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ashes-writing · 2 years

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mine || stranger things ; s. harrington

A/N ; I'd apologize for this but honestly we all know I'm not sorry about it. I got the idea earlier and decided to humor it and thus, here we are. This is not connected to my Henderson!Reader or Henderson!OC writings, btw.

Territorial Steve, anybody?

Your mood song for this is River by Bishop Briggs. Or Pillowtalk by Zayn.

Pairing ; Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Tag List ; @rampagewriting should probably see this teeheehee but like... there's nobody on my Stranger Things tag list right now. If you wanna be added, though.. Click the link below.

Other Stuff ; tag list doc || rules + fandoms/some characters I write for || requests ; open -headcanons nsfw/fluffy alphabet for any fandoms characters I write excluding wrestling only please and thanks.

I do not consent to having my work reposted elsewhere or reworded/rewritten and reposted here. Reblogs -and likes, are loved though.

18+ just to be safe. Don't you dare, I swear to God. If you're not into possessive / territorial actions including but not limited to biting/marking, fingers, body fluids, kissing,teasing, heavy sexual tension, just a real quick fight between Billy Hargrove and Steve Harrington and the act of sex being hinted at well... All I can say is keep scrolling and turn away now. Definitely don't read this.

[ not my gif but i love how eddie is like cover up you slut. ]

How do you fall in love?

Harder than a bullet could hit you

Billy Hargrove always seems to find you, to corner you up with no chance at escape. Any other girl at Hawkins High would find it hot, they’d probably throw their panties right at him and lie down - let him do whatever dirty thing he wanted but not you, oh no.

You loathed the guy. He reeked of entitlement and that was only somewhat overshadowed by the fact that the boy smelled as if he swan dove headfirst into an industrial sized vat of Brut. Stetson. Any number of heavy and smothering masculine scents that guys in your school -and probably every high school ever, seemed to think bathing themselves in was a good idea.

Tonight’s party wasn’t any different. You’d just gotten yourself a cup of punch -heavy on the rum with a few pineapples and cherries swimming around jovially that you’d feast on, and you leaned against the wall in Tina’s living room just sort of observing. People watching as you usually did. You’d grow bored, as one does because there’s only so much open groping and grinding a girl can take before that ol’ green-eyed monster sets in, and so you turn to leave the crowded living room. Maybe you’d wander out onto the deck, it was usually quieter out there.

The problem with this was Billy Hargrove. He stood in front of you, blocking your path. Unmoving. Expectant, somehow. When he realized it was you, his mouth turned up at the corners into a lazy smirk. A smirk that still irked you to see because somehow it was just so cocky. Annoying.

Like him.

“You.” the word came, accompanied by the usual roll of your eyes as you firmly planted a hand against the thin denim button up he wore. Every intention to push him back just a little, just enough so you could shove past him easier. But Billy was twice the usual level of drunk and dumb on this particular night so for some reason his brain completely ignored the eye roll and the tone of your voice in favor of picking up on the way you had your hand on his chest. Or the fact that you hadn’t just moved it already. Mostly because you hadn’t pushed him away like you planned yet but it was coming.

You could sense the shift in his mood and you groaned inwardly. Your hand was snatched away from the firmness of his chest with quickness and you grumbled to yourself because it was in that moment you knew.. You’d just fucked up.

He stepped even closer and you stepped away. You even hissed at the guy, this somehow didn’t deter him.

This baffled you because normally, crazy worked.

“Don’t make me pour this over your head, nimrod.” you spoke up as your bare foot tapped against hardwood flooring and you stared up at him, unamused.

Billy wasn’t comprehending. “Aw, c’mon.” he pouted. “E-every girl but you l-likes me. I j-just wanna k-know w-why. Tell me.”

“Well.” you blew at loose strands of hair in your eyes as you glanced helplessly over his shoulder. All your friends were either upstairs making the bases with their chosen person for tonight or they weren’t present.

You were all alone.

It didn’t sit right with you at all.

Billy sober was just annoying but Billy when drunk… He lacked any sense of boundaries, he’d even gone as far as to lick you at the last party you got dragged out to.

He stood taller. His hand against your hip until you lowered your own hand and swatted his away. “Stop touching me, holy shit.” you complained as you rubbed the bridge of your nose. Annoyed. Praying for a distraction. Any distraction, really.

“Answer t-the question.” Billy was firmer when he said it. Demanding. All in your personal space yet again and when you tried to get away, he’d just step closer and get right back in it.

“You’re annoying, okay? You’re annoying and your boundary issues are a huge turn-off. You’re fake, you’re an asshole and you’re too cocky. Are you happy now, Hargrove? This is why I don’t like you. Will you go now? Will you leave me the fuck alone?”

It came out louder than you meant it -no thanks to the short fuse you’d been cursed with at birth, and you stepped away even more.

Only thing is, you stepped right into somebody standing behind you.

You tensed. Were Hargrove and his idiot Hagan going to double team you now? They had the habit of doing so, to tease and harass you until all you wanted to do was punch them both in the throat after knocking their heads against each other repeatedly.

To your surprise, Steve Harrington cleared his throat.

You whirled around and you did it fast enough that the red alcohol laden punch in your cup sloshed all over his white tee shirt. You gulped.

Brown eyes settled on the spreading stain and then they settled on you. Studying you intently. Concerned.

You were distracted by the brighter brown flecks in his irises to notice when he shifted you so that you were pressed closer to him and thus, further away from Billy’s pesky and groping hands or the way he tried to stomp every single one of your personal space boundaries when he was in the mood to irritate you by popping up like this.

“Lay off, Hargrove.” Steve’s voice was calm. Too calm. Deathly calm.

Billy chuckled, the sound was dark. Menacing. “Y-you gonna m-make me, H-harrington?” he steps up, this effectively puts you into the dream position of at least half the female population currently attending Hawkins High.

Possibly even some of their own mothers if the rumor about Billy and his thing for the older ladies that went around last week was anything to go by.

You gulp again. Gazing up at Steve and over your shoulder at Billy. Billy reaches to grab your hips but Steve snatches you out of the middle and you’re behind him so fucking quick you barely realize it. Steve steps up to Billy and there’s shoving. Swearing.

“Fuck.” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Your eyes dart around helplessly, looking for somebody. Anybody to pry the two fighting males apart but then you happen to pick up on something said in the heat of the moment.

“I told y’ to leave her the fuck alone, Hargrove.” -it was Steve who said it and he is furious, straddling Billy’s hips as his fists slam against what all the girls say is a perfect nose and batter his face relentlessly. Billy’s got his hands at Steve’s throat and he’s taunting him about it. Rubbing in the fact that you don’t even know Steve exists but you had your hand on Billy’s chest.

And you don’t like it, the fact that Steve is fighting because of you. You feel so bad about it, you had to do something.

Enter the shoe you discarded beneath a tall stool at the kitchen island after your last remaining present friend coaxed you down from dancing on the bar to some stupid -yet catchy, pop song. You were in a moment of desperation so it worked.

You threw the shoe at Billy just as he got the upper hand. It bounces off the back of his head just as he’s straddled Steve and he’s got him choked and pinned to the wood floor.

His distraction to look back at you in sheer confusion gave Steve just enough time to both get away from Billy and get his arm behind his back while holding his face down against the wood floor. He was seething in anger, you couldn’t recall a time you’d ever seen the mild-mannered boy in front of you absolutely feral with rage about something.

You’d never admit it out loud but seeing him like this was well… Kind of hot. There was something about the way he was fighting right now to defend your honor that had your thighs clenched tight and had you watching intently, flinching every time a hit landed against him. Desperate to do something else, anything else to end the altercation.

You just didn’t know what.

You reach out tentatively to tap his shoulder. “S-steve?”

He seems to come back into focus. Turns to look at you and gets off of Billy. Spits out some blood from where he’s bitten his lip or one of Billy’s wayward punches busted skin.

Billy’s threatening him that this isn’t over, that he’ll kick his ass but you step between them because hell, it seems as if none of their so-called friends seem to give a shit and this whole debacle did start because of you.

Didn’t it? It all happened so fast that you’re not even honestly sure what started it.

“Get fucked, Hargrove. He was o-only tryin t’ get you t’ stop t-touchin me.” you’re brandishing your other shoe because you’d grabbed it a few seconds prior when you thought the first shoe wouldn’t do the trick.

He gazes at the heel and back at you.

“You want this loser? Fine. Have ‘im.” Billy seems to finally grasp the fact that you don’t want him and you couldn’t want him less if you tried and the thought has you relaxing all over as you take a deep breath.

How do we fall apart?

Faster than a hairpin trigger

You turn to Steve and you grimace at the way his eye is already starting to blacken and his jaw is starting to as well, strong features marred by blackish purple bruising.

And you can’t just walk away and leave him be.

You barely know him that well but the fact remains, this is your fault somehow.

You grab him by the arm and pull him into the kitchen. Your hand against his chest to shove him down into a chair at the breakfast nook over by a bay window. And then you make your way over to the fridge and rifle around in the freezer area until you find a frozen ribeye to hold against his face.

You wander back over and you sink down, seating yourself at the edge of his lap as you gingerly press the ribeye against his face. “You didn’t have t’ do that.”

“I did.” he insists.

“No, you didn’t.” you argue.

“Fine.” he pauses, shifting around so that you wind up scooting much closer to him all of a sudden, “I didn’t have to. But I wanted to..Alright?” he holds your gaze and you can’t look away and there’s something… Hungry… about the way he’s looking at you that has your tummy doing a lazy flip or two. You bite your lip and he licks his lips, your eyes catching on the slow drag of his thick,wet tongue.

The whimper slipped out and as soon as it did you absolutely froze.

Maybe he hadn’t heard it.

But then he’s leaning closer, leaning into you and staring up. “D-did you just…whimper?” there’s this hot little goofy smile on his face and you shiver when you feel thick digits digging against either one of your sides. Holding you in place on his lap.

You gulp, again.

“I.. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you answer with a shrug as you try to pretend that this is fine, everything is fine and you’re not suddenly staring at his lips and wondering how they’d taste.

But you’re staring so hard you’re leaning in a little closer. And the closer you lean, the more his fingers dig against your side. His other hand raises, catches hold of the side of your face and the pad of his thumb rolls over your soft skin. If you thought you shivered before it’s nothing compared to right now, this second.

He chuckles and the sound is deep. It’s husky. It’s velvet and gravel all rolled into one. “You’re lying. Why?”

You shrug. Shrugging is easier right now than attempting to make your brain and your mouth work together. Shrugging is easier than telling him exactly why you whimpered.

“Am not.” you insist, pouting at him a little.

“Are so.” he argues, leaning in closer. Close enough that his nose bumps soft against the tip of your nose. Your stomach goes from lazy little flips to feeling as if someone released a swarm of bees inside. Your free hand rests against the front of that white t-shirt and you focus on the stain from your spilled beverage of choice. “I-I think Tina’s got something for the.. The uh.. Stain.” you manage to get the words out and you’re about to pull yourself off his lap but his fingers vise against your hip and the way he’s holding you locks you in place where you’re sitting.

If he knew he was playing with fire right now, you think to yourself.

See, all the other girls may want Billy now. Billy Hargrove may be the new king of Hawkins. But while all the other girls want Billy… You’ve always wanted Steve.

It blew your mind that Nancy Wheeler actually let herself be dumb enough to let him slip through her fingers. And for what?

Byers?

She chose ice when she could’ve easily chosen fire and it always made you wonder about her.

The thought is shoved out of your head because Steve is staring at your mouth intently. Licking his own lips. Steve is looking at you with those gorgeous deep brown eyes and you’re sitting in his lap. What’s more, you marvel, he doesn’t seem to plan on letting you move off of his lap.

“If you’ll g-give me your.. Your um.. Shirt.” you attempt.

He places the ribeye to the side and without breaking his gaze on you, he tugs the white tee shirt up and over his head. He holds it out to you but when you go to slip off his lap he grabs hold of your hips again. Holding you there.

“It can wait. Stain’s not gonna come out.” Steve winces a little as he says it. But he’s still focused on you, staring intently.

“It will if it doesn’t set up.” you argue despite wanting to kick yourself in the face the entire time. Why are you putting up a fight when you want exactly what’s happening?

Steve chuckles quietly.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asks quietly. Studying you intently all over again.

“Well no.” you start but your words die and fall away. You look down, study the way your dress is hiked up as you balance on his jean clad thighs. Your legs are wrapped around him too so there’s that.

He seems to notice it around the same instant you become fully aware you’ve done it. You don’t unwrap your legs, despite knowing maybe you should.

Then again, he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to tell to move them, either.

He leans into you. “That’s gotta be it.” he shakes his head as if confused.

“As if you could make me nervous. Class daredevil, remember?”

Steve snorts when he laughs after you’ve said it. The laughter dies away and you’re both doing it now, the thing where you both quietly stare at each other. You’re still holding his discarded shirt in your hand.

And this party has become the last place on Earth Steve really wants to be.

“D’ ya wanna leave?” the question is quiet. Tentative, almost as if he’s bracing himself to be shot down.

“And go where, hm? Nothing is open after 8 in this hole in the wall.” you ask the question as you dare to scoot up in his lap a little better, this puts you closer to him. You melt against him a little but it’s awkward. Careful and clumsy because you’re still waiting on him to tell you you’re crossing a line of some sort.

His arms wrap around you and you’re caught against him. Your face buried between his neck and shoulders. “You don’t make me nervous, y’know.” you admit it easier because you’re not forced to look right at him as the words finally work themselves free from your lips. You raise your head to glance up at him. The way you’re sitting in his lap means that you can feel him starting to strain against his jeans. He whines quietly when you wiggle in his lap to try getting a little more comfortable -and because the friction from accidentally rubbing against him feels so good you can’t resist it as soon as you realize.

“You act like it.” he pouts a little when he makes the observation, kind of like it bothers him.

The slightly wounded look in his eyes after he goes quiet kills you and you have to… You have to do something, you have to say something because you hate seeing him upset.

“Steve, I..” you go quiet, swallowing hard. It came out so easy just before when you weren’t looking right at him. Stands to reason that it’ll come out easier a second time if the same conditions are met. So you lean into him, your mouth against the shell of his ear so you can whisper what you want to say against the shell of it softly.

“I like you. I like you a lot. It’s not you that makes me nervous. It’s uh.. It’s that.” you feel relief crash over you like a tidal wave when you finally bring yourself to say it. And you’re waiting because in your mind he’ll laugh and this is when things will become awkward as hell… Right?

Except that’s not what happens at all.

He grabs your neck gently and he turns your head so that you have to look at him. “Say it again.” he’s got this soft and wary little grin, a look in his eyes like he can’t quite believe that you just said it. Or maybe it’s the fact that somebody’s saying those words… to him.

“I like you. I like you a lot.” you repeat quietly. The way he’s still gently holding on makes it so that you can’t look anywhere but those magnetic eyes when you say it.

Wordlessly, he stands. You’re still tangled around his body and he’s carrying you towards the front door. You giggle quietly, still in awe that this all actually happened. It doesn’t click that it’s not a dream and it’s really happening until he carefully seats you in the passenger seat of his BMW and plants a shy kiss on the freckled bridge of your nose after reaching across to buckle your safety belt and before he closes the passenger door.

Can't change the way we are

One kiss away from killing

The only stoplight in town catches you on a red. One of Steve’s hands leaves the wheel and settles on the exposed part of your thigh, squeezing gently. You squirm a little and whine before finally deciding that you can’t take it, you gotta do something. One of you does.

But Steve beats you to it, thankfully, leaning across the car and into you as his hand tangles up in the hair at the back of your head and he uses that grip to pull your mouth against his mouth. The closer your faces inch towards each other, the more time seems to slow down. The more your breath hangs in your throat. The more your heart races and the more it feels like all the bones are rapidly dissolving in your body. You close the distance and your tongue drags over the outline of his kissable lips, the soft drag of your wet tongue met by a growl from deep within him as his hand tugs at your hair and his other hand squeezes your thigh like he’s trying hard to keep himself from falling apart completely.

“I’ve had a crush on you all year.” he mumbles husky against your lips as his meet clumsily, “Those cute little dresses, fuck.” he squeezes your thigh just a little harder when he says it, “Y’ drive me crazy.” his tongue drags over your lips and traces your teeth and your mouth falls open with a whine as you shiver all over. “So.fuckin.sexy.” he adds as the kiss deepens and you can already see colored dots lining your vision. His hand creeps up your thigh a little higher.

The light goes green and you come apart. Steve’s driving again and you’re pouting a little because things were just starting to get a little heated. Your pussy is dripping, throbbing. And every single time his hand moves up towards it just a little closer, you get wetter, you’re almost certain he can feel it, he has to feel it.

The wonder is answered when his finger brushes against the wet fabric that barely covers you there. And he swallows down a lump in his throat, gazing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Fuck.” he groans out quietly. He removes his hand but he grabs hold of your wrist, settling your hand in his lap as he bucks against your palm. “That’s what you’re doin’ to me right now, princess.” he groans out.

Your entire body is burning, on fire. So hot you almost can’t breathe. “M-me?” you stammer.

Steve chuckles quietly. “It’s so fuckin cute the way you skip around. No fuckin clue what you do to a guy.”

You rub your hand over the way he’s strained at his jeans and he swears in frustration, his hips arching up to meet the clumsy touch. His knuckles white against the steering wheel as he bites down on his lip, wincing in pain because he manages to bite the part of it’s that got busted in the fight.

You lean in a little, you study him. You’re curious.

Naturally, this curiosity is what lends to you reaching out. Stroking his face with one of your hands as you press your lips to his all over again.

“Now you’re teasin me, babe. C’mon, fuck.” he moans and god, the sound. You’re beyond dripping now, you’re soaked and you can feel the way it gushes down the insides of your thighs. And so can he. His hand settles on your slick inner thigh and he growls this time.

“Is that for me, princess? Hm?” he asks in a low voice as he squeezes his hand against your cunt, bucking his hips upward in the seat.

“A-all yours.” you choke out the words as his finger drags a line from the bottom of your slit to the top. When he presses that finger right against your clit and rubs it’s all you can do to keep from screaming. Your stomach is coiled tight.

“All mine?” he’s torn between awe and a more feral side coming out to play. The car is sitting at the curb in front of his house now and it has been for at least ten minutes. Steve pushes the driver seat back and reaches out, unbuckling the buckle on your seatbelt before pulling you across to his seat, settling you in his lap. Right on top of the way his cock is twitching, pushing against his jeans and begging for freedom.

“Gonna take you inside, baby.” he growls out against the shell of your ear as his lips latch against the side of your neck and suction forms between lips and skin. The suction breaks after he makes a mark you know won’t be hidden in the morning and he speaks up again quietly, “Gonna take you inside n’ take what’s mine.”

“Please.” you whimper as your mouth latches against the front of his throat because if he’s going to mark you up, you’re gonna do the same.

After all, this might very well be some hyper-realistic and intense as all hell sex dream. Might as well enjoy…

#steve harrington #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x fem!reader fanfiction #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington x fem!reader oneshot #// minors dni #// read all warnings + hashtags c a r e f u l l y #// body fluids #// mentions of a fight #// biting and marking #// possessive!territorial!Steve makes an appearance here oof.#// listen i had to do it and something tells me I am.. not done with Steve and this particular 'reader'.

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darklove9314-blog · 2 years

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Listen I’m going to start this with the fact that I’m in a foul mood, I’m running off lack of sleep, a very busy day at work, and now people trying to be the morality and tone police on me because I rightfully tagged my content as anti rhys and somehow got someone who wandered over to my tag where I addressed Rhys’s more problematic and abusive behavior and I’m sick of people making justifications like “He’s a fictional character” or “He’s a fae, he’s not supposed to be a good guy” (and yes I know the fae are morally grey creatures,but that doesn’t mean I HAVE to agree with their actions)

A lot of people consume various form of media, I was a person where my parents sat me down in front of tvs and let me read books to learn about the world. I can tell you a lot of forms of media shape the way we think and feel.

Also I’m allowed to hate a fictional character especially if he reminds me of one of my abusers, so no I will not take away MY and OTHERS safe space to talk about abuse in a way that helps us cope and process what all has happened to us just because people just want people want to defend fictional characters like it’s their job. People are allowed to dislike a love interest because they see it as toxic and concerning behavior, they’re allowed to point it out and tell people that in reality no one should be treating you this way. And before anyone goes “they should already know that” please note that some of this fandom comes from abusive and neglectful backgrounds where their family will leave them to their own devices and say “Figure it out yourself.” So no not everyone knows that the way Rhys acts towards Feyre should be frowned upon. Not everyone knows what a healthy vs unhealthy relationship is, because to some of us any attention is good attention, any sort of love whether it be toxic or not, feels as quenching as water after you feel thirsty.

So do me and the rest of the Rhys antis a favor and block us. Go do things in your own fucking tags, because I refuse to not give my followers a safe space just because you want others to change their opinions so you can shape your own experience.

Sincerely,

A woman who would rather you go back to your tags where you can share your love for your favorite characters in peace instead of trying to tone police, morality police, and invalidate other experiences just because you don’t know how to block creators or tags….

#anti rhysand #anti sjm #anti feysand

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friesbeforeliess · 10 months

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⭐️🔞This place is N/S/F/W and proship🔞⭐️

DO NOT INTERACT:

-Minors. For the love of god stay the fuck away from me PLEASE! I don’t want to talk to you.

-Antis. Need I say why?

-MAP’s. Once again. Need I say why?

-Uneducated, self-righteous assholes in general

-Anyone who’s any type of -phobic or -ist.

Please. Cater your feed to what YOU want to see. So do yourself a favor and block me if that helps. I tag all my posts with ‘proship’ so that you can mute that word and never have to stumble upon posts like mine and others like it. It’s for my safety and your own. Thank you.

#pinned bios #proship #anti censorship #pro fiction

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sturmmhond · 3 years

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“He’s all the guys you’d meet at a bar at uni” 💀

The amount of times he said “it’s your choice” or your decision. I just cringe.

Omg can I just mention about the trials in ACOTAR. Bruh. Bruh. They made no sense at all. What kind of an antagonist was Amarantha.

What is the point of a story if main protagonists always win, what impact does it create? The stakes are always high in this series but they always win. Rhysand came back to life, that girl who’s really old I forgot her name and she’s feisty or some shit and eats raw food and came out of the cauldron as fae.

high stakes are high for nothing if they don’t come along with great consequences, if they don’t drag behind them loss and grief. they don’t feel earned if all the cast of characters has to do is fight for like five minutes and then spend the rest of the book “strategizing”.

again, nothing against you liking these books, honeybees. me not liking them really shouldn’t affect you because i like what i like and you like what you like and that’s why this world is so vast and varied and has so many options of media designed for so many different people.

