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teatreeoilll · 3 months

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𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝗿𝗹𝘆 𝗗𝗶𝘀𝗽𝘂𝘁𝗲 (𝗛𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝘂𝗺𝗮 𝗛𝗶𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶 𝗫 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿)

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w/c - 2.6k content - MDNI! 18 +, fem!reader, porn with plot, asking a man in a suit to not take it off when he fucks you, not proofread because it's so late rn, hope I'll get to it tomorrow

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When Higuruma Hiromi finished climbing up the stairs, moving slowly and sighing until he finally reached his apartment, the walls around the floor were already rhythmically humming.

"Fucking hell," It took every single ounce of strength in his body to turn away from his own door and turn to knock on the neighbors'.

Goddamn it, not him again, you think as you unlock the door, wincing at the passing thought of ever finding the grumpy, tired man waiting outside of your apartment in any way attractive.

"Yes?" You utter, cross-armed with a fake smile glazing your lips.

He stares into the space behind you for a moment before meeting your eyes, "I'm sorry to bother you," you should be sorry for bothering me, "I know we've had this discussion before," about a million goddamn times, "but if you wouldn't mind," before I go insane, "turning down the music?"

"Listen," you drawl, mimicking his calm tone through gritted teeth, "we talked this through already. It's still early, and it's not against the law to listen to music at a reasonable volume in my own apartment."

Higuruma's eye twitched at the words, still trying to retain a neutral expression. The law? You're bringing up the law? Now, Higuruma Hiromi didn't consider himself a proud man, but the next words to come out of his mouth made his self-respect plummet, "I'm sorry, it's just that ever since my wife died, I've been having trouble sleeping."

You blink slowly, your arms dropping to the sides of your body, "O-oh," you babbled, "I'm so sorry, I didn't - I - " the heat rises to your cheeks, "I'm so sorry, uh, I didn't catch your name - "

"Higuruma Hiromi," he adds.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Hiromi; I'll turn it down."

That evening, Hiromi sinks on the sofa like he's carried by angel's wings, relishing in the serene, tranquil, long-awaited silence. But something itches at the back of his mind; he spent too many days in court to know that a lie will always come back to bite.

"Shit," you hiss as your groceries hitting the building's floor, apples rolling on the tiles beneath you. "Stupid apples," you grumble as you stoop down, desperately trying to stuff them into your overflowing bag.

"Do you need help?" A voice behind you asks.

"It's fine," you breathe, catching another rolling apple in your hand, "I'm just here, uh, cussing at the fruit."

"I can see that," and Hiromi crouches down to help you, the fabric of his suit rustling as his pale fingers help you pick up the things off the floor.

You unlock your door, pushing it in with your shoulder, and your neighbor follows suit into your apartment.

"Where do I - " Hiromi stands at the entrance, his arms packed with your shopping.

"Oh - uh, " you walk to the kitchen counter, "right here is fine," you fix your gaze on the man unloading your shopping, a strand of hair falling on his forehead as he does. "Thank you."

After he finished, his eyes turn to find yours, and you're not quite sure why you're staring or at what, with your gaze rolling from his suit to his dark eyes, but you manage to conclude that, strangely enough, it's not unnatural to see him standing in your kitchen.

A long moment of silence graces the room before he finally utters, "It's nothing."

You thank him three more times while he exits your apartment, and he brushes off each one. It's only after he leaves that you notice the rapid pace of your heart, and you walk to the mirror to look at your face, standing before it for a moment, wondering how long it has been since you've turned this deep shade of crimson.

Oh god, you're so nice.

"I've brought them up for you, I hope you don't mind," you smile at your neighbor, bent over in your too-tight lounge shorts to put a stack of letters near his door, "they just seemed to be piling up."

"You really didn't have to," He mutters, crouching to meet you at the bottom of his door, gathering the letters in his hands.

But you just kept the smile on your face, so soft and considerate the pangs of guilt overturned his stomach. "Oh, and - uh," is my face growing red? "I - I baked some cookies, I mean," you falter, "I mean, I baked too many cookies. Would you like some?"

Maybe he is attractive, your neighbor, with his soft and tired dark eyes; or maybe it's the depth of sorrow you thought resided in them that made the need to help him grow.

It would be rude to decline, wouldn't it? "S-sure," he says - But it's immoral to agree, and the thought fades at the scent of fresh baked goods from your apartment already filling the hallway.

You don't mean to be rude when you walk through his door, setting a small plate of glazed lemon cookies on his old coffee table, your gaze darting to the pile of records on the shelf in the corner, "So, you do like music," you chuckle, eyes fluttering over the names on the covers.

"I do," he admits, the soft lemon cookie melting on his tongue, "But if Sinatra came here and sang while I'm trying to sleep, I don't think I'd like him that much anymore."

You catch his gaze, and your lips twitch for a moment before you burst into laughter. God, he stares at you, thinking you're an almost ethereal sight as you browse his records, perched on his old leather couch, laughing at something he said, with your smile scrunching the corners of your eyes so gracefully he thinks he just might -

"Love?" you ask.

"Yes?"

And you laugh again, "No - I meant, Love." You point at the record sitting on the top of the shelf, "Didn't take you for one to listen to them."

He coughs, a red blush dusting his pale cheeks, "It's a good album."

"It is, I don't think I've ever heard it on vinyl," you say, the palms of your hands grazing your thighs as you lift yourself up from the sofa, "Well, I think I better be off - "

"Would you like to?" He asks.

"Sure."

As you sit there, listening to the soft flamenco-style guitar flowing from the record player, it takes everything from Hiromi to calm the urge to touch you or at least hold your hand, fuck, he'd settle for a brush of your fingers against his own. Tackling these urges, blatantly ignoring the music, his mind replays the same old words he'd read countless times, a thing he usually does when he's trying to take his mind off something; - One sultry evening early in July a young man emerged from the small furnished lodging he occupied in a large five-storied house on Pereoulok S - , and turned slowly, with an air of indecision, towards the K - bridge.* *a/n: the opening line of Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The faint smile you give him as you meet him at the entrance to the building makes the blood rush to his ears.

"Good evening," you say, and Hiromi thinks it really is much better now.

"Good evening," he answers, pointing at the exit, "I'm out to the convenience, do you need anything?"

You shake your head, "Thank you," you say before continuing the path up the stairs.

It's a frantic knock on the door that startles you once you're out of the shower, and you rush to open it, towel still wrapped around your damp hair.

"Yes?" Your gaze meets a young, short-haired woman, a stack of papers barely fitting in the grip of her hands.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she apologizes, "I must have gotten the doors mixed up, does Higuruma Hiromi live on this floor?"

You nod, pointing a finger to the door next to yours, "But I just saw him leaving."

"Oh, crap -," the woman mutters, "I'm terribly sorry to ask this, but these are for the trial tomorrow," she lifts the papers up a bit, "would you mind if I leave them with you?"

"Trial?" You inquire, already holding your hands out to take the papers.

"Yes, a boy arrested on suspicion of murder and robbery," she sighs, "he won't let it go."

You hold the stack of papers, "Hiromi's a lawyer?"

The woman chuckles, "Oh, ah - yes."

"He works so hard," you think aloud, "even after what happened to his wife."

The woman's brows furrow, "Wife? Oh god, no, Mr. Higuruma's not married."

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing at her words, "Sorry - uhm, has he ever been married?"

She shakes her head, "Well, I'll just leave these with you; I'll call him so he'll pick them up once he returns," she parts with a curt bow.

Loud. Insufferably, overwhelmingly, dreadfully, loud. The music crashes onto the walls, making them buzz so furiously you would have missed the knock on the door if only you weren't already waiting for it.

"Yes?" you scoff at the puzzled lawyer standing at your doorstep.

Hiromi's eyebrows knit together, the music reverberating through the staircase as he asked, "It's a bit loud, don't you think?"

You step away for a moment to find the stack of papers, returning to the doorstep to shove it in his arms, "Why? Will it piss off your imaginary wife?"

Oh, he thinks, and the door slams in his face.

He goes into his apartment and places the papers on the coffee table. He sits down to read them, only to find his eyes skimming over the letters, not quite making any sense of what he's reading with the music playing through the wall and his conscience raging in his mind.

Another knock on the door, and you open it with a huff, "Forgot something?"

Hiromi stands with his arms dangling by the sides of his body, a soft look in his eyes as he mutters, "I'm sorry."

He's just a neighbor, right? A nice one, at that, with a handsome face and kind eyes. Why am I so angry? Why's the music blaring with the intent of ruining his evening? Why's he standing so close -

It's an eternity in your mind, but only a few seconds pass while you think, unconsciously staring directly at his lips. He catches that, of course, he wouldn't get anywhere in court if he wasn't mindful of nuance.

The first thing you feel is his hand grasping at the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly close to him. Next, the soft brush of his lips against yours as he breathes, "Is this alright?"

You don't answer; instead, you grasp at his arms through the fabric of his suit, capturing his lips as a fog settles in your mind, a soft hum running from your mouth to his.

His arms wander on your body while you relish in the softness of his lips; they skim across your lower back to come down and hold a firm grip on your ass when his tongue finally darts into your mouth. "Fuck," he pants, pushing you up against the wall, and you only momentarily remember you should probably close the damn door.

"Hm?" he puzzles when you break away from the kiss, watching you gesture towards the door, "I guess you can be considerate towards your neighbors," and he pushes the door, his tongue returning to your mouth before he even hears the closing thud.

It doesn't take long for him to slide his hand from your ass into your pants, long fingers gliding on your lower stomach, dragging the fabric of your underwear to the side as he rubs circles over your clit. "Don't be so quiet," he hums against your lips when he sees you biting back your moans, "Trust me, no one can hear you through this noise."

"Fuck, Hiro - " you gasp at the feeling of his fingers entering your cunt, one look at his glazed-over eyes and you try to desperately press your lips to his again, but he finds the crook of your neck instead, sucking on the skin there, leaving small bruises while his fingers glide in and out of your soaked cunt.

Each graze of his teeth against your neck makes you clench against his fingers, and he feels himself growing unbearably hard at the feeling, the slight friction of his cock rutting against the fabric of his trousers barely enough to give him some relief.

"Shit, sucking my fingers in like that - " he murmurs against your neck, the pads of his fingers caressing the spot that made you whimper, "You close?" And you feel the knot in your stomach come undone at his words, wetness gushing over his fingers as your body quivers.

You let out a choked gasp when he picks you up from the floor, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Your clothes are discarded by the time you reach the couch, and you're trapped under him, back pressed against the sofa while the fabric of his suit rubs against your naked body.

The jacket of his suit falls to the floor, and his hand reaches to undo his tie, "N-no," you breathe, "Leave it on," you say as your hand works on the zipper of his trousers, pulling them down together with his underwear just low enough for his cock to spring out.

"Dirty," he chuckles against your lips, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance. You moan at the feeling, pushing your hips down to take in the tip, "I always liked lawyers," you push a hand up to grip his hair, tugging at the soft strands.

"Did you now?" His muscles tighten as he pushes his cock further into you, rolling his hips to finally bottom out inside you.

"Mhmm," you moan into his mouth, feeling your pussy push against his thrusts, drunk on the soft smell of his cologne lingering in the air.

"Hiro - " you can barely breathe out his name with the feeling of his cock working you open, your hand leaving his hair to grip at his tie dangling from his neck, holding it tightly in your fist.

"God," he groans, chasing his climax with deeper thrusts, "you really do like lawyers," he huffs as your pussy clenches against him, the heat spreading under his skin.

He pulls out, and you whimper at the absence of his cock as he flips you, your head pressed flat against the couch, your ass perked up against his hips. His thrusts feel unbelievably deeper from that angle, his hand reaching to grip mercilessly at your hair to pull your head up.

"Ah - Fuck -," you babble, "Hiro - I - ," your reach a hand to rub your clit, his thrusts a perfect pace to the coiling tension in your stomach, and he anchors his hand on the fat of your ass, fingers digging deeper as he bites back his moans, coming closer to his own release.

"I - Ah -, " and you don't even finish your moan as your back arches, heat coursing through your body as you come, feeling as if you'd collapse if not for his hand holding you up by your hair. His hips stutter, a silent 'fuck' escaping his lips as you feel his seed painting your walls, his thrusts finally slowing down.

He pulls out, releasing the grip on your hair, and you turn a flushed gaze towards him, a dazed smile glazing your lips. He adjusts himself back in his trousers, his eyes falling on the speakers on your table, still ruthlessly blasting music.

"Is this the..?" He motions towards the speakers, and you nod.

He gets up, his hand twisting the volume knob until the white mark on it touches zero. The room grows silent.

Finally, he thinks.

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peachesofteal · 2 months

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Dead Disco / Chapter 13

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 2.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ brief sexual content. This fic contains mature themes. Simon POV. Established throuple, relationship issues, fighting. Feelings of anxiety, despair. Crying. Johnny comes home

The holster is snug.

Simon pats it affectionately, swallowing roaring nausea, trying to stay limber on his feet.

He’s fine. He’s probably just at the gym, or the down the street. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself, he's working himself up for nothing.

He sends another text, just in case.

>Getting worried now. Where are you?

It’s not like him, not responding. Not like him to vanish when he said he was staying in, not like him to not text with an update about where he’s going and how long he’ll be.

He knows Simon. Knows he he’ll get twisted up, get caught up in a vicious cycle of memory and fear, knows he’ll be worried.

Doesn’t he know?

It’s not like him.

What if he’s hurt? What if someone snatched him, drugged him, loaded him into a box somewhere? What if someone is hurting him right now, and he’s scared, while all Simon is doing is pacing around in this godforsaken flat that’s too big for him to be comfortable in alone, what if he’s de-

A key clicks in the lock.

Simon is on his feet and in the hall before the door gets a chance to fully open.

He can hear his pulse, the hammer inside his skull, ticking away like a bomb, a new brand of fear: sickly and infectious, spreads from his heart, leeching into his body.

Johnny is crying.

“What’s wrong?” Simon keeps him at arm’s length for inspection, like he's looking him over in tac gear, triple checking his plates, his straps, his safety pieces. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?” Johnny doesn’t speak, raw, serrated breaths coming in and out too quickly, and Simon holds him steady, firm grip on his shoulders. “Johnny, love. Look at me.”

Control this. Contain it. Fix it.

“I-m- I-“ The words are stilted, too thick, getting caught in Johnny’s throat, and Simon repeats himself, switching gears, shifting. His tone is stronger, unaffected. Battle tested.

“Are you hurt?” It straightens Johnny. Snaps him to attention, and he blinks, still the beautiful, sweet boy with tears in his eyes, looking up in Simon’s face, wracked with despair.

“No. No, ‘m, not hurt, Si. Not hurt.”

Not hurt. But not okay.

He can save that for another moment. Another day if he has to. He’s okay. He came back. He’s here.

Johnny’s eyes dive a deeper shade of blue when he cries. They become shards of stained glass, a sea blue that holds a million miles worth of passion, of feeling, of love.

Their mouths touch. Seeking, hesitant longing, desperately trying to connect, and Simon jerks away, cradling his face, holding him still.

It’s dread that fills Simon now. Dread and fear, snaking together to form a hydra that never sleeps, never dies. You cut off one head, another two emerge, and he cannot control them. Cannot tamp them down.

“What’s happened, love? What’s wrong?”

“Si, I… I made a mistake.” Simon closes his eyes.

“What did you do?” It’s not a question, it’s a demand.

Confess your sins and be forgiven.

“I went to see her.”

It’s worse than what he was expecting. Far worse.

He splits in two.

“You what?” The words sound far less devastated than he feels. “You… what?”

“I went, I know I wasnae supposed to, but I had to see her.” Simon steps away. He releases his partner, the man he loves, and looks at him through the eyes of a stranger. “I havnae been sleepin’ I cannae eat, or focus, and I know ye’ve been havin’ an easier time-“

“Stop.” An easier time? Is he really that blind? “You think this has been easy for me?”

“N-no, I didnae mean-“

“You think I’m alright, when our girl…” He bites his tongue.

Control.

“I’m not having an easier time, Johnny.”

“I made a mistake.” He whispers to the floor, and sympathy, love, cracks Simon’s heart, just a little. He’s been having such a rough go, Simon knows. Struggling. Depressed. And nothing can fix it, not Simon or anything else in this world except… you.

He reaches, but Johnny steps out of his grasp, eyes wide.

“I… I made a mistake, Si.”

“I know, but it’s okay, we can-“

“We had sex.”

Everything changes. The floor disappears beneath his feet. His knees go weak, watery, and he steps away. A chainsaw tears through his diaphragm, blood and guts dropping to the floor.

“You what?”

“I didnae plan to, it just… it just happened.” Simon closes his eyes. He struggles for air, a thousand pounds sat on his chest. “She was cryin’ and then we just… we lost control. I didnae even realize what was happening at first, and then she asked me to kiss her and I couldnae say no, Si. Ye know I… it just-“

“Stop.”

“She needed me, needs us, wanted to, and I-“

“STOP!” He shouts, and Johnny jerks back, eyes wide.

“Simon.” He reaches, but it’s too late. Simon is already stepping out of reach. An ocean of despair, sadness, rage tosses him in a turbulent wave, knocking him side to side, stealing his breath. Agony wails between his ears.

“Don’t touch me right now.” How could he do this? Betray you like this? When you’re vulnerable?

He knows why. His next words are a poison barb, aimed straight at the heart of the man he loves.

“You’re weak.”

