptionist desk in the salon, flicking through a magazine while you became increasingly mindless to the humming of the blow dryer and the potent fragrance of the hair products. When you glanced out the window, you nearly combusted, as both Joshua and Jeonghan were about to enter the salon together, hurrying in from the melted snow and winter’s final downpour. You hid in the breakroom until they left, forcing your co-worker to take your position at the desk. Joshua was apparently getting his hair trimmed while Jeonghan had asked about you at the reception.
“He’s gorgeous!” Your co-worker had immediately gushed to you in the breakroom. “Why are you avoiding someone like that?”
“It’s complicated.” You’d phrased it simply.
Dang it. You hated the fact you’d used that stupid word.
But, on the third day, most of your bitterness was gone.
After breakfast, you were back at the vanity mirror to prepare for work, and while you buffed some makeup to sit seamlessly on the skin with your puffy foundation brush, there was a knock at your door. This time, you didn’t bother peeping through the fisheye lens, because you knew exactly who it was – damn his persistence. Jeonghan’s brown hair had been slightly mused in the wind, and there was a glow as soft as a peach to each his cheeks. But that easygoing, relaxed smile was by far the most heart fluttering. He extended a coffee cup to you. When you reached out, Jeonghan suddenly pulled the coffee away with a tsking sound.
“You can have it only if—” he held up his finger, “you agree to let me in so I can explain myself. Yes, I’m bribing you. And yes, I’m an asshole from time to time. But five minutes at least. That’s all I need.”
For a moment, you wavered, only to mutter a resounding, “fine.”
Despite Jeonghan’s company, you still had work to get ready for, so the boy followed you into the bedroom. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress while you settled back into the vanity chair. Picking through your jar of makeup brushes, you plucked a round, oval-tipped one to apply your eyeshadow. Jeonghan was silent at first, watching you through the mirror as you hurried about the look. It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was a bit sloppy and rushed and there was already some fallout sitting like a glittered dust on your cheeks, though Jeonghan was staring at you with such fondness, you wondered if the mirror was reflecting the same image. Of course, the Love Card was sitting on your desk too.
“Well,” you spun around in the chair, pressing your lips together, “I’m waiting for you to explain, y’know. Like you said you would. Technically, you’ve lost a couple minutes, and I should really try to be at the salon early, but I’m still going to give you full time since—"
“I love you.”
“… What?”
“I love you,” Jeonghan repeated himself casually, a slow smile spilling from each corner of his mouth, “I’m in love with you, as deep as I could be, I think. Anyways, you want me to keep saying it? I love you.”
It felt like someone had taken a picture with the blinding glare of its flash, a picture you couldn’t be more unprepared for, the dots still dancing and fumbling across your vision. The moment was disorienting, but you experienced a very fulgurant warmth take shape inside you. It was comforting yet daunting, a sugar rush and a hangover, something so alive you knew you wanted it more than anything else in the world.
Yet, “you… are in love with me?” was all that you could express.
Jeonghan fiddled with the coffee cup in his hands. “You’re a funny girl, you know that? But I can say it a fifth time if you want.”
“N-No, I—I just, I wasn’t expecting—”
“Yeah, I can see that, “ he’d laughed, though it quickly fell into a sigh and suddenly Jeonghan’s temperament had shifted. “Look, I know that night wasn’t pretty. I know I ghosted you. I know I didn’t tell you about the stupid Galleria,” the boy glanced up, catching your eye, “but… I didn’t say anything because I was confused. I knew your Love Card only had one signature left, and just like that… you could be in my bed for the last time. If we’re really gonna get sentimental about it,”
Jeonghan chuckled, scratching his chin a bit shyly, “it could be my last time holding you, and kissing you… I just, I didn’t want it to be like that. But I didn’t know how to confront you about it, so I hid. And I stressed myself out, and I got so stupidly jealous and angry when I saw you with Joshua. That was my bad. I should’ve been upfront.”
Tucking your hands together anxiously in your lap, you nodded, beginning to understand the missing pieces.
“Thank you for saying that.” You murmured, tapping your feet in a nervous rhythm against the floor. “I… I was being unreasonable and jealous too,” you subsequently admitted, “I was assuming things about you and Baejin when I shouldn’t have. I don’t know what I was expecting anyways, that you act like she doesn’t exist? It was dumb, and I was adding pressure. I’m sorry too.” Wanting to lighten the tone, you smiled at him, “I guess we both have our flaws, huh?”
He returned the tender glance and held out the coffee cup.
“I guess we do.”
You grabbed it politely.
Turning around in the chair, you grabbed the bright red Love Card off the vanity, initialed until its last circle, “what should we do with this? I mean, we kind of messed up their rules, fooling around more than twelve times. And, well, I’m not gonna renew it.”
“Oh, let me see.” Jeonghan said.
As soon as you passed the card to him, he ripped it clean in half, crumpled each piece, balled them together in his hands and tossed the shreds into the trash can sat in the corner.
“Well, that was fucking easy,” he smiled, getting up from the mattress, “aren’t you late for work? Do you need a drive?”
You looked at your alarm clock.
“If you can get me there in the next ten minutes, that’d be great.”
Jeonghan headed to the front door while you hurriedly grabbed your coat from the closet and snatched your bag off the floor, resting the strap over your shoulder. With the coffee still in hand, you headed into the living area, looking around in one final swoop to make sure you had everything packed for the day. A sheet of sunlight spilt into the room from outside the window, pale, like the morning sky, yet filling every crevice of the cheap apartment with a dull shine. And for a very fleeting moment, you thought this place wasn’t so abhorrent. It had been your home, your stepping stone, a thumbprint which identified a period of hardship and growth. But, despite this bittersweet taste on your tongue, you couldn’t envision yourself staying.
“Come on,” Jeonghan pinched your hip, “at this rate I’ll get a speeding ticket trying to get you to work on time.”
Turning around, you stuck a kiss to the boy’s cheek, just catching the cool beginning of a smirk on that dazzling face of his as you interlaced your fingers and pulled him into the corridor.
No, you could not stay here.
Not when your future was with Jeonghan.
✧✎ a/n: yeah, so this was clearly A LOT longer than the original love café teehee. i remembered the plot vaguely therefore i refused to reread my first version weufhewif PLS IT MAKES ME CONVULSE SO BAD !! i just had to rewrite the plot and do it some actual justice! i hope this version is a lot better and that you rly enjoyed it! i wish yjh would give me money but i guess we can’t all live in a fantasy world!! thx for reading!!
#caratwritersclub#jeonghan scenarios#seventeen scenarios#svt fanfic#jeonghan fanfic#seventeen smut#jeonghan smut#seventeen jeonghan#svt smut#yoon jeonghan#svt x reader#jeonghan x reader
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Paper Rings
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader
Word Count: 10,191
Tags: SFW, Fluff, Literature, Friends to lovers, Everyone thinks they're dating, There was only one bed, Some angst with a happy ending, Confessing love in the rain, TW fire and blood/wound
Summary: Some of my favorite tropes rolled into one cute fic inspired by Taylor Swift's Paper Rings. (lyrics and music)
Link to A03 or read below!
“Good morning, my friendly neighborhood crime fighters,” Penelope says as she enters the briefing room, wearing a dress that is bright bubblegum pink, with fingerless gloves and glasses to match. You, Derek, and Spencer groan your replies, because you just got home from a case last night, with less than seven hours between arriving at your apartment and returning to the office, and that is everyone’s least favorite thing.
You can’t deny that her typical sunny disposition makes you smile a little bit brighter, but you’re still exhausted, and even your usual extra large travel mug of breakfast blend is barely taking the edge off.
That’s probably why, when Aaron enters with trays of steaming espresso drinks from the cafe down the street, and a striped box of donuts, you act like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Oh my god, I love you. Thank you, I love you.” He got an array of basic drinks based on everyone’s usual orders, and you scan for one that has something with latte, but he takes one out and hands it to you, smiling when you take a sip and sigh—okay, he’s smiling with his eyes, but you are well versed in his body language and facial expressions, and he’s practically grinning at getting your order (triple one pump hazelnut extra hot latte) correct.
You are not the only one to notice.
“Get a room, you two; it’s just coffee,” Derek says, taking the white mocha from the tray and drinking half of it in one sip. “Now if you tell me there’s a bear claw in there, I’ll confess my undying love too.”
“I don’t know; I asked for an assortment,” he says, and it’s clear he did, but your cup has your name on it; you cover the ink with your hand and take another grateful sip. “I do know there’s a plain glazed in there, though,” he says a bit lower, just for you, and you smile, give his wrist a squeeze, and dive for it before Jennifer Jareau can get her hands on it.
That’s all the morning meeting consists of—bickering and bantering and caffeine and carb consumption—and when the group disperses, you follow Aaron to his office and sit down in the chair across from his.
“Thanks again for breakfast. You definitely raised the morale of the troops,” you say with a sip of your perfect latte, and he shares the hint of a smile.
“You’re welcome. It helps that you’re all so easy to appease.” He flips open his bag, pulls out a small, worn, paperback book, tosses it toward you. You pick it up, run your hand over the well-loved cover, and hum.
“The Call of the Wild—this made it into the Aaron Hotchner Nightstand Collection?” He arches a brow.
“It’s so overrated that it’s underrated; no one ever actually reads it, they just assume they know what it’s about. It’s a great book, if you’ll give it a chance.”
“Hey, you’ve read all of mine without complaint; of course I’ll give it a chance.” You take the last, sad sip of your latte and stand up, point out the door with your thumb. “Speaking of, mine’s still downstairs on my desk. I’ll be right back.”
Exchanging books started as an offhand comment one night, on a flight home from Georgia, when he’d mentioned that he never buys new books, only cycles through the same ten or twelve he’s been reading since college. He knows what he likes, finds something different in the text each time he reads, and you’d found something so profoundly beautiful about that that you’d asked for the list. You wanted to know more about the books that tug at his emotions enough that he’s read them day in and day out for over twenty years with no boredom in sight.
He’d done you one better, said he’d be happy to lend them to you, if you’d like, and that was an offer you couldn’t refuse. Seeing college-aged Aaron’s notes in the margins of battered paperback novels was a prospect too good to be true.
Of course, you couldn’t accept the gesture without returning one of your own, so you’d offered to share your favorite books with him too, only... you don’t exactly give him your favorite books. You purposefully buy the cheesiest romance novels you can get your hands on, pass them off to him while he hands you poignant, classic novels that have won literary awards and Nobel prizes.
Today’s is called Lord of Scoundrels, complete with a shirtless man on the cover, kissing a woman with dark, flowing hair and a light blue dress; you snicker the whole way to your desk and back up to his office—earning curious glances from the rest of the team—and when you drop it on the desk in front of Aaron, you watch closely for a reaction.
As usual, he doesn’t really give you one, just flips the book over, skims the summary on the back, and nods.
“Sounds interesting,” he says, and your heart does a little flip.
He could easily hand the book back, laugh in your face, refuse to read something so clearly out of his wheelhouse, but he thinks these novels are important to you, and he never fails to read them, offering his favorite parts the same way you do for his.
The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t.
“I think you’ll really like it. Sebastian and Jessica start out kind of indifferent toward each other, but the more they interact, the more they find they have in common. It’s very acquaintances to friends to lovers, if you’re into that.” He looks up with an expression you place as uncertainty, even if you’re not quite sure the reason for it. You smile softly. “I should get to work, but thanks for the book. I’ll see you at lunch?”
It’s been so nice lately that you started taking your lunch outside, sitting on a bench beneath a huge, shady oak tree, and Aaron had taken to doing the same; you both quickly realized it was stupid to sit outside together, apart, so you meet up in the bullpen now and walk out side by side, spend the hour talking about your books or the team or Jack or life in general. He shakes the uncertain expression, nods his head.
“Of course. Thank you,” he says with a wave of the book, and you head back downstairs to start your day.
You’ve become mostly accustomed to the feeling, but it still surprises you a little when all that gets you through the day is thinking about your next conversation with Aaron.
A week later, you’re on a case in Pittsburgh, and you and Aaron are paired up to room together. That’s nothing unusual—it seems like you’ve been rooming together more often than not lately, which is fine by you; he’s tidy, quiet, always interested in a late night snack, pretty much the perfect roommate—but when he opens the door and you step inside, the single king size bed in the middle of the room takes you by surprise.
“Uh… do you think it’s a mistake? Or maybe they just ran out of doubles?” you suggest; he's kind of frozen in place, and while it’s not ideal, you know it’s not actually going to be a problem. You’ve shared a bed with JJ before, and Spencer, and even though you don’t feel the same way about them as you do about Aaron, you think you can manage a couple nights in close quarters.
“Probably just ran out of doubles,” he agrees after a moment; he doesn’t bring up calling the front desk to ask for another room, so you don’t either, just hang your clothes and head into the bathroom to change into your pajamas and do your nightly routine.
It’s a little awkward at first, and you don’t know why; over the last six months or so, he’s actually become your closest friend on the team, and conversation usually comes easily, but silence settles over the room uncomfortably as you slip between the sheets on your side of the bed.
He goes into the bathroom, does his own nightly routine, then comes out in his pajamas and turns on CNN.
You take out your book, pay no attention to Aaron, but the longer he sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the news ticker on the television screen but not actually watching it, the more you wish he’d just get over himself and come to bed. If he’s trying to wait for you to fall asleep, he’s going to be waiting a while.
“So you were right; I love Buck,” you say as a way to start some conversation, to bring some normalcy to this unusual situation. You hold up the book you’re reading, the one he let you borrow. “His struggle between remaining loyal to his owner and answering the call of the wild—I love dogs, but I never imagined a book about a dog could be so moving.”
He turns back with a soft smile, then switches off the tv and heads over to his side of the bed; he pulls back the comforter, slides between the sheets, meets you toward the middle of the bed.
“I told you you’d like it; what chapter are you on?” He leans over to look, so close it wouldn’t take much to lift a hand and brush it over his hair; it looks unfairly soft, and part of you wants to card your fingers through it, to tug on it and mess it up a little. He probably wouldn’t even mind if you did.
“Chapter 7—I only have a few pages left.” You snuggle more comfortably against your pillow, lean into his shoulder, and move the book so it’s more evenly between you. “Want to finish it with me?”
He does, and you read silently at a similar pace; he reaches up to turn the pages, and you think about how these hands have flipped through this book so many times before, what he might have been thinking, feeling, while reading. It’s a more intimate act than you’ve shared with anyone in a really long time.
When you finish the book, you sigh, let the feeling of reading a really great story envelope you; you turn to face Aaron, and he’s looking at you… and then there’s a knock at the door that startles you both.
He gets up, walks over and checks the peep hole, then opens the door.
“Are you sure?” you hear JJ ask, and he steps back so she can enter the room; when she sees you tucked snugly into the middle of the bed, she shoots you a soft smile and mouths you’re welcome, which makes absolutely no sense without context. You’ll have to bring it up to her later and ask what exactly you’re supposed to be thanking her for.
“So you said the detective called?” Aaron prompts her, and she looks away from you, nods.
“Yes, he wanted me to ask if we could have a few agents meet him at the second crime scene tomorrow instead of the precinct, figured it could save a little time.” Aaron looks confused, like he doesn’t see why this couldn’t have waited until tomorrow, but he ultimately agrees.
“Sure. You, Reid, and Prentiss can head straight there, if that’s what he wants. I’ll let them know in the morning.” JJ nods, and looks over at you, and then back at Aaron, who makes a kind but curious face. “Was there something else?”
“Huh? Oh, no, that’s it. I just didn’t want to forget. I’ll let you guys go—enjoy the rest of your night,” she says with a smile and a wave, and when he closes the door behind her, you both exchange a look.
She’s definitely acting a little weird, but it’s late, so you give her the benefit of the doubt.
You scoot over to your side, put the book on the nightstand and switch off your lamp; Aaron climbs back into bed and switches his off, too, and he turns to face the wall while you lay on your back and stare at the ceiling.
It takes about half an hour, but he falls asleep first; you turn to face him, watching his back, following the rise and fall as he softly breathes in sleep, and the peaceful rhythm lulls you into submission, and you drift off as well.
When you wake up a couple hours later, he is on his stomach with his face pressed into his pillow, and you are draped over his back with your cheek against his t-shirt. It’s soft, and warm, and smells like him, and you glance at the clock and realize it’s too early to do anything but get comfortable and fall back asleep, so that’s exactly what you do.
The next time you wake up, to light creeping in between the curtains, Aaron is no longer in bed, but you’re holding his pillow, still warm beneath your cheek. He doesn’t act weird when you get up and start moving around, just pops out of the bathroom with his toothbrush dangling from his mouth.
“Got you a latte,” he says around it, gesturing to the desk and the pair of paper cups that sit on it, and you grin.
“Seriously, you’re my favorite human,” you answer, and you grab your coffee and lean against the doorframe, sipping and sighing until you’re a little more clear-headed. “Sorry if I crushed you; guess I was restless last night. I usually don’t move around that much.”
He just shrugs, spits out a mouthful of foam into the sink.
“You didn’t crush me. I’m pretty solid, if you hadn’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed,” you tease, looking at him over the lid as you take another sip. “Now hurry up and quit hogging the bathroom if you want to leave here at a decent hour.” He rinses, zips up his toiletry bag noisily for dramatic effect, and slips past you, rubbing a hand over your unruly bed head as he goes.
The day passes quickly, with lots of interviewing witnesses, following dead-end leads, and bad police station coffee. When Aaron calls it and tells everyone to get some dinner, you all split off into smaller groups—Spencer and Derek go for Chinese, JJ and Emily opt for pizza, and you and Aaron end up at a retro diner with burgers and milkshakes and a plate of fries between you to share.
“I think we should be focusing more on the docks,” you say, dipping a fry in ketchup and taking a bite. “Even if that’s not where the bodies end up, it seems to be where the unsub is meeting with the victims. We could stake it out tonight, maybe. If you want.” You never want to step on his toes, because he is the boss, the leader, even if you’re friends too; you try to be careful how you phrase things, especially in front of other people, because you don’t want your comfort to look like disrespect, however unintentional.
“That’s a good idea. You and I can head down there after this; I’ll let the others know to patrol nearby, in case we need backup.”
He dusts off his fingers and pulls out his phone, types out a text, and you look around the restaurant—the place looks like it was ripped right out of the 50s, with a checkered floor and lots of red vinyl, a shiny jukebox in the corner. Out of place is a flatscreen tv behind the counter; during the day, when it’s busier, it might play news or sports, but you two are the only ones here at the moment, so the staff is hanging out beneath it watching a movie. It’s Titanic, you realize, when the iconic ‘Rose floating on a piece of debris’ scene plays, and you snort, take a long drag of your chocolate shake.
“I always hated this part. They could have found a way for him to survive, too. Unnecessary death for the heartache factor,” you say, and Aaron looks up from his phone to the screen, makes a sound of contemplation.
“I always thought it was kind of romantic. When you love someone, you’d do anything for them to be okay, even at your own expense. Even if it’s stupid.” You look over his face, study the features you know like the back of your hand, and you guess you can kind of see that, but you can’t say that, so you just sigh.
“I suppose you think Romeo and Juliet is romantic, too,” you tease, and he looks back at you, rolls his eyes.