#răspuns #nonnie #anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti 90% of those books i guess 💀💀💀#PLEASE do yourself a favor and block these tags if you don’t want to see our lukewarm takes on this series #thank you #long post

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burnedbyshoto · 3 years

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I will love you (until the end of time)

“For the next twenty four hours, will you pretend that we’re still in love? That we’re still in a relationship and that it never ended?”

You ask for a moment more, and Bakugou Katsuki gives you a world more.

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pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: they are pro heroes in this, reader is bad at feelings NOT bakugou, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, post break up fic, break up make up fic, smut, domestic!bakugou, missing tag

word count: 10,327

a/n: this stemmed out of my own commitment insecurities and my upmost appreciation for the character growth of bakugou katsuki who may not be my favorite character but holds the title for my favorite canon growth. here’s to him continuing to be feral but be a kinder man.

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It’s a bright and sunny day.

There’s no one on the street, nothing to hear except the rumble of cars blocks away, nothing but the sweet chittering and chirping of spring birds calling and dancing for their love.

You inhale sharply, trying to calm your nerves, your wits — trying so desperately to reign in your million emotions while hiding what was so desperate to crack through the surface.

“Please, answer the door…” you whisper to yourself as your knuckles rap, tap, tap, tap, against the clean white door. Your fingers twist by your hips, turning and pulling as the seconds pass by like centuries.

One.

Two.

Three—

“Coming.”

His voice calls from behind the door, and you feel your spine straighten immediately, your stomach melting and bursting with butterflies you had long forgotten could exist.

Your breathing picks up. It’s sharp, short, oxygen failing to fill your lungs as you stare at the opening door.

The first thing you see is tired, confused red eyes.

“K-Katsuki, hey! Nice seeing you here,” you greet him weakly, your lips pulled into an even weaker, more wobbly smile as you look at the man who once held your heart.

Bakugou blinks, his eyebrow furrowing a millimeter — something that would go missing by the untrained eye. It looks as if he’s contemplating what to do, trying to decide if he should slam the door in your face or keep it open. Sure, the two of you had dated for nearly five years, and Bakugou had clearly told you that you were it for him, but he was a prideful man. You couldn’t blame him if he simply slammed the door on you.

“I live here,” Bakugou says slowly, his arms crossing before his chest, and you laugh awkwardly as you try not to look at what was a damning distraction.

“Well, yes,” you say, nerves getting to you suddenly but in a way that makes you want to ramble. “It was stupid of me to say that! I just, well, I got nervous, and you know how I get at times, and I said it without thinking! You live here, duh! This is your house, why wouldn’t you live here! It’s just—”

“Spit it out, dork,” Bakugou sighs, his frown deepening as he rolls his eyes.

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, you can feel tears welling in your eyes as you look to the floor.

Calm down; you can do this.

“I needed to ask you something, a favor, really.”

You look back up at him, and Bakugou seems to be digesting your words.

“What do you need?” Bakugou decides to allow you to ask, and only one ton of your forty-ton problem falls off your shoulders.

“It’s… it’s going to sound really fucked, but don’t get mad,” you whisper, fingers running up your chest and clutching onto the chain around your neck. “Please don’t feel obligated to say yes either; I’ll take whatever answer you give me.”

“Y/n,” Bakugou stresses, and you shudder slightly.

Inhale for five. Hold for five. Exhale.

“For the next twenty-four hours, will you pretend that we’re still in love? That we’re still in a relationship and that it never ended?”

A cloud passes over the sun.

The birds stop dancing, the cars go silent.

It’s as if the entire world silences just for you and him, everyone anxious and eager to hear Bakugou’s answer.

Your gaze is down at his feet. You miss the stiffening of his spine and the bewildered look in his eyes. But that’s okay; his answer is what matters most, anyways.

“I can do that.”

10:12 a.m. – 24:00:00 Remaining

You toe off your shoes by the front door, leaving them next to Bakugou’s neatly placed loafers, and you slide on the guest slippers. You frown slightly at the stiffness of the slippers, but you realize that it’s because they’re not your old ones. The lavender-colored slippers that were once imprinted by your foot, fitting comfortably and perfectly against your feet, no longer resided within his shoe stand.

“Your shift ran late last night?” Bakugou asks as you shuffle in after him. “Why’re you getting home so late?”

You blink, thrown off by that question.

You did have a late night shift yesterday, but on the contrary, you had been let off early, not late.

It takes a second, but you realize immediately what was happening.

The two of you had lived together for so long, and while the life of a pro hero came with timing issues, it involved some beautifully colorful stories the following day. You both recount why you arrived home midday and not at the crack of dawn. Just like old times, it seems.

You smile, mentally thankful that Bakugou was just that good at transitioning and keeping his promises. You take in a deep breathe, still yourself, and respond:

“It was the worst. A kid’s quirk came in, and they panicked; they nearly destroyed the entire block. No casualties, thankfully, but a few injured in the hospital. Full recovery is expected for everyone.”

“I’m surprised I wasn’t called in,” Bakugou hums, he is walking towards the kitchen, and you wonder if he’s already eaten breakfast. You should have brought his favorite food. “Who else was there?”

“You weren’t called in because your quirk would not be of assistance there,” you point out. Everyone knew full well that while Bakugou was a household name due to his sheer power and being number two on the hero charts alongside Deku, he was not made for search and rescue purposes. He’s been called in many times to help, but explosions paired with debris, broken infrastructure, and trembling civilians caused more trouble than help.

Bakugou scoffs slightly, and you easily slip onto a high chair by the kitchen island, watching and feeling still a few embers of awkwardness as he seems to be preparing breakfast. A single meal for just him would now be for two.

“Uravity was there, so was Hawks,” you begin listing names, trying to remember who was on the scene before your exit. “Aizawa-sensei, too, if you can believe it.”

“The lazy bastard is always around when things involve a quirk malfunction and a kid,” Bakugou supplies, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. Despite your old sensei being, well, akin to a grumpy hermit, there was always something unworldly kind and good about him with children.

“Still, I feel like I hardly see him nowadays,” you pout, watching Bakugou grab two porcelain bowls from the shelves and pour in two steaming cups of miso soup.

Your mouth waters as he turns around, placing the murky soup in front of you, there’s plenty of tofu, seaweed, and onions, and you wonder for a moment if he’s still on his bulking diet or not. You hum contentedly, gratefully, as Bakugou hands you chopsticks and another small bowl of white rice and egg.

A simple breakfast.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your smile warm and soft as you grab the bowl and blow softly on the steaming soup.

“And you better eat everything in it,” Bakugou warns, his red eyes warm, his eyebrow quirked as he brings his own bowl up to his mouth. “If you leave anything behind, you won’t get lunch.”

You laugh, “okay!”

10:37 a.m. – 23:45:39 Remaining

Breakfast was eaten quietly, the both of you merely taking in each other for the first time in a year. A shared breakfast that had been standard for nearly three years in a row was unfamiliar, foreign. Your gaze had fallen to the table, remaining fixated on the fluffy white rice and egg as you had eaten the miso soup in record time. Sure, your tongue now felt a little numb, a little too raw, but you had missed Bakugou’s cooking. Instant miso was nothing compared to his.

But breakfast has been finished for a bit over three minutes now, and neither one of you has spoken a word since. What would you talk about? What could you talk about? You weren’t sure if doing this was even a good idea! You were the one who ended things; you were the reason why things that were now happening were happening. Why couldn’t you just pretend as quickly as he was? It wasn’t as if you weren’t in love with him still.

Looking up at Bakugou, your lips pulled into a tense purse, your eyes boring holes into his back as he silently washes the dishes. White suds clinging to his forearms and soft ash blond locks brushing against the bridge of his nose. You want to walk over and press yourself to his backside, hold him sweetly as you complain about how he should wash the dishes later, and come to the couch and watch some dumb cartoon with you instead. You want it so badly, but there are lines still drawn in the sand, lines you don’t know how to erase even though for this moment, for the next few hours, they don’t exist.

‘Talk to him!’ you yell at yourself. ‘Talk!’

“Do you have any plans today?” Bakugou asks, his gaze not leaving the sink as he washes off the last porcelain bowl of the soap. “Today’s my day off, so we can do anything you want today.”

“U-Um,” you stumble immediately, flushing at the fact that he had beaten you to the first words. “No? I don’t think I have any plans?”

“Do you work?”

Your fingers pull at your lip in anxiety.

“No, today’s my day off, too.”

“Planning on hanging out with any of your friends?”

You hesitate, watching as Bakugou places the bowl on the drying rack and grabbing a towel to dry his toned arms from the water and soap remnants.

“No, I want this day to be with… I just want to be with you today.”

Bakugou pauses, and you watch as he turns around slowly, looking at you with contemplative eyes as he leans back against the sink. Strong arms never slowing in its mission to dry himself off, but they eventually part, the towel swinging up and over his shoulder, resting there as he crosses his arms again.

There are only a few feet between the two of you, but it feels like miles.

“A stay in sort of day?” he tries again; his blinks are slow, controlled.

“Um, yeah, I guess,” you mumble, your gaze dropping from his, unable to keep the contact going.

“You guess?” Bakugou shoots back, his tone slightly aggravated, his brows furrowed incredulously as you look back up at him with wide eyes. He’s shoved himself off the sink and assumes an intimidating stance, and is just the slightest bit insecure. “You’re the one who came to my door asking for this. I assumed you had some sort of plan, especially since this seems like such a dumb idea, to begin with. I agreed to this, so do something; I’m not planning the entire day, and don’t waste my time.”

“I know that!” you argue back, tears burning at the back of your eyes because you knew that this was only a few minutes in but already going disastrously. But you couldn’t help it; you couldn’t stop things from getting weird and awkward. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say yes! I thought you were going to slam the door in my face or argue with me, not agree! A-And this is all so weird to me! I know I want you to love me, but there are lines in the ground, and I don’t know which ones can be crossed or not because I don’t want to over–”

Warm lips press against yours, and you feel the blood rushing to your head and down your back as all too familiar lips reach you. Bakugou’s hands are warm and big pressed against your hips, and his nose is pushed just a bit too roughly against your cheek, but it’s perfect. It shuts you up, erasing lines you had created in your head as your fingers twist into his hair.

The kiss is almost hilariously innocent despite how roughly the both of you are pressing against each other. Lips without a home for far too long, desperate and overwhelmed at finally meeting yet again.

He pulls away far too soon, and your eyes barely manage to open, something that makes you question when exactly you had closed it. You can’t see anything but Bakugou’s eyes. The brilliant red looks at you with that gleam of pride, the burning love in the red depths that thrilled and scared you. But it’s the uncertainty, the smallest amount of fear in the glazed-over red that makes your throat tighten.

“Wow,” is the only intelligent thing you can manage to say.

“You were rambling,” Bakugou gruffs, warm fingers curling around your cheeks. “It was annoying.”

“Should’ve known the only way to get you to break past the barrier was to start talking non–”

He kisses you again, and only this time, smiles bleed into the kiss.

12:11 p.m. – 22:01:56 Remaining

“That SUCKED!” you screeched, watching the transpiring final episode of an old show the two of you had watched together but never finished due to the break-up. “They really ended on that cliffhanger, and then the show got canceled?!”

“Yup.”

“How am I—? What am I—? I’m going to DM the show writers!”

“They won’t respond.”

“YOU DON’T KNOW THAT!”

“It’s been a year since it last aired; you don’t think people haven’t tried?” Bakugou groans slightly as you elbow his ribs in your mass scramble to grab your phone sitting at the end of the couch.

An apology leaves your lips; it was half formed, even less genuine as you looked up the creator’s name on the internet. But your scowl and total concentration disappeared the moment the search went through, and you saw the first article suggested:

HORIKOSHI K. REFUSES TO TELL THE REAL ENDING OF BNHA HERE’S WHY!

“No,” you whisper harshly, and you hear a snicker.

“Yes.”

“Katsuki, why didn’t you tell meee?” you whine, face pressing into his warm chest as his hands find themselves stroking up and down your back.

“Not my fault your dumbass didn’t listen,” Bakugou grunts as you grumble some more.

You pout, your head turning so that you pressed your cheek against his chest, your hand raising until your fingers grazed across his chest as well. You could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, the soft thump, thump, thump you had once listened to daily. Sometimes it was because it was the only thing that grounded you, reminded you that you weren’t the only thing alive. Sometimes it was after passionate affairs, when his heartbeat would be scattered, unsynced, and totally, utterly imperfect that made something flip in your stomach. Sometimes it was to remind you that Bakugou was alive. That he wasn’t dead. That the injuries he came home with, the ones that made you cry and panic hadn’t killed him in his sleep.

Bakugou’s breathing was still, even. Your eyes continued to look at the handsome dip of his shirt, your finger tracing nonsense against his clothed skin. His warm hands sat on your hips, unmoving but firm. You wanted to look up but felt too hesitant to do it.

Unsure of what would be lost in those deep, dark, red eyes.

Love.

Fear.

Hope.

Rejection.

Acceptance.

Hate.

It could be anything, indeed anything at all.

“Hey,” Bakugou whispers, speaking low in his throat as if to not startle you. You feel heat-hardened fingers brush against the curve of your chin; it was a soft touch, a silent question lingering against the joined skin. “Look at me, dork.”

A shaky breath expels from your mouth, his fingers supporting your head as you tilt it up, but your eyes remain closed, not ready to release that final barrier.

Don’t crumble, don’t fall.

“Oi, calm down, I’m here,” Bakugou softly stresses, and goosebumps spark against your skin when his other hand touches your face again.

“I can’t calm down,” you whispered, voice high and strained, trying so desperately to not crack and break. “Not when things are like this.”

His thumbs pet your cheeks, and you lean into his touch, wanting to freeze time forever.

Let this last forever.

“There’s no reason to cry over the show,” Bakugou says intentionally. It draws your attention away from your actual worries and makes you focus on a lighter, less pressing issue. “You could always bribe the creator with a picture of your ass; I’m sure that’ll win him over.”

Your eyes snap open, and you smack your fist onto his chest, an embarrassed splutter staining your mouth. Bakugou is grinning fiercely, red eyes mirthful and untamed.

“That would be sexual harassment!”

“Harassment, my ass, he’d be so lucky to see it,” Bakugou laughs, hands sliding down to your waist as the incredulous look on your face only grows.

“Bakugou Katsuki! You kiss your mother with that mouth?!”

“And I’ve eaten your pussy with it too.”

“KATSUKI!”

“We could add your ass to that list, too,” Bakugou smirks and rolls his eyes. He looks at your pout, and a devious grin spreads on his face. “And then I could say her-ass-meant the world to me.”

“I– What?! I’m going to– what on earth is wrong with you!”

“Nothing, I’m perfect.”

“I’m going to kill you. I’ve decided.”

“Kill me with that glorious ass of yours, will ya?”

“SHUT UP!”

3:31 p.m. – 19:41:02 Remaining

“I need the vanilla extract.”

“You don’t need the vanilla extract.”

“I am trying to do something creative, sir. We are trailblazers, not cattle sheep!”

“Putting it in will destroy the entire cake.”

“But we won’t know until we try!”

“I don’t care!”

So, the two of you liked baking together.

Despite what one may think, watching it from the outside, it was a great stress reliever for both of you. It worked almost the same as sex! It was to no one’s surprise that Bakugou was a great cook. Not only did he often feed most of your former class, but whenever there was a get-together, Bakugou would be in the kitchen alongside Sato and Midoriya. The former because no one had anything on Sato’s cooking side. The latter because he liked being involved and appreciating cooking soon after making candy apples for Eri.

But cooking was not the same as baking.

Cooking wasn’t nearly as messy, although it was as exceedingly complicated. There was no sugar under fingernails or flour highlighting every curve and shadow on your body. No icing dripping from spoons or crushed candy cane on the table.

Cooking was an obligation to living, be it homemade curry or microwavable ramen, but baking was a gift. Not nearly as needed, but far more greatly appreciated.

Kasutera was a deceptively easy baked good to make. A popular fluffy cake that was traditionally baked in a wooden pan. With only four ingredients to its name, it shouldn’t be too difficult to make, or one would think. There were four room temperature egg yolks and egg whites used, seventy grams of sugar, fifty grams of sifted flour, and 25 grams of diluted honey. Typically, after putting together the baked goods, you were to wrap the cake in parchment paper and leave it to cool over the night.

It was an exact recipe, something that even the smallest of mistakes could damage the final product beyond repair, and well, there were more than a few problems here.

First and foremost, Bakugou Katsuki was not a baker; he was a culinary chef, i.e., not a pastry chef. Sure, he was perfect at nearly everything he did, but baking was one of the few things in his life he did not excel in. Cooking was chemistry to Bakugou, there was rhyme, reason, structure, but baking was too free-willed, too open, and disastrously small at the most unexpected moments.

Mix in you, one of the few people in the world that could quickly and simply distract Bakugou, and the fact that most of the time, you forgot what you were doing while being lost in the blaring music. Sift in the information that you loved to dance, and a splash of bullying Bakugou into dancing with you left you with a disaster.

A floury, sugary, sticky disaster.

A disaster you were more than likely making way worse.

“If your dumbass doesn’t get away from my bowl, right now, y/l/n!” Bakugou barks out, twisting his shoulder to block you out from the bowl.

You squawk as you’re shoved away, your hand that carries the vanilla extract unable to reach the bowl.

“Let it happen!” you exclaim, your voice edging a cackle as your other arm wraps across his chest. You’re trying to entrap him, trying to be like a snake around his entire body. “It’ll make this bitch taste so good!”

“Like hell you’re fucking up this recipe, dork! Fucking leave me alone and forget the damn vanilla extract!”

“Lemme put it in, or I’ll bite your arms!

“Don’t be a mosquito– OW, FUCK!”

Your teeth had sunk into the flesh of his left arm, a cackle bubbling up your throat as you placed another bite a few centimeters to the right of the first bite. Three red bite marks now lined his pale, strong arms, and you giggled at the sound of slamming steel before screeching as annoyed, loving red eyes rounded on you.

“You brat!” he bellows, and you panic, dropping the vanilla extract as he tackles you on the floor as you screech his name.

“Lemme go! Stop!” you howl, struggling against his hot iron hold.

Bakugou loomed above you, knees digging into your sides as he grinned fiercely, teeth bared and all. His face is caked in loose flour, and sugar flakes, a circumstance that had occurred when you had playfully (see accidentally, maybe a bit purposefully, depending on who’s answering) crashed a bowl of sugar and flour into his face.

Baking was a good stress reliever for both of you. Most of your days were filled with protein shakes, gluten-free chips, and bento boxes with an unholy scale for only healthy protein and iron-filled products. Baking allowed for leeway for something not as bland, something sweeter, and delectable. But the both of you commandeering an intricate art often left you both less than clean.

“You get away from me right now!” you threaten, your arms struggling and failing to throw his weight off of you.

“Or what, y/l/n?!” Bakugou sneers playfully, his nose nearly brushing against yours. “You gonna throw me off you? Kick my ass? I wanna see you make me get off you.”

You fluster with his words, face screwing up as you can only see his victorious, feral grin.

“You’re an asshole!” you spit, squirming as his lips press against your jaw.

“Yeah?”

His lips press to the spot right below your earlobe, and for a moment, you can’t find your voice. “Y-Yeah, a big one too!”

“I guess I should apologize for that, then, huh?” he chuckles, and your eyelids flutter as you look up at Bakugou, who stares down at you with nothing but pure adoration and love. And it’s real, it’s true, and you want nothing more but to sink into the floor with him forever.

“You should,” you respond in a whisper. “Take responsibility for your actions.”

“Mm,” he whispers back, already leaning in. “When don’t I?”

And like a chocolate piece on a hot stove, you absolutely melt when his sugar-dusted lips press against yours.

There the two of you stay, for a few minutes or maybe much, much more, letting your lips press and move against each other. At some point, the hands that once held you down were now entwined with yours, a gentle weight now as your free hand pressed to the small of his back.

It was perfect.

Your finger rose off his back and the rare quirk you had activated, allowing for the vanilla extract to lift delicately off the table and move it towards the bowl.

“You better put that shit down.”

You groan.

“Nothing gets past you, huh?”

It takes a bit longer, a bit more bickering, a few more kisses to distract the other, but eventually, the batter is poured into the wooden pan. You put the pan into the oven, and you nod to Bakugou, who looks content with the final product.

There are forty-five minutes on the timer, and the both of you remain silent for some time, watching the cake begin to bubble slowly with the rising internal temperature.

“You know, I haven’t baked in a while,” Bakugou admits, leaning against the island with his arms crossed again. You look at him in a bit of shock, but you’re also not shocked at all. He wasn’t one to eat unhealthily, to consume something that wouldn’t benefit him entirely. You were one of the few people who could healthily chip away at his defenses, but you still feel a pit in your stomach at the confession. “Don’t get it wrong; it’s just not the same when it’s just for yourself.”

You smile, albeit weakly, and shrug, “I’m sure if you brought some to Midoriya or Kirishima, it would have been practically the same.”

“And let those leeches in on my baking skills? Like hell I want to hear Izuku say dumb shit like ‘I want some cake from Kacchan because Kacchan is sugoi’ every day. Or have Kirishima draining my bank account trying to get him enough cake to satisfy that boulder.” Bakugou rolls his eyes, his voice mocking Midoriya’s voice for just a moment before his shoulders lose tension. You continue to stare, unable to look away as he turns to you. “More than anything else…” he pauses, unsure if he wants to admit his truth. But the Bakugou who holds back his feelings and keeps things away has long ago been dead. “I only wanted to bake with you.”

It’s both everything and nothing you wanted to hear. A confession so pure that it both lifted you up and condemned you, and the only thing you could think of was why did you do it? Why did you leave him all that time ago?

You open your mouth, ready to talk, but your stomach growls loudly, and you flush at the traitorous sound.

“Of course you’re hungry already,” Bakugou sighs, but there’s a soft look on his face. “Let’s go eat, dork. We haven’t been out in a while for dinner, huh.”

And for some reason, those words bring tears to your eyes. They may have fallen from your eyes and descended from your cheeks, but you can’t tell; you can’t feel them. This isn’t real, just a little thing to make you feel better, nothing except you being entirely selfish.

It’s not real, but for now, for the remainder of your twenty-four hours, it’s enough.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

6:31 p.m. – 16:41:52 Remaining

The truth about Bakugou Katsuki’s hands is that they’re actually not that sweaty.

You’ve seen the fan forums, the interviews, the accidental doujin, and had been forced to read fanfic about Bakugou while in America. You knew that the entire world assumed that Bakugou Katsuki’s hands were practically its own little ecosystem with how sweaty they got. And while it had been the truth up until he got into UA, the ultra intensive hero course had trained him to learn how to make his hands sweat on command.