“Si.” Johnny’s voice cracks, face soaked with tears. He calls his name again and again, but Simon hears nothing, broken vibrato bouncing off his back as he turns away, locking himself in the bedroom.

“So, you want to do this. For real.” You’re so skeptical. Still. A battle never won but fought every day. You chew on your lip, hesitance heavy in your eyes. “With me.”

“Aye, darling. With ye.” Johnny sucks a mark into your neck, hands roaming across your chest. You wriggle between them, uneasily laughing, huffing and pushing at him, still overstimulated and coming down from too many orgasms to count. They pushed you to the limit tonight, twisted you between them and bent you under their bodies, filled you at the same time. He can still feel the clench of your cunt around his cock, your warmth engulfing him, setting him aflame. “Is it so hard to believe?”

“Yes.” Your answer is immediate, and Johnny rolls his eyes. You glance at Simon.

He wants to rip away all your layers. Burrow between your heart and ribs. Remake you in an image of love, help you feel confident in their affection, their near obsession with you.

“We know it will take time.” He murmurs, stroking a hand across the back of your neck when you push up onto your elbows. “We know this is a lot, and it won’t be easy, but we can make it work. If you give us a chance.” Tears line your lashes. You try to look away, but he holds you steady, refusing to let you hide.

“I’m scared.” You whisper.

“I know.”

He thinks about calling you. What’s a phone call, in the face of such a boundary broken already? He wonders for a moment, if you’re okay, before his stomach tightens, realizing that Johnny left you there, alone.

Did you tell him to leave? Did he run home afterwards, worried? Did he hold you, make sure you’re okay, kiss you and tell you how much they love you?

He aches for violence. Wants to destroy this room, it’s walls, this place they tried to build around you.

The bed is too big now. The flat is empty. He feels the hollowness left in your wake everywhere, in the bathroom, missing your shampoo and toothbrush, the closet, lacking most of your clothes. The comforter has been replaced with a tired bedsheet and a blanket from the couch, a quarter of the pillows that are usually piled in the middle, missing.

It’s not his home. Not without you.

He eyes his phone.

He shouldn’t.

Why is he being punished, for doing the right thing? For listening to you, when you begged them to understand this is what you needed. Why is he the one in hell, when Johnny gets to drink his fill?

He doesn’t understand. How could he have gotten this so wrong?

Is this what you wanted all along? For them to come, pluck you from your escape back into their arms?

He looks at his phone again. The black screen taunts him, begs him, tells him it’s alright. It will be okay if he does it. If he breaks.

What kind of man is he, if he can’t respect what you need?

Johnny knocks on the door.

“Ye cannae shut me out.” It’s reminiscent of not too long ago, when Simon was on the other side of a different door, begging to see your face, dying to hear your voice.

“Johnny.” He croaks. His own cheeks are wet now, tears dripping down his jaw to his shirt.

“Simon, please.”

“I can’t see you right now.”

“I cannae let ye-“

“If you love me,” He raises his voice, not quite a shout, but something awful instead, a low pitch of anger. “You’ll leave me alone.” He can’t even look at him right now, can’t understand why he did this. Why he acted so callously, so selfishly. Simon hates himself, for thinking it, for allowing this anger to fester but he can’t feel anything else when he thinks about his sweet boy on the other side of that door, crying out for him. He’s so angry. He reaches for his phone. The impulse is too strong, the pain and want and the fear of not knowing if you’re okay eating away at him until he’s tapping your contact open.

The phone rings three times. On the fourth, the line clicks open, and he holds his breath.

“Simon?” You’re crying. It’s in your voice, thick with it, trembling across the connection with an intensity that could crack the earth.

“Darling.”

“It’s not ideal-“

“Not ideal? It’s… it’s about to be Christmas.” You take a ragged breath, and Simon’s heart aches. “You just got home.”

“Ah know love, but we cannae control when we’re needed. Ye know this.”

“We’ll try to be home before Christmas.” He has to stem this bleeding somehow, patch this wound. He wants to take you in his arms, bury his face in your hair and promise you a million things he knows he can’t.

“It’s fine.” It’s not. And neither are you. But you’re shoving it away, pushing it down where it will stay buried, building and building inside you like a storm, a wild thing that will drive you to the brink.

“Darling.” He tries to grab you, hold onto you, make you stay near him, where he can hold you, where he can try to fix it.

It’s not fair. None of it is. And never will be. Not for you.

“I’m fine.”

“We don’t want to be away from you, you know that.” You focus on the dishwasher, but your hands tremble, small tremors that signify an earthquake on the horizon.

“I know. It’s fine.”

“Darling.” You ignore him, focusing on the silverware draw, tugging on the handle. “Darling, please.”

Johnny flinches when it crashes to the floor. There’s agony in your face, pain and disappointment, and he hates himself for it, hates this job, hates this life they brought you into.

You break with a sob.

“Fuck! Fff-fuck. I’m so-sorry.” You try to turn away, to run, but he meets you, pulling you into his chest, reaching for the back of your neck with a steady hand. You’re crying so hard he’s worried you can’t breathe.

“It’s alright. You’re alright. We’re here.” For now. We’re here for now. He can’t give you much more, even though he’d give you both the world. You and Johnny, tucked away in secret, forever his. To hold. To love. “It’s okay, darling.” You cry and cry, sobs shaking your shoulders.

It’s not going to end on its own. And why should it? They’re the ones who do this to you. They are the ones who have to fix it.

Control it.

“Bedroom lights.” He directs Johnny with a glance.

“Rog.”

“The mess.” You whimper, and he shakes his head, still holding you firmly.

“We’ll clean it up later, darling. Let’s take care of you first.”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry I’m calling.” He’s spiraling. Unmoored. Uncontrolled.

“It’s… it’s okay.” You stifle a sob, and he wants to rip his hair from his roots.

“Are you okay? That’s all…” He pulls away from the phone to take a short breath, trying to breathe through his nose. “That’s all I needed to know, if you’re okay.”

“I’m…” You go quiet, and he doesn’t push. Doesn’t want to. He goes at your pace, letting you control everything now, just as he has been for this last month. “I’m not okay.”

His heart freezes in his chest.

“Did you call your therapist?”

“No.” You cry, and he pinches his brow.

“What do you need?” The pattern on the carpet is a dizzying spiral, swirls of brown and tan spinning around him, drawing him down until he’s sitting with his back against the bed. When you don’t speak, he tries, just a little, to pull it from you. “Tell me darling.”

Y-you. I need… you.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghost x reader x soap #simon riley #john mactavish #simon riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john mactavish x reader #ghost x soap #soap x reader

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gr1mstar · 3 months

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Timeless lover - part II

notes: this is a second part of an one shot i did a few days ago. i don’t think it will be a part III because my account is dying? i think i was reported once and from then my post don’t get much the attention anymore. how can i fix this?

contains: sukuna ryomen x f!reader, reincarnation, past lovers, curse words (not a lot of them), sfw, human sukuna (from that time when he was actually human), flashbacks, lovers to strangers, mentions of death, sick reader (in the past), sorcerer reader (present time), sukuna has sentiments?, sukuna is soft for reader, past sukuna looks kinda like itadori yuji, not the same tho, but very similar, mention of pills, slightly an au because sukuna will never be this nice, reader is older than yuji but sukuna is older? that makes sense?

check out the first part first if you didn’t already - here

“sukuna”

“sukuna. that’s my name, keep that in mind, doll” the man in front of you spoke, taking your chin in his big hands and forcing you to look him in the eyes.

‘what a shade of red…’ you thought, analyzing the irises that looked at you with almost hatred. ‘i despise red.’ you continued, continuing to look in his direction, seeing that he was not backing up.

“not afraid, i see. what a particular sight,” he muttered, finally leaving your chin alone. after some time, he took a few steps back, running his hand through his hair. “what are you exactly?”

“what do you mean?” you found yourself asking, now looking at the tree that stood tall beside you two.

“are you not afraid to die? people usually are scared of me, fearing that i would fight them and win, resulting in their death.” the man continued, taking a few steps just to be beside you.

thinking back, when you were younger you were afraid of death. it was a terrifying thought, but after all the bullshit you went through, you found yourself not having the exact same mentality.

your time was limited, death being the only thing you were certain it was coming for you. what did you have? nothing. so that’s why you set out to live your life to the fullest, or well… how much is left of it.

you were strong. stronger than others.

“no. only the weak are afraid.”

the familiar man that stood in front of you, one intimidating, now was a big puppy, his eyes showed emotions, emotions that a curse should never have. so what was different?

“my love, no time no see…” he stared, taking a few steps in your direction, his arms parting, beckoning you to come closer to him for a hug.

‘is he crazy? what happened to yuji?’ but you were never able to answer your question, because he interrupted your thoughts.

“didn't you miss me? i've been waiting for you for hundreds of years… love-”

“don’t. i am not such a thing.” now was your time to interrupt him, taking a step back. looking at your surroundings, you found megumi looking at you with shock, a light line of blood staining his face. “megumi,” you continued, addressing the back-haired boy, “run.”

“i think i will remember you always,” you confessed, looking at the man who stood behind you, a hand on your waist and the other in your hair.

looking at the sky, you could see the millions of stars smiling happily back at you. the night was peaceful, but you knew well that the following morning would not be.

“and you will never forget about the scolding you will receive tomorrow” he continued, placing a sweet kiss in your hair.

“maybe. but it was worth it. you deserve all my time”

“and you deserve all the world, my love.” was his response, closing his eyes and praying that you would be fine.

the stars were bright and you could not stop yourself from asking: ‘when i become a star too, i will shine this beautifully?’

“so. where is it?” the white-haired man asked, hands in his pocket and looking between me, megumi, and now-yuji-really-yuji.

there was a moment of silence, the sensei looking funnily at the three sorcerers. you found the silence ironic, so you tried to break it using a fake cough, but yuji beat you to it, speaking.

“i- i kinda ate that thing.”

another pause. now you were eyeing megumi, who looked somewhat constipated. it was true really, it was a very shitty moment-

“really?”

“yes, really. i am fine, kuna. you don’t need to worry, go to your mission, beat some ass, and came back to me for my cuddles, okay?” you tried to make a compromise, but the red-eye man that stood in front of you didn’t want to listen.

“i’m not going. the maid told me that you were feeling lightheaded all morning, i want to be with you-”

“but people would die if you’re not going, sukuna. i don’t want-”

“let them die fucking hell. who is more important?” he interrupted you, his angry face making you roll your eyes. he was a stubborn bitch when he wanted.

after a moment of silence, he started approaching you, taking your neck gently with his hand and making you look at him. “answer me. who is more important?”

you wanted to scream in his face that ‘the rest of the world is more important than me. who i am? a sick woman simping over a handsome man”, but you could not do that. it was going to make him more angry than he was already.

“me. i’m the important one.”

“good girl”

“so… what’s your relationship with sukuna? the king of curses, really?” the principal asked, looking from behind his glasses at you, with an eyebrow raised.

“i really don’t know. he looked at me… somewhat differently than the rest. i think he knew me from somewhere, but i don’t know.” was your response, signing and putting your head against the couch cushion.

“in any case, we must be careful. it's sukuna after all, we have to expect anything.” gojo responded, playing with his blindfold.

it was strange to see gojo wearing a blindfold reader than the glasses you were used to. the first time you saw him, you asked about it, his response making you feel bad for him.

at the same time, you could not resist asking him: “kinky much?”

“gojo is right. let’s be careful.” yoga spoke, and then continued. “now, what about yuji?”

“what about him? he would not be a part of the jujutsu high?” you found satoru asking, his now naked eye looking at yaga.

he looked so… intimidating without something covering his eyes.

“the elders want him killed.” the principal continued.

“no”

“what do you mean no?”

“i said no, kuna. meeting my parents would be a bad thing,” you said, looking at your pale hand. sukuna was playing with your fingers.

“but why?” he complained, looking like a kid who just got his candy stolen. “it could be a great opportunity to show them you are in good hands-”

“no, sukuna.” you interrupted him, taking a break from his attitude. “they would freak out and probably never allow me to meet you ever again.”

“i could kill them-” he started speaking, but you interrupted him harshly.

“absolutely not.”

“how are you feeling?”

“the same really. i mean it was pretty gross at the beginning but it went away.” yuji spoke happily, making his way to sit beside you on a bench.

the conversation you had a few minutes ago was still fresh, but you were glad that gojo was able to convince the higher-ups to not execute yuji.

“i’m glad you are okay, yuji. i heard you can control him too?”

“yes and no. i feel his presence in my mind, i can feel him too.”

“so you… you have any idea how he knows me?” you asked, a little bit of hope lingering in the air.

“not really. he always bothers me about you, but at the same time he doesn’t want to talk with you.”

“why you don’t wanna talk with me? kuna!”

you were met with silence. you could feel that he was annoyed, but somewhat you liked how he looked all… angry. he was sexy. the red eyes that stared at you a few minutes ago were now filled with jealousy, and the little crease on his forehead was just too cute to ignore.

“are you jealous?” you continued your question, tilting your head a little bit to the right to look at him better.

‘i would kill for this man’ you found yourself thinking, admiring his attractive features.

“no. i just don’t like the way he looks at you.” and then he continued, taking your head in his big hands, leaving a little kiss on the tip of the nose. “you are mine.”

“yours always.”

“he what?” you shouted, tightly clutching the phone to your ear as if it was ready to fly out of the blue.

“he ripped his heart out.” magumi answered again, then continued “you should come here, maybe say goodbye? i don’t really know.”

and so you did, and in a few minutes, you were at the jujutsu high, ready to see a poor boy who fell pray in the hands of a curse.

“you were with him?”

“yes.” the black-haired boy answered, immediately sighing. “i saw everything.”

“where was gojo?” you asked again, getting on your feet and ready to kick the white hair man’s ass.

“i don’t fucking know.”

seeing a dead person on the table was not something you were planning to see on your holiday in tokyo. yuji, now fully naked, was lying cold on the operating table. gojo just left the room to bring shoko to examine the boy, so you were all alone with a dead corpse and possibly a curse inside.

“sukuna…”

you were not sure what got into you, but somehow you found yourself talking with yuji and in the same time with sukuna.

“i know, you hate humans and shit. and i’m sorry i don’t remember you, or that i know you? i’m confused. i just… can i ask something?”

you sighed.

“can you bring yuji back? for me?”

a few minutes passed in silence. it was childish, really. thinking that ‘the king of curses’ would respond and listen to a human.

but it did. sukuna brought yuji back.

“happy birthday, princess.” started your lover, holding out a bouquet of wildflowers to you. it was not well done, some flowers were poorly placed and some even had some weeds next to them, but you appreciated the gesture.

“it’s so beautiful, kuna.” you responded, making your way to him for a kiss. “when did you have time to make thus?”

“i’ll always make time for you, you know that.” he responded, taking another sweet kiss from you. “nos, make a wish.”

“a wish?” you asked, “but didn't we need a cake for that? and candles?”

“just pretend, you know. we don’t have a cake right now, and it’s almost midnight. you show to make a wish.”

“okay, okay.” you laughed, taking the bouquet and hugging it.

‘i wish… to be with him forever’

“no! i can’t be with you. you are-”

“i’m what? last time we met, those weren’t your words, love.” the red-eyed man spoke, taking a few steps in your direction.

“it was all in the past. last time we met? that was a few weeks ago, sukuna. i don’t know you!” you shouted, keeping a fair share of distance. “i’m not your love anymore, so just give up, forget all about it.”

“i can’t do that. you know that, my love. i can’t”

“bring yuji back,” you commanded, looking at the man in front of you with despair.

he told you the truth. all your dreams and all your nightmares were just memories. memories from your past life, and so you lied to him that you didn’t remember anything, too afraid to tell the truth.

your life has just been turned upside down by a boy who ate your ex-boyfriend's finger. what a beautiful life you have, isn't it?

“kuna,” you asked, playing with your lover's hair.

“yes, princess?”

“i want you all to myself. i want to always be with you, together.”

“bring yuji back, you monster!”

“you are not a monster, kuna. you are a beautiful man, with a big heart. people just misunderstand you.”

“i hate you. i hate you, you broke me. because of you, i have insomnia, because of you i’m miserable. because of you, i used to think i’m crazy, you piece of shit”

“i love you. i will always love you. because of you, i smile more, because of you i feel alive again and because of you i will die at peace, knowing that you will be here when i wake up again, waiting for me.” you spoke gently, taking his rough hand in yours.

“promise me, kuna. promise me that you will find me in my next life, and we will be together again, even though i will not remember anything.”

“i’m not breaking my promise, princess.”

the photos were taken from pinterest

tags: @wr4inn @cyzvx @sunnshinie @guinevere666 @periodbloodmanipulator @esauritamaviva @uhnanix @shadowstar123

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tojjist · 3 months

Text

“At Least” S. Gojo

☆ genre: angst to fluff (kinda)

☆ pairings: Gojo Satoru x f! reader

☆ summary: After Geto left, nothing has been the same. Especially not your relationship with Gojo Satoru. Once you decide to move to Kyoto for good, Gojo is less than pleased. But fate does not seem to want to let you go.

☆ cw: mentions of sex, depressed gojo, not spoiler free, hopping between timelines but like i added non-canon events, smoking, drinking, getting drunk, high school Gojo being a high school boy, cussing, mentions of drunk sex but it doesn’t happen, mentions character death (from the anime), gojo satoru (yes that's a trigger warning).

