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lestwritewhilewaitingforajobcall · 3 years

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The Odd Rumble of Thunder - Thor x Reader

(A/N)

Hey guys! I wanted to personally thank you all for the kind comments and messages, they really inspire me to continue writing more and the support truly means a lot! Also, I just found out how to access post replies, I apologize I haven’t gotten to reading them since my first story, I’m still trying to figure out the gist of things here on Tumblr! Anyways, recently I’d only been posting more on Poseidon, so here’s a special one for our Norse god of thunder (aka the god I simp for the most). This idea came to me while out on a camping trip, I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback would really be welcomed and appreciated!

This is for entertainment only. Record of Ragnarok belongs to Shinya Umemura, Takumi Fukui and Ajichika. I also do not own you, the reader.

The Odd Rumble of Thunder

Thor x Reader

Even before the news spread like wildfire, Thor had become under the tyranny of a good habit to bringing his wife with him wherever he may go. It stood to reason that he would never be so careless to invite you over to danger, hence why, at a god’s ephemeral notice, he had stopped seeking direction for his combative side, but when, at last, he had to venture, he made much quicker work of it than when he would have otherwise.

Inarguably, if you’d wanted to lay down and rest instead, it was a surety you’d receive your meals in bed, unbothered. But for Thor there was no guarantee he’d ever have to worry about you, so the whole of Asgard knew by now he’d drop whatever he was doing to accompany you, uncaring about diplomacy in the first place.

Not that Odin nor Loki minded either; especially since the Allfather knew more about the concerns of a father expecting their first child. Moreover, Loki enjoyed shapeshifting into his cousin during days he was absent. It was much more fun to cause mischief legally, as he would say.

Today, Thor stood by his wife who sat comfortably in her rocking chair on the porch, allowing a full view of the hills that sloped gently down to the grand gardens. You were seven months along, approaching the eight month, the swell of your stomach now far more prominent.

At the very moment you had begun to show, you had a companion of whom would almost never leave your side, your husband’s absence in the kingdom gradually becoming more frequent, more lengthened, till at last his presence among his people became an exception. Despite your constant reassurances that you would be fine, Thor insisted on staying, casually sweeping aside your thoughts regarding his habitual sense of duty.

“I would only be gone for nine months to tend to my wife and child, they should fare well on their own lest they are more incompetent than I would’ve thought.” Thor had told you once before, and you’d decided not to question him further on that. You understood your husband’s concerns, to be truthful, you had a few of your own as well, so having Thor assist you alleviated some of the stress and worry concerning your child’s safety.

Especially now that you were nearing your due date. For instance, you were having the toughest time moving, suffering primarily from the weight in your belly and pains in your back and legs that made walking and even standing difficult. What made the physical strain worse too was your child’s eagerness to know you and Thor both, unable to stay long in one position, much like their father’s enthusiasm for battle.

“How are you feeling?” Thor’s question rested upon a rather precise calculation of the last time he had asked the same only a short moment before. It was quite visible in his actions that he did not want to cause any negative feelings if he could help it, though desiring you to avoid stress as much as possible.

You smiled. “Come close. You’ve been standing there for ages just ogling at me.” You opened your arms out wide. “Are you not tired?”

Truth be told, despite Thor’s constant need to remain close to his wife, he felt a real, undeniable fear of touching you, specifically, your abdomen. He closed the distance between until he was right in front of you, staring down at you with hard eyes. Longing leaped like a flame reaching out in his celestial yellow orbs.

“Love, I am always grateful for your concern for me. And I am feeling much better just knowing you’re beside me.” You raised yourself up, pushing against the chair to try to stand. Thor rushed forward, held you then put his hands under your arms to lift you up. Your child was growing fast. “But how about you? How are you feeling?”

You inched closer, your fingers playing with the locks of his hair that you could reach. “Aside from the stress of waiting, I’ve noticed that you have something else weighing on your mind.

“Tell me, what is it?”

At the sight of you through his warworn eyes, his mind was filled with bliss. For that loving glance of yours, he felt a divine presence and holy atmosphere that seemed to pervade everything around you. Having an inkling of what you were hinting at though, he broke your gaze, in an attempt to avert the guilt you conferred on him.

“Please. We’re in this together, I would want nothing more than to help you back as much as you’ve helped me.” Thor felt you shift in his arms, get more comfortable. He felt the bulk of your child across his legs, the weight no doubt pulling you down. Seeing you in pain like that, was sad and unbearable, and the gnawing feeling grew stronger. And since he knew you were always so full of strength and determination, always unrelenting in your attempts to make him feel better, he began,

“I am afraid.” Red eyebrows drew together.

“Afraid of what?”

“That I might accidentally hurt you and our child,” Thor took a deep breath in then let it out in a sigh while taking a step back. “I do not want that to happen, even if I want to be at your side at all times. And this frustrates me to no end.”

Thor did himself a favor by giving attention to anything other than his wife, refusing to be a witness on the sadness and any he may have caused. Dealing with his own disappointment was nothing new, but he had trouble dealing with the fact that he was the cause of yourpain. He wished he could take his troubles which escaped, hanging in the air, and all the bad feelings on himself and let things continue as they were, but he knew it didn’t work that way. You needed to know that he only wanted you and your child safe and protected, even from himself.

He could not understand how the cosmos could play such a cruel joke on the both of you: you, bore so much pain because of one of the greatest affairs of life, and him, the strongest deity in the Pantheon, was powerless against the natural laws of existence.

Strong shoulders slumped, head bowing as stray strands of red hair fell over Thor’s brow. Not again. He did not wish to be reminded of the cautious sympathy his father and cousin had approached him with. His stomach lurched whenever the subject of your frailty came up. Dread and a terrifying fear overwhelmed his soul for the first time, the thought of losing you−

“Hey,” Your voice which lingered on the gentle breeze brushed against Thor’s face, pulling him out of his stupor. He refocused, turning his gaze onto your sweet face.

How were you able to hold yourself up well despite your obvious pain and suffering? Did you not bear the same nervousness as he did? The answer was obvious, practically screaming in Thor’s ears but became deaf following his guilt and clouded instincts. For a long time since you’d first told him about the news, he bore these worries in silence; but when at length he’d been perplexed by your introspection−or seeming lack of it. Why, in fact, did you concern yourself with him at all? Compared to you, there was hardly any threat to his own life posed. Why had you always done more to make him feel better when you were the one who needed it most?

Cutting through the haze he found himself in was the shape of you, or maybe your hair billowing in the wind, a wisp of it across your face, and then suddenly the feel of your skin, the sense of your head on his chest. Even if it were fleeting, that alone brought him the possibilities of comfort that he’d so needed. Oh, how he missed this; you cupped his big callously marble hands around yours, caressing them so tenderly, as if he were fragile and might break, so short it could never be pulled back.

As he relished the warmth of the blaze you gave him for the winter of unease, he’d realized much sooner that the coldness that inched its icy fingers up his spine still threatened to battle your kind words, you, his very own wife, and he detested himself for being unsure whether or not it was of his own doing; was he pushing you away when you’d only wanted to offer your help?

Thor’s immediate impulse was to pull back from you, abruptly halted by your fingers which slipped between his now splayed hand. You wrinkled your nose in a delightfully unguarded manner that caused his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Do you remember the first time we said our vows?” If only you knew the way Thor perceived you: in his eyes, your radiant smile reflected the morning sunlight of Valhalla, for a split second picturing the moment you’d walked down the aisle, that headpiece on your head instantiating the paradox of mystery that once lifted revealed your beautiful face, marking it the best day of his long life. Something warm bloomed in his chest once again and spread its heat out through every vein in his body. He remembered the smooth feel of the veil against his cheek after sealing your promise with a kiss, his lips parting with a breathless sigh.

“Your hands caressed my fit of nerves with light, tender touches and then inspired me with hard, passionate embraces,” With effortless ease, you lifted your intertwined hands to your mouth and kissed his knuckle. Thor watched with great admiration your every move, the desire to distance himself was now but an afterthought. Nothing would ever separate him from you when all you’d ever done was pull him closer than ever.

Then, you sought out his hand, kissing his palm as he stroked your face. You clung onto his arms, gripped at his chest as if you were searching for warmth, as if you needed his touch, and much like him, couldn’t bear to be even an inch away. His mind was still slowing its racing to let him mutter something in response, so he allowed himself to be entranced by how smooth and sure of yourself you were, with nothing to mar the calm serenity of your features. Your smile seemed to be a natural adornment, the utter gentleness in your eyes, reminded him of every morning when he woke up, he would see you by his side, as well as your sleeping snoring face. Right at that moment, the silly scream finally made it to the deaf god’s ears:

He was your haven,

The place you called home and went to find peace.

As Thor immersed himself in your smell, your sparkling eyes, he felt the excruciating cold all melt away in your warmth. No more seeds of doubt with which to sow and seek his destiny. Slowly, he began to see his surroundings from a keener point of view, realizing, then appraising them: from the passing wind your hair messed which he pushed aside, tucking it behind your ear, to how his sash seemed to fit him better indeed, rather than cling onto his skin even tighter as brutally as it had done before. He noticed the minute changes since he’d last taken a good look at you months ago: a little flusher on your skin, lines around the eyes a little deeper, a little increase in body temperature.

He pulled you closer, his actions not arising from calculation instead led by instinct. You let him take more of your weight, your belly pressed against his stomach as you sighed, his fingers working wonders on massaging the muscles that had been much abused in carrying the baby’s weight. A sudden wrenching through his sash struck Thor’s heart and had him holding his breath.

The baby had moved, and he’d felt it.

Bending down, he buried his nose in your hair, closing his eyes as he drank in your scent. Your arms wrapped around his back as he connected in this loving embrace, feeling his heart beat in rhythm with your own.

“Our child would no doubt love to be enveloped in their father’s safe arms,” With a light, gentle touch, your fingers ran through Thor’s hair, making him shiver with delight.

On that day, only the beautiful gardens of Asgard became privy to nothing more than a moment in which husband and wife reached for the same comfort and their concerns met. These gardens were simultaneously the very same place where Thor had first avoided the problems that plagued his mind, but also became exactly the same place where he’d find solace in the arms of his lovely wife.

Resting his hand on where his child was, he recognized that familiar feeling turning up, but upon realizing the bittersweet irony of and within these gardens, the revelation came to him: happiness could also come from the very object of fear.

And as you had an unmovable trust in him, there was an unspoken mutual understanding that he too, should put his trust in you.

#snv x reader #snv thor #snv thor x reader #thor x reader #shuumatsu no valkyrie #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok thor x reader

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imaslutforremusandsirius · 3 years

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please please please really rough mean dom george smut please like put in all the kinks you like writing im begging pls 😁😁🤘🏼

His little masterpiece

Since when do I have so many kinks like miss girl-😭🤚🏽 made the warning extra big

I love you for this request, now I can be hardcore without feeling weird

Warning: 18+

---

George is a quiet and watchful person, even if many think he’s the copy of his loud and comedic twin Fred. You first noticed that side of him when he asked for your permission to tie you up in bed. From then on he had more requests, he’s mean, spits on you, hits you and fucks you until you can’t cum anymore. But George doesn’t do that because he wants to punish you, no, he just can’t help the sick and twisted urges when he’s in your presence. The moment he sees your pretty face he just wants to consume you, corrupt you.

„Look at you, so helpless“ George chuckles lowly „I could let anyone in to fuck you and you can‘t do shit. You like that? Is that why you’re clenching your slutty cunt?“

You were tied up, the rough rope digging into the skin of your wrists. George separated your legs with a spreader bar, so you were completely at his mercy. He was sitting on your belly, keeping the weight on his knees as he shoved his wand in and out of you, the long wood hitting your sweet spot with full force.

“Oh right, you can’t talk. Here” he took the gag out of your mouth “now speak, whore.”

“Anything you want” you gasped “I’d do anything for you!”

George smirked, cooeing at you. “I know and even if you resisted, I wouldn’t care.” He leaned in until your lips rubbed together with every word. “I’d still tie you up and fuck you without asking.”

You cried out when the wand started to vibrate against your sweet spot and bucked under him.

„Take it whore.“

You trembled. “George, gonna cum gonna-”

He ripped the wand out, slapping you hard. Once. Twice. You sobbed with the pain and he released you from the restrains to push you on the floor. Holding you down with his foot on your chest, he sneered.

„You should know by now that I don‘t fucking care about your tears!“

He sat down on your chest, pinning your hands above your hand with one of his and shoved his cock in your mouth.

“Since you wanna act like a baby I’ll make you suck my cock. You stupid baby, only here to do as I say. Do you hear me?”

You whimpered and tried to answer, your words coming out muffled as spit escaped the side of your mouth.

„Use your words don’t just fucking whine“

“Yes George, m’your stupid baby.”

He smiled happily. “That’s right, you’re my stupid slut.”

He shoved his cock back inside of your mouth, moaning loudly when you sucked him. He moved his hips, the way your face flushed with the lack of air made him go faster. His cock was so far down your throat that you gagged, your nails digging into his hands.

„Shut up and suck.“

You screamed when you couldn’t breathe and he leaned back, pulling out enough for you to take a deep breath before he fucked your face, his balls slapping against your chin with every thrust.

„Ah ah fuck yes“ George threw his head back as he came with a shout, moaning when you choked as you tried to swallow everything. „Drink my cum, there we go..“

He stood up after and you caughed, spilling some of his cum on the floor.

„Filthy slut, you‘re dripping all over the floor.“

He forced your head down and you stuck your tongue out, licking the cum off the floor.

„Good slut, clean up your mess.“

He tugged your head back. „Keep your mouth open.“

Scooping up the cum from your chin he pushed it into your mouth, fingers going far down your throat and you choked, eyes watering. He smiled, biting his slip as he watched you cry but keep your mouth open to please him.

„Good slut, you like my cum?“

You nodded, mouth closing around his fingers as you blinked up at him, sucking them lightly. He groaned taking them out and licked at his own fingers and you nearly came at the filthy sight. His eyes twinkled with lust and mirth.

“You look so pretty on the ground baby, just where you belong, but I have something else planned.”

You sat silently in a trance like state as you waited for further instructions. He straightened up again, pulling a chair infront of the mirror.

„Sit with your legs spread. Let me show you what I see when I make my slut cum.“

You sat down, spreading your legs and truly saw yourself for the first time. God, the sight was so lewd it would make even the kinkiest of the bunch blush and shy away. Your cunt was glistening with your slick, clit swollen and your hole stretched with him fucking you with his wand. Your tits had bite marks all over, lipstick and mascara smeared on your face. You could see Georges dry cum on your throat and chin.

He must have seen you check yourself out and grinned at your dazed expression.

„So pretty aren‘t you“ he murmured „so fucked out. And yet I‘m not done with you.“

He put his wand in your hand. „Put it in as deep as you can.“

Your hands trembled as you pushed the wood in, toes curling when it hit your spot and you took your hands away. The moment you looked up your cheeks flushed and you turned away. Georges brows furrowed and he let out a displeased tut, grabbing your hair tight and forced you to look at yourself.

„Look at yourself baby. See, this is why I‘m so obsessed with you.“ he grinned „Your pretty pussy with my wand? It‘s perfect. You‘re my little masterpiece.“ He was talking about you like your were his greatest creation.

George snapped his fingers and the wand came to life with full force, vibrating against your sweet spot and clit at the same time. You held the sides if the seat, completely blissed out by the reflection in the mirror. George was standing on your left, one hand still in your hair and the other tugged at his cock lazily as he watched you get fucked.

„George“ you gasped, feeling your first orgasm of the night approaching „I‘m gonna cum, please let me!“

He made a thoughtful sound and crouched next to you, hand in your hair forcing you to look into his eyes.

„Did you think I‘d let you cum? Aw, baby.“

You sobbed, one hand gripping his cheek as your pleaded.

„Please“ you cried „please! Anything ah-“

He started to move the wand inside of you without touching it, eyes still trained on yours as he watched your face with utter fascination. A breathless smile adorned his pink lips, pupils dilated.

„Beg louder.“

„Please“ you begged louder, voice breaking.

„What? I can‘t fucking hear you!“ George mocked you, his own voice raising.

„Please George, please!“

„Louder, whore!“

„Ah“ you wailed „Please! Pleaseplease-“

He kissed you deeply and leaned his head on yours, watching you both in the mirror.

„Yeah you gonna cum? Is my baby gonna cum? Yeah? Cum then.“

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream and you convulsed on the chair, wand still deep inside of your cunt.

„Too much! Out, please ah!“

He chuckled taking the wand out and threw it on the floor, kissing the side of your face, not tenderly but possessively.

His hand trailed down your belly towards your pussy, spreading it open to show you your release.

„This is what you look like after I fuck you babygirl.“ he murmured against the skin of your shoulder. „A perfect fucking masterpiece.“

You turned your head to him and he stared at you, taking in your face. An obssessive glint was in his eyes and you knew then and there that George would never let you go. He was in too deep.

„Want your cum in my cunt“ you whispered, giving him a coy smile.

He let out a quiet chuckle. „Insatiable huh? Just like her master.“ You let out a shaky breath at his words, slipping into subspace.

„Present yourself.“

You stood up and knelt on the bed, spreading your knees wide apart. One side of your face was pressed against the matress and you arched your back as low as you could.

He came up behind you, nibbling at the flesh of your thighs, moving his face to your cunt. Flattening his tongue he licked a broad stripe and your legs shook with oversenitivity.

Gathering saliva in his mouth he spit on your hole, for the sole purpose of humiliating you.

„You even let me spit on you. How pathetic.“

Dragging his cock up and down he pushed in slowly, letting you stretch around him. Once he was fully inside he pulled out only to pound you so hard you lost your balance and he had to keep you pressed against him by your shoulders.

„Can‘t even take my cock after begging for my cum? Fucking slut.“

You screamed out when another orgasm approached and pushed back against him. You were clenching so hard that he had trouble moving, groaning with his deep voice.

„Fuck yes take my cum-“ George hissed before he interrupted himself with a loud moan, burrying himself inside of you. You came as well when you felt his hot cum leak out of your cunt and your legs collapsed under your body.

Moments later he pulled out slowly and groaned with satisfaction as he spread your legs to look at you.

„So beautiful.“ he moaned, dipping a finger in and you whimpered. „So fucked out. Your sloppy pussy is full of my cum, just as it always should be.“

He turned you around to smear the cum on your lips and kissed you hard, licking it off. Pulling away his eyes watched you lick your lips.

He smiled possessively. „My little masterpiece.“

#george weasley smut #dark!fic #dark!george #dark!george weasley

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adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 3 years

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this is a continuation of the other one

Y/N stares at him for a long moment, arms crossed and poking her tongue into her cheek. “Why do I feel like I'm Ariel and you’re the sea witch trying to get me to sing into a shell?”

Harry blinks once. “Sorry, what?”

“Oh, right, that was—that was ‘89, wasn’t it?” Y/N bites back a laugh at the scowl that rolls over Harry’s expression. “After your time, I suppose.”

But Y/N isn’t laughing when she has to spend the next two weeks braless. And although she spends the first day being petty under Harry’s keen eye, by the third day, she’s turned the predicament around in her favor.

“Hey, Harry.” She says one night, stirring her pot of pasta on the stove as she sips her eleven dollar wine. “I have a question about our arrangement.”

Harry, who has been leaning over the counter to soak in the aromas of the food that he longs to taste (and also to get a look at Y/N’s cleavage in the v-neck t-shirt she’s wearing), cocks his head to the side and clicks his tongue. “If you're trying to reduce your sentence, don’t even try it.”

“No, no, it’s not that.” Y/N murmurs, trailing her lip around the rim of her wine glass as she leans against the counter. “I was just wondering if it has to be only braless with a shirt on top, or if I could wear just a bra or bralette.”

Harry blinks once, his mouth falling open in surprise. “I—what?”

“Like, I have this little cotton Calvin Klein bralette, and it’s super comfy, and still gives me some support, but my cleavage and such is still decently on display.” Y/N clarifies with a smug grin, setting down her glass against the fake marble counter as she stretches to reach the spice cabinet. “I think that could fulfill our agreement, no? You know what bralette I’m talking about, right? You’ve probably seen it when you’ve been snooping around.”

Harry looks at her carefully, trying to catch the trick behind her all-too generous offer. He replies in a measured tone, leaning against the fridge as his eyes glue to the way her chest heaves as she teeters forwards on her tiptoes to grab a condiment. “I know the one, yes. Peachy pink, right? With a thick band and slightly ruffled fabric at the center?”

“That’s the one, yup.” Y/N pops the last letter of the word, wiggling her fingers to try and grab the oregano from the highest shelf. “It’s a nice number, I think, and going around braless for so long does my back in sometimes.”

Harry pushes off the barrier he’s using as support, drifting towards Y/N as she stands before her cupboards, one hand propped against the counter to boost herself up as the other fishes for the small container a few inches from the tips of her fingers. He stops right beside her, looking down at her with that same calculating gaze he had across the room. He’s still trying to sus out her angle, but little does he know that what she’s trying to implement is going to work out for both of them.

She’s grown quite fond of the extra attention he’s been giving her, and for some odd reason, she feels a deep sense of pleasure every time she catches him staring at her chest. Maybe it’s the way his eyes glint longingly as he ogles, or the way he’ll chew into his cheek or along his bottom lip or into the side of his finger as he follows the outline of her cleavage, or maybe it’s that when she catches him gawking, he’ll hold intense eye contact with her for a second before casting his gaze away to some other unimportant object.

Maybe it was that one time yesterday where she’d managed to pull an actual reaction out of him. They had been watching a rerun of a Scooby Doo movie, and she could feel his ghastly eyes pinned to her bust, probably because she had lied down on her stomach across her sectional sofa as he had sat on the floor in front of it, so when he turned his head, her chest had been less than a foot away. And as if that wasn’t enough, she had purposefully flushed it against the couch cushion below to make it seem extra plump and appealing, which would have knocked the air from Harry’s lungs if he still had them.

He’d released a soft whimper so broken and needy, Y/N had to fight off a conceited grin to avoid letting him know she was doing this to him with actual intention. She’d pretended not to hear it, but she had allowed herself to indulge the flare of satisfaction that rose from watching him shift his sitting position a bit, as if something were growing heavy between his thighs. His actions had vaguely made her wonder if ghosts could even feel arousal, and if they could, she hoped he was. It was the perfect revenge, because she at least knows that he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Not with anyone else, at least.

Y/N watches as Harry reaches an arm up, easily reaching the bottle she’s attempting to retrieve. He swipes his hand across the container, the motion managing to knock it off the shelf and into her awaiting palm. She’s learned that in order to touch objects, he has to put in quite a bit of energy and concentration to succeed in breaking through the dimensional barrier that separates the living from the dead. Garnering the slightest contact can sometimes drain him a great deal, so when he does make it his mission to touch something, he does it with as little impact as possible to save his energy for later, in case he wants to grab something for an extended period of time, or grasp a heavier weight that would require more exertion.

“Thanks.” She smiles up at him innocently, blinking her lashes with a slightly sultry air as she closes the cupboard slowly.

Harry swallows heavily, glimpsing down at where her chest is still heaving from when she’d made a grand effort to collect the ingredient she needed. He hates how his little cheeky plan had recently become the bane of his undead existence, given that Y/N had recently begun using it to her advantage. But he can’t complain, because he’s getting exactly what he asked for. He just wishes he could get more.

His voice comes out low and strained as his eyes coast back up to meet her own, which are dancing with smug amusement. “You’re welcome.”

“So what do you say?” Y/N asks, uncapping the spice and sprinkling a liberal amount into her sauce. “Think we could tweak our deal?”

Harry pulls himself back onto the counter, tapping his fingers against the surface without making a sound. “I suppose.” He replies after a moment, eyes flickering to Y/N’s chest once more as she leans down to taste the sauce. “The bralette should be fine, as long as it’s not too padded.” He shoots her a cheeky grin. “I like a bit of nipple, you know that.”

“You’re gross.” Y/N scoffs, shaking her head as she sets down the wooden spoon on the stove. “I'm gonna go change, then. Watch this for me, will you?”

And Harry does rather diligently, inhaling the flavorful aromas rising from the stove. He wishes, for the billionth time in his thirty odd years of death, that he could taste food. He knows he doesn’t need it, but even just having its essence pass over his tongue would be enough for him. He misses pasta, he thinks, staring longingly at the noodles boiling away on the stove. And pizza, and fish, and steak, cooked perfectly with a delicious side of mashed potatoes and gravy, just pink enough in the middle that it’s still tender—

“You didn’t burn down the kitchen. Good job!” Y/N’s voice calls from behind, and the ghost turns around with a retort on his lips that quickly falls away once he sees her.

She’s put on the bralette just as she said she would, and it’s everything he’s ever dreamed of. The cotton is thin enough that he can see the clear outline of what he wants through the article, and the halter neckline lands low enough that he can see every dip and curve of her breasts. A band of her stomach is exposed beneath the labeled elastic lining the bottom of the fabric, and the soft skin seems to call to Harry, making him desperate to touch it. Y/N’s decided to swap her sweatpants as well, it seems, as she’s now dressed in a loose pair of heather grey shorts that sit above her belly button and barely cover the curve of her ass. The loose legs flutter up with her every movement, and if she were about to bend over just a smidge, he could—

“How’s this?” The girl asks, flicking her loose hair over her shoulder with a simper. “Does it meet the requirements?”

Harry clears his throat, his words coming out as a pained groan. “God, you’re a fucking bitch, you know that?”

Y/N sputters into a round of airy laughter, coming to stand before him with her hands perched on her hips. Her tone is innocent, but her true intentions are written clear across her face, obvious in the way her lips twitch with evil delight. “How so? I’m abiding to our terms!”

“You’re giving me the world’s worst case of blue-balls, is what you’re doing.” Harry bites back, his sharp jaw clenching and full lips pressing into a bothered grimace. “And you’re doing it on fucking purpose.”

“You made your casket, now lie in it.” Y/N states brightly, shrugging her brows with finality.

“Harsh.” Harry mumbles, but he can’t fight off the amused grin that tweaks his dimples into place.

Harry slips off the counter again onto his feet, not being able to stay still. There’s a peculiar buzzing sensation coursing through each of his ghostly limbs, and anytime he stays put, it intensifies to the point where he feels like he’s going to explode into a shower of static.

He saunters up behind Y/N, looking over her shoulder as she regains her previous activity of mixing the contents in the pot while they simmer their way to completion. Despite not being able to touch her, he can still smell her just fine, and her homey scent of chamomile and jasmine are ever welcomed. She just smells so much like a girl, for a lack of a better explanation, and Harry hasn’t been this close to one his own age since before he passed. It’s driving him to the brink.

“I’d give you a taste if I could.” Y/N's soft, teasing voice echoes against his ears as she cranes her neck to look at him. “It’s a family recipe.”

“Yeah...” Harry locks eyes with her for a moment, and his hand instinctively reaches down to grasp at her waist. Instead of being met with the warm sturdiness of what he knows would be her silky skin, he’s met with the typical icy fizzing sensation that constantly haunts him whenever he tries to make contact with a living being. His digits pass right through her hip, though she barely seems to notice, the only palpable indication of his attempt being a cold breeze wafting across her flesh.

He knows it’s something that is extremely easy to brush off, usually as a simple draft from the air conditioning, given the similarities between the two experiences. And that’s exactly what she appears to do as she gives a light, dismissive shiver, not paying it any mind.

The ghost tries his best to keep his disappointment from registering in his mood, and his tone instead fills with an unreadable emptiness that only he can truly interpret. Below it lies a double meaning, and it has to do with way more than just the general desire to be able to experience the taste of good again; it holds a certain longing that pertains to a deeper type of hunger, but again, only he can truly decipher it. “Yeah, I can only dream of it.”