So while yes, most of the time, his hands were warm and sweaty, it was because he chose for them to be as such. But when he was off of patrol, when he wasn’t Great God of Explosion Murder Dynamight, his hands were dry. Sure, they were rough around the edges, warmer than most of the human population, but they were thin, long, and completely dry.

So as the two of you walked down an all too familiar alleyway, with his palm pressed against yours and his fingers laced between yours, the nervous, cold sweat that graced his skin made you nervous… nervous in a good way, you think.

Just near the outside barrier of Hamamatsu was a small alleyway. It wasn’t dirty, wasn’t too crowded, nor was it too sketchy. A small stream of people constantly moved in and out of it, most notably during lunch and dinner hours.

Halfway between the opening and the end of this alleyway was a single slot, a quite literal hole in the wall for a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. If you walked by it too fast, too in a rush to get from one end to the other, you would most definitely miss it. But if you were, say perhaps, a pro hero, tackling a villain at the end of the fight and crashing through the curtains of the small restaurant, you would never miss it.

The small hole in the wall had no name to it, but it was family-run, with only one thing on its menu: mapo tofu.

The place was run by an elder Chinese immigrant couple, the husband and wife duo having no issue with the hours they worked because they loved doing what they did. Their mapo tofu was undeniably the best in the city, perhaps the entire country – Bakugou could better argue that one – and their portion sizes were never lacking. Especially never with Bakugou as he had been the hero who crashed into the restaurant and single-handedly repaired all the damages he had created on top of becoming a regular.

You let out a shaky breath, looking at the lean, muscular back of your twenty-four-hour love. He was dressed simply in black pants and a black shirt, something so simple yet entirely dizzying to take in. It made you nervous; it made you feel like you were back on your first date with him.

So Bakugou’s hands were a bit sweaty, your stomach was in knots, and he pushed back the red curtains to enter the hole in the wall.

The lights were as dim as you remembered them to be, the white noise static of the two fans they had at the slightly stained bench because they didn’t have an ac system still the same, and paired with the reruns of Chinese Dramas on the small TV behind the counter, made you nostalgic. Made you feel as if the past year had not happened.

There was no one else at the bench, and you smiled softly up at Bakugou as he moved out a stool for you to sit on.

“Bakugou?! Y/l/n?! Is that both of you?!” a shrill voice exclaims, and you watch in slight fear and overwhelming past yearning as an older woman with salt and pepper hair shuffled out the small door that separated the kitchen and the dining area.

“Obaa-chan!” you exclaim meekly. Bakugou merely nods his head in greeting. “It’s been so long!”

“More like too long!” she exclaims with a frown, and you can do nothing but apologize in complete embarrassment. “Do you realize how long I’ve been waiting for the two of you to return here together? A whole year! You can imagine my surprise when I found out that you two had broken up, but the unimaginable pain I felt when you never showed back up, y/l/n!”

Your face burns at the accusation and the slight mental recognition that you never returned in fear of running into Bakugou.

“All those years of saying you were my best customer, bah!” she shakes her hand exaggeratedly, leaving you to sit in your shame as she pulls out her small notebook and huffs before smiling widely. “Now, will you two lovebirds be having your usual together.”

Bakugou snorts, “yeah, we are.”

“Hm, Bakugou ordering for the two of you… don’t tell me something disastrous like your first date will happen again,” she sighs, shaking her head and waving her hands. “Don’t stain my tabletop again!”

And even though you were embarrassed and a slight bit mortified, you couldn’t help but smile at that memory.

The two of you had been eighteen at the time, fresh out of school, ready to tackle the world. He had surprised you by asking you out. You hadn’t initially found Bakugou and his feral personality attractive, but three years was enough time for it to grow on you, and you had accepted your then good friend’s invitation.

Bakugou had taken you here for your first date. His hands had been so sweaty that he refused to let you even brush the back of his hands. He had stepped away from you, not too far away that people would mistake you as strangers, but too far for anyone to assume there was any sort of romantic affiliation.

Bakugou’s ears were burning red, and he refused to respond to your conversation, which made it awkward and completely one-sided. He had even failed to respond to your congratulations on the inspiring debut he had, which you knew made him at least smile. Still, the two of you ended up in the shop, where the two owners had looked at the both of you with kindness and slight confusion as Bakugou seriously was beginning to sweat buckets.

You had ordered one of the two options they served, and Bakugou stiffly nodded in response to if he wanted his so far “usual.” And as if the night couldn’t have gotten any worse, Bakugou managed to spill the entire fresh and hot plate of mapo tofu all over your new skirt.

He had been so sure that you would have left at that very moment, but instead, you had only laughed, bringing up how you were ready to see if this really was the calm and collected Bakugou Katsuki you’ve known for three years. Bakugou began to apologize, face never lifting from the floor as he recounted every error he had made that night, practically scrutinizing himself under a microscope. But, you had easily found out that day, a great way to shut the great Bakugou Katsuki up, was to press a sweet kiss to his cheek.

“It’s been a weird first date, one for the books, really,” you had laughed softly, grinning as wide red eyes locked with yours. “But, I don’t think I’d trade it for the world.”

To be young, eighteen, and naive all over again.

“I liked our first date,” you say, sitting down to Bakugou’s left, your hands still entwined as you smile. “Imperfectly perfect.”

“No such thing,” Bakugou grumbled, the first date still a sore spot for him. “It was a mess.”

“And yet, here we are!” you sing, grabbing two pairs of chopsticks and placing them before the two of you. You set your free hand to your chin, stroking it sagely. “Perfection doesn’t mean correction.”

“And what incorrect moron told you that?” Bakugou sneers, but there’s an almost exasperated, entertained look in his eyes.

“Only the best one.”

“Kaminari?”

“Precisely.”

Unlike your first date, this small interaction released the once again built tension, and you laughed as Bakugou’s eyes rolled back into his head. Eventually, your two plates were brought out by the elder couple.

Mapo tofu with grilled eggplant and rice for Bakugou, mapo tofu with cucumber salad, and rice for you. And for the first time in over a year, you ate the best mapo tofu you’ve ever had and could only fawn and coo over the texture and taste as Bakugou simply shoved the food in his mouth. Too content with the taste to even attempt to get you to shut up.

But you ate, and he ate, your pinkies joined beneath the bench, a silent weight between the two of you. The elder couple eventually shuffled back into the kitchen when a phone began ringing, and the two of you were alone again.

You began talking as you did all those years ago. Catching him up on the other sidekicks at the agency you were at, complaining about the little old man who always called in to help with the most mundane things. You talked about your parents, how they were doing, and how you set up a vacation for them. Bakugou caught you up on his life, how not much had changed except that Izuku crashed at his place for a bit when he had been thrown all the way through his apartment building, ironically enough, during a villain fight.

The world was calmer than it was when you were high schoolers. You felt that most of it came from the fact that Midoriya and Bakugou were facing all villains at the source of their problems, enlisting their agencies’ help to correctly facilitate them into the world.

It went from work stuff to simply what weird memes you had seen recently, what trend you wanted Bakugou to try out. And somehow, everything between you, everything terrible and stiff, melted for good.

Bakugou looked at you with warm eyes; the corner of his mouth quirked into a smile as he pointed out the chive on your chin. Before you could react to tear off the chive, he had surged forward and his wet warm tongue pushed against your skin to the squawk you made in return.

“Idiot,” he had said too fondly, and you, in a moment of weakness, of contentedness and warmth that this day had so far brought, cracked.

“I missed you… so much, Katsuki.”

He looks at you like you grew a third head as if trying to come to terms with what you said. Bakugou sighs, his head dropping, and a humorless chuckle escapes him.

“Ya know, I missed you more.”

Bakugou pays for dinner, his back turned to the married couple as you bow in thanks and promise to continue coming back with Bakugou.

Your hand shyly joins with his; you had taken full notice of his right hand being shoved deep within his pocket and the left hanging stiffly at his side. It was Bakugou’s way of requesting to hold hands without having to say it. He may not be totally emotionally constipated, but the man was a tad bit shy.

So you take hold of Bakugou’s warm left hand with your right one, and your left-hand finds comfort against the inner part of his elbow. With a bright smile aimed at him and a soft, tinged pink scowl at you, the both of you resume back into the world.

The night air is warm and light, brushing and blowing against your cheeks and neck as the both of you assume the concrete sidewalks. You can’t say exactly what you’re talking about with Bakugou, you know you’re bickering, but you’re unsure about what. It’s nothing real enough to care about, but just a facade to keep the other one talking because continuing to say that you missed each other would only cause a brief spout of pain.

Besides, lovers don’t recount how much they missed each other with pain. It’s supposed to be teasing, joyous, obnoxiously in love.

“The cake should be cooled by the time we get home,” Bakugou says, stopping the rhythm of your argument. “We can have a slice, clean up our place, and then do whatever you want before going to bed.”

“Like…” you give a moment of pause, the power he gave you with the implications of activity before bed is too warm on your tongue. “...give you that haircut I want you to have?!”

“Absolutely not!”

“But an undercut would look so good on you!”

“I don’t care about how good it would look on me. If you buzz off half my hair, just buzz off the rest of it! It’s stupid otherwise!”

Your jaw drops, offended by your boyfriend's still stubborn stance on the entire haircut discord. But your attention is drawn away when Bakugou seems to stop, his gaze far ahead, attentive, forlorn, jealous. You blink, confused. And when you follow his line of sight, you figure out why.

There’s a couple far ahead; one of them has sunk to their knees, a small velvet box presented to the other as something small glints with undeniable power. The other one, the one being proposed to, seems shocked, taken off guard, and is crying as they too collapse to their knees, nodding their head and kissing the other. Your stomach churns, and your fingertips turn sweaty and cold.

Westerners and their public proposals…

And for the first time since it happened, since you let him go, you think of that black velvet box hidden in his sock drawer. Tears begin welling up in your eyes, and you scoff slightly.

“Public proposals are too much, h-huh.”

And Bakugou continues looking at them, a faraway gaze to his face, a future that hadn’t happened etched into the frown of his.

“Yeah…”

9:55 p.m. – 13:17:01 Remaining

Alternative music is echoing off the walls, filling every open space in Bakugou’s home as the both of you clean up the mess you two had previously made. You’re wiping down surfaces, and he’s cleaning the floor. The both of you performing an old but well-known dance as you expertly avoid each other’s cleaning flow but interact enough to leave soft and often wet kisses against exposed skin.

Soon every lingering speck of sugar, flour, and dust is eradicated from the house. The counters are spotless, the floors gleaming and clean. The cake is left lying unassumingly on the counter as forgotten slices are abandoned on plated beside it.

The dishes are left drying on the dish rack, and you have your cheek pressed to Bakugou’s chest as the two of you sway to the music that’s playing. It’s almost hilarious how the both of you are swaying to screamo Japanese music, but it’s nice, pleasant, familiar.

You follow Bakugou’s lead, letting him spin you around, dip you down low and slow.

And like the last thread snapping, holding a mountain of weight, you fall into him, letting go completely.

A new song plays, one in English at that. Your English was far better than most of Japan’s population, you had Present Mic to thank for that, after all, but songs were something you sometimes had issues with understanding. The tone and intonation and the stringing of words in often colloquial and ungrammatical terms left you tongue-tied and confused. The words mean nothing to you, and only confuse you with the set rules you knew.

“Who’s this?” you ask as a powerful voice fills the house, you can’t quite keep up, but the voice sounds sad, almost forlorn. But you know it isn’t quite alternative music; it’s too gentle, as if someone were to slap you out of a terrible state.

“An artist named P!nk,” Bakugou responds, his cheek resting against your head. “She has a powerful voice.”

“Like the color pink?” you ask, grinning at the small fact. He only grunts in affirmation. You continue to listen to the song, trying to decipher the lyrics based on the instrumentals and the shake in her voice. “I like her.”

“Me, too,” Bakugou mumbles.

The song continues, and you close your eyes, absorbing it all as he continues to sway the both of you in the small corner of his kitchen Bakugou’s chest rumbles with his humming. You tune in to him, the song becoming nothing but background static as he speaks the lyrics.

“So say you’ll stay with me tonight… ‘cuz there’s so much wrong…”

It’s a lyric, you know it is, but it leaves your heart skipping beats, and your breathing stops. You pull away from his chest, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear the hammering of your heart right now. Bakugou looks at you with a sad look, his eyes speaking to you with emotions you had once sworn you never wanted to see again, and for a moment, this song is about the two of you, a power ballad written for you and him.

Red eyes burn right through you, and you know twenty-four hours can never be enough with this man.

You want him, and you know you should have never let him go.

And with shaky, sweaty fingers, you grip the collar of his shirt and bring him down for a questionative kiss. It’s soft, almost a ghost of a kiss, a pathetic need and request to make sure you weren’t overstepping as if you hadn’t already this entire night.

But Bakugou Katsuki never half-assed things, never left a thing unanswered, and certainly never did anything he didn’t want to do, and answered your kiss with nothing that could make you self-doubt your actions or his.

Your lips pressed against Bakugous in shaky gasps, claiming burning strides, and exhilarated untamed puffs. His fingers sat on your hips, pressing you closer, rising up the bare skin of your back. Your heart roared in your ears, blood rushing to your face and down below as you pull him closer, eliminating space and time between the two of you as you need to be claimed, needed to be reminded of the physical love you had with him.

Puffy, spit-slicked lips slide and glide against one another, tongues pushing and prodding, twirling and licking into each other’s mouth. You tremble, unsure if the heavy, overwhelmed breathing is coming from you or from him. But you need more; you won’t stop now, not even if the world around you burns and crumbles to the floor.

Bakugou’s shirt is thrown off first, and somehow, your bra is off before your shirt.

Hot, rough fingers pinching and rolling against your pert, begging nipples.

“M-More!” you moan into his mouth, hot, needy, and desperate.

“Bedroom, now, fuck, please,” he pleads breathlessly, too weak to even begin the first steps.

So, you take the first step. It’s more of a stumble, your mind mush and unable to decipher which foot took the first twitch. But Bakugou, ever the hero, catches you, pressing your stomach flush against his hips. And like a once perfect dance routine that has gone unpracticed for years, decades even, the both of you begin clumsy, faux confident steps towards a closed white door.

His mouth meets the curve of your neck.

Your shirt hits the floor.

His belt melts within the shadows of the floor.

Your fingers twist and pull at his hair.

It’s desperate, damning, impatient, and you’re weightless when the back of your knees hit his mattress. He follows you down, face dark and cloudy as he’s back against your mouth, claiming you, consuming you. Your lips throb as Bakugou bites into them slowly, teasingly. Nails dig into each other's flesh, a desperate need to mark, claim, a pathetic reminder of each other’s existence to each other.

Each breath you take racks your ribs with burning embers, and each time Bakugou mindlessly curses, your vision goes dizzy, hazy.

All you can smell is caramel; all you can taste is him.

And for a second, everything is normal, everything is perfect.

Your panties are bunched at your knees, his fingers are gripping at your inner thighs, and he pulls away and stares.

Red eyes scour your body, taking in every scar, every fold as if for the first time, and his eyes lift up and reach yours. Bakugou looks at you like you’re someone who matters, someone he would watch the world burn down for, and as red eyes scream three words at you, you’re the first to put them back out into the world.

“I love you,” you whisper, tears coming to your eyes. “I love you so much, Katsuki.”

His head drops, shaking with concealed emotions, but not for a moment do you have any sort of doubt. It’s simply love.

“And I’ve never not loved you.”

Somehow those words take your breath away, and when his eyes raise to meet yours, you’re back on him.

Lips slow and sweet; moans soft and breathless.

Your fingers roam the planes of his back, nails trekking down the scars and the muscles, only digging in when his dick presses deep into you for the first time in a while. It’s a silent arch of your back, ‘I love you’s mumbled into salty sweat skin, and sloppy unreaching kisses. But he pushes into you at a slow speed with strong strokes, shifting your body up the bed, until your jumble of nerves are worked out, and your ankles are wrapped around his hips as you plead for more in the words of: “I love you, so please, please – fuck – I love you.”

His warm hand takes yours and buries it in the pillow above your head, and the warm thrumming heat soothes you completely.

“I love you,” you confess.

“I love you,” he accepts.

And when he spills into you for the first time that night, his tears against your throat and your tears against your cheeks remind you that it’s real.

5:01 a.m. – 5:11:28 Remaining

Truthfully, you had forgotten how long you and Bakugou could have sex without wearing out. Most times, the two of you were too tired to go more than two rounds; a second-round was questionable at that. But, when your days off aligned, and you were blessed with two days off together, some sessions lasted the entire day.

While not that ambitious, being able to last five hours was not a feat to dismiss. You hummed softly as you sank into clean sheets, something Bakugou undoubtedly changed when you had stepped into the bath before him. He had joined you there, after all.

The clean sheets were nice, cool to your naked skin, and gentle to your nose.

And even nicer was the body pressed to your back as Bakugou held you softly, nose buried into your scalp, finger grazing your figure. You hum, enjoying his gentle caress as he continues to hold you silently.

You wanted to be like this until the end of time.

Content.

Happy.

Loved.

“Why’d you do it?” his voice mumbles, tone detached, and body tensed for the rest. “I’ve thought of everything I could have done wrong… I know I wasn’t perfect, and I can be hard to handle at times, but nothing I put together made sense.”

You pulled away from his arms, choosing to sit up as you looked at Bakugou.

He remained on the bed, eyebrows furrowed and gaze locked on the spot you once were, as if fixated on a ghost. It’s silent as you try not to let tears well up in your eyes, and you look at him, your heart breaking.

Bakugou breathes heavily out his nose, his eyes closing for a moment before he opens them, turning to you.

“What did I do wrong?”

And all you can do is laugh.

“Nothing… you did nothing wrong.”

Bakugou sits up, and you can feel him pressed to your side, fingers wiping away tears you failed to keep back.

“I knew you always had some goal with us,” you begin, voice weak, and you gaze unable to meet him. “So much of your life was planned, and while you h-had to edit some things, you always got the most important part of what you wanted in the end. Be a hero, be greater than All Might… you’re not someone who half-asses things or even allows intimacy with people who don’t mean anything to you.”

“I know what I want,” Bakugou confirms, voice small, confused, but desperate to understand.

“And it’s so good you know what you want!” you exclaim, looking at him as you continue to cry. Bakugou looks at you, trying to keep quiet, and merely wipes more tears away. “I wish more of us were like you in that regard, but it scared me when it came to our relationship.”

“Why?” he presses, placing a gentle kiss to the palm of your hand.

You sniffle, watching the softness of his face and wishing you could take a picture of how he was right now. Your fingers turn and wrap around his, and Bakugou looks at you with clear eyes as you press a long, lingering kiss to the curve of his knuckles. You pull away, dry tongue wetting dry lips.

“Because at eighteen, you thought I was enough for the rest of your life… and at eighteen, I thought I was just a phase for you.”

“Y/n…”

“Funny enough, it took me until I was twenty-two to realize that you were it for me too, but I could never admit that to myself… I was weak, too young and stupid, and when everyone has an opinion over relationships that begin in high school, I became insecure.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Bakugou asks, frowning, but eyes hurt and aching. “You know I was always there to talk.”

“I couldn’t, I dunno why,” you confess, feeling childish and dumb. “I can’t say I was going to tell you, but then one night…” you pause, nothing that there was no coming back from this confession, the single admittance that caused your downfall with the love of your life. “I came across the engagement ring you had bought.”

Bakugou froze, and you looked up at him, shock and humiliation painted on his face like an open wound.

“You saw it?” and the way his voice sounds so hollow defeats you.

“I saw the box, not the ring itself,” you pathetically sob, palms of your hands digging into your eyes. “I knew it was a ring because of the receipt, but I knew if I saw the r-ring, I could never deny you.”

“You knew I was going to propose?”

“Yeah…”

Your hiccups and choked cries are the only things that are heard, and you can only curl in on yourself as you can only imagine the extensive emotions flickering on your lover’s face.

But warm arms surround your form, pulling you in close as your heart lodges in your throat. His warm breath blows against your neck, and you tremble.

“You’re such an idiot, y/n,” he whispers, and you can feel his tears against your shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Katsuki–”

“No, it’s my turn to talk,” he interrupts, and you nod pathetically. “You are the most pathetic, infuriating woman in the world. First off, how dare you ever assume that I have my life planned out and that I’ve kept to it with minor editing. Do you think the plan I had in middle school is the one I stuck to? I damn well hope not, or else I haven’t changed at all. I don’t care about rankings or titles because a positive outside perspective doesn’t mean I’m a good person, much less a hero. I sure as hell never thought I would ever become friends with Izuku again after childhood, much less being partners on the field! I wanted to be the undeniable victor, but perfect victory isn’t something attainable. If I was the same, I’d be like Endeavor pre-High End Nomu. You were something I was never sure about until I realized that you were everything I needed and more.”

“Katsuki…”

“Don’t be putting your shitty opinions in my mouth when you never asked for them, okay?! I want you because you make me feel and behave in ways I don’t understand, but in ways that I like. And sure, you’re a major pain in my ass and in my heart at times, but you’re stupidly more than worth it. You are my everything, and no fucking insecurity of yours is going to defeat me, ya hear? You wanna break up, crush my heart, that’s fine, but do it because you don’t love me… don’t… don’t do it because you’re scared.”

And as his breathing turns erratic as tears, he hides so poorly, streams down his face, your dry lips kiss them away. Wordless apologies with every point of contact.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki, please forgive me.”

“Marry me.” he snaps instead, red puffy eyes look up to you, and blood surges to your face.

“W-What?!”

“Marry me,” Bakugou says again, softer, not so much a command, but a question. “I’m done with this dating shit; I want you as my wife.”

You squeak, hands covering your mouth as the word wife echoes and rings so prettily in your ears. “B-But we need a marriage license, a-and a witness?! We can’t just get married!”

“Why the hell not? Fuck the license and a witness. I don’t need another single damn person in the room when I marry you, and the government recognizing it don’t mean shit.”

“But you always follow the rules!” you shriek, watching as Bakugou shuffles with his bedside cabinet. “No way this is real right now. No… you don’t want this; you shouldn’t want this!”

“You tryna say you won’t marry me?” Bakugou asks, turning around, eyebrows furrowed and fury flaring. “If you won’t marry me, just say that instead.”

You gape at Bakugou, your eyelashes fluttering as you blink, tears flood your eyes because even though you know this shouldn’t be happening, you can’t deny him anymore.

Sometimes… it’s okay to be selfish.

“Bakugou Katsuki, it would be an honor to be your wife.”

He smirks.

“Good.”