☆ wc : 5.6k

☆ a/n: this has been in the doing for so long? I've been waiting to have the chance to upload it for maybe a year now smh. Also was originally written for an irl of mine lmao

“Oh my god,” you emphasize each word, pushing the wooden chair away with your knee. “Satoru, is it yours?”

His black pupils, lined with iris the color of morning skies, study your figure from behind the shaded glasses, pink lips quirking slightly upwards in approval of your attention.

“Nah, it's only staying with me for a week,” he stated, watching nervously as you strode over to him. “His owner is away for some business.”

Your attention remained fixed on the pet in Satoru's long, long arms. Your face lit up when a bark escaped the infant animal. “Can I hold it?”

Satoru watched over you carefully, pleading eyes coming in line with his blues. You make it hard to say anything other than an immediate yes, but he tries to stretch out the conversation to his best ability.

“It's 400 yen for 10 minutes,” he muttered, sarcasm dripping from his words. He earned a look of amusement from you; a small victory. He then braced himself for the next part. Satoru bent down, meeting you eye-to-eye, and noticed your breath catching in anticipation. “Or... you can shorten your skirt.”

Your face took no time to grow hot, not giving any verbal answer besides the blank expression you stare at him with. For a second, Gojo let himself think he's the victor of this little challenge he started in his head. But he soon came to realize how grave of a mistake he's made.

You're not flustered, you're angry.

“You're such a fucking pervert,” you fume, eyes glaring daggers. He dares not move, noticing the way your eyes flutter over his face.

“You're truly unbelievable,” the shorter male chuckled, making sure he didn't bump into Satoru's now-bruised arm. “What were you even thinking?”

“I thought it was funny, y'know?” He huffed in response. Gojo's fingers ran through his own bright locks as he took a seat on the wood hung up by metal chains. "Besides, has she always been this strong? Physically, I mean."

Geto stared into the reddish sky of dusk, placing himself into a swing in turn and kicking the air so the swing would start moving. "I don't know. Girls are really full of surprises.”

He never thought, not in a million years, things would come to this. Ever since Gojo's last encounter with Geto after he, well, changed... Gojo became unable to face anyone quite the same way he did before.

How did he get here? How did things escalate to this? Thinking about it, Geto had shown signs of a change in his heart and mind. It was Satoru's fault, was it not? He should have done better. He should have noticed. How could he not have? wasn't he the strongest? Wasn't that his job? How could he be so bad at everything?

How could he fail everyone like this?

“Gojo-San?”

Your feminine voice cut his train of thought. He almost forgot the situation he is now stuck in. He's been doing that a lot: losing himself in thought, mind almost immune to the outer world until he temporarily lost his sense of self. Nothing felt quite the same any more. It was like the world had lost its color.

“Sorry- What's up?” He turned to you. Gojo-san, you called him. When did you stop using his given name? What's with the '-san'? Gojo hadn't realized that losing one person was the first step, and now he found himself deep in the road of losing everyone.

And now he's stuck in the elevator with the girl he had liked for so long. He couldn't find it in himself to say anything to you, to push your buttons like he always did or joke around. When did the world become so heavy? He does not know.

“Are you okay? You seemed off.”

Your face is devoid of any genuine emotion, seemingly expressionless. But your voice is laced with concern. Gojo could only guess you didn't want him thinking you pity him or anything of such. But if that isn't the case, he wouldn't know. He's too tired to bother thinking about it.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm fine,” he smiled in assurance, “Just bothered by, well, this-” he threw his hand in the way of the control panel. The elevator doors have been stuck for almost twenty minutes now. How pleasant.

“uh huh,” you sigh, turning back around. How did you turn so cold?

When the silence stretches, you start a conversation, hesitant at first. “By the way, I got accepted as a helper in a nursery in Kyoto,” you mutter, gaze avoiding his own. “they're expecting me to start work right after spring break.”

Spring break?

Holy shit. It hit him like a truck. That’s barely a week and a half from now.

“Spring break? Why so soon?”

“That’s when the students file back in,” you mumble, fiddling with the watch placed around your wrist. You pause to read the time, then turn to meet his eyes. “I’m leaving in four days to get settled.”

“Oh…” His breath caught, “Train?”

What a stupid question. He knows. Satoru has never been unintelligent, especially in conversing. But now his unintelligence shines through as if it’s his only trait. He’s glad you don’t question it.

“Yeah, I have no other form of transport really.”

“Well, uh…” He hates himself. He hates himself for not doing anything. He hates himself for being so weak and cowardly, for being unable to keep his friends around him, for shutting everyone he holds close out. But now, he especially hates himself for being unable to feel happy for you, or to congratulate you on the opportunity, “come visit us every once in a while, yeah?”

Your mouth remains shut, only staring at the tall man before your eyes. The silence stretches between the two of you once again, and you don’t find it in you to speak of how you feel.

“You.. you know you could have died, right? We all could have b-but you…” You trail off, thoughts splattered like a spilled pot of ink. Although you seemed unfazed, in your mind you were anything but. Haibara, Riko, and all the losses that trailed and every event that followed has been stressful and nerve-wrecking. And even in the quietness and silence of the general atmosphere, it has been nearly impossible to find peace within yourself.

“Well, I didn’t. What happened had passed. Can you change that? I doubt so. No point in ‘if’ and ‘could’ve’.”

Before you could respond,the lights flickered back on. You grow unsure if you’ve struck a nerve, but that wasn’t what you meant. Gojo’s response had nothing to do with what you said, you were sure he knew exactly what your words were meant for. Why is he so scared of confronting it?

You don’t know. You could never hope to know because you and Gojo Satoru live in different worlds, the man who was only Satoru some time ago. You were worlds apart, yet Satoru loved to play pretend that he lived in the same world as you, even when he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he was no longer. Ever since Geto left… it’s safe to say everyone has been changing slowly, deforming from their previous lives and personalities. But Satoru flipped, like the head and tail of a coin, he got himself a new face. He turned into Gojo Satoru; the strongest. A soul unalive. A broken boy in an ever growing body. A stranger.

Two days later you find yourself still roaming the campus , searching so desperately for something. Anything. A reason to stay, perhaps? You don’t find it anyway. You have no attachment as this place holds nothing but misery. Or that’s what you told yourself over and over as you packed your things.

Your steps were graceful, walking so cautiously as if careful to not wake someone up. Your fingers find rest on the old, dusty door frame, pushing yourself into the room that hadn’t been used for a good month or so. The classroom looked the same as it always did. Except for the shadow that loomed over it; a gray shade that sent chills down your spine. Or maybe it’s just your imagination.

Then you spot something rather out of place. You’re sure you’ve never seen it before and although you know it’s none of your business, the way it tugs at the strings of your curiosity is undeniable.

It’s red, poking out of what you’re sure is Gojo’s desk. The gloomy classroom was no fit for paper with a color so vibrant.

Your heart skips a beat when you glimpse the seat next to Satoru’s. You do your best to avoid looking at Geto’s desk any further. You busy yourself with the task at hand, reaching out for the mysterious paper hidden in the wooden desk. Shivers run up your arm at the texture of the scrunched paper.

You attempt to straighten it to your best ability, strained by his hard work of crumbling it with obvious frustration. you can barely make out the letters of your name in the middle of the paper, outlined by a messy circle. How Gojo of him. A few lines stick out of the ‘circle’, one of them has the name of a steakhouse somewhere in Tokyo. Another has a date, reading somewhere along February. It’s near impossible to make out what the small combination of letters say, especially when Satoru’s handwriting is closer to symbols than a comprehensible language.

The thought of it was so funny it didn’t feel like him at all. Satoru never planned anything. Every breath he took was based on pure impulse. Never would it have occurred to you that he thinks through things, let alone brainstorm.

The thought makes you smile. But the realization that he never asked you out because he changed his mind or everything that happened getting in his way makes your stomach churn unpleasantly.

You decide it’s probably for the best to never bring it up. It would only make matters worse for both of you. Life ran its course; who are you to try and change it?

“I apologize, but my answer remains. I refuse to take part in this,” you spoke in an even tone. “I have a job and a life away from jujutsu. I’ve made it clear sorcery is not a part of my life anymore.”

"That’s completely understandable,” the old man argued, his voice hoarse with age. You’re pretty sure you hear anger further straining his voice, “but your technique is quite strong. That strength could be of great assistance if put to use.”

“Thank you, sir,” you dip your head, maintaining eye contact with the decaying man. “But I truly apologize. The decision is final.”

“If you ever do change your mind, please let us know. We’d be more than happy to hear it.”

You almost let a sigh of relief escape. Finally he gave up. You end up only nodding your head in response gratefully, retreating from the old man. As soon as you're safe and out of sight, you let your posture drop, eyes rolling back in annoyance. These guys are truly as relentless as ever.

You stopped upon a familiar scent catching in your nostrils. Lifting your head up, your eyes roam around, scanning the room for your friend.

“You look troubled,” Shoko approaches you, taking the cigarette out from between her teeth. “What’s with the face?”

“How is that man even alive,” you look at her, “he’s ancient.”

Your comment earns a light chuckle from the brunette. “I’m glad I never have to get caught up in this bullshit.”

“Blissed aren’t you,” you roll your eyes as you speak. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place, I knew they were going to do this.”

“It’s alright, you’re all done now. Here-” Your friend then lifts the cigarette up, putting it near your mouth. When you don’t show any resistance she, being the bad influence she has always been, proceeds to place it between your lips. You waste no time, making quick work of the drag you inhale, bringing the familiar cloud of toxic chemicals and tobacco into your lungs. Your expression relaxes, shifting into one of relief. Shoko scoffs playfully, muttering that you’re dramatic under her breath before she pulls her cigarette from you, taking in a drag.

“Satoru’s here, by the way,” Shoko didn’t need to look at you to guess the way your eyes snap towards her. She bites back a smile. “He’s calmed down. He’d even seem the same as long as you don’t squint too hard.”

“Good for him,” you mutter, trying to seem as unbothered and nonchalant as your accelerating heart rate would allow. You avoid looking at Shoko, trying to seem disinterested. You know she’d pretend you weren’t gawking at her the second she said his name.

“He’s trying, you know. He’s just as nervous as you are.”

“‘M not nervous,” you scoff, “For god’s sake. It’s been ten years already.”

Satoru is stressed. He's nervous, as Shoko put it. He’d spent so long trying to ignore the past, pretend the past wasn’t at all. He couldn’t confront it. He didn’t want to. Satoru knows what he’s done, he's aware that he hurt you the last time you two had interacted. And that was ten years ago. He even let you leave without so much as a goodbye. How could he look you in the eye and pretend nothing has ever happened?

Gojo didn’t want to face the consequences of what he’s done. More so what he hasn’t. So many things were left unsaid in the elevator that day. They’ve been hanging over Satoru ever since, weighing his heart down and wearing it out.

What if he’s met by another woman? Ten years change a lot as is. What if the eyes that meet his aren’t yours? What if he finds himself talking to a stranger that carries around your name and features? Of all the horrors Gojo Satoru had faced in his life, nothing caused dread to pool in the pit of his stomach like this thought does.

Shoko seems to find something beyond you interesting. You don’t bother to turn to see as the brunette has always been a little in her own head. She’s probably just dozed off.

“Hey, think you can hold this for me?” Shoko muttered once Gojo crossed her sight. She stands facing you, averting his gaze. “I’ll be right back, nature’s calling.”

From his distance, Gojo couldn’t make out what the two of you were saying. He watched as your shoulders shook, presumably in laughter. Shoko then made her away from you, barely sparing Satoru a glance.

Every step he took felt heavy, weights landing on his shoulders as he moved towards you. He watched smoke emerge from over your head. He didn’t know you smoked. And even though he’s not completely sure what you do for a living now, he’s not expecting any nursery to accept a smoker in their team.

His long strides finally arrived, opting to remain a step behind you. Close enough to make his presence known.

The aura was unmistakable, almost as if it could be physically sensed. You freeze in place, the cigarette remaining a few inches from your lips. Even after he changed his perfume to one a lot more manly and appealing, and clearly grew taller judging by the shadow he cast over you, his presence still had the same strength as it did before. If not stronger. Anyone else would say it’s intimidating. But you find surprising comfort in it.

“That’s going to kill you,” his hand reached from over your head, making sure to not cause any unnecessary physical contact. His fingers slip the burning cigarette from your grip. You find yourself unable to make a single move in response, only watching his actions unfold.

He took a step, moving closer, dimming the light from the roll by rubbing it against the metal bars, then throwing it off the balcony. “You’re too young to kill yourself like that.”

“That bitch Shoko set me up,” You hiss, regaining your composure. “Will you look who showed up. You’re killing the ecosystem by throwing waste like this, Gojo.”

Although you haven’t glanced his way yet, You were every bit sure his mouth was quirked in the same smug smirk he wore so much when you were younger. You could even hear it in his voice as he spoke, “You haven’t grown at all, have you?”

“Oh shut it,” you chuckle. “You’re still as immature as ever. How you could be a manchild at 27 is a wonder to me.”

27… It felt so weird to say it out loud. Weren’t you just 17 a few days ago?

“Oh, how you hurt me,” he says in exaggeration, his voice conveying anything but the hurt he claims to feel. “That isn’t very nice of you.”

“That’s rich coming from you,” You say. He laughs a little, you do too. But the silence that follows is not that of a joke. He knew what you’re referring to. Maybe he underestimated your last encounter’s effect on you.

The silence speaks for itself. It’s louder than any conversation you’ve had before. What now? What have we become? Is it of any use to try anymore? Neither of you had an answer to the question that began to surface with this interaction.

The questions remain hung in the air, dimming the atmosphere around you. Was this fate’s doing? Or his karma? Gojo has always been told he’s a god, but how could he be a higher form of life when he struggled so much to hold a conversation?

He’s about to speak again when you cut him off, muttering “here-” as you push your hand down the coat you wore. Your tongue pokes at the inside of your cheek as you search for the anonymous object.

You pull out a worn out paper, grown from what could have been a bright red to an orangish shade. His eyes study as you shove the paper in his direction, eyes avoiding his gaze at all costs.

Seeing your bashful expression made him rather curious, the contents of the wrinkled paper piquing his interest. He hesitates before he pulls the paper from your hand, half-expecting you to bite him.

The letters were scribbles, almost like they’re straight out of some cult’s ritual, that with the wrinkles of the worn out paper making reading it next to impossible. Still, he could make out just enough to realize what this paper is. His eyes widened behind the blindfold. It didn’t take much to remember this paper, trivial as it may be.

“You found this- how did you even…?” he trails off, confused.

“I guess I did,” You confirm. He’s unsure if you’re proud of yourself for your rather… interesting discovery. It’s bold of you to pull this out ten whole years later. But he can’t deny the relief he feels that at least this means you don’t completely hate him. For once, he’s truly at loss for words.

But he wouldn’t let a perfect opportunity like this slide.

“Oh, so you’re in love with me? You’re so obsessed with me that you kept this for so many years, what a loyal fangirl.”

Before he knew it, a weight so crushing landed on his foot. He turned off his infinity around you as a sign of trust. But he soon came to regret his rather unsmart decision. Your foot stomped and crushed his toes. It makes him groan in pain, bending slightly forward.

“Tomorrow, at Narisawa in Minato city, 5:30. I’m leaving for Kyoto in 3 days. Don’t waste your chance again, Gojo Satoru. You’re not getting another one.”

“I take it you’ve been in love with me ever since?” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Say, did you fascinate about me?”

“Hmm..” you hum softly at his childish question, “only a little.” You show no signs of interest in his tactics as you sipped the wine in your hand. Undeniably, Gojo is taken aback by your lack of reaction. He hasn’t known you to be so reserved and smart at keeping him on edge. He couldn’t help finding your new behavior enticing.

Is there anything else you’d like to have?” You nodded your head towards the plates sitting on the table, some empty and some half-full. “Or do you wanna do something else before I go back to the hotel?”

“Hmm? Maybe I could join you at the hotel, actually. Surely it’ll be a lot less lonely with me around?”

You’re tempted by his offer, feeling the heat pooling in your stomach. He looked strikingly handsome today. Maybe you were just really lonely and touch starved, or maybe it’s the way his lips quirk as he teases you that makes your brain a little hazy, inappropriate thoughts floating through it and send jolts to your core. Yet, you set your mind on refusing his advances. You haven’t had a decent conversation since high school, for god's sake.

He keeps his eyes set on you, shining before him. You looked glamorous. He’d lie if he said there wasn’t a certain allure to your matured looks. The years that flew by changed a lot of things about you two, but his breath still catches in his throat when your eyes meet his dreamy blues. The feelings rush back, memories clouding his train of thought.

He’s sure he’s going to pay. He didn’t mind it at all, what a small price for getting to spend an evening with you. But you surprise him when you bring up that you had already put your card down, courtesy of having been the one to ask him out. Or maybe this was your way of telling him that you are in pretty good condition, living perfectly well without needing sorcery.

“How’s working as a jujutsu teacher?” you quip, smiling softly. “Utahime says you’ve got some interesting kids in your pack? Two special grades, too. You’re sure a favorite attraction for wonders.”

“You’re still in contact with her too?” he dodges talking about his students, not meeting your gaze. “That’s ironic. Weren’t we friends too?”

A hoarse chuckle emerges from him. But nothing about it leads back to amusement, as it was a joyless sound devoid of life. Almost as if he were mocking you. The dark lenses of the shades sitting on the bridge of his nose served as a shield. He curses himself for being so weak. He's almost thirty but somehow you’ve got him acting like he did when he was 17.

“You didn’t try to contact me either,” you shrug, not willing to take the blame for your lack of contact.