#drabble

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rosiehunterwolf · 3 years

Note

CONGRATS ON 100 FOLLOWERS FREN 💖💖 you deserve it and so much more

If you're feeling up to it (DONT FEEL OBLIGATED DO U HEAR ME MY DEAR) movie verse Jay my beloved

asfljdlkj tysm Amour! I'm so glad to have you as part of my tumblr family, ur one of my best friends on here 💕✨

i really needed to write something movie!verse because I LOVE movie!verse and haven't written anything yet, so I was excited for this one

(@fabro-de-omres you've said in the past that you would love to read it if I wrote something movie!verse, so here's ✨content✨)

I'll chase you to the moon and back

Summary: When you’re in a secret ninja force and are your city’s primary protectors, pulling your weight is important.

Jay tries to be an asset to his team, but it’s difficult when he’s viewed as the scaredy-cat who cracks lame jokes. He loves his friends with all his heart, but sometimes it’s hard to know if they return those feelings.

Jay wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t.

Sometimes, Jay felt like he was a burden to the team.

He tried not to, he really did- he knew the others liked him and cared about him. But standing next to strong Cole, smart Zane, brave Kai, determined Nya, or warm-hearted Lloyd, it was difficult not to feel… inadequate.

It didn’t help that Cole hadn’t answered any of his recent texts.

It could be anything, Jay told himself as he stared down at the unread messages, resisting the urge to send another text. He could have an appointment he forgot to tell me about, or maybe he’s just not looking at his phone right now, or he simply doesn’t share my urgency to answer a text message so quickly. Cole had always been much more laid back about that, raising an eyebrow as Jay always scrambled to answer the text from his mom, or whoever had sent it this time.

But Cole was also Jay’s best friend. He knew he got anxious when someone left him unread for too long. Because of that, he had always been good about answering Jay’s texts quickly, even as the others still groaned about the earth ninja taking ages to respond to them.

For him to go an hour without responding was… concerning, to say the least.

Jay pushed the thoughts aside. He was probably just overthinking this, like he always was. Cole would get back to him soon. It wasn’t like he was ignoring him, or anything.

Maybe the others are up to something. He opened the group chat, but although there were usually a hundred notifications at any given time- he had learned that the hard way the first day he had joined, turning on his phone after school to a whopping 785 texts- it was empty now. The last text was from Lloyd, asking Kai to meet him at his locker before lunch.

Jay felt his heart rate spike. The lack of an argument between Kai and Nya in the last five minutes alone was worrying- because heaven forbid they actually talk things out in person, even if they literally lived one bedroom down from each other- and his mind quickly spiraled into possibilities. Had someone kidnapped them? Had their parents grounded them? Or maybe they had committed a crime and gotten thrown into jail. He wouldn’t put it past Kai and Nya to pull something dumb- Cole and Zane would go along with it, and Lloyd would never speak up enough to voice his disproval-

No, don’t be ridiculous, they wouldn’t commit a crime.

Well… Kai might. But the others would stop him.

What if they made a separate group chat without me?

No. His friends would never do that. They’d be more likely to commit that crime.

But the thought wouldn’t leave Jay’s brain, and before he knew it, he was sending a text in the group chat.

jaybird123: What r u guys up to? Wanna hang?

He immediately regretted it. What if he came off as too clingy? Too overbearing? They probably just wanted some time to themselves.

That didn’t sound quite right to Jay, but he stuffed his phone in his pocket, forcing the thought out of his mind.

He decided to go to the park- watching the people there always gave him good ideas for inventions. He was too late to catch a bus down there, but it wasn’t too far to walk.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down.

thegreendragon: sorry jay, got plans 2nite. maybe tmrrw?

Jay tried to stop the pang of disappointment. Lloyd wouldn’t lie to him. The others probably were just busy. It was no big deal. Tomorrow, things would be back to normal.

A couple of blocks away, he caught the sounds of annoyed shouts, the kind that usually hinted towards the presence of-

He stopped, blinking, as a boy darted past the onlookers and into the shop.

Huh. Lloyd?

Starting towards the store his friend had vanished into, Jay peered through the window, looking for Lloyd-

Jay froze. Lloyd was standing with the others, animatedly babbling something to them as they watched him happily.

Jay shrunk back. They really had met up without him, and had lied about it, too. He wasn’t being paranoid- his friends just didn’t want him around.

For a moment, the shock left Jay floundering. He had no other friends. The other ninja were his entire livelihood. What was he meant to do now?

He quickly wiped at the tears pooling in his eyes. I’ll go home. My mom will know what to do.

He had the worst feeling that this was something that even his mom couldn’t fix, though.

About halfway home, a buzz in his pocket interrupted him from his stupor. Pulling out his phone, he saw there was a new message in the group chat.

rock’n’cole: hey jay, something just came up, can u meet us at the warehouse asap?

Jay just stared at his phone for a minute, debating whether to actually show up or not. After all, the others had ditched him, why shouldn’t he do the same? And he still felt hurt- he wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to them yet. He really should just go home.

jaybird123: sure, i’ll be there in 20

Jay had never been good at holding grudges.

Thirty minutes later (he had ended up stalling a little bit just for the spite of it) he pushed through the doors of the warehouse. It was pitch black inside, and as he fumbled around for the lights, he couldn’t help but notice that no one else was there. It was stupid of me to come. They just abandoned me. Again.

Suddenly, the lights burst on, and the others were jumping out from behind the furniture, cheering and hugging him. Jay stumbled backward, taken aback. “What’s going on?”

Kai looked at him like he was crazy, gesturing widely at all the balloons and streamers that Jay could see now that the lights were on. “It’s a party, dumbass, what else do you think?”

“What for? It’s not my birthday!”

Nya scoffed, as if he had just told her that men lived on the moon. “Of course not, this is for your Ninja-versary!”

“My… what?”

“The anniversary of the day you first became a ninja, stupid!”

“Oh.” He blinked around at all the decor. “All this? Just for something as simple as that?”

Kai wasn’t the only one looking at him like he had sprouted a second head, now.

“Are you kidding?” Cole said. “We’re not going to skimp on celebrating the day one of our favorite people came into our lives.”

Jay blinked at him. “I…” I’m so sorry for ever doubting you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.

“Now, what are we waiting around for?” Cole threw an arm around Jay’s shoulders. “Let’s go get some cake!”

As the ninja hurried over to the table, squabbling over who would get which slice, Jay squashed between the middle of his big, loud, bickering family, he couldn’t have felt more at home.

#:D #movie characters are so fun y'all #i'll definitely have to write something that explores all of them more not just jay #but i'll save that for something longer so i can do it properly #and coming up with their chat usernames was the highlight of this piece XD #i have more for the others as well and this is going to remain canon within all my movie fics #ninjago #asks #amourshipper393 #fic request #event #100 followers event #ficlet #my fic #rosie writes #movie!verse #tlnm #jay walker #requests open

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guilty | knj x reader | chapter one: how odd

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, pining, eventual smut

rating: 18+

word count: 2.8K

notes: you guys have been so amazing with your feedback on “guarded” and it warms my heart that you loved hoseok and ms. kim -- so it’s time to show mr. kim some love, too. this series will not be long (probably three parts) but i had to break it into chapters because of the POV shifts. please let me know what you think about this chapter and as usual thank you so much to all the tiger wives and my amazing betas @ladyartemesia and @hobi-gif.

this series is dedicated to the amazing @sahmfanficbts who is an incredible writer, an awesome woman, and kim namjoon’s number one fan.

this fic is a continuation of the Guarded Series but can be read as a standalone piece.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03 | Epilogue

**********************

“You fired me?”

Namjoon turns at the sound of the quiet accusation that comes from over his shoulder.

There is color in your cheeks as you cross the length of his office. Your jaw is tight, one lock of hair falling free from the loose knot at the base of your neck. One perfectly-arched brow is raised high.

You look hurt.

Beautiful -- but hurt.

Guilt hits Namjoon like a freight train.

“Of course not,” he deflects, taking a seat. He picks up one of the papers scattered across his desktop and pretends to read it carefully. “I reassigned you to a position I believe will be a better fit.”

There’s no way he could miss the irritated breath you suck between your teeth but Namjoon keeps his eyes glued to that paper in his hand. He realizes, absently, that it’s a takeout menu.

He hopes you haven’t noticed the same thing.

“Well, was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Namjoon winces at the dejection in your tone. He finally forces himself to meet your gaze and finds your eyes brimming with frustration.

He certainly can’t blame you on that account -- you have every right to be frustrated. You shouldn’t be made to feel somehow lacking when it’s him who is lacking in every way that counts.

“Quite the opposite,” he says carefully. “I think it’s a waste of your skills to have you keeping my schedule and taking calls. Seokjin can make better use of your talents on the business side.”

A strained silence settles over the room and Namjoon clears his throat before looking back down to his papers.

“Well, the new girl is terrible at this,” you say flatly. “I certainly wouldn’t have let me walk in here unannounced. She’s too busy looking at her phone to look after you.”

Namjoon knows you’re right about that.

In the few short months you’ve worked for him, you’ve proven yourself to be unnaturally attuned to his needs. You knew without asking which calls he was trying to avoid and when, when to clear his schedule the day after a rough night on the streets. You’ve kept his office stocked with every comfort he’d ever wanted and some he hadn’t even realized he wanted.

You are the single best assistant he’s ever had and he couldn’t stand to keep you around for one minute longer.

You don’t wait for Namjoon to formulate some kind of response to your damning and accurate observation. By the time he looks back up from his papers, you’ve already turned on your heels to leave.

He watches you walk away with regret weighing heavy in his gut.

**************************

Namjoon’s keys clang loudly when he drops them on the table in his foyer.

This penthouse is the best apartment in one of the best buildings in Seoul. It’s filled with lavish furnishings and expensive paintings and boasts a stunning view of the Han River. It’s one of the finest residences in the city.

And Namjoon hates it.

The vacant rooms and the echoing walls seem to mock him, making him all the more aware of how empty it is. How completely devoid it is of any life. Most nights he stays at the office until he’s delirious with exhaustion just so he can collapse straight into bed once he gets here.

Tonight though, for once, this place seemed like a better option.

Namjoon pulls off his tie and releases the first few buttons of his shirt before pouring a scotch.

He’s drinking too much these days -- he knows it -- but the drinks help slow the constant movement of his mind. They help dull the anxiety that seems to take over when he’s too still for too long.

He walks to the window to look out over the night sky.

This is his favorite way to see the city -- high up enough that everything looks pristine. Get closer and you’ll be assaulted by the noise and the crowds and the pollution. Get closer and the flaws are too hard to ignore.

“Was there some kind of problem with my performance?”

Your words echo as clearly in Namjoon’s mind as if you’d spoken them out loud in this cavernous apartment. He takes a seat in his plush chair and sips his drink, savoring the familiar burn of the scotch.

He thinks back to when you both were kids.

Your father -- one of the few decent men in his own father’s inner circle -- didn’t bring you around much. He can only recall a few social functions you’d attended before taking off to university. News of your father’s death came shortly after that and it had been years since Namjoon had even spared a thought for you.

Then you came walking through his office door.

You definitely weren’t a kid anymore, that much was clear.

What was much less clear was why you -- a college graduate -- turned up one day, desperate for a job. He hadn’t questioned your need for fast work and fast money and you hadn’t questioned the long hours and strange requests.

You repaid him with a flawless work ethic.

And he repaid you by fantasizing about fucking you blind over his desk basically every chance he got.

So yeah, there was a problem, all right.

The problem was Kim Namjoon.

*********************

“There you are.”

The voice on the other end of the line practically slithers into Namjoon’s ear when he answers the late call.

“Mina,” he sighs, infusing the name with a displeasure that comes through loud and clear across the connection. “This line is for business only, you know that.”

Mina makes an exasperated sound.

“I wouldn’t have to call your cell if you’d return my messages from the office. I’ve been trying to reach you for more than two weeks now. I’m starting to feel like you’re avoiding me.”

Namjoon pulls the phone away to allow himself a long exhale before putting it back to his ear.

“How did you get this number?”

“You’re hung up on that?” Mina groans. “Honestly, Namjoon. I reached out to your new assistant who was more than happy to pass it along.”

Fuck. He’s going to have to fire the new girl, isn’t he?

“She’s a nice girl,” Mina muses. “Far more competent than that last assistant of yours. Excellent decision on replacing that woman if she fails to complete a task as simple as delivering a message. Three messages, actually.”

Namjoon mulls that information over in silence.

“Where is your mind these days, Mr. Kim?” Mina tries to cover her displeasure with a laugh but he hears it anyway. “You’ve been so distant lately. It’s been too long since we had the chance to enjoy one another’s company.”

Namjoon can envision the pout she is wearing on the other end of the line and it aggravates him beyond belief. Pouting ranks near the very top of his least favorite female manipulation tactics.

Pouting makes him want to put his fist through a wall.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes,” he mutters. “I’m here.”

“Are you drunk?”

Namjoon grits his teeth, fingers tightening around his glass.

“No, Mina,” he grinds out. “Not drunk. Just not in the mood. Not anymore.”

She sputters on the other end of the line as Namjoon ends the call.

Maybe he should feel bad about being so blunt, but he doesn’t. It’ll be a week before she’s onto the next wealthy, connected man. Women like Mina make sport of locating and latching on to power.

She’ll survive.

Namjoon stares out into the night sky and sips his scotch, letting his mind wander back to the one piece of the conversation that did capture his interest.

What are the chances that you -- a woman with seemingly unerring attention to detail -- forgot to deliver three separate messages from the same caller?

He contemplates that in the dark.

How odd.

***********************

YOU

Kim Namjoon was the most serious boy you’d ever seen.

Even as a young man, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. You can still close your eyes and remember exactly how he looked back then -- standing solemn at his father’s side, lanky body swimming in a suit he’d not yet grown into. His hair just a touch too long and falling into his eyes.

You thought he was the most handsome boy in all of Korea.

Namjoon kept mostly to himself -- no easy task given that his status alone made him the most celebrated catch amongst the children of the Gajog.

Everyone fought for the attention of the boy who would be king.

It would have been so easy for him to abuse the power he had over his peers, to treat them with disrespect, but Namjoon never did. You noticed how kind he was to the children who idolized him. You noticed how well he managed the volatile moods of his alcoholic father. You noticed how he hovered protectively over his sister.

He never noticed you, of course.

Your own father was careful to limit your exposure to the Gajog and as such, you lived on the outskirts of the social circle. By the time you were a teenager, you’d only spoken to Namjoon directly a handful of times. The few times you did see him face-to-face, you’d had to suffer through that awkward moment before his eyes lit with recognition.

It always took a minute for him to remember who you were, but when he finally did -- every time he finally did -- your heart would stop just a bit at his shy smile.

That was the image you held on to when you held your breath and walked into his office a few months ago. You’d taken a deep breath and prayed that the quiet, kind kid you’d known so long ago hadn’t changed too much over the years. And then you stepped into his posh office.

Kim Namjoon definitely wasn’t a kid anymore.

The Namjoon who stood up from behind his desk to bow a greeting was nothing short of devastating.

Standing in place of the slender boy from your childhood was a man with deep, dark eyes and a striking, angular face. His suit -- cut to fit every line of his body to an exacting standard -- did nothing to conceal his powerful frame. He had grown into the full lips that once seemed a bit too large for his face.

Without a doubt, he’d become the most handsome man in all of Korea.

The shy smile remained, though -- dimples prominent when Namjoon extended a hand to shake yours and you woodenly accepted, blinking back. You’d realized, absently, that you were gawking.

You hoped he hadn’t noticed the same thing.

If Namjoon had picked up on your mortifying reaction to seeing him after all these years, he was far too much of a gentleman to let on. He’d offered you a seat and then listened patiently as you explained that you were in need of a job -- any job -- so long as you could start right away.

You left out the painful details, of course.

Namjoon nodded quietly as you outlined your education and qualifications and emphasized your willingness to serve the Gajog in any role he saw fit. His eyes were warm and reassuring as you spoke, but you still braced yourself for the possibility that he’d send you away empty handed.

He didn’t.

At the end of your impassioned speech, Kim Namjoon made you an offer you could not refuse.

Reporting directly to him and starting right away.

***************************

The serious boy you’d known so many years ago had grown into an even more serious man.

It didn’t take long on the job to notice the bone-deep melancholy that seemed to emanate from Kim Namjoon. He was good at concealing it in front of others but you saw it clearly. The way he would stand at his window at night, drink in hand, brooding. The way the shadows behind his eyes would surface when he thought no one was looking.

But you were always looking.

You wanted so badly to help.

You wanted to do something to help ease the burden he seemed to carry around at all times. So you threw yourself into the work, memorizing his routines and taking note of the things he needed. You organized his files. You streamlined his schedule. You ran interference on Yoongi and Hoseok and Seokjin on the nights when his moods turned dark and ominous.

Tiny gestures, in the grand scheme of things -- but there were days when you could convince yourself the gestures made a difference.

Days when Namjoon would look at you with a quiet appreciation that made you feel heat down to your toes. Days when his eyes would soften as you’d instinctually met some need he hadn’t voiced out loud. Days when the darkness inside of him seemed to recede and one of those heart-stopping shy smiles would emerge.

You convinced yourself over time that this was enough -- that taking care of him like this would be enough for you.

It had to be enough.

To allow yourself to imagine otherwise was nothing short of delusion.

**********************

“Eomma?”

You call out into the quiet as you lock the door behind you. You can barely make out the sound of your mother’s soft reply from her bedroom.

This is where she spends most of her days now, shuffling between her bed and her chair, too weak to stand for more than a few minutes at a time. Pill bottles litter the nightstand, obscuring the yellowing photograph of your parents as newlyweds.

“My sweet Ttal,” she rasps, voice hoarse from disuse, “You’re home.”

“I am,” you sigh, sweeping into the room and pulling off your coat. You bend down to drop a kiss on her forehead before taking a seat at her side. Your mother’s once-luminous skin is now spotted with age, eyes cloudy and dull, but she is still one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen.

She flinches when you take one of her hands into your much colder ones.

“Sorry,” you murmur, massaging over the paper-thin skin. “It’s freezing outside. I should have warmed them first.”

She gives your fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Home early again,” she croaks. “Is everything okay at work?”

Her innocent question brings the sadness simmering just under the surface of your thoughts back to a full boil. You still can’t understand why Namjoon chose to reassign you -- and you still can’t forget the sting of getting the news secondhand from your replacement.

Your face falls at the memory and you hope your mother doesn’t notice.

The last thing you’d want to do is add worry to her already long list of concerns.

“Yes, Eomma,” you soothe, smoothing back her hair. She leans into your touch with a tired smile. “Everything is fine. My new boss doesn’t keep me as late as the old one did. But that’s a good thing, right?”

“Right,” she agrees, closing her eyes. “Mrs. Sim left just a short while ago. She brought some Japchae for dinner. Not as good as mine, but not half-bad, either.”

You laugh at the way the corner of her mouth lifts into a smile at her jest.

People like Mrs. Sim are in large part why you’ve fought so hard to keep your mother here in your childhood home. The financial strain has been tough -- particularly when paired with the medical bills -- but you need the help. With no siblings to share your burden, you’ve had to lean on the goodwill of longtime neighbors.

“Leave Mrs. Sim and her Japchae alone mother,” you tease, standing to stretch. “I’m going to get a shower before bed.”

Your mother makes a noise that sounds like approval, but you can tell she’s already drifting off again.

She’s on so many pills these days; a blessing and a curse. More pills means less pain and better rest -- something she desperately needs. But more pills also means far fewer moments of lucidity -- much shorter windows of time for you to enjoy your mother’s quick wit and dry humor.

She’s back in a sleep state before you even make to stand. You stroke your fingertips across her face just as your phone pings in your pocket. You pull it out and very nearly dismiss the routine banking alert altogether -- but something catches your eye.

You swipe into the app to confirm you’re seeing the numbers correctly -- that your tired eyes and tired mind aren’t playing games with you.

They aren’t.

The direct deposit of your paycheck is coming on the date it should, at the time it should. But the number glaring back at you from the screen is higher -- much higher -- than it should be.

A demotion and a raise in the span of one week?

How odd.

******************************

GLOSSARY:

Gajog: Family

Eomma: Mother

Ttal: Daughter

tag list: @barbikatherine

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon mafia au #bts mafia #ficswithluv #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #btscreatorscorner #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet

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imagining-in-the-margins · 4 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 20 | S.R.)

Summary: Reader lies to Spencer.

A/N: Please read the content warnings for this one if you have basically any triggers, lol. This is a very heavy chapter - it is the penultimate climax of the story. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Angst (NSFW) Content Warning: 🚨 IMPORTANT – READ BEFORE READING🚨 This episode covers a number of very dark topics, and should be approached at a time when you have support systems available. Potential triggering topics include: sexual assault, violations of consent, suicide, self-harm, pregnancy/termination, infertility, domestic dispute, fighting, and underage drinking, sex w/ blanket consent Word Count: 11K

MASTERLIST

—————————————————

Rossi’s house was every bit as extravagant as I had expected. I had come in honestly hoping to be slightly disappointed so I could mock him for it, but, as always, he had to force his appearance to be as unnecessarily elegant as possible.

That being said, I was a little surprised to find that most everyone gathered in one spot - the kitchen. It was only to be expected, considering it was usually the happiest room in the home. That certainly remained true for Rossi. But they were also all gathered there because that was where the wine was – wine that I was not allowed to drink.

Rossi didn’t have a problem with it… Spencer did. Because of course he did. And while I politely declined when Rossi offered me some, anyway, I found another offer a little more tempting. Which explains why I found myself clutching Derek’s flask and draining half the contents quickly enough to remind him that I was, in fact, in college.

And if anyone were to ask, I would simply tell them that we were hanging out in the hall outside the bathroom to have a very deep and secret heart-to-heart about our shared love for a certain mop headed genius. It would have been the perfect cover to use on pretty much everyone except…

“Ahem.”

The sound of Spencer’s throat clearing behind me was enough to cause me to choke, and I quickly tossed the closed flask back to an already giggling Derek as I shouted, “Fuck!” I didn’t even turn around when his hand snaked around my hip. Instead, I just groaned.

“The narc’s here,” I whispered to Derek, but he knew better than to answer.

“The narc?” Spencer balked, much to his friend’s delight.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Derek offered in consolation, taking a swig out of the flask and earning a very defensive glare from my boyfriend. In fact, Spencer seemed downright pissed, which wasn’t what I had been expecting when I agreed.

Oops. What’s the male equivalent of a cat fight?

“Morgan, didn’t you lecture me about her drinking underage a few months ago?” he snapped, grabbing the flask from a more than willing Derek. Spencer sniffed the contents and immediately recoiled, tossing it back again.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he mumbled, shooting a glance down to see me sort of just making heart eyes at the sight of my boyfriend being a stupid level of jealous that I'd been caught in the hallway with another boy.

“How does that make it better? That makes it patently worse,” he argued. Derek might have responded to it, too, if I hadn’t latched myself onto Spencer’s side.

“You’re so cute when you get all stupid and possessive,” I drawled, burying my face in his shoulder in what I think was supposed to be a playful kiss, but actually just ended up being a muffled laugh.

“That,” Derek chuckled, pointing to me teetering back and forth on my heels at Spencer’s side, “That is my cue to leave.” With one final wink, he whispered, “Don’t be too hard on him, Princess.”

Spencer’s angry sigh and entirely stiff posture should have served as my warning, but it was just funny to me at the time.

“They all think I’m the boss of us,” I giggled. “Me! The boss!”

“You’re drunk.” His tone dropped the second Derek was out of earshot, and on intimidation alone, he managed to back me against the wall.

“So is everyone but you. They won’t even notice,” I mumbled, although the more the hallway started to spin, the less I believed that. I'd never been very good at math or shots, and this was a pretty horrible miscalculation of just how much of my tolerance I’d lost.

“You really couldn’t wait a few more months? Or at least until we got home?”

He was chastising me, and I just wasn’t there to hear it. I probably could have figured it out if I’d tried, but it all sounded like sexy nonsense at the time. Walking my fingers down his chest, I paused at his belly before hooking them in his pants and pulling his hips against mine.

“I’m allowed to drink if my daddy says so,” I purred.

Spencer didn’t find my taunt as charming as I’d hoped, and before I knew it his hand was roughly pressed over my jaw. He tilted my head back to look him in the eyes, and I wondered if he could smell the whiskey on my breath.

“Well, I didn’t,” he growled.

I never said I was a perfect person, or even a smart one. And when I was drinking and Spencer whipped out his Daddy voice, I don’t know what he really expected me to do. But apparently, trying to grab his dick through his pants was the wrong move. He snatched my hand away quickly, slamming it against the wall before he continued his little impromptu lecture.

“I’m not rewarding you for this. We’re going home.”

“That’s not a very scary threat,” I deadpanned, throwing my body weight back against the wall.

That lasted about four seconds before he pulled me back to my feet and leaned forward to whisper in my ear. “Just wait, little girl. Just you wait until I get my fucking hands on you.”

I was going to make a snarky joke, to remind him that his hands were surely and firmly already on me, but I never got the chance. We were both too distracted by the very loud and very high pitched squeal of Penelope as she rounded the corner.

“Ah! I saw nothing!” she shouted, covering her face with her hands and refusing to remove them.

“Yeah, because we aren’t doing anything,” I laughed. But then, being the slightly cruel brat that I was, I stuck my tongue out at Spencer before tacking on a completely unnecessary, “anymore.”

“We weren’t doing anything before either!” he squeaked back. He wasn’t using his Daddy voice anymore. So swiftly, so easily, he’d been knocked from his higher footing.

Penelope took the words to heart, but only enough to slowly lower her fingers and peek between them. With a shaky voice and an awkward laugh, she started to rant. “Oh. It’s fine. I’m cool. We’re all cool. We don’t have to talk about that thing from the first time I met you ever again. Because we said we’d never talk about it again, do you remember that?”

“I do remember that,” I answered with a very sarcastic tone and a nod.

“And I just brought it up again, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” I whispered, “Yes, you did.”

“I’m so sorry. Spencer, Hotch is looking for you,” she rushed, turning to the beet-red boy at my side. “Okay, that’s it. Take your time, because I’m cool and not at all mortified.” She was basically already gone before she'd even finished talking, taking off in the direction she'd come from while downing the drink in her hand.

With a loose, clumsy wave I shouted back, “Bye, Penelope.”

“Mortified is a good word. An accurate word,” Spencer huffed as he wiped a hand over his face. His bashfulness, while cute, was not as exciting as the pre-Penelope behavior.

Running my hands underneath his blazer and up his back, I pressed my chest against his. “Gosh, Dr. Reid. You need to be more appropriate in such a public setting.”

The words, while meant to get him riled up, did more to frustrate me. My drunken mind was more than happy to revert to the metro, and before I knew it, my daydreams were filled with images of Spencer stuffing me into the tiniest closet he could find and having his way with me.

“Oh, I’m the one lacking manners?” Spencer chuckled as he apparently read my very lewd thoughts. He pried my arms off of him and pulled them back to rest at my sides before pressing a strangely chaste kiss on my forehead. “Go get your stuff. I’m going to go talk to Hotch and I’ll meet you by the door.”

Before he disappeared around the corner, he shot me one last warning glance and ordered, “Do not mingle!”

“Don’t worry, I will!” I yelled back.

Once he was gone, it was my job to figure out how to make my body work again. Luckily, it wasn’t the first time I’d had too much to drink in a room filled with drunk adults. Granted, they usually weren’t all cops, but, whatever.

Turns out, it somehow made it easier. I managed to grab my things off the counter without alerting anyone except Penelope, who quickly turned back around with a blush. She probably figured I was gonna go blow him in the bathroom or something. I’d have been offended if the thought hadn’t literally just crossed my mind. I made it all the way to the door before I heard it. Back through the halls, a few of the group had separated to talk about how much harder it had been to see Hotch and JJ. It was nothing, just a little bug spreading through daycares like wildfire. That wasn’t what upset me, though.

No, the thoughts running through my head were more than just a passing thought of kids sick with a cold. I looked up at the walls of the entryway to Rossi’s home and saw intricate moulding and nothingness. I saw the exquisite, pristine rug underneath my feet, and I thought about how lonely it felt.