“It’s very much of its time; it's a lot harder to suffer a miscommunication like that these days. And there is something to be said for star-crossed lovers—people who shouldn’t be together, for one reason or another, but can’t help but drift close anyway.” You swirl your straw in the metal cup, thinking briefly of how that happens to describe the two of you, and when you look up at him, you think you see a hint of that same thought on his face.
More likely, that’s just wishful thinking.
“I like the sword-fights,” you say to lighten the mood, and he laughs, and you both polish off the rest of your food and then head for the docks.
Two hours in and absolutely nothing has happened, but just when you’re ready to complain, or suggest playing I Spy or something, there’s movement from one of the shipping containers to your right. You nudge Aaron, point to the container, and you both creep closer, trying to make out the situation.
When you’re just around the corner, it’s clearly two men fighting, but you obviously don’t know if this is your unsub, two random guys having it out on the docks, or what, so you mutually agree to wait until you have some kind of sign that this is your guy. When one of them pulls out a hunting knife that looks vaguely similar to your murder weapon—as close as you can tell in the dark, anyway—you raise your guns and identify yourselves as FBI.
The unsub drops the knife, but fists his hands in the other guy’s jacket, manhandles him to the edge of the dock, and shoves him into the water, then jumps as well. You swear, and Aaron takes off his jacket, throws it on the ground, then his phone on top of it, and looks back at you.
“Stay here and call for backup,” he instructs, and then he jumps in too; you call the team from your comms, get a response from Emily, and then toss your phone onto Aaron’s jacket and follow him.
He, of course, went for the victim first, so you look for the unsub, who is not visible above the water. You completely submerge yourself, feeling for more than looking for him, because the water is cloudy on a good day and pitch black at ten o’clock at night; when you pop your head up for air, you see Aaron getting the victim up onto the dock, and the unsub bobbing a bit further out. You swim to him, limbs aching, and he seems to know it’s time to give up.
He’s winded, gasping for breath, so you keep him above the water to your own detriment, dragging him by his wet jacket instead of cuffing him, because you’re not trying to kill the guy or lug his unconscious body back to shore. You just barely keep your own head above water most of the time, coming up for big gulps of air when absolutely necessary.
You finally make it to the dock, and your team has arrived, so Derek pulls him out of the water, makes sure he’s alright, and puts some cuffs on him. Aaron’s hands are on you right after, getting you up on the dock, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.
Despite the warm spring breeze, the water was freezing, and you can feel your teeth chattering. He rubs your arms for warmth, crouches down to look you seriously in the eyes.
“Thought I told you to stay here,” he says with an arched brow, a scowl you can tell is more concerned than angry. You wet your frozen lips and try your best to smile.
“You jump, I jump, Jack.”
He looks at you like you’re an idiot, but fondly, if that’s possible, then hugs you so tightly, guides your face to press against his warm neck. How he’s not teetering on the edge of hypothermia is anyone’s guess.
“Your lips are practically blue. Stupid,” he murmurs, but his mouth dusts over your temple in what is unmistakably a kiss, and when you’re able to feel your lips again, you reciprocate, press them a little harder against his throat while you shiver in his arms.
It doesn’t mean anything except I’m happy we’re both alive. Probably.
That night in bed, he faces the wall, and you stare at the ceiling, but you wake up with your nose against the back of his neck. The way he’s breathing tells you he’s not asleep, and when you wrap your arms around him, he holds them tight.
Things don’t change after Pittsburgh, and that’s okay. You are comfortable with the way things are, and you love what you have—lunches under the oak tree, the exchange of books, late night texts when you both can’t sleep, hands brushing when you walk to the parking garage, glances shared across the jet. All those things make it easy not to focus on what you don’t have, what you’re not even sure Aaron would want anyway.
You exchange books again on Friday at lunch: he hands you Beloved by Toni Morrison, a book you already know and adore, and you hand him Ravished by Amanda Quick.
“Dubbed the Beast of Blackthorne Hall for his scarred face and lecherous past, Gideon,” Aaron shoots you a glance—“that’s purely coincidental”—“was strong and fierce and notoriously menacing. Yet Harriet could not find it in her heart to fear him. For in his tawny gaze she sensed a savage pain she longed to soothe... and a searing passion she yearned to answer.”
You hold back a smile.
“It’s a modern retelling of a classic story—Beauty and the Beast,” you add, taking a bite of your sandwich. He looks you over like there’s something he wants to say, but he just tucks it under his arm and steals a piece of melon from your lunch.
“I have Jack this weekend, so I probably won’t get to read much, but it sounds intriguing.”
“Well I hope you like it when you read it. Tell him I said hi; it’s been too long since I saw him. I bet he’s looking more like you every day,” you say, popping a piece of melon into your mouth. He smiles softly.
“A little, but Haley says she sees her father in him, and I have to agree. We may have to wait a few years until he looks like me; he’s too cute for that now.” He doesn’t sound self-deprecating, just fond, but you can’t let a comment like that stand, regardless.
“You’re cute; the difference is that kids are cute all the time. You’re an adult, so sometimes you’re handsome, sometimes you’re cute, sometimes you’re hot… it can be hard to reconcile.” This time, he looks you over with something light and playful in his eyes, and it’s something you want to explore, but the timer on your phone goes off, indicating that lunch is over, so you just exhale softly and pack up your things.
You don’t talk much after that—his Fridays are usually busy with meetings, and he leaves in a hurry to pick up Jack, which is understandable.
Emily, JJ, and Penelope invite you out for drinks and dinner—“because we know Hotch is busy,” Penelope says, which has literally nothing to do with your weekend plans, but you don’t correct them—so you don’t linger either.
You go out for Italian, so you are sleepy and full of wine and pasta by the end of the evening, and you smile at your friends.
“Thanks for inviting me out tonight, guys. I had a really good time.”
“Of course,” Emily says, taking her last sip of Pinot Noir. “We barely see you anymore; it was long overdue.”
“Definitely,” you agree. “I should really try to drag my ass out of bed more often.” You can’t help it, though, that after a long day, your bed and a good book just call your name. You’ve always been introverted in that way. JJ laughs softly, chin in her palm, elbow on the table.
“Honeymoon phase. Give it another couple months and you’ll be past that.” You do have a new memory foam mattress that has made sinking into the pillows and blankets all that more indulgent, but you didn’t think JJ knew about that. And you’ve never heard of a honeymoon phase for a mattress before.
“Eh, I don’t think so. There’s literally nothing more satisfying on this earth.” The three of them exchange an amused look, but your phone vibrates, and that catches your attention; you smile when it’s Aaron, sending you a photo of Jack with a toothy grin and his hands covered in fingerpaint. You look up to the sound of chairs scraping against the floor.
“Alright, we’ve lost her. See you all Monday,” Emily says, pulling you in for a hug; when she steps back, she smiles. “And tell Hotch we said hi.”
“I will,” you promise as you hug the other two. You hang back a moment, type out a reply—Looks like you’re having lots of fun without me!—and get into your car to head home.
You change into comfy clothes, drink a glass of water, and climb into bed with Beloved, and at around 9:30 you receive a reply.
Having the most fun we can without you. Maybe next time Jack is over, we can tempt you with dinosaur chicken nuggets and fingerpaint?
You smile, the happiest you’ve been all night—and that’s saying something, because you really did have a great time—and send back, It’s a date.
Come Monday, you’re feeling pretty good, well-rested and relaxed from probably too much time in bed, but Aaron looks upset when he walks into the morning meeting. He keeps it short and sweet, and everyone disperses quickly, giving you sympathetic looks as you hang back to try to have a word with him. He clears off the white board, tidies up the table that doesn’t need tidying, and you place a hand on his back, gentle and comforting. He sighs, and you can feel the tension leave him almost instantly.
“Hey. What’s bothering you?” you ask softly, leaning around to try to catch his expression; he looks tired, sad, and maybe a little conflicted, leans into your touch.
“Taking Jack back to Haley’s was rough last night; it always is, but yesterday was really bad.” You know a little about this from weekends past, how Jack always cries when Aaron has to leave, how he feels terrible about it for the rest of the evening, but it must have been extreme for him to still be so upset. “And Haley…” He sighs again, runs his hand through his hair. “It’s like it’s one step forward, two steps back with her sometimes.”
“Why don’t we go sit in your office and you can tell me more?” You want to continue discussing this—that’s what friends are for, and he’s clearly in a bad state emotionally, you think it could help—but he just shakes his head.
“No, I… it’s okay. I don’t want to weigh you down with my problems.” You take your hand off his back, lean a hip against the table and look up at him.
“I’m not just your friend when it’s all easy breezy, lunch in the sunshine, talking about our favorite books,” you say with a sad smile; he reciprocates a little, which is more than you expected. “I’m here when things are complicated, when you have bad days, too. The Monday blues especially.” One of his hands rests on the table, and you cover it with yours, lean in to press your forehead to his shoulder. “Let me be here, okay? Even if all you need me to do is listen.”
It takes a moment, and his eyes are wet when he finally responds; he inhales deeply, nods, and brushes his free hand over your head in something of a hug, murmurs a rough, “okay.”
You sit in his office for an hour—which, again, is more than you expected—listening to him talk about his weekend with Jack, how heartbreaking it was to take him back to Haley’s, how he tried talking to her about taking him more often and she just wasn’t sure she could trust him to do what he says he’ll do. He understands where she’s coming from, knows he’s been unable to keep his word in the past, thinks he doesn’t deserve the benefit of the doubt; he hasn’t asked for advice, seems to just want to vent, so you just listen.
“Then I mentioned you, that you might come for dinner next time he’s over, and she was worried about that,” he says, exasperated, and you frown.
“Why would she worry about that? I’ve been around him lots of times.” It doesn't make sense, because Haley has always been nothing but sweet to you; Aaron looks up at your question, and it seems a little like maybe he hadn’t meant to say that part, though you can’t imagine why.
“It’s just different now… because he’s older,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. “She doesn’t want him getting attached to someone who might not always be around, you know.” You sigh softly, because if that’s all it is…
You lean forward, take his hand, squeeze it tight.
“I’m always going to be around, Aaron. I can talk to her, if you want, tell her that.”
“No, it’s—you don’t have to do that.” He squeezes your hand back, closes his eyes for a beat. “Just hearing you say it, it makes things easier. I’ll talk to her again next time.”
You talk a little more, and he seems a lot better afterward, even if he is a bit less expressive during lunch; you figure any progress is good, but it makes you sad to see him so down, so naturally, you formulate a plan to help get him back to the Aaron you know and love.
At the end of the day, when he makes his way to the bullpen, you spin around in your chair, take him by the sleeve.
“You’re coming home with me tonight,” you say in no uncertain tone of voice. “For a few hours. I’ll bring you back for your car.” He agrees with a fond look, and you lose yourself in the expression for a moment, then stand up, grab your things, and walk with him out to the garage.
Rush hour traffic is what it is, and you leave Aaron in charge of the music, which means you get The Beatles and The Who, Rolling Stones and Neil Diamond, and you’re both singing along and so much happier by the time you pull into the parking lot of the bodega nearest your apartment.
“Just running in for provisions—be right back,” you say with a grin, and when you return with two paper bags of loot, he looks at you like you might be his favorite person in the world with an age in the double digits. It’s a look you love putting on his face.
“Do I get to see what provisions you’ve acquired?” he asks, teasing, but you shake your head and tell him he’ll see it when you get there.
With a pit stop in your apartment to grab a blanket and a few throw pillows, you take him up to the roof and get things ready for your makeshift picnic. There is white wine, still mostly chilled; cubed cheese, far from gourmet but no less delicious; crusty french bread that was fresh this morning but at this hour is a little extra crusty; blueberries, because they didn’t have grapes; dark chocolate, because you share a fondness for it; and paper cups for the wine.
Aaron takes a look at your bounty, spread over the blanket, and smiles the first real smile you’ve seen all day.
“Fancy,” he teases, and he takes off his jacket, gets on the ground with you. You pour each of you some wine, pop a blueberry in your mouth.
“No, but I thought a meal—and I do call it that loosely—under the stars might do you some good.” You lift your paper cup and tap it against his, brush your fingers over his hand. “To the best boss, best dad, best friend I could ask for.” You take a sip, but he doesn’t at first, watches you with something simmering behind his eyes.
“Do I get to make a toast?” he asks after a few beats, and you smile, nod, and hold up your cup. “To the only person stupid enough to jump into a freezing cold river after me. To the only person I would consider eating a bodega dinner with. To the only person who sees me the way you do.” You both take a sip, which is hard to swallow around the lump in your throat. He looks into your eyes, then breaks the dark chocolate into slivers and hands you a piece like he didn’t just say the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to you before.
You eat, and talk, and drink, and when you’re done with dinner you put everything back in the bags and lay back on the blanket, side by side, and stare up at the stars. The moon is high and full, shining while the stars twinkle around it, and you can’t think of a single time you’ve ever felt more at peace.
“This was really perfect,” Aaron says, almost a whisper, after about twenty minutes of companionable silence. “I can’t thank you enough for being there for me today.” You turn to face him, hands curled up under your chin, and he turns toward you as well. He’s so handsome in the moonlight your heart almost aches.
“You don’t have to thank me. I just wanted to see you happy.” You feel your eyes well up with tears, because he deserves to be happy; you sigh, blink them away, and he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead, rests them there for a long time. When he eventually pulls back, you bring a hand to his hair, brush it back at his temple, and then the creaking of the door makes you pull back, sit up.
It’s your neighbor from 422, who you’ve seen on the roof a handful of times, sneaking away from his wife to smoke a cigarette. He squints in the dark, recognizes you, and waves.
“Hey, 418! You’re not alone tonight.” Aaron sits up too, and you laugh softly.
“Nope, but we were just leaving. The roof is all yours.” Aaron stands, pulls you up, and you grab the blanket and pillows while he grabs the bags, and the two of you head back down to your place.
It’s after ten when you get the groceries put away, and you stand next to Aaron in your small kitchen, contemplating what you want to say next. Your mouth betrays your brain, says what you’ve been thinking but weren’t quite sure how to approach.
“It’s late; I know I said I’d take you back to your car, but you could stay here if you want. I have a spare toothbrush, and I know you have a spare suit at the office, and it’s not like it’s the first time we’ve shared a bed before.”
You’d completely understand if he’d rather go home—you hate when your plans are changed at the last minute, and you prefer to do your full nightly routine for your sanity’s sake—but he only nods, and you lead your way to the bedroom, show him the master bath.
You are in your pajamas, tucked into bed, when he comes out in his boxers and undershirt; he hangs up his suit in your closet where you’d left him some space, then climbs in beside you. He looks over at you, then past you, at your nightstand, which has a stack of books on it—none of them romance novels. You grin, busted after months of book exchanges, and he leans over you to look at the titles.
“Persuasion, To Kill A Mockingbird, One Hundred Years of Solitude—Beloved.” He looks from your copy of the novel to his, which you hold in your hands, and you shrug sheepishly.
“I like reading the notes you put in the margins,” you say meekly, hoping he’s not angry, but all he does is laugh.
“Let me guess: you don’t actually like romance novels.” He leans back against your pillow, and so do you, resting the book on your lap.
“I mean, I don’t not like them… but I’ve been buying those just for you.” The smile on his face is brilliant, and only makes you yearn for him more; things you have been purposefully not feeling are flooding your heart and mind and body now, with him so close, laughing over this stupid secret you’ve been hiding for so long. “And you, sweet man that you are, have been reading them, and discussing them.” You put your hand on his shoulder, and he ducks his head to laugh again.
“Since we’re being honest… I didn’t read all of them. I tried,” he says when you act offended, shoving the shoulder you’re resting against, “but some of them were so bad. I just flipped through, found something I thought could pass as my favorite part, and hoped to hell you didn't ask too many questions.”
You both laugh until you’re breathless—he is so different from how he was this morning it makes you want to cry—and when your laughter dies down you look at each other, sharing breath, two heads on one pillow; is it any wonder you bridge the distance, pull him close for a warm, gentle kiss?
When you break the kiss, you are instantly worried about what Aaron will do—you aren’t drunk, aren’t even tipsy, so you know he can’t be, so much bigger and more solid than you, but will he think it’s a mistake? He kissed back, you’re pretty sure, but maybe that was an accident, something done on autopilot—
He leans in for a second kiss, mouth deceptively soft, and you curl your arm around his back, press into it with lips desperate not to let this end now that it’s started. When you separate, you are both looking into each other’s eyes again, breathing a bit heavily, and you meet in the middle for a third kiss, the best kiss you’ve ever had in your life.
That kiss ends when you yawn in his face, and he chuckles softly, leans over and switches off your bedside lamp; you smile at the ceiling, and he wraps his arms around you, presses his lips to your shoulder, and tells you good night.
The next day, the two of you arrive at work early so he can shower and change into his fresh clothes without anyone on the team noticing—not that you think they would really care, but they’re nosy, and a little annoying, so you both agree that’s probably for the best.
You don’t talk about the kisses, even though they’ve been the only thing running through your mind since they happened; you promise to discuss it at lunch, though, and that’s such a sweet, romantic prospect that you think you prefer it better that way anyway.
Only, you don’t ever get to lunch, because there’s an urgent case in Minneapolis, an all hands on deck situation, meaning even Penelope joins you on the jet. You debrief on the flight, hunker down in the conference room, and split up to cover more ground; you barely get to speak to Aaron the whole time you’re there except to be given instructions and to fill him on what, if anything, you’ve learned.
You don’t even make it to your hotel that night, working around the clock to catch the people responsible for terrorizing the city. It takes not one, but almost two full days, and when you board the jet on Wednesday evening, everyone is dead on their feet. You barely remember the flight or the trip home, and you fall onto your bed fully clothed and crash just like that.
Thursday is your birthday, which you almost forgot, and so you assumed everyone else would too. You should have known better, because even if your team can be annoying, they are still your friends, and they love you, so you are well and truly spoiled.
You are treated to a latte and bagels from Emily, purple cupcakes with silver sprinkles from Penelope, a piggy back ride from Derek, a book of poetry you’ve had your eye on from Spencer, and a card from JJ—really, it turns out, from all of them.
“Enjoy a romantic getaway on us?” There’s some kind of certificate in the card, and when you flip it over, you discover that it’s for a hotel and spa that offers couples massages, mud baths, intimate aromatherapy? You arch a brow. “Uh, thanks, guys. Are you trying to tell me something here?” JJ’s face falls a little and she points to the card.
“It’s a romantic getaway. For you and Hotch? Since things have been so hectic lately,” she says, but your ears are kind of ringing and your brain is stuck on the for you and Hotch part.
“Oh. Um. Sorry—it’s just kind of soon, I think? How do you guys even know about that?” you murmur. The two of you haven’t had time to discuss Monday yet, and you haven’t spoken a word to anyone; you wouldn’t have guessed Aaron would have either, but there is a gift certificate for a romantic getaway in your hands, and you’re kind of spiraling.
“Well come on, we haven’t exactly been pretending we don’t know,” Emily says, and you can feel the confusion in your features when you look up at her. “And you guys haven’t been exactly secretive. We’re happy for you, though.”
“I mean, we haven’t been secretive, but we haven’t really had a chance to talk about it yet. It’s only been three days.” You are met with looks similar to the one on your own face.