“You could have visited then. Even Yaga talked about you every once in a while,” he isn’t too happy and it’s showing.

“All good things, I hope-“

“Don’t change the subject,” he frowns, an uneasy edge outlining his words. “He was enough. You didn’t have to go ahead and leave too.”

“I had to move on, Gojo,” the name felt like a jab every time you used it. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. This is how you drew your boundaries. Calling them by their last names gives you a false sense of satisfaction, convincing yourself that your sorcerer friends are past figures now. Mere acquaintances.

“-I couldn’t remain hung there forever, I valued my mental health. You grew distant, the atmosphere was growing uneasy every day. I had to cut ties with Jujutsu before I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.”

“Yet you’re here now. Back to square one,” his playful tone was long gone, now replaced by an even, stern one. “Whether you moved away or called us by our last names. It’s a curse you can’t escape. you’ll always end up back in the palms or jujutsu.”

His words held some truth. You know that. But just as he refused to confront this past, you repulsed the idea of your reality. You truly want to believe that you could escape this part of yourself and live a normal life. You couldn’t come to terms with your inability. You held onto your hopes as if your sanity completely depended on it. Another thing that won’t change no matter how much you grew.

“I'll be okay as long as I refuse to interact with this world.”

Once you leave the restaurant, you find yourself wandering through the rich streets of Minato city. It felt as though the night was pulling you further into its welcoming embrace, with nothing rushing you.

“He was only thirteen,” you chuckle, arm linked in his. “It’s unbelievable how bold kids nowadays are.”

“I would’ve done the same thing, honestly,” he smirks, his gaze fixed on the stores around.

“Of course. You’ve got the brains of a thirteen year old.”

Satoru grins at your remark, pulling you into a clothes store.

“What’s this?” you look around in confusion, noting a woman in a suit welcoming you. The place looked a little too fancy, judging by the display of the items and the lighting of the place.

“It’s a western brand,” Satoru answers. Looking over at him, you can’t help but smile a little. He looks good tonight. His fancy outfit gave the impression that he’s a model to strangers. “Louis Vuitton, I think,” He furrows his brows, trying to remember the name of the brand stores he’s been to with Nobara and Shoko.

“Prada, sir,” The lady in a suit corrected him. “Can I help you?”

“We’re just browsing, thank you.” It’s a phrase he heard from Kugisaki countless times whenever they wandered into a store. His response makes you chuckle, watching as the lady takes a few steps backwards politely.

You’re soon comfortable, searching through the expensive coats and bags. Satoru watched tenderly. Even though the ten years that passed with no contact whatsoever definitely propose a wall between you, he's glad you're able to feel free. You might nit on the same page, but you two can work with what you have.

You stride back to the “S” shaped velvet couch sat in the middle of the checker-carpet store, where Satoru sat. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You walk around in hesitance and confusion, completely aware of the lady walking always a few feet behind you. Surveillance, you guess.

You find him standing in front of the white counter, taking a black bag with the brand’s name printed onto it in golden letters from the man standing behind the counter in a white shirt with the brand's logo on it.

“Gojo,” you call him, confusion fused into your expression.

He extends his arm to you, trying to suppress any sourness at you calling him Gojo. “Let’s go?”

You nod, eyeing him suspiciously before you link your arm in his. You make sure to flash a grateful smile at the woman by the door as you walk past the reflective glass door.

You almost forgot how busy the world outside is. It felt as though the glass building of the store was sound proof. Now you have to adjust to the noise of the full streets again.

Satoru remains silent for the most part. It’s not awkward, rather just neither of you knew what to say. He expected you to ask about what he bought, which you have considered. You decide against it though as you feel it’s none of your business. You’re not too surprised anyway as Gojo has always been a wealthy man. He could buy the entire Prada chain with half of his monthly spending.

“What do you wanna do now?” He asks. “Wanna go somewhere else?”

You think about going to the club to give the night the best closure. But neither of you were dressed for it anyway. You contemplate your choices. Then you grin at him, and Satoru knows it’s best to fear what comes after

You’re well aware that he has a high alcohol tolerance. While you would be wasted a few shots in. Yet you consumed so many drinks recklessly, thinking that maybe you could beat him in a drinking game.

That’s why he’s stuck to your side now, helping your sleeping body out of his car. Satoru is glad your hotel card was so easy to find in your purse, taking it out as he gets into the lobby.

A few people eye the man, glaring at him and at the way he held you in his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to think too much about it. His mission is to get you to bed now.

“Satoruuu~” You whine, rubbing your face into the pillow once he sat you on the white bedding. “Stay with meeee”

And Satoru is nothing if not human. Despite what everyone else says. It’s proven now that he had come to face a human flaw like this. He is weak, and you are all but practically seducing him.

“Stop crying,” He mutters. He finds himself smiling sheepishly at the unlikely scenario he found himself in. Tucking you in bed, your face hot due to the drinks you had. He really should have stopped you. “I’ll stay the night, so sleep already.”

He convinced himself it’s for the best. He should watch over you for tonight. No funny business. Deep inside he knew he was just finding a reason— any reason to stay around you for a little longer, heart yearning for the lost years. But he ignored the pathetic feeling, convincing himself it’s for your sake instead.

“But I’m uncomfortableee,” you whine again, hands running down your body. “The dress...”

Did you have to make it so hard on him? Satoru is tempted to kiss you, eyebrows knitted in the space between, eyes looking around the room for any sort of aid.

This is probably a form of invading your privacy, but he sees no other choice. He’ll have to hold it together for tonight.

“nngh..”

Your groan came with an impending headache. Your body moves against the rich covers of the bed, sunlight illuminating your physique.

He stopped in his tracks, feet bare against the gray carpet.

Your form is beautiful, one to compete with statues of goddesses. The rays of light complimented every inch of skin in all the right ways. Satoru had to physically shake his head to stop the flowing perverted thoughts in his head.

Your flinch when you catch him standing near the door, heart beating slightly faster. You thought that you’re alone. You don’t think much of it anyway, muttering a “holy shit” under your breath.

“Good morning,” he casually greets, brushing off the mutual shock, albeit for different reasons. “I made coffee, if you wanted some.”

“Oh... thank you,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes as you sit up straight. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Not yet, no,” he says, holding his overly sweet coffee in both palms. “Thought I’d wait until you woke up.”

“You’re a real sweetheart, Satoru,” you yawn. His name slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You busy yourself with stretching your arms. “What a doting housewife God has blessed me with”

His response is only a chuckle, rolling his eyes as he sighs on the edge of the bed. “Well, at least I wasn’t begging a man to spend the night with me”

“Huh?”

You couldn’t remember anything of the prior night. Nothing that occurred after you sat at the bar, specifically. But then you begin to realize, eyes widening at the revelation. You feel dreadfulness landing in the pit of your stomach a little too late.

He’s shirtless, wearing only his suit pants. And even though you wouldn’t mind the sight any other day, the fact that you are in your pajamas isn’t helping at all.

“Did we...” You trail off, expression darkening. Your eyes meet his own, fear implanted in your pupils. You watch as his expression drifts from confusion to an awkward hesitance. Unsure how to break the news to you.

You don’t know what to expect, not realizing you’re holding your breath.

“I-I’m sorry,” He sighs, gaze faltering as his eyes look away from you. Your eyes widen further, oxygen becoming hard to consume.

What have you done?

“But- don’t worry. You know I’m not some asshole...” if anything, he sounded chivalrous. “I-I’ll be accountable for my mistake. When do you want to hold the wedding?”

You gasp, face feeling hot. “You piece of shit-“ You groan as your foot reaches him, forcefully pushing him off the bed. “As if!”

He breaks into a fit of laughter, the sound full of genuine delight. “I can’t believe you fell for it,” He manages between the laughter.

“Fuck you, Satoru,” you mutter, a smile of relief breaking across your face. “I can’t believe you pulled something so childish.”

“Why are you so down?” He climbed back onto the bed, reclaiming his spot on the edge. “Are you disappointed? You know it’s never too late to just as-“

“Fuck off,” Your heart is pounding as you send him another kick, less forceful this time. “Say one more word about it and I’ll make sure you don’t make it out of this room in one piece.”

He laughs, asking you to pass his coffee. You reach for his coffee from the bedside table. Your fingers lift the glass mug to your lips, sipping at the hot beverage before handing it to him.

Your face scrunches up at the horrible taste. Too much sugar. Too much milk. It’s a lot worse than you might think.

“Your coffee should be criminal,” you push the mug his way, frowning. Satoru hums in response.

There’s no awkwardness between the two of you, and he can’t help but cherish it. He feels content, enough to sit a little closer, at least.

Enough to lean in towards you, mouth closing over yours in an ever awaited kiss, at least.

539 notes · View notes

signedkoko · 4 months

Note

Hello! I just found your blog and oh my god I’m obsessed and I’ve read everything

Can I request some fluffy lucifer and Lilith x fem reader who’s really sweet and ultra feminine? Like 9/10 she’s always wearing a dress or a skirt long or short doesn’t matter, loves doing her makeup and doing her hair? and puts hella effort into her appearance on the daily not for her husband and wife but just for herself and because she can?

Lucifer X Reader X Lilith [Comfort]

In which you're as feminine as they come, and both Lucifer and Lilith adore that trait in you.

Lilith likes having you around, because since Charlie grew up theres been a bit of a hole of girl time in her schedule

Being able to give you advice and go to only the best spas in hell, leaving Lucifer behind to enjoy some company time

One of the best parts is when you do her makeup, she always does yours because she was trained from her dancer days, but when you do hers its so gentle

Telling her the purpose of each tool even if she's heard it a million times, each colour and shade, and the small peck you give her when you're done

Lilith is especially amazing with hair, and after helping you doll yourself up for the day its nice to get a good thirty minutes in just stroking through your well maintained hair and decide what'd frame your outfit best

Sometimes when she does your lipstick, she puts it on her and kisses it onto you to give it what she calls 'a faded makeout session look'

Well, it looks good, so who are you to complain

On the other hand, Lucifer is big on fashion and always makes sure he looks like he is making a statement, so he always bring syou back clothes which he has a tailor fix to your exact curve

He always tries to match with you but Lilith tells him off because she doesnt want you to match whatever santa clause aesthetic he has going on

The public loves you, marked as the newest and hottest addition tot heir relationship, which they encourage and tell you about

Lilith will bring you to her magazine shoots and insist only you can style her makeup and hair, though unfortunately they always draw the line at clothes

She thinks you'd dress her better than whatever they do

Charlie is also happy you wormed your way into their hearts, because you are a lot less intensive than her biological parents, and she appreciates how much you visit her

When you suggest Charlie join you and Lilith for some getaways, they both love the idea, so now you get some mothers to daughter time

Author's Note - Back to writing I am actually writing from the airport atm because I am heading back home for christmas! I will have a ton of time to write during that time, since I have now wrapped up my exams. Lucky me! I am 3 pina coladas in and ready for takeoff 🛫

Ayyways, thank you for requesting these two, I actually love poly with them so much and there is not enough of it out there (I would know, I read it all), so I hope I met your expectations 🖤

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #lilith #lilith x reader #lucifer #lucifer x reader

583 notes · View notes

stylesloveclub · 1 year

Text

Pleasing (grumpy h blurb)

In which Harry's acting kinda grumpy, and y/n helps him... destress. :)

+++

Harry’s hand slams onto his phone, muting the blaring chimes of his 6 AM alarm. His head hurts and his eyes are heavy, and the thought of having to get out of bed, get dressed, and go to a business meeting when it’s still dark outside makes his feel physically ill.

He’s tired… beyond tired. Last night had been another one of his annual “In-Chef nights.” He’d been up on his feet, cooking meal after meal from 6 PM all the way until midnight, and had then spent an additional two hours with his staff cleaning up. He’d driven home in the cold rain, and didn’t even have enough energy to change into his pajamas when he got home. He just stripped down to his briefs, and collapsed into his bed.

Running on barely four hours of sleep, he’s feeling cranky and miserable and irritable. The sound of his alarm has been nagging at him through three snooze cycles, and he knows if he stays in bed any longer, he’s going to be running late.

He forces himself to blink his eyes open. He feels gross and sluggish, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles, and letting out a loud groan. The early morning meeting he has today isn’t even one that he’s excited for… he hates the constructors that are helping him open a new Pleasing location in New York. They’re bad communicators, and always make mistakes in the plans that they’ve made. Harry’s a very particular man, he’s picky about the way his food is cooked, a neat freak in his home, and has an organized schedule that he never strays from. So working with these incompetent people, who somehow always manage to royally fuck something up… god it really gets Harry frustrated.

He yanks the blanket off of himself and swings his legs over the side of the bed. His feet meet the floor, and it’s ice cold. Great.

This is just fucking great.

+++

“Jesus fucking christ.”

Harry takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes to calm himself. It doesn’t work. His nostrils are flaring and his eyes have turned a dark, angry shade of green. “I fuckin’ said last week that I wanted gas stoves. So why is there an order for six electric stove tops?”

Ian, the contractor, fumbles in front of Mr. Styles, cheeks turning red. “Uh-um, t-the installation of the electric stoves was cheaper.”

“What did I explicitly ask for,” Harry seethes.

“Err– t-the gas–”

“So what in your right mind made you think that I’d be okay with this?”

“I– well, sir, we just wanted to go with the option that was more affordable–”

“Do you think I give a fuck which one is cheaper?” Harry yells. “For fuck’s sake, I’m running a multi-million business!” He slams the papers he’d been holding onto the desk in front of him and stands up angrily, his chair scratching loudly against the hardwood floors. “Get this fixed, today,” he says before storming out of the conference room and slamming the door behind him.

He locks himself into his office, and sits in his chair, rubbing his red-veined eyes. He’s too tired to have to deal with all this shit today. How hard is it for people to follow instructions? His life would be so much easier if everyone else didn’t fuck up so much.

He sits there for a few minutes with his head in his hands, fingers still rubbing at his eyes to try and soothe away the burning feeling he feels every time he opens them. His head is starting to hurt, a pounding migraine so intense that he can feel his heartbeat in his ears, and his stomach hurts. All he had to eat today was a black coffee before he went into that horrific meeting five hours ago.

Yes, the one hour meeting they had planned had ended up taking five hours instead. He literally had to clear his schedule to fix all the fucking mistakes that they were making. They’d chosen the wrong tiles for the floor, ordered the wrong stove tops for the kitchen, and had designed all of the countertops to be one inch too low… it literally pained him to be working with such incompetent designers.

And now he was behind on his work.

He lets out a tired sigh and turns on his desktop, opening his emails. The bright screen makes his eyes sting, and he has to squint to read the tiny word on the screen. He scrambles around in his drawers and finds his reading glasses, but still, the words blur together and make his head hurt. He bares with the pain, and spends an hour or so responding to emails and filling out paperwork, until there’s a knock at his door.

“What is it?” he calls out a bit snappily, not looking up from his paperwork.

He hears the door jiggle, trying to open but struggling against the lock. “It’s me, Mr. Styles!”

Immediately, he puts his pen down and unlocks the door for his sweet y/n to come in. She’s holding a plate of food for him, and looks up at him with her pretty smile, cheeks warm and dimpled with kindness.

“Hey puppy,” he murmurs, surprised. She hadn’t come in for the majority of this week because she had finals. In fact, she just had her physics final just this morning.

“Hi!” she says enthusiastically, entering his office. “Teddy told me that you’ve been here since 8, n’that you haven’t eaten anything all day.” She looks up at him with her adorable bambi eyes, “How come you’re allowed to scold me for not eating enough at work when you’re skipping meals too?”

He smiles lightly, “you’re right puppy, that’s hypocritical of me.”

“Very hypocritical,” she nods resolutely. “So, I brought you some food! I had Teddy make it, ‘cos I know he’s your favorite.”

His stomach growls at the sight of the fettuccini alfredo in front of him. He’s starving but he’d been way too caught up in his work to think about getting up to get himself any food. “Thank you,” he says, taking the plate from her and picking up her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

“It smells yummy, so I want some too,” she says, sitting down on the chair behind his desk. “But we gotta eat it quick, ‘cos I’m supposed to get back out there in five minutes.”

“Thought you weren’t meant to come in today?” he says, sitting down next to her.

“I wasn’t scheduled,” she says, shoving a forkful of the pasta into her mouth, “but then Grace texted me asking if I could cover for her. She got the flu.”

Harry hums, grabbing a tissue from his desk, and wipes off the little bit of white sauce clinging onto y/n’s lips, her mouth full of deliciously creamy and garlicky pasta. “How were your exams?”

She rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Don’t talk about it. So hard, but everyone else said it was super hard too, so hopefully there’s a fat curve.” She claps her hands excitedly, “But at least I’m done! No more school for the rest of the month!!!”

Despite his initial grumpy mood, he can’t help the smile that graces his face. His girlfriend is literally the cutest thing in the world, especially when she gets all giddy and excited like this. She’d been really stressed out and MIA all week because of her exams, so it’s refreshing to see his lively and happy y/n again.

“So proud of you puppy,” he says, cupping her cheek and giving her a kiss.

She twirls a forkful of pasta for Harry and feeds it to him. “Are we gonna hang out tonight?” she asks.

“Of course. Need t’cuddle tonight, you’ve been so busy I feel neglected.” Just sitting with y/n for a few minutes has already calmed Harry down, the stress in his body fizzling away.

She giggles cutely. “Okay baby. We can spend alllll night together.”