I was standing in a house that should have felt happy, filled with friends and family and love. There was no doubt that everyone who was there wanted to be there, and probably had nowhere else they’d rather be. But the tall ceilings and thousands of square feet felt so goddamn empty.

It isn’t the building, I heard a tiny, terrified voice call out from inside my own conscience.

It’s you. You’re empty.

I had to leave. I had to get out of the house. I had to hear the silence so that the nothingness would feel more appropriate and less noticeable. I couldn’t let them see me, because if they saw me, they would know. They would know that I was nothing but a husk of the girl they used to know. Without even thinking, I threw the door open, stumbling forward and almost falling flat on my face as I misjudged the small step down to the patio.

“Fuck!” I muttered, the world rocking around me with a stubborn persistence. If it weren’t for the frankly freezing temperature, I was sure I would have been sick. To make matters worse, there was a person quickly approaching.

“Hey, are you and Spence leaving already?”

It was JJ. Thank god, it was JJ. Probably the only person who wouldn’t make fun of me for being a mess on Rossi’s steps after only a few shots of whatever Morgan was drinking.

“Oh. Hey, JJ. Yeah. He’s…” I turned to my side, half expecting Spencer to be there to answer for me. But he wasn’t, so I ended up just pointing to the closed door before slurring, “he’s doing a thing.”

She was, per usual, very kind when faced with my buffoonery, and just laughed as she shook her head. “A thing. Sounds like him.”

I honestly thought that would be the end of it. It was a good, easy segue into a farewell. She already knew we were leaving, and she knew Spencer well enough to know that he wouldn’t leave me alone for long.

And I think she almost did leave. She almost walked right past me and into the warmth and comfort of a home filled with family and friends. But she didn’t. She stopped and asked me the one question I was really hoping she wouldn’t.

“Are you alright?”

I didn’t want her to ask because I knew that I wouldn’t be able to lie to her. Even if I could have managed it, she would have seen right through me in a second. Not only would it have been an exercise in futility, but she would also know that I thought it was worth it to try to lie.

So, I was honest… quite possibly too honest.

“No, not really. But it’s a lot and I’m kind of drunk, so…”

The mom eyes appeared so quickly, with JJ’s body turning entirely away from the door and over to me. “Not usually a good combination, but an understandable one,” she softly replied, wrapping her arms around herself to make up for the fact that she was sacrificing her comfort in many different ways to talk to me, instead.

She was probably just being nice— staying with me until Spencer could come take over the babysitting of the drunk twenty year old, but I wasn’t exactly thinking critically at the time. Which is only part of the reason why I blurted out the only thing on my mind; the thing that had been haunting me for longer than I wanted to admit even to myself, much less another person.

“Has Spencer ever talked to you about kids?”

The air, still freezing, also fell uncomfortably silent.

“Oh…” she mumbled under her breath, clearly unsure of how to handle that particular minefield of a topic. Especially with her best friend’s girlfriend, who also happened to be drunk. I almost told her to forget about it, but then she looked up at me with a powerful resolve. “Yeah, he has. Why?”

I thought about my next words more carefully, although you wouldn’t have been able to tell considering how much I stuttered.

“Do you think… Do you think he’d be happy if… I can’t have them?” I asked, wringing my hands together over my stomach. “Like, not just happy today, but like ten years from now?” I could hear how desperate I sounded, but I needed someone to hear the words playing on loop in my mind. Absolutely frantic and with tears pooling in my eyes, I asked, “Do you think he’d still love me if I can’t give him kids?”

“(Y/n), slow down. It’s okay!” JJ urged, lunging forward to cup my cheeks and gently wipe away any stray tears. “Don’t cry! You’ll ruin your make up and it looks like you spent a lot of time on it.”

I had to laugh because not only was it my exact brand of humor, she said it with such a serious face that I had to wonder if it was genuinely her biggest concern. Of course, I knew it wasn’t. In her usual JJ way, she just knew the easiest way to cheer me up was with a laugh.

“Yeah, there’s like $80 on my face, it’s really not worth it to cry,” I agreed, sniffling softly when she finally pulled away her hands. At least I could blame that part on the cold.

“Exactly. And if you cry, then I’ll cry, and then I’ll also ruin my make up, and we’ll just be $150 down the drain with nothing to show for it,” she joked with a tired roll of her eyes and a shrug.

Together, we laughed, finding a pocket of warmth in a world that often felt too cold. Behind JJ’s eyes though, I saw an empathy I wasn’t expecting. That small, instinctual part of my brain tugged at my heart, telling me that there was an unspoken bond forming. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t know why. I had a feeling that it was one of those secrets you just didn’t ask about, so I let it go.

“Thanks. It’s a stupid thought anyway,” I sighed, shuffling my feet and knocking my heels against the somehow spotless patio. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, so why stress about it, right?”

But then JJ said something I wasn’t expecting. Something that I actually really, really needed to hear.

“I don’t know, I think you’re allowed to be worried. It’s normal to feel scared.”

The sentence hit me like a freight train carrying lead and cement. At first, my brain refused to comprehend it at all. I struggled to repeat the idea, not because I was drunk but because it sounded so wrong. I had wanted it to be true so badly, and here she was, telling me it was okay.

Sensing my simultaneous trepidation and revelation, JJ cringed a bit when she said, “But I think it is a good idea to talk to Spence about it instead of me. Because, to be honest, I’ve also had one too many glasses to be helpful.”

That time when I laughed, it was full-hearted and involved every muscle in my body. “God, I love you, Jennifer,” I said through the noise.

She just shook her head, clearly enjoying the drastic mood swing she’d had a great part in. “I love you, too,” she whispered, running her hand over my shoulder and arm to pull me into a small half-hug. And that was how Spencer found us, giggling and sniffling on Rossi’s porch.

“Hey, are you ready to— Oh! Hey JJ,” he stopped, taking a very hesitant step forward in the hope that we wouldn’t both start crying on the spot. Drunk girls had a tendency to do that. “W-What are you guys doing out here?”

She let me go first, shoving her hand, still damp with my tears, into her pockets with a secretive smile. “Girl talk.”

“That usually doesn’t bode well for me,” Spencer answered with an awkward, nervous laugh. He didn’t make a move to grab me yet, probably too scared to step between the two of us. I was too busy giggling at the thought of his mind cycling through all the possible secrets I might have spilled in my uninhibited state.

I was tipsy, but I wasn’t that drunk.

JJ pulled two fingers over her mouth in a cheeky motion as she whispered, “My lips are sealed.”

“An even worse sign,” Spencer winced, turning to finally wrap his arm around me. He must have noticed the chill on my skin, because seconds later he had me practically wrapped in his coat. “I should just cut my losses and get her out of here, huh?”

“Shut up, old man,” I slurred, cuddling closer to his body heat despite my protests. Even in the darkness, I watched the heat bloom in his face at the nickname. By far, the worst part about the situation was the fact that I couldn’t kiss him, because I just knew he would be so warm, and I was really starting to get cold. I suspect that’s why he started to whisk me away, unceremoniously shushing me as JJ cleared her throat and raised her hand in a wave.

Before we got too far, though, I heard her speak again. “Oh! (Y/n), your questions!”

“What about them?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder and nearly falling to the ground as a result.

JJ looked at me, and then back to Spencer, whose arm was wrapped possessively around me. She smiled a pure, toothy grin that filled her face, causing that weird feeling in my gut to flare up again. She saw something in that moment that I wasn’t sure I’d ever really understand, but her voice started to crack just enough to notice when she called out, “The answer is yes. To all of them.”

—————————————————

The ride back to Spencer’s place was uneventful, though I tried very hard to make it interesting. After the fourth time he'd swatted away my hand and threatened to throw me in the back, I gave in to his demand to behave. I blamed my compliance on the alcohol, although it was probably more so a result of total exhaustion.

The respite from socialization was apparently what I needed to be able to function again, because as soon as we pulled into his apartment parking lot, I was awake.

... Awake enough to try and maul him in the hallway. But, in his sober stubbornness, he continued to evade my advances all the way until his front door clicked shut behind us. His hands on my hips had never felt like such a victory before.

“Did you enjoy wreaking havoc all night?” he whispered, slowly leading us towards his room. I couldn’t see where I was going, but I didn’t need to. Even without an eidetic memory, my body cherished this path and the memories it always led to. I trusted him to catch me if I stumbled. Which, I definitely did.

“I’m the cutest devil you’ll ever see,” I slurred.

“At least you admit it,” Spencer laughed. I couldn’t tell if it was at my words or the fact that I was failing terribly at trying to unbutton his shirt. My drunk self was not a skilled multitasker.

Once I felt the bed against the back of my thighs, I hopped on top of the covers before he could even try to help me up. It was muscle memory. We’d been there before.

“I’m feeling more fallen angel tonight,” I sighed, sliding against the comforter until I found his pillow.

Naturally, Spencer saw the way I gravitated to his side. He smiled as he removed his shirt that I’d left mostly intact. “By all means, feel free to stay that way.”

I probably should have taken off my dress, or my shoes, but I didn’t. The world sort of felt like a wave pool on a sunny day, and I was worried that if I paid too much attention to what was going on around me, I'd think about something I really didn’t want to think about.

I couldn’t remember what it was.

But then Spencer’s hands were gliding up and down my calves, and I shuddered at the contact. He took his time removing my shoes before coming up to join me on all fours. I wondered if he could taste the whiskey on my tongue when he kissed me. Did it remind him of the circumstances that had brought us together? Did it remind him of his hangover and sins?

Did he think of monsters when he kissed me?

My hands were tangled in his hair, pulling lightly to try to keep him there. And when he pulled away, I tried to fight him. I tried to follow him, scared that once the kiss was over, I’d start remembering things I probably should have tried to forget.

He must have seen the denial in my eyes, because he hesitated. His hand came up to lightly grab my wrist and lead my hand that had a death grip on his hair down to his face. “Are you too drunk? Should we stop?”

Throwing my head back with a groan, I tried not to hate him for actually caring about me again. “If you stop right now, I’m going to actually scream,” I droned. It got me a laugh, at least.

“That doesn’t comfort me in the slightest.”

Once I opened my eyes, I found myself wishing I hadn’t. It wasn’t that I saw hesitancy or fear in Spencer’s eyes – on the contrary, it was the lack of anything bad at all that bothered me. I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but a sincere, pure adoration that I couldn’t argue with.

I chose to ignore it, instead. I couldn’t remember why it made my stomach hurt.

“Are you going to make me do a sobriety test?” I giggled, letting my hands travel down his shoulders and chest. I wasn’t in as much of a rush as I had been earlier. I wanted to take my time remembering what it felt like to be pinned under him and surrounded by his embrace.

“I’m positive that you’ve practiced those while drunk,” he playfully replied while trying to hide the way goosebumps followed my fingers as they trailed down to more interesting territory.

“Yeah, I can say the alphabet backwards and everything.”

It was meant as a joke, but Spencer apparently had some doubts. With a scrunched up smile, he laughed back as he asked, “Really?”

The fact that he believed I was capable of something like that might have been flattering if it hadn't been based on his incredibly flawed perception of my propensity to lawbreaking. But since it was based on ideas of immorality rather than intelligence, it just made me mad.

Smacking him lightly on the chest, I both pouted and laughed as I snapped back, “No, of course not, asshole!”

Spencer just grinned, giving a delayed wince at the offensive contact before he sat up again. I didn’t realize why at first, but as he slowly started to coax me into turning around, I remembered that I was, in fact, still fully dressed. I figured it was either his way of saying that I’d won, or just an excuse to take off the dress so I might actually go to sleep. I was fine with either.

“I was drunk the first night we met, if you’ve forgotten,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side of the bed and moving my hair so that he wouldn’t catch any in the zipper.

“I definitely haven’t forgotten that night.”

The nostalgia in his voice was both comforting and painful. We’d always joked about that night, though. It wasn’t an insult at all.

“No? Do you think about it often?” I replied playfully, forcing myself not to think too hard about whether he wished I was still the girl he'd met that day.

Spencer made it easy to forget, with his hand starting to draw the zipper down while he leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “I think about it all the time.” My breath hitched in my throat at the way his voice warped into a rough, raspy tone. “You almost made me believe that you were just some shy, innocent little girl.”

This time when he got me to turn back over, there was nothing gentle about it. His hands were clearly craving the kind of violence they got to use last time. I wanted to feel them again.

“We can make a new memory if you want,” I panted, looking up at him with wanton eyes and my dress loose enough to expose parts of my breasts to him.

“Fuck,” he muttered at the sight below him. He pressed his erection against my hip as he ran a hand over my cheek. “Tell me the rules.”

“I tell you to stop if I need to,” I carefully enunciated.

“Good girl,” he moaned, starting to rock against me. Struggling to pull my dress off himself, he pleaded in a slightly pitiful manner, “Can I…?”

I helped him, desperate to feel his skin against mine. I didn’t even think about what it meant for my dress to be gone. It wasn’t until Spencer’s mouth dropped to my chest so enthusiastically that I realized that he’d failed to stop and kiss my lips first.

With both hands on my breasts, he lavished each pebbled peak with his fingers and tongue. He hadn’t ever mentioned the fact that he’d missed me shirtless, but it was painfully obvious in the way his lips trailed along my body. It was obvious in the rumbling of his moans against my skin and the way his hands roughly kneaded the soft tissue.

I was forced to remember why I hadn’t let him see me topless.

I felt naked. Not because of the exposed skin, but because I couldn’t warp reality with lace or cotton anymore. My marred stomach might not have made a physical barrier, but it still made him feel so far away. It was a paralyzing kind of realization, and I felt myself retreat so quickly that it hurt.

Thankfully, it was Spencer who was kissing me. If it had been anyone else, I think I would have just laid there, terrified and small and alone. But I couldn’t do that with him.

“Spencer?” I quietly called, and he immediately stopped, his eyes meeting mine with all the attention a girl could ever ask for. I smiled, and the sensation almost felt foreign.

“Come kiss me here instead,” I said with a little giggle, tapping my lips to bring him back to where I wanted him. And he came to me so quickly, his mouth crashing onto mine in seconds and his hands tangling in my hair.

I had forgotten so quickly how easy it was to get lost in him. Thanks to the alcohol, my mind wasn’t able to stick with any thought for longer than a few seconds. Mixing that with Spencer’s hands and mouth, I was never going to be able to think in more than a few words at a time. And I shouldn’t have needed to, right? It was just sex. We’d done it many times before, and it had never been a disappointment. But there was a nagging feeling in the back of mind — some instinctual warning that told me I was doing something wrong.

I wanted him, so what could be wrong about that? There was nothing painful or unappreciated in the way he lined himself up at my entrance, and I certainly made that much clear. It was hard to even hear him over the sound of my own moans, and my nails dug into his shoulder as I guided him into me with my hips.

“I love you,” I cried, wrapping my legs around his waist and digging my heels into the back of his thighs.

“I love you so much, little girl,” he whispered against my lips, his forehead resting against mine.

For a moment, it was okay. The feeling subsided long enough for me to enjoy the fact that Spencer, the man I loved, loved me back. I thought about how long it had taken us to get to this point, and how I never wanted to lose it again. I held onto him for dear life, rocking my hips to meet his and bringing his mouth down to mine.

It was okay, until he spoke again.

“You’re such a good girl,” he groaned into my mouth, “even when you’re being bad you just want to be useful.”

Useful.

The word had come back to haunt me several times in the recent weeks. I hadn’t said anything about it because I couldn’t understand why it bothered me so much. There was no reason for me to be upset. He was just saying what I usually liked to hear.

So why did it hurt?

And I realized then, that the reason that experience felt so horrible wasn’t because of me at all. It was because it was Spencer. It was Spencer, the man I loved. There he was, trying to love me and comfort me and hold me and I…

In a rush of emotions and memories and repressed regrets, I was forced to face the fact that I had made a terrible mistake. The kind of mistake that if I didn’t do something about it in that exact, immediate moment, would become a disaster. The kind of disaster that meant he might never want to touch me again. The kind that would make him hate me. The kind that would make him leave and I couldn’t blame him for.

I had made a mistake.

“Wait, wait, Spencer, stop!” I slurred, my hands that had been holding him close seconds earlier shoving him off of me with the little force I was capable of. It didn’t take much, though, considering how fast he jumped back.

Frantic and terrified, he grabbed my face and tried to inspect my eyes that were avoiding him. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look at him. “No, I just really need to stop,” I muttered, my breath picking up even more as I slid away from him, “Can I just— Can you just give me a minute?”

My hands slid over my chest, trying to hide the shame I felt inside to no avail. Spencer only made it worse in the way he quickly grabbed clothing, covering me in his shirt before he dressed himself. He even took the time to find me pants and help me in them, quietly and carefully. Like a doll.

I was going to be sick.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me,” he croaked brokenly while he curled up at my side, trying to wrap his arms around me before he realized I was shrinking away from his touch. He was so confused. He had no reason to know what was going on, but I could see on his face that he was desperately trying to figure it out.

“Does this have something to do with what you were talking to JJ about?”

An interesting question. I didn’t know the answer.

“Yes. No? Maybe. I guess?” I ran a hand over my face that landed on my throbbing temple. The lack of tears on my face almost surprised me. I probably should have been crying, but I wasn’t. In a way, it felt like I had no tears left to give. When I turned to him, bile rose in my throat and I was afraid that I might choke on it if I didn’t get the words out faster. I just had to tell him. He needed to know.

“Listen, I lied to you. And I need to say something.”

I had just gotten my breathing under control, just in time for his to go erratic. His pulse was visible in his throat as he swallowed. “Lied to me? About what?”

“I…” The world was rocking, and I couldn’t tell if it was because of the alcohol or my brain trying to comprehend my own self-destructive stupidity. I knew which one I was going to blame, though. “Fuck, I didn’t think I was this drunk.”

“What did you lie to me about?” he repeated, his hands gripping handfuls of the sheet in hopes of stopping the rest of his body from trembling.

“Well, I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you.”

It was the most useless clarification, and it did absolutely nothing to appease his concern. The longer the words stayed stuck and muddled in my mouth, the more devastated he seemed. In hindsight, I would realize all the millions of awful reasons his mind must have been feeding him in the absence of the truth.

“Please, whatever it is, just tell me,” Spencer begged with a hesitant, shaky hand coming to rest on top of mine. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. Instead, we both looked down at our hands. It was a mercy and a disservice. I just had to tell him, but I couldn’t convince myself to do it without looking him in the eyes. That didn’t mean I wasn’t grateful that he didn’t look back, though. Because once the words were said, there would be no going back from them.

He was going to hate me.

“I… stopped taking my birth control,” I whispered in a voice that felt so foreign. “Like, a while ago.”

Spencer’s jaw steeled, his eyes widening and shooting up to me with the same speed he used to jump off the bed. Despite my efforts to grab him, to stop him from leaving me, he was five feet away in a matter of seconds.

“What?!” he shouted. It was the loudest I’d ever heard him. Even the echoes felt deafening, and my hands covered my ears with a wince.

“Shit! That was loud!” I whined in a pathetic attempt to make him feel bad for me. I didn’t deserve it, but I think it worked. Because the next time he spoke, it was at a more manageable volume.

“What do you mean you stopped taking your birth control?! When?!”

“Stop yelling at me.” I pulled my knees to my chest and ignored the pain in my stomach when I did so. It felt well deserved.

“You aren’t joking, either. Why didn’t you tell me this?” Spencer continued, his hands raking through his hair while he started to pace the room.

Nothing about it felt real. I felt like I was stuck in one of my million recurring nightmares. I just wanted to wake up, to be somewhere other than in a room too small for the bass in his voice. I only barely saw him when he finally approached me. He still stayed a few feet away, but he met my eyes that stared vacantly at the wall ahead of me.

“Answer me!”

Whether it was the order that broke me or the pain in his voice, all of my resolve and apathy shattered at once.

“You’ve always said you wanted to get me pregnant!” I screamed back, digging my nails into my skin in the hope of finding feeling there.

“Not like this! Not right now!” he scoffed. The sound would have hurt more if he hadn't stepped closer to me when he made it.

“Why not?!” I tried to sound angry, but all I heard was the plea beneath the words.

I just want to be useful. Please let me be useful.

“Are you serious?” Spencer’s disbelief was present in every ounce of his existence. His hands were alternating between fists and flat palms, his voice cracking and wavering in pitch. “What has gotten into you? You know that you can’t have a child right now.”

I bit down on my tongue in one final attempt to keep the scary words inside. But he couldn’t feel the way his words felt just like bullets and scar tissue that would never fully heal again.

“You almost died! Do you—“ he choked, but powered through his body’s attempt to stop the thought. “Do you understand the danger that would put you in?”

“I know, alright?! I know!” The words were loud and hoarse, and I covered my own ears to hopefully drown out the sound of failure on my own tongue. “I know I can’t have a fucking kid right now!”

“Then what are you doing?!”

I don’t know. Please, help me.

He waited for my answer, but it stayed trapped in my head. When I started to rock in place, my hands still clamped over my ears and the tears I swore I didn’t have starting to fall, he sighed.

“Get up, we’re going to the store.”

“Why?” I spat, sinking further into my spot in a purely selfish manner.

“Get up,” he said again, this time reaching out for my hand.

But I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want him to touch me like this. I was scared that if I did what he wanted, then the fight would be over. And if the fight ended, then what would be left? Was this all just some elaborate ruse to get me in his car so that he could drive me home and leave me there?

His hand touched mine so softly, with so much patience and love that it burned. Why wasn’t he angrier? He should be.

“No!” I screamed, smacking his hand away from me. Although I knew it didn’t hurt, I saw him wince at the contact. His lips flattened as he looked at the stupid sobbing girl on his bed.

Then he left. He turned on his heel, and with less patience that time, grumbled the explanation he'd refused to give before. “We’re going to the store and getting levonorgestrel so that you don’t make the stupidest mistake of your life.”

It wasn’t the words that got me to move, but the fact that he was quickly leaving the room. I scrambled after him recklessly, crashing into just about every stationary object in the way. The shock had hit me so hard that I forgot I was still drunk.

“Is it really that awful to imagine having a future with me?” I sobbed, chasing after him just to crash into him when he stopped.

He still caught me, but I couldn’t tell you why.

“You know that’s not what this is about.” He sounded so tired, but he kept going. He kept fighting with me even though I could see in his eyes that it was the last thing he wanted to do. “I love you, (y/n)! But you’re acting like… like a child!”

“Fuck you,” I seethed, pushing myself away from him.

I was scared that if I didn’t force our bodies apart, I would have fallen to pieces in his arms again. And I knew he would try to put me back together again. He would try to help me because that’s what he always did. But sometimes things are just completely, irrevocably broken. Sometimes there was simply no fixing it.

Good luck convincing Spencer of that.

“I don’t need this shit and I don’t need to go to the store,” I muttered under my breath as I made my way back into the bedroom to locate my purse that I’d so gracefully thrown on the floor.

“(Y/n), just because the chances of pregnancy are low doesn’t mean they are nonexistent, and I’m not going to be the reason you throw your life away! You said yourself you aren’t ready to be a housewife!” I heard him rambling from the other room. Eventually, he followed the sounds of plastic packaging and rustling paper.

“Shut up,” I groaned, finally getting the tiny pill free and successfully shoving it in my mouth before I managed to drop it. “Just leave me alone, Spencer.”

Obviously, it wasn’t going to work. After all, I was in his apartment, and currently sitting cross legged in the middle of his bedroom and trying to dry swallow a pill that tasted a lot like every mistake I’d ever made.

“When did you buy that? And why do you have it with you?” He didn’t sound angry at all anymore. He didn’t even particularly sound annoyed or confused, just… exhausted.

“You’re welcome for saving you the drive.”

Of all the things he could have done, he chose the one I expected the least. He came to me, and carefully lowered himself to the ground in front of me. At first, that was all he did. He just sat across from me with puppy dog eyes and an awkward posture.

“Look at me,” he called gently.

“I don’t want to.”

He sighed, waiting another second to catch his breath and let the earlier emotions settle in the air. “You had that in your purse. Why?” he asked as he reached forward to grab the remnants of the torn up box and confirm that it was what he thought it was. Once he was satisfied, he just sounded even more broken. “You’ve clearly thought about it enough to plan ahead, but apparently I wasn’t important enough to have a say in any of these decisions.”

The pain that was forming in my stomach hurt worse than the AR-15.

“Were you just… Just planning on making those decisions without even telling me?” He was on the verge of tears, though he tried his very best to hide it. It might’ve worked if I'd been both drunk and an idiot, but unfortunately the adrenaline was combatting the alcohol pretty well at that point.

With both hands covering his face, I could still see the way his jaw tensed between the words. “It would be my child, too,” he forced out, “You don’t— You don’t get to make those decisions without me. T-That’s not fair.”

The sounds were so pitiful, and I wanted to feel anything but what I felt. I wanted to feel angry or sad again, but I couldn’t. All I felt was hate; the most powerful, soul crushing self-loathing imaginable.

I didn’t want to be the reason he cried. I wanted it to stop, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t control myself. I just kept rubbing salt in the wound so he would leave. So that I could hate him for leaving me instead of hating myself for making him.

“There’s no kid. I would’ve taken it either way.”

That succeeded in getting a response.

“Then what was the point of any of this?!” he fumed, dropping his hands to gestured to the state of us, dressed in pajamas and tears. “If you really believe that, then why tell me? Why risk it at all?!”

“I don’t know.”

“I deserve a better answer than that. That’s bullshit and you know it,” he demanded with an accusing finger.

But I didn’t know that it was bullshit. Really, it was the truth. I didn’t know why I was doing this. All I knew was that if I stopped, if I was just honest with him, I would have to face a reality I wasn’t ready for.

“I deserve the truth,” he said as his hand fell, unable to stay up under the weight of the feeling behind it.

I looked at him and I saw my mistakes in the form of tears trickling down his cheeks and a tremble in his lips. I saw a man who deserved nothing but the greatest love, begging me to give him something to work with. He wasn’t asking me for the world — he just wanted me to talk. To say something so that he could understand why I wanted him to hate me.

I didn’t have an answer. Not one that either of us would believe, anyway.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Spencer.” My lips moved without my permission, and my legs quickly followed the traitorous pursuit.

“What does that mean?” he begged me as he followed me. He followed me like he always did, with that suffocating hopefulness that we could make it.

But what if I couldn’t? What if this was it for me? What if, in my desperate desire to push him away, I was saving him from a miserable life with me?

I was trying to save him.

“It means…” I paused, turning to look him in the eyes so that he might finally hear what he needed to in my answer. “It means you should’ve picked a different 20 year old to fuck.”

His jaw finally relaxed, dropping open with a broken breath.

And I think he saw it. I think he saw the way I meant the words from the bottom of my soul. He heard me tell him that he should regret me while I tried to walk away, and he knew that I meant it.

“I’m leaving.” The words surprised me when I heard them in my own voice, but I followed them, nonetheless. I barreled towards the door with bare feet and my keys in my hand.

“Where are you going? You can’t leave like this.” His statements were logical, but that only served to further piss me off.

“You can’t tell me what to do. I’m not your property!”

That wasn’t why I was angry. We both knew that wasn’t why. The real reason, the truth behind the reckless self-destruction was approaching too fast and I couldn’t slow it down. Nothing could stop it from rushing down the predetermined path that we stood on, and I was begging him to get off the tracks.

“If you leave right now, you’re going to fucking kill yourself!”

And then it happened. Practically foaming at the mouth with the unhinged rage that had been boiling underneath my skin for too long, I finally managed to let the words go.

“Maybe that’s the fucking point!”

Silence had never been so loud. It had never been that heavy.

“Have you ever stopped to consider that, Spencer?” I laughed because there was no reason in my mind not to. It all seemed so terribly obvious and we’d been skirting around it for so long. Why were we pretending like this was news? Like we hadn’t heard the horns and seen the headlights approaching?

“Please stop.” It was said like a plea but meant as an order. But I never listened to directions and he already knew that.