“What do you mean, three days?” Spencer asks with a frown. “You and Hotch have been dating for almost two months. Right?” he says, looking at the others, and they nod, but it’s tentative. Your first reaction is to flush, and you close the card, fan your face with it.
“You guys think… You guys thought…” You look at them, then up at Aaron’s office; there’s no way he can know that you’re having a moment, but he chooses then to come downstairs, coincidentally. He’s smiling at first, but it falls when he looks at your face.
“Hey. Is everything okay?” He presses a cool hand to your hot cheek, flicks his eyes over yours, and JJ makes a noise; when you glance over at her, she’s gesturing between the two of you.
“I’m sorry, we were wrong? What were we supposed to think?” Aaron frowns, not following, and you take a deep breath.
“They got me a gift certificate for my birthday. To a spa. For you and I to have a romantic getaway, because they were under the assumption we’ve been dating… for two months.” The way he pulls back quickly makes your stomach ache a little, but you say nothing. You should have known.
“You say I love you,” Derek begins like he’s listing evidence. “You have lunch together every day. You’re always smiling at each other.”
“Seriously, some of the softest, gooiest smiles I’ve ever seen,” Penelope adds.
“You eat together on cases, you’re texting all the time when you’re not together.”
“I’ve been pairing the two of you up in hotels since I first figured out you were dating,” JJ says, and the whole ‘you’re welcome’ thing suddenly makes some sense. “I booked you that room with just the one bed so you’d maybe feel more comfortable about us knowing, so you’d see that we don’t mind.”
“You’re always looking at each other, always touching,” Spencer says. “In Pittsburgh—that was the first time you really hugged or kissed each other in front of us. We were trying to pretend it wasn’t a big deal, but it was kind of a big deal.”
You look over at Aaron, try to gauge his reaction, but for the first time in a long time you can’t tell what he’s feeling. You can’t really tell what you’re feeling, either. Sadness. Worry. Loss? But what have you lost?
“We’re friends,” you say, even if it sounds weak to your own ears. “We’re… close.”
“We wouldn’t exactly make sense as a couple, would we?” Aaron asks rhetorically, and your heart clenches when he says that. He told you this morning that he’d made dinner plans for you, both for your birthday and to discuss the kisses, what they mean, where you go from here, but that doesn’t sound very promising anymore. “We’re just—”
“Star-crossed,” you say, but you feel like your eyes are vacant. You can hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You’re stupid for kissing him, for letting yourself think he could feel the same way you feel, have felt for a while. Isn’t friendship enough? Don’t you already have this special bond so unlike what you have with anyone else in your life? Why press your luck? You know better than that. “We should get back to work.”
You don’t look at Aaron, so you don’t know whether or not he looks at you. JJ does, and you can tell she knows you’re upset, but she just nudges everyone on their way, and you take a seat at your desk—it’s covered in balloons and streamers, the Penelope special.
You’ve never felt less like celebrating.
At lunchtime, Aaron stops at your desk, and the two of you walk out to the bench, open your bags in silence. You’re almost halfway through the hour before he tries to speak.
“Uh. I. About earlier,” he finally gets out, looking down at his sandwich, and you shake your head even though he’s not watching you.
“It’s fine. We don’t have to.” You take a bite of your salad even though you don’t taste it. “You’re right, it doesn’t make sense. You are who you are,” smart, sweet, handsome, tender, caring, “and I am who I am.” Too quiet, too young, too impulsive, too silly, too emotional. He nods, looks at your face for the first time in a while, swallows.
“Right.” You’re due to exchange books back—his is on your lap, yours is on his—and he picks them both up. “I’m like this,” he says, holding up Beloved. “Faded cover, dog-eared pages, scribbles in the margins: middle-aged, divorced, a little broken, barely holding it together for the kid I don’t get to spend enough time with. You’re like this,” he says, holding up Ravished. “Fresh and glossy and shiny and new, with your whole life ahead of you, the whole world ahead of you. You could do anything, with anyone.”
You frown, because this is not what you meant, at all. How could he think that about himself, when the well-loved cover and the dog-eared pages and the scribbles in the margins are all the best parts of him?
“Aaron,” you say, but it sounds like pleading; you reach out to put your hands on his arms, but he pulls them back. His eyes are rimmed red, lips pressed together to hold back everything he’s not saying.
“I think lunch is almost over.” He packs up his things, leaves you with tears in your eyes and a wilted salad and a brand new romance novel you’re never going to read.
Later, he cancels dinner, says something came up, and you go home to your empty bed and watch Titanic and bawl your eyes out when Rose tells Jack she’ll never let go.
Friday, you get another case. Weekend cases are no one’s favorite, but especially not yours, when you desperately needed that buffer of time away from Aaron to sort out your feelings and get back to some sense of normalcy. Instead, you’re flying to a small town outside of Nashville to catch a serial arsonist, and when you get to your hotel, you and Aaron are sharing a room.
At least there are two beds, this time.
You go with Emily and Spencer to a crime scene, walking around a house that was once picture perfect and is now all charred wood and ash, and you quickly tell yourself to get a grip and not look for metaphors for your own life while trying to solve a case. What kind of investigator are you? Pathetic, apparently.
You work until evening, and when it’s time to break for dinner, you buy a sad looking assortment of items from the police station vending machine and eat in the conference room by yourself.
It’s a good thing you do, because they get a call about the fire while everyone is still away, and you and a few locals are the first on the scene.
It doesn’t start out bad, mostly located in the back of the house, but you know how quickly these things can spread, and the fire department is working hard to put it out. One of the officers is talking to the family, and the mother is crying, so you come closer to figure out why.
“She said the daughter was supposed to be staying at a friend’s, but sometimes she changes her mind at the last minute and comes home. She can’t get ahold of her,” the officer says, and you nod, thinking.
“Where would she be? The front or the back?”
“Her room is in the front, second floor; if she’s here, that’s where she’d be,” the mother says, wiping her eyes with a tissue, and you tell the officer to stay with them, that you’ll take care of it. You talk to the firefighters—this town is so small there are only two that were able to respond, and they’re both busy trying to put out the fire, but they clear you to go in if you stick to the front of the building and get out of there as fast as you can.
Your team isn’t here yet either, too far out for comms to be effective, and you can’t get ahold of Aaron, so you make a judgement call and head inside.
The front of the house is so eerily normal it’s almost easy to calm your nerves and pretend the back isn’t in the process of being destroyed. You open the front door, run up the staircase, and call out for the girl; she answers, not from the front of the house, but the back—a bathroom maybe? Flames lick up the wall beside it, but you can get to the knob, and she comes rushing out, into your arms, terrified. You weren't expecting that, and you both fall back: your head hits off the floor, but she seems okay, so you tell her to run out the front door and find her mom.
You press a hand to the back of your head, and it comes back tacky with blood. There’s ringing in your ears for a couple of minutes, and then your favorite voice in the world comes through.
“Where are you? We’re here, where are you?” You’re getting hotter, and when you crane your neck up, you can see why: the fire is getting closer, creeping toward the staircase, creeping toward you. You inhale, cough, and press your walkie button.
“I’m upstairs in the hall; hit my head. It’s not safe.”
“I’m coming for you.” You groan. Stubborn man.
“It’s not safe, Aaron.” You hear the crackle of static, hope maybe he heard your warning and will wait until more firefighters arrive—but knowing him the way you do, that’s just wishful thinking. His voice rings out again, and despite the pain, you can’t help but smile.
“You jump, I jump, Jack. Just stay put; I’ll be right there.” You close your eyes, drift in and out of consciousness; when you see him, all you can think is how ridiculously in love with him you are, and that you really hope you’ll be around to tell him.
You are, of course, fine. Your head is the worst of it, even the smoke inhalation was mild, and the fire didn’t touch you, so there are no burns. Aaron doesn’t leave your side the entire time you’re being checked over, looks serious and concerned, though he smiles when the mother comes over and squeezes you so tightly you wince a little. It starts to rain, making the firefighters' jobs a little easier, and it feels oddly cleansing, after the day you’ve had. Someone offers you an umbrella, but you decline.
The fire is successfully put out, and the half of your team that didn’t respond to the scene responded to a call for suspicious activity, which ends up being your unsub. You are all happy no one was killed this time, and since you’re staying the night again, the group decides to grab a drink to celebrate. You don’t have a concussion, but your head still aches, so you pass, and Aaron passes with you.
You head to the hotel, park in the lot, but you don’t even make it halfway across before you stop, a hand on his arm.
“I need to say something,” you tell him, and he looks up at the dark sky like, right here? Right now?, even though you’re both already drenched. You nod, because if you don’t do this now you might never—almost dying always gives you an unhealthy amount of confidence, which you attribute to equal amounts of adrenaline and stupidity. “When we first met, I didn’t think we’d have a lot in common. We’re both quiet, but in wildly different ways, and I’m quick to trust and let people in while your guard is almost never down.”
He looks a little sad at that, and you realize you’re kind of doing what he did, putting the two of you into completely different categories, emphasizing the ways you don’t belong together. But that’s dumb, so you don’t give him time to focus on that for long.
“But being your friend, Aaron—the more time I spent with you, the more I came to feel like no one has ever understood me the way you do. No one has ever seen me the way you do.” Rain is pouring down all around you, beating against the pavement, flattening your hair against your head, but you don’t care. Regardless of his reaction, this is actually kind of perfect. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you—that was an accident, I admit. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” You step closer to him, put your hands on his waist; he doesn’t pull away. “I don’t need shiny, glossy things; you're the one I want—faded cover, dog-eared pages, notes in the margins. I love you exactly as you are.”
He is gorgeous in the rain, water in his hair, dripping off his nose. His expression looks hopeful, and you pray to god that’s not wishful thinking.
“Say something, anything,” you beg, anticipation killing you, and he presses his hands to your cheeks and pulls you close for a deep, passionate, soulful kiss that says it all.
The words are nice to hear, though.
“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you either,” he breathes against your lips when the kiss breaks. “I told myself it was just a crush, because someone so young and beautiful was paying so much attention to me, treating me like more than just the guy giving orders. But the more time I spent with you, the more undeniable it became. You are everything good about the world—bright, optimistic, caring, funny, sweet. How could anyone not fall in love with you?”
You swallow hard, lean up to press your lips against his again.
“When you said we wouldn’t make sense as a couple…” He shakes his head.
“That was just me chickening out. After we kissed, I was all but ready to ask you to go steady,” he says, and you both smile, because he’s such an old fashioned dork, but god, do you love him. “And then we found out that the team thought we’d been together for months, and you looked freaked out, so I freaked out. I’m sorry. I should have made us talk about it sooner.”
“Classic pointless miscommunication,” you say with a laugh, and he chuckles too, kisses you again.
“Let’s go inside and get dried off; there’s a birthday gift in my bag I’ve been meaning to give you.” He takes your hand, and you head up, duck into the bathroom to change into dry clothes, squeeze the water out of your hair. There is a small, flat, wrapped present on your bed when you emerge, and you smile, sink down to open it.
It’s Romeo and Juliet, a brand new copy, but when you flip through it, there are blue inked notes in the margins. Aaron comes to sit beside you, touches your face like you’re something precious.
“The course of true love never did run smooth,” he murmurs, and you smack him on the arm with the book.
“That’s from A Midsummer Night's Dream, and I know you know that,” you say with a grin. He nods in admission, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, lean in for a warm, loving kiss. When you pull back, it’s with a soft smile. “Give me my sin again?”
“My pleasure,” he whispers, and you sink into his embrace and promise never to let go.
The following week, you both leave work at noon on Friday so you can enjoy your romantic getaway. You drive to the spa, and Aaron reads over the brochure on his phone with a tone you find hilarious.
“Mud bath—I’m not bathing in mud. That’s counterintuitive.”
“It’s special mud; more like clay,” you say, but he snorts, scrolls.
“Seaweed wrap—nobody is wrapping me in seaweed. That sounds like a nightmare.” You laugh softly and take your exit.
“It’s supposed to be rejuvenating. JJ recommended it.”
“JJ weighs fifty pounds. It would take all the seaweed in the Atlantic to wrap me,” he says, and you roll your eyes, jab your finger into his ribs.
“But what if I get to unwrap you?” you ask, eyebrows raised; you briefly glance over and he makes a face of contemplation.
“Okay, that’s a maybe. Intimate aromatherapy—what does that even mean?”
“I think it means we do something that makes us smell good and then we go back to our room and kiss and stuff.”
“Now that doesn’t sound half bad,” he murmurs. “Foot massage? I’m not letting a stranger touch my feet, that’s weird.” You look over at him, squinting.
“You literally plugged someone’s bullet wound with your finger yesterday, but someone touching your feet is where you draw the line? Will you do anything on the list?” He scrolls down it, and his extended silence makes you laugh.
“Meditation. Couples massage,” he says, reaching over to rest a hand on your thigh. “There’s a sauna.” You think of him, sweat-drenched in a fluffy white towel, and take a deep, calming breath. “I bet the room is nice; did you bring a book?” You smile indulgently, reach out a hand to brush through his hair.
“Yep. It’s called A Duke’s Wild Kiss…” He gives you a mildly withering look, and you lightly tap the bridge of his nose. “Just kidding. I brought To the Lighthouse by Virginia Woolf.” His answering smile is brilliant.
“Are you serious?” You nod, and he gestures to the backseat, where your bags are. “That’s what I brought, too.”
You spend too much of your romantic getaway in your room, but it is really nice; you do the couples massage, though, and aromatherapy, and the sauna, and then you take turns giving each other a foot massage while the other reads To the Lighthouse out loud.
The world probably doesn’t deserve Aaron Hotchner; you definitely don’t, but somehow you get to keep him anyway.
A/N: Though I snuck in a few parts of a few different lyrics, two lines in particular inspired this fic: 'Now I've read all of the books beside your bed' and 'I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this.' A lot of my fics lately have incorporated books... guess I better get reading!
Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner
#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfic#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#hotch x female reader#hotch x reader#paper rings#inspired by#taylor swift
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Day 127: Fake Dating
"It's just annoying," Draco continued as he and Harry packed up for the night. "Literally every single party or brunch, I am hounded about when I'll start dating someone." He slammed his desk drawer closed, "I'm a bloody auror! I haven't got time to date anyone," he groaned. "And now I have this party tonight and I just know-"
"I'll go with you," Harry offered.
He broke off and stared at the other man. "What?"
"Yeah," Harry said with a shrug, "I'll go and be your pretend boyfriend, it would be easy to fake that we're dating since we already know everything about each other."
"But," he started, tilting his head at the other man, "Then people will think we're dating."
"I thought that was the point?"
He stared at Harry, waiting for it to click. When no click was forthcoming he said "but then people would think you're dating me."
"Am I missing something here?"
He rolled his eyes, "I don't think you quite understand what dating me entails."
"Ah, need to be pampered, darling? Wined and dined? Roses on Tuesday and dinner on Friday nights? I could bring you coffee in the morning-"
"I- What?" Draco spluttered. "No! No. Merlin, that's not what I'm saying, although, yes if we're being honest I want to be absolutely doted upon," he added.
"Obviously."
"Wait," he said, shaking his head to clear it, "You're missing the fucking point."
(Read more below the cut)
"Sorry," Harry said, smirking at him and not looking sorry at all, "What's the point?"
"The point," Draco said, poking him in the chest, "Is that dating me is not a pleasant experience."
"Oh come on," Harry teased, "You're not that bad."
"I am a fucking delight," he replied, exasperated, "I am saying that the press will make your life hell."
"Ah," he said, nodding, "I have no idea what dealing with the press is like."
"The press has been kind to you for at least the past decade because of the whole saving the world nonsense," Draco replied as he opened the door and held it open for Harry.
"Except for the lurid months after I came out and all sorts of lies were spread about me," Harry replied wryly.
He shook his head and headed toward the floos, "Even those were mostly flattering," he added with a lewd glance.
Harry laughed, "Whatever. My point," he said, poking him in the shoulder, "is that I'm not afraid of the press." He bumped his shoulder against Draco's, "Come on. What have you got to lose?"
"Fine," he huffed but his stomach was silently doing back flips while his heart did a complicated tap routine in his chest. "Meet me at the Screaming Goblin at 7:00pm sharp." He stepped toward the floo and turned, "Don't dress like a homeless person," he added before stepping into the floo.
---------------
Harry did not dress like a homeless person. In fact it was quite the opposite.
Harry looked fucking hot.
He was wearing tight dark-wash jeans and a lightweight jumper that hugged his body, making his strong, broad shoulders look even broader and his trim waist even narrowed. He'd done his hair, putting enough product in his curls to make them look artfully tousled and not a mess. And he'd arrived before Draco but instead of waiting, he'd gone in and bought Draco's friends a round and was sitting and yammering away at them.
As Draco approached, Harry turned his head and gave him a wide grin, "Hey, babe," he said, standing up and pulling out Draco's chair for him.
"Hi," he said weakly.
Harry pressed a kiss to his temple and a thrill shot through Draco's body as his brain went pleasantly fuzzy.
And thank Merlin for Harry because Draco hardly answered a question all night, hardly even heard a question all night because he was too busy focusing on the way it felt to have Harry's fingers trailing through the hair at the base of his skull. Harry talked and laughed with Draco's friends like they'd all been friends for ages as he sat with his arm resting on the back of Draco's chair.
When it was time to go, Harry helped Draco into his coat and bid all of the former Slytherins goodbye as he wrapped his arm through Draco's.
The bar wasn't far from Draco's but still Harry murmured, "Can I walk you?"
And Draco found himself charmed into saying yes.
Harry hummed, quiet now that all of Draco's friends were gone, but he still kept his arm looped through Draco's as they walked. When they arrived at Draco's front door Harry asked, "Everything alright?"
Draco's eyes snapped to his and he nodded, "I just can't believe how well they took to you."
He shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and grinned up at Draco from the bottom step, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Well, I can be very charming, what can I say?"
"It's a little strange-" Draco started but Harry leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of Draco's mouth and every word that Draco knew disappeared.
"Don't overthink it," he said with a wink. Then he turned and started off down the sidewalk calling, "See you tomorrow," over his shoulder.
Draco was half way to bed before he realized that there was no one watching when Harry kissed him on his door step.
------------
They spent the next two weeks fake dating and it was the best dating experience Draco had ever had. Harry was sweet and doting, just like Draco had said he wanted and Draco enjoyed that thoroughly.
But what he hadn't expected enjoying as much as he did was being good to Harry in return. While Draco loved to be praised and brought little treats, Harry loved to be touched. He melted when Draco ran his fingers through his hair; when Draco held his hand, he got a huge dopey grin on his face that took hours to disappear; and even a casual touch, fingers trailing over the small of his back when Draco walked by, made his lips twitch up as he leaned into the touch.
Draco was quickly, and disconcertingly, becoming addicted to those smiles.
Smiles were in short supply that day, though. The case they'd worked had been tough. Harry was scowling at the folder splayed out in front of him, his jaw clenched as he filled in paperwork.
"Hey," Draco murmured as he slipped behind him and slowly rubbed Harry's shoulders.
Harry dropped his quill and leaned back into the touch, "Hey," he murmured, closing his eyes.
"Alright?" Draco asked.