Under the light of the slowly unawakening sky, the two of you exchange secret vows to each other as he slips your dream engagement ring on your finger in favor of a wedding band. You have to be creative with his ring, opting with using an old metal chopstick he still used and using the joint power of your quirks, forge a small silver band. There are pitchy giggles, chuckling sighs, and sloppy kisses that don’t ever stop.

It’s messy and weird. The both of you promise each other nothing but a lifetime of happiness and love, through sickness, health, joy, and pain, to bringing in a future life and till death.

You were his, and he was yours.

And it was perfect.

“Watch the sunrise with me, my husband?” you ask, curled between his arms, gaze on his faze instead of the illuminating windows.

“Anything for you, my wife.”

10:11 a.m. – 00:01:02 Remaining

You stare at Bakugou’s sleeping face.

Twenty-four hours of playing lovers, and the two of you ended up married. You smile, amused and entirely anguished at your year of playing pretend… that he didn’t matter, that you didn’t care.

You missed the way he looked years younger when he slept. One of the only times he wasn’t constantly thinking of the weight of the world on his shoulders or how he could continue to be his best for those who needed him.

He was such a good man…

You could only hope he would forgive you.

Your fingers trace the soft curves of his jaw, and you lean in close to press a soft kiss to his mouth.

00:10:00

“Thank you for giving me all of your love,” you whisper, face burying into his neck. “You were my favorite hello, and my hardest goodbye. I love you, dummy… don’t hate your wife too much, o-okay?”

00:05:00

You breathe out softly, snuggling deeper to his chest.

00:03:00

“You’ll be amazing; you always are.”

00:01:00

And with a whisper of: “fuck… god, I love you,” you breathe in the caramel musk one last time and let your eyes close.

Happy.

Content.

In love.

Thank you…

00:00:00

When Bakugou opened the door last morning, he didn’t expect to see you. For a sick, small moment, he thought maybe it was some prank show, and Present Mic and Camie would appear out of nowhere screaming: ‘YOU JUST GOT PUH-RAAAANKKKKKEEEDDDDD!”

But there was uncertainty, fear, and guilt lingering in his eyes, and Bakugou pushed away that thought immediately.

Your request was weird, he had to admit, but it wasn’t hard to pretend to be in love with someone who still had his entire heart. He was stiff at first, unsure how to truly just go back to the way things were, and he probably fought with you more times than necessary, but you were someone who trapped their thoughts and feelings deep down, even when trying to be selfish.

Somehow the twenty-four hours broke away at barriers, and finally, the truth spilled out.

And best yet, he went to bed calling you his wife.

Nothing could get him down.

He woke up a bit past 10:30, the feeling of your body pressed against his making his heart ache in a pleasant, perfect way.

“Good morning, my wife,” he whispered against the crown of your head.

Nothing.

“C’mon, wake up. We both work tomorrow, dork,” he tries again, voice a tad bit desperate.

Nothing.

Sirens were soon heard coming at full speed towards Bakugou’s house, and when the paramedics entered the room. He laid on the bed, holding your limp body, numb and crying.

35:11:00 Before

“...this was… the worst quirk to be hit by, y/h/n,” the doctor says with nothing but disgusting, dripping sympathy and guilt. “Even with Eraserheads help, we can’t stop its effect on you. The kid doesn’t know how to stop it either.”

“W-Wow,” you can’t help but laugh, somehow feeling incredibly light, as if a black hole had consumed you, given how you were falling apart at the seams. “How long do I have?”

“...you have fifteen hours to be with the one person you want to spend your last twenty-four hours with.”

“Thirty-nine hours max… understood,” you repeat back, hollowly.

“And I stress this, y/h/n, don’t tell the person about the quirk affecting you. It seems that if you tell the person, the twenty-four hours are used up immediately.”

“That’s fucked,” your voice cracks and the tears on your face are silent.

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s okay; it’s no one’s fault.”

“Do you know who you’ll spend it with?”

“Do you think it’s selfish to spend it with someone you love, even if you hurt them before?”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha

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criminalmindzjunkie · 3 years

Text

Hungry Eyes

masterlist

Summary: Spencer is tired of hiding your relationship.

A/N: The idea for this fic came from a lovely anon that requested a fic based on She’s So Nice by Pink Guy. I also drew inspo from Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen (strange mix, but stay with me here.) So basically, a lot of Dom!Spencer goodness. I’d like to say a huge thank you for almost 1k followers, because wow. I never imagined 5 people would actually want to read my writing. I love you all, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future works!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Warnings: swearing, jealousy, degradation, spitting, slapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), spanking, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex

Word Count: 5.5k

“That is one fine piece of ass. Don’t think I could get any work done with a sweet little thing like that prancing around my precinct,” mutters yet another sleezeball detective, beady eyes trained on you like a lion might study their prospective prey. It’s moments like these that Spencer has to remind himself that patience is a virtue – that he must bite his tongue because he’s at work and that means he has to act professional. Even if those around him don’t seem capable of affording him the same luxury.

So, it’s with a clenched jaw and all the self-restraint that he can muster that Spencer forces himself to focus on the task at hand. Because Spencer is a professional, and there are more pressing matters that demand his undivided attention. The detective could be dealt with later – in the form of a complaint to the higher ups. But for now, patience.

Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem. Years on the job had taught Spencer to remain level headed no matter the circumstance. Usually, Spencer could tune out the locker room talk in favor of immersing himself into the case. But when it came to you, or rather, people who dared to look upon you with eyes laden with lustful intentions, Spencer had a rather short fuse.

It happens often, and he supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised. You’d certainly turned his head the first time he was fortunate enough to lay eyes on you. He’d nearly broken his neck trying to steal another glimpse of you as you walked past him on your way to Emily’s office on your first day. No one would ever describe Spencer Reid as forward, but on that day, he was the most brazen he’d ever been.

Throwing caution to the wind, Spencer made a split-second decision stop you and introduce himself.

It was the best decision he would ever make.

So, yes – he understood why the head of everyone you passed turned your way, eager to bask in your unparalleled beauty. But that didn’t mean that he had to like it. In fact, every time Spencer caught some imprudent bastard leering at you, he had to remind himself that enacting physical force on another person with no real reason could cost him his job. That, and he was above resorting to violence – or at least he was, until you came around.

Part of his anger was rooted in the obvious lack of respect. It didn’t matter if Spencer held your hand in his as the two of you walked down the street, or if he kissed you on the lips in the middle of a crowded restaurant. All the PDA in the world did nothing to assuage the lingering stares, and Spencer felt his sanity chip away with every passing day.

In the beginning, keeping his relationship with you a secret from your colleagues seemed like a good enough idea. Both of you were in agreement that you didn’t want to your personal relationship to affect your professional one, so when the elevator doors opened up and the two of you stepped out into the bullpen, you both were on your best behavior. And it was okay at first – Spencer was able to put his romantic feelings aside and focus on his work, all while still being able to make eyes at you from across the room. It was the perfect arrangement.

Until it wasn’t.

Because it wasn’t enough that you were gorgeous – you were also the most selfless person that Spencer had ever met. Always eager to lend a hand to anyone in need – always seeing the best in everyone, regardless of if they deserve it or not. It was an admirable quality to have, and he loved you for it, but on days like today he wishes you were a little more perceptive.

That, and he wishes you’d chosen to wear anything but the tight little skirt and low-cut top that you were currently sporting. Not that he didn’t love the way the fabric clung to your figure like it was tailor-made for you – because he did - it was just that every other male in the precinct seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. And that made Spencer’s blood boil.

The tipping point comes when, just as Spencer is trying to hunt you down and propose a quick lunch break, he finds you engaging in conversation with the very same detective that had been spouting lewd comments about you all morning. You’re seated at the breakroom table, clutching a fresh cup of coffee in hand as you look up at the man, a polite smile upturning your lips as you listen to him drone on about how his amateur baseball team had won some stupid fucking tournament the previous weekend. He’s smiling down at you, endlessly smug and way too pleased with himself at having captured your attention.

It makes Spencer sick.

His reprieve comes when your eyes flit to the doorway and you flash him a breathtaking smile. It makes him warm from the inside out, and Spencer wants nothing more than to plant kiss after kiss on your lips. Unfortunately, he can’t, so he settles on returning your smile.

“There you are,” Spencer greets as he crosses the room before coming to a stop next to you. “I was thinking we could go grab lunch.”

“Is it really lunch time already?” you murmur as you glance down at your watch. “I guess I let the day get away from me. Detective Yarborough was just telling me about the baseball game his team won this weekend.”

“Oh, was he now,” Spencer feigns interest as he turns to face the man.

“Yup,” you say, completely oblivious to the uncomfortable tension. “Didn’t you tell me you played in a baseball game once?”

This piques the interest of Yarborough and he raises an eyebrow at Spencer.

“You play?” he asks, tone laden with disbelief.

“Not exactly.”

The detective merely harrumphs in response, and an uncomfortable silence falls on the room.

Your eyes dart between the two men and your brows furrow adorably as you try to make sense of the almost palpable animosity.

“Okay… So, lunch. Did you have anything in mind, Spence?”

“There’s a really good pizza joint two blocks from here,” Yarborough chimes in. “I could show you, if you like.”

He acts as if the offer extends to you both, but the way he looks only at you when he says it tells Spencer otherwise.

“The hospitality is appreciated, but that won’t be necessary,” Spencer breezes, clipped and to the point. He’s able to see in his peripheral vision the way your eyebrows raise in shock, but he’s too busy glaring at the detective to care.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks anyways, Detective,” you mutter confusedly as you stand.

“Anything for a pretty lady such as yourself,” he replies. “And you can call me Trevor.”

Spencer’s hands are clenched into fists and he has to actually bite down on his tongue to keep from doing something he’d surely regret later. You bid Trevor ado with a smile and a parting wave, and then Spencer’s ushering you out of the room and down the hall, hand placed firmly on your back. He can’t do much in regards to initiating physical contact, but he allows himself this miniscule act of PDA. The feeling of your warmth radiating through your blouse is the only thing keeping him from giving into his primal instincts. Instincts that are screaming at him to put that smarmy bastard in his place.

The hours after lunch pass by rather uneventfully. You accompany Tara when she goes to interview the victim’s family, and for the first-time all-day Spencer is able to repress his frustration long enough to focus on piecing together a geographical profile. By the time you and Tara return, the sun has long since disappeared from the sky and fatigue is rolling off everyone in waves. When Emily finally announces the end of the day, she’s met with absolutely no resistance.

Spencer immediately scans the room for you, only to frown when he sees that you’re nowhere in sight. In fact, he hasn’t set eyes on you in well over an hour, too busy wrapping up the days’ work to notice your absence until now.

“Has anyone seen Y/N?” Spencer calls out. His question is met by several shaking heads.

“I think she’s busy,” JJ sing-songs, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Spencer’s frown only deepens.

“Busy?”

JJ nods.

“Yarborough has been chomping at the bit to ask her to dinner. My guess is he’s got her cornered somewhere.”

Of fucking course.

Spencer’s out of his seat and stomping through the precinct in second, oblivious to the way his coworkers exchange curious glances as he storms off.

He finds the two of you in much the same way as before, only this time Trevor is blocking your path to the doorway, hand in the air as he moves to tuck a stray piece of your hair behind your ear.

“– C’mon, babe. Say you’ll go to dinner with me,” Trevor croons in a way that’s supposed to come off as seductive. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

You lean backwards in an attempt to evade his touch, and you barely get the chance to open your mouth when Spencer intervenes.

“She’s not interested.”

The detective whips around, snorting in annoyance when he sees Spencer standing in the doorway.

“What are you, her fucking keeper?” Trevor sneers, before turning back to face you. “Who does this guy think he is?”

Something in Spencer snaps, then – the same something that has been swelling inside him for months, threatening to spill over every time he had to pretend that the stares didn’t enrage him. He’s tired of pretending, tired of hiding, and so, so fucking tired of not putting assholes like Trevor Yarborough in their place.

Fueled by months of suppressed anger, Spencer manages to cross the room in about two seconds. He has several inches on the detective, standing at an intimidating six-foot one inch in height, so when he comes to a stop right in front of the detective, he’s looming over him threateningly.

“I’m her fucking boyfriend, and if you so much as try to touch her again, I’ll break your goddamn hand,” Spencer spits out, and he’d be lying if he said the way Trevor’s eyes widen in fear doesn’t thrill him. “Are we clear?”

“Uh, yeah. Sorry, dude,” Trevor splutters, raising his hands in surrender. “Didn’t know she was taken. My bad.”

Spencer tears his eyes away from the detective and takes in the way you’re watching on with an amused expression. He reaches out, and you’re quick to place your hand in his. Without speaking another word to the detective, Spencer leads you from the room and out the back entrance of the precinct.

“What was that?” you tease, eyes glistening mischievously underneath the street lights. “I thought we agreed that we weren’t taking things public just yet?”

Spencer crowds you against the brick wall of the building, pressing his body flush against yours. He ducks down swiftly, pulling you into a frenzied kiss. His lips drag against yours relentlessly, and all it takes is one breathy moan before he’s licking into your mouth possessively. Spencer slots his knee in between your legs, simultaneously groping at your chest with one hand as the other tangles in your hair.

When Spencer pulls away, he doesn’t go far. His lips leave a trail of wet kisses down your neck as you writhe against him, hands clinging tightly to his dress shirt. You whimper when his teeth nip at the tender spot right under your ear, and you can’t help the way your hips cant up when Spencer’s tongue brushes against reddened skin.

“I’m tired of pretending,” Spencer murmurs as his mouth continues to move against you, sucking purple bruises against your flesh. “Don’t fucking care about how it will affect the job. Tomorrow, everyone’s gonna know that you’re mine. Gonna mark every inch of you tonight – gonna fuck you until you can’t fucking walk.”

“Please,” you slur as you guide Spencer’s hand down until his fingers graze the end of your skirt. Spencer chuckles darkly against your neck when his hand brushes against the soiled lace of your panties.

“Didn’t mean I’d fuck you right here,” he laughs, prompting you to let out an impatient whine. The hand that was previously tangled in your hair slides down until it’s wrapped around your throat, and Spencer’s cock twitches eagerly in his pants when you push your throat harder into his palm. “Such a needy little slut for me. Ready and willing for me to fuck you out in the open, where anyone could walk by and see how fucking desperate you are for my cock.”

“M’ your slut,” you pant as Spencer’s middle and index fingers ghost across your center. “Only yours, Spence. I don’t care who sees, just - please fuck me!”

“I fucking own you,” Spencer growls against your lips as he tightens his hold on your throat. “And as much as I’d love to take you right against this wall, the things I have planned for you would elicit quite an audience. I know how loud you like to be.”

Spencer pushes your panties to the side and you let out a low hiss as he drags a finger across where want him most. You cry out in frustration when he removes his hand to bring it up to his mouth, tongue darting out to lick his finger clean.

“Just needed a little taste to tide me over,” Spencer murmurs, smirking devilishly at you as he steps back from you. “Let’s head back to the hotel. I’ve got lots I wanna do to you, pretty girl.”

As soon as the door to the hotel room clicks shut, clothes are flying off as the two of you make your way to the bed. It’s a mad dash as you both undress, and as soon as the last garment leaves your body, Spencer pounces on you. Your lips meet in a passionate kiss, and the way you immediately go pliant as Spencer’s mouth works against yours makes him hum appreciatively.

“Don’t feel like being nice tonight. Are you gonna let me use that pretty little pussy however I want?” Spencer inquires, though he already knows the answer. He’s known how tonight would pan out ever since the first roll of your hips against his back at the police station.

You nod fervently, hopelessly, and Spencer moves his hand up to grip your chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb traces over the swollen skin of your kiss bruised lips.

“What about this?” he asks, tapping lightly against your lip. “Are you gonna let me fuck this slutty little mouth of yours?” Spencer slips his thumb into your mouth and you immediately close your lips around the digit, suckling lightly. Your eyes never leave his.

“You’d do anything I asked you to, wouldn’t you, pet?” Spencer muses, pressing his thumb farther into your mouth until you gag around him. Spencer withdraws his thumb and his hand tugs hard on the hair at the back of your scalp. “Open.”

You oblige immediately, and Spencer spits into your waiting mouth. You swallow without being instructed, and the visual of it makes Spencer let out a low groan.

“Get on your knees,” Spencer barks out, and the way you scramble to follow his order makes him let out a chuckle. “So eager to have my cock in your mouth,” he hums as he taps his dick teasingly against your cheek. You open your mouth wide for him, and Spencer guides your mouth down onto his dick at a tantalizingly slow pace. You let out a moan as you hollow your cheeks around his head, tongue lapping greedily at the precum that gathered there before Spencer makes you take him deeper.

“Everyone thinks you’re such an innocent little thing, but here you are, letting me use you like a cheap whore while you enjoy every minute of it,” Spencer says through gritted teeth as you moan wantonly around his cock. It isn’t until he’s halfway down your throat that your eyes begin to water, mascara running down your cheeks as he fucks into your mouth.

Spencer lets out a choked sound when your nose brushes against the skin of his abdomen, and he has to fight the urge to throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn’t want to look away, not even for a moment. Not when you’re looking up at him like that, tears running down your face as you swallow around his length.

He pulls you off him just the tiniest bit before he’s forcing you back down, a string of curses falling from his lips as your head bobs up and down.

“You take my cock so well, pretty girl,” Spencer praises, prompting you to let out a muffled moan around him. The vibrations send a shock of pleasure through him and he can help the way his hips stutter. “Fuck, baby. You like it when I tell you what a perfect little whore you are, don’t you?”

You’re unable to answer, because Spencer presses down on the back of your head until you’ve taken all of him again. The pressure he puts on you doesn’t relent, not even when you gag around him.

“Fucking choke on it, slut,” Spencer grunts. “Don’t act like you don’t want this. You were just begging me to fuck you in an alley not twenty minutes ago, like some pathetic fucking tramp. You wanna act like a tramp, I’m gonna treat you like one.”

Spencer’s lips curl into a debauched grin when your hands come up and grip the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer and further down your throat.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Spencer moans, giving several more harsh thrusts before pulling you off of him completely. Spencer reaches down to wipe at the spit that coats your lips as you look up at him with a shy smile.

“You okay, pretty girl?” Spencer asks as he caresses the side of your face.

“Mm,” you hum, nuzzling your face against his palm. “Keep going, please. Don’t hold back.”

“God, I fucking love you,” Spencer sighs happily. “Get on the bed.”

By the time Spencer fishes a tie out of his suitcase, you’re sprawled out across the bed, head resting against the pillows with your legs spread wide. Your teeth are nestled against your bottom lip as you watch him stalk towards you, eyes running up and down his naked figure appreciatively.

Spencer crawls onto the bed until he’s settled in between your legs. You present your wrists to him, just like you’ve done a million times before, and Spencer feels that familiar thrum of excitement rush through his body. He fucking lives for moments like these – moments where all his problems melt away to nothing. Moments where he has no other thought than wrecking you, thoroughly and completely.

Once your wrists are bound you hold them above you, and Spencer sits back on his heels, eyes raking up and down every inch of you.

“M’ so fucking lucky to be the only one who gets to see you like this.”

Spencer pinches your right nipple in between his fingers and you let out a squeak, hips bucking up, desperate for some friction. He kneads your breast in his hand as he lowers his mouth to the other one, tongue laving around you. A light nip from his teeth is all that it takes for you to cry out, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Spence, please. Need you to touch me now, pl-”

Spencer’s hand connecting with your cheek stops you from finishing your sentence.

“Do not tell me what to do,” Spencer seethes, once again gripping your chin to keep you from looking away. “Ungrateful slut. I should just leave you here, fucking dripping and desperate for a release that you won’t get. Maybe then you’d learn to take what’s given to you.”

“Please, no! I’ll be good, I swear. I’m sorry!”

Spencer narrows his eyes at you, contemplative.

“Open.”

You do as he says, and without another word Spencer inserts two fingers into your mouth, pressing down hard on your tongue.

“Get them nice and wet, and maybe I’ll think about using them on you.”

You do as he tells you, and by the time Spencer removes his fingers from your mouth, you’re trembling underneath him from anticipation.

“D-Did I do good?” you stutter out, batting your lashes at him as you squirm under his gaze.

“So good, baby. I think you’ve earned my fingers,” Spencer hums. “Need you to be still, okay? You’re not gonna like what happens if you try to move.”

You nod enthusiastically, eyes fluttering shut when his fingers brush across your clit. Spencer spends ample time rubbing deliciously slow circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves, relishing in every gasp and whimper that falls from your lips. Lips that he’d very much like to kiss, so he does, and you’re more than happy to reciprocate. Spencer lets out a happy sigh into your mouth.

You get lost in the kiss, so lost in the way that Spencer licks into your mouth that it catches you completely off guard when he slides two fingers into you.

“Oh, God,” you moan when Spencer curls his fingers against your walls, fucking them in and out of you, slow and unrelenting.

“S’that feel good, princess?” Spencer asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. “Tell me how it feels.”

Your head falls back against the pillows as you struggle to keep your hips firmly placed on the mattress.

“Feels amazing, Spence. Always feels so good with you. Never want anyone else, only you.”

And fuck, if that sentiment doesn’t shoot straight to his heart - amongst other places. Spencer places a tender kiss to your cheek before he’s moving down to your neck and sucking a bruise right under your jaw.

“Yeah?” Spencer prompts. “Not even that stupid fucking detective? I’m sure he’d love a chance to see you like this.”

“So, you were jealous,” you chuckle between moans, and Spencer bites down hard where your neck meets your shoulder.

“F-Fuck, Spencer!”

“Should I be jealous?” Spencer speeds up the onslaught of his fingers, scissoring them at such an unforgiving pace that you can’t help but roll your hips against them.

You regret this instantly, because Spencer’s fingers immediately pull out of you, leaving you empty and cold. Spencer tuts, shaking his head disappointedly.

“Dumb little whore can’t even sit still long enough to cum on my fingers.”

“Please, let me try again. I’ll do better, I promise!”

Spencer shakes his head and scoots up until his back is rested against the pillows.

“C’mere,” he commands. “Lay across my lap. Or can you not follow simple commands?”

“I-I can,” you whisper as you crawl across him, splaying out so that you rest on your elbows with your ass in the air.

Spencer grabs a handful of your ass and kneads it in his hands.

“How many do you think you deserve?”

You blush and smile shyly at him from over your shoulder.

“However many you want to give me. I can take it.”

Spencer returns your smile.

“Good answer. I think you can handle fifteen. How does that sound?”

“Sounds perfect. T-Thank you, Spencer,” you mumble, cheeks burning red. Spencer continues to caress the tender skin of your bare ass, admiring the way the skin is completely blank; the perfect canvas.