“I’m not your problem just because you were unfortunate enough to fall in love with me,” I continued, finding a freedom in being able to finally say what I’d been thinking all along. “Put me out of my fucking misery, Spencer. Just let me go.”

“Stop!” he shouted, pulling fistfuls of his hair as his chest heaved with deep, rasping breaths. I’d heard that voice from him before, but only once. The memories were locked away in the part of my brain that I swore to leave locked up.

I was back in the bank. I could feel his hands slipping in blood on my stomach and pressing into my cheeks. I was in the ambulance again. His hands were so warm that they burned, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him to leave. I'd had one foot in the grave then. I felt like I was still there, teetering over the edge with nothing but Spencer’s frantic breathing and desperate begging keeping me from jumping in.

“Stop saying that!” Spencer ordered, his hands letting go just enough to come back down on his head with some force. I jumped at the contact and wondered when I'd started feeling his pain, too. I wondered when we'd found ourselves back in his apartment again.

“Y-You aren’t going to die!” He continued. It didn’t have the force of an order or the pathetic breaking of a cry. It was just a statement he was trying to will into existence. An attempt to ward off memories that reminded him he was capable of losing me. He had already almost lost me once. In a way, it was this same scenario.

It was just that he wasn’t losing me quickly from a gunshot wound. No, I was bleeding out in an entirely different way.

“You can’t— I can’t lose you. I can’t do it again,” he sobbed, falling to his knees and not caring at all about the bruises that would follow. The sight of him collapsing in on himself was terrifying, and I realized for the first time the true consequences of my actions. I couldn’t pretend that I was trying to save him anymore. I couldn’t listen to the congested, barely comprehensible ramblings of a man begging me not to want to die and act like I was thinking of him at all.

I was being selfish. How very much like me.

“Please, anything but that. You can hate me forever, but please don’t…” The words trailed off, and I felt compelled to answer them. I needed something to release the knot in my chest and allow my lungs to fill again.

“I don’t hate you, Spencer. I could never hate you.” The words were infuriating in their honesty, but he needed to hear them. He needed to know that none of this was his fault, that he’d done nothing wrong other than meet me.

I couldn’t leave him like that. He deserved so much better than me, but that was all that I had. So, I climbed down next to him, reaching out to him and hoping that he would hold me back.

To my surprise, he did. His hands grabbed mine like they were a lifeline, bringing them to his lips wet with tears. And although he was silent, I could hear the way he prayed that they wouldn’t fade away from him again.

“I-I… I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell you. I’m supposed to be the adult here, I’m supposed to know how to fix these things, but I have no idea what I’m doing, (y/n).”

It was an admission Spencer didn’t often make. The complete helplessness and inability to fix the puzzle before him didn’t just hurt because it was painful to watch, it was also just another reminder of his limits.

One time he had promised me that he wouldn’t let anything hurt me. I should have told him that it was a stupid promise to make then. I should have showed him the skeletons in my closet and the mess in my hands.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He had already seen it, and it was too late. I’d made too many mistakes, and I had to face them. I couldn’t run away anymore. That meant listening to Spencer, pouring his heart out to me and clutching my hands like they would turn to nothing in front of him.

“You’re falling apart and you won’t talk to me. I don’t know how to make this stop hurting. I don’t know how to help you. Sometimes you’re so happy but other times I can see it in your eyes…”

Our eyes met, unguarded, for the first time in what felt like hours but was actually probably only a few minutes. We looked into each other’s eyes and tried to read each other’s minds. I didn’t know what he saw, but I heard the way it struck him.

“Do you… Do you want to leave me?” he asked.

And I realized then, that was what my behavior was leading up to. That was what my mind was racing towards, without ever considering whether it was what was best for me. Because I wasn’t thinking about what was best for me, or what I wanted, or what I should want. All I cared about was the same concern Spencer had for me— I didn’t want him to throw his life away just to be with me.

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

Spencer heard something in my question that brought life back to his eyes. I wished that I could hear his thoughts because he always seemed so much farther ahead. Like he could see the immediate future and knew what would follow.

Then again, maybe I was just idealizing him. I had a tendency to do that. He wasn��t a superhero. He was just a man, trying his best in a world that never really let him rest. I certainly didn’t help with that.

“No. No, that’s not what I want at all,” he said, his hands finding the courage to let go of mine and slide up my arms. He cupped my face with such an urgency and relief that it almost felt the same as before I had uttered those terrifying words. “I told you I want to marry you and I wasn’t kidding.”

It only took a few words for any progress and vulnerability to be obliterated. Four words. That’s all it took.

I want to marry you.

A white picket fence is what I’d promised him. I'd painted a vivid image of us with two children that were just like him. A normal, domestic life is what I’d said.

I hadn't known. I'd made a mistake. I had lied.

“Stop fucking saying that!” I wished the fight would leave my body and let my weary muscles rest, but it kept coming back. Sure as the sun rises in the morning, I couldn’t let go of the hatred. It had to go somewhere, and Spencer continued to be the stupid, stubborn man putting himself in front of me without any defenses.

I don’t think he was expecting that, though. He jumped back at the sound, his hands bracing his fall as I flailed to get away from him. I didn’t have the energy or coordination to stand, so I just let myself fall to pieces on the floor in front of him.

“Stop telling me about this future you have planned for us b-because I’m a useless, idiotic fuck up, and it’s freaking me the fuck out!”

Naturally, the only thing that could incense Spencer more than violating his trust was, apparently, talking badly about myself. Because as soon as he heard the words, he was wound up just the same.

“What are you so afraid of?!”

Without thinking about the words, implications, or consequences, I gave him the answer he fought for. I gave it to him because I couldn’t hold it any longer. I gave it to him and hoped that it would grant me the closure he sought, too.

“That I won’t ever be able to give you a baby and you’re going to fucking leave me!”

Spencer, in all his shock and disbelief, could only utter back a single, exasperated, “…What?” The way the word fell out of his mouth almost sounded like a laugh, the side of his lips curling into an almost imperceptible smile.

“I’m scared that when I stop being useful to you, you’re going to leave me like everyone else,” I explained, my voice as small as I felt in that moment.

But Spencer, in his uncanny ability to predict the future, was trying not to smile. Don’t get me wrong — he wasn’t laughing at me, and the words certainly brought him no joy. But there was something else buried beneath the suffering.

“Come here,” he requested with a sad, small grin and a wave of his hand. When he saw the hesitance on my face, he beckoned me closer again with more feeling. “I want to talk to you. Come here.”

So I came. I came as close to him as I could. And as I practically sat in his lap, I remembered how much easier it was to breathe when he held me, and how much lighter the tears felt when he wiped them a way.

“Why do you think I’m going to leave you?” he asked through a chuckle, like the very notion was so unbelievable that it couldn’t be uttered as anything other than a joke.

“Y-You want kids,” I mumbled, looking down at our t-shirts wet with tears. I played with the hem of his to remind myself that we were both still there. And although Spencer sympathized, he didn’t seem too keen on me looking away at that particular moment. With a gentle finger under my chin, he guided my eyes back to his.

“Okay. So do you, right?”

“Well, yeah…” I paused and pursed my lips and bit down on the bottom one. I waited until he raised his eyebrows in a challenge before I explained. “But what if I can’t have any?”

Spencer’s face scrunched up with his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, “There are other ways to have kids. I’m not worried about that at all.”

Just like that, he’d waved away my fears of inadequacy and failure like they were smoke from an already snuffed out candle. He made it so clear so quickly that biology wasn’t the thing that mattered. That it wasn’t my genetics or physical traits that made him want to share a literal life with me.

Spencer didn’t need me to have his children; he just wanted me to raise some with him.

“Why are you worried about that? Did something happen?” he pressed forward, unsatisfied with the idea that I might still be carrying some heaviness without his assistance.

“The doctor told me that I might not ever be able to have my own kids and I just...”

I should have known better than to doubt the insistence of his greedy hands. They would never let a burden belong solely to me. And I… didn’t want to bear the weight alone anymore, either. The dam was broken, and my heart came rushing out into his waiting arms.

“I’m so tired of it, Spencer. I’m tired of this stupid shit stealing my life away from me. You’ve been taking care of me for months, a-and the way you look at me sometimes-- I can see it on your face. I can feel the way it hurts you just to look at me.”

That hurt flashed in his eyes right then but faded with a swiftness I hadn’t seen in a long time. He didn’t want me to see it yet. One fight at a time, I heard him think. When this shifted load balanced between us again, we could figure the rest out.

First, we had to settle this. It had to end.

“If I can’t give you children, and I can’t... I can’t make you happy then—“

“Stop,” he demanded, his finger coming up to cover my lips. There was no argument to be made at his protest. With a deathly seriousness veiled with bowed brows and a lip that still trembled, Spencer whispered to me, “You can feel however you want to, but you don’t get to decide how I feel.”

Tears welled in both of our eyes, threatening to fall with the other. But they didn’t, they stayed pooled at our lashes and drowned us in visions of haloed lights and blurry reflections.

“I am so happy with you. No matter what. Every second of every day. Do you understand me?”

The only answer I had the strength to give was my surrender. Collapsing forward into his arms, I buried my face into his shoulder. I reveled in the warmth of his chest and the strength of his hands on my back. I felt his heartbeat against my cheek as the deep, joyful breaths he took in came out as relieved laughter.

“I love you, (y/n).”

He must have heard, or at least felt, my soft groan in response, because he peeled me off of him with a smirk. “What’s wrong now?” he asked in an equally tired whine.

“You only use my name when you’re angry or sad,” I grumbled through a pout. It only felt a little silly, to joke about something so stupid minutes after screaming our hearts at each other. We were just so tired, and the finish line was in sight. We just wanted to cross it together, and preferably with less tears involved.

Spencer didn’t say any of that, but I felt it, nonetheless. It was clear in the way he pushed my hair from my face before running his fingers down my jaw. “I use your name when I’m worried,” he corrected. “And you scared me tonight. I’m sorry that you’ve been feeling this way.”

We were toeing the line back into heavy emotions, and I shook my head to ask him not to take me back there tonight. But I couldn’t blame him at the same time. He’d so gracefully handled all of my fears and rage; he deserved a chance to voice his own. They’d fallen so far behind in the race towards the truth.

“I understand you were scared to tell me, but...” he stopped, trying to find a way to explain it without hurting my feelings. He really was too nice to me.

“I know. It was stupid. I feel terrible,” I finished for him. Once my face hit his shoulder again, I closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, Spencer,” I said with almost all of the energy I had left. He stroked soothing patterns over my back, and after a moment I realized that we’d started to rock. I wasn’t sure if it was for his benefit or mine.

“I appreciate your apology, but please promise me that you’ll talk to someone about this,” he humbly requested, his words muffled in my hair.

“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

It was almost a joke. Spencer wasn’t going to let it go, though. “Don’t try to be clever with me, little girl. I need you to talk to someone who knows how to help you,” he playfully scolded.

Through a yawn and a chuckle, I pressed on in my attempt to end the night on a horrible joke. “Isn’t that your whole job?”

“Yeah, I guess it is sometimes, huh?” he agreed halfheartedly. Really, he was only trying to give me a little bit of a win. We both knew his job wasn’t very good at helping people before the fact. It was just another poor attempt at avoiding healing. I had been holding on to that anger so tightly that there wasn’t room for us in the space that was left.

“But I think you also know I can’t be that person for you,” Spencer eloquently said, cradling my head as it started to rock with each motion.

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed, “I promise.”

I’m not sure how long we stayed like that, but no matter what, it wouldn’t have lasted long enough. The rhythm of his heart evened out over time, settling into the lullaby I needed to finally find some rest. But realistically, we couldn’t sleep there. Spencer was kind enough to practically carry me back into the bed we had shared when this all started, although this time he laid beside me.

From there, he helped tuck me in and pressed a chaste kiss to my forehead. My eyes were closed, but the smile that spread over my cheeks was enough of a signal that I was still awake.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

My bloodshot eyes opened at his call, and I found love staring back at me. I knew he could see my eyes bouncing back and forth as I tried to see all of it at once in his eyes, and I didn’t care. Even when he kissed me, neither of us closed them.

“We don’t have to worry about anything,” he said as our mouths broke apart. His thumb swept over my cheeks to all the places I knew he was thinking about kissing. There was a very poor attempt to hide his smile at the thought of the future, but I appreciated the effort he put in.

“When you’re ready to try to have kids, I’ll be right there with you,” he said.

It was clear that Spencer really wanted it to be a meaningful sentiment, but I was still a little bitter at his failure to laugh at my previous terrible jokes. So when I saw the opportunity, I took it swiftly and with no regrets.

“I sure hope so, or else I don’t think it’ll work,” I muttered through the side of my mouth before turning onto my back.

Spencer’s first carefree giggle of the night was my prize, and I couldn’t have loved it any more. “That’s my little girl,” he cooed, curling up against my side and wrapping a possessive arm over my chest.

Just before my eyes fluttered shut, I saw movement below my face. I kept them open long enough to see his pinky presented to me and a knowing look in his eyes. “Everything will be alright as long as we have each other,” Spencer offered.

And despite our bad history with promises, I had no reasons left to doubt that one.

—————————————————

| Part 21 |

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid series #h2m #spencer reid self insert #angst #smut

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thedeathdeelers · 3 years

Text

my definitely not late addition to @jukebox-week’s Legends day

please enjoy

——

look ‘ma, we made it (read here on AO3)

“Julie and the Phantoms!”

Cheers erupt around them as Julie stares dumbstruck at Luke, his eyes trained on hers.

She could feel her dad’s hands descending onto her shoulders, feel Carlos hollering to her left, and still she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

It was only when Luke’s frozen features start to melt into a grin did she feel her own face twitching back to life.

A scuffle next to them diverts her attention for a few minutes, shifting her gaze to watch the two other members of their band get swept up by the realisation of what just happened.

“WE DID IT!!”

Reggie was jumping up and down behind their table, reaching forward to pull and drag their semi-stunned blond bandmate out of his chair.

“We- we- we,” were the only words stuttering out of Alex as he let a bouncing Reggie tackle him in a bear hug.

Two soft hands cradling her neck bring her focus back to Luke, his grin engulfing the bottom half of his face.

“We really did it,” he says, his words barely audible over the raucous cheering around the venue.

Julie shakes her head, half in wonder half in disbelief.

“Should probably head up there before they change their minds, ya?”

She laughs at his words before she launches herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling herself tight against him, her face burrowing in his neck.

Not a moment later does Reggie take advantage of their hug, jumping on top of them, while simultaneously dragging Alex along, successfully creating a mini-Julie and the Phantoms dog pile right in the middle of the Awards show. Amongst the groans and giggles, Julie manages to catch Luke’s eye one more time before their families break up the moment, urging them to get a move on and head towards the stage.

Her hand clasped in Luke’s calloused one, they make their way towards the stage, only stopping at the bottom of the stairs so Julie can lift her dress up over her high heels. But before she can even lift her foot onto the first step, Luke slips his hand out of hers, scooping her up into his arms a second later to carry her up the stairs, bridal style.

She yelps at the sudden movement, disoriented by the lack of solid ground beneath her feet. She hastily throws her arms around Luke’s neck, firmly locking them into place. The sound of laughter and cheering from the crowd echoes behind them and Julie can’t help but laugh at the sheer insanity of the moment she’s experiencing. Choosing to focus on Luke’s face to ground herself, she sees his eyes flick to her face and away.

“Show off,” she mutters at his smug expression.

While his eyes are trained on the steps ahead of them, Julie pulls herself closer to his cheek and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. She can feel the sly smile taking over her features when his steps falter for a millisecond, his arms pulling her just a little tighter against him.

Once they reach the top of the stairs, Luke eases her back into a standing position, helping her fluff her dress back into a state resembling its original shape. Flynn was going to kill them.

Slipping her hand back into his, Julie gently pulls Luke along as they stumble a little to catch up to Reggie and Alex who were already walking towards the hosts waiting for them by the podium.

Reggie is the first one to reach centre stage, graciously accepting the much coveted Album of the Year award and hoisting it into the air to the sounds of wild cheering from all sides of the concert hall. Sneaking up behind their bassist, Alex surges forward and easily snatches the Grammy from Reggie’s hands, earning him a laugh from the audience (and a disgruntled whine from his bandmate) before he hands it over to Luke.

She watches as he stares at it dumbfounded, holding it close to his face to read the inscription on its plaque. He spends all of five seconds before Alex nudges him back into motion. He turns to Julie with a sheepish smile, finally handing it over to her. Julie knows she doesn’t have time to appreciate the heavy weight in her hand, so she grabs it and turns to the microphone jutting out of the podium.

The next few minutes are a whirlwind. The band had agreed beforehand that they would let Julie do most of the talking, making sure to thank everyone from family to friends to Andi and the label and their touring crew. The boys chimed in with extra names left and right, which only got the crowd laughing along at the chaos.

“I’d like to personally thank Principal Lessa, who without her, I’m not entirely sure I would’ve ever made it to this stage of my career. Our career. She believed in me and gave me a chance when it looked like I had wasted every single one, pushing me to work harder than I ever had before.” Julie takes a deep breath, knowing the next and final person she was about to thank would be the hardest.

“And last, but definitely not least, I’d like to thank my mom.” She feels a hand press up against her lower back, and she feels a little of the tension that had built up ease a little at the familiar touch. “She is the soul in everything I do, whether it’s being kind to strangers even when they prove to be difficult, to the very lyrics and melodies that we put into our songs for everyone to experience along with us. She is the reason I am here today, surrounded by my family,” she gestures to her boys as Alex and Reggie reach over to hold onto her shoulders with a light squeeze. “She is the reason music is a part of me and I will forever be grateful for everything she has given me, everything she ever taught me.” A soft watery giggle escapes her. “Miracles really do happen,” she shrugs at the audience.

Julie hears Luke chuckle at her words to her left along with everyone else. She takes in a deep shuddering breath before letting a small laugh makes its way out of her to ease her into the moment. “Te quiero mucho, mami. This is for you.”

The telltale sound signalling the end of their slot blares through the speakers as applause from their live audience roars into life once more. Julie steps back from the podium as she holds onto their Grammy, lifting it up for the crowd to see before she turns around to head off-stage.

What she sees behind her stops her dead in her tracks.

Because there, right in the centre of the stage for everyone to see, Luke, Alex and Reggie were getting into position to do a move she hadn’t seen them do since they had gotten their first Orpheum gig all those years ago.

This time though it was Luke running towards a kneeling Reggie, while Alex stood behind him arms outstretched as they got ready to hoist him up into the air, his arms spread wide.

Julie had to admit, It was surreal seeing them do this in their tailored suits.

The laugh bursts out of her at the thought, her hand automatically coming up to cover her mouth. She can see the hosts to their right getting worried, the technicians behind the curtains frantically speaking into their headsets.

But all Julie can do, all she wants to do, is divert her attention back to her band mates and fondly watch them as they celebrate this triumphant moment in a way that is authentically theirs.

She stares as Luke starts waving his arms around, pushing forward as if he was swimming the breaststroke midair, with Alex and Reggie slowly carrying him forward in her direction. Julie stays where she is as she watches them approaching, tilting her head to the side and waiting to see what they had in store - this was a new, never before seen part of their strange choreography - she wasn’t sure what to expect. She doesn’t have to wait too long to find out.

Within a few seconds they were standing in front of her, Luke‘s face only a few inches away as he reaches forward, cradling her face in his hands. She looks at him questioningly before he answers her unspoken question in the form of a soft kiss, pressing his lips against hers right there on stage under the blaring lights for the world to see.

She can’t help but momentarily forget about the world while his lips are on hers.

The kiss only lasts a second - she feels Luke shake a little; opening her eyes to find him staring at her as the boys holding him up start to lose their hold on him, his weight pressing down on them. He pecks her on the mouth one more time before the boys are pulling him away, moving backwards so as to drop their lead guitarist back onto the ground.

With their Grammy in one hand, Julie throws a quick wave and a bashful smile at the audience behind her, grabbing hold of a now upright Luke’s hand and pulling him along with her off stage, closely followed by Alex and Reggie.

They stumble backstage, barely enough time to catch their breaths before getting swarmed by people in headsets ushering them towards their next media stop.

But right as they’re about to cross the threshold separating them from a roomful of flashing lights and shouted questions, Luke pulls at Julie’s hand. She stops, looking back to find all three of her boys staring at each other as they take a second to take in...well, everything.

“We- that just happened right? I’m not dreaming?” Alex is quick to turn towards their bassist and pinch his arm, watching him yelp out loud, jumping out of his reach as he rubbed his arm.

“What was that for?!”

“No, we’re definitely not dreaming.” Alex shakes his head, still in a daze as Luke laughs at his best friends’ antics. He momentarily lets go of Julie’s hand, moving to stand in between his two best friends, draping his arms over their shoulders, pulling them in.

“We’re Grammy Award winners boys. We made it.”He squeezes his arms, pulling both boys closer to him to the sounds of whines before letting go. He then turns his head over to Julie, his gaze on her as his grin widens, lighting up the room.

A noise down the hall interrupts their little moment, with all four of them swivelling their heads in its direction.

“Julie And the Phantoms, the press is waiting for you. If you could please head in, we have five minutes of question time and then it’s back to your seats for the next award category. Thank you.”

The staff member doesn’t even give them a chance to reply as they turn right back around, talking a mile a minute into their headset.

The boys all turn to look at Julie as she stares back at them in wonder.

“This is really it huh?”

All three nod their heads back at her.

“Yup.” Reggie states, emphasising his answer by popping the p while he absentmindedly rubbed at his arm again.

“Well then - let’s not keeping them waiting, shall we?”

Julie rolls her eyes at a smirking Luke before placing her hand in the space between them.

“Legends on three. One, two, LEGENDS!”

FIN

#jatp #juke #julie and the phantoms #jatp fics #my fics #jukeboxweek #in tagging it even tho it’s no longer jukeboxweek cause i do what i want #i’m a rule breaker like that #otp: you’re music to me #thedeathdeelers fics

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the-modernmary · 3 years

Text

my best habit || aaron hotchner x reader (prologue)

Summary: When Aaron Hotchner ended your affair with him, saying that a serial killer was going after him and his family, you were content with the idea that you'd probably never see him again. Two years have come and gone since then, but when you get dragged into an FBI investigation as a key witness, you and Hotch are forced to come face to face with all the things left unsaid.

Warnings: Age gap (15-ish years), smut, degradation, unprotected sex. This story is 18+ older. This is not a story for minors.

A/N: Hello, hello!! I figured that since I've made a writing tumblr, I should post my story on here!! This is a multichapter story, so I am very excited to go on this journey with y'all!! I already have multiple chapters written and published, so these should be coming out VERY quickly. If you don't want to wait to catch up, you can read everything I have on ao3! This chapter starts as a flashback, and then the next chapter and the rest from here on out will be actual plot!

masterlist || read on ao3

“If you were waitin’ on the sunshine, blue sky

Cheap high, lullaby

Then my best habit’s letting you down”

- The Maine, “My Best Habit”

Two years earlier

Your eyes scanned the University Ballroom, your champagne glass practically ignored in your hand. You hated all these alumni networking galas and avoided going to them as much as possible. Old, sleazy lawyers with much younger women on their arm reliving their best cases with each other and expecting all the new law students to laugh when they were able to get their defendant acquitted because of some dumb technicality. It made you sick.

It didn’t help that you were already going in with a bad attitude. Your ex-boyfriend had dropped by your apartment that morning to pick up the rest of his stuff, and he decided that the best person to help him with that was the girl he had been cheating on you with. You caught them together three weeks ago, and you had been so stressed from midterms that you hadn’t even had the chance to go out, get drunk, and have wildly irresponsible rebound sex.

But you had to suck it up for the night, at least until you were able to get the answer you came for. After that, you could go back to your apartment, replace your too tight and too short dress with some nice pajamas, and watch trashy reality TV until you passed out on your couch.

You scanned the room a few more times until you caught sight of a tall man in a dark suit leaning against the bar. Bingo. You set your champagne flute down and ran over to him as fast as your heels could take you. Once you were just a few steps away, you quickly composed yourself and walked straight into his line of sight.

SSA Aaron Hotchner rarely came to alumni events here at George Washington Law School, citing that he wasn’t even a prosecutor anymore and had much more important work to do back at the BAU, but he was going as favor to his old law school buddy. Plus, it was either coming to this or going out to the bar with the team, and seeing as he had just signed the divorce papers with Haley, he wanted to be somewhere he wasn’t going to be profiled all night. The free champagne was also a bonus.

When you saw that his name was on the RSVP list, you knew that you had to go.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked, giving him your best straight A student smile.

He refused to look up right away, not giving you the chance to charm him. “I’m not currently on duty. If there is a case you would like the BAU to look over, that’s handled by our media liaison,” he said absently, taking another sip of champagne.

You frowned but kept your hand out for him to shake. “That’s not what I’m here for, I-” You took a breath to compose yourself. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m a first year here- getting a joint JD and masters in forensic psychology. My goal is to become a prosecutor,” you pressed, and you were rewarded when he perked up in interest. He slid his drink on the table.

“Most law firms don’t usually want a prosecutor who’s going to empathize with the person you’re prosecuting,” he mused, and shook your hand, his grip just tight enough to pass as faux politeness.

You shook your head and clasped your hands behind your back, trying to ignore how warm his hands were. “I think the best prosecutors empathize with the defendants,” you admitted. “Isn’t that how you succeeded as both a prosecutor and as a federal agent? That’s actually why I came to you, I wanted to ask you a question... about my thesis,” you added quickly, figuring that the best way to get him to talk to you.

Aaron’s posture changed from half asleep to maybe listening, and your face went red. Sure, you only came to the event to talk to him, but you never thought that you’d actually get Aaron Hotchner to pay attention to you. “I didn’t empathize with the people I was putting in jail,” he told you, his voice ice cold. “That didn’t come until I worked in the BAU, and even now, I wouldn’t call it empathy. Just understanding of how they became the type of person they are.” He leaned sideways on the bar counter and you felt yourself shrink under his gaze. You shifted slightly and felt the hem of your dress move up your thighs ever so slightly. Aaron noticed too, if the lick of his lips was anything to go by.

You took his silence as your signal to ask your question. “You offered Jessica Michaelson a lesser sentence that had her released in just three years despite the fact that she murdered her brother in cold blood in his sleep. You had the evidence, why didn’t you push for premeditation?” you asked, and his eyebrow quirked upwards. “In the case The People vs. Michaelson,” you added unnecessarily, trying to break the silence.

“I know the case you’re referring to. I was the lead on it,” he reminded you, his voice edging on dangerous. “You know, most people aren’t interested in my days as a lawyer.”

You shrugged, hoping to appear more confident than you felt. “I’m not most people,” you agreed, biting down on your lower lip. His gaze was so intense, and it was affecting you in ways you couldn’t have imagined. It was turning you on, you realized with a start. It had been a while since you had last had sex, and it was driving you only slightly crazy. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”

Aaron grabbed a champagne flute from a server walking by, and shoved it in your direction. You grabbed it cautiously. “Did you read the police report on the case?” he asked, and you nodded wordlessly, taking a sip of the champagne. The alcohol was making you bolder, and you stepped towards him. “Then you’ll know that there was very little physical evidence tying her to the muder. We chose to offer the charge that would have stuck instead of risking her being found not guilty.”

You gritted your teeth together in an effort to calm yourself down. “She murdered four people within the six months after she was released from prison,” you reminded him.

That seemed to have struck a chord with Aaron, and his steely persona seemed to fade ever so slightly. He sighed exasperatedly; you were obviously getting on his nerves. “The prints and DNA that were collected and put into VICAP when she was in prison are what got her caught in the end, and that was the evidence needed to lock her away for life. We wouldn’t have gotten those prints without her original charge. It all worked out.”

You groaned and threw your hands in the air. “You couldn’t have predicted that, though,” you argued. “And people have been found guilty with way less evidence than you had in the original case. I think you just felt bad for her, considering her brother was a real piece of shit.” You were being difficult now, you knew that. But there was something about Aaron Hotcher that was pulling you in, and you wanted to see how far you could push him.