He nodded, "I just hate the ones with kids."
"They're going to be alright, though," he said.
"Yeah," he agreed, "But it just brings up bad memories." He shook his head and covered Draco's hand with his own. "Want to get out of here?"
"What did you have in mind?" he asked as he combed his fingers through Harry's soft curls.
Harry tipped his head back to look up at Draco, "this is nice," he said softly. "Want to go back to mine and I'll make you dinner? Then I'll lay with my head on your lap and you can stroke my hair?" he asked wistfully and Draco's heart stuttered in his chest.
"That sounds an awful lot like dating."
"Yeah," Harry affirmed.
"But there's no one there-"
Harry pulled away, breaking Draco's contact with him, "You're right," he said, nodding as he stood up and started shoving files into his bag. "Forget it."
"Harry-"
"No, it's fine," he said, giving him a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You're right. I'm just," he shrugged helplessly. "Forget it," he repeated as he grabbed his bag and headed to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.
"But-" Draco started before realizing it was useless because Harry was gone. He packed up his things and headed home, this was what he should have been worried about; pretending to be dating had been a terrible idea.
When he got home he flooed Pansy and told her everything. "And now I don't know what to do," he finished, imaging Harry at home all alone make dinner.
"You're such an idiot," Pansy groaned.
"Excuse me?"
She rolled her eyes. "You do know that we all knew you thought it was fake, don't you."
"What?"
"We all knew. Potter told us that first night when we met up for drinks," she said.
He frowned, "Why? Why would he say that? And why haven't you said anything?"
"Because he asked us not to. He said he was really into you, or whatever," she said flippantly, "And that he thought he could win you over by showing you how great dating him could be. He begged us to play along."
He stared at her, mouth open, "He feels the same?" he breathed.
"Yeah," she said. "Obviously."
"I've got to go," he said, abruptly ending the call so he could floo to Harry's flat.
He stumbled out of the floo and immediately called for the other man, "Harry!" he shouted, heading toward the kitchen. "Harry!"
The other man's head appeared outside of the kitchen doorway, "Draco?" he asked as though he couldn't believe his ears.
Draco took one look at him and then closed the gap between them in three steps before wrapping his arms around him and kissing him.
Harry dropped whatever he'd been holding and it shattered at their feet but Draco didn't care because he was kissing Harry Potter and that was all that mattered at the moment. He poured his heart and soul into the kiss and Harry met him with the same.
"Me too," he gasped when he pulled back.
"What?" Harry asked, looking a bit dazed and Draco could hardly blame him.
"I'm into you too," he said. "Or whatever you said to Pansy that first night."
"I told them I was in love with you," he confessed. "You still want to own that?"
He nodded and threw himself at Harry again, kissing him and wrapping his arms tight around his neck.
The next time they parted Harry asked hopefully, "So, do you want to stay for dinner?"
"How about I stay forever?" he asked, grinning wide at the other man.
He nodded, "Even better."
--------------------
Day 126: Arranged Marriage | Day 128: Snake
#drarry#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days#one year of drarry drabbles#drarry ficlet#drarry drabbles#fake dating#falling in love#I never feel like I can do stories like this justice in just one little ficlet#oh well#I hope you enjoy!#Thanks for the prompt#oblivious draco#boys in love
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Ranting
(A/N): This was requested by an anon, I hope you like it :)
Summary: In the middle of midterms, Spencer's daughter has enough and for the first time in her life, she rants to the team
Warnings: one swear word, school, school stress, mental breakdown, shitty friends, a bit of angst (but there is fluff to balance that out), weird grammatical sentences that are according to google correct
Wordcount: 2.3k
✨Masterlist✨
_____________________________
As a teenager, Spencer was pretty closed off. But this had several reasons, like being a child (or moreover a teen prodigy) at college and getting his first Ph.D, or that he hadn’t had a safety net of people he could have gone to. So as he became a father himself, he tried everything possible to assure his own daughter that her feelings and thoughts are always welcome and valid.
Unfortunately (Y/N) herself has developed the same habit starting high school and ever since Spencer can’t do anything to get her to open up to him. It’s not like they don’t have a good relationship, they have one of the strongest father-daughter bonds the BAU has ever witnessed. The girl simply has other ways to cope with her feelings and how to act them out in the safety of her own four walls. Her father learned to accept it, knowing that he can’t and won’t force her to talk to him.
So what follows now not only shocked Spencer. But also his work family.
It’s the time every teen in high school dreads: Midterms.
A word a teacher can mutter and a shiver goes through the rows of students in the classroom. Or at least it feels like it to (Y/N). She takes her school work very seriously. In her mind every single grade determines her future.
The rational part in her knows that the grades in her sophomore year doesn’t matter. That they are even long forgotten when she graduates. There is just so much pressure on her. But it isn’t coming from her father.
Spencer is pretty laid-back regarding school. He knows his daughter is trying her best and that it’s just the tenth grade and not the end of the world. School is not everything life has to offer, especially he has to know it as a scholar and profiler flying through the country in a jet back and forth.
It’s (Y/N)’s classmates, who pressure her to get good grades.
“We depend on you and your notes”, Tyler exclaims as he jogs next to her through the busy hallway. “Ty, I know. But I don’t have the time to get them done for all of you to understand by tomorrow. They are still a mess that only I know to see through. I still have to finish my history project and I go to my Dad’s work this afternoon, which means I won’t get much done and I still have to do the homework I got today before sorting my notes for the test in two days.”
At her locker, the boy still doesn’t let go of the subject. “Do you want to say that our grades don’t matter as much as yours? Because this would be a true selfish statement.” Maybe it is the lack of sleep, because she pulled three all-nighters in two weeks, or the fact that she is slowly getting fed up being treated like an unpaid private teacher, but (Y/N) can’t stop her sassy answer. “Tyler, you wouldn't even know how to tell apart your ass from your head if it weren’t for me and my help in biology. You wouldn’t even know how to spell selfish if I didn’t let you copy my answers in spelling tests in elementary school.”
Done with the day and her friend’s shit, she slams the door of her locker shut and leaves a flabbergasted boy behind. Half an hour later the teenager enters the bullpen with her visitor badge clipped to the pocket of her sweater.
On the way there she was fuming. The audacity of her friends. It’s not only Tyler, who tried to get her notes of a unit, she was the only one listening, even though the teacher said loud and clear that this will be important for midterms. A few other friends out of the group she usually hangs out with texted her the same question of when her notes will be given to them. Understandably, (Y/N) comes into the office in the worst mood anyone from the team ever saw, including her own father.
“Hey Sweetheart”, he tries to greet her with a hug. Even though both of them are not big on touch, they are extra affectionate with people they are close to.
To everybody’s surprise, the girl takes a step back, effectively avoiding his open arms. “Hey”, she grumbles out before taking a seat in the chair already waiting for her. Nobody is allowed to sit in this one, except for her. Not even Derek has ever put his butt on this one, knowing the sacredness of it.
Without sparing anyone another glance, (Y/N) gets the needed stuff for that history project out and continues working on it. The team resorts to throwing a questiongly look to Spencer, who shrugs his shoulders with a look of despair. So everyone resumes their work without even daring to say a word.
The general silence is occasionally broken by an unnerved sigh leaving the teenager’s lips. “Is the conference room occupied?” She asks, her voice clearly showing how annoyed she is. Her father shakes his head. “No, not that I know of. Do you need help with your school work?” This is obviously the wrong thing to say. “Do I look like a baby? I don’t need anyone to help with that, I have been going to school for ten years now, I think I can handle this project as perfectly fine as I did since day one. It’s just your keyboard typing that will be the reason for my first grey hairs if I don’t get out of here soon.”
Quickly (Y/N) gathers her stuff and storms off into the conference room. Immediately the team crowds her father’s desk. “What happened?” “Who hurt her?” “Go, talk to her!”
“Guys, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m at the same loss as all of you. The only thing I know is that (Y/N) is under pressure, because it’s midterms. But judging by the way she reacted, I don’t want to go near her. It’s safer to try to defuse a bomb than talk to her in that mood. Last time I saw something similar, her favorite show was declared finished, got a revival and then didn’t get one and nobody mentioned it again. She was so mad, I think it took three years of her life.” A silence of uncertainty spreads through the room.
“What about we give her some room until she calms down?” JJ suggests, being unsure herself how to deal with a teenage girl. But the rest agrees and goes back to filling out their paperwork.
This continues for about 20 minutes, till a loud bang and a frustrated scream is heard followed by “DON’T THEY WANT TO GET IT OR ARE THEY JUST STUPID?!” Alerted by that, seven people (yes, even Dave and Aaron leave their offices, while Penelope was already in the bullpen) storm into the round table room only to see a more than outraged (Y/N).
“Sweetheart”, Spencer speaks to her in the gentlest voice they ever heard from him and slowly moves towards his daughter, “What’s going on?”
Her response is delayed by several deep breaths she has to take in order to be able to talk without seething. “ALL OF MY SO CALLED FRIENDS ARE ASKING ME FOR MY NOTES, like do I look like a personal tutor? And when I tell them that I got a life, a life outside of school and grades, because otherwise I go completely bananas, just like all of you say, they get mad. Now they act like I’m the most selfish person in the whole world. I’m so done, can’t they understand that they are old enough to take care of their own stuff? I’m not responsible for them, their grades or anything regarding their lives. Otherwise I would be the mother of at least four toddlers and one baby and at the age of sixteen I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility. I know friends are there for eachother, and I really don’t mind helping them from time to time. But what they are doing is terror. Terror.
“Oh and don’t get me started on their tormention if I get something lower than an A-. Then they suddenly transform into geniuses, like they suddenly know everything possible. Of course, I’m the dumb one. I should have studied more.
“I am under an insane amount of pressure, because I know they rely on me, but enough is enough. I tell them that if anyone asks me for anything school related again and they act like I owe them an answer, I’ll cut off all ties to all of them. What am I, a roboter just there for their needs, without some of my own?”
After her long rant, (Y/N) takes a couple more breaths. It’s pretty much the only sound right now, because the team is stunned. None of them heard her talking, no ranting, like that. Not even her Spencer has seen her like that.
Realizing what she just said, the teenager fidgets nervously with her hands. “I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know, blow up like that. I, I really don’t know where this came from.” Nervously she scratches the back of her head. It really wasn’t her intention to let it out like that. Her plan was just to come home tonight and deal in the confinement of her own four walls with all of her feelings. It’s easier to be honest to yourself when you are alone than having an audience watching you losing it.
Suddenly (Y/N) finds herself engulfed in a massive bear hug. “Oh, my sweet sweet summerchild. You needed to rant to us and I’m so happy you did. Even though your uhm, friends, sound like big douchebags, we can help you sort something out”, Penelope tells her while keeping her arms around the teen.
“Just like lil mama said, we are here for you, Baby Reid. Don’t ever be afraid to tell us something, may it even be as small as you having stubbed your toe.” Morgan ruffles her hair and gives her a reassuring smile.
Just like them everybody shows her their support, be it encouraging words or affectionately gestures. Rossi invites her to a calm and quiet dinner at his mansion, cooking class included. Hotch assures her that she will get through this rough patch, with or without these fake people. JJ suggests (Y/N) comes over to her home and she can participate in a family game night at their home.
When it’s Emily’s turn, she makes sure to get her message loud and clear by looking the teen in the eyes (not as deep as it sounds, because some people make an intense stare really uncomfortable): “If those kids give you a hard time again, tell me. I’ll pay them a visit in classic protective godmother fashion, because nobody traits MY godchild like this. Just give me their names and I’ll handle the rest.” Obviously she doesn’t say this aloud in front of everyone, else Hotch will have her head, knowing she goes through with her threats. Instead she whispers it into the teen’s ear. Still, it makes (Y/N) smile, having such a strong support net.
Sensing the family’s need for time of their own to talk about the whole situation, the team leaves the room. Spencer gestures to her to take a seat after moving two chairs opposite each other. He wants her not to feel trapped.
“Do you still want to talk about it? It doesn’t have to be now, we can do it tonight, tomorrow, in a week or in a month. Just, please don’t shut me out. I know it’s difficult to be a teenager, especially in times like these. But it won’t do you any good keeping all of this for yourself. Today you took it out through anger. How will it look next time?
I don’t want to pressure you into talking. We don’t need to. We can find other coping mechanisms. We can try and reduce your stress. Anything. But we both know that this is not the right way.” While speaking, he takes his daughter’s hand, making her look up to him.
(Y/N) nods. Her eyes fill with tears. “I just can’t keep going like this.” She whispers, feeling all the stress, pressure and the intensity of the last few weeks crashing down on her. Quickly Spencer gathers her in his arms, letting her cry in his embrace.
After calming down, she looks up to her father with bloodshot eyes. “We can talk tonight. But I need you to do me a favor.” “Anything”, he assures her, stroking a hand along her back. “I, uhm, I need a new phone. I may or may not have thrown mine against the wall after getting a text from Tyler.”
Spencer looks at the crooked cell laying on the floor, the screen cracked. “I think we can get that sorted”, he tells her with a smile and gives her a kiss on the forehead.
The two of them leave the office earlier, having many things to talk about and many problems to solve. But with the help of her family (Y/N) gets through this, a time where people unfortunately only like her for her smarts and not being herself.
Taglist:
All works:
@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki
Criminal Minds:
@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner
#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x teen!reader#spencer reid x daughter!reader#Emily Prentiss x teen!reader#Penelope Garcia x teen!reader#Derek Morgan x teen!reader#x teen!reader#x daughter!reader#reid!reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#reader insert
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lessons in law.
⎘ pairing: fem!reader x choi san.
⎘ genre: dilf!san, lawyer!san, tutor!san, law-student!reader, smut, all parties are of legal age!!
⎘ warnings: dom!san, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, hair pulling, light name calling, mentions of punishment, san is a simp in denial.
⎘ description: sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with an oral exam.
⎘ word count: 1.6k
⎘ author’s note: this was supposed to be a less-than-500-words timestamp. 🧍♂️
⎘ taglist: @yunhobabygurl, @eonghwa, @iusrene, @nari-nim, @couchpotatoaniki, @vanishingboots, @yoheyyosup, @spacepiratehongjoong, @rainteez02 unable to tag: @harry-the-pottypus
masterlist.
navigation.
© atozfic, 2021.
“for a d-defamation lawsuit to turn out success- fuck!” from the moment your resolve slips, you regret it, almost going as far as to complain verbally, if you didn’t already know better.
talking back will only get you punished, and not in the way of whips and chains and all things spice, but in the way of being left high and dry, pussy wet and unfilled.
cold air brushes up against your sensitive folds as the man beneath your desk pulls away from your sopping core. you glance down in time to catch the way he swipes his tongue over his lips, collecting the juices you’ve covered him in, in as little as the three minutes he’s been down there.
he’s looking at you with one eyebrow raised, expectantly, awaiting you to correct the error of your ways.
“did i tell you to stop reading, princess?” his voice, the way the gruff in it curls over his words and his beautiful lips move as he speaks, sends a fresh rush of arousal down your nerves.
“no, mr. choi.”
“and what did you do?”
“stop-” you start, only to do the very thing you said when you jolt in your seat, moments after he’d blown air onto your pulsating heat, torturing you with the minimum amount of pressure against your clit. it takes a deep, calming breath on your end to centre yourself again. “i stopped reading.”
“tsk.” his response worries you. so vague, you’re yet to figure out if he’s going to even bother continuing with the pleasure he was giving you. as if sensing your unsure nature, the drag of his pointer finger over your soaked entrance becomes his answer to the unasked question. “how am i supposed to know you’re studying the notes i gave you if you do that, hmm? do it again and we’ll have to cut the tutoring lesson short today.”
he could have whispered the words and you still would have heard him loud and clear. your eyes reluctantly snap back to the textbook instead of staring down at the sight of him between your legs, hair perfectly slicked back and begging to be messed up, tie undone and hanging from his neck, shirt sleeves rolled up his arms and straining against the muscles of his forearms.
“the act of defamation occurs when someone makes a false and harmful statement...” you begin reciting the words again, after you’d cleared your throat.
as san’s face lowers back onto your aching cunt, you remind yourself over and over to read, just read. that’s all he wants you to do and, in exchange, he’ll take you to heaven with his tongue. but oh, it is so much easier said than done. your hands soon find a grip on the edge of the desk, a place to root yourself down while his tongue drags over you lazily.
“there’s two different types of defamation-” his tongue teases at your hole and you want to beg him, scream at him to shove it- or any other part of him- into your cunt, walls clenching around nothing but your own wetness, causing it to ooze out onto your tutor’s waiting tongue. “libel is the name given to any defamatory words that are written...”
“my princess has the prettiest pussy.” a hand snakes it’s way up your leg, wrapping a tight grip around your thigh before he props it onto his shoulder. when his tongue finally breeches your walls again, it’s at a whole new angle than earlier, and that alone has you wishing you could throw the textbook off your desk only for you to bend over it while mr. choi takes you from behind.
“slander is spoken defamation, and often more trickier to prove in court...” instead, you keep reading so that he’ll keep eating.
“what would your dad say if he knew this is what you use our tutoring sessions for, huh?” san continues to taunt you between licks of your cunt, switching his focus between your hole and your clit. he’s trying to get you to disobey him. “if he knew his dear friend who he asked to help his pretty little daughter get accepted into his law firm has actually been teaching her how to take a proper cock? oh, and just imagine his face if he knew that i fucked you under his very own roof.”
“d- defamation cases are often costly and are a long procedure...” you can’t help it when, instinctually, your hand flies down to tangle itself in his perfectly done hair. instead of pushing you away like you’d thought he would have, san only closes his eyes and let’s out a moan as you tug his hair, face nestling itself deeper between your legs and causing his nose to bump against your clit.
“you have no idea how much i think about you, baby.” his free hand lands on your heat, cupping it as he pulls back to stare up at you. “got me wishing i could have you every hour of the day. that you were mine alone to touch, and fuck, and kiss.”
“w-what would-” you become brave suddenly, spurred on by the moment of vulnerability from the man between your legs, looking so much more at your mercy than ever before, like he’s begging to worship the only goddess he’ll ever know. “your son, or your ex-wife, say if they knew you were doing this, hmm? that you took on an apprentice only to corrupt her?”
“you were corrupted long before i got my hands on you, y/n.” he smirks up at you, only to chuckle when he thrusts a finger into your cunt, no warning, and you gasp, tugging on his hair again. “the only thing i’ve done is show you how good sex can be when you’re doing it with someone experienced instead of some sweaty frat-boy who finishes in two minutes and doesn’t even know where your clit is.”
“you’d be surprised, some of them are better than you give them credit.” you’re lying, without an ounce of shame about it. and it’s more than worth it to see the way his eyes darken, his eyebrows frown, his hand picks up the speed that his finger thrusts into you.
no warning comes when he inserts a second finger.
“really? can they make you beg for their cock like a bitch in heat?” he doesn’t bother to stall any longer, head diving back down between your legs to shut you up.
his mouth latches onto your clit, rolling it between his lips and prodding at it with his tongue while he continues to fuck you with his hand. a third finger enters you and you throw your head back, body curling off the leather of your desk chair while you tighten your grip on san’s hair.
“mr. choi, please.” you’re not even sure what you’re begging for.