You let out a whimper when his hand comes down hard on your ass before kneading the sensitive, reddening skin.

“T-Thank you,” you gasp out, and Spencer is quick to follow up with another strike against the opposite cheek.

It goes on like this until it’s time for the fifteenth strike, and by then you’ve devolved into garbled whines, ass bright red and marked up with the imprint of Spencer’s hands. His dick is painfully hard underneath you, and you’re in a similar state – arousal dripping onto Spencer’s thigh, coating it.

“Last one, baby. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Y-Yes,” you choke out. “Please, I need it. Hurt me, please.”

The desperation in your voice does things to him, makes him practically feral with the need to fucking tear you apart, and Spencer is quick to deliver the final blow. You barely even have it in you to cry out anymore – a feeble sob is all that falls from your lips.

Spencer’s hand ghosts down across your bruised skin until his fingertips trace over where you drip for him.

“You like it when I punish you, don’t you, dirty girl?” Spencer hums as his fingers glide over your soaked folds.

“Y-Yes,” you mewl, shifting so that your cunt grinds back onto his hand. Spencer indulges you - allows you to rock your hips against his palm as he watches on in awe, soaking up every desperate sound that tumbles past your lips.

Spencer pulls his hand away after a moment and you keen in protest.

“Can you sit up for me, sweet girl?” Spencer asks, and you nod, because of course you do – you’d do anything if you thought it’d please him. You struggle to pull yourself up with shaky limbs, and Spencer puts a hand on your lower back to steady you. “Can you straddle my leg? Yeah, just like that.” Spencer pulls you down and places a slow kiss to your lips, one hand coming up to wipe away the tears gliding down your face. After a moment of slow, sweet kisses are shared, Spencer unties your wrists.

“I want you to ride my thigh – can you do that, princess?”

You whimper as you lower yourself down onto his leg, eyes fluttering shut as you begin to rock against the hardened muscle of his leg.

Spencer continues placing kisses on your lips, your face, your neck – worshipping every inch of skin he can reach with his mouth, all while whispering praises against you.

“So perfect for me. Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as he grips your hips with steady hands, urging you to increase the speed of your hips. “Can’t wait to have that perfect pussy wrapped around my cock. Always so tight, yet you take it so well every time.”

“S-Spence, m’ close,” you slur, hands clinging desperately to his shoulders.

“Already? You usually last a bit longer than that, baby.”

“P-Please, Spencer, I can’t-” you whimper, tears once again pricking at the corners of your eyes at the thought of having to wait a second longer.

“Shh, baby. It’s okay, you can cum,” Spencer reassures you, and your shoulders visibly untense. “Cum for me, pretty girl.”

It takes two more rolls of your hips for you to cum on Spencer’s thigh with a cry of his name. Spencer rubs soothing circles into your hips as you ride out your high, murmuring broken thank yous as you come down.

Finally, you still, and your eyes open, pupils so dilated that your eyes look almost black in the dim light of the hotel room.

“You okay, princess?”

You give a weak nod.

“M’great,” you smile, sounding as fucked out as he’s ever heard you. You lean down and slot your mouth against his, and the kiss is slow and languid – soft and unhurried.

Spencer is the first to pull away.

“Need you to get on all fours for me,” he instructs. “Don’t think you need to put any pressure on that pretty little ass of yours right now.”

You giggle at that, before crawling off of Spencer’s lap. You assume the position, and Spencer places a pillow underneath your hips before trailing a line of kisses down your spine. By the time he reaches your ass, you’re writing against him, wiggling your hips eagerly. Spencer places a kiss to both of your bruised cheeks before pulling away.

You let out a startled oh! when Spencer licks up your center, parting you with his fingers before fucking in and out of you with his tongue.

“S-Spence, oh my God, yes!” you cry out, hands fisting in the sheets as he continues to work his mouth against your core.

“Love your fucking pussy so much,” Spencer sighs against you, lapping at your clit hungrily. “Could fucking lick you out for hours. You taste so perfect, Y/N.”

Spencer lets out a filthy groan against you, and that’s all it takes for you to fall over the edge, wrecked moans filling the otherwise silent hotel room. This orgasm hits you both quicker and harder than the first, and he can’t help but smile against you as you rock back against his face, desperate to prolong the sensation. Spencer continues to work you through your orgasm, stopping only when you cease to twitch underneath him.

“Such a good girl for me. Think you can handle one more?”

You raise up just enough that you can look at him from over your shoulder.

“Yes, please,” you beg, voice scratchy and raw. “Please, fuck me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Spencer chuckles. “Do you think you can lay on your back? I wanna see that pretty face when I make you cum on my cock.”

You answer by rolling over, wincing slightly when your ass comes in contact with the sheets. You look up at Spencer with wide, doe eyes. You have mascara smeared all down your cheeks and your lips are swollen, and to top it all off, deep, purple love bites are dusted across the entire expanse of your neck and chest. Spencer had set out to mark you as his – so that no one would be able to deny that you belonged to him – and he’d done a spectacular job, if he said so himself.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.”

“Then come fuck me already,” you challenge, looking sated in every possible way – yet still, your eyes hold the same hunger that he’s sure is reflected in his own eyes.

Spencer leans down and traps your lips in a bruising kiss, and without warning he thrusts in you to the hilt. You cry out into the kiss, startled by the sudden intrusion, but Spencer sets a brutal pace that leaves you no time to recover.

“You said you wanted me to fuck you,” he growls against your lips. “Now fucking take it.”

He’s fucking into you so hard that you can’t even manage a reply – you just tighten your legs around his waist and drag your nails across the expanse of his back, no doubt leaving bright red marks in your wake. Spencer can feel his own release fast approaching – honestly, he’s been close ever since the first drag of his tongue against your pussy. And now that he’s finally enveloped into your tight, wet heat, that all too familiar feeling in the pit of his stomach is threatening to consume him.

Spencer’s hand descends from its place next to your head down to your clit, and your whole body jolts with the first swipe of his thumb. You clench around him as a litany of particularly filthy utterances escapes you, and Spencer’s hips stutter.

“Fuck, princess,” he groans, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he struggles to regain his rhythm. “You don’t even know what you do to me. You’ve ruined me for anyone else. Never fucking want to lose you. Love you so much.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” you chant into his ear, sounding like some kind of siren, luring him straight to his inevitable ruination. “I’m so close, Spence. Cum with me, please? I want to feel you. Please, baby.”

“Y-Yeah, fuck,” Spencer chokes out. “Say my name when you cum, princess. Want everyone to know how good I fuck you.”

And when you cum with a shout of his name, walls pulsating deliciously around his cock, Spencer is quick to join you. He continues to roll his hips against yours as you both ride it out, whispers of almost intelligible affirmations being shared between slow, loving kisses.

After a moment of post-orgasm bliss, Spencer leaves and returns with a bottle of cocoa butter lotion and a warm, wet rag. You watch on with heavy lidded eyes as he cleans you up, and for a moment, he thinks you’ve fallen asleep. It’s not until he finishes slathering your reddened backside with lotion that you speak again.

“You shouldn’t be jealous, by the way,” you murmur as he lays down beside you. “You’re it for me, Spencer Reid. I don’t ever want you to doubt that I’m anything less than crazy about you.”

It’s everything that Spencer’s ever wanted to hear, and just like that, every fear – every insecurity that had plagued him in the past several months – fell away to nothing. Suddenly, he couldn’t remember why he’d ever been worried in the first place.

“You’re it for me, too,” Spencer whispers as he pulls you until his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow, you know,” you remark as you nuzzle into Spencer’s side.

“Don’t care,” he sighs happily. “I’ll shout it from the roof tops if I have to. I want everyone to know you’re my girl.”

“You’re a sap, Doctor Reid.”

“Only for you.”

A moment of blissful silence passes, before the sound of your growling stomach sets you both into a fit of giggles.

“We never did get dinner, did we?” Spencer muses as he lightly runs his fingernails across your scalp. You hum appreciatively and a pleased shiver rolls through you.

“Nope. You were a little too preoccupied with marking your territory to even offer to feed me,” you tease as you run your fingertips down the planes of his chest.

“Well, now that that’s been taken care of - could I interest you in some takeout?”

“Possibly,” you sigh, flattening your palm on his chest, right over his heart. “Do you think that pizza place Trevor mentioned delivers?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Is that a no?”

“... Look up the number.”

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

Text

Between the devil and the deep blue sea (Yakuza!Josuke x Reader x Don Giorno)

If you're looking for cinnamon bun Josuke and cinnamon roll Giorno this is NOT it. The reader is a courtesan in this instance, and the Duwang gang (heh) are actually a branch of the Yakuza. (Just a darker, criminal Jojo AU)

This request took way too long, @rubyninja1 here you go love, I hope this is what you were envisioning.

All characters are aged up as this occurs many years after Giorno becomes Don.

TW: Very OOC, yandere behavior if you squint, yakuza x mafia au, suggestive content.

Word Count: 1.7k

Minors please DNI with this post and block the n/sfw tag

You stared at your reflection in the misty mirror, wiping off the steam in one swipe. You had a very important engagement to get ready for, and for the first time since you entered this business, you were nervous. Ever since Giorno became the Don of Passione, the drug trade came to a grinding halt. The rules were adapted to suit his ideals and keep Italy’s youth safe from drugs. But there remained one problem- the activities of the former execution squad… at the best of times, the income brought in was meagre, not really being enough to support all of the assassins, and with the new regime, even those jobs had all but dried up. You had to get creative to generate a livable income, and after many conversations and playing to the Don’s affections for you, you were able to persuade him to allow you and an elite group of escorts to run your business while still being under the protection of Passione.

Under normal circumstances, Giorno would not have allowed you to do something like this, but you had asked him to give you just one month to prove that you would be able to protect yourself while doing the line of work you had proposed, him hoping silently that you would grow tired of that life in favor of a more mundane activity, however, in that short amount of time, not only had you established your business, but you had become the most requested companion, which meant you could accept and deny requests at will- suddenly money was no longer your motivation. It was an intoxicating feeling… being that desired, it was altogether euphoric watching them crumble at your sweet rejections. It was fair game for any man, deciding your rules according to your latest whims, although, one man was above all of those games, being in a superior league all on his own. There was no waiting, or appraising when your presence was requested by Don Giovanna. Most times he would request for you to entertain his associates, close to him so he could keep an eye on you- one of many guardians that you had collected over the years.

Moving into your adjoining room you put on the beautiful silken embroidered outfit and hair ornaments sent to you by Giorno- tonight was a special night as the Don wasn’t just hosting any old Mafiosi, these guests were his esteemed associates from Japan. Over and above the usual treatment doled out to those who met with the don, this visit was more important than most. The head of the visiting group was a relative of Giorno’s, so there was no room for error. You wondered about his convoluted bloodline, hearing murmurs about his origins, but nothing was ever confirmed or denied other than the fact that his mother is Japanese, and nobody dared to push further for answers, not that it mattered in any case, by this time, Giorno had rearranged the entire structure of Passione, and for all intents and purposes it worked, sustainably generating copious amounts of money with minimal bloodshed.

Right, mascara and I’ll be done you mused as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup. No sooner had you finished primping your lashes did you hear a knock on your door.

“It’s open…” you called out from the seat in front of your mirror.

“(y/n), they’re ready with the car downstairs, whenever you’re ready to go…”

“Thank you Ris…” the words left your carefully painted lips, barely acknowledged by your capo when he turned to leave. Well, referring to him as Capo was now redundant seeing that you were an entity in your own right, but old habits die hard, and you still respected him in the same way. He always worried before you set out on these types of missions, remembering a time when you used to be sent out on missions by him. Nonetheless, those days were over now, and you had a new role to fulfil.

There was nobody downstairs when you left, so you exited quietly and steeled your mind on the drive to the private cigar lounge.

“Fugo, I’ll be in my study, please alert me when Higashikata and his associates are here. Also confirm with Risotto if (y/n) is on board for this evening,”

“Of course Giogio, excuse me, I’ll also follow up with Mista on the status of the Capos he’s in charge of- I’ll have feedback for you in an hour,” with a small nod of acknowledgement Fugo took his leave and Giorno went back to examining the documents sent to him beforehand about the strange occurrences in Morioh, Washington, and now Naples. This was the start of something ominous, having a nagging feeling that this wasn’t the last time he would have to meet Josuke. It’s highly unusual for organisations like Passione and the Gokudo to interact in this manner, but this situation was exceptional, and when Jotaro had made contact with Giorno explaining the situation, he couldn’t turn a blind eye, and as such, Josuke was sent in his stead to meet with the young Don.

“Giogio, we should leave now if we want to get there before Higashikata’s group, Mista will meet us there,” with that, the Don and his consigliere had left to receive their guests.

Scents of old leather, expensive tobacco, and even more expensive cologne filled the air when you sauntered in. A handsome man with a pompadour, donning a designer suit, shirt opened a few buttons too low displaying the elaborate patterns adorning his chest offered you a wicked grin from across the room. Just next to him, another ruggedly good looking man with scars across his face nursed a drink while emphatically making conversation with a white haired young man who had a beautiful raven-haired woman draped over him.

“Ah, (y/n), there you are, come on, take this to Don Giovanna and Mr Higashikata,” Maria the head hostess, pushed a bottle of cognac into your hands, the Mafiosi already having gone through a couple of rounds before your arrival.

You approached the rowdy table, offering apologies for the delay, nestling yourself between Giorno and Josuke with a flirtatious giggle.

“Well dollface, it seems good things come to those who wait, so I’ll overlook it… this time,” You were surprised with the fluency at which Josuke spoke Italian- perfect Neapolitan dialect.

“Your Italian is impeccable Higashikata-sama,” you commented, remembering the honorifics you read about. Josuke looked impressed, cocking an eyebrow, taking a sip of the expensive liquor that remained in his glass, readying himself for you to pour him another drink. Watching the exchange, Giorno downed the rest of his drink as well, and took care of the formal introductions, not that it mattered in any case. You were being pulled in all to quickly by the magnetism exuded by the young man, being lulled by the dulcet tones of his voice. I guess this runs in the family you thought to yourself, recalling your first encounter with the don. Giorno continued his conversations with the rest of Josuke’s associates, discussing the occurrences that had brought them all the way to Naples, but kept one eye on you at all times. He wasn’t sure if it was Josuke’s brazen attitude, or your fawning, but the entire situation had annoyed him, which didn’t make sense even to him seeing that you were acting on his instruction… although by this point, you weren’t really acting.

“So Higash…”

“Please, call me Josuke,”

“Okay, Josuke, those are some interesting tattoos you have…” you say, delicately tracing the patterns on his chest with a manicured finger.

“Wanna see the rest of it?” not really waiting for an answer, Josuke unbuttons the rest of his shirt to show you the elaborate design on his back, a large stunning dragon sprawled menacingly across the taut skin, stopping just shy of star-shaped marking on his shoulder.

“Hey, that looks like the same mark on the don’s shoulder…” the young man pulled his shirt and coat back on and eyed Giorno knowingly, to which the don wordlessly replied with a smirk as he raised his glass. Giorno wasn’t always that condescending, but he had the urge to make it known that hewas the one who had been acquainted with you first. Not that any of that had bothered Josuke, he wasn’t one to fall for minor acts of derision when he had set his sights on something he wanted, and right now, that was you. Missing that entire interaction as you refreshed everyone else’s drinks, you returned to the table, however Josuke wanted to take your conversation to another location, somewhere quieter.

You lead him to one of the private meeting rooms, slowly sliding the door shut. Turning around to face him, you noticed the look on Josuke’s face changed, eyes darker, expression demanding your attention, which you were unable to avert regardless of your efforts. This feeling was exhilarating to you, for so long you had mostly been in charge of your encounters, only ever yielding control to Giorno when you were with him.

“Y’know, your don was doing his best to make it known that he’d been here first… I don’t much care for the conquest or doing things first, all that matters is doing it right…” inching closer towards you, a pair of strong arms placed you on the table, hungry lips captured your own, your hands attempting to go into his hair when you were gently reprimanded. As much as this was a job for you, evidence of your excitement pooled in your lingerie and left your lips in muted moans as deft hands and lips skillfully worshipped your body, bringing you to the precipice of ecstasy so many times before allowing you to fall in.

“Good girl… look at you, barely able to think…” Josuke spoke into your shoulder, resting his head there while he waited for you ride out your climax.

Outside your little slice of heaven, your absence was obvious, Giorno having concluded his business, had started to take his leave, not before catching a glimpse of your slightly disheveled form exiting the room. You didn’t see him watching you with a scowl, already having set in motion a plan for your future in both his life and the organization… for now the moment though it seemed ignorance truly was bliss.

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kirishoshego · 3 years

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The Other Side Of Sanity//Shinso

!!!MINORS DNI!!! 18+ONL!!!

first part of my Fantasy AU Series! Stay tuned! Part 1: Satan’s son Shinso Part 2: Barbarian Bakugo Part 3: Dragon Dabi Part 4: Knucker Kirishima Part 5: Spirit Shoto Summary: A blossoming love between a priest’s daughter and the devil’s son wasn’t in everyone’s favor Pairing: demon!shinso x virgin!reader Words: 3.4k

TW:nswf: !no mention of a certain religion BUT the devil/satan/lucifer simply because I wanted something with S for Shinso which wasn’t a succubus as I have another idea for that! mention of abuse (slightly), mention of blood and unconscious/dead bodies (not described though), Shinso turning into a sort of demon, having sex with said form, unprotected sex, rough sex, missionary turning into mating press turning into doggy, hair pulling, choking, marking, a tiiiny bit of mind control

You still remember the day you met the most handsome man you ever laid your eyes upon. He looked like he was build by the gods themselves, almost too perfect to be something as simple as a human. It was the beginning of spring, at dusk, the evening sun tinting the beautiful nature in a warm red, hues of orange, purple, and blue. It was your favorite time to take a walk, most people at home, dining with their family or coming from the field, bags filled with new goods. You were accomplished by your friend as your eyes fell upon him. He didn’t really do much, to be honest, he was simply walking across the street, a book in his hand. the stranger was dressed in all black, a shiny black ring adorning his long fingers, and a few purple strands of hair were falling into his face before he pushed it back. As if he sensed you starring at him his gaze turned to you. His lavender eyes were mesmerizing, making you feel as if you fell into some sort of ban. Something caught his attention and before you knew it he was gone, leaving you longing for something you couldn’t explain. “Who was that?” you asked James. “You don’t know him?” his voice was laced with shock “If I did, would I have to ask you?” you raised your eyebrow at him, a teasing smile on your face. He laughed at your remark, explaining to you that the man you just saw was Hitoshi Shinso. You have heard about him, he was known as the young devil around the kingdom. No one dared to get too close to him, a rumor has spread that anyone trying to harm him would end up with a big misfortune or even dead. It must have been lonely for him, you thought. Maybe your father could do something, considering he was the priest. But when you mentioned his name while having supper he turned angry, shutting you down and telling you to never even think about him ever again. Easier said than done.

The sound of soft splashes of water hitting your window awoke you, all light blocked out by curtains. The purple-haired man has been haunting your dreams for five nights in a row now and you couldn’t get rid of him. You tried, reading your books, drawing something, taking a walk and meeting up with James, helping your father out in church. He stayed. No sight of the sun, you noticed as you looked outside, as it was hiding behind the grey, stormy clouds, lightning illuminating the kingdom now and then. Your father was long gone, his duty for the king and the church giving you plenty of time for yourself. So you pulled out your cloak, the hood hiding your face from anyone who might pass by.

It was hard to find Shinso’s small hut, but not impossible. You felt a small victory when your eye fell onto it, surrounded by tall trees and a small garden at the front. Smoke came out of the chimney, indicating that someone was home. Before you could get closer though, a tiny, pitiful meow caught your attention. To the far right was a small, black cat, even more drenched than you, clinging to the limb of a tree. The small animal seemed to sense the fact that you were no harm, trying its best to get closer to you, but failing miserably, her claws once again digging into the wet wood.

“Don’t worry, I’ll help,” you explained, as if she understood you, you thought, trying to find something you could climb onto. A small table was discovered by you as you walked to the back, taking it with you and putting it below the deepest branch. After taking a deep breath you put all your strength into your body, climbing up, scratching your leg open, but you didn’t even notice that you started to bleed, too concentrated on getting the small thing down. As soon as you reached it, the cat clung to you as if its life depended on it, not letting go even after your feet touched the floor again. A small chain around the neck was held a tiny tag, the same sigil as the one on the wooden door on it. Nobody reacted to your knock and even though you didn’t want to trespass and look like a burglar, you just had to make sure the cat was okay. It was unusually warm inside when you opened the door, making you feel welcomed, even without an invitation. On a wooden chair, you could spot a piece of fabric. Taking it away you tried your best to dry off the now purring ball of fur, not knowing someone was standing in the doorway, watching you.

“Kerbera, what have you done this time?” while the cat’s tail was flicking slightly in excitement you turned around in shock, dropping the makeshift towel to the floor, and started apologizing. Shinso picked up his cat, gently fondling her chin with a small smile on his face. “It’s fine, thank you for getting her down the tree, she loves chasing after squirrels,” he explained, setting her down and walking over to the stove. He extended his hand towards you, pulling you up and flush against him. You noticed that even though he was outside just minutes ago his body was already as warm as the house, his smell filling your lungs. Never would you have thought that a person could smell like a mixture of your most favorite odors. As far as you were concerned you could stay like this forever, feeling the same ban you did when you first met him. “Tea?” he asked you, only now noticing how close your faces were. “I don’t want to bother-” “If you were a bother, would I invite you to drink a tea with me?” Shinso cut you off, pushing you down to sit on the chair and taking off your coat to hang it in front of the fireplace. “So?” he walked up to the stove, taking some water out of a big barrel. “Yes please,” you told him, looking around the room. It was small and didn’t seem to hold many personal things. A book shelf caught your attention and you couldn’t read half of the titles, written in a language you never heard about. Next to it was a ladder, leading up to a small, sort of second floor, a blanket suggesting that his sleeping place was up there. He sat down on the chair in front of you, pulling your leg up onto his lap. You watched him putting something on your wound, causing it to burn for a few seconds, followed by cream and bound with a thin, long cloth. “Next time you climb on a tree try not to injure yourself,” “You can’t tell me what to do,” you said, thanking him for taking care of your wound. He clicked with his tongue, returning to the boiling water on his stove. “Fine by me, but next time I won’t help you,”

The next time you got injured was in his garden, helping him plant new vegetables and cutting your hand open on a sharp stone. Without a second thought, he ran inside, getting everything he needed and nursing your wound. “I thought you didn’t want to help me next time?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him, a cheeky smile on your face. “Oh shut up you klutz,” he murmured, rolling his eyes.