Aaron gave you a predatory grin and he stepped towards you ever so slightly, finishing his drink. He must have had multiple drinks too, judging by the soft flush on his face. “Oh, you do?” He seemed amused now. He slowly raked his eyes from your face, down your neck, and down the rest of your body, and you forgot how to breath. You knew that it was inappropriate and that he was a highly respected FBI agent, even if he was kind of an asshole at the moment. You also knew that the two of you were crossing lines that neither of you should have even been close to, but you shivered under the weight of his gaze all the same.

You shifted back and forth, your brain trying to process what was happening. “Yeah, I do. And I know that you transferred to the FBI after Michaelson was arrested again, which makes me think that this case was your breaking point,” you ranted, your hands becoming more and more animated.

Aaron chuckled, but there was very little amusement behind it. “Are you sure you want to be a lawyer?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. “Because you’re starting to talk like a profiler.”

You arched an eyebrow at him. “No thanks,” you said firmly, and he just shrugged before making a move to walk past you. You sidestepped in front of him, effectively blocking him from going anywhere. But it was obvious that he was done talking about this.

In your mind, you had two options now. You could keep pushing him about a case that he obviously didn’t want to talk to you about, or you could switch gears in your brain and have him help you solve your... other problem. Aaron was attractive, and you were getting tired of guys your age. You noticed the distinct lack of a wedding ring on his finger, but there was still a tan to show that it had been there. So either he was recently separated or just trying to cheat on his wife. You wanted to not care whichever it was, but a pang in your heart told you to be considerate. Besides, you did not want to get involved with another cheater.

“Must be hard to be at these events without your wife here to scare off all the lonely female law students,” you mused cautiously. You didn’t want to come on too strong, but the alcohol in your system was slowly clouding your ability to be subtle.

Aaron cleared his throat, obviously taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation. “I’m not married,” he said, too quickly and too defensively. So he’s separated, you thought, and you stepped closer to him.

His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figure out your endgame. “Well, I would love to discuss your work as a prosecutor more when there are less… distractions around,” you whispered, your words breathy. “Tell me Agent Hotchner, do I make you nervous?” You sounded a lot more confident than you felt.

Aaron just smirked and grabbed your free hand, covering it in both of his, and the action was surprisingly soft, even if it was way too late for him to try acting suave. His eyes, on the other hand, told a whole other story. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were practically black. “I face the worst people in society on a daily basis. Desperate law students don’t make me nervous. In fact…” He stepped towards you, looking around to make sure nobody else was looking. Aaron leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear with every word. “I think that I make you nervous. And more than nervous, I make you very excited.”

Your breath hitched as he pulled back, a smug smile gracing his lips. You yanked your hand back to preserve what little dignity you had left, but it was too late. “Now, if you would like to discuss my prosecuting career more in depth, then you can set up a formal meeting with me at the BAU,” he continued, obviously proud of himself and the effect he was having on you. He pulled out a business card and upon further instruction, you realized that it wasn’t even his. Jennifer Jareu the name read. “Our media liaison will be able to help you organize that. Now if you don’t mind, I am going to retire for the night.”

Aaron finished the rest of his drink and brushed past you while you were still trying to get your thoughts under control. “Oh, and you’ll make a wonderful lawyer someday, I’m sure of it,” he called over his shoulder, and that snapped you back into action.

You followed, running around him and cutting him off. “And if I don’t want to discuss your prosecuting career?” you asked, batting your eyelashes at him. “What if I was interested in a… less formal meeting?”

That was all the permission he needed. Aaron grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the ballroom, the two of you moving so fast that nobody in the room even had a chance to put two and two together. There was an empty hallway just next to the entrance of the room and Aaron pulled you in that direction, pressing you against the wall and kissing you fiercely the second the two of you were alone.

There was nothing gentle about the kiss, but in a strange role reversal, he let you take the lead. It’s certainly not what you expected from Aaron Hotchner who, until now, had been controlling every aspect of your meeting. You realized then that this was his way of making sure you were okay with what was happening- giving you a chance to back out and change your mind. You just answered by tangling your hands in his hair, pulling so that he was at just the right angle to kiss you.

Aaron dug his fingers into your hips, hard enough to make you gasp out. You were definitely going to have bruises the next day, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. He shoved his leg in between yours and tugged on your lip with his teeth, which made you whimper involuntarily. He smirked against your lips, obviously proud of the noises he was drawing from you. You pulled on his hair harder as a sign of irritation, but that seemed to only make him more amused as he pulled away to laugh into your neck.

“Are we just going to make out against a wall like we’re back in high school, or are you going to actually do something worth my time?” you breathe, fighting to keep your voice even and light. It only halfway worked as he dragged his tongue up your neck to your pulse point. And then he bit down, hard.

It took everything in your power to stay quiet, especially as he softly kissed the newly forming bruise. His attack on your neck was relentless as he pulled your hips and back forth against his thigh. You whimpered as you desperately tried to get any friction from the simple movement. Your skirt was now dangerously close to being pushed so far up your legs that you would be completely exposed.

You pulled away first- you had to or your legs were going to completely give out from under you. You desperately tried to get your breathing under control and, to your annoyance, he looked perfectly composed. The only thing giving him away was his slightly swollen lips.

His fingers trailed up your thigh, getting so close to where you want him. “What would you like me to do then?” he asked easily, his voice almost sounding bored. You were speechless, like your brain had just short circuited. There were a lot of things you wanted him to do, but the words were lost on the tip of your tongue. “If you want something, you have to ask for it.” That was a demand, and he punctuated it by pressing his thigh further into you. You were sure he was going to have a wet spot on his slacks. He took the hand not in between your legs and grabbed your jaw forcefully, his thumb resting on your bottom lip. “Use your words, little girl.”

You realize that the two of you were standing on the edge of a cliff, and you had the power to decide whether or not to jump over. It gave you a strange sense of power. Logically, you knew it was a bad idea. He was too old for you, obviously going through some sort of relationship trauma, and wasn’t somebody you could talk to your friends and family about. But the less rational side wanted him so badly it hurt. You wanted him more than you’ve wanted anything or anyone in a long time.

You noticed your strawberry colored lipstick was smudged ever so slightly on the corner of his mouth, and that’s all it took for you to jump off the side of the cliff. “I want you to drag me into the empty classroom just down the hall and fuck me senseless. I want you to use me,” you moan before taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking.

The look on his face is something you’ll never forget. There was a mix of shock and arousal, but also something primitive; His eyes darkened when you told him to use you, and there was a fluttering in your stomach. You couldn’t tell if it was from excitement or dread. Maybe even both.

He removed his hands from your mouth and legs, only to place his hand on the small of your back. He began walking towards the classroom you had pointed out, much too slow for your liking, but he knew exactly what he was doing. “You’re going to regret asking me to use you,” he practically growls in your ear, each word increasing your arousal. “Are you one of those lonely female law students you warned me about? So desperate and needy for a real man to bend you over a table and fuck you until you can’t walk straight? Ready and willing to whore yourself out for the first man who gives you a second glance?”

Your breath hitched as you stuttered out your answer. “Y-yes, Agent Hotchner,” you whispered as he opened the classroom door and guided you in.

As soon as the door was shut and locked, he was back on your lips again, lifting you so that you were sitting on one of the desks with your legs wrapped around his waist. “Call me Aaron,” he mumbled in between kisses, and you were all too happy to oblige.

You were a moaning mess at this point as his hands pushed your dress up to your waist. His hands and lips were somehow everywhere at once and you were so hot and all you could think about was getting your damn dress off, but Aaron seemed to have other plans.

He ran his fingers up your lace covered slit and he just chuckled into your lips. “You’re so wet for me, already,” he groaned and you let out an embarrassingly loud moan. “And I’ve barely touched you. Do my words really have that much effect on you? Do you like it when I call you a whore?”

He hooked his fingers under the waistband of your panties and quickly pulled them down. You could feel his bulge pressing against you and all you could think about was how badly you wanted it. How badly you wanted him. Your hands moved down his chest to make quick work of his belt, and his pants followed after.

“Please, please Aaron,” you begged, desperately trying to create some friction against him. His fingers tangled in your hair and he pulled your head back so that you were looking at him.

“You’re so pretty when you beg.” His fingers slowly ran up your slit, not enough to give you any pleasure. He was teasing you and enjoying every second of it. “And I wish I could take my time with you. The things I want to do to you…” Two of his fingers entered you and you cried out loudly. “But somebody could walk in on us at any second. I’m sure they can all hear you moaning like a dirty whore, all for me. But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? So desperate for my attention and approval.”

His words turned you on more than you would have liked to admit. “Yes, Aaron yes. Please-” you were cut off by Aaron curling his fingers, hitting that spot that made you want to scream out in pleasure. But all too soon, they were gone.

He inspected his fingers, which were now covered in your juices, before bringing them to your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered, and you eagerly complied, wrapping your lips around his fingers and moaning at the taste of yourself. “I’ll just have to fuck you quickly here, and then you’ll be begging for more next time,” he groaned and finally- finally- entered you.

He didn’t give you time to adjust to him, thrusting roughly into you. He removed his fingers from your mouth and brought his hand to your neck. He didn’t put any pressure, but he wanted you to know that he could and would if you decided to get mouthy with him.

Your hands gripped the edge of the desk you were sitting on, your knuckles turning white. Your eyes started to close in pleasure as his hips slammed into yours, but they shot open as he tightened his grip on your throat. “Look at me. I want to see you when you cum,” he ordered, and you nodded the best you could.

“Yes sir!” you cried out, unsure of what else to say.

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, Aaron released your throat and moved his hand down so that he was stimulating your clit. You could feel the coil in your stomach tighten as your legs started to twitch. Aaron took this as motivation to slam into you even harder, relishing each time you gasped out his name.

His pace was unforgiving, leaving you gasping for air. Keeping your eyes open was a challenge, but you were able to do it with his soft mutters of praise. “Even brats like you can be good girls,” he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. “You just need somebody to fuck it into you.”

You were unable to respond coherently, so you just settled on begging even more, although you weren’t sure what you were begging for exactly. Aaron seemed to know, and he sped up his fingers against your clit. You wanted to scream out for him, but your voice wasn’t working. “What did I say before?” he asks roughly. “If you want something, ask for it.”

“Please… please can I cum?” you cried out, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. “Please let me cum around your cock!”

He nodded in approval and you had to muffle yourself in his neck to keep quiet. He fucked you through your orgasm, the overstimulation almost too much, but it wasn’t long before he was moaning your name, and you felt him fill you.

The two of you stayed like that for a few moments, both breathing heavily as the situation started to sink in. You just let a guy almost 15 years older than you that you just met fuck you in an empty classroom, and you really enjoyed it. Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he was going through a full crisis.

He pulled out of you slowly, and you winced at the feeling. He pulled up his pants quickly. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, looking around the empty classroom. “I don’t have anything good to clean you up with.” A box of kleenex caught his eye and he grabbed a few tissues. It was better than nothing.

You chuckled nervously and waved it off. “It’s fine,” you promised, your voice coming out shakier than you expected, but he ignored you. He wiped the mess dripping down your thighs. You were cold. He must have noticed, because he took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked softly, and it was a full 180 from the way he had just been talking to you.

“I’m great,” you admitted honestly. “Seriously, that was… great.”

Aaron smiled at you- the first real smile he had given you all night. “It wasn’t too much?” he confirmed, and you suddenly remembered what he had said to you earlier. ...then you’ll be begging for more next time. Was he planning on a next time? You wouldn’t have minded it.

You shook your head and slowly slid off the table. You took one of the tissues and wiped up the mess that was left on the table. “Not at all. In fact, I could take more. Next time.” Your voice was light and airy. Aaron watched as you picked your underwear off the floor. There was no way you were putting those back on, not when you had no idea when the floor was last cleaned.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he teased, eyeing you carefully.

“Well I can’t keep it if I only have your media liaison’s number,” you reminded him, your eyebrow raised. Aaron chuckled and pulled out another business card, except this time it was his. You plucked the card out of his hands and inspected it carefully. “I’ll call you sometime. You can do all those other things we didn’t have time to do.” You were on your tiptoes now, whispering in his ear. “You know… my mouth can do a lot more than just ask for things.” As you spoke, you slipped your panties into his back pocket. You just laughed as you heard a soft gasp escape his lips.

You made your way towards the door, your legs wobbling dangerously underneath you. You were sure that you looked like a mess, but you didn’t care. All that mattered to you was Aaron Hotchner’s eyes glued to your ass. “Get home safe,” he told you and you let yourself smile. Maybe it was a bad idea to start sleeping with a recent divorcee, but the sex was great and you both knew where you stood with the other person. No feelings, just fucking out your frustrations and stress.

Oh yeah, coming to this event was definitely a good call on your part.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner smut #my best habit #my writing

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willadisastercry · 3 years

Text

Lance ignores his asthma and Coran is not willing to be an accomplice pt. 2

It’s a race against the clock as Lance’s lungs worsen and his team scrambles to come up with a remedy before it’s too late. And though this whole mess certainly could’ve been avoided had he been upfront about his situation to begin with, his team will have to save the scolding for when Lance can focus on something other than the pain of trying to force air into his rapidly constricting airways. Altean technology works fast, but what if fast isn’t fast enough?

Part 1 / Part 2

“D’you check these yet?” Hunk asked as he threw open the topmost drawer of the in-wall storage space in Lance’s cabin.

“No, and it’s not in here either... I don’t understand wh—shit!” Keith cursed as he knocked over the trash can beside Lance’s nightstand and began scooping the contents back up.

“I don’t know where it could possibly be if—“

“—found it...” Keith interrupted as he held up the inhaler that had fallen out with the rest of the trash.

“Did you just get that from the... don’t you dare tell me it’s... oh, quiznak!”

“We’ve gotta tell Shiro...”

Keith was scared that Hunk would actually cry with the way his body tensed and his eyes glossed over.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Coran will know what to do,” Keith offered as he forwent cleaning up the rest of the mess he made for the sake of time.

“Bring that with you, maybe it can help him figure something out,” Hunk said after a second of staring blankly before he turned on his heel and joined Keith in a mad dash back to the training deck.

When they finally made it back they wished they’d never left.

Lance was collapsed onto his forearms with a very distraught Shiro rubbing circles on his back as he struggled to take in heaving breaths. He hadn’t even realized they’d returned until Shiro spoke up.

“Thank god you guys are back, just toss it—”

“It’s empty, this was his last inhaler...” Keith offered for the look of utter despair on Shiro’s face as Hunk sunk down next to them and placed one hand beside Shiro’s on his back and wrapped the other around Lance’s, receiving a weak squeeze in thanks for the small comfort.

“You’re gonna be fine dude... Coran and Allura are going to help, they can fix this. Just keep breathing as deep as you can,” he repeated over and over as Lance’s chest continued to hitch, the wheezes so loud and guttural now as his lungs worsened and his body grew more exhausted.

Understanding washed over Shiro all at once and then he was moving, maneuvering Lance’s struggling body despite the unwillingness of his lax limbs.

He was too exhausted to do much of anything aside from keep his chest rising and follow whatever direction his pliant frame was guided, letting himself be pushed back onto his heels as hands clasped his forearms and settled on his back to keep him from tipping over.

Every muscle in his abdomen was screaming. A similar tension burning up his neck and seeping into the sinews between his shoulder blades that made his head feel way too heavy to sit atop his shoulders. After not even thirty ticks of trying to summon the strength to keep it up he let it hang forward, the hands on him tightening their grips when he did.

He was extremely grateful they couldn’t see his face anymore because tears were beginning to form quicker than they could fall and he was sure he would have been fully sobbing at that point if he’d had any energy to spare.

“We’re meeting everyone at the infirmary then, you guys run ahead and let Coran know,” Shiro ordered as he motioned for Hunk to take hold of Lance while he turned away and crouched.

With some help he rose on shaking legs, Keith rushing to support his other side when his oxygen deprived legs protested the action.

“Woah, we’ve got you... thanks Keith...”

Their hands under his armpits kept him standing long enough to collapse onto Shiro’s back.

He literally only had the energy after that to throw his arms over Shiro’s shoulders and nestle his chin securely in the space between his own bicep and Shiro’s neck before his body sagged against his leader like dead weight.

“Go! I’m right behind you,” he shouted, his voice dark and fearful.

He could feel Lance straining against him as he followed after them, could hear the way his congested airways sputtered each time he tried to breathe.

Shiro made his way with steady urgency, not exactly jogging but not walking either, the anxiety bubbling in his stomach only forcing his legs to pump quicker as Lance got worse.

Keith and Hunk made it to the medbaby in record time though, both boys panting after sputtering to a halt once they made it through the whooshing doors.

The paladins knew today’s workout would be a doozy, but none of them expected to be doing this much running, especially under these circumstances.

Pidge was on the floor sorting through boxes of medicine and supplies carrying on an in-depth conversation regarding the compositional makeup of altean pharmaceuticals with Coran and Allura.

“Hey guys—wait why do you have...?”

“Empty...”

Keith answered a bit breathlessly as he waved the tube of navy and teal plastic in the air before gesturing to toss it to Coran who nodded and raised his hands in anticipation.

“...figured you’d want to take a look at the ingredients or whatever before Shiro got here with him.”

The air in the room seemed to thin as worry descended upon everyone.

“Christ, Lance!” Pidge exclaimed and sat back on her heels.

“Yeah, he’s not doing too hot,” Hunk said as he joined them, stealing the box of tubes and gadgets from Pidge to rifle through it himself.

Coran’s frown somehow deepened and Allura looked increasingly more distraught as he began filling them in.

“What level of dangerous is his breathing at?” Pidge asked hesitantly, like she didn’t want to hear the answer.

“He’s panicking and already really exhausted, so pretty dangerous. It’s one of the worst attacks I think he’s had in a while...”

Allura worried at her lip and kept glancing between the jumble of medical supplies and the medbay doors while she worked absently to ready a bed, the mice smoothing out wrinkles in the sheets and pulling down corners for her.

“Well, it was smart of number four to think of bringing this. I am synthesizing several medicines in likeness but none of them are exactly complete yet—”

“That’s—fuck, that’s not gonna be good enough...”

Everyone stilled at Hunk’s harsh interruption, his hands shaking in loose fists at his sides while he stared fixedly at the boxes of miscellaneous medical equipment in front of him.

“Lance can’t breathe, he can’t just wait for something to finish synthesizing, he might not be breathing at all when it’s done!”

Pidge scooted across the floor and laid her tiny hands on top of Hunk’s trembling ones.

“I think what Hunk means to say is that Lance’s condition is, erm, kinda dire and requires something that works as fast as possible.”

“Hmmm, I see. That is why the blue wilgam bark salve is strictly for prevention... this is indeed a rather tricky—ah, though I suppose I can try to extract and aerosolize whatever might remain of his earth remedy for a temporary solution,” Coran noted as he braved his stern concentration face and began separating the metal canister from the outer plastic to compare the words on it to the words on the bottles of medicine in front of him.

“And we can always place him in a pod for however long it takes to create an accurate remedy... he is truly in the best hands Hunk, do not fret so much,” Allura finished with a tight smile that was warm and assuring all the same.

It was strange how well she could do that, squash so much worry with such a simple act.

Coran hurried over to a station with lots of tools and canisters and turned on several machines that made various clicking and whirring noises.

Keith’s nose wrinkled at the new sounds but he couldn’t find it in him to feel angry about it. Not when they were going to help Lance when was in such bad shape.

“Okay, okay... those are good ideas,” Hunk agreed with a gasp, he hadn’t realized he’d been withholding air as he lost himself in his panic.

“Deep breaths, big guy,” Pidge urged, the weight of her hands bringing him back down from the brink of panic as his mind raced.

“Yeah, don’t forget that you’re the one who can actually breathe,” Keith chided gently with a hesitant hand on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Right... sorry. It’s just that these can get ugly really quick if—“

The doors whooshed open with an unsettling burst of air as Shiro emerged and crossed the room in a matter of seconds, a flurry of concerned exclamations filling the silence in between pauses of commotion that should have been hurried gasps for air.

But weren’t.

There wasn’t time to make sense of the lack of color in Lance’s face or the absence of movement in his chest as Shiro slid him off of his back, human hand trembling as he moved to support his middle and the base of his neck as he lowered his lifeless body onto the bed.

It was a grim enough sight to have even Allura’s mice crying out.

“Lance!”

“Holy fuck...”

Pidge was acting on autopilot as she pinched the altean breathing mask Coran had pulled out over the bridge of his nose and cupped it under his chin to secure the seal, Keith moving in eerie similarity to connect the tubing and flip the right switches on the machine when it became apparent that Hunk wouldn’t be spurred from his horror any time soon.

It wasn’t prepped because they hadn’t realized they’d be needing it so soon.

“No... nonononono—“

They aren’t sure how they heard it through the muddle of commotion and devastating silence but it stopped them all in their tracks, the faintest whisper of air passing his lips.

His very blue lips, go figure.

“He’s breathing, Hunk. Just barely, though...”

Lance’s eyes were open still and staring at nothing as his neck strained for air that was there now but still not accessible with how severely inflamed his lungs had become, the only sounds leaving his lips at all just rapid exhales where he couldn’t expel enough before his aching lungs screamed for more of what the mask was providing

“It doesn’t look like it’s helping...” Hunk all but sobbed as he gripped the base board of the bed so tightly his fingers blanched.

Lance’s eyes bobbed at that, struggling to locate who out of his friends was distressed through the tears welling at their brims.

They were puffy and bloodshot as silent tears spilled in a continuous stream, his eyebrows drawn together with pain and desperation.

“That’s because it’s not,” Shiro deadpanned, his hands working to soothe over Lance’s stuttering chest as his rasping breaths caught in his throat on their way out.

“Wh-how is it not working... it’s oxygen?!”

It was almost pitiful how helpless Keith looked as he stated the very blatant fact, his expression sharp and his tone prickly, like he didn’t know who or what to be mad at.

“His airways,” Pidge started weakly, her voice wavering, “they must be too tight for the air to get through...”

Shiro’s hand gripped Lance’s fiercely. It was ice cold.

The gravity of the situation dawned on his friends like a literal blow then, all eyes turning to Allura.

“Coran... he-he’s working on something, but...”

It wasn’t often that the paladins saw the princess hesitate. Her usual order of proceeding during a crisis was to do something brave or noble first and think about it later, but her impulse instinct was uncharacteristically absent as she stared at Lance’s greying face.

Her hands rose slowly, long fingers uncurling from where they’d been pressed tightly in her palms to reveal a subtle pink glow.

“Princess...”

“I know, Shiro... it’s just—I am scared it might cause him greater discomfort...”

“I don’t think we have time to worry about that, Allura,” Keith noted gravely from the foot of the bed where Lance’s eyes were half focused and darting between him and Hunk.

A status update from Coran made the tension in the room skyrocket further as he estimated another twenty or so dobashes before anything was viable.

It only took one more particularly worrisome sound of distress from Lance for Allura’s hands to descend on his chest with certainty, the pink furls leaving her fingers and settling on his body for not even a second before his back arched off the bed with a strangled gasp.

Allura grimaced as she called upon several energy reserves to ease the vice constricting Lance’s lungs as fast as she could.

A phantom tightness bloomed in her own chest as she visualized the pressure leaving his while she forced each passage back open, the channel she had opened between them by using her powers allowing her to feel the gridlock for herself.

She didn’t let up until Lance was sinking back into the pile of pillows and by then she was so lightheaded that her vision was spotting, but Keith was at her side and gripping her elbow securely before she could even stumble when the strength in her legs wavered.

“I am quite alright, just feeling a bit weak.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t you take a seat for a few anyway?”

Lance couldn’t really make sense of the conversations going on around him while he collected himself after being released from the pulls of Allura’s magic.

“It’ll pass, Keith.”

“Allura...”

Not that he was known for having stellar listening skills, but he was just usually able to follow along with the general flow of things even when otherwise preoccupied.

“Coran you said only eighteen minutes, right?”

The voices of his friends filtered back in slowly though, his skull throbbing still after the horrible pressure had lifted.

“Can you lift his head for a sec so I can secure the strap?”

He hadn’t been coherent of much of anything before, fixing what remained of his energy on the miserable stalemate in his chest.

“It’s only seventeen dobashes and forty three tics now...”

And then the twisted relief of Allura’s magic.

But after that his hearing seemed to flatline, zeroing in on a high pitched hiss that was either static or the oxygen flow of which droned on and dribbled into his present when the tension that had yanked every muscle in his body taught alleviated all at once.

It was so disorientating it almost nauseated him and brought a distinct rush of blood to his eardrums, the oxygen flooding his deprived bloodstream like a dam had broken and left him feeling utterly weightless.

Shiro was the first one to break through the barrier of cotton that muffled his brain.

“Easy, Lance,” he instructed when he didn’t start breathing normally right sway, too stunned by the sudden levity to remember how.

“Take it slow hermano, you’re okay now...”

Everything was still uncomfortably tight and restricted, but air was at least accessible even as his body struggled to acclimate to the change, his heaves greedy and crackling.

“I was able reduce the inflammation for now but there is a substantial amount of fluid that remains in his lungs.”

“Fluid? What like blood?”

“No, Keith, not blood. Phlegm.”

“Oh, gross.”

Lance let out an indignant huff at that and despite the restriction of the mask managed to return the look of disgust the mullet had given him.

“Why is that so bad if it’s just phlegm?”

“Because anything in your lungs besides air is bad, Keith. It’s your lungs!”

“Precisely, Pidge. And it will only keep irritating Lance’s but we cannot risk him progressing back to such a state before Coran has derived his medicine when my powers are not indefatigable.”

“Yep...” Lance winced.

In order to speak he had to battle against the congestion in his chest which made his already wrecked voice sound downright abrasive.

“Shhh, no talking!” Pidge hissed with a warning glare.

But when was Lance ever known to take good advice when it’s given?

“Think... I can feel th’fluid... s’not very—“

He didn’t have to elaborate any more than that to get his point across because the rapping of his own vocal cords against each other had him launching into a harsh fit of coughing that rocked his entire frame. The accumulated cloud of condensation in the mask never allowed to chance to dissipate fully as he hacked.

It sort of felt like he was drowning since he didn’t have the strength to get his arms underneath him while all of the crap that his stupid respiratory system produced to counteract the strain in his lungs only worked to suffocate him and his freshly reduced air passages.

“Shit someone help me get him up, it’ll be easier to breathe if he’s vertical...”

Hunk surged to grab the arm that was closest to him as Shiro slotted his own beneath Lance’s back and hefted him into what only partially passed as a sitting position. But the motion made his head spin and his stomach clench and then Hunk’s hands planted on either of his shaking shoulders to keep him from tilting over as Shiro slid behind him.

The others looked on with horror.

“You’re okay,” Shiro assured as he pulled Lance towards himself.

He was grateful for the solidity of Shiro’s chest, his hold firm enough that Lance didn’t have to work anymore to keep himself up as he slumped into it, but the tears started back up anyway when he continued to actively choke on what felt like nothing despite being upright.

But there wasn’t anything in his throat to actually choke on.

“Just gotta work through it...”

He was starting to get really tired of the exhaustion and malaise that came with being deprived of oxygen for an extended period of time.

“Paladins! Only fourteen—er, minutes remaining.”

“Hear that bud? You’re gonna be okay.”

He did hear but he’s shaking his head in the crook of Shiro’s arm where his head had lolled because he can’t wait that long. He can’t.

“Yeah, you’ll feel better real soon,” Hunk affirmed.

But Lance was verging on a hysteria that he couldn’t summon the strength to express when every muscle that can be strained in his body felt like it most definitely was. And with how acutely his ribcage ached he was also certain he’d displaced a couple of those false ribs made up of just cartilage too.

“Hey, no don’t get upset, you’re gonna be fine!”

He’s never been more exhausted in his life and he can’t communicate that he can’t wait that long because he hasn’t stopped coughing.

His eyes are burning from the amount of crying he’s done so he relies on touch alone when a hand cups his chin and turns it, deducing it must be Allura.