“yeah, just like that. a little slut begging to be fucked full, that’s all you are, right? and no one knows how to give you what you want but me.” every whine, moan of your voice, every time your walls tighten around his digits, it strokes his ego and keeps him giving you more, more, more.
when the coil in your body is so close to finally snapping, he rips his hand from you. it’s a moment of devastation only, until you feel his hand, soaked in you, clasping around your other thigh and dragging it over his shoulder too. then his tongue is back in you, drinking in every bit of essence your quivering hole offers him.
when you cum, it’s with your body more sat on him than the actual chair, hands on your ass and holding you against his face as his tongue continues to work you through the electrifying feeling, nose bumping over your clit every so often. while your jaw is slacked open in a silent scream, san makes no attempt to hold back the moans and grunts ripping through his chest.
“shh, shh, i’ve got you.” he coos when he rises from under your desk, lowering your still quivering body back down onto your chair. you have half the mind to wonder if he’s a completely different man to the one who’d been buried between your thighs minutes ago, as he brings up a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. instead of a smirk or a scowl, he wears a smile, even when you feel his fingers dip back between your swollen folds.
“mr. choi, i need a break first-”
“shh, it’s okay.” and you believe him, as he retracts his hand and brings it up to your mouth, commanding you to open it. your eyes flutter shut as your mouth wraps around his fingers, tasting yourself all over them. “so pretty, aren’t you?”
you can only nod, so relieved he gave you what you wanted even though you’d stopped reading. you’re unsure how long he lets you sit there with his fingers in your mouth but him removing them brings you back into the room instantly. coating your cheek in your own spit-mixed cum as he cups it, he leans down to place a kiss on your neck.
“i need to go make a quick call but, when i come back, i expect you to be naked on your bed, ass up and face down.” this time it really is nothing but a whisper, yet you hear him loud and clear.
“why?” it seems like a silly questions to ask, when you already know exactly why he wants you in that position.
“you didn’t think i was really going to let you get away with talking back to me, did you?”
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Omg after Tom showing off his thighs in that Jimmy Fallon interview, please please please could you write something about thigh riding him 💙
Not me immediately working on this once I saw it in my inbox💀 I’m supposed to be clearing my inbox out, but when this popped in I couldn’t help it🙈 I also haven’t done smut in a while so THANK YOU for requesting this😌💞
💌.
Use Me*
Warnings: SMUT! She’s a nasty one. If this is a bit messy, I’m sorry, I haven’t written smut in ages😭
(GIF from @tomhollandnet )
“Citizen Kane!” Your boyfriend confidently blurted out to his laptop. He must’ve done something wrong because his eyes widened in surprise.
“Oh, hang on a minute!” He stuttered placing his hand on his chest. You heard Jimmy Fallon laugh from the laptop and explain the rules of the game again. You let out a quiet laugh yourself from behind his set up, though your eyes drifted down to his bare legs that bounced up and down.
For the past few weeks, Tom has been doing promo for his new and highly anticipated film Cherry. While trying to balance filming Spider-Man 3 and doing promo, you guys barely had time to spend together. Not that it bothered you; you understood how hectic his job could get, so you weren’t phased by the back to back Zoom interviews or how he’d join you in bed late at night after a long day on set.
The lost time between the both of you must’ve finally caught up on Tom as he woke up clingier than usual. The moment his eyes fluttered open he felt the need to touch you, to have his skin pressed up against yours, and to feel the warmth that radiated off your body. He just wanted to have you near him—the reason to why he begged you to spend the entire day with him.
You should have been listening to Tom talking passionately about his film, but your mind drifted off to the gutter. Only a few feet away from you was your boyfriend sitting behind a desk, wearing a black shirt, topped with a black blazer, pantless. The only garments covering his bottom half were his boxers and socks, leaving his thighs bare and tempting to your eyes. You tried to avoid looking at them, forcing your attention to focus on the words coming out his mouth, but your eyes were constantly drifting down to his thighs. From the way Tom rubbed his rough hands on them to the way they flexed whenever he moved was starting to cause a pool of arousal to form in your panties.
Tom’s voice faded into the background as you stared blankly at his thighs, imagining how the smooth skin would feel against your wet cunt. You bit your lip, mind wandering to the thought of Tom flexing his thigh while you grinded your hips against him. The ideas in your head caused you to unconsciously squeeze your thighs together. Trying to relieve yourself of the hot tension forming in your body. Though, the action doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend, who had a small smirk on his face after catching you in the corner of his eyes.
A few more minutes pass and he was already finishing up his interview with Jimmy. Though you didn’t notice since your attention was still fixated on his sculpted thighs. That and you were constantly adjusting yourself in your seat because of how embarrassingly wet your panties were getting. You attempted to distract yourself with your phone and scrolled mindlessly through Instagram. You weren’t even looking at the posts, just randomly double tapping and scrolling past them. Much to your dismay, your ways of distraction failed once again. Instead of focusing on your screen, your eyes zeroed in on Tom’s legs.
“You know darling, I could practically feel your eyes burning holes into my thighs.” He suddenly teased you. You felt the heat rush to your face as you hid behind your phone screen.
“I’m not looking at your thighs.” You pathetically lied, turning your phone off, and crossing your arms. His tired but rich chocolate colored eyes capture yours. There was a hint of playfulness mixed with lust in them. He wasn’t oblivious, he could feel the tension growing in the room.
Tom tilts his head to the side, “Then why were you consistently staring at my legs?” He crossed his legs making his thighs momentarily flex again.
“I was looking at your socks.”
“What about my socks?” He quirked a brow at you.
“They’re dirty.” You shrugged.
“Really? But my socks are down there, not up here.” He cheekily quipped, motioning to his lap. You whined and threw your head back against the couch, shoving a pillow to your face in the process.
“Busted.” Tom sang huskily before pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. He scanned your figure on the couch, eyes lingering on the way your legs were still clenched together.
“C’mere.” His voice was an octave lower, catching your attention. You pull the pillow off your face and see him gazing down at you from his seat, legs spread out in front of him. You toss your phone on the couch and walk towards him. His hands reach out for you midway, then settle to grasp on your hips.
“Mmm, baby, I can smell you.” His hands maneuver around your waist to squeeze your bum, emitting a light hum from you. You draped one of your arms around his shoulder while your hand cradled his jaw.
“Sorry, I can’t help it. Stupid thighs.” You mumble, the blush remaining on your cheeks.
“I want you to get off these stupid thighs. Use me, (y/n).” He encouraged, pulling you closer. You were about to agree but his attire reminded you that he had an interview in a few minutes.
“Wait—Tom, don’t you have another interview?” You asked him, shaking yourself out of your trance of arousal and pulling away from him. Tom whined, dragging you back towards his chest.
“In like 15 or 20 minutes, it’s enough time.” He reached behind you and slammed his laptop shut. He clumsily got out of his chair and led you to the loveseat behind him. He sat down and placed you in between his legs.
While he pulled your shorts and panties off you continued to question him, “Are you sure, Tommy?” He tapped your ankles, signaling for you to step out of your undergarments.
Tom stopped and looked up at you, “Yes, I’m sure. We have to be quick, but I just wanna feel you on me. We could continue when I’m done, promise.” He held your hands and pressed a kiss onto the back of them.
“Ok. But if you get in trouble, I swear—oh.” You were interrupted by Tom pressing a sloppy kiss above your mound. He placed your hands to rest on his shoulders and guided you to straddle his thigh. Once you were settled, he slipped two of his fingers between your legs to gather some of your wetness. He groaned at how soaked you were, leaving his fingers to slide through your folds a little bit longer. When he took them out, his fingers were covered in your glossy juices. He wiped some of your slick onto your lips before shoving his fingers into his mouth.
“Taste so fucking good, shit.” Tom growled, crashing his lips onto yours. The kiss was passionately messy; tongues dancing around each other while your teeth clashed from time to time, along with the taste of you on both your lips. Tom was the first to pull away still biting down on your bottom lip, “Come on, wanna feel you ride my thigh.” He scooted back into the seat, guiding your hips to settle down on his thigh. Your knees ached from kneeling on the couch’s material, but the burn you felt in your core urged you to put up a fight.
The moment you came into contact with his thigh felt like euphoria. Your eyes rolled back and a moan dragged out of your body. The pleasurable sensation of finally relieving the burn in your core rushed through your body. Another tension was building up in you, desperation. Grinding your hips down on him repeatedly made you obsessed with how he felt under you, making you desperate to get more.
You had no problem rocking against him, your wetness made it easy enough for you to simply slide your hips up and down the expanse of his firm thighs. Tom moaned at how soaked his skin felt while your folds rubbed up against him. Feeling you on him made him flex his thigh under you, causing you to ground your hips even harder against him. His thigh was lathered in your wetness.
“Fuck, Tom.” You whimper out, harshly squeezing his shoulders for leverage.
“You feel so good on me. You look so good using me to get off, such a pretty girl.” He praised you. He momentarily sat back to admire the way you looked at the moment. Your hair was a bit messy and you were wearing one of his shirts, which was rudely blocking his view of you on him. His long fingers hook beneath the shirt and lift it up, giving him the perfect view of your cunt gliding on his thigh. His jaw clenched at the sight taking a mental picture.
Tom sat up on the couch, gathering your shirt to bunch up right above your breast. He dives into your chest, yanking down the cups of your bra to expose your boobs. He places wet and open mouthed kisses on them, giving them both the attention they needed. You were a moaning mess above him, enjoying the way his tongue swirled around your nipples. When a dark red mark appeared on your skin he trailed the kisses up to your neck until he reached the special spot below your ear. He started off with light kisses before sinking his teeth down on your soft skin. The bite only spurred you on, hips moving faster against him.
While his mouth worked on marking your neck, his leg that you were on moved to meet your hips. The motion made your clit graze against him, forming whines to bubble out your throat. You fucked yourself harder on his thigh, making sure your clit was also rubbing against him as you chased your release. Tom felt they way your legs quivered around him, signing that you were almost there.
Tom’s arm wraps around your waist, helping you hold yourself up against him. With his other hand he gently cradles your face. His lips brush against yours and your noses occasionally bump into each other. A lopsided grin is on his face as he stares at you. He catches the way the corner of your lips quirk up for a matter of seconds until your features scrunch up in concentration again.
“You’re doing such a good job, darling. I could feel you clenching on me, you’re close aren’t you?” He latches your lips together, swallowing your moans. Your fingers pulled tighter on the ends of his hair, making him groan.
“Can’t mess the hair up.” He managed to get out. You grunted and tugged on his hair before your hands returned to his shoulders. Tom pecked your lips once more before leaning back into the couch. Without any warning, his hand lightly swated your clit. You yelped in surprise at the sudden contact. Tom only chuckled, earning him a slap to the chest and a glare from you.
“Sorry, sorry, I know we’re short on time.” He apologized and connected his thumb to your clit. The rough pad made tight circles around your bud. With the friction of his thigh against you and his thumb on your clit you were seeing stars. You were so out of it, only feeling the euphoric pleasures coursing through your senses. The quicker and sharper his circles got, the closer you felt to your relief.
“Just like that Tom, fuck. Keep going I’m close.” Your back arched. Tom shoved his head in between your breasts again, littering sloppy kisses on your chest.
“C’mon, cum on me, baby.” He urged you, holding your body flush against him. His head was tilted up at you, staring at the way your mouth was hung open in pleasure. He loved watching your face when you came, it drove him mad.
Your stomach tightens along with your legs that straddled him. You let out a mix of a shaky gasp and moan, feeling the knot in your stomach come undone. Tom threw his head back against the couch while watching you release on his thigh, your cum gushing out against him.
“Fuck.” He breathed out, eyes glued to your release. You let out pants as aftershocks from your release wracked your body. Tom was quick to guide your body against him, not caring that his clothes might wrinkle. He placed your head in the crook of his neck and pressed kisses along your face. His large hands stroke your back, helping you come down from your high. Laying against him, all he felt was you; from your heart rapidly beating against his chest to the feeling of you trying to steady your breathing.
“You alright?” He whispered against your hair. You tiredly nodded, giving yourself a moment to calm down.
“Yeah—just need a minute and I’ll get off of you.” You reply, tenderly kissing his collarbone. Tom whines tightening his grip around you, “I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t either, but,” you reach over to tap the screen of his phone, “You’ve got eight minutes left till your next interview.”
You feel something firm poke against your leg, “How you ever wondered if you can cum in under eight minutes?” The sentence caught Tom off guard, making him raise a brow at you. You tilted your head south of his body, motioning to his dick.
Tom shifted his gaze between you and his hard on, “Wanna find out?”
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Little Secret
Request: Wonderful! Could please write an escenario in which y/n (half elf and half human) was part of the company cause Gandalf hired her. She and Kili fell for each other and secretly started courting. Once Erebor was reclaimed everything was going back to normal. Thorin asked her to stay for as long as she liked. When Fili & Kili's mom got there, she had lots of meetings with Thorin so y/n was not able to properly meet her. The day that they are actually introduced, Thorin announces Kili's and Fili's arranged marriages which took everyone by surprise. Y/n and Kili try to figure and fix things out in order to convince Thorin to put off the arrange marriage but it does not work. Therefore, y/n decides to leave Erebor and ends up leaving to Dale; befriending/ helping Bard and his kids. During her time there she finds out that she was pregnant with Kili's child. However, she never notifies Kili nor goes to Erebor to announce it thinking that he had his duty as a prince and it would be harmful for him/ his arranged marriage. So, she makes the decision to raise the baby on her own. Time goes by and on a normal day (when she was 9 months pregnant) that she's walking around Dale while feeling contractions she bumps into Kili. Thank you so much!❤️ Sorry for the long message 😅 - @just-a-dreamer23
A/N: I know, I know, this is soo long. But, I enjoyed writing this story!! I've been trying to overcome my lack of motivation to write, so maybe it isn't as good in some parts, as my other stories, but I wanted to keep it that way, so I hope you enjoy anyways.
Tags: @guardianofrivendell @just-a-dreamer23 @anjhope1 @lathalea
The afternoon was hot. The best thing to do, was to take a nap. At least, in your opinion.
Nothing would attack in this heat, you thought, as you rested under a tree. A while after, you noticed pointy hat and grey cloak of the same colour. You lazily waved.
"Gandalf, long time no see!" Gandalf smiled at you.
"Good afternoon, Y/N." You stood up and looked at him, waiting. Gandalf never came just...for no reason.
"How are you doing?" Gandalf asked, and you shrugged.
"I'm just wandering around, as usual. You know me. I never stay in one place for too long." You said. Gandalf knew that, obviously. Being a child of an elf and a human, you felt like you never belong anywhere.
Elves felt really tense and quiet, and humans were quite loud for you, because of your hearing. And you aged lot slower than them, so making friends was also quite...not it.
"I've been looking for you, to join an adventure," You curiously gave him a look.
"An adventure? What kind of adventure?"
"Well," he looked at you.
"You know about Erebor and the line of Durin, right?" You frowned at him, and quickly shook your head.
"Gandalf, I can't-I can't join the dwarves! They will hate me! Everyone knows they hate the elves, and I'm half elf!" You said.
"Well, who said they will know? You owe me help," he reminded you. You thought back to when he healed you after orcs attacked you, and you sighed. He was right. This was the least you could do.
"And, who knows. Maybe they will like you," he gave you a look, and you folded your hands on your chest, and let out a sigh.
"Alright then. Where and when am I supposed to be?" He gave you all the information you needed. And you started your way to the Shire, looking at the first evening stars, as the starlight is what the Elves of Mirkwood love so much.
You got to the Shire around late afternoon after three days of traveling, and smiled. The hobbits and their houses were tiny, so you couldn't help, but smile. Maybe it won't be that bad, having perhaps a hobbit friend, after all...
-
You remembered the moment when you first met Kili. You thought Gandalf was there at Bilbo's house, but when you opened the door...
"Are you Master Boggins?" You frowned at the brunette dwarf.
"Do I look like a hobbit to you?" He looked at the other dwarf, then back at you, but there was Bilbo already.
Later on the journey, he found you without your cape on. It was your turn for bathing, but him and Fili forgot some their things at the river.
You just put off your cloak, and put your hair down from your headband. You heard steps, so you quickly turned around.
"You are..." Fili started.
"...an elf?" Kili finished. You huffed.
"Half elf. My mother was...human." you whispered. Painful memories of your early life came up, and you blinked to stop the tears.
"Don't tell anyone, please..." you looked at them. Both Fili and Kili must've seen something in your expression, that made them realize the importance. They nodded. Kili was, however, curious. Lot more than before, and asking you about elves. You talked about it when Thorin was far enought to not hear what was your conversations about, but it wouldn't matter much. Gandalf told them you spent part of your life living with the elves, which was true.
In fact, Kili became fascinated by you. He liked you before, and had a feeling, which he wasn't sure about. Interest, curiousity, the need to protect you, adoration...
In the moment he saw you, he realized you were his One, his love for life. And when you got closer, he asked you to court him. You said yes. From then on, you shared many quiet and stolen kisses and moments together, in the shadows of forests or your bedrooms in pubs.
The moment everyone else (except for Bilbo and the Durin brothers) found out, was when you came into Mirkwood. Thranduil ordered his guards to take your cloak and headband off, and now, everyone could see your pointy ears.
There was a moment of silence.
"What made an elf, to travel with group of dwarves?" You gulped and looked down.
"I'm a-a half elf," you whispered.
"My father was from here." You explained, and the king shot you a glare. He was not stupid. He knew you tried to pull his attention away.
"Take them to the dungeons, except for Oakenshield," he said.
When you made yourself as comfortable as you could on the cold floor, you overheard the dwarves trying to find out who you actually were and what you wanted.
To your surprise, they didn't talk about you in a bad way. Just curiousity. Thankfully.
-
"Do you think she will like me?" You said to Kili. He was writing a letter to his and Fili's mother, Dis, the happy news - Erebor was reclaimed, and they all survived. It's been a week since, and Thorin decided it was the right thing to let his sister know as soon as possible. She was surely worried.
Kili turned to you.
"Like you? Like you? She is going to love you," Kili grinned at you, and you had to smile a little too.
"Yeah, but...you know, I'm not a dwarf," you said your worry aloud. It was true. Being a half-elf, you and Kili started courting in secret. Thorin was not really kind to you, at least the first half of the journey. However, the rest of the Company liked you lot more. Especially Kili. After a while of knowing of what did you feel, you decided to tell him. To your surprise, but happiness, Kili shared those feelings. And since then, you had a tiny braid, hidden in your hair, and Kili as well.
And stole many, many secret kisses.
"I don't think mum is going to have issue with this," Kili stood up, and gently placed your hair behind your ear.
"You're my One, and you make me incredibly happy. I'm sure she won't have problem with you being half elf," You cupped his cheek, and softly smiled, as you looked deep in his kind brown eyes.
"I love you too, my short Prince," He stood on his toes and kissed you, getting a giggle from you. He pouted, when he heard you called him short, but you knew he didn't mind it.
You kissed him, and felt his smile on your lips. You were leaning down, when suddenly you lost balance, and both you and Kili ended up lying on the floor. Kili and you let out a yelp, but then broke into giggles.