And he was there to catch you before you could fall, was there to take care of you when you got sick, was there to teach you how to make your own medicine, was there to teach you how to fight. Shinso was used to people being scared of him and to be fair he started to like it. He had his cat and a few other animals visiting him from time to time. But you were the first person to pass his barrier, the first your cat had invited into his home, and even if he was a bit rough with you every now and then you would always return, telling him that even if he was the son’s devil you wouldn’t care because he’s nice to you and that was all that mattered.

When you stopped showing up without an explanation, he was angry. He opened up to you and all of a sudden you had enough of him and left him. But when three days turned into a week and then two he knew something was wrong. If you were sick you would have sent a raven to him with a letter by now, you had done it before. Two months after meeting Shinso your father started inviting men over to your mansion, all trying to court you. Shinso couldn’t deny the fact that it somewhat made him jealous, he could give you so much more than they could even dream about. He had told you about his feelings but before you could answer he told you to forget about it, erasing the last minute from your memory. But even then you would try to find a way to reach him, he just knew you would. So, after dawn he decided to sneak into your mansion, hoping to find some clues about your whereabouts.

Meanwhile, you were chained to the cold, abrasive wall in your chamber, your father taunting you about your feelings for Shinso. Telling you how blind love had made you, that you couldn’t even see that you were dancing with the devil. That you were foolish enough to not hide your little adventures, not noticing that someone was following you the last time you wanted to visit him, snatching you before you could pass the safety of his barrier and bringing you back to your father. “If he cared about you the way you wrote in your little book of sins he would have been here by now! Try to save you, but he didn’t even attempt to find you,” the man whose nose you had broken when he grabbed you was standing at your window, peering through the glass in case the purple-haired man showed up. “Or maybe he knows about this little trap and just is clever enough to stay away,” you told your father, looking at him through your eyelashes. “You're mistaken, the young devil just climbed across the wall,” the guard announced with a wicked smile on his face. Your father proceeded to gag you again, telling his man to hide in the shadows and get ready to attack when he’s close to you.

They didn’t expect him to straight-up walk through the door in his full glory. Black wings adored his back, a pointed tail whipping behind them. His skin was grey, his eyes black and lilac iris’ glowing in the dark. Hands have turned into claws and you could see blood running down them, dripping onto your bedroom floor. His eyes immediately fell onto your small frame, eyes full of hope and fear. Were you scared of him? With two big steps, he stood in front of you, ripping the chains from the wall and cutting your gag with his nails. “It’s a trap,” you croaked, eyes growing wide when you could spot the same guard you attacked with a raised sword. Before he could strike either one of you Shinso turned around, commending him to drop the weapon and sleep. The blade and the body hit the floor at the same time, causing your father to jump out of the shadows, drenching Shinso with holy water. He screamed in pain and your father walked up to him, a cross necklace tightly in his hand. “Depart from us, demon,” he yelled, watching the creature in front of him going down on his knees, raising a small knife drenched in holy water. “Shinso, no!” you sobbed.

Suddenly screams of agony turned into cackling laughter and the man you fell in love with stood up, no sight of a wound on him. “Next time you try to take me down do your research, holy water can’t harm me, I’m still half-human after all,” he told your father before hurling him across the room, knocking him out cold. “Come on Y/N, let’s get out of here,” he held his hand out in front of you, pulling you up and flush against him like he did the first time. “Tea?” he asked you, making you laugh through your tears. “You’re awful you know? I thought he hurt you,” you told him, letting him carry you out of the building. “Are they...” you trailed off, looking down at the small army of guards scattered in your old home. “They are asleep... Mostly,” he added, his wings covering the view so you won’t have to look at the gruesome scene surrounding you.

The moon stood proudly on its highest point when Shinso arrived on his cabin, you still in his arms and Kerbera already awaiting the two of you. Just now you spotted the huge window on top of his bed where he walked into, laying you down on his bed. “So you’re really the devil’s son?” you asked him, hand going through his hair softly, eyes mustering him, trying to take in as much as you could. “He prefers another name,” he told you “but yes, I am,” was added, as he put the blanket on top of you. “You’re beautiful,” slipped out of your mouth, but you didn’t regret it, catching him off guard. “Thanks,” he stuttered, confusing himself. How embarrassing, he thought. As he wanted to climb down the ladder, you grabbed his arm, making him halt. “Yes?” his usual roughness shone through, all he wanted was to take care of you now and you keep distracting him.

Before you could think about what you want to say to him, let him know what you feel for him his hand was at the back of your head, pulling you to him. What was meant to be a simple peck quickly turned into a hot, deep kiss. Your dress was torn apart, much to your dismay, but he promised to get you whatever you wanted once you moved to a nice place called the Kingdom of Italy. His button-up shirt followed quickly after, along with his black, cloth pants. “You’re safe with me,” Shinso whispered into your ear, kissing along your jawline, fangs digging into your delicate skin, marking you as his. You gasped, so many new things coming to you at once, but the way he was handling you made you crave him in ways you never knew before. “More,” you breathed, hand in his hairs to pull his face closer to you. It didn’t need to be said twice, his teeth sinking into you over and over again. Never deep enough to cause serious damage, but enough to show it was him and him alone you gave your body to. Sharp tongue licked across your fresh wounds, flicking over your sensitive nubs, circling around them to hear your breath hitch in your throat. “Be a good girl and open your legs for me,” he ordered, taking control over your body, the tip of his erect shaft tapping your sensitive clit over and over again to watch you squirm. “You can trust me, you know that right?” he asked, hand around your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, feeling a strong tingle between your legs. “Yes, what? Speak in full sentences, you’re not stupid are you?” he teased, dipping into your already wet folds, only to pull out again the same second. “Yes, I trust you,” with that he pushed himself into you, your nails digging into his warm chest at the sudden stretch. “Say my name,” he grunted, his hand going from your neck into your hair, pulling to give him free access to the crotch of it to place open mouth kisses on your marked skin. “Shinso,” you moaned out, feeling pleasure spread through your whole body. “So wet and all for me.” his eyes starred at where the two of you were connected, watching the way your pussy takes him in, gripping him so tightly. At that moment, he knew you were meant to be. You, he could tolerate, could see next to him. You didn’t realize you were calling out his name, like some sort of prayer, never wanting to let go of him ever again, until he gripped your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look up into his dark eyes. ”Tell me, what do you desire?” his voice was low, feeling the ecstasis run through his veins as you laid underneath him, eyes screwed shut at the amount of pleasure only he could give to you. He pinned your hands over your head as you were arching your back to meet his thrusts, craving more of him inside of you. “Please Shinso, I need you inside of me, deeper,” you begged, feeling a knot build up in your stomach, tears formed through the new sensation you were experiencing because of him. Placing your legs over his shoulder pushed his long shaft even deeper inside of you, the new angle sending shocks through you over and over again. “You like that don’t you? Giving your body to me, letting me use you the way I want to? Who would have thought out of everyone on this god-forsaken world, a priest’s daughter would end up being my biggest weakness,” he told you, lips crashing onto yours once again, careful not to scratch you with his fangs. “You’re a wicked little thing, you know that?” the man on top of you didn’t expect an answer, you were a moaning mess by now, trying your best to meet his thrusts. He could feel your cunt start to tighten around him, grinning because he knew you were close. Slipping on off his hands over your chest, pinching your nipples to make you squeal, over your stomach, then dipping lower to your touch starved clit. “What is this?” you moaned, looking at him through your lashes and he could cum right then and there. He was fucking you senseless and you still managed to look so cute, almost helpless in a way. “Just let go for me, show me how I make you feel,” his thrusts turn faster and before you knew it fireworks exploded in your abdomen.

Within seconds he had you flipped over, arm around your waist to push your ass up against his still hard member, the other hand around your neck to push you down, making your back arch nicely. Without warning, he slammed himself back inside of you, eliciting a blissful scream from you. Groans spilled from his lips as he bottomed out inside of you, feeling you puls around him, still coming down from your high, feeling your second already building up again. It won’t be long until he came as well as it was centuries ago he had someone close to him, still, nothing compared to you. He picked up his pace, pounding into you with no mercy. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his hand around your neck tightened, shutting off the blood flow and making you feel light-headed. The way you squeezed his hard cock told him you were close again and he pulled your back tight against his glistering chest, watching your tits bounce to the rhythm of his thrusts. Your head was pressed against his shoulder, hand around your throat to hold you up. “Look at me when you cum again Y/N,” Shinso compelled you and your body listened, starring into his beautiful lilac eyes as you screamed out his name. He made you ride out your second orgasm, burying himself deep inside of you and filling your cunt up with his cum. He laid down beside you, pulling you into him and watching your passed-out figure breath in softly before falling into a deep slumber himself.

When you woke up the next morning all traces of him were gone, the books disappeared, the flower you collected and dried gone, his pots and pants nowhere in sight. All that was left was a new dress on the single wooden chair, with a note on it. ‘For you’ it read. You cleaned yourself in the river, tears dripping down, flowing down with the water. At first, you didn’t want to wear the dress, too torn apart from the loss of him, but you had no real choice with your previous dress shredded. You crouched down to pick up a lilac flower, the sun suddenly disappearing.

“Hey love, I’ve prepared everything, ready to leave?”

297 notes · View notes

scuttling · 3 years

Text

(You Want To) Make a Memory

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina Original Female Character Word Count: 19,858 Chapters: 5 of 5 Complete Tags: 18+, NSFW, Amnesia, Anxiety attacks, Sex dreams, Dom/sub, Daddy kink, Praise kink, Unprotected sex, Vaginal fingering, Dirty talk, Choking, Biting, Hickies, Oral sex, Making love, Angst and feels, Shower sex, Size kink Summary: Sophie gets amnesia while working a case and forgets everything from the last two years: her friends, her job at the BAU, and her boyfriend, Aaron. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. :)

Link to AO3 or read Chapter 1 below!

The thing Sophie finds most complicated about her work at the BAU is that it’s their job to predict the unpredictable. Yes, they are all highly educated, knowledgeable profilers, with decades of experience between them, and human behavior typically follows patterns that are easily discernible if you have the right training. But even armed with all the information, all the statistics, all the data, there’s one thing they can never really know for certain: what a desperate person will do in the heat of the moment.

The unsub they are looking for is a white male, aged 25-35, who lives alone, has a steady daylight job, drives a red pickup truck, and has a problem with older female authority figures. Sophie could go on and on about this particular type of unsub—she could tell you where he shops, how he spends his evenings, his favorite sport/team/player, probably even what he’ll eat for dinner tonight—but there’s no way she can know how he’ll react to the FBI at his door, or the consequences his actions will have.

The team is canvassing the neighborhood they believe the unsub resides in, and she and Spencer were assigned the four hundred block; they each take a separate side of the street, and work their way down house by house trying to find someone who fits the profile, or knows someone who does.

“Any luck?” Sophie asks Spencer when they meet back up at the end of the the block. He grimaces, uncertain.

“There was one guy, but…” She gestures toward the SUV and they walk toward it together.

“What happened? Profile didn’t fit?”

“He was the right demographic, the vehicle fit, but he wasn’t disorganized. In fact, his home looked like it belonged in a catalog: photos on the walls, decorative items, nothing out of place.” She frowns a little, because it’s clear this guy has raised some red flags for her partner, and she trusts his intuition when it comes to stuff like this.

“And he lives alone?” she asks, confirming. That’s a pretty big part of the profile, considering what he does to the victims. He nods.

“Yes, no indication of a girlfriend or wife living there.” Sophie blows out a breath, leans against the side of the SUV.

“Okay, let’s brainstorm. Maybe... he hires a housekeeper.” Spencer shrugs.

“He didn’t seem like the type, but I guess it’s possible.”

“Alright, well… Okay, so our profile is of a man who kills older women because he has an issue with an older woman who is an authority figure in his life. We thought maybe his boss, but what if it’s his mother?” she asks, face lighting up a little. This theory makes more sense, actually. “What if she comes over while he’s at work, cleans the place up, redecorates, just takes complete control of his life, even his private space, and he loses it?” He nods enthusiastically.

“That is extremely more likely. Now that I think of it, all the photos were of him and an older woman who could be his mother.” Sophie pulls out her phone, gestures over her shoulder with her thumb.

“Let’s head back there; Hotch and JJ are just around the corner, I’ll let them know we might need backup. 412?”

“Yeah—hey, that’s the truck. That’s the truck,” he says with more urgency, pointing down the street at a rapidly approaching red pickup truck that matches the description of the unsub’s. Shit.

“Okay, get in the car, call Hotch,” she instructs, and they both barely make it in before the truck rear-ends the SUV on the driver's side; Sophie’s head hits off the steering wheel hard, and the car rocks, and she looks over at Spencer, a little disoriented, to make sure he’s okay. He’s holding his wrist, like maybe he hurt it bracing himself.

When she gets her bearings, she starts the car, throws it into reverse, ready to apply a little force and potentially keep him from striking again, but he backs up, speeds up, and cuts the wheel to go around them, striking her door and driving past. It’s then that another SUV cuts him off, and Hotch and JJ jump out, guns drawn; the unsub raises his hands, surrenders, and it’s over as quickly as it began.

“Sophie?” She can hear her name, but her head is swimming. She touches the cut above her temple, pulls back a hand covered in blood, but she knows head injuries bleed heavily, so she’s not worried. She’s more worried that she can’t tell where that voice is coming from. It’s like she’s in a fun house, sounds echoing from all sides. “Sophie, can you hear me?” She hums in response.

Kind hands are on her face, turning it toward the sun, and she scrunches her eyes at the brightness. She knows the hands are trying to help, but her head already hurts, and the light isn’t doing her any favors.

“Gotta… get up,” she mumbles, and the hands hold her waist, help her out of the car. Her left foot hurts when she puts her weight down on it, and she almost folds, but the hands hold her up, and she thinks she smiles.

“Reid—is she okay?” That voice is a voice that makes her want to answer immediately, even if her brain hasn’t quite caught up. She stumbles over her words.

“‘M okay. Just my… head.” A different pair of hands hold her up, and her brain is working enough to recognize that she loves the smell of the person attached to the hands. They are serious hands, and one of them sweeps gently over her face.

“Can you open your eyes for me, baby, please?” that good voice asks, and she wants to do anything the voice asks, but her eyes really hurt. She must say that out loud, because the voice says softly, “That’s alright, don’t strain yourself. Medics on the way. You’re going to be fine.”

“Tell him…” She is placed back in the car, can feel the softness of the seat against her back, and it’s nice. “Tell him that was mean… and not to do it again.” She feels lips on her face, turns toward them, sighs when they brush over hers. “Mmm. Or I’m going to… tell his mother.” When Sophie wakes up, she feels like she’s been repeatedly punched in the head, thrown down a flight of stairs, and then run over by a truck, so, naturally, she groans. She doesn’t dare open her eyes at first, can already see the fluorescents flickering through her eyelids, but her mouth is dry, and since she knows she must be in a hospital, she knows that there’s a little plastic pitcher of water somewhere within her reach.

Cautiously, she cracks one eye, finds the pitcher and a kind looking woman with fair skin and dark bangs staring back at her.

“You’re awake!” she whispers excitedly, and she leans forward for a hug, which Sophie does not return, because she doesn’t know the woman. The woman must feel the tension in Sophie’s body as she sits, arms at her sides, and waits for the hug to end, because she pulls back, concerned. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she begins, unsure of how to put this politely. Her voice is dry, rough, and the woman pours her a glass of water, which she takes gratefully. “I’m sorry, I just… I don’t… Do I know you?” Her face falls, and she looks confused, and then abruptly worried.

“My name is Emily. Prentiss. Does that ring a bell?” Sophie thinks back, tries to navigate around the pounding in her temples, and ultimately shakes her head.

“No, I’m sorry. And I mean no disrespect—I meet a lot of people for work, so sometimes it’s hard to keep track.”

“Where do you work?”

“I work for the FBI. Intelligence.” Sophie takes in the woman’s outfit—black turtleneck, gray pants, boots, government issued handgun—and tilts her head curiously. “And you?”

“FBI. Behavioral Analysis Unit.” She pulls her bag closer on the seat beside her, pulls out her credentials, lets Sophie hold them. “Have you heard of it?”

“Sure, of course. I have an interview there next week, actually.” She hands back the badge with a smile. “Small world. Uh, do you think that what happened to me occurred because of a crime, or something? Is that why you’re here?"

Agent Prentiss gives her a sad smile, then stands, pulling out her cell phone. “You know, we’re really not sure what’s going on. Excuse me for one moment, I need to make a call. I’ll get your doctor while I’m out there.”

“Okay. Thanks,” Sophie calls as she heads out of the room, and she pours another glass of water.

When the agent returns with the doctor, she looks tenser, but the doctor just shoots her a kind smile. “Hello, Sophie. I’m glad to see you’re awake.”

“Thank you; I’m glad to be awake. How long have I been out?”

“About two days. You were in a car accident, do you remember that?” She’d catalogued her injuries while alone—laceration to the head, some pain and swelling there; aching wrist, sore but unbroken; bruised ankle, tender but okay to put pressure on—and they are consistent with a car accident, but she shakes her head.

“No, ma’am, I don’t remember.” The doctor frowns, an expression the agent behind her mirrors.

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

“Um.” She closes her eyes, thinks hard for a moment, but it hurts her eyes. “I was driving home from work, I think? Or about to leave for the day. It’s kind of blurry.”

“That’s alright, don’t press too hard. It should come back to you in no time.” She steps around the bed to pull her chart off the wall, skims it briefly. “We’re going to have to run some scans; I’ll give you a moment with Agent Prentiss, and then I’ll send someone in to take you down to the lab, okay?”

“Sure. Thank you, doctor.” The woman smiles and walks out of the room, leaving her with the clearly unhappy agent. “Is everything okay, Agent Prentiss? You look about as bad as I feel.” The woman sighs, drops back down into her seat, folds her hands in her lap.

“The doctor believes you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia. You don’t remember some things you should remember. Quite a bit of time.” Her throat goes dry again, her heart beats rapidly in her chest.

“That’s not possible. I remember driving home from work… or, getting in the car to drive home from work, just the other day.” She shakes her head like she’s not sure what to say.

“I know, Sophie, but that’s not a recent memory. You don’t work at the Grant building anymore.”

“What do you mean? I’m the Intelligence liaison. I mean, I applied for the BAU job…” She’s wanted to work there since she found out about it, to put her degrees to good use; to get an interview is almost unheard of, everyone told her, but she made the cut, even bought a new suit to wear. It’s still hanging in her closet.

“And you got it,” Prentiss says gently, reaching forward to take her hand. “You and I have been working together at the BAU for almost two years.”

Sophie can’t be blamed, she doesn’t think, when she leans over, reaches for the wastebasket, and promptly vomits. “So I’m a profiler, and I’ve been one for two years. I work with you and we’re friends,” Sophie repeats as a bit of a recap. Prentiss nods.

“Yep. Those who profile serial killers together, stick together.” She says it with a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes.

“Wow. Okay. I’m really sorry I don’t remember you.” She shrugs it off, and Sophie sighs. “Any other major life events I should know about? Did I get a cat, go vegan?”

“You don’t have time for a pet, and you like cheese too much,” Prentiss jokes, but that does sound like something she’d say. Her face gets serious after that, and she even looks nervous. It makes Sophie nervous, too. “You have a boyfriend.”

That raises her eyebrows.

“I have a boyfriend.” She smiles softly, nods.

“Yes. He’s… it’s funny, because he’s actually... our boss.” Sophie blanches. Talk about a close-knit group.

“I’m sleeping with my boss? That is not like me.” She barely sleeps with anyone, too busy focusing on her career and not that into one-night-stands, but her boss of all people? That’s just plain stupid.

“It’s really not like that, trust me. You two are in love.” Okay, she’s heard enough. Maybe Prentiss is a prankster, playing some wildly hilarious joke on her amnesiac pal.

“I’m in love. Did I actually say that?” She knows herself pretty well, flaws and all, and she’s been a vehement skeptic when it comes to love for… god, as long as she can remember—no pun intended. Prentiss nods, looks very serious.

“Yes, I’ve heard you say it many, many times. You two live together.”

“We live together? For how long?” This can’t be right; one of the things she values most is her privacy, her solitude. She lives a quiet, simple life, aside from being an FBI agent, and she likes it that way.

“About six months,” she answers carefully.

“We’ve lived together for six months? How long have we been dating?” Her voice sounds a little shrill even to her own ears. Prentiss is being very cool about it all, doesn’t so much as blink.

“It’s a year next week, actually. He’s been trying to come up with a surprise for your anniversary.” Sophie feels a little lightheaded.

“Anniversary. Fuck.” She squeezes her eyes shut, which hurts, opens them only so the pain will go away. She knows they’re teary, can’t help it, but she doesn’t want Prentiss to see her like this. She hates being vulnerable, always has. “I can’t remember two years of my life. I can’t remember my own boyfriend, my own job. My friends.”

“I can tell you about them, if you want,” she offers cautiously. “The doctor said it could help, but if you feel like it’s too much, let me know.”

Sophie nods carefully. She wants to know, she needs to know.

Prentiss—Emily—is so genuinely kind. She sits there for an hour, tells Sophie about work, and their team—their friends, because the group is very tight, gets together for dinner and drinks, and they all support each other’s non-bureau endeavors, and she feels so sad that she can’t remember them, can’t recall anything Emily is rattling off so easily it’s like she doesn’t even have to think about it.

She talks about some tough cases they’ve worked on, and how they always end with a cookout or a family dinner so they can remember why they do the hard things, why they keep fighting. She talks about people they’ve helped, saved, brought comfort to. She talks about flights home on the jet, how sometimes they sit in quiet, companionable silence and other times it’s all teasing and laughter and the good things in life.

Then she starts talking about Aaron—the boss/boyfriend—and Sophie does cry, a couple of tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. She’d never imagined in her life that she would be as loved as she is, if Emily’s stories are true, and the fact that she can’t remember any of it is like a knife to the gut. She wants to scream, to make someone pay for what she’s missing, but she knows none of that will bring her memory back, so she dials back the rage as quickly as it came—huh, that’s new.

Usually, her particular brand of anxiety attack would happen right about now, always worse when she’s afraid or angry. She anticipates tightening in her chest, shortness of breath, ringing in her ears that takes forever to go away, but it doesn’t come. She’s able to calm herself with a deep breath, and despite the fact that the rest of her life is a dumpster fire right now, this feels kind of good. It feels like progress, not a story told through someone else’s eyes, but a tangible feeling she can hold onto and think, I am a different version of Sophie than I was two years ago. A better version, maybe. But at least different. That, above everything else, makes it real.

A nurse walks in to take Sophie down for scans, and Emily just smiles, a bit sadly, and tells her she’ll be there waiting when she returns.