“Lance, can you hear me?”

A shakey jerk seems to be good enough for her.

“I know you aren’t the biggest fan of the healing pods, but I understand that you are in a great deal of distress still and I believe you have endured enough...”

“What are you—oh, yeah! We could totally just put him in stasis like you and Coran were for thousands of years and bring him out when the medicine is ready.”

“Yes, just as Pidge puts it. There is no need to extend the suffering of one of my paladins.”

Shiro set his jaw as he regarded Allura sternly, it didn’t matter what she believed if Lance didn’t agree and he knew how wary he was of returning to the pods after the harrowing experience that landed him in one for the first time.

“Is that something you want to do? It’s alright if you aren’t comf—“

“Please.”

His voice was small, hard even a rasp, but it didn’t need to be loud for Shiro to accept it as his answer.

“Okay...”

Lance checked out after that, allowing himself to save the energy it took to focus on what was happening around him.

So when he started registering Shiro’s voice in his ear he wasn’t exactly sure how both him and the respirator came to be at the foot of a cryochamber but he made a desperate noise at the realization.

“I know, bud. You’re almost there but we need to take the mask off.”

No one missed the fear that flashed across his face before it softened into resignation, or otherwise known as I don’t care, please put me in that stupid thing right now.

Shiro was still holding him and seemed to sense the urgency in it.

“I’m gonna stand up with you...”

It was so surprise when Lance’s knees hardly held any of his own weight before wobbling and giving out as Shiro stood with him still flush against his chest.

He regarded Hunk with a lazy roll through lidded eyes as he tipped his head forward and worked the strap off but held the mask in place.

Distantly aware of the burst of air from the pod opening and a renewed flurry of commotion around him, Lance tried to work with Shiro as he ushered him forward but his legs were too heavy and he couldn’t coordinate his movements well.

Someone else’s hands were on him, bending his knee so they could set one leg down in the pod and send the rest of his body with it. He thinks it might’ve been Keith.

The various sets of hands on him stay even after he’s securely in place, probably scared he would crumple if they did.

They were probably right.

“-nce. Hey, Lance? There you are, this is gonna suck but only for a second. I promise. Ready?”

You would’ve missed the brief hum from his somewhere deep in his sore chest if you weren’t practically inside the pod with him like Shiro seemed to be.

“Okay, now Hunk.”

The crackling heave that erupted from hims mouth was something a dying thing made, but he couldn’t hear himself or the horrible sound he made as consciousness began to swiftly melt away in stages.

First with the initial pressure everywhere after the removal of the mask.

And then pain because holy shit he couldn’t breathe.

But the cold creeped into his bones at light speed and the darkness wasn’t too far behind.

#lance whump #vld #voltron fandom #lance voltron #vld lance #lance mcclain #lance has asthma here #voltron whump #voltron #asthma #lance headcannon #voltron fic #voltron headcanons #voltron fanfic #voltron lance #voltron angst #hunk vld #hunk anxiety

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death.

“Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago.

The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod.

That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face.

“Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother.

Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain.

It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister.

I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life.

I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning, watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children.

I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate.

We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying.

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

“We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag.

Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully.

I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles.

We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor.

My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up.

“No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man.

He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me.

“My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names.

“Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

“Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

Marvel nods, grimly.

“We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes.

“Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps.

“Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly.

Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?

Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

“Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk.

“Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow.

I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile.

“I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly.

My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head.

Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,”

My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers.

“Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?”

My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

“Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?”

I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

“Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”

I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12.

I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be.

I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things.

Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night.

————————-

Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings.

We talk about baseball:

“You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?”

I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

“Wow, beautiful and smart!”

We talk about cars:

“I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

“The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?”

No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child.

Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly.

I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up.

“Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight, alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden!

I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting!

Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches.

“Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

“Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

“You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!”

It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed.

A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here.

“I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants.

I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us.

“You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

“You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

“My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise.

“That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!”

We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house.

He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound.

But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried.

————————-

Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down.

Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something!

I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth.

I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure.

I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes.

My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare.

At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

“Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs.

I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

“I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.”

————————-

Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face.

I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

“I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,”

“Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

“The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

“I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…”

I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence.

My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news.

I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way.

The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters.

“It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says.

At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad.

Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack.

I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary.

My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!”

“Katniss, what’s going on?”

I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

“At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care.

“That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically.

I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t.

I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now.

“I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

“Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath.

I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

———————-

My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough.

I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold.

In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day.

There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption.

“Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper.

“Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father.

I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly.

She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly.

I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

“This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?”

My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

—————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

“Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth.

“Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

“Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,”

I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade!

Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason!

I shudder at the thought.

But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name.

Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible.

“Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment.

I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here.

“Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.”

Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

#alliswell21 #prompt 71 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

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champagne problems, ch.5

Spencer is in love with you, but you’re engaged to someone else.

Chapter Five: Baby: Weird dreams, confrontations, and a yearning moment between two friends. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2.4k Warnings: cursing, heartbreak, unrequited / unreciprocated love, very angsty, this chapter is extra ✨tense✨, this series is a real slow burn babyyy

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A/N: you guys are incredible!!!! i am feeling the love, and honestly it is leaving me speechless!! i am so glad you are enjoying this little story omg!! let me know, message me or comment, if you have any theories as to what will happen next, i’d love to hear it!! anyway, hope you like chapter 5 ✨ also, as promised here is the playlist for this story!! happy listening!

His kiss was gentle at first. Holding your face, one hand cupping each cheek, he pulled you in as close as humanly possible. He was taking his time, revelling in the thrill that was cascading through him. The warmth of his body radiated against yours.

Lips locked with yours, his hands travelled slowly from your face. They moved down your neck and arms until they reached your waist. His fingers dug into your sides briefly causing your lips to part at the shocking sensation. His tongue accepted the invitation and eagerly slid into your mouth.

You trailed your fingers down his back, feeling along his flexed muscles. Your heads rotated to vary pressure as your tongues danced together.

An overwhelming desire rushed through you. Your legs were like jelly. You melted into him, and he willingly held you up with the arm he had wrapped around your waist.

Gradually, after what felt like a blissful eternity, the two of you pulled apart. Both your breaths shaky. With your eyes still closed, you pressed your forehead to his and placed the palms of your hands on his chest; feeling his heart racing.

You looked up slowly to meet the hungry hazel gaze of your partner.

With a sharp gasp your eyes darted open. You sat up briskly in your bed, one hand on your chest while the other covered your parted mouth. Fuck. Oh no. No, no, no. That did not just happen.

You tried to shake the weird feeling away but every time you closed your eyes, to try and steady your breathing, you were met by that hazel gaze. His gaze. A lump formed in your throat. Fuck.

Ethan stirred in bed beside you.

“Mhmm babe...” He yawned, grabbing your attention. “Is everything okay?” You let out an inaudible sigh before lying back down beside him.

“I’m okay. Go back to sleep.” You replied quietly. “It was just a dream.”

You felt him nod next to you. He kissed your shoulder, and turned to his other side quickly dozing back off.

You however lay sleepless the rest of the night. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind replayed the the kiss on loop. Even though it really was just a dream, it felt so realistic. It was as if you were really kissing him, as if you were really looking into his eyes.

Fuck.

You just had a dream about kissing Spencer. The emotions it stirred inside of you were dangerous to say the least. What the hell did this mean? And more importantly, how the hell are you going to be able to act normally around him now?

The jet landed with a thud. A soft sigh escaped your lips as you tilted your head to look out onto the grey tarmac.

Emily called early hours of the morning advising that there was a new case. As selfish as it may be, you were quite glad because it meant you could avoid Spencer for just a little longer. Which of course worked until you got on the plane.

The brunette doctor sat across from you; as usual. He watched you closely and it didn't take him long to realise that something was on your mind.

“You okay?” His voice soothing. The warm and comforting sound made it impossible for you not to turn to look at him. A half-smile circled your lips. “All good doctor.” You replied calmly. “Just didn't sleep well.”

He placed his elbows on the table that separated you and smiled. “I thought we were past this whole lying to each other thing.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his comment. Sitting up in your seat, you straightened your shirt, and lifted one hand up as if to take a pledge. “I swear I am telling the truth.”

Spencer smirked and sat back in his chair. “How formal Y/N.”

“It seemed to be the only way to shut you up doctor.” You teased making him chuckle. The glistening look in his eyes was enough for the flashbacks of your dream to once again greet your mind. Your palms began to sweat.

Thankfully, before Spencer could notice the sudden nervousness in your demeanour, Tara sat down next to you. She instantly engaged Spencer in a conversation which meant you could close your eyes for a moment of peace.

Mainly to calm your nerves.

The rest of the journey was luckily uneventful. Spencer’s undivided attention was on his conversation with Tara, and later on the team’s discussion of the case, which meant you managed to get some quick shut-eye before arriving at the destination.

The afternoon was also going smoothly. You tried to act as normal as you could around him. All you really hoped for was that he couldn't sense any tension of off you since that would lead to questions you couldn't answer.

It helped that first and foremost, the two of you were professionals. Both Spencer and you possessed the ability to compartmentalise. Now, the case came first. Which meant that even if you seemed a little standoffish with the brunette doctor, you could just explain you were focused on work.

“God, I’m starving.” Matt exclaimed leaning back in his chair. He glanced at the time and looked between the group. Luke, Tara, and Rossi all nodded in agreement.

“Coffee for me. A big fat coffee.” You replied with a small smile while getting up on your feet. “Anybody else?” Your eyes locked with Spencer’s. He lifted his hand up as his mouth pursed into a shy half-smile. You couldn't help but smile back.

While Matt and Luke took dinner orders from everyone, you slipped out of the room and headed for the precinct kitchenette.

As you reached for the stack of paper cups, a tiny yawn escaped your lips. Yup, the lack of proper sleep was definitely catching up with you. Especially since you were awake now for close to eighteen hours with no end in sight.

“Hey.” JJ appeared in the doorway; breaking you away from your thoughts. You shifted your weight to face her, and smiled. “Hey, I would have gotten you a coffee too.” You said, but the petite blonde shook her head. “Oh no, I just wanted to talk to you alone for a moment.”

You raised a concerned brow. “Is everything okay?”

She hesitated briefly before taking a step towards you. “Spencer told me about your trip to tour venues the other weekend.” Her voice was low; almost as if she was afraid someone would overhear. “He told me about your conversation. How you wanted to propose back then.”

Right. You shouldn't have been surprised he told JJ. They have been friends long before you came in the picture. You also shouldn't have been surprised that she approached you about this. It was only a matter of time.

“Why would you tell him that?” JJ asked, although it was more of a rhetorical question because she didn't give you a chance to respond. “You know how dark that period of his life was, and how hard your breakup was on him. You know that he only ended things to protect you Y/N. Not a day goes by where he doesn't hate himself for that decision even if back then it was the right one.”

A deep sigh escaped her lips. She ran her fingers through her hair before placing her hands on her hips. “I just don't understand why you would tell him that you wanted to take things to the next level after all this time has passed.”

You could feel yourself getting annoyed. Obviously, you were aware that JJ only had Spencer’s best interest at heart, but this pacific attack on you was uncalled for.

“I told him because he deserved to know.” You responded as calmly as you could. “We both moved on JJ, so I don’t-”

“But don't you see that he's going to overthink this now? You’re playing with his head, not to mention his heart.” She cut you off. Ouch. Her words stung. “He is going to constantly wonder what could have been.”

“And you think I don't do that already? Honestly JJ, do you think this is easy for me?” You asked, voice slightly elevated. “I really thought Spencer was the love of my life. I thought he and I we were meant to be.” At this point, tears were forming in the corners of your eyes.

“But he broke my heart and whatever his reasons were I lost a piece of me that day. A piece I never got back. Yet despite the empty feeling inside me, I stayed by his side. He was going through a terrible time and I knew he needed me. So don’t tell me Spencer is going to ponder now, or whatever, because he is not the only one that went through this breakup.”

“I just-” JJ began again but you lifted your hand in-front of you to stop her. “I get that you are looking out for him, but maybe you should stop and think that no-one is looking out for me. Except for Spencer, no-one ever was.” You snapped, and turned away from her.

The petite blonde lingered for a second before walking out. She knew better than to keep pressing on the matter.

You tried to focus on making the coffees; which proved hard as your eyes were glossy with tears and your hands were trembling from the nerves.

Your chest ached. Your head was spinning.

As far as you were aware, the brunette doctor was glad you told him. Was that not the truth? Did he confess something else to JJ? If so, why would he lie to you? These questions circulated your mind, adding to the already existing headache.

You leaned against the cold wall and closed your eyes. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. You tried to regulate your hazy breathing in order to calm yourself down.

That’s how Spencer found you.

The hazel-eyed doctor got concerned when you didn't return in a timely manner - it doesn't take that long to make coffee. He went looking for you, and on his search he peeked inside the kitchenette to discover he was right to worry.

“Whoa Y/N, hey. Hey.”

He immediately reached for the pot and put it away before turning back to you. He hastily grabbed your hands in his, giving them a gentle squeeze to try get a reaction out of you. No luck.

At this point your whole body was shaking. Slowly, you opened your eyes to meet his sympathetic gaze. Teardrops escaped down your cheeks, trailing along black mascara.

“What’s going on? What happened?” Spencer asked, but when you opened your mouth to explain no words came out. All you could do was shake your head.

“It’s okay, hey.” He let go of your hands and wrapped his strong arms around you instead, pulling you close. He placed one palm at the back of your head, encouraging you to recline against his chest, as the other drew soothing circles along your lower back.

“It’s okay.” He whispered again before resting his chin on top of your head. He closed his eyes, basking in the all too familiar smell of your shampoo.

Despite the heaviness in your stomach, it fluttered slightly at the feeling of your body pressed against his. And with every second that passed, you sunk deeper into his warmth.

Spencer realised he couldn't remember the last time the two of you were this close. The last time he hugged you like this. He thought he did, but now that you were in his arms he knew he was wrong because the memory didn't feel the same. Although, that didn't seem important right now.

Eventually, your nerves calmed down. Breathing returned to normal, and you were no longer crying. However, if you were being honest, you didn't want the hug to end just yet. You felt peaceful. Safe.

At home.

Perhaps it was because of those feelings you did what you did next. Or perhaps it was because the fatigue that only a good sleep could fix was messing with your thoughts.

You tilted your head upwards, which caused Spencer to open his eyes. His gaze instantly locked with yours. When he noticed the small smile circling your lips, he smiled back.

“Are you okay?” He asked, still in a whisper.

You nodded. “Better now.”

He was going to ask if you wanted to tell him what happened. He was going to ask if there was anything else he could do. He was going to ask, but he found himself frozen and completely lost in your beautiful eyes.

Perhaps it was because of the way he was looking at you. Or because your stomach was jumping inside of your body, exactly like it did in your dream.

You found yourself slowly leaning in, upwards. The pull you felt was almost magnetic. This was wrong on so many levels but it was like the world fell away; for both of you. Spencer matched your pace and leaned down, his heart hammering inside his chest.

His face now inches away from yours. One of his hands was still on your lower back, while the other cupped your cheek. His hot breath hit against your lips, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes searched yours for any sign to stop what was about to happen, but despite your better judgement you didn’t want to stop.

And just as it was about to happen, just as you were about to kiss the man you were once in love with, a realisation hit you.

You were doing exactly what JJ implied. You were playing with his feelings. If you kissed now, he was definitely going to overthink things. Overthink your relationship, and everything that happened up until this point.

You couldn't let that happen. You couldn't jeopardise your friendship.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered against his lips and pulled away from his embrace. “I am so sorry. That shouldn't have happened.” Nervously, you ran your fingers through your hair.

“No.” Spencer said quietly. “No, I’m sorry. You were feeling vulnerable, I shouldn-” You shook your head. “This is my fault Spencer. I’m the one that leaned in first.” You reiterated.

“I didn't stop you.” Spencer added, placing his hands in his pockets almost as if he was no longer sure what to do with them.

“I have a fiancé.” You whispered. The statement was more of a self-reminder than anything else.

“You have a fiancé.” Spencer repeated, and you detected a familiar sadness in his tone.

Silence. The two of you stood awkwardly looking at one another.

Even though stopping the kiss was the right thing to do, you felt as if somehow you made things worse between you and the hazel-eyed doctor. It broke you a little. Primarily because as you were lost in the moment you realised that there was a chance you possibly still felt something for Spencer.

Something strong.

Oh Baby, what've you done to me? I can't seem to chase you out of my dreams

A/N: hello friends! i hope you liked this chapter!! i’d love to hear your feedback and as always if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne, @do-yr-research, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd

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hazydaaze · 3 years

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An analysis of the Bold Type that I need to get off my chest (it'll be worth it, I promise)

I studied English literature at university, and it has always been instinctive for me to analyse characters, storylines, bigger pictures and under the surface tensions in film & tv. Discussing emotions, motivations and themes with my gf and my pals late at night is one of my favourite pastimes ever and I love everything to do with filmography and art ahhhh. (I wrote my dissertation on David Bowie & The Artistry of Sexuality, ya feel me?)

The Bold Type isn't filmography at all, but I think Jane Sloan and Jacqueline Carlyle hit different for me, being a queer woman in my 20s and a full-time writer. I can't really explain why. I guess there are a lot of queer female characters in film & tv that don't really feel inherently queer, and even as two identifying straight women Jane and Jacqueline felt queer to me. Their connection and understanding of each other was authentic and quite complex. I think they had potential to be something that we'd never seen before in mainstream media, because of their age difference and life experiences. I thought that was so compelling and so important to talk about and to give a recognised space to.

There is one thing that struck me most about them and it's insane to me that I haven't seen a lot of analysis on it, so it's the point of this post.

To my knowledge the show or actors haven't delved too deeply into it either, and given what went down I don't understand why people AREN'T talking about it. I wanted to bring it up. Btw, this post contains spoilers.

***Sexual abuse trigger warning***

In season 1, we learn that Jacqueline is the victim of rape, and the only person she has told about it is her husband, Ian. Given that she mentions that they've been married for around 19 years and the assault happened before they met, we can assume Jacqueline has been carrying the weight of what happened to her for over two decades. During all that time she didn't talk about it with anyone else, not a single other person.

And then Tiny Jane comes along. Jane Sloan, the big swing writer who just wants to write meaningful stories that help other women and girls that need it, like she did growing up. She fucks up a lot on the way and slowly begins discarding her judgemental opinions as she grows. But when she is at her best she has genuine compassion and empathy for people, and despite her reservations, Jacqueline gives her the opportunity to write about the story of a rape survivor and performance artist. She isn't aware, at the time, what that means for her own trauma or her own acceptance of it. But she does it anyway, because she sees something in Jane and she has seen it there from the beginning.

Jane starts to write and, as we know, in the most beautiful and compelling moment at the season 1 finale, Jacqueline is confronted with what happened to her. She stands in Central Park holding these weights, and you can see the crushing pain in her eyes as the realisation descends down on her. She shares a look with Jane, and a moment of understanding passes between them at what this means.

Despite all this, she lets Jane capture her trauma. She lets her publish her untold experience of her rape from two decades gone. She lets millions of people see her story in writing, with Jane Sloan's name printed above it. She re-lives and faces up to the harsh reality of that pain and that truth, through Jane.

Can you even imagine the trust you must have in someone to do that? The sheer love that took, for Jacqueline to give Jane her voice and her truth, with all its painful and hard repercussions?

This storyline is the boldest part of the Bold Type. It's the most honest and the most authentic. It captures the raw emotion of Jacqueline, and of Jane, and the two characters really see each other for who they are. It's one of the reasons why their relationship is so central to the other's storyline.

We don't ever see Jane truly unpick in detail what Jacqueline did for her. It spoke so many volumes and ... well, isn't that what love is?

It's this storyline that sets the tone for their relationship over the course of the show. Jacqueline sacrifices herself for Jane again and again. She publishes the article about the lack of accessible healthcare at Safford and gets fired for doing so, purely so Jane can afford to freeze her eggs. Jacqueline says there were a lot of other things that contributed to it, but Jane knows her article was the final straw, the point of no return.

Over a decade of pouring everything she could give into Scarlet Magazine and it’s readers, only to be gone in a second. All for Jane.

And again, in season 4, in the few real moments we are given between them, one of their final interactions is Jacqueline giving Jane the go-ahead to explore a story of potential abuse at States & Nations, a company Ian is associated with. Ian literally asks Jacqueline to stop pursuing the story, due to the sexual relationship he had with the source when he and Jacqueline were separated. When Jane challenges Jacqueline over her reasoning for pulling the story, she asks her to give the story a chance. Jacqueline lets her, knowing full well that it could prove irreparably damaging to her marriage and her family, and she does it anyway.

Jacqueline chooses the truth, over her career and over her marriage. She chooses Jane. As humans, there isn't much more you can give to someone else. I’m wracking my brains trying to think of a way Jacqueline could portray her love for Jane more, and I’m all out of ideas.

I want to reiterate again how insane it is to me that none of this is really acknowledged, or at least not nearly as much as it should be amongst the show, its creators and its viewers, Jacqueline continually falls on her sword for Jane (weird analogy, but she does) and it is repeatedly glossed over. Their relationship is quickly dismissed as a "mother Jane never had" or a simple "boss/employee" power dynamic, and it seems so hollow, unjust and sorry - so unbelievably boring - in contrast to the experiences they have shared together and the sacrifices they have made.

I understand Jacqueline’s character was based on Cosmopolitan Editor in Chief, Joanna Coles, and therefore it makes sense that this queerness to her relationship with Jane was not intended. However, it’s there. Everything I mentioned in the post happened on the show in canon.

In 2021, the possibility that these two women could have romantic or sexual feelings towards each other shouldn't be a stretch. If either of these women were male characters with this much intertwined investment, high stakes and sacrifice, there would be no doubt they would be endgame. They would run away, have the hottest sex, all the while their reputations would be forever ruined in the name of love. And we, as viewers, would celebrate it without question - we would never dismiss it.

The concept of what they are, and what they can be as two women should be able to live and thrive. It should be given a beating heart. In the very least, the reality of it should be on the table and up for debate. But for many viewers, and the show’s creators, it just isn’t. And here lies the problem.

Jane and Jacqueline have such a beautiful dynamic, it is so deep and soul-wrenching. How can we ever limit what these two women are and what they would do for each other?

I really hope that one day we can see a relationship like theirs given the queer space it deserves. Because it would've been the bold thing (and the right thing) to do.

I'm going to publish a longer and more in-depth article about this on Medium, because as I said, analysing is my favourite pastime and I can't stop doing it. But for now, this is all I can manage.

Edit: Read my published Medium article.

Here's to Jane and Jacqueline and what could've been.

#jacqueline x jane #jane x jacqueline #janequeline #jacqueline carlyle #jane sloan #the bold type #the bold type review #the bold type edit #queer ships #otp

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

deception

“Don’t you see what he’s doing to you?! He’s hurt you way more than what’s acceptable in a sparring march! You’re bruised and hurting, and he sure as hell doesn’t seem to care that this is the state he’s left you in.”

— Or in which, Hawks manipulates how you view your boyfriend, Shouto. —

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pairing: todoroki shouto x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, angst, cursing, alcohol consumption, manipulation, 18+, smut, first time sex, body worship, oral (receiving and giving), and praise

word count: 10,223

a/n: this was a commission! it was very fun to write this once I got around to it... life has just been... well you guys know because youre living it too. but I hope you enjoy this!!!!

edit: OMG AND SUPER BIG THANK YOU TO @marilla-eldriana FOR HELPING ME

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Being a student at Yuuei was a privilege.

Every year only two hundred and twenty students were admitted from a drawing pool reaching into the thousands. From there, only forty were admitted into the Hero Department, and finally, only three per year were granted the title of the Big Three.

“Watch out!”

You watched as Hawks crashed through the window to your left, and you looked down at him with a wide grin, what an idiot.

“I thought speed was better than power,” you mock watching as the villain the two of you had been hunting for some time now easily flicked the number two hero to the side.

“And that’s why I got you, isn’t it?” he chirped before rolling onto his feet.

You shrug, the smile on your face telling a different story while you both stared down the villain you had corned. There was no way you were going to let him go, no, this hunt was going to end now.

“I’ll assist you,” Hawks whispered, and your stomach fluttered in anticipation.

There weren’t many times in your internship where Hawks would say that. Working with one of the fastest and swiftest Pro Heroes ever meant that you were always fighting for a spot on the table. The days of Hawks swooping over the city faster than the eye could follow were still there; in fact, most of his sidekicks were probably cleaning up the mess the two of you had left five cities behind you.

But you were different than them, you guessed.

You were only fifteen years old when Hawks scouted you for an internship, and while you had heard the rumors of what working with the — at the time — number three hero was like, it wasn’t like that. Speed was something you had always lacked. Sure, you were faster than any past Olympian, and any ordinary citizen, but in comparison to your hero peers, you were slow. After a humiliating loss of your first Sports Festival on account of being too slow, it was an almost sweet irony that the fastest Hero took an interest in you.

But it was good. Three years you had worked with him, three years of learning how to keep up with the fastest hero by breaking your body down on multiple occasions. At first, it had been just trying to keep up with his sidekicks who cleaned up after his mess, who were extremely quick as it is. Then after figuring out how to use your power quirk to make yourself faster, something that had been helped with a fight or flight response on your own end, you were able to become faster than most Pros.

But that wasn’t anything in comparison to Hawks still, but when a sixteen-year-old girl saves your life because you overshot your ability to fight, it’s easy to incorporate said sixteen-year-old girl into your regular routine.

The initial introduction of you into his regular routine was less than ideal, he had simply stated to follow after him and would be gone. But with time, he took to holding onto you while he flew, which meant that you needed to include glasses and ear protectors into your costume.

With the glass crushing under the weight of your shoes, you crotched the slightest bit, looking over at Hawks with a smirk. Three years of teamwork had lead to moments like these, no need to communicate, and with a raise of an eyebrow, he nodded.

The feeling of his feathers skimming your back shot the anxiety coursing through you, and you ran out of the shattered window, Hawks hot on your heel and the villain coming straight at you.

In the long run, it didn’t mean much that you were physically stronger than Hawks could ever be, but it sure made you smile knowing that you were.

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“And that’s another point for me!” you grin watching as the police took the villain into their car, Hawks stood next to you with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What will I do? I have eighty-seven points, and that makes what? Twelve?”

“It’s not my fault you go for slow as shit villains,” you accuse, turning your nose up at him.

“Oh yeah? Should we hunt for the fa—”

“Hawks!”

The two of you froze in your quarrel, turning to a man who was towering over the two of you.

Endeavor.

“Endeavor, hi!” Hawks erupted into a wide grin, his eyes brightening while he looked up at the man he admired.

Trying to hide your snicker, you tilted your head, and your eyes widened seeing three boys behind him.

“Hey guys!” you wave at your classmates behind Endeavor.

“Y/h/n!” Deku greeted you with a large grin and a bow.

You smiled, even more, seeing the way that Bakugou and Shouto both addressed you in their own ways.

“How are you guys doing?”

The rather one-sided conversation between you and Deku made you laugh on many instances. It seemed that being the only work-study students had meant that they were always getting their asses beat. Not that you didn’t already know this, it was just humorous hearing it coming from Deku’s mouth.

“Is Tokoyami-kun not with you guys?” Deku asked, looking around at last for the raven headed student who did, in fact, work with Hawks.

“Not today! A neighboring agency requested his help, so it’s just Hawks and me today!” you nodded your head at the three boys who were quite famous within Japan.

“Are you okay? We heard about the villain; that’s why we’re here,” Shouto spoke, his eyes curious, and his head tilts.

Your face warms when you smile, nodding gratefully.

“I am,” you clasp your hands together, “Hawks got sent through a building, though.”

“Some fucking number two hero,” Bakugou scoffed, and you snickered not wanting to agree with your stupidly observant boss behind you.

“You guys look less than put together; what happened to you?” you asked, noticing the scruffs and dirt on all of their faces.