"I love you," Kili said, when you finally stopped laughing. You cuddled into his chest and breathed in his scent. Kili smelled like smoke, food and fresh air.
"I love you too," Kili gently stroke your hair, and you got up.
"Where are you going?"
"You have to finish the letter, and I promised Tilda I will take a walk with her before the dinner." You helped Kili to get up.
"Alright my beloved, have a good time," he gently kissed you, and sat back to his desk. You smiled, and ruffled his hair.
"You too, my dearest." You smiled, and left the room.
-
It's been a few months, and you were finally, finally going to meet Kili and Fili's mother, Dis. She has been there for around two weeks by now, but, you haven't got the chance to meet her and be introduced to her yet.
You were officially going to meet her during upcoming celebration. Needless to say, you were freaking out.
Your stomach was tight from anxiety for a few days already, and that afternoon, it felt absolutely horrible. You haven't eaten whole day, just because all you thought about was the evening.
You spent around an hour of putting on and off different dresses from your wardrobe, trying to figure out which one to wear.
"Y/N?" Kili knocked on the door of your chambers.
"C'me in," you said. He came in, and his eyes widened, when he seen you sitting in front of the mirror, your eyes red and the mess everywhere.
"What am I supposed to wear? I have nothing to wear!" You started crying. All the stress and anxiety in past three months got the best of you. Random moments of crying, because of tiny things, were happening on daily basis.
"Dear, what is happening?" He pulled your hair back behind your ears.
"I-I just want-want your mum to like me," you muttered.
"And...it stresses me out." Kili nodded, and shortly hugged you.
"She is going to love you no matter which dress you wear, I promise." He whispered to your ear.
"Now, I think..." Kili looked around.
"I think the...the dark green dress will be perfect."
When you changed into the dress Kili picked you, Kili brushed and styled your hair. He pulled the top section into a clip, and you pulled a few strands, to frame your face. You smiled at yourself in the mirror.
"You ready?" Kili asked. You just silently nodded.
As you walked down the hall, Kili was trying to figure out where his uncle, brother and mother went to. He couldn't see them anywhere, and he was sure he was once in a while not late.
When you entered the huge throne room, you could see Fili, and let out a breath of relief.
"Fili, have you seen-"
"Kili, there you are," A woman came from behind Fili, and looked over her younger son.
"Have you brushed your hair?" Kili huffed.
"Of course I did." He said quietly, so nobody could hear him. He was visibly embarrassed, and you let out laugh. She suddenly turned to you. Her deep blue eyes reminded you Thorin, but they had the same twinkle as Kili and, occasionally, Fili.
"I don't remember I seen you here before," she said.
"Well, I usually spend my time outside of Erebor, so I think that might be it," You nervously smiled. She hummed.
"I-I'm not a part of the royal family," you said, and almost groaned. Now that was embarrassing for sure.
"Y/N, this is my and Kili's mum, Dis. Mum, this is Y/N," Fili said, and you felt your cheeks heat up.
"I-um-" You tried to say something, but she pulled you in short hug.
"Nice to meet you, Y/N," she gave you a smile, and then went back between the guests with Fili.
You let out a breath.
"That was embarrassing," you groaned. Kili chuckled.
"No, not at all. She likes you." It suddenly felt like it was much easier to breathe.
"She-she does?" Your eyes widened, and Kili nodded.
"Of course! And you can bet she will steal you to me during the evening,"
"How do you know that?" You turned to him with surprise written all over your face.
"She is my mother. I know her for a long time." He just said.
"She seems to be...different from Thorin," you said, hoping it wouldn't come out as offensive. Kili chuckled.
"Mum and Uncle really aren't that different. Uncle just focuses more on the kingdom and mum, on family," Kili said in low voice, so that only you could hear it.
When you sat down to the table, where the royal family and the Company was, you looked around. You and Kili did secretly hold hands under the table, and you talked to Dis, who was sitting across the table.
"Good evening, everyone," Thorin said, and the people got more quiet.
"It's my pleasure to meet all of you here today. I have some things to say, before the celebration starts." Thorin paused, and Kili leaned near you with a grin.
"It's just a few formalities, don't worry, love." You smiled at him back with tight smile. You felt something was not right. Thorin talked about the kingdom a little at first. The next news was, however, what you were afraid of.
"I'm very happy to say, my nephew Fili is going to marry-" you let out a breath. Kili turned to you with worry.
"Do you feel okay?" He asked, when suddenly...
"And my nephew Kili, who also has already arranged marriage, with-"
Kili stared at Thorin, and you as well.
"Kili-Kili, please-" you tried to stop Kili from going to Thorin. Kili was visibly angry, his jaw was tight, and body tense.
"Kili? What is happening?" Thorin came and let through his teeth. You suddenly felt everyone's eyes on you.
"I need some fresh air," you whispered and walked away, as quickly as you could. When you left, you came in your chambers, kneeled to your bed, and started crying.
You knew it. You should've known before.
Thorin would do this. Even when Fili and Kili were children, he would make sure they had wives already. They were princes. They needed to have a wife.
And Thorin...Thorin would never allow Kili to court you or marry you.
The next day, Kili came into your room. He had dark circles under his eyes, and gave you weak smile.
"I promise we will work this out," he muttered, and pulled you close to his chest.
Kili was asleep - and you let him - but, you thought about your situation, and tried to come up with possible solutions.
However, it was as if there weren't any.
It's been a few days, and you cuddled into your blanket. You fell asleep, and when you woke up, you looked around the room.
This place isn't for me anymore, you thought, and started packing your clothes into your bag. You changed into tunic and trousers, and wrote a letter to Kili, that you were sorry, but it was probably better to have a wife his Uncle would like, that you were leaving and never coming back, so he shouldn't be looking for you.
You quietly left the palace, and walked out in the morning. The air was fresh and nice, and for a moment, you forgot your sadness.
You walked to Dale, and decided to meet Bard. You had nowhere to go, and maybe staying there would be good, before you'd go...somewhere else.
The guards let you in, and as you thought of going to Rivendell, you noticed Bard.
"Bard?" He turned to you, and nodded at you.
"Hi Y/N. What brings you here?" You sighed.
"I'm leaving Erebor, Bard...but the problem is, I need to think about of where-" you suddenly felt dizzy, and Bard catched you. He called for a healer, that's what your hazy mind could catch.
You basically woke up, in a room. On a bed. Comfortable bed.
"Lie still, lady Y/N," the healer said. You frowned a little, when she placed her ear to your stomach.
"I can hear the heartbeat clearly. The baby is most likely around three months old," she said.
"What baby?" You asked, confused. You looked from the healer to Bard and Bard to healer. She took your hands in hers.
"You don't know, my lady? You are pregnant. I can clearly hear the heartbeat of your child," she softly smiled at you. You shook your head, and felt a few tears escaping your eyes.
"I'm...I'm with child," you whispered. You could not believe it. So perhaps, it wasn't just stress...
"Who is the father?" The healer asked, when she helped you to sit up. You nervously looked in your lap.
"Kili. Prince...Kili. Kili Durin." You said, and Bard and the healer shared a look.
"He...he doesn't know. Can we keep it a secret? Please?" You looked at them.
They said yes. Bard was like a father to you, and let you stay. He showed you chambers, that would be your home for next few months at least.
You never went back to Erebor. You thought Kili had to marry the princess, so you just tried to think of the baby you were carrying.
It wasn't that hard, honestly. The baby was often restless, though.
As if it missed Kili as much as you did...
Even if the baby would have to grow up without it's biological dad, you were sure you'd be able to take care of them well.
Some days, you were happy, and didn't think of Kili too much. It pained you, yes, and you knew you had to be strong for the baby, so you often asked someone to teach you something, such as how to prepare different meals, how to knit or how to play piano, to name a few.
Other days, you felt sad. It could be because of the weather, or hormones, some days you just woke up sad, and sometimes it was when something reminded you of Kili. Those days, the baby was the most restless, and the maids told you it was because the baby missed it's father.
You sat down to the armchair next to the window in your bedroom, and looked out on the street. Nobody could see you from here, so it made you feel safe. You looked up and seen Erebor.
"There's your daddy, over there," you whispered to the baby.
The answer you got, was soft kick.
-
"Does it hurt?" Sigrid asked you, looking at your belly. You smiled at her.
"No, it doesn't." You stroke your stomach. You've been pregnant for past almost nine months. Bard was so kind and let you stay, and even offered you bigger chambers, which you gladly agreeded to. The chambers were perfect size, and the baby could have their own small room, overtime.
You let out shaky breath. You wanted Kili to know about all of this. To be there with you, talk to you and to the baby.
But, it was not possible. It would hurt his reputation, and perhaps even his marriage.
You dried your tears, and carefully stood up. Even as pregnant, you were able to stand up yourself, luckily quite easily. You felt very thankful for some of your genes being from the elves, because, as Bard explained to you, humans had it harder.
When you slowly got yourself out of the castle, you breathed in. The air smelled nicely - you smelled fresh bread, old leaves, fresh air from the lake. Mix of summer and autumn. You felt it was one of the last few warm days, before the typical autumn comes.
You looked around, and your cravings were begging you for some freshly baked, soft warm bread with fresh butter, melting on top of it. You thought of the crispiness of the bread's crust, and your mouth started watering. You groaned, when you felt how your stomach let you know some snack would come handy.
You slid your hand to your pocket, and made sure you have enough money.
You started walking, to find some bakery, and as you looked around, you noticed one on the other end of the street.
You let out a breath, and started walking towards the small store.
You were almost there, when you overheard a gasps, escaping a few young girls. You slowed down and listened to their conversation.
"Did you see him?"
"Yes, I did. Do you think it really is the Prince?"
"Of course he is! I mean, look at him. I'd recognize the hair clip everywhere." You frowned a little, when you suddenly realized it. You stopped walking, and felt hot wave running down your back, and liquid running down your leg.
You carefully looked down. It was clear.
You turned around, and - damn it! - your eyes locked with Kili's in the exact moment.
He started walking towards you. You clearly recognized happiness in his eyes, and relief.
"Y/N, where have you been those past months? I was worried about you," He said, and when he was near you, you recognized even the wet shine in his chocolate eyes. You felt sudden rush of guilt.
He must have notice the guilt on your face. Kili frowned a little, when he took a notice of your belly, under the dress.
"I-you..." You noticed it. He was holding back tears. You shook your head, as you tried to hold your own.
"Kili, it isn't like this...please trust me!" You felt another wave of heat running down your back, and stepped forward, but sudden dizzines made you take wrong step. Kili quickly catched you.
"Kili, I-this is, uh..."
"You moved on," he said. You shook your head.
"No, it's...you are the father," you said, but didn't notice what was his reaction, because suddenly, you realized what was going on, as you were holding your belly.
"I need to get back, and find a healer and midwife," you let out through your gritted teeth.
"We will get there quickly," Kili let out, and you had a feeling.
"Don't you dare to faint!" You let out.
Kili helped you to get back. You noticed Sigrid, and told her to quickly find healer. She didn't ask anything, and quickly runned away. You let out a groan and gripped Kili's arm.
"Lady Y/N, we need to get you to the room prepared for labour," the healer said, and checked on your belly.
When you got there, and changed into simple gown, you laid down as the healer told you.
Kili stayed there, and you were gripping his arm and hand.
"I'm not fucking letting you to sleep with me ever again," you said through gritted teeth. Kili took a shaky breath, and you shot him a glare.
"Don't you dare to faint, Kili Durin! You did put this baby inside me nine months ago, so now-"
"This is just the pain speaking from Lady Y/N, Prince Kili. Don't take it personally," Kili gulped and nodded.
"You're doing great, love," he said carefully. You let out a huff.
"I didn't finish! Now you will deal with me breaking your arm, because it hurts!" You almost yelled at him.
"I can see the head, my Lady!" The healer smiled.
"With this next contraction, you will push as much as you can!" The healer said.
"Okay, one, two, three-push!"
"You're doing great, dear. The baby is almost there," Kili tried to cheer you up.
"You have no idea how painful it is!" You screamed.
"My lady, this is going to be your last push, are you ready?" The healer looked up at you, and you nodded.
"One, two, three, push!" The healer let out. You gripped Kili's hand, and suddenly...
You heard a baby scream.
"It's a girl!" The healer said happily. You smiled, and let out some happy tears.
"You-you did it!" Kili said, and you wiped off your eyes.
"No, we did it," you muttered, and he kissed your cheek.
"How do you feel, Y/N?"
"I'm okay," you smiled. The midwife checked on you, and handed you your baby.
"Everything seems to be in order," she said and smiled. You smiled at her back. She was there for you for all those months, and you got close.
"Thank you so much," She nodded.
"I'll leave you alone," she said, and left.
You stroke the baby's cheek.
"How are we going to name her?" Kili whispered, and stroke the baby's chubby cheek. You shrugged.
"Well...I'm not sure. I was thinking of Arina," you said.
"It's...it's beautiful name," Kili said, and you realized he was crying.
"Kili...I'm so sorry for...for hiding it from you," you whispered. Kili shook his head.
"Love...it isn't your fault. Can I...can I hug you?" You nodded, and he slid his arm around your shoulders.
"If anything, it's my fault." He muttered.
"I should've known where did you go, and-"
"Shh," you said.
"We can talk about that later. Arina's asleep now."
You were quietly watching the baby. The midwife came back soon, to check on you and the baby, and when she left, Kili spoken up.
"We talked Uncle the marriges out." You nodded.
"You left Erebor by then already. I was looking everywhere for you, only if I knew-" you subtly interrupted him.
"I didn't know either. I wanted to go to Rivendell, but...then, I found out. It would be risky, so Bard let me stay here," You shrugged.
"Do you still want to leave, though?" Kili looked at you with sad eyes, when he looked away from your daughter. You shook your head.
"No." Kili grinned, and gently brushed his hand over your cheek.
"Just for your information...mum was going nuts when she found out about the arranged marriges. She likes you a lot." You smiled, and took Kili's hand in yours.
"Well...let's hope she likes her too," You looked at Arina's sleeping face.
You came back the next day. Kili had to go to Erebor that evening, but in the morning, he came back.
When you entered, you overheard a strong female voice. You quickly realized who was the woman.
"I don't care my brother has a meeting. Go tell him he has to come here. It's a family emergency," she said, and turned to you and Kili.
"Y/N, where have you-oh, who is this?" Dis turned to you, and noticed the baby. You shared a look with Kili.
"This is your granddaughter," You said carefully. Dis looked between you and Kili, and it seemed like most things clicked to her. She smiled.
"Well..."
"Dis, what does that means?" Thorin's voice came from different hall, and you noticed Fili giving you a knowing smile.
"Thorin..." you said, and he turned to you. He seemed to be confused, but then he looked at Arina.
"What does this-"
"Uncle, let's get some privacy first," Fili said.
When you came to library, Thorin turned to you. Dis stood up, as if she would want to protect you.
"Uncle...Y/N and I started courting on the quest in secret. We planned to get married, but when you announced the arranged marriges for me and Fili, we-"
"I left Erebor, because I thought you would never accept me as partner for your nephew, Thorin. I found out I was pregnant, however, I didn't want to hurt Kili's reputation or his marrige, so I never came back to announce it. He met me in Dale yesterday, and I, um...I went to labour." Thorin has been looking at you and Kili. Your body was tense, and Fili, Kili and Dis were ready to protect you any moment.
Thorin slowly closed this eyes, and placed his face into his palms. When he looked up again, he let out a sigh.
"Fili, Kili, sister, leave us alone."
"But Uncle-" Fili said, but Thorin shook his head.
"I said, leave us alone. It won't be long." They three left, and you were a bit afraid.
"Kili is a prince, yes. But, he is also a dwarf, who needs to have someone who he is happy with." Thorin said, looking away from you.
"I noticed, of course. You make him happy, Y/N. I thought it was just childish love, that you would leave, and it would break Kili's heart. I owe you honest apology, Y/N. For thinking you wouldn't take his love seriously." He looked at you, and you let out a small smile. You nodded.
"Apology accepted, Thorin. Courting Kili makes me incredibly happy, and I am honored to say he is my lover," you said, and Thorin looked at you.
"Well, and when it comes to, um...you staying, you can stay here. If you would like to."
"I'd be very thankful."
A few years later
"Fi, look!" Kili said, as Arina walked towards Kili, again. She was giggling, as her father was dancing with her. You laughed.
"Kili, be careful!"
"Daddy, look!" The little girl pointed to a butterfly, who sat on her dress.
"Yeah, it's beautiful," Kili said, and she pouted.
"Don't move, or it will fly away!" Arina let out, and let the butterfly gently walk on her palm.
"Uncle, look, I got a butterfly!" Arina showed it to Fili, who nodded with nervous face.
"Oh, it's beautiful, Ari. Would you put it, um, a bit away from me, please?" She put the butterfly on a flower, and Fili let out a breath.
"I'm sleepy, mommy." She came to you, and lean her head on your shoulder.
"Ari?" A little boy came, and the girl jumped up with grin.
"Vili!" She squealed, and started tickling her cousin.
"Granny!" Arina gasped, when she noticed Dis.
"You are growing up so fast, Ari!" She said proudly, and you two shared a look.
"Aye, that's what she does," Kili let out a chuckle, and gently kissed your cheek.
#kili#kili x reader#fili#fili x reader#thorin#thorin x reader#the hobbit#gandalf#gandalf x reader#bilbo baggins#bilbo x reader#bilbo baggins x reader#the hobbit fanfiction#request#requested#kili x you#kili x y/n
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hear those bells ring: chapter 2 (a deaf!bakugo x reader fic)
Summary: Reader has to deal with the aftermath of Dynamight exploding through her window and trying to bleed out on her floor.
Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader; Katsuki Bakugo x You
Rating: M(ature)
Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, and adult language.
A/N: Here’s chapter two, hope you enjoy! ~*~*~ No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.”
AO3 Link: Here
Ch 1 Tumblr Link: Here
Chaos. You intellectually knew the word, in several languages in fact, but nothing could have ever prepared you for the reality of it.
Information assaulted your senses in a deluge. The gust of cold air whistling through the broken window, raking icy fingers down your exposed arms. The bright flare of flames, even behind your clenched eyelids. The dissonant, haunting wails of several car alarms, each one just a second out of sync with the next, barely audible over the loud ringing in your ears. The taste of ash, gritty on your tongue as you sucked in heaving, panting breaths. The sharp smell of smoke and something… sweeter. Like caramelizing sugar.
The sweet scent, incongruous with every other heinous detail, seemed to snap you fully back into your body, and your eyes flew open with a gasp.
You were curled up in a tight ball below your now broken window, and you gaped at your ruined apartment. The lights were out, so the only illumination you had to see by were the flames behind you on the street, but it was enough.
It looked like a tornado had torn through your home. The remnants of your window and wall—broken bits of glass, wood, and plaster—covered everything in sight in a fine layer of white dust. Your sewing desk/kitchen table was in splinters, and even with the dancing shadows, you had the distant thought that the dress you’d just finished mending was most definitely ruined.
Then someone shouted outside on the street, and you felt it like a sledgehammer to the skull.
Oh, god. The villain. The heroes.
You scrambled up onto your knees, hissing when shards of glass tore through your sweatpants and bit into your skin. You’d worry about that later. For now, you focused on getting to your feet…
And not falling out of the gaping hole in your apartment wall.