It’s a small comfort, something she holds onto as she’s taken down to the lab. When Sophie makes it back to her room, Emily is waiting there as promised, and she has a duffle bag sitting on the bed. “The doctor says you can go home while they wait for the scans,” she says with a smile; she probably thinks it will make Sophie happy, and it does, but the idea of going to a home she’s never been to is a little unsettling. Still, it’s nice to know there are people who care about her who will help her through it, that she’s not alone. That’s not something Sophie of two years ago would have been able to count on.

She smiles back, and Emily helps her change into clothes that somehow still smell like the hospital, but it feels better to be dressed and not stuck in the flimsy hospital gown that always makes you feel weaker and sicker, more injured than you really are.

She hears a voice from out in the hall, a voice that catches her attention immediately, and she walks over to the door, peeks her head out to see if she can find the man it belongs to.

She does, and he is almost too good-looking to be real. Somehow, she both instinctively knows that this man is Aaron, and can’t see how that could possibly be true.

“Emily. Is that Aaron?” she asks to confirm, pointing to the tall, serious-looking, frankly smoldering hot man having a conversation with her doctor at the end of the hall. She peeks her head out the door too, looks toward him with a smile.

“Yeah, that’s him. Do you remember him?” Her tone is guarded but hopeful, and Sophie sighs.

Remember him, no, not in the way she means, but every cell in her body feels alive and on fire just from catching a glimpse of his face, so she’s pretty sure Emily is right and she’s crazy in love with him. And his suit. Who looks that good in a suit?

Her boyfriend, apparently. Who she lives with. Who she’s been with for a year. Her mind is still a little blown.

“I don’t recall any memories of him,” she whispers, as if he can hear her from down the hall, “but, uh. I think my body remembers him.” Emily looks at her, eyebrow quirked, and she blushes. “Or, you know. Parts of it.”

Realization dawns, and Emily grins. “Okay yeah, that tracks. You two are kind of all over each other. It’s an intense vibe.” Sophie takes a moment to imagine that, what it would be like to be in a relationship with this man.

He looks intense, which can be good or bad, with the kind of mouth you could kiss forever, smile against. He’s taller than her by about a foot, which thrills her, and broad, as evidenced by the jacket stretched across his shoulders, which really thrills her. He’s older, maybe early forties, which she doesn’t feel particularly strongly about one way or another, with gorgeous dark hair and eyes, and when he shakes hands with the doctor, silver wrist watch gleaming under the fluorescent lights, her mouth practically waters.

“Earth to Sophie. You’ve got a little drool, there,” Emily teases, pointing to her own mouth, and Sophie groans.

“You didn’t prepare me. You didn't tell me he was hot.” Aaron turns away from the doctor, starts walking down the hall toward her room, and she ducks out of the doorframe, Emily following suit. She puts a hand to her forehead, not in physical pain, but mental pain for sure. “God, this is going to be so awkward. I’ve got a total lady boner for the guy I’m in love with that I can’t even remember.”

“It might be a little awkward at first, but you guys are sweet together. He’s going to be so caring and understanding, give you all the time you need.” She puts her hands on Sophie’s arms, grounding her. “We’re going to focus on trying to get your memories back, but the doctor said you shouldn’t stress.”

“That’s easy for her to say,” she mutters, crossing her arms, “she didn’t forget her big sexy boyfriend.” She hears a soft chuckle from behind her and instantly flushes, which makes Emily grin.

“Sophie, this is Aaron.” She physically turns her, and Aaron is smiling gently, which makes him look even better than when he was serious and expressionless. Her heart thrums in her chest.

“Hi. I’m sorry I don’t remember you. I want to.” She sticks out her hand for a shake, feels dumb instantly, but he takes it anyway, holds it for a moment. His hand is rough, so much bigger than hers, and part of her hopes he never lets go.

“That’s alright. Dr. Bracken is confident you’ll recover all of your memories in time. She’s given me some instruction on ways we can try to jog your memory, but no stress, like Emily said.”

“I guess we’re not considering the fact that losing two years of your life is a little stressful,” she counters, and he laughs again.

“You haven’t lost anything. Just misplaced them for a while.” He steps toward her, like he wants to touch her, comfort her maybe, but freezes, thinks better of it. She’s torn between wanting to get to know him better first and wanting to jump into his arms immediately, so she decides to let him set the pace. “So… Do you want to come home with me?” His voice is soft, hopeful, matching his eyes. “Garcia—our friend, another coworker of ours—has offered to put you up at her place if you’re not comfortable with that, so no worries either way. You have a place to go.”

Her stomach sinks a little at the thought of being anywhere but home, even though she has no idea where that is, and she looks back at Emily, who smiles encouragingly.

“I think I want to go home,” she decides after a moment, and she turns back to look at Aaron. “Is that okay with you?” He nods seriously.

“Yes, of course. I want you home with me. I just wanted you to know you had other options.” Emily slips past her, a hand on her elbow, and finishes gathering up her belongings while they talk. “The rest of the team is going to come over for a little bit, if you’re okay with that. The doctor said it would be a good idea, since you spend most of your time with them, but if at any point it gets overwhelming, let me know. No hard feelings if we send everyone home.”

“Okay,” she breathes, her head already swimming a bit just from talking to Aaron, and he does step forward, then, giving her her space but indicating that he wants to come closer, if she’ll let him.

“May I put this on you?” he murmurs, and opens his palm to display her rose necklace, the one she wears, must still wear, everyday. At least that hasn’t changed. “The EMTs gave it to me when they brought you in. I’ve been holding onto it for safekeeping.” She nods, turns around, and he slips it around her throat, clasps it, brushes a careful hand over her neck to move her hair out of the way. “That’s better,” he says, his breath ghosting over her skin, and she sighs, wants to sink back against the heat of his body; she just knows how comforting it would be, how safe she would feel. Instead, she turns and smiles softly.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” They hold eye contact for a moment, and then Emily appears at her side, making a face like she knows she’s interrupting something.

“Ready to get going?” she asks, handing Sophie’s duffle bag over to Aaron. “I’m going to stop at home and then I’ll head to your place.”

“Absolutely. Thank you, Emily,” Sophie says sincerely, stepping forward to pull her into a tight hug. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I hope I remember more about you soon.”

“I’m happy I could be here, and I know you will. Just give it some time.” She pats her on the back, and then leaves the room.

Aaron carries her bag and leads her out to the parking garage, toward a standard federal issued SUV, and he opens the door for her, closes it behind her with a gentle smile.

Time to go home.

Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x original female character #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner/original female character #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader

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kingsuckjin · 4 years

Text

Ungodly Beast 3- epilogue

✞ Pairing: Devil! Jungkook x reader

✞ Genre: horror, fluff idk anymore

✞ Synopsis: You need to end this hell on earth.

✞ Warnings: death, gore, mention of burns, blood, talk of heaven and hell, the earth is on fire (I have to say that your child dies but it will all be okay, I promise it’s alright and it’s not as bad as you might think, just trust me.)

✞ Words: 2.3k

✞ A/N: I would put links here for the past two parts, but lately tumblr has been doing this thing where it wont let this fic show up in the tags if I put in links or tag anyone. They're on my masterlist though, I’m just very sorry for the inconvenience.

"Go my child, end this. Take all the power you need, and if you succeed I'll return the favor."

The flames around your bare feet had to be searingly hot, but they didn't hurt you, it didn't even singe or dirty the white you wore.

The grass of the park was no more, and what lie under the flames was dry, scorched earth. The leaves had been burned from the trees, the trunks of which still smoked and trailed upwards towards the starless night sky. Glowing orange embers and ash fell all around you like some kind of twisted blizzard.

As you walked you saw the melted remnants of the playground you use to take your son to.

So this was hell on Earth.

It was just a shell of familiarity and home.

On your walk you could hear the sounds of police sirens and fire trucks, but it was much too late for them, everything was on fire.

Buildings, shops, offices, either up in flames or ash on the ground. You saw a car in flames explode, thankfully no one was in it.

There were people. People lined the streets, crying, confused, scared and burned.

An old man was laying on the street, his wife crying over him. She was so hysterical she didn't even see you approach, but when she did her jaw dropped at the sight of you, she begged you for help in another language, one you knew only bits and pieces of before and studied in your free time, but you now fully understood.

You said nothing as you looked over the man's burnt face before placing your hands over it, covering the freshly burnt skin. You closed your eyes and let your head fall slightly.

"My child, I will let you heal him, I will let you give the people hope. But you must hurry to find him before he causes anymore irreversible destruction. Stop him, and put the rest in my hands."

You nodded in agreement and opened your eyes and moved your hands.

On lookers had gathered around you, both the woman and the man thanked you, but you had to go.

"Don't worry, just pray." You told them. You knew they were looking at your wings folded against your back as you walked on.

As you passed Namjoon's burning church you could see him clearly in your head, on his knees on the floor between the pews on prayer as he realized who was just outside right before it went up in flames.

You didn't go inside, it was too late for him, but you knew Jungkook and your son had to be close, you could feel it. You could see their trail of death, torment and destruction.

You closed your eyes and you brought on the rain.

The crack of thunder rolled through the sky before the downpour started, and though it rained around you, you remained dry. It was all you could do in an attempt to end the suffering of the people at the hands of this fire for now. You also wanted to prevent the risk of them making things worse when you found them.

To attract them you began to sing quietly, you sang the song in the language that Jungkook had sang to your son when he was just a baby. Though the lyrics didn't translate well, it was a song about peace and silence and it was in the world's first language. Even back then, you supposed, that parents just wanted their babies happy and they wanted to do right by them. You remembered Jungkook saying when you first met him that that was something he never understood, and still seemed not to.

You couldn't bring yourself to be mad at him, you pitied him. You pitied his lack of understanding towards humanity even with all of his new emotions. He didn't get to grow from a child, he didn't have surroundings or figure to help shape him. He couldn't never be a parent because he never had a parent figure, he was never a child, Jungkook just was. He had just been Jungkook all at once since the birth of time. He only knew being cast out of heaven, he only knew lies, he only new bitterness, revenge, and power. Jungkook only knew destruction and couldn't handle when you had created something for him, given life to something that was partially made from him. Jungkook wanted to own you and your children just like he owned the souls in hell. Even if you give a person emotions who wasn't taught right from wrong or how to be there for people, or how to not be selfish, they might feel guilty. However, they've already become set in their ways seeing as it's all they've ever known. It wasn't Jungkook's fault that he was given this eternal cold life, he never asked for this.

You understood vastly more than you did before, there was no fooling you now, you saw absolutely everything but one way you saw before never changed.

You loved Jungkook. You knew he would've loved you if he could've from the start. You were his soulmate, His Lilith, his reason for not being allowed to have emotions in the first place in fear of producing the Antichrist. Nothing could stop destiny, you knew this now. No matter what god took or gave to him, nothing could've stopped this. Even now as you found Jungkook holding your son's hand as he burns someone alive, this was destiny. Just like Noah's ark, god can cast out and call forth, he can teach lessons or make people forget.

So here you were, and here he was, in the middle of this burnt street. Neither of them saw you yet, but they were doing what destiny called for.

"Jungkook." You spoke his name for the very first time, catching both their attentions.

"Mommy!" Your elated son tried to run to you but his father stopped him as he was stuck staring at you.

"You're…" his voice was almost inaudible with the roar and crack of the fires that were too big.

You unfurled your white wings from behind your back and stretched them out.

"You're home."

"Mommyyy! Mommy back!” Your son yelled happily with a big smile on his face as he began struggling against his father and slipped out of his grasp. Your son ran the half of a block down the street and you could now see his horns were much larger now, and his eyes were black. His father screamed for him and began to run after him, telling him not to touch you.

You knelt down and let your child run into your open arms. You wrapped them around him and let him fall limp.

"I love you, everything will be okay." You told him as you picked him up and laid his body on the sidewalk. Much like a cross or holy water, your body itself could destroy anything Unholy, you were blessed from god himself, you were an angel.

"No… no! What did you do to him?! What did you do to our son?!" Jungkook screamed at you making the fire around you only burn more angrily.

"He felt nothing, God will return him to me." You stepped closer to him. "I came for you too."

"No. You're home, bring our son back and come home!" He demanded but you were no longer easily swayed.

"This isn't my home anymore, look what you've done to it." You answered calmly.

"I made this for us, I did this for you."

You watched as blood began to leak from his eyes and mix with the water from the rain.

"I know, I know you did. I know that there's no length you wouldn't go to for me, even your son. You mean well, you just don't understand. Just know I would go through any length for you and our family, and that's why I'm here. We both went through great lengths, we've both been through a lot, so come to me."

"You're tricking me, you're going to kill me…" he with his narrowed eyes aimed at you.

"You're in pain, Jungkook. It doesn't have to be that way. God still has time to fix this little isolated incident."

"And hell? What happens to hell when I'm gone?" He asked. You felt he was about ready to give in, you knew it took everything in his power right now to not come to you and hold you.

"I think that's what destiny wanted all along, no more hell. We were meant to be together Jungkook, and it's finally time. I'm not tricking you, I could never do to you what you did to me. Let's go get our daughter and son, let's be a family let's-"

He began to walk towards you, falling to his knees at your feet and looking up at you.

"I don't know where I'll be going, but I'll follow you anywhere" you watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed nervously. "I just want you and my family, I want everything to be okay."

You lifted your hand to his cheek as you looked down into his black eyes and brushed away the bloody tears from his cheeks only to leave red marks of your own. You had burned him with your touch, and he had flinched but didn't outwardly complain.

He stood and his face came just millimetre from yours.

"Just do it." He whispered before pressing his lips softly to yours.

You brought both of your hands up and placed them on his face and in a split second he went limp against you.

You struggled to gently lay him down on the pavement.

"I'm done. It's done. Fix it, please." You spoke out loud.

"Rest now my child. You've been through so much."

The sky began to grow brighter and brighter until it took over everything and you had to squint to see anything at all.

You were struck with the sudden urge to pee, but you were just too tired underneath your warm sheets. You groaned as you tried to go back to sleep but the feeling became almost unbearable.

You moved the blankets, sat up, and swung your legs over the bed, immediately feeling your back hurt. This action must've woken up the baby inside of you because you began to feel the heavy kicks from inside of your belly.

"I'm going, I'm going." You nagged at the unborn baby as you waddled towards the bathroom. "You better not kick me in the bladder again, girl." You warned.

When you were done you headed to the kitchen with new priorities, you smelled food. Lately just the thought of anything food related had you salivating and reaching for anything edible you could get you hands on, but that's just what being seven months pregnant did to you.

You walked through the doorway just in time to see a few pieces of scrambled egg fall onto the floor.

Your son looked down at it from the stool against the counter he stood on and so did his dad.

"Uh oh." You son said as he looked at you, holding a plate of the eggs.

"Morning darling. We're definitely not making a mess in here." Jungkook lied with a smile as you assessed the damage the boys had done to the kitchen.

"As long as you both clean it up I see no mess." You joked.

"Mommy! Breakfast!" Your son held the plate up proudly, spilling more eggs onto the floor, lucky Jungkook decided to take the plate away from the tiny little version of himself before picking him up with the other arm.

"Tell mommy good morning!" He placed the plate on the table before bringing your son over on his hip. Jungkook knew it was hard for you to bend over now a days.

Your son gave you a wet kiss on your cheek before his father knelt down with him.

"What about baby sister?" His father asked him.

The boy was careful as he gave your belly a hug and pat and told it good morning.

"Morning." Jungkook gave you a quick kiss on your lips before wrapping his arms around you.

"We missed you." He whispered into your ear. "You slept in late, must almost be time for her." He let you go so you could all sit at the table.

"I'm excited, but dreading having to through giving birth a second time. We missed church again because of me, didn't we?"

"Father Namjoon understands you're too pregnant to function at the moment." He jokingly assured you. "I'm excited for her to get here already. I'll be right there with you, and little bub gets to spend time with his grandma. It's all planned out and you have nothing to worry about. Oh, by the way, I finished putting the crib up in the nursery finally." Even as he spoke about mundane things, there was a sparkle in his soft brown eyes as he looked at you, there were so wide with excitement and wonder, a trait he passed to your son. You would never get enough of him, you hadn't been able too since you met in grade school. You even found yourself missing him deeply to the point of tears during college. When you saw him again one night at a bar, the two of you just couldn't help it. You were confident that was the night you made your son together. You were once again inseparable as inseparable gets. He just stayed over every night after that night, which was good because you didn't want him to leave anyway. You were married just three months after that night at the bar. He wanted everything you wanted, he was the man you had always dreamed of, you had never loved any other person the way you did him. You had always had a connection with him, one you felt went far beyond when you met him as a little wide eyed boy asking to be friends. You knew, both of you did, that you were soulmates.You had always had been and always would be, in this life, whatever lives came before this, and in the next.

#jungkook #jeon jeongkook #Jungkook Series #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook au #bts thriller #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic

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masterjedilenawrites · 3 years

Text

Golden Linings: Chapter 1

Cal Kestis x reader

Series Summary: You and several of your friends have been captured for unknown reasons. After being rescued by a rag-tag trio on the hunt for Force-sensitives, you all strike a deal to aid in their quest while searching for a way back home... though your own priorities threaten to shift as you grow ever-closer to the sweet redhead Jedi called Cal.

Chapter Content: Some fighting and creepers being creeps

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

A/N: I don't really know where this story will go but I've been wanting to write a multi-chapter fic again (don't worry, I'm still working on my Thrawn & Eli one too!) and I wanted to do something with our precious Jedi cinnamon roll, especially after writing this post, which may or may not be woven in later, we'll see. I'm striving for a gender-neutral reader but may update to fem! since this is very self-indulgent I'm so sorry, sometimes you gotta write for yourself ya know?

Chapter 1: Fight and Flight

You were scared.

Terrified.

There almost seemed to be a disconnect between your body and your mind. The one was on auto-pilot, unable to stay still, taking you through street after street as if it actually knew where it was going. The other was shutting down, incapable of processing anything around you in a clear or productive way. Your eyes scanned buildings and faces and signs, but not a single one registered to you.

You were lost.

Scared.

Alone.

It had been a normal day at the start, the kind of normal that wouldn't have planted itself in your memory had it remained a normal day. It would've been indistinguishable from all the other normal days you'd had just like it in your life, and you would've continued on to live even more of them without a single care about it. That's how it should have been.

But now, now that you had been unexpectedly ripped from that sense of normalcy, thrown into this strange place with no options or even an explanation as to how any of this could have been possible, you were forced to accept your life was not as it should be, and that you had to do something about it.

Your feet halted at the thought. You had to do something. All this walking and wandering wasn't doing something... if anything, it was only a distraction, a way to postpone the inevitable acceptance of the situation for what it truly was. A scary, terrifying situation you wanted nothing to do with but had absolutely no choice. A lonely and confusing situation that was going to challenge your strength in a way you wished you didn't have to face, but secretly suspected you needed to. That's why bad things happened to good people, right? To test just how good they really were?

You had stopped at a street corner, one of the quieter intersections in this new town. Instinctually, you'd been trying to get away from the overwhelming hustle and bustle you'd initially found yourself in. Though, now that you were finally letting yourself process your surroundings, you realized that instinct, while good in intention, had actually led you to a not-so-great part of town that was starting to make your skin crawl.

There was litter in the gutters and grease on the walls of the buildings around you. A burst pipe was spewing from somewhere close by, and though it was open daylight, the amount of shadows seemed to have grown. You gulped nervously, not sure if you'd be able to come up with a plan here, or if you'd fare better back to the crowded parts you'd came from.

A whistle came from behind and your spine tingled unpleasantly. You knew what it meant but whirled to face it anyway. A couple of hunkered, wrinkly creatures seemed to be sliding toward you, their humanoid eyes narrowed but openly scanning your body.

"Lost, pretty thing?" one of them almost seemed to hiss.

You responded the way you'd done earlier, when you'd woken up in that dungeon of a room and realized your day had changed from normal to scary... you ran.

Your feet pounded the ground beneath you, sending jolts of pressure painfully up through your tired body. You didn't dare look behind to see if you were being pursued. You didn't hear anything, no further taunts or laughter, but that didn't mean you were completely free. And now you were running deeper into the more desolate parts of this unknown city. If you stopped, you may just find even worse threats waiting. That's what your stressed mind reasoned, anyway.

On and on you ran, one foot in front of the other, until your chest felt on the brink of bursting. You didn't want to, but you let yourself slow back to a stop, and as soon as you did, your legs immediately gave out beneath you. Your knees slammed on the ground and you'd probably feel the sting in them for a while, but you didn't care. Not when you couldn't catch your breath and that nagging sense you were being watched from the shadows sat uncomfortably in your thoughts.

The buildings were taller here, towering so high they blocked out most of the sky and gave the impression it was much later in the evening than you knew it to be. But everything was boarded up. Not a soul was in sight. What even was this place? Was it truly abandoned, or only made to seem so?

You were right to be suspicious. Your paranoia bubbled within you like a sixth sense, turning your head in the proper direction before you were aware of what you were doing. Just on the other side of the street before you stood a tall, glowering man dressed all in blank, flanked by IG droids. The man you didn't recognize, but there had been IG droids guarding that room you'd escaped from. You knew they weren't a common model of droid, so what were the odds they weren't the same as the ones you'd slipped past earlier?

"There you are," the man growled, confirming your suspicion. But what surprised you next was the glowing red light that suddenly jutted out from an object in his hand. It hummed menacingly, threateningly. You knew there was a word for it but couldn't quite call it to mind at the moment. All you knew was it was a weapon, and if you could summon back your breath, you should definitely start running again.

A blaster shot fired out of nowhere and you saw the man raise his stick of light up to block himself from it. How had he known to do that? You didn't have time to fathom it, instead watching as a couple additional figures rushed out of the shadows and toward the man and his droids. One of them hung slightly back, a blaster raised and firing at the droids. The second went straight for the man, producing a beam of light of his own, and clashing enthusiastically against his opponent.

You took the opportunity to put some distance between yourself and whatever this fight was about. You crawled down the street, pushing your back up against a wall you deemed safe enough, though on what criteria you weren't really sure. At least it provided a sense of stability in this otherwise chaotic situation. You didn't know who any of these people were; who the man was and why he was after you, who your rescuers were and whether they were actually friendly or merely enemies of an enemy. Heck, you were still trying to figure out who had captured you earlier that day and why. This fight of lights and lasers was mesmerizing, but incredibly overwhelming.

"So eager to prove yourself," you caught the man growling out. His red light had paused in its assault against the blue one, in favor of taunting the boy who held it instead.

"Oh, this is just good practice," the boy said, matching the man's pacing with his own.

His comment earned a gravely laugh. "Your eagerness makes you sloppy, and your over-confidence makes you weak. This is what happens to students without masters."