“Bakugou and Midoriya got into a fight mid-air, and I happened to be in the fire zone,” Shouto rolled his eyes. At the same time, your friends exploded into offensive and defensive arguments, respectively. “We fell into the middle of some villain fight weirdly enough.”

While you grinned at Shouto, your eyes locked completely, you knew it wouldn’t last.

“Alright, y/h/n, Endeavor says there’s a villain seven blocks ahead, and I think we can beat them there!” Hawks laughs, and you can’t say your goodbyes because his hands lift you into the air. “See you guys there!”

And you were off.

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Your limbs ached slightly when you reentered campus grounds. With your case in your right hand, there was nothing to do except trudge ahead, hoping to get to your dorm quickly.

“You’re back.”

You blinked and saw Shouto approaching you. He was in a casual outfit, most likely having been here for some time, seeing that it was eight at night.

“What are you doing out so late?” you ask, pushing down your skirt in hopes to look presentable even with the bandage on your chin.

“I was waiting for you,” Shouto smiles gently, his hand brushing your cheek, observing the injury on your face. “You okay?”

“It was just a scratch, nothing too crazy,” you promise, and you smile under his warm touch.

There isn’t much surprise when his lips come and press against yours, and you hum contently feeling his warm skin moving gently against yours.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Shouto whispered, finally pulling away from you. You groaned, having not been satisfied with the simple liplock, but opened your eyes to see that he was studying your face again.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” you tease, your nose scrunching with your words.

“I have so many already.”

“I know,” you smile, dragging him away, “I’m starving.”

It didn’t take long for you to get a proper dinner. With you being out for your only day off, you were pleased to see that there was a plate of food waiting for you that was left behind by your classmates. So you sat in the dining area of the dorm, eating the food while talking with Shouto.

You told him about the rest of your day, of how the two of you were close to cracking this case of serial cases of disappearing Pro Heroes who would reemerge days later without memory. The two of you had been working on it for a week now and had multiple promising leads. With the end of your career at UA coming in only five days, you were excited about the possibility of cracking this case after your graduation to help give you a good running start as a sidekick on the Hero Charts.

But before you knew it, it was already past eleven, and with classes tomorrow, it was time for you to go your separate ways.

“You don’t want me to spend the night?” he asks while you walk unconvincingly to the door of your floor, your hands grasping his.

“You know that I do, but I can’t let that happen yet,” you pout, watching as Shouto nods in understanding. “Soon, I swear.”

“I just can’t believe my girlfriend has no self-control that I can’t even sleep in her bed without her wanting to fuck me,” Shouto sighs and while you splutter, telling him how he’s wrong, he places a goodnight kiss onto your forehead and leaves with a kind smile and a small wave.

Stupid son of a bitch.

But he wasn’t wrong.

You had morals and ethics that you had told to Shouto well before things turned serious for the two of you. Sex was something you were always nervous about, not in the sense that it was a bad thing — god forbid you’d ever slut-shame anyone — but more that you wanted it to be special.

It had to be with the right person at the right time.

Shouto was someone you knew was the right person, but as your hormonal feelings for Shouto grew and you realized one late night that you were grinding against his bucking hips, your face hot, his lips and teeth pulling at the sensitive flesh of your neck did you realize that this was so not okay. You had pushed Shouto onto the ground, his eyes dazed and confused while you began to say that you were so not ready for this step of the relationship. But it wasn’t like it was the only time you’ve blue balled your boyfriend… no, you had done it time and time again.

So much so that Shouto practically refused to be in a room alone with you now because it always ended with one of you pinned to the bed and Shouto being launched onto the floor.

With a sigh, you watched Shouto turn around, walking backward with a small wave and a grin when you blew him a kiss and flipped him off. He called you the moment he was back in his room, and although you weren’t letting him stay in your bed with you, you did fall asleep on the line with him, his steady breathing lulling your heavy eyes to sleep.

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Hawks watched while you trudged into his office, your face pulled into a pout, a bandage sitting on your cheek.

“Morning,” you call out, exhaustion evident on your face.

“What’s up with you?” he smirks, watching you walk to his desk and slumping onto a chair, your eyes closing.

“So tired,” you murmur, your head nestling into your arms, ready to fall asleep. “I didn’t sleep much last night?”

“Why’s that?”

“Stupid boyfriend,” you mumbled.

It had been three days since you had last been in the office, with graduation preparations, Hawks couldn’t call you out as often. But that wasn’t what he was concerned about, no. Hawks froze, replaying your words in his head like a broken record. He didn’t know you had a—

“Boyfriend?”

Those words passing his lips only made you groan louder, your head nodding, “Yeah… I’m dating Endeavor's son Shouto… for about… a year now!”

Hawks' brain went into overdrive.

A year of dating, and this was the first he’s ever heard of it! He had been your mentor, your boss, for three years and never before had you even mentioned a boyfriend before. Hawks lips pressed together, a looming pit of jealousy forming in his stomach. His feathers fluttered, his arms crossing.

Hawks was used to knowing everything, to being able to get what he wanted most, and he was planning on asking you out when you graduated. He had sworn his feelings had been returned; after all, who couldn’t find themselves falling for the young and hot number two hero?

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah! I can have him steal you a pair of Endeavors underwear if you want, I know you’d like that!”

Hawks looks down at your teasing face, his nose scrunching in mock disgust, “Please, I don’t need a baby stealing Endeavors underwear for me. I can get them myself!”

Your smile is warm, and Hawks watches while you pull out your phone, quickly texting something.

“What? Telling your boyfriend you made it safe and sound?”

“Actually… yeah…” you mumble while finishing up your text.

Now Hawks wasn’t evil, he knew that; he also wasn’t used to losing, because that wasn’t him. But there was something odd about the way his stomach twisted and his feathers raised at that confirmation, and the words poured from his mouth without him ever having the chance to stop them.

“Does he make you text him?”

You nod, a grateful smile on your face when you drop your phone. “Isn’t it sweet? I think it’s… why are you making that face?”

“What face?” Hawks fluttered his eyes, mock innocence for the first time not sitting correctly on his face.

“That one, Hawks!” you laughed, throwing your case at him. “The one that looks like when I stole your chicken leftovers.”

Hawks snorted, and he shook his head, deciding to walk out of his office to begin his daily routine; after all, these morning conversations were apart of said routine.

“I don’t know... He knows you’re strong and that you’re here with me, and yet he doesn’t trust that you’ll get here? Or is it in a controlling sense?”

“W-What?”

Hawks turned around and looked at you, your eyebrows scrunched, eyes looking down at your phone.

But when your eyes rose to meet his, Hawks simply smiled, his head shaking.

“Never mind!”

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It didn’t stop there. No Hawks had officially lost his brains with how he was approaching this. Everything out of his mouth concerning your boyfriend was bitter, foul, and implementing lies in your mind. A desperate attempt to get you to feel like Shouto wasn’t good enough that he was manipulating you and Hawks watched while you carefully danced to his tune, your frown deepening with every sweet lie that rolled off his lips.

“I’m hanging out with him and his siblings tonight!” you announced after the day at work was done.

Your smile was bright once more, a day on the field improving your mood. Hawks nodded his head, remembering how the Todoroki siblings were good people, and how you also had siblings.

“His siblings too?”

“Yup!” you nod. “I’ve gotten to know his siblings really well! They’re really great! We go over so often, and I like to believe that I’m close with his family now!”

“Oh, that’s sweet!” Hawks smiles, his head tilting to the side. Faux innocence. “How about your family? Is Todoroki close with your family?”

Your jaw opens, and your head drops, your head guilty shaking no. “It’s a bit harder for that to happen, and he met them once and well… it didn’t go too well.”

Hawks eyes widen, his hand rubbing the back of his head with a heavy sigh, “Ah, I see… don’t you think that’s weird?”

“Um… no, not really?”

“Well, as an outsider, and your friend, Imma have to tell you that it’s weird. It sounds like he doesn't like your family? He’s not trying to control you, is he? Not trying to isolate you from them, right?”

Your teeth dig into your lower lip, and Hawks watches with over bubbling joy at the doubt and realization growing on your face. He was hitting the right nerves.

“I-It’s okay!” you chirp, your feet dragging against the floor while you move to leave. “It's probably not that!”

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“Another movie outing with his friends?”

“We’re watching the newest All Might documentary, it’s not like it's a banger!”

“Todoroki just never seems to care to include your friends or do things with your friends. It seems like he’s trying to keep you confide in his friend group.”

“My friends haven’t… they haven’t said anything?”

“Who would? You’re dating the most powerful son of the number one hero, no one would dare to speak up against him, especially if he told them to stay away from you.”

“That doesn’t sound like Shouto…”

“I mean, Todoroki is jealous of the way that your family loves you, and that’s why you’re always with his family. I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t keep you from your friends too?”

“Oh…”

“You don’t have to believe me, of course! I’m sure he’s a great kid, after all, he did choose you to be his girlfriend.”

You scoff, shoving Hawks with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Nah, you’re amazing, y/n, and you should know it.”

“Mkay, pigeon, egg off.”

“Oof, I’m so scared!”

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Your world spun, and you crashed onto your back with a low groan, jolts of nervous energy coursing through your nerves while you remained pinned to the floor. Hawks stared at you from above, his jacket long since discarded, and his hands grasping your wrists while he straddled you.

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve been able to pin you since you were sixteen!” Hawks laughed, but he immediately took notice in the way you were grimacing.

You didn’t do that often, but you weren’t done yet. Shifting your weight up and over, quickly, you managed to pin Hawks to the ground, his head bouncing against the matted floor with a groan of dismay on his skin. Your nose was brushing against his, his warm breath expelling gently against your face. No! You pulled away suddenly, your heart in your throat at the nearly intimate contact. But it was too much movement on your own end because your body screamed at you.

Your breathing was shallow, a feeble attempt to calm the pulsating pain that traveled through your nerves.

“What is it?”

“I was sparring Shouto last night,” you mutter, feeling Hawks’ fingers immediately searching your skin for injuries. “You know how he sucks at close range combat, but he must’ve been practicing with Bakugou and Deku because he’s never been able to land hits like that…”

With your jacket pooling from your shoulder, Hawks fingers traced over the bruises that colored your skin. Ugly purple, green, and yellow all over. You hissed when he applied pressure to one, and you flinched, getting off of him.

“Are you sure this was sparring and him not beating you?!”

“I would know the difference between sparring and an ass beating,” you groaned, your eyebrow scrunching while he took you in more. “Besides, you should see how he is. I still won!”

You were silent Hawks words ringing heavy in your ears.

Did Shouto… was this a sign that he wasn’t who you thought he was?

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“Shouto?” you whispered, your knuckles rapping at the door, hopeful he was in his room. “Are you in?”

You heard the sound of footsteps against the floor and watched the door open. There Shouto stood, wearing black sweatpants and a white tank he leaned against the door. Your eyes caught sight of the black bruises against his skin courteous of your sparring last night.

“Y/n?” he expresses with a pleasant surprise. Shouto’s hand reaches for yours, but you flinch away, stopping him in his tracks. “Are you okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your head nodding, “Sorry, long day, and um, I’m still sore from yesterday…”

“Yesterday? Ohh~ what happened yesterday?” You watched with the smallest amount of amusement when Sero revealed himself, his arm thrown around Shouto’s shoulder with a stack of manga in his hands.

“We spared, why?” Shouto asked with that perfect density that Sero stammered, unable to recover from Shouto’s lack of an appropriate response.

“Boring, anyways, I’ll bring these back soon, I promise!”

You and Shouto bid Sero goodnight, and with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Shouto looked back down at you.

“Care to come in?”

“I would.”

You sat on Shouto tatami, your knees bent with your arms wrapped around them while he rummaged around.

“Here, I made some healing ointment for the bruises,” Shouto said, placing the white container on your knees while he sat in front of you. “I know that even though you won, my kicks probably hurt like a bitch.”

“The biggest bitch,” you agreed, watching while he unscrewed the ointment and began to delicately place the salve on your skin. It immediately cooled down the warm skin, and you studied his face while he did so. His touch was gentle, almost too soft for someone as battle-ready as himself. But he was on a mission to make you feel better, and for every bruise he covered, he apologized.

Soon enough, every bruise was covered, and you didn’t even realize you were crying until Shouto’s eyes widened when he noticed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you not trust me?” you ask, the days worth of anxiety that Hawks had been instilling into you, finally pouring from your lips.

“What?!”

“It’s just… with the texting you where I am, and who I’m with even when you know before I leave! A-And how about my family? I always go with your family, but the one time you met mine, it was disastrous! And then you never w-want to hang out with my friends! And you were so hard on me during sparring last night… Did you want to hurt me?! Why are you trying to isolate me?! Are you trying to control me?! You’re a powerful person Shouto a-and with your dad being the most powerful person I just… are you forcing people away from me?!” Tears poured from your eyes, your sleeves rubbing away the tears on your face, the ointment gathering on the fabric,

Shouto instantly reached out to you, but you shifted away from him, your face burning with embarrassment from your outburst. You wanted Hawks to be wrong, Shouto was good. He was an idiot, but he was a good boyfriend. Please prove him wrong, you thought. Please.

“Is that how you feel?” Shouto asked, his voice quiet but steady. His hand was pressed against the duvet, centimeters from your side. Not touching you, but giving you the ability to reach him when you were ready. “I just… I’ve never done this before, you know that. Y/l/n y/n, you are someone that I am way too lucky to have in my life. I asked what are boyfriend appropriate things to do from my classmates, and I guess I might have been overdoing it myself. I ask for a text because I want to make sure you get places okay. I know you’re powerful and can take on anyone, but it’s because you’re powerful; it makes you a target to villains. I honestly thought you liked my siblings a lot, so I wanted to keep you with them because if they’re your friends, you deserve to see them. I am sorry about your family, but they are assholes, and you know that.

“But if you want to go visit and hang out with them more — with or without me — I would never stop you! I know I can’t keep blaming myself for being new to all of this a year into our relationship, but I didn’t know it was appropriate to invite your friends to hang out with us when we were with my friends. I thought they wouldn’t want to hang out with us guys. I also know you enjoy your alone time, and you tend to spend alone time with your friends, and I never want to intrude. I am so sorry for making you feel this way.”

“No,” you sniffle, your tears turning from one of sadness to those of guilt. “It’s not your fault.”

“It is,” he whispers, his fingers brushing against yours ever so gently. “It’s my fault you felt like I was isolating you, controlling you. You don’t have to forgive me, but if you’re willing to give me a chance to prove myself that I can change, I’d like that.”

There wasn’t stopping the way that you threw yourself into his arms, your tears soaking his neck, and he pressed gentle after gentle kiss against your temple until you were no longer crying.

For the first time in your relationship, you spent the night, and against what you had previously thought, the two of you did nothing more than embrace in a wet lip-lock.

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Graduation finally came around, and to say the least, you were excited.

Finally, you were now a Pro Hero — well, really a sidekick, but that didn’t matter! The entire day you spent it on campus, watching the graduation ceremony take place with your classmates at your side. Tears were shed, photos were taken, and the end of your high school career came to a close.

Due to your accomplishment, something that wasn’t at all doubted in the first place, Hawks had thrown Tokoyami and you a large party in celebration. You were, after all, the first students to have gone through his agency for all three years of high school, and he deemed that celebratory worthy.

With such an occasion and countless years ahead of you to be on your top tier game, it was to no surprise that you were letting loose at this party. And yes, by letting loose, you meant being drunk.

Me: shoutoooo baby i loe you oh so much

Shouto: I love you too, make sure you get water to drink and don’t have an empty stomach.

Me: i had dinnerr with you remeber !!!! no empty stomach here!!!!!

Me: im sorry for crying that night that was so dumb of me to being insecure about

Shouto: you should still be eating more if you’re planning on drinking more. And it’s okay, it’s equally my fault as it is yours.

You stared at the text, your vision slightly blurry while you imagined just what you would do with Shouto soon. You bit your lip with a grin, but with a sudden loss of balance, you stumbled back into someone.

“Oops, sorry!” you yelled louder than you expected, turning around to greet whoever you had run into. You saw a familiar face with a bird head standing there with his arms outreached to balance your stumbling form. “Tokoyami-kun! I didn’t know you were still here!!! I would’ve taken a shot with you! Oh my god, I LOVE your jacket! Where did you get it!”

Tokoyami smiled, his head nodding, “I happened to have it lying around, although I can’t remember where I cross paths with it, to begin with. And I couldn’t forsake you by leaving before you were ready. It’ll be pleasant to have you around all the time with Hawks starting in a few days.”

You nodded your head, your hands stretching out in an attempt to respond animatedly, but yelped when you slapped someone instead.

“OH, NO! Did I hurt you?! I’m so sorry!” you exclaim, turning to the second person you had hit in a matter of minutes.

It was Hawks.

“It seems she is quite inebriated,” Tokoyami pointed out, and you nodded in agreement.

“I am!”

Hawks chuckled, his head shaking, “Imma take her back to my place then, she’s a disaster in the making if we let her stay here.”

There wasn’t room for debate because you were suddenly in his arms and waving goodbye to Tokoyami, your sense of judgment gone.

“Take me hoooomeeee,” you sang into Hawks's ear when he soared into the night sky, and much to your amusement, Hawks continued your song.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Shouto sat in the common room, his eyes shifting to check his phone every so often. He knew you were drunk, that had been very clear the moment you called him only twenty times pretending to not be you while slurring your sentences. Nothing was stopping the uneasy feeling in his chest after you had explained yourself and your feelings that one night, he had put together that Hawks liked you. But without definite proof, he didn’t want to claim such things.

And while he had no doubts about your ability to protect and defend yourself, there was no saying if that was true if you weren’t sober. Hell, he’s fought you sleepy once, and there was a significant difference between you being alert and you being exhausted.

Regardless, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he heard something back from you, and with his classmates currently celebrating the end of the year by playing video games, he was there alongside them.

“I’ve returned,” Tokoyami called from the entrance, and Shouto turned around to see the bird head man walking to approach the gathering of the few remaining classmates in front of the common room's TV. He said his greetings before coming to rest by Shouto’s side. “The party was a bit too loud, but I think you would have enjoyed entertaining it.”

“It’s your guys night,” Shouto shrugged his shoulders, “I didn’t need to be there when it was her work friends. How is she doing?”

“Ah, well you see,” Tokoyami nodded his head, his fingers raking through his black hair, “She was quite drunk, so Hawks-san took her back to his place to sober up, most likely spend the night at his place — Todoroki?!”

Shouto had no idea why bitter fire raged in his chest; all he knew is that for the first time ever while he slipped on his shoes and his jacket, he pulled up a contact he didn’t expect he would be using so casually.

“Shouto?!”

“Do you know where Hawks lives, Endeavor?”

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

“Are you feeling better?” Hawks asks you, taking the bottle of water from your hands.

The low sparks of the alcohol that had once been coursing through your body had simmered into slow pulses. You knew you weren’t one hundred percent sober, but you were sober enough to realize that you should have asked Hawks to take you to the dorms instead.

“If you’re asking if I’m no longer sloppy… you’re in luck,” you sigh, a tired grin spreading on your face while you reach for your phone. You frown, seeing that it was dead, but it didn’t matter much; you would get home without it being alive anyways. “Thanks for sobering me up; I think you could have done it back at the party, though.”

Hawks snorted, his head tilting up, his head in thought. “I definitely could have done that, but I didn’t want you taking shots in secret while trying to sober you up.”

“I’m sure you could handle me just fine.”

“The last thing I can remember is that you are physically stronger than me and if you’re drunk… well, I was scared you’d kill me by accident.”

“Haha,” you laugh sarcastically, your eyes rolling in your amusement.

Silence overtook you both, and your gaze fell to your hands. You wanted to ask him why he was so insistent on Shouto being toxic, and how he did a 180 the second you told him about how the two of you talked things through.

“Did you want me and Shouto to break up?” you ask quietly, unsure of what you wanted him to answer. “I keep thinking of everything, and that’s the only thing that makes sense to me and all the controlling business…”

Hawks stared at you, his eyes void of all emotion, and yet you felt like he was more open to you than he had even been before. His mouth moved to answer, but there was a knock at his door.

With a heavy sigh, Hawks rose to his feet, “I don’t think I should answer your question.”

So there you sat, his once comfortable couch feeling stiff and hard.

“Y/l/n?” Shouto’s voice rang through the apartment, and your eyes widened. You got up off the couch, your head pounding just slightly while you clamored to the front door. There you saw Shouto staring down at Hawks, how funny it was that your eighteen-year-old boyfriend was taller than a twenty-seven years old Pro Hero.

“Tokoyami told me you were here, and I wouldn’t want to bother a busy hero with taking care of my girlfriend when I can do that myself,” Shouto spoke, his eyes narrowing down onto Hawks as the words my girlfriend let his tongue. But it also sent a shiver down your spine, a coursing ember that had been ignored this night, reigniting it once more.

You were ready, you realized when his blue and grey eyes found yours.

“Thanks for tonight, Hawks,” you wheeze, grabbing your shoes at the door and quickly pulling them on. “I’ll see you in the office in two days!”

With nothing more to say, you grabbed Shouto by his wrist and pulled him away.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

The campus was quiet when you arrived, the day of excitement having long since simmered down as the clocks read two in the morning. This would be your last night in your dorm, most of your classmates had chosen to move out today as well, but with no one to help you out while you were at the party, you decided to stay one more night. But with the way your blood was pumping, and how you could feel the jealousy coursing through Shouto’s veins, you wanted to get back to your room as quickly as possible.

Entering the dorm building that was made for your class, you felt Shouto pulling his hand from yours, obviously ready to begin his goodnight routine.

Shouto’s hands grasped your cheeks, fingers hot against your cold skin, and his eyes staring down at you. Millions of emotions coursed through his gaze, but you were focused on the one that spoke of his love for you. His lips pressed down against yours, and you met him in full earnest. His lips pulling against yours, sending fire through your body, sensations that sparked only the familiar excitement you had always denied in the past. You could practically taste his unspoken anger and jealousy on his tongue, and it only made you crave more from him.

You were ready.

“Goodnight,” Shouto whispers against your lips softly, and you laugh. Your hands move up to cup his cheeks, and he pulls you in closer, his hands firmly placed onto your lower back. “I’ll come to your room in the morning to help you pack up.”

“Stay the night,” you say softly, your teeth tugging at your lower lip that was warm from his efforts. “I’m ready.”

Shouto’s eyes widened, his eyebrow lifting slightly, “You want to fuck?”

“Don’t say it like that!” you groan, pinching his cheeks in your embarrassment. But his eyes were bright, and the next thing you knew, you were being lifted into the air, and your legs found their place around his waist. “You sap!”

“Prude.”

“Say that one again, I’m finally going to let you smash, whor—”

He shut you up with a kiss.

It’s a slow kiss, one that warmed you up effortlessly, intimate contact pressing between the two of you, but nervous energy chipping through you fully. Your head tilts to the side, the kiss deepening, and your arms pulling him in closer. The two of you pull away slowly, both of your eyes slowly opening to look at each other in a whole new light and a fire under your skin, and something is silent between the two of you. Growing silently, steadily, and coming crashing down all at once.

“I love you…” Shouto murmurs, and that’s all it takes. The movements are desperate now, his steps quick and steady while your mouth clashes against his. Deep, ardent, fulfilling. You can’t help the nervously aggressive make out, tongues pushing against each out, drawing out noises you weren’t quite used to hearing. Low groans and pants you had known, but never in this context, and you were addicted. But Shouto must be thinking the same thing, for when you finally make it to your dorm room’s door, his mouth trails from your mouth. Sloppy and burning hot kisses trail down your cheek, to your jaw, before pressing searingly against your neck, and you mewl at the feel of his warm lips on your neck. Your eyes fluttering closed when his lips left hot and wet kisses on your sensitive skin.

Your lips met again, and this time you wrapped your arms slowly around his neck, and you pull him impossibly closer. His hands are moving vehemently up and down your back, making you shiver and arch against his traveling fingers. But when his nails glide delicately against an exposed piece of skin on you back, you gasped into his mouth, and the door opened loudly against his need to get to your bed.

A soft giggle leaves your lips when darkness falls against your closed eyes, and your hips shift in your state of need. Only that you weren’t expecting to feel him tremble under your actions or the pleasurable hiss that passed to your lips. your eyes opening to see Shouto’s eyes still closed despite the fact he was walking with you.

“I love you so much,” you whisper into his ear when you pull away from the kiss. Your fingers raking through his hair, your teeth nibbling onto his earlobe, his throaty groan a sign of victory. “Thank you for being wonderful.”

Shouto’s lips are back on yours, greedily seeking more contact, and you don’t hold back as you kiss him back with equal fervor. You feel the mattress of your bed hit your back as you continue to kiss him, sitting up so you could crawl back to let Shouto onto the bed with you. You smile once again as Shouto’s hand rests on the bed frame behind you, while the other one rests on the small of your back, keeping your torsos pressed together.

Your hands are fisted into Shouto’s hair, the small tugs from your hand blazing his own blood, making him press his growing length against your thighs, and his tongue grazes your bottom lip. You moan softly, your head tilting up, and you open up your mouth so that your tongues meet halfway. You start moving to unbutton your graduation outfit, and Shouto hastily pulls away, and your eyes open, his mouth is stained with your the leftovers of your makeup, and he looks concerned.

“Are you sure, y/n?” Shouto asks, his hands stroking your side. His gaze is intense, unmoving, and challenging. “If you’re not ready for this, I won’t be hurt.”

You stared at him, a soft smile coming to your lips as you sit up, making Shouto sit on his haunches while you move to your knees, “I always knew I wanted my first time to be with you, I just wanted the moment to be perfect… and this is perfect to me,” you confess to Shouto, and you watch his eyes soften when you press a soft kiss to his lips.

Pulling away, you stripped of your clothes and dropped it on the floor next to the bed, your breath hitching as Shouto stares at your now only lingerie-clad body, and you blush.

“Shit, you’re beautiful,” Shouto murmurs like a man who had seen something divine for the first time ever.

Your heart roars in your chest, your blood pulsating through your sensitive body while he leans in close. His mouth presses against the swell of your breasts, trailing down to the valley between your mounds. Your body quivers in your overwhelming emotions and sensations. Shouto presses you back onto the mattress, his calloused hands pressing right below your breasts, heating emitting in large waves from both hands, making your mind spin in needy desperation.

“Are you okay?” Shouto murmurs, his lips feeling the gentle movements of your body.

“I am,” you breathe, your eyes shut tightly. You wanted to feel his lips and forget everything else in the world. This was a night of passion, and you’d be damned if your anticipation was going to stop you. “Don’t stop.”

A low chuckle vibrated against his throat, sending gentle waves through you, and you moaned the second his fingers pressed against your breasts. Shouto’s hands worked your breasts tentatively, his eyes studying your flushed face while he kneaded the tender flesh.

“F-Fuck,” you moaned when his finger brushed against your erect and clothed nipple, your hips quivering underneath him.

“Did that feel good?” Shouto hums, and when you confirm his thoughts, coldness hits your chest. Your eyes open to see that he’s discarded your bra and that his lips are millimeters from your breasts. “Do you want me to do more to you?”

The words are curious, but you don’t miss the glint in his eye, but he’s long since knocked the air from your lungs.

“I need to hear your words, princess,” Shouto smiles softly, his warm breath fanning against your erect nipples that cried for attention. “What do you say?”

“P-Please…” you breathe, your body squirming in your denied attention.

“Perfect.”

The feeling of his hot and wet mouth encasing your nipple sent you impossibly over the moon, your body arching off the bed, a lament cry heavy on your mouth while his tongue circled and flicked your nipple. His eyes were on you, you could feel his stare burning into your body, but you couldn’t even see, your eyes closed in your throbbing pleasure.

More, you wanted more.

His finger pinched your free nipple, pulling and rolling the pert skin between his fingers, your wanton cries only fueling him further. Liquid heat coursed through your veins, your pleasurable sensations overwhelming you, and your hips began to hump against his clothed thigh. The friction of his jeans against your barely clothed cunt sending you well beyond the confinements of pleasure.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “I love you,” he confesses. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats.