+++

The ache in his stomach fades away after finishing the pasta that y/n brought for him, and after popping an advil, he feels his headache start to slowly go away as well. He’d gotten an email that the electric stove tops had been returned and that an order for the gas ones had been put in, so he’s feeling more relaxed about that as well.

He lounges around in his office until y/n is done with her shift, and they sneak out the back exit to head home together. He’s got a one hand feel on the steering wheel, the other on her thigh, and he’s feeling much better than he was this morning when he’d been all grumpy and stressed out.

When they get to a stop light, his phone rings. He thinks nothing of it when he picks up, not even looking at the caller id. “Hello?” he answers casually.

“Er– Hi, Mr. Styles.”

Harry rolls his eyes. It’s Ian on the phone. “What’s going on?” he says tersely.

“Um… so we figured out the stove issue, which is great…”

The light turns green. “Okay…?” Harry says, slightly annoyed.

“So… well– the stove company said that the shipment is gonna take a few weeks, which is gonna put the construction schedule behind since we can’t install the countertops until we put the stoves in, which means…” Harry sighs in disappointment, already knowing what’s coming. “Well, it means that the restaurant might not be ready for the opening date that we’d set.”

“Ian,” Harry’s knuckles are turning white around the steering wheel, and he’s using every cell in his body to keep his voice steady so that he doesn’t start yelling in front of y/n. “When I signed that contract with you, didn’t we agree it would be done in three months?”

“I– yes, it’s really unfortunate–” Ian stammers, but Harry cuts him off.

“I don’t want to hear fuckin’ excuses,” Harry bites. “We signed a contract.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to tell you,” Ian says casually.

“How about we start with the fact that this issue could’ve been completely avoided had you simply followed the plan that we had agreed upon?” Harry’s voice is steadily rising, an angry fire to his tone. “Or how much money you’ve already cost me from all the mistakes you’ve made? I signed a contract and I expect the deadline to be met. It’s far too late to push back the opening of the restaurant.”

“It’s out of my control–” Ian tries to explain, but Harry won’t hear it.

“Jesus christ, do I need to do everything for you?” Harry bursts. “Call the company and tell them the delivery is for Harry Styles! Figure it out with the investors, pay them extra! We will not be pushing the date back, not when we’ve already invested so much into it.” Harry hangs up the phone angrily and throws it into his lap. “Fucking hell,” he breathes angrily.

Y/n sits next to him quietly, her eyes wide. “Everything okay?” she asks timidly.

“S’fine,” he bristles tersely, pulling into his parking spot. He puts the car in park and gets out of the car, slamming the door behind him with such aggression that y/n winces for the car.

Scrambling behind him like a little puppy, she follows him into his penthouse. There’s an angry furrow in his brow as they ride up the elevator, and his lips are pressed together in a frustrated line as he types out a message on his phone. He storms into the kitchen without even glancing at y/n, and pours himself a glass of ice cold water to maybe help himself calm down.

Y/n stands shyly behind the kitchen counter, not saying anything but watching him quietly.

“Just a second, puppy,” he says, his tone impatient and clipped, pushing past her to head into his home office. He dials the number of one of his restaurant’s business partners on the phone, and spends nearly half an hour figuring out what they were going to do.

“I want a new fuckin’ contractor,” Harry rants.

His partner. Niall, gives out a hearty laugh, “I know mate, but don’t worry. I’ll figure it out for ya. I know the guys over there, I’ll give ‘em a ring and see if they can get your appliances sent over any quicker.”

“Thank you,” he mutters gratefully. Finally, there was someone who knew how to get shit done. He hangs up the phone and runs his fingers through his hair frustratedly. His headache is back and his neck and shoulders hurt from being so tense.

Y/n knocks on his office door, and he sighs heavily. “Not now, puppy, v’got to send some emails.”

She steps in, despite the fact that he’s dismissed her, with sad eyes and a pout on her lips. “If this is how it’s gonna be all night then… I’m just gonna go home.”

His eyes snap up. “What?”

“You’re working and being all… grumpy,” she says quietly. “So I’m gonna get an uber.”

“Y/n, don’t be like that.” He looks at her with an exasperated look. “Something important came up, v’got to deal with it.”

“I’m not trying to be like anything,” she shrugs. “You’re stressed out and you don’t wanna talk, so I feel like I’m just annoying you by being here.”

“Baby…” he sighs, rolling away from his desk and getting up to go stand in front of her. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest in a shy, almost protective manner, and she has her bag hanging off of her shoulder, fully prepared to leave. Standing in front of her, he can see the sadness in her eyes. “Don’t go, m’sorry.”

“I know you’re upset…” she whispers, looking down at the floor, “but that doesn’t give you the right to be snappy with me. It hurts my feelings.”

Oh, his precious girl, so sweet and sensitive. His heart breaks a little bit, knowing that he’d made her sad… he’d been so caught up in his own stress that he’d neglected her feelings. He knows that she was probably so excited to come over after having finished all her exams… and he knows that she’s sensitive. She gets teary eyed whenever someone uses a stern voice with her, cries for days if she ever gets yelled at. Of course it would hurt her when he pushes her aside and snaps at her to leave him alone.

He pulls her into his chest, “Sweetheart, you’re right, m’sorry. I shouldn’t be takin’ it out on you, you’ve done nothing but been sweet t’me all day.” She’d brought food for him when he was hungry, was cheerful and lovely on the car ride home, and had tried to talk to him when he was upset… only to get pushed away at the end of the night.

“I wanna stay, but not if you’re gonna be mean,” she says into his chest.

He presses a kiss to her hair, “no, m’done puppy. Not gonna be mean, promise. Please, stay?”

She looks up at him and smiles softly. “Okay,” she puckers her lips and leans up for a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

He smooths his hand over her hair, and rests his head atop her cheek, still hugging her close. She’s warm and smells sweet… holding her in his arms is all he wants to do for the rest of his life.

“How about I go take a shower while you send your emails, and then we can go to bed?” she suggests, pulling away.

He shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No more emails tonight, I can send them in the morning.” It’s late at night anyways, it wouldn’t make a difference if he sent them now or tomorrow.

“M’getting in that shower with you.”

+++

In the shower, y/n washes away all of Harry’s stress and worries. She lathers up the loofah with the rose scented body wash that she keeps in his shower, and rubbed it all over his chest and back and biceps. She even went so far as to lift his arms above his head and scrub his armpits for him, making Harry cackle at how silly she was.

Then, she took his yummy smelling shampoo and had him bend down so that she could wash his hair for him. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched at his scalp deliciously, scrubbing his hair as though he were getting spoiled at the salon. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as the foamy shampoo dripped down his forehead, but she always made sure to rinse the bubbles away before they got into his eyes.

They got out and dried themselves together, standing in front of Harry’s heater in their towels for a few minutes while y/n brushed her hair. He changed himself into only a pair of boxers, while y/n opted to skip on undergarments (it’s very important to let ur pussy breathe!!!), putting on only a pair of thin sleep shorts and one of Harry’s huge t-shirts.

“M’gonna give you a massage,” she tells Harry once they’re both changed, shoving him onto the bed. He chuckles to himself at her weak attempt to manhandle him, but complies easily, settling onto his stomach so that she could straddle his back. She squirts some lotion onto her hands and warms it up between her palms, then rubs it smoothly onto Harry’s broad and muscular back.

“Mm, thank you baby,” he groans. “So good t’me.”

It’s all innocent at first – y/n knows that Harry was stressed out and probably super tense, so she thought giving him a nice massage to work out the knots in his shoulders would be nice. But, of course, with Harry shirtless underneath her, it’s hard for her thoughts to stay completely pure.

Harry’s so strong and muscled… it’s so hot. He feels firm underneath her hands, her palms smoothing over the ridges and curves of the muscles in his toned back. His shoulders are broad and his biceps look huge, even without being flexed or anything. The skin of his back is warm and smooth… so soft and tan. Her mouth waters as she rubs her hands up and down his back.

Her fingers find his shoulders and she kneads them deeply, which makes Harry let out a loud groan. His shoulders are particularly tense, and her little fingers are rubbing the tight knots in them so nicely. “Harder baby,” he grunts, and she obliges. Her thumbs dig deep into the meat of his shoulders and rub in slow, painful circles.

She uses all her strength to massage him. He’s so built, every inch of his back covered with hard muscles, that it takes a lot of energy to really get in there. She has to put her entire weight into her hands and press deep onto his back. Luckily, the lotion made it easy for her to glide over his skin and knead his sore muscles. The groans that he lets out tell her which spots to focus on.

His eyes are shut, eyebrows furrowed with pleasure. It hurts so good. His cock has started to plump up a bit, twitching every time her delicate fingers knead a particularly painful knot in his back. She keeps rubbing him, digging her fingers into his muscles, and the pressure in his cock grows unbearable.

He flips himself around, unable to deal with it any longer. Y/n gasps at his sudden movement, then finds herself short of breath when she settles herself back down on his lap and feels how hard he is underneath her. Straddling his hips in nothing but her little, thin pair of sleep shorts, she can feel him… feels the curve of his cock, restrained in his boxers, and feels the ridge of his tip nudging against her clit. She’s sure that he can probably feel her pussy too, feel every fold and the tiny bud of her clit.

He smirks up at her when her little pussy flutters around nothing, twitching so delicately against his clothed cock. Her center feels hot, keeping him warm while she sits prettily atop him. “Keep going baby…” he says, voice low and dangerous. “M’arms hurt so much, can you rub ‘em for me?”

He pouts up at her, but it’s a mocking pout. He knows exactly what she’s thinking about, and it’s much more filthy than his innocent request for an arm massage.

Nonetheless, she squirts some more lotion on her hands and brings them down to his strong biceps. He’d been to the gym yesterday for arms, so he wasn’t lying when he said they were sore. But also, that means they’re particularly pumped today, firm and delicious… y/n just wants to bite them.

His hands rest on her hips while she rubs her palms up and down his arms, his thumbs tracing soft circles onto the skin of thigh where her shorts have ridden up. She looks like she’s intently focused on rubbing his arms, but really, she can’t stop thinking about the way his cock feels underneath her. He subtly grips her hips and presses her down harder onto the hard bulge in his pants, and lets out a strained breath through his nose. Y/n similarly feels her breath catch in her throat, her hands pausing momentarily as she flutters her eyes shut.

“Feels so good baby,” he murmurs when her hands migrate up to massage his chest, rubbing circles over his swallows and tracing over his butterfly delicately. It’s a not-so subtle innuendo to fuel the fire of the sexual tension burning between the two of them right now.

The hands on her hips start to slide upwards, under her shirt to rest on her warm tummy. He can see the soft peaks of her nipples poking through the shirt she’s wearing. “Baby… show me y’pretty tits, please?” he begs. He slides his hands even higher until his fingers graze the undersides of her breasts. “Had such a long day, I deserve a treat don’ I?”

“Y-yeah,” she agrees softly, taking her shirt off and throwing it onto the floor. She’s left topless, her perky nipple peaking in the cold air of Harry’s bedroom, and her wet pussy pressed firmly to his hard cock.

She continues rubbing his chest with her tits out, and Harry takes it upon himself to do the same to her. He plays with her tits, holds them in his palms and rubs his thumbs over her hard nipples. Still, it’s not enough.

“Come closer, baby,” he murmurs lowly, guiding her forward. She inches forward slowly, back arching while holding herself up with her arms, until her boobs are hanging in front of Harry’s face.

He sticks his tongue out and leans up, attaching himself to her nipple and sucking it into his mouth gently. His tongue licks the soft bud gently, and he hums happily. “Mmm, baby, so nice to me,” he mutters, switching to her other nipple, “Lettin’ daddy play with your pretty tits ‘cos I had a long day.” Hand engulfs the breast that he’d just hand in his mouth, palming it gently while his tongue plays with the other. His teeth skim her soft skin gently, and he starts sucking. Each purse of his lip and pass of his tongue sends a shock straight down to y/n’s center, and she’s absolutely, totally drenched. Her heart is beating erratically in her chest, and she can’t help herself before grinding herself down.

Since she’s lifted herself up to align her tits with Harry’s face, she’s no longer sitting on his bulge, but instead now sitting on the butterfly painted on his abdomen. She presses herself onto his abs, soothing the dull ache that comes each time he hums around her breast.

Her boobs are so plump and plushy, dangling in front of his mouth and covered in his spit. His hands grope her chest sensually, pushing her breasts into his face and letting himself indulge like a teenage boy. He lets them bounce on his face, skimming his lips against them then pulling himself back, teasing himself. He nudges his nose against them, and they jiggle prettily right in front of his face. God, he’s making himself so hard, playing with her tits like this, having them all up in his face. All he can see is her skin, the roundness of her breasts, the soft bud of her nipples. No matter which way he turns his head, he makes contact with her, her nipples skimming his cheeks or his lips dancing against her sideboob.

“Jus-” she gasps when he takes her boob back between his lips and sucks, tongue curling around her nipple, “Jus’ wanna make you happy daddy.”

“Doing so good baby, taking caring of me so well,” he murmurs, barely moving his lips from her skin before reattaching to her areola. “You know what would make daddy so happy?”

“W-what?” she whimpers, pushing her clit down against his hard abs.

“If you got on my cock and got yourself off. Could you do that for me, puppy?”

She nods eagerly and shuffles herself down, shoving Harry’s briefs down. His cock bounces up and slaps against his stomach, the tip completely slick with his own precum and arousal. She doesn’t even bother warming herself or Harry up – the massage and his little play session had gotten both of them 100% ready.

She doesn’t take her sleep shorts off, genuinely too excited to stuff herself full of his cock. Grabbing him by the shaft, she hovers right over his hips and slowly guides him into her dripping cunt. The slide in is easy, absolutely no resistance from how wet she is, and she’s able to bottom out on the first go.

Her hands rest on his chest to support herself, and she starts to lift her hips, up and down, skin meeting skin with every drop down. Her nails dig into his flesh, and it hurts just as good as her massage had. She’s riding him like she never has before – usually she’s a bit of a princess, mostly grinding her clit down and rubbing herself on his cock slowly until her thighs start to burn and she whines for Harry to take over.

Now though, with the way he’d teased her all nice, she’s bouncing on his cock properly, using all her strength to pull herself all the way up, then drop back down. She sets a messy pace for herself, but it doesn’t matter. He’s hitting all the right spots in her, and that’s all she care about.

Harry lies on his back in bliss, her pussy absolute heaven around his cock. Her messy pace and high bounces have her tits jiggling, and Harry pushes himself up onto his elbows to get a better view. “Fuck, puppy, you’re an angel.”

He brings a hand down to rub her at her clit, fingers rubbing tight circles as she grinds herself on him. “Gonna cum baby,” he groans, “Are you close?”

She whines out, and nods messily, eyes shut as she keeps herself going.

Harry throws his head back, and shuts his eyes, rubbing her clit faster and faster until she’s cumming, clenching around his cock and squeezing him so tightly. His vision goes white his ears start to ring, and he’s in absolute heaven.

Y/n collapses onto his chest, and he spurts out long streaks of cum into her warm pussy, balls clenching with every release and his hips twitching upwards, trying to get as deep into her as he possibly can. She lays on top of him heavily, breathing hard with rosy cheeks and a glistening forehead from how hard she’d worked to get them both to their end.

He pulls her up for a kiss. What had he even been stressed about, again?

+++

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#harry smut #harry styles #harry styles smut #harry fic #harry writing #harry styles fic #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #daddy harry #daddy!harry #daddy!harrystyles #harry styles daddy #dom harry #dom!harry

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minhosimthings · 13 days

Note

I dont know if you accept a req now but... fresh grad worker! (jake or hyunjin) × ojt student y/n. Y/n was assigned to (jake or hyunjin) to train her but yn like riding (jake or hyunjin) in his swivel chair. (Jake or Hyunjin)'s work desk cubicle is in kinda hidden in the corner. (cockwarming, cowgirl, softdom!(jake or hj))

Me quedo Mirandote || 18+

Pairings: Hyunjin × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, 18+, thigh riding, degradation, 1% sir kink because I can, orgasm control eyy, cock riding, unprotected sex (zont zo it), mention of blood, fingering, praise, semi-public sex, role-play ish situation?, Use of petnames 'doll', overstimulation, dom!Hyunjin, sub!reader, swearing, reader wears a dress

A/N: This was such a hot thing to write omg I love your brain annonie. Also I am shit at writing riding things so FORGIVE ME IF ITS NOT SATISFACTORY. Also for my beloved @astraystayyh (who is probably still stuck with Hyune's ponytail)

Never in a million years would you ever have thought that you'd be fixing your frizzied hair and ruined lipstick in your soon-to-be office's bathroom, but here you were, your lipstick three shades lighter and your white dress all ruined.

And no one would ever question how Hwang Hyunjin's shirt had the exact same lipstick shade stains on it. Why would they? A playboy never loses his instincts, even if he's freshly graduated and teaching the only on- the-job student with full responsibility.

The fortunate student being you.

And it wasn't to say Hyunjin wasn't fortunate as well. You were compliant, perhaps even exactly like him. He wondered how you had ever managed to get through your classes so well during the day and get through him during the cool intoxicating nights.

Another thing Hyunjin was fortunate to have was his "private office". And by office, he meant his own comfortably small cubicle, which was far away from the prying eyes of his co-workers. It was weird for a fresh out of school student to have his own cubicle, but he guessed that his workplace valued privacy to an extreme level, so much so that his "office" hid discarded red laces, tainted white silks and on the job students perfectly.