You stumbled back a few steps from the edge, stabilizing yourself on one of your kitchen chairs that seemed to have survived the blast. The smoke was thicker now that you were off the floor, and you coughed and squinted against the hot, irritating air.
The street in front of you was a warzone.
The windows in the building across from you were all blown out, the empty frames like black gaping voids. The building housed a café/tea shop owned by Mr. and Mrs. Yamato, and you felt a small modicum of relief at the knowledge that they didn’t live above the shop like you did with yours. They lived in a neighborhood not too far away, and they wouldn’t be happy when they came to open in the morning, but at least they were safe.
Safe…
“Mr. Takeyoshi!” you gasped as you remembered your neighbor. He’d been standing on the street and nearly attacked by the villain, but a blond hero had pushed the middle-aged man out of the way.
Your eyes scoured the street as you leaned forward as much as you dared, and just as your heart was beginning to clench, you spotted him. Mr. Takeyoshi was sitting on the curb across the street and about four storefronts down, hunched over with his head in his hands. Two heroes stood above him and seemed to be tending to him, and all three of the men looked whole for the most part.
“God.” You exhaled shakily, your heart still stuttering in your chest, and then movement in your peripherals caught your attention.
One hero seemed to possess a water quirk, and she was quickly working to spray down the numerous small fires still flickering up and down the road. As you watched her work, you realized the street wasn’t as badly demolished as you first assumed. It was still pretty wrecked—all of the asphalt was cracked and even just missing in some places—but aside from broken windows, the rest of the shops seemed mostly intact. The worst of the damage was centered just in front of your apartment, and as your gaze flickered over the large crater in front of you, you saw another two heroes dragging a third body out of the pit.
The villain.
The hero with the water quirk paused in spraying down the smoking remains of a car and turned to shout something at the other heroes. You couldn’t hear what she said over the persistent ringing in your hears, and you frowned as you focused your own quirk toward your ears.
In your hopped-up-on-adrenaline state, you didn’t even notice the energy dip, and a moment later, your hearing returned with a loud pop. Thankfully, all of the car alarms seemed to have been cut, so you could hear the heroes pretty well.
“—still alive,” a tall hero in a red and purple suit said. You didn’t recognize him. “He’s pretty beat up, but he’ll make it.”
“Great,” the water quirk hero sighed. “Let him be the cops’ problem now.”
As if on cue, you could hear a siren start up in the distant, slowly moving closer.
The threat was over. The villain was neutralized, the fires put out, and the authorities were on the way.
So… why did you feel so on edge, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop?
“—fuckin’ Dynamight,” one of the heroes suddenly spat and drew you out of your thoughts.
You frowned in confusion as the words registered. Dynamight… why did that sound familiar?
Then your eyes widened as you remembered the blond hero, literally exploding onto the scene. His face—snarling and illuminated by the white-hot flare of his quirk—flashed in your mind’s eye, and you dropped your gaze back down to the street below.
Dynamight, Japan’s Number Two Hero. You couldn’t believe he had been the one to turn up and save you.
Well, not you specifically. Your neighborhood.
You’d seen the ash-blond on television before. Usually, the media just liked to harp on his crude language or brash attitude, but you’d seen this one story of how he had saved every single person from a collapsed building. A teary blonde gushing about Dynamight rescuing her had gone briefly viral, but the clip that stuck with you was when a reporter asked the pro hero why he decided to go into the unstable building without any reinforcements.
The blond had scowled into the camera, sweat and dirt still streaked across his pale face, his scarlet eyes flashing from beneath his black mask.
“What was I supposed to do?” he scoffed. “Leave them in there and sit with my thumbs up my ass while the fire department takes their sweet fuckin’ time? Don’t ask me stupid questions.”
Of course, the media had another field day with that response, but… something about it struck you as incredibly genuine. Yeah, the pro hero could have phrased it better, but the core of what he was saying was he couldn’t sit back when people were in trouble, no matter the risks.
You had thought that very brave.
And now you’d witnessed his bravery first hand. You weren’t confident—or really self-centered enough—to go down and thank him for what he’d done, but you thought you would just be satisfied with seeing him from afar now that things weren’t so dire.
But, the longer you looked, the more the pit grew in your stomach.
You couldn’t see the blond hero anywhere. He wasn’t with Mr. Takeyoshi, still hunched over on the curb. He wasn’t with the two heroes who were trying to establish a perimeter and keep out the arriving crowd of spectators. And he wasn’t with the other heroes standing watch over the unconscious villain laid out on the sidewalk.
The rest of the heroes seemed to be arriving at the same conclusions as you. You could hear Dynamight’s name being thrown about, and then the heroes were splitting up, taking different sides of the street, peeking into broken windows.
You wrung your hands as you watched them search from your apartment. No one had noticed you standing there yet, and you were just contemplating going downstairs to try and help in some way when a noise caught your attention.
In the grand scheme of things, the noise wasn’t very loud, especially given the shouting on the street and the loud sirens now that the police were arriving on scene.
But since you lived alone, someone coughing in your apartment, someone who wasn’t you, was cause for a little alarm.
You inhaled sharply as you glanced back over your shoulder, every atom of your being standing at attention. The apartment behind you was a study in contrasts, dark shadows and the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles outside. Your eyes fell on the empty spot where your couch used to be located, and then your gaze followed the drag marks that had been carved into your wood floor.
The couch was half embedded in the wall beside your front door, with one of the armrests denting into the plaster and the other pointing toward your gaping window/wall. The sofa’s legs had been broken, so it slumped to the floor at an angle, and some kind of stuffing spilled out of several rips in the cushions.
But your eyes were glued to the leg sticking out over the armrest and the arm thrown over the back of the couch, which was blocking the rest of the… person from view.
Oh, fuck. That was a person.
Your legs reacted before your brain could even process what you should do, but you were at least cognizant enough to pick your way over the worst of the debris. Your thin, rubber-soled slippers would protect you from the small pieces of glass and rubble, but you really didn’t want to step on a nail if you could help it.
Since your apartment was so small, and there weren’t any full pieces of furniture in the way anymore, you crossed the distance in a handful of strides, but you jerked to a stop when you reached the back of the couch.
Your lungs seized up so suddenly they hurt. The smell of caramelized sugar was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and you actually had to grip the back of the sofa for support, your hand right next to Dynamight’s leg.
Because it was Dynamight half-strewn across your broken couch. Even when you first saw the leg, you hadn’t imagined it could be…
But there he was. And he looked surprisingly… human.
His face was lax with unconsciousness, lacking the perpetual scowl or snarl he wore in pictures or on TV. His hair, which looked paler and somehow softer in person, was tinged red along his brow line, where a cut was still trickling sluggishly. He wore a non-descript black hoodie over dark jeans and darker combat boots, but a glint of color and light around his midsection caught your eye.
You frowned and leaned down without thinking, your fingers reaching out to brush… something wet.
“Oh, shit,” you breathed when you lifted your hand to your face and saw, even in the darkness, that the pads of your fingers were red and glistening.
He was bleeding.
You moved a step closer, but then your foot lost purchase, sliding, and when you glanced down, you saw your once white slippers were dark, more wetness seeping in around your toes.
Oh, god. He was bleeding a lot.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You fumbled for the phone in your pants pocket as you scurried around the opposite end of the couch and dropped to the ground. Glass bit into your knees again, this time deeper, a sharp, brilliant pain, but you ignored it as you tried to turn your phone’s flashlight on. The touch-screen wouldn’t register your finger at first, your blood-slicked skin skimming across the glass, and you could feel a scream building in your throat just before the light flashed on.
If you thought things were bad in the dark, being able to see made it a thousand times worse.
Blood had already pooled around Dynamight, dark and glinting like an oil spill. The sleeve on his left arm had been burned off, and the skin below was pink and raw. It smelled like cooked meat, and the curry you ate what felt like a lifetime ago churned hotly in your gut.
But the burn wasn’t even the worst of it.
A wooden stake, about as wide as three of your fingers, protruded out of the pro hero’s gut by several inches. You thought part of it might have looked like your window frame, but the thought came and went when you noticed the tip of the wooden splinter was dyed red, which meant it must have come through his body.
That had to be where all this blood came from. Was still coming from. God, there was so much of it.
Your eyes shot to the gaping hole in your wall, your voice rising in your throat as you prepared to scream for help, but a sudden gasp nearly made you jump out of your skin.
You whipped back around to find wide, hazy red eyes trained on your face, and the hero’s mouth gaped open as he dragged in a ragged breath.
“Wh—hnng!” he groaned as his body seized, his right hand coming up to clutch at his stomach.
“Don’t!” Your phone clattered to the floor, throwing light, as you lunged forward, and you caught his hand before he could jar the piece of wood lodged inside him. “D-Don’t move, a-and try not to speak.”
The hero panted as he cracked open his eyes and looked at you. Or maybe through you. His gaze wasn’t very focused, and blood from the cut on his brow was still dripping into his right eye.
But the scarlet color of his irises was still striking, even in the dimness of your apartment.
“You’ve… been hurt,” you said as you met his eyes as best you could. You weren’t a doctor or an EMT, but you knew the best way to keep people calm in emergency situations was to let them know what’s happened and reassure them. “There’s a piece of wood inside you, so you can’t move or you might hurt yourself worse. But y-you’ll be okay. I’ll go get—”
“Villain,” Dynamight suddenly spat out, cutting you off and spattering you with a fine mist of blood.
“What?” His voice was rough and guttural, so it took your brain a moment to translate the slurred Japanese. Did he think you were another villain?
The blond hero winced and groaned again, and it wasn’t until he squeezed down on your hand that you realized you were still holding his. His palm was rough and calloused against yours—and warm, so inexplicably warm—but then he dug his nails into your skin, and you gasped.
“Vil… lain?” he rasped again, and you realized it was a question.
“Oh! The villain’s been arrested. You… you beat him.”
Dynamight scowled at you, brow knitting in confusion, and he grunted what sounded like a questioning noise at you.
Then he shifted his head, and you saw the dark stain of blood coming out of his ear.
He must have ruptured his eardrums in the explosion.
You didn’t want to shout and damage his hearing even more, so you squeezed his hand back and smiled in what you hoped was reassurance.
“You won,” you mouthed as clearly as you could. “You won, Dynamight.”
His narrowed eyes widened a little bit with recognition, and you could have sworn the beginnings of a smirk twitched across his lips before his eyes suddenly rolled up into his head. The tension fled his body as he went limp, like a marionette with its strings cut, and your heart lurched up into your throat.
“Dynamight?” you asked, even though you knew he couldn’t hear you with his ears the way they were. “Dynamight?”
You squeezed his fingers, shaking him a little, but his face remained slack.
Dropping his hand, you reached up to flatten one of yours across his chest, the other going up to feel at the underside of his neck. A moment ticked by, two, but you found his pulse, weak and thready beneath your fingertips. His breathing was shallow beneath your other hand, and the knees of your pants were warm and soaked with his blood.
“F-Fuck,” you breathed shakily as you sat back for a moment, your hands limp in your lap.
He was dying. Dynamight… was dying. This was too much blood, and even if you called out to the heroes right now, and they got here in seconds, it was still ten minutes to the nearest hospital.
He didn’t have ten minutes. You didn’t think he had five.
You stared down at the pro hero’s blood-streaked face for half a beat before you made a decision.
Then you were moving. Consequences be damned.
Your hands went to the hem of his hoodie, and you flinched as you pulled it away from his belly with a wet sound. You didn’t want to hurt him, but you also didn’t think he was feeling much of anything now, so you worked the hoodie up and over the stake as best you could before you shoved the fabric the rest of the way up his chest.
The flashing lights from outside played across the dips and valleys of Dynamight’s abs, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the wooden stake. It jutted out between the hero’s belly button and his right hip bone, and every splinter was coated in tacky, crimson blood. More of the viscous liquid bubbled up around the torn skin at the stake’s base, and it trickled across his pale, alabaster abdomen like spilled paint.
You bit your lip as you considered your next move, but then Dynamight’s breath hitched with a wet sound, and you knew you didn’t have time for doubts.
“Okay, steady,” you muttered to yourself as you knelt over the hero’s prone body. Your knees burned, glass digging deeper into the skin by the second, but you shoved away your own pain as you reached out and wrapped both hands around the stake. Splinters tore into your palms, and your heart hammered out a staccato rhythm beneath your sternum.
Then panic started to creep up your spine like a million little spider legs. What if removing the stake only made him worse, killed him faster? What if you killed Japan’s Number Two Hero?
Just as you were about to let go of the stake, Dynamight hacked out a gurgling cough, blood bubbling out of his dry, cracked lips, and you felt the warm spray of it against your collarbone and arms.
The sound rattled something deep inside you, and before you could second guess yourself again, you tightened your grip on the stake and tugged it up and out in one single motion.
Dynamight wheezed once more, but you were already dropping the stake, hands slapping down against his abdomen. Warm blood pulsed through your fingers like pliable clay, and bile rose in the back of your throat before you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and called upon your quirk.
An instant later, agony like you’ve never experienced slammed into you, ripping a gasp from your lungs. It felt like someone had stuck a white-hot poker through your gut, ignited your insides, and twisted. The pain was so intense, your ears started ringing again, and when you cracked open your eyes, your vision quickly began to tunnel until the only thing you could see was the bare outline of your hands, lined with green, against the hero’s stomach. You gritted your teeth as unconsciousness threatened to pull you under, and you groaned as you shoved as much energy as you could spare into the dying hero.
As your quirk flooded into the blond’s body, you received vague impressions of his injuries healing. It was hard to describe, but it was kind of like you could see flashes of the tissue in your mind as it was stitched back together. First, the jagged hole on his back sealed over, and then your power wormed its way through the hero’s insides, patching up nicked arteries and punctured organs. The pain was still intense, so intense that your already limited vision was blurred by tears, but once you reached the top layers of his abs, you ripped your hands away with a gasp.
You fell back on your ass, more glass and debris digging into your cheeks and the palms of your hands, and you sucked in ragged breaths as you tried to keep from passing out. The hero swam unsteadily before you, both from the tears in your eyes and because the entire apartment was swaying. Saliva pooled in your mouth as nausea clamped down on your stomach, but you focused on the burning in your palms to center yourself. Then you started counting deep breaths, and when you got to thirty, the darkness had receded from the corners of your vision, and the apartment more or less steadied out around you.
You still felt like shit warmed over, like you’d been run over by a car and then dragged for several miles, but the bone-deep exhaustion could be cured with a good night’s sleep. The rest of the nicks and cuts on your body still burned like a million paper cuts, too, but your quirk was down to embers and was of no more use to you.
But was it worth it?
The two feet of distance between you and Dynamight felt like a canyon that stretched for miles, but somehow you found one last burst of strength to drag yourself forward a few inches. Then you held your breath and leaned over the hero’s abdomen, wiping away most of the pooling blood with the hem of his hoodie.
There was still a significant gash carved into his skin, but when you shakily picked up your discarded phone from the floor and directed the light at him, you saw the wound was much shallower, maybe a few centimeters deep. The first few layers of skin were flayed back, but the muscles beneath were intact and healthy looking. A small trickle of blood continued to drip into the valley of the hero’s abs, but instead of a broken fire hydrant, it was just a leaky faucet.
You dragged your tired eyes up Dynamight’s body, and you very quickly realized his breathing was deeper and not as wet sounding. Just to be doubly sure, you reached out and tentatively wrapped your fingers around his left wrist, only absently noticing that the once raw, flayed skin had been partially healed from third degree burns to first.
You had poured more energy into him than you meant to, but it was hard to regret anything when you felt his pulse against your fingertips, strong, steady, and sure.
“Oh, thank you,” you choked out as you closed your eyes, tears stinging in the corners. You didn’t know who you were thanking. You didn’t know if you believed in a “god” in the colloquial sense, but you felt as if the universe had given you a gift just now, and you could be nothing but grateful for it.
You sighed as you slumped a little, and it was like weights were strapped to your eyelids as you struggled to open them and keep them open. You might have actually gone under, succumb to the exhaustion…
If you didn’t catch sight of two crimson eyes staring back at you.
“Fuck,” you gasped as a zap of adrenaline shocked you upright, and your phone clattered to the ground once again.
Dynamight squinted, irises still a little glassy, but unlike last time, his gaze was very much focused on you.
And the weight of it, the intensity, pinned you to the floor.
“Y-You’re awake.” The words tripped off your tongue, chased out by the panic running circles in your brain. Damn it, you hadn’t even had time to come up with a plausible backstory for the pool of blood he was lying in.
The blond hero’s eyes widened a fraction as he stared at you for an immeasurably long moment, and then you remembered with a start that he hadn’t been able to hear you before. This could work in your favor, though. You opened your mouth, ready to pantomime an elaborate story, but his voice—deep and rough, like crunching gravel or an expensive engine turning over—cut you off at the knees.
“And you have eyes,” he said in clipped Japanese, a note of snide derision in his tone.
You blinked in shock—at his attitude, the steadiness of his voice, and the fact he could hear you just fine all the sudden—but he just barreled onward like he had barreled through your window.
“What happened?” he asked. No, demanded. “Who are you?”
“I—”
“And where’s that fuckin’ villain?” he cut you off as his split upper lip curled into a snarl, and his red eyes jumped to the gaping window over your shoulder.
You frowned at him, pursing your lips into a thin line. “Are you going to let me answer?”
A part of your brain was screaming at you, distantly: Are you giving Japan’s Number Two Hero attitude after he saved your life?! You normally weren’t like this. Every inch the people pleaser, you were usually deferential to the point of your own detriment.
But you were still so tired, every inch of you aching, blood still dripping and slick along your exposed skin, and he was the one who decided to be rude first.
Plus, you saved his life, too, thankyouverymuch.
Dynamight actually seemed surprised by your response because his gaze stopped its frantic search of your darkened apartment and settled on you. Those scarlet eyes raked over you quickly, a flick from head to toe, before they met your own.
A beat of silence passed between you, and then his face pulled into a sharp frown.
“Well?” he grunted. “Are you actually going to answer me?”
The nerve of this man. Maybe the media had been right.
“What happened was you decided to practically drop a bomb outside on the street, and then you crashed straight through my window and destroyed my apartment,” you said in a short, clipped tone. “But don’t worry. My couch managed to break your fall, so you’re mostly in one piece. Oh, and you beat the villain, the other heroes are outside handing him off to authorities. Satisfied with my answers?”
You sucked in a deep breath after your little tirade, the blood roaring in your ears. Absently, you patted yourself on the back for the impromptu white lie you’d fed him. The couch did in fact break his fall… and shoved a stake through his gut, but he didn’t need to know that. Fortunately, you had dropped said impaling object behind you in your haste to keep some blood in his body, and you shifted a little now to insure it was blocked from his view. You had healed his life-threatening injury—and his hearing, apparently, though you hadn’t intended that—but he was still covered in scrapes, cuts, and minor burns along his left arm. It was a… plausible amount of wounds, so hopefully your little quirk indiscretion would go unnoticed.
Dynamight was still staring at you in silence, and you began to fidget, on the edge of saying you were going to go flag down another hero, when he finally spoke up again.
“No, I’m not satisfied. You didn’t answer all my damn questions. Who the hell are you?”