Tender and sweet words fill your ears while he switches where his mouth and hands are. The kneading of your breasts, the manipulation of your nipples, and the way his thigh pressed against your throbbing cunt was sending you over.

Your breathing was unsteady, puffs escaping your lips in an overwhelming and failed attempt to calm yourself down. Shouto was on a mission, however, and his mouth removed from your cool breast with a soft pop, your breasts shining with the coats of saliva, and you shivered.

Shout hummed while he lips pressed the sensitive underside of your breasts, and continued downward, gentle after gentle kiss down your torso, until he made contact with your trembling inner thigh.

“Do you trust me?” he asks, his fingers toying with the band of your panties. You can barely hear him over the roar of your heart, but you know what he says, and you nod. He smiles kindly, placing one final kiss to your thigh before pulling off your panties.

Instinctively, your legs try to close, nerves firing away, but Shouto keeps your legs wide open, and his mouth lowers towards your dripping cunt. His tongue takes a languid and slow lick. His tongue slipping between your slit and you arch off the mattress. Your eyes fluttering in their battle to stay open, the addicting sensation of his hot tongue against your equally hot core burning you.

Your legs tremble as he thrusts his tongue within your clenching wet walls, swirling in circles and pushing further in. His fingers thrust into you at an amble speed, aiding to your pleasure sent descent on the mattress. On one lick, one godly irresistibly mind-numbing lick, your thighs come crashing against his head. Shouto’s free hand moves to grip onto your trembling legs. His tongue coaxing your orgasm closer to the edge by speaking a language you knew nothing of.

“S-Shouto!” you curse, your hips rolling desperately against his mouth. Your hips were stammering against his compelling tongue.

Your eyes struggle to remain locked on his eyes, your body twitching with the building pleasure. The electricity igniting in your flesh and bloodstream. You can hear the sounds of your squelching pussy against his moving fingers, and your jaw drops. You’re under his absolute control, and you’re no longer able to hold back anymore, your orgasm is right on edge, but you stop him.

“Wait!” you push him off of you, your chest heaving, and the wet arousal pouring from your cunt was slick against his mouth, and confusion evident on his face. “I don’t want to… I want to cum on your cock.”

“Okay,” Shouto pants with amusement, and you watched when his fingers — which were coated in your essence — slipped into his mouth, sucking it clean. The image of that sent electrifying pleasure through you, and your mouth watered at the thought of sucking him off. “What is it?”

“Get up,” you command, your hands moving to remove the belt around his waist, and he was quick to stand on your bed, and you were on your knees. Your knees buck under your weight, and you help Shouto remove his pants. You watch in an almost lusting virgin horror when his cock springs out from under his underwear. The hard cock slaps against his lower stomach, and you take in the way that his cock is thick, with bulging veins, and precum leaking from his head.

There was no going back, it seemed.

Steeling yourself over, you wait for his feet to be free, and the moment he’s out of his jeans, your hands immediately encompass his length. His girth wide enough you struggled to hold it with one hand. You marveled at the way the skin was unearthly warm and impossibly hard in your grip. This is what was going to be buried in your cunt in moments time?

“Y-Y/n…” Shouto stutters as your hand fists up and down his length in initial unknowing movement. Your eyes snapping up to meet his lust covered ones.

“Now,” you sigh as your thumb rolls over the pre-cum that slips from the tip of his head. “You can’t make fun of me if I’m bad, okay?”

Shouto licks his lips, his eyebrow quirking. “I don’t think that’s possible from you, princess.”

You smile softly, but there’s a strong sense of hope when you notice the tremble in his legs, “We’ll see!”

Licking your lips, your mouth opens, and you let the head of his cock press pass your lips. The dark pink head is hot in your mouth, and your tongue presses against the flat of his head, swirling your tongue around, testing his reaction. By the fluttering of his eyes, and the way that his hands seem to fight whether they should latch onto your hair, you reckon it’s okay.

So, you push on ahead, moving further down his impressive cock. His girth so full you had to open wider than you were used to. You gasp as you push him further down your throat. Your eyes flashing up to see Shouto struggling to keep his head down and eyes on you.

Good god, you pray you were wet enough to take him in without lube.

Your mouth sinks down as far as you can go while not choking yourself. Your fingers trailing up and down his toned thighs as you move your head up and down his length. You’re now in a smooth rhythm, bobbing up and down on his cock with enough vigor to make Shouto praise your name.

Your movements signal to Shouto that he can move as well. Shouto groans, and his hips move forward. You relax against his rocking hips, you’re focused on your breathing as his cock moves up and down your throat. Deeper and deeper, you feel his cock move within you. His hand pressing against the back of your neck, and you gag softly against his length.

Your eyes look back up to see Shouto’s eyes closed. Moans and pants spilling out with every thrust, and your cheeks hollow out. Creating a vacuum sensation against his length.

“Oh shit!” Shouto snaps. His hands tangling within your locks as he struggles to not overwhelm you. “You’re amazing, of course, you would be good at this,” he gasps as his cock only goes further down your throat.

You struggle to breathe with his thrusting. His snapping hips overwhelming you with their speed and depth. He’s distracted while he fucks your throat, but you’re even more desperate to keep up. Uncaring about the burning sensation erupting through your airway as he continues at his strength and speed. Your tongue swirls around his thrusting cock. Trailing against his veins as his hips stutter, and your teeth dragging against the sensitive skin.

You moan against his length. The action allowing you to gain more air and sending a loud moan from Shouto’s mouth as his pace increases.

His hips abuse your throat, and you’re delighted in the fact that you’re keeping up. The soft gags that occasionally slip from your mouth, stirring him on. He’s sinful yet heavenly in your mouth, and you want him in your dripping cunt. Your thighs shaking with the mere thought of him having his way with you.

He pulls his length away from your mouth. Your saliva stringing between your mouth and his still erect cock. You cough as you try taking in the air again, the lack of oxygen had been ignored as your pleasure was so high.

“N-Not yet,” Shouto staggers, and you nod in agreement, watching him sink back to the bed.

“Take it off,” you mutter tugging at the hem of Shouto’s t-shirt, and he moves to take it off.

With your teeth tearing into your lower lip, you watch him remove the dark shirt. Shouto’s body had to be a sin while you stared at the rippling muscles on his body, something you had never truly appreciated before. They moved with his body, the faint scars littering his body for you to kiss and count later.

Tone and lithe. He was beautiful.

Shouto’s lips are back on yours as you kiss deeply, your head tilted to the side as his fingers gently grasp your chin. A shaky moan leaves your mouth at the taste of yourself on his lips and tongue, and Shouto moves his body so that you’re now on your back. The tips of your aroused nipples brush up against Shouto’s naked chest, and both of your release a throaty gasp as you pull him closer to you.

Your bodies were overshot with denied pleasure, and the mountaining need for more was finally being addressed.

Your leg hooks lazily around Shouto’s waist, and a sigh leaves your lips as Shouto gently grasps the back of your leg, running steady, consistent strokes from the end of your thigh to your ass.

A fire is building up in your gut as your hands work their way down to the buttons and zipper of his pants. His hands gripping your waist, and you could feel Shouto’s arousal pressing against your stomach, hot and throbbing with need. You pulled away from Shouto and giggled as he attempted to follow you with closed eyes as you had to brush your hair out of your face, suddenly feeling hot.

“Y/n…” Shouto just about whined, and you smiled softly at him, finding it endearing and the slightest bit hot when he used that tone.

His hands were on your breasts, slowly stimulating your aroused nipples as he slowly massaged them, making sure to brush your nipple with his thumb every so often, and your head tossed back as you bite down hard on your lower lip. He once again kissed you ever so lovingly, and you felt him pulling away to line his cock with your entrance. You watch with hooded eyes as Shouto presses the head into you, teasing the both of you to extreme lengths, and you wantonly sighed.

You rest on your elbows, a smile on your face as Shouto moves his messy hair out of his eyes. As you stare at his slightly sweaty face covered by strands of different colored hair, your heart just about bursts.

“Make love to me, Shouto,” you say aloud as Shouto stares at you, his cock removing from your entrance and carted against your clit.

“I plan on it,” he smiles, and he grabs your ankle, pulling you closer to him, and you shriek with laughter until his lips engulf your sounds. “Are you ready?” Shouto asks once more, teasing your entrance with the tip of his dick.

“Whenever you are,” you whisper into his neck, preparing for the initial pain.

You let out a cry of pleasure and pain as he slowly enters you, and you pant heavily, trying to contain your tears as he manages to push all the way in. Your eyes clench as you bit your lip, your head buried into his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cry as he stretches you out. Shouto is panting too at the feeling of your tight walls clenching against him, they’re unable to relax against his cock. It’s not until the head of his cock hits the wall of your cervix does he stop, and even then he’s not entirely in you.

Your breathing is harsh, and you feel like you’re sweating as you look down at the now joined body. The feeling of him entirely in you makes your head spin, the pressure in your lower belly could be from just Shouto within you or from your slowly growing orgasm, you had no idea.

“Are you o-okay?” Shouto stutters very clearly still adjusting to having his cock in you.

“Yeah, just… trying not to die,” you manage to croak out, and eventually, you collapse onto the bed, looking up at Shouto, who seems to be concentrating hard.

“You’re just super t-tight,” Shouto gasps as you wrap a leg around his waist.

It’s a good move, but it’s too quick as a sharp pleasure pained fire shoots through you as you slam your forehead against his shoulder.

“Too fast,” you snap in regret you try to calm your head. This was too much for you, you felt like every nerve was firing all at once on your inner wall, and no orgasm had reached you yet.

“It’s okay… breathe...”

It takes a few moments, but sure enough, you manage to raise your leg to his waist, and both of you moan at the new level of penetration and the way it made your walls clench around him. “Move,” you command, and Shouto falls onto his forearms as he nods.

Shouto moves his hips back, and slowly almost painfully slow, returns them to the original position, and even with the smallest movement, a lewd moan escapes your lips. Shouto continues going in and out, his hips slowly moving while you start to meet him with every thrust.

Whispers of encouragement escape both your lips as his slow thrusting continues.

Shouto picks up your legs so that they’re both wrapped around his waist, and he comes to lean over you. At the new angle, your head is thrown backward, and you let out a string of soft curses. “Shit, that feels so good,” you cry out in encouragement as you bit down on your lip harshly.

Your lips are soon sought after by Shouto’s as sheen layers of sweat cover both your bodies as the consistent moving of both your hips never falters.

“You’re so fucking tight, shit, you feel so good,” Shouto grunts, his hips picking up in speed as he drills into you faster, the sound of your meeting sweaty bodies echoing in your room.

Soon you can hear the sounds of your bed hitting the wall, and a cry escapes your lips as Shouto’s finger grazes your clit.

“Say my name…” Shouto grunts as he presses harder on your clit, and you can feel the coil within you getting tighter, but at the moment, all you can give is wordless cries. “Say it, y/n.”

“S-Shouto!” you scream out as you shake with an overwhelming need to climax, but Shouto’s finger leaves your clit and goes to keep your hands above your head.

“Are you enjoying this?” Shouto teases as he slams into you at full force again, your cunt tightening sinfully against his length, electricity coursing through your veins while you cry his name. “You’re so good, shit.”

“Oh my god, yes, Shouto!” your voice splutters, and his hands leave your wrist to gently pinch your nipple and clit. You go speechless, and your mind spins as he pulls one of your legs onto his shoulder, and all you can do is let your jaw drop as the new position lets you see stars.

You couldn’t take the feeling of how his body moved entirely within you, the strength and power behind his every move were almost too natural as if this was an everyday thing. You let out noises similar to a purr, grinding your cunt against his conquesting cock and laughing breathlessly at his low groan.

“You like this, princess?” Shouto nips at your throat, his thrusts making you shriek out his name as he buries you further into the bed, your nails digging into his flesh at the back of his neck. You nod rapidly, your eyes closed, your mouth open, your pants tumbling from your mouth. He wasn’t going too fast, just fast enough to have wet smacks echoing through the room, but every thrust seemed to have his cock being pulled out of you nearly completely. He pulled out entirely so he would have the ability to drill back into your wet cunt. The noises of your connecting wet sex left loud echo with your squelching pussy around his hot cock.

The muscles on his back seemed to flare dramatically, your screams turning silent due to your approval of this.

“I needa cum,” you shriek, the fire in your face as bright and hot as the one between your legs. His sweaty forehead pressed against yours, and his lips recapture yours.

Your mind goes blank when a mighty crash goes through you. But Shouto must not have felt the spastic vice-like clamping of your inner walls as he continues pistoling his hips into you, hitting your cervix, and pushing it further up with every slam. You cry against his mouth, your hands shoving at his shoulders as the feeling of your orgasm was too strong to deny, and he slips out of you.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he moans, his mouth connecting with your breast, and once again slams into you.

Your scream is silent, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, your fingers digging into his neck, and your toes curl. His hips are driving, persistent, and have a goal in mind. You can barely keep up with him, your long overstimulated body wanting to collapse at the seams, but he doesn’t stop.

The bed creaks loudly under you, headboard crashing into the wall, over and over again.

“Cum, baby,” you beg, your hips wildly thrashing against his. “Cum..”

That’s all it takes, and a hot and heavy load shoots through you, and Shouto collapses onto you at the same time the bed falls. Neither one of you reacts as gravity shifts you both slightly downwards, but your mind is too full of Shouto to care. His body twitching while his cock remains hard within you, the feeling of his cum swimming in your cunt, making your head spin with euphoria.

Drowsiness hits you quickly, and Shouto’s body heat is quickly putting you to sleep.

He pulls out of you gently, and the feeling of his cock no longer in you makes you whimper, your nose burying into his neck as he flips the two of you over so that you’re laying on his chest. His hands send warm and cooling waves through your body, helping soothe the aches in your tired body.

“That was…” you mumble, your mind unable to think straight.

“Something?”

You snort, your head nodding.

“Yeah… something…”

“I love you, y/n,” Shouto whispers against your temple, and you sigh, contentness and warmth flooding your aching body.

“I love you, too.”

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki smut #bnha #bnha x reader

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crispyjenkins · 4 years

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fic with ahsoka as Obi-Wans Padawan? Maybe some angsty jangobi? (Used to be together but broke up and now they pine from afar™️)

(i’m devastated that i don’t get to write ahsoka much, especially as obi’s padawan, so that an anon would come into my inbox.... and request jangobi on top of it..... seriously, though, thank you! can’t say i wasn’t inspired by @autumnchild22’s Kenobi Tano AU, but this doesn’t share almost anything with their take of events (ノ*´◡`) i’m flattered y’all thought i could do something of theirs justice lmao

i have written entirely too much backstory for this one, i think my brainstorming ended up longer than the actual fic so like. rip.

support artists and writers by reblogging, message me for more info if this confuses you!)

It surprises everyone except Obi-Wan that not only does Jango join the clones on the front lines, but he does so as the ARC troopers’ medic. That the son of the Mand’alor murdered by the Jedi would allow his kid to be apprenticed by a lifetime Council member is already hard enough for the galaxy at large to swallow; believing that the man who had at once been the most feared bounty hunter in the Outer Rim wouldn’t even ask for a command position? Impossible.

Obi-Wan knows better. Just as Obi-Wan had picked up Soresu because he could not protect his master on Naboo, Jango had learned to put people back together because he could not save his buir on Korda 6.

Besides, Obi-Wan thinks Mace is a wonderful match for little Boba, even though he’s joining the Jedi older than even Anakin had been. Knowing Mace was among the Jedi to liberate the spice freighter Jango had been sold to, and that he had continued to check in on Jango for years after he got his armor back, Obi-Wan actually finds it rather silly that others on the Council had thought Jango would trust Boba to anyone else.

Which does leave Obi-Wan in quite the predicament, when less than a year after Anakin's knighting, Mace sends him a new padawan in the middle of a campaign.

Ahsoka smiles with all canines, and calls Anakin Skyguy, and has to be tricked into wearing more armor because, according to Cody, she is "not to take the General's lack of self-preservation as the status quo, nor as the basis for field safety." Which, rude, Obi-Wan wears plenty of armor when the situation calls for it; he simply doesn't find many situations where plasteel has kept his men or the Jedi from dying horribly.

Letting Ahsoka gallivant around a battlefield in a tube-top without even a cloak, however, is out of the question, and Obi-Wan thinks Waxer does a brilliant job in sizing down the armor to fit their collective padawan over the next few months. Force, had Anakin really been younger than she when he first started taking him on missions?

"Master?"

Obi-Wan blinks, and smiles down at Ahsoka standing next to him, his apprentice looking quite dashing in the orange paint of the 212th. "Sorry, my dear, what were you saying?"

She shrugs, eyeing him suspiciously. "'Was just asking if we would be working with the ARC troopers on Kiros; Captain Fordo said he would show me how to use a blaster rifle next time they were on the Negotiator."

The Kaminoans intended for a few ARC troopers to be sent with each battalion, but it had quickly become clear that Jango had not trained them that way. Instead, he had raised and created a strike team so efficient, it would have been a waste to separate them; Obi-Wan knows Jango had hand-picked them from cadets, had searched for a spark in them that the Kaminoans hadn't already snuffed out completely. Jango had been like that once, too.

"I would be surprised if we didn't," Obi-Wan decides on, turning back to observe the 212th loading into the Negotiator, and he would be, because the ARCs are often deployed with Obi-Wan’s men, have been since the Battle of Kamino. "But I have not heard anything from Master Shaak Ti, nor Captain Fordo as of yet."

Ahsoka scrunches up her face into a pout, an amusing show of her age that she usually does not allow. "We'll probably get halfway through the mission and they'll just show up."

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Hm, yes, probably,” he agrees, starting to make his way down to the hangar to join his men with Ahsoka trotting along behind, “but perhaps I can convince Captain Fordo not to surprise us too badly this time.”

When the ARC troopers finally storm the Kadavo Processing Facility with Anakin and the Jedi on their heels, the warden Agruss is already dead.

The sudden swell of Jedi presence is nearly blinding after a month of helplessness, but Obi-Wan can't tap out, not yet. Rex, satisfied and vindictive and relieved, sways dangerously and automatically reaches out to Obi-Wan to steady himself.

That Rex trusts him enough to not even think about rank before asking for help warms Obi-Wan in ways he doesn't yet have the words for — he wraps Rex's arm around his shoulders and takes half his weight happily.

"Thank you," Obi-Wan finds himself murmuring as he helps Rex towards the doors, and only smiles at the captain's bemused expression.

"Whatever for, General?" he asks, even as he looks back over their shoulders across the room, to Agruss impaled to his chair with the electrostaff still sparking. Then he returns Obi-Wan’s smile, shaking his head. "That's not very Jedi-like of you, sir."

"I'm afraid I haven't felt much a Jedi since Kiros, my dear." Which is perhaps too honest to allow himself before he's had a proper meal and a full night's rest, but if there is anyone who will understand, it is the man that lived it with him. "We could wait up here for Anakin to find us, but it will likely be a while before they can spare him to start looking; do you think you can keep your feet long enough for us to reach the ground floor?"

Rex snorts and gives a vague wave of his free hand towards the elevators. "Well, I'm certainly not going to wait up here like some damsel, sir, and General Skywalker would kill me if I let you wander around on your own."

"Well!" Obi-Wan laughs, for the first time in weeks, and hitches Rex up to get a better grip on his waist. "In that case, we really should not keep him waiting."

They somehow time it perfectly for what the 187th and the 501st to have just finished rounding up the slavers in the courtyard when he and Rex hobble out of a side door of the warden's tower. Lieutenant Law oversees the Togrutas' move to Mace’s flagship Solace, and Obi-Wan easily picks him and Boba out from the crowd, standing at the base of the loading ramp and speaking with the Kiros colony's governor. Anakin is nowhere to be seen, but Obi-Wan doesn't get the chance to keep looking before Kix spots them from his place by the medical frigate; a shout passes over the nearby clones like a wave, until Kix and an ARC trooper break away to (gently) manhandle both him and Rex to the frigate.

The 187th's medic, Oro, is already on board seeing to the Togrutas too injured to wait for triage on the Solace, snapping a distracted salute that Obi-Wan quickly waves off as he helps heft Rex onto a hoverbed. He fully intends to duck back out and check in with Mace, though things seem well in hand without him, but the ARC with Kix takes off his helmet and glares, until Obi-Wan meekly shuffles to the next hoverbed over.

He could never refuse Jango, after all.

"You repainted your armor," he says conversationally, as Jango pulls a scanner from the bandoleer around his chest and has Obi-Wan roll up his right sleeve.

"'Lost the last set to a sarlacc before our deployment to Kiros," Jango snorts, Concord Dawn accent stronger than any of his clones. "Though it looks like your mission had its fair share of excitement." Running the scanner over the electrical burns on Obi-Wan’s arm, Jango raises an eyebrow at the dried blood on the shoulder of his tunics; Obi-Wan honestly doesn't remember if it's his or not.

And he can only smile at Jango, because even with a decade and a war between them, the corner of Jango's mouth still twitches when he's stressed. "Well, it certainly wasn't boring, my dear," Obi-Wan says, opening the neck of his tunic enough for Jango to stick him with a hypospray that hopefully won't make him too high. "And I can't say I'm looking forward to what is surely going to be a long dip in the bacta tank."

He gets a laugh for that, and can't think of the last time they had done more than make eye contact from opposite sides of a ship. Perhaps it had been Kamino, when Taun We had first sent for the Jedi to meet the army created for them.

Obi-Wan had rather thought Jango dead until then, when he had disappeared from the galaxy abruptly as if he had never lived in it at all. For a time, Obi-Wan believed he had just gotten cold feet, that finally meeting Anakin made it all a little too personal too quickly, but then even Mace could not get a hold of him and no one had seen a Mandalorian bounty hunter in months.

Their... conversation, Jango's stilted explanations of his absence and of how little he actually knew about the purpose for the clones he helped create, left far too much unsaid, but then Obi-Wan had been sent to Geonosis and, well. It's been nearly two years now, and Obi-Wan isn't sure if he's even seen Jango without his helmet since then.

His eyes flick over Obi-Wan’s face, the left side of his lips twitching as if knowing exactly what Obi-Wan is thinking — and he might not put it past him.

"Where are Anakin and Ahsoka?" Obi-Wan hears himself ask, when the silence grows heavy with those unsaid words. And he really would like to check in with his padawan, he can't imagine her last month has been a picnic either.

Jango sticks him with another stim before answering, "Mace sent Skywalker to make sure no slave is missed, and no slaver isn't arrested. As for your new foundling..." That little smile comes back, as Jango nods out the back of the frigate to where someone is cutting a line through the clones guarding their new prisoners.

"Oh dear," Obi-Wan mumbles, barely having time to brace himself before Ahsoka is launching herself at him, and all he can think is how relieved he is to see her out of her slave disguise. Jango steps cleanly out of the way to let Ahsoka smother herself in Obi-Wan’s chest, though it doesn’t stop him from starting to prep bacta patches to tide him over until they can get to the Negotiator’s medbay.

“Hello, little one,” Obi-Wan murmurs, carefully loosening the tight net of his shields for the first time since Zygerria and letting Ahsoka’s presence flood his mind.

“It’s good to see you, Master ‘Nobi,” she says into his tunics, and her voice does not waver at all.

He manages a chuckle, though it does not hold nearly as well as Ahsoka’s, as he feels himself finally relax. Anakin, of course, senses the both of them immediately and prods at their minds, but neither Obi-Wan nor his padawan acknowledge him. “I take it the Queen is dead?”

Ahsoka sighs and pulls back enough to nod. “Count Dooku was there, Skyguy barely got us all out.”

“That was a week ago,” Jango adds, not looking up from the datapad he’s logging Obi-Wan’s injuries into. “Even with the Queen giving us the location of the Processing Facility, we had to wait for the 187th to catch up.”

Running his palm from the top of her head down her hind lek, Ahsoka melts back against him with a Togruta churr he rarely has the pleasure of hearing from her. “Hm, and I imagine Boba was thrilled to work with the ARC troopers.”

Jango snorts, because they both know Boba is thirteen and his rebellious stage where he wants nothing to do with his father for fear of losing his independence. “Originally, the 104th was the closest battalion, but were held up in their own campaign. ‘Honestly didn’t think we could keep Skywalker from rushing in anyways.”

And Obi-Wan has to wince at that, because no matter what he does, he can’t seem to find a way to teach Anakin about attachment in words he understands; truthfully, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have had him knighted until he had at least attempted to master that part of his mind, but, well, the War had different opinions.

“I’m actually just surprised he didn’t try to fight Dooku,” Ahsoka admits, finally releasing Obi-Wan only to hop up on the hoverbed next to him. Jango immediately pulls Obi-Wan’s bare arm back to himself to start slapping the bacta patches over the worst of his burns. “Master Windu had a talk with him, though, I think it was good for him.”

“I’d like to see that!” Jango barks, only half sarcastically: he knows better than most, the sorts of things Mace Windu can talk someone out of, and if it worked for one ex-slave, why shouldn’t it work on another?

Ah, perhaps that shared history should not have slipped Obi-Wan’s mind, not here with thousands of freed slaves needing aid for injuries Jango is intimately familiar with.

“And are you alright?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, as Jango is cutting his sleeve further back. His brow ticks back up, clearly bewildered by what Obi-Wan could be referring to, but it’s Ahsoka that leans around Obi-Wan to sniff triumphantly up at Jango.

“I told you he still likes you,” she says, and Jango’s hand freezes on Obi-Wan’s wrist.

Obi-Wan sighs. “Ahsoka.”

But instead of denying that he might have actually had such a conversation with Obi-Wan’s padawan, Jango coughs on a laugh. “So you did, edee. To be fair, I did not think that was the issue.”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes, leaning back into Obi-Wan’s side as he automatically raises his arm to accommodate her. “He thinks he lost his chance, Master ‘Nobi,” she tells him. “Even Cody thinks he’s full of banthashit.”

Where Obi-Wan feels a little shell-shocked by the turn in conversation, Jango simply keeps that tiny smile — even if it looks bittersweet and self-deprecating now. “Your foundling has spent the last week talking me in circles about this, I almost think she’s as stubborn as you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I think,” Obi-Wan returns, sarcasm an automatic, subconscious response.

“I wouldn’t need to talk you in circles if you two just talked to each other.”

Shaking his head in bemusement, Obi-Wan gently fixes Ahsoka’s slika beads to lay properly around her montrals. “I’m afraid there’s quite a lot of history there, little one; most of which I’m sure Jango did not actually share with you.”

She wrinkles her nose. “No, he refuses to tell me anything except that you met on a mission. And that he saved your ass from Jabba the Hutt.”

Obi-Wan snaps his eyes to Jango, who looks absolutely anywhere but at him. “Is that how you remember it going, my dear?”

“Could we do this later?”

“Because if I recall correctly, and I do, this is not the first time you’ve lost your armor to a sarlacc.”

Jango looks to the ceiling for patience.

Mando'a: buir — “parent”, gender neutral Mand’alor — “Sole ruler”, contended ruler of Mandalore. edee — “teeth”, “jaws”, used here as an affectionate name for Ahsoka. because she teeth.

#thinking about opening the ask box again but keeping anon off #i miss y’all ꒰๑·̥﹏·̥๑꒱#WHY DO I KEEP WRITING 3000 WORD PROMPT FILLS #well i mean it’s cause i don’t want it to seem slapdash or not thought out and i always have so much plot #but it’d still be nice to not put my chaptered fics on the backburner ‘cause i can’t multitask between them T0T #prompt fill #crispy writes #jangobi #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #captain rex #prequel trilogy #au #force sensitive boba #alternate events at and post galidraan #medic jango #clone oc #oro is mine (ノ*´▽`)#real talk tho #i’m super fucked up about everything happening with achievement hunter right now #it’s been a rough couple of days #i hope you’re all safe and healthy and taking care of each other #believe victims not abusers #hashtag crispy stop tagging so much

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