"And that's how you write up a summary for the graphs of the month." Hyunjin clapped his hands together, trying not to sound overly positive, as you stared dead eyed into the computer screen. Hyunjin had been explaining the concept to you for an hour now, and although you'd been standing resting your chin on his head, you were mentally exhausted.

"Doll, you doing alright?" Hyunjin cocked a brow at you, standing up to your level, arms going to your waist as if it was his daily routine. Well, technically it was his daily routine.

"Do I look like I'm doing alright?" You scoffed, eyes flittering between Hyunjin's eyes and lips, "Don't I deserve a promotion for all the work I've done Sir?"

Hyunjin's lips morphed into a slow smirk at your widened lamb eyes and your 'good girl' pout. His hands gripped into your skin tighter, as he leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"You're just a student Y/N. I can't give you a promotion so quick." He smirked into the nape of your neck, knowing what was coming next. How couldn't he? With how many times, his favourite 'employee' had begged on her knees to get a 'promotion'.

"But sir haven't I been a good girl?" You whispered, staring at Hyunjin's plump lips, "I even wore the dress you bought me." You motioned towards your clearly visible cleavage in your summer dress, one of Hyunjin's most favourite painting topics.

Your hands went up to his luscious locks of hair, which were tied up into a ponytail with two flicks framing his face perfectly. God, his hair was as soft as cotton, you thought, a complete contrast to how he behaved once you were suffocating his length with your pussy.

Hyunjin's hands slid down to your ass and pulled your hips against his body, your hand pressing against his desk. It made the dress you were wearing ride up your thighs, exposing your panties. His hot lips moved away from yours and down to your neck, kissing and gently biting the delicate skin. You let out a little gasp and arched your neck, it felt divine.

“Doll, with the way you're gasping now, I wonder what you'd do once I actually start with the usual." Hyunjin chuckled darkly, pressing a rough, carnivorous kiss to your lips, "fuck—be a good girl for me now."

Hyunjin pulled away from the kiss and sat back on his chair, leaning as prosaic as he could against it, and rubbing his hand over his thigh, ever so cordially inviting you over to him. Why would you ever refuse? It was your favourite place to be at any chance you got. Some days, that's the only place you wanted to be, on a hot lazy day, when you wanted nothing more than Hyunjin to shut up about presentations and slides and spread out his leg for you.

You manoeuvred yourself so that your covered but damp core met with Hyunjin's thigh, the hem of your dress gracefully swooped over his thigh, as you parted your legs enough to let your clit brushing against the fabric. The contact caused your mouth to fall open in a silent sigh.

"Already?" Hyunjin clicked his tongue, "That's sort of pathetic don't you think doll?"

From this angle you looked pretty to Hyunjin with your head thrown back, pupils blown out with lust and a prominent blush on your face. It made the animalistic side in Hyunjin, ravenous for more.

Hyunjin adjusted his position on the chair, your loud mewl made him chuckle and press a kiss to your forehead. You hands went up to grip his soft, ebony hair, which was tied perfectly in a ponytail. Well, tied perfectly, until you ran your hands through the follicles, throwing the hair band off, and continuing to grip his open hair tightly. Your grip made Hyunjin silently moan.

"Feel that?" He lifted a cocky brow at your pleasured expression, "It's just for you, doll."

Slowly you began rocking your hips back and forth, letting your clit get maximum friction against the clothed barriers. Your hands gripped at his shirt now tightly, leaving tiny creases all along as you chased your release.

Somewhere along the way, Hyunijn had abandoned his work and had turned all of his attention on you, gripping your hips harshly, digging marks, guiding it along his thigh while pressing open mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck. The chair was creaking worse than a wooden bed, but there wasn't a care in the world for that.

Hyunjin's hands move up your thighs towards your hips pushing you harder against his thigh gaining more melodic moans from your mouth.

You rut yourself faster against him, moaning louder and louder until you finally reach what you thought was your peak.

"Hyunjin," you whined, his kisses descend even further down your body, lips at the top of your chest, eyes peering up into your desperate and pleading eyes.

"Fuck," you sigh out, when Hyunjin grabs your breast, lavishing it an equal amount of attention, his hands moving your hips harder and faster against him, your orgasm building swiftly at his actions.

"Beg for it darling." Hyunjin's sadistic smile hit your face, "Be a good slut, and beg for your cum."

"Hyune-fuck!" You moaned out as his thigh gave a little flick upwards, "please Hyunjin—"

"So desperate," he mumbles, tone laced with dominance, hands gliding across the back of your thighs, teasing you. "So wet," he adds, doing as you asked and sliding his finger across your clothed core, a sinful groan escaping you, head lolling back against.

"Come for me," he husks out, letting you fall over the edge with a guttural moan, back arching, as your legs trembled, hips rocking at the pleasure that filled you. A pleasant buzz consumed your body as you rode out the aftershocks of your powerful release, your body practically going limp on his thigh at the exhaustion of coming so hard.

Your chest rose and fell with every unsteady breath, as you steadied yourself on Hyunjin's thigh, leaning your head towards his shoulder, from how dizzy you were. Being a cowgirl really took a lot of energy from you.

As you were getting ready to stand up, you felt Hyunjin's arm grip ours tightly.

"So soon, pretty?" He pulls you in for a rough kiss, biting your lip, he could taste salty blood on them, "I'm not even half done."

“Come here,” Hyunjin demanded as he pulled your arm. You move around from the back of the chair as he pushes it out a bit from the table.

“Oh baby. Aren’t you just deliciously naughty?” he says as his finger slips in between your folds to find you positively dripping. “Is this all for me?” he asks as he starts to rub your clit in slow circular movements. The stimulation was killing you, yet you obliged, dumbly nodding along to Hyunjin's words.

“So greedy,” he whispers. He slips his finger from your pussy, his hands come up to your shoulders, and he pushes the dress off of them.

“Come here and sit on my cock,” he says with that lopsided smirk you love so much.

Lifting yourself up a little, you line him up with your entrance, and then you sit back down and let him slide into your wet, needy pussy. Filling you so perfectly. Stretching you completely. You slowly sink down onto him, as he grips your waist harder, holding you down.

“You can take it.” He moans out. He slowly pushes himself in a little more, and you swear you hear him whimper. You cry out, laying down on his chest.

“Shit!” He goes inch by inch, and you groan louder and louder as he fills you out.

"Fuck,” Hyunjin groans. And then you start to move. Slowly, up and down. Your hands rest on his hair for leverage as you bounce yourself on his cock.

Your tight grip on his hair makes Hyunjin throw his head back slightly, his eyes almost rolling to the back with the sheer amount of pleasure he was recieving from your hands running through his locks.

"Fuck—baby keep doing that." He mumbles, not even sure if you've heard it, you probably did as was evident from your now tighter grip, your fingers dancing their pretty ballet through Hyunjin's velvety hair.

Hyunjin grabs a tight hold of your hips, and he lifts you up a little before he starts to thrust up into you. Harder and faster than you managed. Pounding into you over and over.

"Fuck—Hyunjin!" You gasp, a little louder than usual, "touch me—please." Your begs elated Hyunjin, how could he refuse? He shakes his hand from your hip and presses his fingers to your cunt.

His motions on your clit are as frantic as his thrusts into you. Pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

And with a final buck into you so deep that he nudged your cervix as his thumb pressed down on your clit, you both cum. Hard and fast.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his cock. The orgasm rips through you at such intensity that your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you scream out his name. His cock twitches as his cum spurts inside you.

Hyunjin tilts his head to rest on your chest as he tries to catch his breath, and he moans out your name. You kiss him softly at the top of his head. Your fingers are raking through his hair as you try to calm your own breathing down to normal.

"You've made such a mess." Hyunjin chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours, "my messy girl."

"How about those graphs now, Mr Hwang?" You asked, a tint of cockishness smeared in your voice.

"Graphs?" Hyunjin laughed, gripping your hips again.

"We're not even a quarter done yet, doll."

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 9 months

Text

More headcanons of the Nimona trio being domestic dorks

Whenever the trio gets sick of each other they’ll ask the person in the trio they’re not pissed at to handle them

It always goes something like this “Ambrosius come get your kid they won’t leave me alone-“ “No Nemesis come get your husband he’s being a stick in the mud”

Or “Bal go get your son from prison he got arrested again” “Oh so he’s my son today?” “Yes when he’s stupid enough to get caught he’s your son”

If you're wondering why Nimona doesn't just escape its cause they find it hilarious when Bal has to come to bail them out at random points in the day

There are also times when they’re proud or happy and they’ll say things like “I’m gonna go get my daughter ice cream” “Since when is she just your daughter?” “Since right now when she helped me fix my prosthetic”

“Hey boss where’s my Nemesis I heard he got in a fight today” “I thought he was my Nemesis” “Not when he puts three guys in the hospital he’s not”

Bal is one of those people who sees something and says “Why would I buy that when I can just make it” AND HE DOES

Nimona has a bad habit of fucking up speakers so Bal just set up a sound system throughout the house

If the trio weren’t such antisocial losers with three friends combined their parties would be amazing

He made Ambrosius a skincare cabinet just so he could put actual medicine in the medicine cabinet

When Nimona moved in he asked them what their ideal room would look like

She gave him a rough draft and he did all of it

They spend a week tearing that room apart so they could soundproof it so she could rock out without disturbing the boys

She has sick ass LED lights and she’ll change the colors depending on her mood

Ambrosius and Bal helped her paint the walls the most obnoxious shade of neon pink And then they didn’t complain when she spray painted over said walls

It’s worth it to see her visibly relax when she enters her room

This man has gutted and put back together and rearranged their little house so many times it’s unrecognizable

I also feel like everyone in the trio is a crafty bitch

They all have a million little hobbies that have produced even more trinkets that fill up their whole house

Their house is this weird combination of comfy yet chaotic and it's a minimalists nightmare

Cleaning is also a nightmare but they wouldn't change it for anything

Back when they were in the institute Ambrosius was a terrible cook -♾️/10 his cooking would put people in the hospital

After the knighting ceremony was the first time he was living by himself and didn’t have access to free food so he taught himself how to cook

Honestly most people would think he would give up

I mean there are only so many times you set water on fire before you throw in the towel

But he's a stubborn brat and cooking took his mind off of everything so he stuck with it

One day Bal came home to the smell of cooking and he assumed it was Nimona

He swears to this day he had a heart attack when he saw Ambrosius in front of the stove and Nimona comfortably sitting at the dinner table not helping at all

He promptly dragged Nimona out of there like a bomb just went off and warned him not to touch Ambrosius’ food

He told Bal “The more you call it a biohazard the more I want to eat it”

So Bal used him like a test dummy

When Nimona finally did try it they turned to Bal and complained that he lied

Bal thought he was being pranked until he was forced by Nimona to try the food

And it was good

More than good I was fucking amazing

He asked Ambrosius quite frankly “Who are you and what have you done with my husband”

Ambrosius just rolled his eyes and told him to eat the food

Bal never gave up on finding out how and slowly but surely he started asking like a normal person

And Ambrosius never answered like a normal person

His answers would range from “A chef never reveals his secrets” (“that’s a magician love” “just zip it and eat your food”) to “I’m never telling you so suffer and finish this meal I lovingly cooked” (“is it still considered love if you knew I was gonna suffer?” “Yes” “…. Makes sense”)

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I just know the trio are crafty bitches #Bal dabbles in a little bit of everything #Nimona likes to whittle #Ambrosius likes to crochet #He's made everyone he loves at least one stuffed animal

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520cafe · 9 months

Text

sour grapes. lost in your eyes

whilst waiting anxiously outside of the library, your eyes have been reading the same lines of text messages that has been exchanged between you and blade over and over again, like a never-ending loop and spiral of words flowing in and out of your head.

after a short while, as in defeat, you let out a sigh which apparently carried an overwhelming sense of dread for the events to come. finally mustering up some form of courage and calling upon a fake spirit, you turned a corner out of your hiding spot where you immediately caught glimpse of that all too familiar figure.

his head was down and leaning against the palm of his hand, with his navy hair covering his ruby-like eyes. yet, this did not hide his undeniable attractiveness and charm. he has not seemed to notice you slowly descend towards the table, his eyes were instead concentrated and fixed on his computer screen. it was when you pulled the chair in front of him where he eventually looked up and saw you, your eyes meeting his.

“you’re late,” blade’s deep voice was monotonous yet clear, just as you remembered. you almost felt weirdly relieved that there were no changes to this.

“i’m not late, you’re just early.” you sent him a small smile before getting your computer out of your bag, like a poorly executed attempt of trying to avoid his direct gaze. “i literally was on time.”

however, you were only responded with silence. when you moved your eyes after logging into your computer, you were met with his red eyes lazing into yours. a slight heat made its way to tint your ears a lighter shade of the falling cherry blossoms outside but he did not seemed phased at all as he continued to study your features instead of the powerpoint on his screen.

he leaned back and you managed to sneak glance at the way the corners of his lips curved upwards, feeling satisfied by your reaction to his actions. as if nothing happened, blade turned his computer towards you which displayed the details for the project. “we have a month for the project, that’s enough time. we can just focus each week on a certain task.” blade calmly explained. “for this week, i can focus on topic 1 while you can do topic 2.”

you nodded in agreement but, that does not simply erase the last few minutes that just took place, nor does it halt breaks to the millions of unpredictable and boundless thoughts that are rushing around your head like a marathon.

“don’t worry, we’ll help each other too.” a chilling voice faintly drifts to your ears as it’s soft landing sends shivers to the rest of your body. this time, the smile on blade’s face was much more prominent and evident, sending you a quiet yet reassuring message.

all you were able to do was to nod and smile back him, any awkward tensions that surrounded the air was beginning to wear off. at last, you let out one final sigh that managed to put your mind and speeding heartbeat at ease.

🍇 SOUR GRAPES 〈 06 lost in your eyes

━━ MASTERLIST. ╱ PREV. ╱ NEXT.

╰► SYNOPSIS. after being in the same tight-knit friend group for over a few months now, suspicions begin to rise when march, seele and bronya start to notice the awkward tensions between you and dan heng. little did they know, you and dan heng were once high-school sweethearts who shared a romantic and fairytale-like past where the pages only lasted for a year. this heartbreak led you to meet another unfortunate victim of cupid but that chapter flew away as quick as stardust. yet, it appears that you two were also destined to cross paths once more.

╰► [ a/n ] : went to my first anime con yesterday! my feet are killing me but it’s lowkey my fault lmao 😭 i managed to bring home many genshin, hsr and even some vtuber pins, badges and prints! anyway, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter and i hope my writing is okay?? i’m pleasantly surprised by the amount of attention the previous chapter received so tysm <3

━━ TAGLIST. @lauvwar-r @sunsethw4 @shizu-c @amyena @zephestia @loudeggbananaranch @lunavixia @twistedrxses @shinjuuz @danhenglovebot @flos-veritatis @sammy-hammy @kiwidoves @aeongiies @heartswonder @lilactaro @lunnaeclipse @m1lley0ns @hansel-the-pierrot @astro-pioneer @aquatikk @obervation-subject-753 @vellichxrr6782 @rubberduckieyourtheone @viovya @stayriki @ceylestia @starryeyedkoko @theflameofyoursoul @kalims @liminalimmortal

#🍇 ━━ SOUR GRAPES !#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #hsr blade #blade x reader #honkai star rail smau #hsr smau #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr fanfic #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader

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libraryofloveletters · 4 months

Text

The Lights Shining Down On You

Ruben Dias x Fem!Reader

Warnings: ruben knows his lady needs his attention, sweetness from ruben, christmas lights on christmas lights, ruben is part time photographer for you.

Word Count: 565

Author's Note: now I had googled to see if I could find actual drive through light shows in manchester to make it accurate but google was being useless so just imagine it lol - big shocker but this one's for pookie and her ain't shit baby daddy lmaoooo @themandaloriansdiaries

The people of Manchester love Christmas, just as much as you do. Ruben makes it his mission to ensure that you get to see every single Christmas display there is to see.

Christmas was your favourite time of the year; the decorations, the lights, the gifts, the holiday spirit.

You found yourself going all out for the two months. Your boyfriend, Ruben, knew as much. He had been gone for a weekend as they had an away game and when he returned, you had turned the house into a winter wonderland.

Ruben had been a bit preoccupied with the matches, and the training and the final push in preparation for the club world cup but now that you were back home in Manchester and you'd have time for the holidays and yourself, your boyfriend had his mind set on spending time with you and only you for the next week before you're off again.

He had told you to get dressed, given you no clues as to where you were going and gotten into the car with you.

"You're seriously not going to tell me where we're going?" You looked over at your boyfriend and the man shook his head, a smile on his face as he drove.

You hummed along to the music, waiting patiently to see what your destination would be. Imagine your surprise when you realize your boyfriend has taken you to see the Christmas light show you had been telling him about all month.

"You didn't!" You looked over at him, a big grin on your face.

Ruben nods, winding down the window to pay the entrance fee. His free hand rests on your thigh as he drives slowly through the path, letting you take it all in.

This one was winter wonderland themed, much like your apartment, it focused on snowflakes, ice and sparkles with all different shades of white and blue.

You reached over, holding his hand as he drove, you took your photos and off you went again. The two of you were off to dinner, Ruben decided to feed you before you became cranky, which despite his sweet gesture, does happen more often than not.

After dinner, you assumed you were headed home but then Ruben turned up a different street, leading down an empty stretch of road.

"It'd be rather tragic for you to kidnap me before Christmas."