A flush of heat infused your cheeks—part anger, part embarrassment for being put on the spot again and being the subject of his intense glare—and you averted your eyes as you mumbled out your name.
“Hah?” he practically shouted as he leaned forward, bringing with him that bewildering scent of burned sugar, but he suddenly stopped with a wince that he quickly turned into a scowl. “Speak up, I hate when people mutter. Just like goddamn Deku.”
The last sentence wasn’t directed at you, but you found his mention of Japan’s Number One Hero intriguing.
You sighed and repeated your name for him, a little louder this time, and he grunted in what seemed like acknowledgment before he started to struggle upright again in the ruins of your couch.
“Don’t move too fast, you’ll start bleeding again,” you chided and scooted closer to stop him from aggravating the injury on his abdomen. You’d healed the worst of it, but it was still an open wound, and he was bound to be sore as hell after smashing through a window/wall.
“M’ fine,” he grumbled as he settled into a slightly more seated position. Then he looked down and noticed his hoodie was still partially rucked up around his arm pits, and his red eyes shot back to you. He studied you for a long moment, but his face was unreadable. “Undressing me while I was unconscious? You’re not one of those damn obsessed fangirls, are ya?”
Your cheeks flared red-hot, but you scowled at the ash-blond hero. “N-No! I—You were bleeding, so I wanted to make sure it wasn’t too b-bad. But, uh, the gash isn’t that deep.”
It was a little harder to make more articulate, detailed lies, especially when his blood was still drying on your hands and you could remember the exact feel of his pulse slowing beneath your fingertips.
Dynamight narrowed his scarlet eyes at you, and you knew you weren’t being convincing. Panic started to claw up the back of your throat again. His burning gaze was charring away at your weaknesses, your resolve. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, confessing. You’d saved his life after all. That wasn’t a bad thing.
Then you remembered all the articles you’d looked up one anxiety-filled night, soon after moving here. All the stories about people using their quirks and causing damage. Of people with healing quirks trying to help and only doing more harm. The fines, the charges, and in rare cases, imprisonment.
You didn’t think you’d be locked up, but you couldn’t afford any fines now, and as an immigrant, any mark on your record could get you immediately deported.
Your mouth dried up. You couldn’t be deported, sent back to your parents as a failure again. What’s more, you had people who relied on you here, like Mrs. Kojima. You weren’t a hero, not important by any means, but… you had just found something to give your life a little purpose. A little stability.
No, you couldn’t be discovered. You just couldn’t.
Your newfound resolve stiffened your spine a little, but when you lifted your chin and met those piercing crimson eyes again, your courage—along with your tongue—shriveled inside you.
Fuck, how were you going to lie your way out of this?
Unfortunately, Dynamight didn’t give you any more time to get your story straight.
“Your hands are all fucked up.”
You startled at his rough voice, instinctively flipping your hands palm-side down and tucking them between your legs. Then, when your brain caught up to your body, you cursed yourself.
Could you be any more obvious, any more guilty?
“I, uh, i-it’s nothing,” you stammered, clearing your throat before you continued. “I cut myself on the broken glass from the window, but it’s not serious. Nothing a few bandaids won’t fix, anyway. Maybe some gauze and antiseptic, but definitely not a hospital visit or anything.”
You knew you were babbling but somehow couldn’t stop it, your anxiety just seizing control of your tongue, and you clenched your torn-up hands into fists until the stinging pain centered you a little bit.
Once again, Dynamight studied you in silence, like he was choosing his words carefully.
“Did you nick your damn wrist, too?” he finally asked as his neutral mask twisted into his signature scowl. “Looks like a lot of blood. Don’t be an idiot and bleed out on me. I don’t wanna deal with the fuckin’ paperwork.”
Well, maybe not that carefully.
“I-I’m not bleeding out,” you protested with a frown. “I’m fine.”
“Let me see.”
You blinked. “Excuse me?
The hero stuck out his right hand, palm up, his scowl only deepening. “Let me see your hands.”
Fuck. A drop of icy cold fear slid down your spine. Your hands were indeed “fucked up” like the blond said, but the cuts were all shallow and minor. They would in no way explain how you were coated in blood up past your wrists. None of your injuries would account for that.
And none of his current ones would, either.
“I—” You opened and closed your mouth several times like a gasping fish, and Dynamight’s eyes narrowed on you with what you were sure was suspicion.
And then, like a gift from the heavens, a small but bright beam of light suddenly flooded your apartment from over your shoulder.
“Dynamight?” a male voice shouted.
The blond hero clenched his eyes shut and turned away from the light, and you. “I’m here! Turn that damn light out.”
Said light cut out an instant later, and you seized the opportunity that had just been presented to you.
Quick as a whip, you leaned over and snatched a large swath of dark fabric that you’d seen in the brief moment of illumination, and you reeled it into your lap quickly. The fabric had been a personal project of yours, a gown you’d started on a whim, but that didn’t matter now. Dynamight was still rubbing at his eyes, grumbling about being blinded, so you kicked half of the unfinished garment under and around the base of the ruined couch, effectively covering up the large pool of blood that had congealed under the splintered furniture. Then you reached behind you, grabbed the bloody stake, and shoved it between the folds of fabric.
There. Now, most of the evidence was hidden.
And not a moment too soon, because in the next breath you heard the crunch of glass as the unnamed hero stepped into the apartment behind you.
“Hello?”
“We’re over here,” you called back, struggling to your feet so the hero could see you over the back of the couch.
The hero was silhouetted against your ruined window and the flashing police lights outside, so you couldn’t see much of his face, but you could tell he was tall and broad-shouldered, wrapped in a red and purple suit you didn’t recognize.
“Are you alright, ma’am?” the hero asked in very formal Japanese.
You opened your mouth to reply, but Dynamight cut you off. It seemed to be a habit of his.
“We’re fine,” he grunted, and you turned to see the blond shoving himself to his feet. A gasp caught in your throat, and you made a half-aborted motion to stop him, but his red eyes snapped up and glared at you, freezing you in your tracks. “Aren’t we?”
It took a moment for you to realize the last question was directed at you, and when Dynamight’s lip curled up into a sneer as he accusingly dropped his gaze to your hands, you realized none of your lies had convinced him after all.
“Y-Yes.” The word stumbled out of your mouth without your permission, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes off the blond as you felt your world falling in around you for the second time tonight. “We’re fine.”
The hero behind you said something, but it was lost in the static suddenly filling your head.
He knows. He knows. Dynamight knows.
The words cycled through your brain again and again, a broken record. What would he do? Would he tell the other hero? Or take you down to the authorities himself? And what then? Would they arrest you? Give you a few days to pack up and say your goodbyes before your deportation?
Just as you were beginning to spiral, movement caught your attention, and you watched as if from a distance as Dynamight suddenly stepped past you, the scent of burnt sugar stinging your nose as he went. He was talking, and the low rumble of his voice vibrated through your body since he was so close, barely a hair’s breadth away, but he seemed to be talking to the other hero.
Was he confessing your secret already?
You couldn’t seem to turn around, your slippered feet rooted to your debris strewn floor. Even in the dark, you could see the black stain of Dynamight’s blood on your ruined couch cushions, and without thinking, you leaned down, picked up another torn and dirty piece of fabric, and threw it over the stain, blocking it from view.
You didn’t know why you did that. It didn’t matter now. Dynamight knew, and—
“Ma’am?” A hand touched your elbow, and you jumped, whirling around. “Whoa, careful there.”
It was the tall hero in the red and purple suit. He was wearing a partial mask over his eyes, so only the lower half of his face was visible, framed by two pieces of dark hair. He smiled at you, a pleasant, reassuring gesture, but you could only gape at him.
“Are you alright?” he asked you again, a frown replacing his smile. His eyes started to look you over, but you shoved your hands into the pockets of your sweats before he could see them.
It doesn’t matter, you idiot, your brain screamed, but your body was still going through the motions of keeping your secret, twisting your hands in your pockets, trying to rub out the blood.
“I’m fine,” you said again and then realized repeating the same trite phrase probably wasn’t convincing. So, you smiled at the hero, or at least you thought you did. Your face felt strangely stiff and numb, but you flashed your teeth and crinkled your eyes just the same. “Really. I’m just a little… shaken up is all. I have a few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. The apartment took the worst of the damage, obviously.”
You laughed, a hint of hysteria in your voice, as you gestured to the gaping hole in your wall behind the hero, hoping to get him away from your blood-soaked couch. And, blessedly, he did turn, so you took a few steps past him until you were both facing the broken window.
Then you noticed Dynamight was standing near the hole, very cautiously leaning against the last remaining, exposed stud in the wall, with his hands shoved in the pocket of his hoodie. His body was facing out into the street, but his eyes were still locked on you, the red of them only intensified by the police lights still flashing on the street.
His eyes seemed to say, I know what you did, and all the saliva dried up in your mouth.
“Well, as bad as the damage is to your home, I’m glad you weren’t seriously injured, ma’am,” the hero at your side suddenly said, and you jolted when you realized he was responding to your inane babble from what already felt like hours ago.
“O-Oh, yes.” You smiled again, just as forced and twice as shaky. “I was… very lucky. A-And thank you! For doing your part to s-stop that villain before he hurt anyone or caused even more damage.”
“Yes, well, there was still more damage than I would have preferred,” the hero replied, and you didn’t miss the dirty look he shot Dynamight, who just deepened his scowl because he was still looking at you. “But let’s get you down to the street. The paramedics will look you over, and the authorities will want to take a statement. But don’t worry, they’ll also put you up in a hotel for the night since you obviously can’t stay here.”
He threw the last part of the sentence at Dynamight like a dagger, and the blond finally tore his eyes off you to glare at the other hero.
You waited for the explosive hero to… well, explode, but he only stared down the tall man beside you before he rolled his eyes, glanced at you one last time, and then jumped out the hole in your wall.
“No—” you gasped, stumbling forward like you could stop him, but an instant later, you heard a mini-boom out on the street, followed by Dynamight barking orders at someone.
Oh, yeah. You remembered how the blond had burst through the air while fighting the villain and realized he didn’t just ruin all your hard, illegal healing work by face-planting onto the concrete.
You sighed and suddenly swayed, like the blond leaving had finally cut all of your tense strings. The adrenaline was fading at last, exhaustion leeching through your veins in its place, and you listed into the hero beside you.
“Ma’am?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice.
“Sorry,” you mumbled sleepily, trying and failing to find your balance. “I think… the shock is wearing off. Just… tired.”
“Would it be alright if I carried you down to the street?”
You wanted to protest, say you could take the stairs down to your shop, but your tongue felt sluggish in your mouth, and all you managed was a vaguely affirmative sounding hum.
“Okay, hold on.”
You felt one hand wrap around your shoulders while the other scooped you up around the knees, and usually, you would protest, insecure about your weight, but the hero settled you against his chest with ease. The instant you were off your feet, every muscle in your body went limp, and you were too tired to even be embarrassed when your head flopped against the hero’s collarbone.
You had the vague thought that he didn’t smell like warm sugar, followed by a flash of disappointment, but then the hero was moving, jumping, and you were falling through the air.
Unfortunately, you didn’t get the luxury of passing out.
Once you hit the street, it was all sirens and shouting, flashing lights and flashes of people, so many people.
True to his word, the hero in the red and purple suit carried you over to an ambulance and two waiting paramedics. The American in you panicked, instinctively trying to refuse care because your shop and home were just destroyed, you didn’t have money for an ambulance ride, too.
But as the medics peppered you with rapid fire Japanese questions, you were reminded of where you were, and the bright flashlight shining into your eyes sure woke you up a little.
The next half an hour was a blur. The paramedics tended to the wounds on your palms, knees, and, embarrassingly, ass, but all of the cuts were shallow, and none of them even required stitches. You knew they wouldn’t require stitches anyway, because once you rested up, your quirk would heal you, but you kept your mouth shut and let the medics wrap you in gauze and bandages. You seemed to have rubbed away enough of the blood on your hands that they weren’t suspicious, but it brought you no relief.
While they worked, you watched the heroes and police out of your peripherals. They were still working to seal off the scene and tend to your neighbors, who were gathered further down the block behind some yellow tape. It didn’t look like anyone else had been injured beside you, and for that you were grateful.
But your stomach was still in knots.
More than once, you heard Dynamight’s brash voice bark over the sirens and other voices, and as the paramedics were finishing up the bandages on your hands, a head of ash-blond hair jutted out over the police car closest to you. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes zeroed in on that distinctive hair color, and you saw the explosive hero was speaking—well, yelling—at two police officers.
Your mouth felt suddenly dry despite the multiple cups of water the medics had fed to you. What was Dynamight saying?
As if he could hear your thoughts, red eyes snapped to the side and locked onto yours, and the breath hitched in your chest. That crimson gaze held you trapped, unable to look away, so when the two officers he’d been speaking to suddenly stepped into your field of vision, you gasped.
“Apologies, didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am,” one of the officers said. He was a middle-aged man, balding, with a serious face and a no-nonsense expression. “We just wanted to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it.”
You swallowed, your throat clicking, and your heart stuttered into a breakneck pace beneath your sternum.
“O-Of course,” you replied, only stumbling a little over your Japanese. You smiled at the officers, but the expression felt stilted, and fear seized you by the throat and squeezed until your breaths were shallow and grating in your ears.
“Thank you.” The balding officer nodded. “My name is Detective Nakahara. I’ve been told you witnessed and were injured in tonight’s attack.”
You thought the injury part was obvious, given your myriad of bandages and the fact you were sitting in the back of an ambulance, but you nodded to confirm anyway since your voice had abandoned you.
This was it. He was going to ask you the damning question, and you were going to tell the truth. Lying to a hero in the heat of the moment had been one thing, but lying to a police officer during an official statement was another thing entirely. It would take one database search for them to confirm your quirk and Dynamight’s story, and then you really would be in trouble. Maybe imprisoned instead of deported. You cursed yourself for not knowing more about the laws that were going to quickly ruin your life.
But… then Nakahara started asking you about the villain and what you saw, and you stuttered out an answer to the best of your ability. You thought this might have been a disarming tactic, to lull you into a false sense of security, but when you got to the part of the story where Dynamight burst through your window, the officer sighed.
“I take it that’s your apartment there?” Detective Nakahara asked as he gestured to the gaping hole.
“Y-Yes.” You nodded. “And I own the shop below.”
Which you now realized looked no better than your apartment. The windows were all blown out, black scorch marks along the door frame, and you didn’t want to even think about the shape of the interior.
“What kind of shop is it?” he followed up, but he sounded more curious than interrogatory.
“Clothing alterations,” you said. “M-My grandparents were a tailor and seamstress. I inherited the shop about a year ago, after they passed.”
“My condolences,” Nakahara murmured with a small dip of his head, and he seemed genuine. “For your grandparents, and your home and business.”
You blinked in surprise at the turn in conversation. “O-Oh, thank you, that’s very kind.”
“Do you have anywhere to go for the night, or were you on the way to the hospital?” he asked as he looked you over.
“No,” you said quickly and then blushed. “I-I mean, my injuries aren’t serious enough for a hospital visit. Just some cuts and scrapes.”
“Alright.” Nakahara nodded. “Is there any family we can call for you? Or take you to?”
“N-No,” you repeated, a little more timidly this time. “My parents… don’t live around here, and I don’t really have any other family.”
“Any friends?” he asked with a furrowed brow.
Your face was red-hot now, and you dropped your eyes to your lap, fiddling with your bandaged fingers. What were you going to say? That you were an introvert, and the only “friends” you had were the old ladies who frequented your shop?
“None that I would want to bother in the middle of the night,” you muttered before you suddenly remembered something. “But, um, one of the heroes said you could maybe take me to a hotel?”
“Of course, we can take you right now, and we’ll also pay for the night,” the detective said.
“Oh, you don’t have to—” you started to protest as you snapped your head up, but the officer held up a hand.
“The city has funds to aid those displaced by villain attacks,” he explained. “The next forty-eight hours are guaranteed, so if I were you, I would use the opportunity to rest.”
Detective Nakahara glanced down at your bandages, and you bit your lips as you nodded.
“Okay, thank you for your help then, sir.” It was all you could think to say.
“You’re welcome.” Nakahara nodded back at you and then reached out to help you out of the ambulance. “If you’ll come this way, we can have an officer collect some things from your apartment, and then we’ll head to the hotel and get you settled.”
The finality in his tone and the idea of a hotel drew you up short. What… was happening? You had thought the detective was going to interrogate you about your quirk, not… chauffeur you to a nice hotel.
The practical part of your brain was screaming for you to let it go, but the words were high-diving off your tongue before you could stop them.
“I-Is that all?”
Detective Nakahara paused and looked at you with a raised eyebrow. “Is what all?”
“I—” Shut up, shut up, shut up! “You didn’t have any more questions for me?”
“No,” the detective said simply. “We have your statement, and it matches the others we’ve obtained.” Here, he frowned and seemed to study you for a moment. “Did you have any other questions for me?”
“I… was just wondering what the next steps are for my apartment and shop,” you blurted out the first thing you could think of. “Will the… city pay for repairs? Do I have to fill out some forms?”
It was an honest question, a real one you had, but your mind was still reeling. He wasn’t going to ask about your quirk? Had… Had Dynamight not said anything?
Nakahara sighed but held a hand out for you to take, and you absently let him help you down from the ambulance. Then he slowly began walking toward one of the police cars, and you had no choice but to follow since you were still holding onto his arm for balance.
“Unfortunately,” the detective started, “the city will not be able to repair your home or business.”
“Why?” you asked with a frown. “I thought you said there were funds.”
“There are,” he said, and when you looked up at him, you noticed his lips were pursed into a thin line. “And, if the villain himself had thrown debris through your window, then the city would compensate you. But, in this situation, Dynamight caused the damaged.”
The detective practically spat the blond hero’s name, and your surprise must have shown on your face because Nakahara quickly cleared his throat and schooled his expression.
“Because of this, his agency will be responsible for repairs, so you will have to contact them,” the officer finished.
Contact them? You had to contact Dynamight’s agency, which meant… fuck. You felt the blood drain from your face, and your expression must have shown your dismay because Nakahara patted your hand that was still looped through his arm
“But you can worry about that tomorrow,” he said. “Let’s get your things and get you to the hotel so you can rest.”
You nodded blankly and let the detective lead you to the open backseat of a police car. Nakahara called another officer over, and the woman asked you questions about where things were in your apartment. You answered numbly, listing out different clothing items and how to get to your bedroom. Then she was gone, and Nakahara stepped away to do something else, so you were suddenly left all alone.
Unbidden, you looked up and searched for that pair of scarlet eyes, that head of ash-blond hair, but the explosive hero was suddenly nowhere to be found.
The crime scene continued to bustle around you, but all the while, two thoughts circled each other in your head, like binary stars stuck in each other’s orbit:
Dynamight didn’t reveal my secret.
But I’m going to have to face him again.
#sorry this update took a hot sec#blame my full time job and depression lmao#bakugo x you#bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#katsuki bakugo x you#bakugo katsuki x you#deaf!bakugou#bakugo/reader#bakugo/you#katsuki bakugo#bakugo#bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo/you#mha#my writings#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#bnha spoilers#fanfic
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