It was odd, but though the boy was several feet away from you, half-obscured in shadow and definitely hard to discern through your labored breathing and confused state of mind, you could still somehow tell the man's words upset him. But maybe you were just projecting. You'd be pretty pissed if someone called you weak, too.

Whether the boy would've snapped and resumed the fight or not, you'd never know. What little sliver of sky still remained above was then blocked out by the mass of a ship. It lowered itself as far into the narrow street as it could and sent bursts of wind of hurtling down, your hair whipping about in protest. You braced a hand in front of your eyes, peering through your fingers to see a ramp had been lowered, waiting.

The other figure, who'd made short work of the IG droids, was running toward you now. The man with the red light was temporarily stunned by the sudden arrival of the ship but quickly recovered. He swung his light at the boy and their fight recommenced. Your observation of it was interrupted, though, by the arrival of the woman who'd now reached you.

"Come on, dear, we gotta get out of here!"

She grabbed hold of your shoulder, prepared to help you stand, but you immediately flinched and tried to crawl away. You didn't know her, you didn't know anybody out here. How could you possibly decide whether you should follow her or not?

"Please," she implored, not chasing after you, but holding out her hand and urging you to take it. "We don't have much time. We can get you to safety."

You glanced over at the boy who continued to hold his own against the man who'd been after you, despite having been labeled as sloppy and weak. Surely these people were good, right? At the least, the blue color of his weapon seemed kinder than the red of the other.

The woman was right, there wasn't much time. And you didn't have much choice. You shook yourself, as if trying to physically dispel your own doubt, and stood. You took hold of the woman's hand and let her lead you toward the ship's ramp.

"Cal!" she called back toward her friend as the two of you ran.

If the boy heard he didn't seem to mind, continuing his fight with a determination you still weren't sure how you could detect from such a distance.

The woman jumped effortlessly onto the ramp and turned to hold her hand back out to you. You jumped as you reached for it, but your frazzled nerves must have gotten the better of your strength, as you weren't quite able to hold on for long. You teetered dangerously on the ledge of the ramp where your feet had only barely connected but couldn't quite get enough traction. One part of your mind was bracing itself for the impact of your inevitable tumble backward; the other part had the gumption to ignore the fear and think only of how embarrassing this would be.

And then something warm and solid pressed into your back, and an arm was wrapping around your middle, practically sweeping you away from the edge and up the ramp. You only barely registered a streak of ginger hair next to you as you allowed yourself to be helped into the ship. The ramp closed behind, sealing out the harsh sounds beyond and all the dangers it represented. Your ears seemed to ring from the sudden cut off, but you could hardly shake yourself free of it while you fought to stay balanced as the ship maneuvered itself upward and onward. It was a fleeting fight; you immediately stumbled toward the floor and slid back against the ship wall.

You were safe now. At least that's what you told yourself as you surrendered to your slouched position on the floor of this strange ship, and finally let yourself breathe.

#star wars #star wars fanfiction #cal kestis #cal kestis x reader #jedi fallen order #cere junda #greez dritus

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 3 years

Text

The Last Chthonian

Part 17

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

A/N: It is here! So sorry for the late update lovelies! I’ve been having really bad writers block lately and my job keeps switching my hours up so now my sleep schedule is all fucked up. And after writing this part I want to go stargazing so bad but the light pollution kind of sucks where I live. 🥲 Also this is my first time writing a steamy scene so I’m sorry if it’s awkward. Feedback is much appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 😊

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appears at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, angst, some foreplay and making out

You had still been wrapped in Zemo’s arms, the two of you indulging in each other’s presence in a silence, which combined with the faint beating of his heart, you only found to be comforting. The meteors still swept by the earth’s atmosphere above you in flashes that lit up the sky, leaving behind trails of white that resembled the strokes of a brush, as if your mother Asteria had painted the celestial bodies using diamonds onto a canvas that was the night sky. You could only make out the few stars and constellations that were scarcely scattered across the vastness above you, caused by the light pollution that unfortunately managed to mantle the wonders and beauty that settled just beyond, separating humanity from the marvels of the universe. The stars flickered like the diminishing of the flame of a candle, a farewell to the billions of years lived by the remnants of those enormous spheres of hot plasma, thus leaving behind the birth of other stars to fulfill their legacy. However, there was a certain star that did not flicker like the ones around it, a certain spectacle distant in time and space that still managed to burn bright despite the innumerable amount of light-years that separated Earth from it. The remaining light of your planet Olympus. You stared at that particular star, your brows knit together and your face etched with this certain melancholy that one could not explain. How could one thing be so near, within the reach of your fingertips, and yet be entirely outside the capacity of reach.

“Draga.” You heard Zemo softly speak, his chest slightly wavering beneath your cheek from his words.

“Hm?”

“Something troubles you.”

“What makes you say that?” You stared off, your eyes still fixated to the fading existence of your world.

“Your eyes draga.” Zemo looked down at you, his eyes scanning over the troubled creases that masked your features. “I have seen this shadow in your eyes that has seemed to occupy them as of recently. What troubles you?”

“…………You see that star there, right between those two constellations?” You pointed above you.

“Mhm.” Zemo nodded as he followed the line of your finger, his eyes now focused on the same exact star yours have not yet left.

“That’s my planet………Olympus.”

“You’re welcome to tell me about it if you’d like.”

“Well, when I was little, I used to live with my mother in this quaint cottage by the sea, similar to the one I live in now with my daughter. She used to bring me out most nights for stargazing. She had built this outdoor platform with bedding and blankets and we would have a small fire going to keep us warm as we watched the stars and constellations while she told me different tales and epic poetries. As silly as it sounds, she would make shooting stars appear in the sky for me knowing how much I loved them. Gods, I wish you could’ve seen my home back in its days, back when everything still remained. Everything was so…..beautiful, and the skies, gods the skies, you could see the different planets and galaxies as if they were only miles away. To this day, I have yet to see anything in my travels that compares.”

“I would have loved to seen it Schatzi. Your mother sounded like a wonderful person.”

“She was the kindest soul I knew.” You turned your body so that you could look up at him, resting your chin on your hand.

“You miss her.”

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss my family and planet.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them Schatzi. I wish you never went through what you did.”

“If only I could bring them back. I’d do anything to be able to just see them again.”

Zemo was silent, believing that no amount of words could have provided you comfort, no matter how deep the meaning or how significant. He could not imagine what you went through. He had lost his country and his family, and you had lost your family as well, but you lost your world, your entire race, leaving you to be the last remaining entity of your people, the last Olympian and the last Chthonian. Words could not bring your family back, just as they could not with his. So he only did what he was able, making a silent unspoken promise within the abyss of his damaged heart to be there for you as he held you closer to him and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A sudden feeling of guilt crawled up your spine like a venomous scorpion ready to sink its stinger in your skin with means to cause nothing but pain and suffering. You felt guilty for being here, lying next to Zemo wrapped in his arms like a pair of star-crossed lovers from the pages of a novel. A part of you felt selfish for what you did, undeserving of the affection that was bestowed upon you from a man who had suffered enough from the loss of his family. How much longer did you think you could give in to your mindless emotions without a single thought of the consequences it might bring about. Did you really think you could go on as if nothing is happening? As if you can conceal your true form from him forever. No. You could not. You did not have the heart to keep such knowledge from him. If you wanted to pursue what you had with him, you would have to tell him the truth when the time came.

“We should probably get back before Sam and Bucky notice.” You mumbled, blinking back the tears, your heart aching to go back to the way things used to be, wishing you could leave all of this and just be able to go back home. You didn’t belong here on earth, an immortal amongst mortals. At least on Olympus, if your titaness form had been revealed, many would not have bat an eye. They had already seen the likes of Titans before and the locals had become accustomed to you. But here on earth, you were nothing but a stranger, a drifter.

The two of you walked back to his place in silence, the only sounds being the whistling of the wind, the chirping of crickets, the voices of the few pedestrians and the humming of the cars that drove by. Your hands brushed against each other, craving to intertwine your fingers with his as you walked down the stone paved streets lit by the lamps that lined it, the two of you still withdrawn despite what occurred between you both. You felt it would have been silly, holding his hand like a couple of teenagers, though a century ago, you wouldn’t have gave it a second thought.

You arrived at his place, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the double doors with Zemo opposite you, illuminated by the street lamp that stood just behind. Feelings of conflict washed over you, drowning you in waves of despair. As much as you wanted to be with him, a small part in the back of your mind kept telling you that it was wrong. Neither of you wanted to go through those doors just yet, wishing you could have spent the night under the stars. But life seems to have a way of working against your favor. The Wakandans would be here to collect him possibly tomorrow, and you would have to bid him farewell, separated from each other for what could be forever. As much as you did not look forward to that moment in having to turn him in and never see him again, you wouldn’t stop the Wakandans from what they were promised. And though you hadn’t said a word, Zemo had already knew what your decisions were regarding it, and he could not blame you for it. You were a woman of justice and you followed a code, and he respected that.

“Zemo.” A frown appeared on your face.

“Please,” Zemo whispered to you as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Call me Helmut.”

You looked at Zemo once more, a look of longing hidden behind your eyes as you unconsciously swiped your tongue across your mouth, watching how his eyes followed the movement before lingering on the wetness of your lips that resembled the petals of a rose after the pouring of cold rain in the midst of spring. Oh how he wished to be the drops of rain that were gifted the pleasure of grazing upon the velvety petals that belonged to such beauty of a flower, a symbol of union between the two domains in which the heavens came down to declare its love for the earth. A pulling sensation filled within your core, drawing yourself to Zemo as if he were the sweet berries of deadly nightshade that have lured many unfortunate souls. Banishing the thoughts of doubt that clouded your mind, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Zemo was initially shocked by your bold gesture and stiffened from the way your mouth moved against his, surprised you would pull something like this when just a wall away Sam and Bucky were awaiting your arrival, before loosing himself into your embrace.

Your fingers clenched the collar of his sweater and your fingers grazed across the exposed skin of his neck while his hands went to your waist in a desperate attempt, fumbling to grab at anything and bunching up the bottom fabric of your sweater as he pulled you against him. The tips of his fingers brushed against the skin of your waist that was exposed below the hem of your sweater, leaving behind goosebumps in its trail. You smiled into the kiss from the way he completely melted under your touch, a part of you amused from the affect you held over him as you managed to elicit a moan from deep within his throat. Zemo’s brows were furrowed in the passionate moment, something you have noticed when you first kissed him, a small crease in the muscles of his face that showed just how lost he was when encased in this moment with you, and it absolutely melted you. He was addicted from the warm numbness, the ecstasy he felt from kissing you. Your lips were like heroin to him, leaving him yearning for more, and it didn’t ameliorate the fact that his years spent in a German prison had left him somewhat inexperienced and filled with a chasmic longing for touch and intimacy from the lack thereof. Deep within him, masked by his ideas and objectives, Zemo wanted to be able to love someone again, a chance at a new life and a family, and perhaps, he saw that possibility with you. But, behind the passion of the kiss you shared with him, there was something else, a poison that laced your lips with feelings of despair and forbidding that consumed you as if you had tasted those sweet berries of nightshade, slowly loosing yourself to its malice. His lips which were at first warm to the touch, now felt cold like ice and sent shivers of dread through your veins, as if this would be the last kiss you shared with him.

You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, your teeth softly grazing against his bottom lip as you did so. Both of you were left breathless as you rested your foreheads against each other, panting as your breaths fanned each other’s face as if you had just been trapped in the depths of the ocean before breaking through the surface to allow oxygen to fill your lungs.

“If you keep doing that Draga.” Zemo rasped between breaths, “I won’t be able to compose myself.”

“Good. Maybe I don’t want you too.” You smirked before placing a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “But I really should go back inside, and you should do the same. Just make sure you go unnoticed.” You slipped his coat off your shoulders, his cologne that lingered on his fur collar leaving your senses with discontent as you returned his coat to him before going over to the doors, stopping to turn back to him with a smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Gods, what the hell did you do that for???? You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you wanted to slap yourself for pulling a move like that.

“Gods I’m stupid.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hey.” Bucky smiled once he spotted you, his voice soft as if he were afraid you would shatter at any moment from the discussion that took place earlier. “How was your walk?”

“It was nice, relaxing. I went to the park to stargaze.”

“That’s good. As long as you feel better.”

“I do, actually. Thanks Bucky.”

“You look flushed. You okay?” Sam noted as he stepped over to you.

“Huh?” You stopped short. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I just had to kind of uh power walk back here so you guys wouldn’t get worried. But I’m fine, yeah. Anyways, I’m going to hit the sack since I’m feeling a bit tired. Goodnight you guys.” You waved them off before going to your assigned room, making Sam and Bucky give each other questioning looks before they both shrugged it off.

You shut the door behind you, letting out a breath of relief that they had not caught on to anything and praying that Zemo had managed to sneak in. You had just gotten off the phone with Maze and your daughter, catching up on their activities after cleaning yourself up and changing into your nightgown. You had pulled up a chair next to the window that was in your room, your feet tucked underneath you and a warm cup of rose and blackberry tea in your hands. Your robe hung loosely off your shoulders as your index finger twirled above the small silver spoon that swirled in your cup, mists of violet wrapping around the handle of the spoon as you used your powers to stir the contents of the tea. You stared out the window onto the old streets of Latvia before glancing down at the teacup that was nestled in your hands, the glow of your eyes reflected off the window pane along with the tiny stars that swirled through the small globe of your necklace your mother gave you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the moments that passed and the ones that have yet to come.

There was a knock on your door, interrupting you from the thoughts that had resided in your mind. “Come in.” You spoke as you looked through the reflection of the window and saw a figure step in. “Zemo?” You stopped using your powers, the clinking of the spoon scraping against the sides of the porcelain cup coming to a stop. “You know, you gotta stop sneaking into my room.” You teased before frowning, seeing the expression that sat on his face. “What’s wrong?” You got up from the chair, setting your cup down on the table before walking over to him.

“The Wakandans will…….be here for me tomorrow.” His eyes were lowered to the floor, the browns of his irises which reminded you of the dunes of the Sahara desert were whirling in thought, resembling the dunes caught in the midst of the fury of a sandstorm, as if searching for an answer to his troubles.

“Ze-Helmut, I………” You sighed, your tongue and mind lacking the ability to compose any words that might have provided some solace. “I’m sorry………..I don’t know what to say.”

“Y/n, schatzi” Zemo grabbed your hand, tracing his thumb over the bumps of your knuckles. “You don’t have to say a word. My actions………must be accounted for.”

You were silent, your brows knit together and your lips sealed as if your voice was ripped from your throat. Your heart wanted to tear itself from your chest, begging to be released from its cage so that it could be free to lament, so that it may be able to express the words that held it captive. But your tongue was tied, held back between the prison that was your teeth as you clenched your jaw. Zemo’s hand still held yours, stroking the soft skin on the back of your hand which were a contrast to the small rough patches on your palm, before you heard him speak again. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, lips parted in surprise that he would even ask such a question when you were honestly willing to kiss him any time of the day. The Zemo you had come to know was far different than the one you had heard about, his cold demeanor seemed to completely fade when he was around you, like a fog that dissipated with the coming of daylight. A part of you pondered whether this was how he used to be, before the events that happened. Though he hadn’t had a chance to share such affection with anyone and lost practice, you still found him to be great kisser and it always managed to leave you breathless. “Yes, please.” You whispered, your voice barely audible before you felt his lips brush against yours. What was sweet at first became more feverish and filled with hunger as an unfamiliar spirit seemed to possess your body, darkening the amethysts and golds of your eyes that resembled the galaxies, into the blackness of the abyss that swallowed the outer edges of space where not even the slightest bit of light could reach, almost as if you were sinking your claws into your prey.

A heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filling your body with an electrifying warmth as his mouth moved against yours more confidently this time, catching you utterly by surprise and leaving your knees weak, a feeling similar to the stillness in the air a mere second before lightning strikes the ground beneath your feet. His hands slipped down to grab the flesh of your waist, dehydrated, and filled with an intense thirst that could only be quenched by your body that was the ocean, your skin separated by the silk fabric of your nightgown. Your hands went up to grip his shoulders as a gasp escaped your lips upon feeling him move down to your jaw and neck. Gods, since when was the last time you were touched like that?

“Helmut.” You rasped, struggling to hold back a moan as his lips sucked on the skin where your collarbone met your neck, making you lean your head back to allow him better access. Your robe had fell to the floor, leaving your arms completely bare while Zemo’s hands caressed the skin that lined them before resting on the dorsal part of your upper arms, the combination of the frigid air and his fingertips that felt like the touch of fire sending shivers through your body. “What if they hear?”

“Let them.”

“No……….I’m…….serious.”

“Well if you’re that worried Draga.” Zemo stopped to look at you. “The walls are thick enough.”

Gods that completely sent you over the edge. It felt as if you were on a high, your mind was not even within this dimension as Zemo met your lips again. You had to throw your arms around his neck to keep yourself from collapsing as the two of you shifted in the room, Zemo guiding your body before the back of your knees came in contact with the side of your bed. You let yourself fall back into the soft mattress, bringing Zemo down with you. You both were a mess, your hair disarray, the thin straps of your nightgown fallen past your shoulders had almost left your breasts exposed, and the skirt of your nightgown had ridden up to your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Zemo squeezed at the soft flesh of your thigh before attacking your neck again. He didn’t know how to describe it but you tasted absolutely divine. Perhaps being a goddess made you taste of ambrosia; the golden, honey-flavored fruit that grew on the trees of Olympus. You were in absolute bliss and thanked the gods he wouldn’t be able to leave a mark, at least you hoped not.

“Helmut.” You moaned, your nails digging into his biceps as his warm lips made a trail down your collarbone and lower to where the lace trim of your nightgown met just above the curve of your breasts, lingering on the space between, filling your mind with thoughts of a certain region you desired those lips to be. “Fuck.” You hissed from the contact, your hand moving its way to his head as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your nails raking across the back of his scalp as the heat between your thighs only grew. You unconsciously pressed your heel to the lower part of his back, beckoning him closer to that heat between your thighs as you bucked your hips up. Zemo growled at the movement, slightly nipping at the skin where your breast had started to form, causing you to gasp and your eyes to fly open from the sensation.

“Apologies draga.” You heard him mutter before tenderly kissing the spot where his teeth had been.

Seeing Zemo in a close proximity above you in such a position had you dazed, wanting him to take you right then and there and not caring if the others heard you or not. And as your eyes wandered lazily over the sight of him, they widened in horror once they glimpsed at the image of your hands. Your nails became sharp, claw-like, and that deathly color had returned once again, slowly making its way up your arm like the tendrils of a shadow belonging to a demonic spirit.

“Helmut.” You whispered, your voice becoming panicked as you loosened your grip on his arms, being careful not to pierce his skin. “Helmut wait.”

Zemo stopped, pushing himself up to meet your eyes as his concern grew from seeing the frightened look that filled them. “Schatzi, what’s wrong?” He brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair. “If you’re uncomfortable let me know.”

“No, gods no. If anything I don’t want you to stop.” You breathed out, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just that………….”

“What is it schatzi?” His voice was soft as his fingers caressed your cheek, afraid that he might have offended you in some way, afraid that he might have been too forward.

“I’m sorry Helmut. I want to, I really do, but not like this.” You shook your head as you got up, shifting over to where the dark shadows of the room fell on the bed to hide your arms, afraid to meet his eyes as if you had made a fool of yourself. “Not like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me y/n.” Zemo smiled at you. “If you’re not ready, than I’m not ready.”

“Thank you Helmut.” You smiled back before giving him a delicate kiss. “I’d………uh like to think some things through.” You prayed that he didn’t see your hands, hoping that the darkness of the room managed to disguise it.

“Of course draga.” Zemo placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before leaving your room, stopping at the door to give you a comforting smile as he carefully shut it behind him.

Your eyes still lingered on the door, waiting to make sure he didn’t come back before turning on the bedside lamp and staring down at your hands. You had managed to stop the color from spreading up your arm, yet it strangely still remained, stopping halfway up your forearm. This wasn’t good.

“What the hell?” You scrunched your nose, trying to use your powers once again to remove it but to no avail. Fear coursed through your veins as you attempted to remove the color, spell after spell, hoping those vine like tendrils would crawl back down your hands and disappear. You cursed under your breath as each attempt proved to be as futile as the one before. What the hell was going on? Why were your spells not working? It vanished before from your magic, why wasn’t it doing so now? You were struck with a sudden realization that perhaps this change would become permanent, that maybe suppressing your true form for all those years had caused it to spiral out of control and in turn try to overpower you as if it had a mind of its own. You growled through gritted teeth, the furniture around you shaking as your fists were clenched in frustration, the violet mists of your powers encompassing your hands and sparking with small bolts that corresponded with the vexation that overwhelmed you.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the mist around your hands disappearing and the shaking of the furniture coming to a stop. You had to work something out. You were left no choice but to keep your hands covered from now on until you found a solution. If any of them questioned it, you had to have a damn good lie. Getting up from the bed, you walked over to the double doors that led to the small balcony and opened them, your hands gripping the cold iron rail as you stared out at the view of the Latvian streets and buildings before you. Oh how you wished your sister Athena were here. She knew everything.

“Oh Athena.” You stifled a sob as you stared up at the stars, focusing on the light of your planet as if she could have heard you, a tear cascading down your cheek and dropping to the streets below. “Gods I wish you were here. I really need your help.”

Despite your pleas, you knew she wasn’t there, her existence only an artifact of the past. You were praying to nothing but a memory. It was extremely urgent that you got information on this matter of your form and the words of the prophecy that still threatened and echoed within the depths of your mind. And since you couldn’t obtain such knowledge from another Olympian, you would have to gather it from the old texts. Muttering a few words in Ancient Greek, you waited, searching, until a small white moth came into view, fluttering in your direction. You held out your finger, letting the tiny creature come to rest upon it.

“Hello little one.” You smiled at the moth as you gently stroked it in greeting, bringing it closer to your face so that you could speak to it in your language. “Please send word to my familiar and tell him to gather as much information he can on Titans and the prophecy. And tell him to come find me when he is done. Thank you.” The moth looked at you with understanding behind his tiny black eyes, it’s antennaes twitching before fluttering away into the moon. You sighed, watching it disappear into the night before giving your distant planet one last glance before shutting the doors and going back over to the bed. You laid down under the covers, your hands rested on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, dreading the day to come. How could you face Zemo? And however were you going to keep your hands a secret? Surely the three are bound to find out sooner or later? You just prayed that the message you sent would be returned in a short time. You needed to fix this before it would be considered too late. And the sooner you found Karli the better. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest and forcing those thoughts away. Gods help you from this moment on.

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