Ruben laughs, "I'm not kidnapping you, babe." He turns into the driveway, following it down to the Disney Christmas lights.

"You didn't!" You shouted at him, squeezing his hand. "This one is always booked! How'd you get tickets?"

"Well Phil took the kids and he knows the owner, he pulled some strings." Ruben tells you as he parks.

You get out of the car, holding his hand as you two walk through the park, Ruben lets you pull him around, showing him all the different characters. You took a million photos, Ruben patiently waiting for you to fix your outfits, change your poses as he took your pictures.

The two of you had made the rounds, holding hands as you wandered about now. "What's with all the sudden Christmas spirit, babe? I know you liked Christmas but 2 Christmas activities in one night? A bit odd for you." You laughed.

Ruben shrugged. "We practically live at the Etihad during the season and I figured we should spend some time together, doing something you'd enjoy."

"I do enjoy watching you play, Rubes." You squeezed his hand, smiling.. "But thank you, this was.. perfect." You turn to him, giving him a kiss.

#holiday extravaganza blurbs 23 #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias x you #ruben dias x y/n #football x reader #football x you #football x y/n #football imagine #football blurb

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fortheloveofwonderland · 10 months

Text

Somewhere to Belong | 2/3 | S.R

Part 2 of my Family Challenge Fic.

Part 1 | Part 3

Summery - Spencer moves into his new home and his friends express their concerns. His adoption process hits wall after wall and each time you’re the one he turns to.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU Fem! Reader

Warnings - talk of break ups, arguing, tears, swearing, mentions of Spencer’s childhood, drinking, drunk Spencer, talk of potential relapse, crying child, NA meetings.

WC - 7.9k

Part 2

It took until the end of April, around the time flowers started to rebloom and the grass turned a lush shade of green, when he finally got the keys to his new home.

It felt fitting, the way the world was regrowing, starting a new beginning just as he was.

He’d taken the first offer that came on his apartment, not caring that it was less than he would have liked for it. He had enough money saved from over the years that he could cover the difference needed. Time was of the essence, he couldn’t wait around.

The team, now all apprised of his adoption intentions, helped him move on a rare weekend they had off from the BAU. Well all of them except for you anyway.

Luke and Matt did most of the heavy lifting, much to Spencer’s elation as honestly he had no idea how he’d planned on doing it himself.

Rossi, Emily and Tara helped fix together furniture while he and JJ started on painting the room that would hopefully one day belong to Wren.

It broke her heart a little as she aided him in filling the little bookshelf with all the girls favourite titles and putting stuffed animals on another shelf all of which he’d brought for her.

Because what happened if Wren didn’t come home to him? What on Earth would be left of her best friend if he wasn’t able to adopt her?

He’d spent nearly all his savings on this house and furnishing it, even stencilling Wren’s name above the bed. She knew there would be no coming back for him if this didn’t work out. She would help in any way she could but she wished he was erring on the side of caution more.

After hours spent getting Spencer’s new home in order, Rossi cooked them all carbonara alla Rossi which they all sat down to eat as a family.

Minus you.

And your absence was brought up about halfway through dinner.

“I have to ask,” it was Tara who finally dared broach the subject that was on the tip of everyone’s tongues. “Y/N was really cagey when we told her about today. She said she had plans but wouldn’t say what they were.”

“Did something happen between the two of you?” JJ added over her glass of wine.

Honestly Spencer didn’t really see the point in lying about it. Whatever happened between the two of you was over now so he supposed it didn’t matter if the team knew.

He put his cutlery down, leaning it on the edges of his plate and taking a sip of water. He leant on the table and cleared his throat.

“Uh well…we were dating.” He shrugged. “For a few months. But it’s over now.”

The members of his former team all exchanged looks, silently questioning each other to see if anyone had any idea. It seemed none of them did.

“Wow, I’m kinda impressed you managed to keep that from us.” Emily chuckled dryly.

“Me too.” Spencer replied.

“What happened?” Matt asked the million dollar question.

Again, Spencer didn’t see the point in lying. It wasn’t as though there were two sides to this story, it was cut and dry; about as straightforward as it could be.

“I wanted a family. She wasn’t ready. I guess that’s on me for choosing to date someone so much younger than me.” He shrugged again, trying to act as if he didn’t care.

“So you broke up because of Wren?” JJ asked him softly.

“Yes and no. I’d already mentioned having a family before Wren came into the picture and she freaked out. And then Wren came along and I realised it was perfect timing. But uh, I guess my decision to adopt her didn’t exactly help matters.” He picked his knife and fork back up, hoping if he resumed eating they would understand he didn’t want to talk about this.

“You’re sure about this right, Reid?” Luke dared to ask.

Spencer huffed and dropped his cutlery again, letting them angrily clang against the China plate.

“Am I sure about what, Alvez?” He shot Luke a look across the table none of the team had ever seen on Spencer before. “About my break up or about adopting Wren?”

Luke shrunk in on himself a little, Spencer’s gaze heavily upon him. He’d hoped maybe someone else would jump to his rescue but no one did.

Cowards.

“Any of it.” Luke’s voice cracked as he spoke. “We’re your friends and we want you to be happy, but I think I speak for everyone when I say this is all happening so fast.”

Spencer’s nostrils flared. His jaw tightened. One by one he looked at the former members of his team under a steely gaze.

“Does he speak for all of you?” Spencer spat. “Someone please speak up. If you all think I’m making such a huge mistake, please-”

“No one said it was a mistake, boy wonder, chill.” Garcia piped up, cutting Spencer off. “But Newbie is right, it’s so fast. Have you really stopped and taken a breath to think about it?”

“You’ve decorated her room, Spence and you don’t even know that you’ll get granted parental rights. What happens if you don’t? It’s going to crush you.” JJ added, her tone sombre.

“And if you do manage to get through the adoption process, you’ll have a five year old girl to take care of. A five year old girl who lost her parents in the most horrific way possible.” Tara chimed in, tone equally as morose and JJ’s.

“And you’ll be doing it alone. On top of a full time job at the university.” It was Rossi’s turn to speak.

“We’ll support you whatever you do, Reid. We’re just worried that this is some kind of…a, uh…” Emily trailed off, looking at the others for help with finishing her sentence.

But Spencer knew exactly what she wanted to say.

He slammed his hands on the table and pushed his seat back, the wooden chair legs scraping against the tiled floor aggressively.

“Just say it,” he growled, with a shake of his head. “You’re worried I’m having a mid life crisis, right?”

He got to his feet and glared down at his so-called friends in disdain.

“No one said it was a mid life crisis, kid.” Rossi sighed as though Spencer was some kind of nuisance child.

“You didn’t need to say it. You’re all thinking it.” He grunted.

“Spence,” Emily looked sadly at him. “We’re just worried about you.”

“I don’t need you to be worried about me, I am perfectly fine. Why is it such a big deal that I’m doing this? You know I’ve always wanted kids.”

“Not like this though.” JJ rolled her lip between her teeth. “I have absolutely no doubt you will be a good father, someday. This…it doesn’t seem right.”

“Thank you all for coming,” Spencer forced his anger down before he said something he would regret. “But I’d like you all to leave now.”

He turned his back on them, the way they had all metaphorically turned their backs on him, and stormed to the kitchen.

The rest of them silently decided among themselves who would be the one to go after him. Usually the job would fall to JJ but she knew Spencer was too angry with her right now.

Eventually Penelope exhaled and pushed her chair gently back before getting to her feet. She didn’t look at the others as she left, tottering on her too high heels as she followed in Spencer’s wake.

He heard the door swing open, heard her heels on the floor so he knew it was her. He gripped the counter top, his back to her.

“Please don’t try to make it better, Garcia.” He spoke without turning.

He heard her come closer and then there was a warm hand on his shoulder, turning him around. When she saw his face, the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks, her own face fell.

“Oh boy wonder,” she pouted, immediately throwing her arms around him.

Spencer sniffed, burying his head against Garcia’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around her waist.

“I understand what you’re all saying, trust me I get how crazy this sounds.” He whimpered a little. “But I love that little girl. And I want to be her father more than anything else in the world.”

“I know you do, Reid.” She cooed, running her hand up and down his back. “We just worry about you is all. No one is saying you shouldn’t do this, we just want to make sure you’re certain of what you’re doing.”

“Penelope,” he raised his head so he could look her in the eyes. “I have never been more sure about a single thing in my life.”

Garcia smiled at him softly, wiping away the tear stains on his cheeks.

“That’s good enough for me.” She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Anything you need, Spencer, just say the word. If you need any red tape cutting through, I am a master of that.”

“Thanks Garcia.” He half-smiled. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

Garcia kindly corralled the others out of Spencer’s door and stayed to help him clean up. By the time she left he was utterly exhausted.

He climbed the stairs, running his fingers along the bannister, feeling his way in his new home. He bypassed his own bedroom and found himself in the room he’d slaved away to make perfect for Wren.

He collapsed on her small bed, the one with the My Little Pony bedspread, clutching one of many stuffed toys he’d brought for her.

He closed his eyes and he nuzzled against the pillow. If he concentrated hard enough he could feel her here in this room she’d never actually stepped foot in.

He could hear her heart warming giggle, smell her on the pillow. He could imagine her crawling under the pink pony bedspread, lying beneath a string of pumpkin fairy lights while he read to her.

He could hear her inquisitive line of questioning every time he reached the end of a page.

He could picture her hugging Rover tightly to her chest while her bright green eyes slowly closed.

His tears fell from behind his closed lids. His friends were right and he hated that.

He’d gone through all this trouble, all the time, money and effort but what if it proved fruitless? What if he never got to bring Wren home?

What if he was doomed to live in this large house all alone for the rest of his days, pinning for the life he could have had?

***

Two days later a social worker came round to do her initial assessment of his new home. He didn’t miss the small smile that crept to her face when she saw the room he hoped to be Wren’s.

He made tea and sat down in his new living room with Jenny, Wren’s permanent social worker and tried to mentally prepare himself for another grilling.

The application process itself had been particularly probing but he knew this would be worse. Garcia had emailed him over a list of potential questions which he’d tried to cultivate answers for ahead of time but right now everything went out of his head.

Jenny sipped her tea and retrieved a notebook and pen from her bag.

“So, shall we?” She smiled at him but it didn’t help alleviate his nerves.

“Sure.” He nodded, shakily smiling back. He drummed his fingers against his thighs.

“I’d like to know what your childhood was like, if you could, Doctor Reid.”

Fuck, what a place to start.

“Well,” he swallowed thickly. “It wasn’t exactly conventional. I’m sure you know about my mother from my application.”

“I do.” She nodded, pen poised above the page.

“Uh, I was pretty much responsible for myself from ten years old when my dad left. And I was also responsible for my mom. I’ve never really had anyone to depend on and on top of that I’ve had to look after a parent. I guess the parental roles got slightly tangled in my head somewhere, but I think it’s why I’m so determined to do right by Wren. She’s lost her parents and I just want her to have a family again. I want to be her family. I want to be the father I never had.” He took a big sip of tea as a way of indicating that he was finished.

Jenny jotted down some notes before looking back at him.

“So what’s your relationship with them like now? Your parents?”

“I’ve only ever seen my dad once since he walked out on us.” When I was accusing him of being a child molestor and a murderer. “I’m really close with my mom though. She’s in a facility in DC and I visit her once a week. She’d love Wren, I think Wren would love her too.”

“I think you’ve already kind of covered the effect your upbringing had on you, so I’d be interested to know what a day in the life of Spencer Reid looks like.” She paused her note taking again to look at him.

“I’m still getting used to that myself if truth be told. I left the BAU after fifteen years so I could have a job with more reliable hours for Wren. I lecture four days a week at Marlborough, I’m a criminology professor. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday. Thursdays are usually paperwork and grading papers but I can do that from home.

It’s normal hours, I can be here in the morning to take Wren to school and be here to pick her up and cook her dinner. Read her bedtime stories. She likes it when we read together. She has this incredible mind, she reminds me of me when I was a kid. She’s so curious and smart. She loves to learn and I love to teach and I…I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“It’s ok.” Jenny smiled softly. “Doctor Reid, no one is doubting the fact that you care deeply for this little girl. No one would be going through the lengths you’re going through for a flight of fancy. I’m just simply trying to ascertain the best fit for a frightened and traumatised little girl who lost everything.”

“And I might not be the best fit.” He sniffed, eyebrows knitting together. “Because it’s just me. Because she lost not only her dad but her mom too and you think she needs two parents.”

He was a profiler for so many years, he couldn’t just turn it off. He understood the things she wasn’t saying.

Jenny put her pen down and leant forward in the chair.

“I have no doubts that you love Wren, Doctor Reid.” She prefaced. “But unfortunately in these kinds of delicate situations we have to consider where the child has been. And where Wren has been was in a home with two loving parents.”

The tears flooded to Spencer’s eyes in a flash and he fought to keep them at bay. He rolled his lip violently between his teeth to try and stop them falling.

He tried to speak a few times but the words wouldn’t come out. He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath.

“What are, uh, what are my chances here?” He croaked.

“I don’t know, Doctor Reid.” Jenny sighed. “I have no doubts you would be a great fit for some child out there but maybe…maybe don’t set your sights on Wren.”

He opened his eyes again, the tears broke free.

“I don’t want another child. It’s not just about having some child.” He suddenly stood up. “The moment I met her I felt an intrinsic need to protect her. She is special and she is wonderful and I…I feel like her dad, don’t you understand? I love her as if she were my flesh and blood. I don’t want a child, I want Wren.”

Jenny inhaled sharply and pushed herself to her feet, slotting her notebook back in her bag.

“I’m not saying it won’t happen, Doctor Reid. But you need to be prepared for the fact it might not.” She shook her head sadly. “We can pick this up later in the week ok? I’ll call you.”

Spencer couldn’t get any words out to reply. He just stood there dumbly and watched the social worker leave.

He watched her leave him alone in this house, this fucking suburban nightmare of a house that he’d only brought for the sake of Wren.

Wren who he’d promised he would look out for, who he promised he would bring home with him. And now that could all go up in smoke.

His tears wouldn’t cease, like a never ending waterfall flowing down his face.

The walls of this goddamn house suddenly felt so small. This house was the last place he wanted to be right now.

Without much thought to where he was going, he grabbed his car keys before throwing open the front door and disappearing into the balmy spring afternoon.

***

It was late when the jet touched down and so Emily sent you all home from the air strip telling you all paperwork could wait until the morning.

You could barely keep your eyes open as you drove home, tired down to your bones.

When you found a body slumped on the floor using your front door to prop them up right, you could have burst out laughing because this was just perfect.

His shirt was wrinkled and his hair hung messily in his face. As you approached, he didn’t move, not even an inch.

You frowned as you fished your keys out of your purse, clearing your throat but he didn’t look up. His head was flopped forward to his chest, hair obscuring most of his face.

“Spencer?” You spoke his name but received no response. “Spencer?” Still nothing.

Goddamnit.

“Spencer!” You kicked him firmly in the hip and he wobbled a little and then you heard a sharp intake of air.

His head shot back, his eyes suddenly wide open and staring at you like you’d woken him from a deep sleep. You most likely had.

“Y/N?” He croaked, running his hand through his hair, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “W-where am I?”

It was then you realised his bloodshot eyes, red raw and you knew it wasn’t just from crying.

“Spencer, are you ok?” You swallowed, feeling your hands start to shake.

“How did I get here?” He squinted at you.

“I have no idea.” You reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet.

He didn’t make it easy, he was like a led weight in your arms. He stumbled once he was up, falling against your door.

Your heart thrummed against your chest.

“Spencer,” you swallowed again. “Are you…are you high?”

He averted his gaze to the floor, a symbol of guilt you knew all too well. But then he looked back at you and sighed.

“No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I appreciate that’s what it must look like. I’m…drunk. Really fucking drunk. Not high. I swear.”

Oh thank god, you allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. Half a sigh anyway.

“That’s probably not much better though right? You don’t drink.”

“True.” He nodded. “But if I didn’t drink I might have gotten high. I don’t even know how I ended up here. Or how long I’ve been here.”

This seemed way over your head, a job for JJ or Emily, not you. You didn’t know how to handle this, you weren’t equipped for it.

You knew about Spencer’s history with dilaudid, he’d told you he didn’t drink on your first date when you’d asked him what wine he wanted with dinner. He proceeded to tell you he didn’t drink because of his past addiction, he didn’t want to find himself dependent on something else again.

But here he was, drunk. Drunk and telling you he’d thought about getting high. And you had no idea what to do.

“Come inside.” You got your door open and helped him inside as he couldn’t walk in a straight line. You guided him with an arm around his waist to the couch where he fell down like a rag doll. “Should I call JJ? Emily?”

“No, p-please don’t.” He whined, his words slurring together.

“Spencer, I don’t know that I’m the best person to handle this. Do you need a meeting or something?”

“I haven’t been to a m-meeting in over ten years.” He slurred again.

You had to strain yourself to understand him, all his sentences sounding like one long word. You sat down on the coffee table in front of him and sighed.

“Why did you drink? Why did you want to get high?” Maybe you could help if you understood why. Probably not, but it was worth a shot.

He ran his fingers through his tangled hair, sweeping it back off of his face. It struck you then how old he suddenly looked, like he’d somehow aged thirty years since you’d last seen him.

“I…my social worker…she thinks…” his sentence was punctuated with heaving breaths, as though trying to stop himself breaking down into tears. “I might not be able to a-adopt Wren.”

Ah, so that’s what this was about.

The last time you’d seen him you’d argued over this exact thing. So why of all people were you the one he’d come to?

“I see.” You didn’t know what to say if truth be told. Thankfully he continued.

“She grew up in a t-two person household. J-Jenny thinks it's more likely they will place her in a home with two p-parents.” It was the most coherent he’d been, which was good. But he sounded so unbelievably sad. “I get it. I do. I w-want what’s best for her…but w-what if that’s not what’s best for m-me?”

You felt your heart ripping in two. It was painfully obvious how much this girl meant to him and you hated seeing him this way. Again you didn’t need to speak as he carried on.

“It’s ironic, you know? The only reason I even w-want to adopt is because I can’t h-hold down a relationship, c-can’t seem to find someone to have my own family with. And now it m-might be the reason I can’t adopt.” His breathing grew really frantic and you could see the tears welling in his eyes.

You really did hate that he was going through this. You leant forward and placed a gentle hand on his knee.

“I really wish I knew what to say.” You whispered. “I really am so sorry Spencer. I know I was less than thrilled with the idea but I can see how much she means to you.”

“Just wanted to take my mind o-off of it.” He mumbled. “Just needed to forget. Wanted to get high, for the f-first time in years. Didn’t though. I didn’t.”

“I know. I’m proud of you.” You gave his knee a squeeze. “But getting drunk isn’t going to help anything, you know that right?”

“Yes.” He sniffed. “Just wanted to forget.”

Suddenly he jerked forward, his large hands gripping the sides of your face and tugging you closer until his lips slammed against yours.

He tasted like whisky. Whisky and tears.

You were so gobsmacked for a moment you let him kiss you. But once your brain caught up to what was happening, you quickly pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” You frowned at him.

His eyes widened as the realisation of his stupidity washed over him and he stumbled up to his feet.

“Oh my god.” He shook his head frantically. “What am I doing? I’m so sorry, I should…should go…”

His shaky legs tried to carry him to the door but you managed to jump up and grab his wrist before he could get too far.

When he looked back at you his cheeks were bright red with his embarrassment and he struggled to look you in the eye.

“Don’t go.” You spoke softly. “I can’t let you roam the streets in this state. Stay, you can sleep on the couch. We’ll forget that ever happened.”

He pulled a face like he might argue with you and maybe if he hadn’t had so much to drink he may have.

But god knows where else he could end up with the alcohol clouding his brain, he was sure he hadn’t meant to come here in the first place.

He exhaled and nodded slowly, moving away from the door and further into your apartment.

“I really am sorry about Wren. But it’s not over, Spencer. You have to try and stay positive. For her.” You whispered before you turned away to gather blankets for your ex’s drunken stay on your couch.

***

In the morning you found your couch empty, blankets and pillows piled neatly at one end and a small scrap of note paper on top.

In Spencer’s chicken scratch handwriting you read:

Thank you for last night. I thought it best I leave before you wake up. I am absolutely mortified about my actions. I should have known better even in the state I was in.

I’m sorry for putting you in that position and for making you feel as though you had to let me stay. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.

I’m sorry for everything.

Spencer.

Everything; he was sorry for everything.

Sorry for blurting out that he wanted a family? Sorry for reacting the way he did when you told him you weren’t ready? Sorry for calling whatever the two of you had a waste of time? Sorry for diving head first into adopting a little girl without telling you?

You folded up the note and hid it away in your nightstand. You considered calling him but you were fairly certain he wouldn’t pick up.

You made coffee and ate breakfast, all the while Spencer’s heartbreak over potentially losing that little girl was weighing on you.

There had to be something you could do to help him. Anything. You would do anything for him.

You took your coffee over to the desk and booted up your laptop. Even as your fingers were hovering over the keys, you weren’t sure why exactly you were doing this.

Other than the fact you hated to see Spencer so sad.

***

It was deep into the month of June when Spencer was allowed to take Wren out of the halfway home for the first time.

Jenny accompanied them but assured him she was just here to supervise and she wouldn’t get involved.

He’d tried to remain positive, the fact they were allowing him to still see her, to take her out of the home surely meant all was not lost? Maybe he still had a chance to be her father.

The first place Wren wanted to go was for ice cream. He told her they could go anywhere she wanted and she wanted ice cream.

So he took her for ice cream.

She couldn’t decide what she wanted so he brought her seven different little cups of seven different flavours. She ate each one with a smile on her face and apparently each one was better than the last.

Hopped up on sugar, he took her to the park. She held his hand as they walked and hers was so tiny in his. It made his heart soar, spiralling up into the atmosphere and blanketing him in a warmth he’d never felt before.

He pushed her on the swing set while she giggled and screamed to go higher. He caught her in his arms at the bottom of the slide which she went down twenty two times.

And each of the twenty two times he caught her, wrapping her small body in his arms, picking her up and spinning her around causing more laughter to erupt from her. And each time when he placed her back on her feet she screamed, again!

He held her little waist while she attempted the jungle gym, not having the upper body strength to hold herself up.

Once he settled her back on the ground and asked her what she wanted to do next. Her expressive eyes wandered the park, the little cogs in her brain turning while she tried to make a decision.

But then something horrible happened.

When her eyes finally landed back on Spencer, he saw the tears behind them a split second before they started falling. Her bottom lip pouted and her small frame started to shake violently.

“Wren?” Spencer immediately knelt in front of her in the grass and placed his hands on her shoulders.

She was vibrating, sniffing dramatically and shaking her head, curls bouncing as she did so.

“Wren, what’s wrong?” He felt his heart shattering as he looked at her.

“I want to go home!” She screamed, so loudly Spencer was sure he felt an ear drum burst.

Before he could reply she had pulled herself out of his grip, turned away and started running as fast as her legs would carry her.

“I want to go home!” She screeched as she went.

Spencer pushed himself up and suddenly Jenny was at his side. He barely registered her until she spoke.

“What happened?” She asked almost accusingly.

“I have no idea.” He shook his head, not taking his eyes off of Wren who was running towards the tree line at the edge of the park. “Let me go, I’ll find out what’s wrong.”

He didn’t wait for Jenny to reply before he took off running after her. Spencer had never relished running or any kind of physical exertion. In his time with the BAU he’d avoided it at all costs.

But right now he didn’t care. He would run to the ends of the Earth if he had to just to find Wren. Thankfully he didn’t have to.

He found the small raven haired girl collapsed at the trunk of a large tree, legs drawn up to her chest and she sobbed into the fabric of her cream coloured leggings.

Her cries were so loud, so gut wrenching that he could have burst into tears just from the sound. She looked utterly helpless and Spencer wanted to wrap her in his arms and shield her from all the bad in the world.

But he wasn’t so sure that’s what she wanted.

He approached her with caution, not wanting to startle her. When he reached her, he dropped to the grass in front of her on his knees. Slowly he reached out and brushed her tangled curls behind her ear.

“Pumpkin, what’s wrong?” He whispered soothingly, hooking his finger under her chin and raising her head so he could look at her.

Those electrifying green eyes were made almost blindingly bright by her tears.

“The lady,” she sniffed, lips still pouted. “The lady by the swing set. She looked like my mommy.”

Fuck.

He felt a lump form in his throat. Sometimes she was so happy and upbeat it was easy for him to forget what had happened to her parents. She was so brave, so strong, but he couldn’t imagine the kind of inner turmoil she battled with everyday.

“Oh, Wren. I’m so sorry.” He started to brush away her tears but she surprised him when she huffed and shoved his hand off of her face.

“Stop it.” She frowned at him. “I want to go home!”

“Wren,” he tried to ignore the pain of having her push him away. “We’ve talked about this. You said you understood that you couldn’t go home.”

“I don’t care!” She yelled, slamming her little fists in the dirt. “I want to go home! I want my mommy and daddy!”

Spencer felt a presence somewhere behind them, he knew it was Jenny. He hoped she’d let him handle this.

“Wren, I know this must be hard for you…” he trailed off when the little girl pushed herself to her feet. Spencer stayed on his knees.

“I want my mommy and daddy!” She screamed at the top of her small lungs.

“I know you do, pumpkin but-”

“Stop calling me pumpkin.” She huffed again, stamping her foot.

“I thought…I thought you liked me calling you pumpkin?” His chest tightened, his heart breaking.

“Well I don’t.” She folded her arms dramatically over her chest, stomped her foot again.

“Ok, that’s ok. I won’t call you it anymore if you don’t like it.” He spoke softly, he hoped calmly.

“I don’t like you.” She suddenly spat, eyes sad and eyebrows knitted together.

The pain that shot to his heart hearing those words was like nothing Spencer had ever experienced before. It was as though she had taken her tiny fist and punched him straight in the chest with a force much stronger than herself.

The air left his lungs, the wind leaving his sails. The hurt caused by those four words was far worse than getting shot, worse than being beaten by Hankel, or the beatings he’d received in prison. Even worse than the mental and emotional anguish of watching Maeve die.

Her words were like a knife, cutting and ripping at his flesh, slicing him open and leaving him completely raw.

“W-Wren…” he choked out, his pain evident in his voice. “I know you’re sad but please don’t say that. It’s not a very nice thing to say.”

“I don’t care!” She screamed again. “I hate you! You’re not my daddy. I want my daddy!”

She grew hysteric after that, sobbing so frantically nothing she said made sense anymore. He tried to comfort her, to hold her, but she pushed him away each time.

Eventually he glanced over his shoulder where Jenny was in fact standing and looked forlornly at her from the ground.

She stepped closer tentatively and crouched next to the screeching child.

“It’s ok Wren, let’s get you back to the home.” She was able to put her arm around Wren without being pushed away and the little girl buried against her. “I’m sorry Doctor Reid but I need to take her back. I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”

Both adults raised to their feet at the same time, Spencer’s tears filled eyes meeting those of the social worker.

“I…I…” he looked back at Wren who was clinging to Jenny like he was some kind of terrifying monster. He wanted to argue but he could risk further upsetting her. “O-ok.”

He stood dumbly and watched as Jenny led Wren back across the park. His tears started to fall despite himself and he curled his arms around his body, hugging himself tightly.

All he wanted in the world was for Wren to be happy. But if she wasn’t happy with him, how did he even begin to be happy without her?

***

“Thank you for coming with me. I’m sorry I keep dragging you into this.” Spencer averted his gaze to the sidewalk as he ambled along.

You strolled next to him, curiously watching the side of his face as you sipped your coffee.

When he’d called you this evening you’d been at the BAU finishing up some paperwork. You hadn’t seen or heard from him since the night he showed up drunk at your apartment and you were surprised to see his name flashing on your phone screen.

His tone had been frantic down the phone, you only managed to catch every few words.

Wren hates me. Fucked up. Want to use.

You managed to get him to calm for long enough to tell you where he was. When you’d hurried to Emily’s office your fear must have been written on your face as all you’d needed to say was, I have to go, Spencer… and she was motioning you out of the door.

You found him where he’d said he’d be, on a park bench with a bottle of whiskey concealed in a paper bag.

It was unopened. Small miracles.

He didn’t tell you what was wrong, instead he asked you to follow him. And you did without question.

He led you to an old community centre and once inside you understood why.

You sat and listened as he spoke to the room at Beltway Clean Cops of everything that had happened, right up until this afternoon when Wren had screamed that she hated him and didn’t want him as her dad.

He told them how he had never wanted to use so badly in over ten years and how he’d gotten drunk a little while ago to stop him getting high.

Afterwards he left and you followed him again.

He brought you coffee at a nearby cafe and the two of you walked in the DC night side by side. That was the first time he’d spoken since he addressed the room at Beltway.

“I’m glad you called actually. I’ve been worried about you.” You kept your eyes on his face but he wouldn’t look at you. “She’s been traumatised, Spence. It sounds like she’s been brave up until now but you and I both know that kind of trauma has to be dealt with eventually. I may not know her but I’m certain she didn’t mean what she said.”

“What if she did?” His hand tightened around his coffee cup. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You need to give her time, that's all you can do. She needs to feel what happened to her so she can start to move past it.” You wished you had a better answer.

“So I’m just supposed to wait? I can’t do that, I have to do something.”

You reached for him, touching the back of his free hand. He slowed to a stop and you did the same. Finally his eyes flit up to you.

“You know the Serenity Prayer, right? They use it in drug rehabilitation.” You kept your hand on his, he didn’t seem to mind.

“Of course I do.” He frowned a little.

“I know you’re not religious, but I need you to say it with me. I need you to hear it.” You turned his hand over so you could hold it.

He looked like he might argue, huffing out a breath before he rolled his eyes.

“Fine.” He agreed although clearly not happily.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” You spoke in time with one another, keeping eye contact as you did so.

“You have to grant your own serenity, Spencer. You have to accept that you can’t change some things no matter how much you want to. I know it’s hard, but some things are out of your control.” You went to remove your hand from his but he surprised you by keeping a firm hold on you.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.” He spoke quietly, his eyebrows still knitted together. “You’re the wind beneath my wings, keeping me airborne when I feel like I might start free falling. You’re…you’re my favourite person in the whole goddamn world.”

“And you’re mine.” You smiled at him, squeezing his hand. “I want this to work out for you but if it doesn’t, you have to be able to bounce back. You just have to.”

“I know.” He agreed with a nod. “Thank you Y/N.”

He let go of your hand but was quickly wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close to his chest. In turn you wrapped your free arm around him too and you held each other tightly.

“You’ll be ok Spencer. I’m sure of it.” You whispered against his shirt.

“I hope so.” He nodded, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Can I…can I call you tomorrow after I’ve spoken to Jenny? Good or bad?”

You lifted your head so you could look at him, a gentle smile on your lips.

“You can call me any time, Spencer. I mean it.”

You noticed the way his eyes grazed over your lips and you thought he might kiss you. And this time you might have let him.

He wanted to kiss you, he almost kissed you, but he knew it wasn’t fair on either of you. You were one of those things he needed the serenity to accept he couldn’t change.

He swallowed thickly and stepped back from your hold, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck.

“Can I walk you to your car?” He asked, eyes once again on the sidewalk.

“Sure.” You nodded and soon the two of you fell in step again and neither of you spoke until you said your goodbyes at your vehicle.

You drove away knowing you had to do more. You’d already started making provisions, taking steps in order to help your most favourite person. But you needed to do more.

And you needed to do it fast.

***

The following day Jenny called him and asked him to come to the halfway home. He was nervous, having no idea what to expect when he got there.

It wasn’t Jenny that met him in the day room though, it was Wren.

She had her curly hair in pigtails and she wore a cute pair of denim overalls with a polka dot shirt underneath. She had a shy smile on her lips, one hand clutching Rover by the ear and the other held a sheet of paper.

“Hi Wren,” Spencer cautiously stepped closer to her, wanting to give her space.

She proffered the paper towards him without a word, which he took and scrutinised.

On one half of the page was another of her crayon drawings, this one depicting a small dark-haired child cuddling an extremely tall man, taller than the trees he was standing next to.

On the other in orange crayon was a note, every word spelled correctly, he wasn’t sure if she was just that smart or if she had help. It didn’t matter much either way, what mattered were the words themself.

To: Spencer

From: Wren

I’m sorry for being mean to you. I don’t hate you and I still want to live with you in the pretty house. I miss my mommy and daddy but I still want us to be a family.

He felt the tears filling his eyes before he reached the end and once he’d read it through a handful of times he looked back up at Wren who waited patiently for him to finish.

“You’re sure?” His voice cracked, betraying him.

“Yes.” She nodded, pigtails bouncing,

“Come here,” he sniffed, holding his arms open for her to make the first move.

She was quick to come closer, falling into Spencer and wrapping her small arms around his waist while he enveloped her in a tight embrace.

“God I love you kiddo.” He blurted out, as she snuggled against him. He’d never told her that before, always too scared of what a five year olds reaction would be to that.

She squeezed him as tight as she was able, nuzzling her head into his stomach.

“I love you, Spencer.” She replied and Spencer felt the pieces of his shattered heart fall back into place. “And I do like it when you call me pumpkin.”

Spencer held her tighter still, feeling as though his chest could explode with love. He bowed his head and kissed her curls.

“Ok, pumpkin,” he whispered into her wild hair. “You want me to read to you while I’m here?”

“Yes please.” She nodded, pulling back from his arms.

She soon started running away, over towards the couch they usually occupied how he read to her. He glanced down at the piece of paper in his hands and smiled.

If it was the last thing he did, he was bringing this little girl home.

***

July came and went in a blur of home visits, parental training, family profile meetings and days out with Wren and Jenny.

August came and Spencer felt positive. With each passing day he was getting closer and closer to being able to finally bring Wren home.

But just as quickly as he’d gotten his hopes up, they were dashed again, leaving Spencer spiralling towards a dark abyss with no way to break his fall.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” Spencer stared at Jenny across his coffee table, his mug of tea wobbling in his shaky hands.

Jenny inhaled, sitting back in the armchair and crossing one leg over the other.

“I said there’s a young couple who have taken a liking to Wren. They’ve expressed interest in pursuing adoption. They’re already approved, done their home studies and training. They’d just been waiting for the right child.” Jenny braced herself, waited for the doctor's reaction.

“They’ve met her?” He swallowed.

“Yes, they adore her.” Jenny told him somewhat morosely.

“And Wren?”

“She seemed to like them.” Jenny smiled sadly at him.

“So, uh, it’s over? Just like that?” The tears misted his eyes but he managed to keep them at bay.

He recited the serenity prayer in his head like a mantra.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

“It’s not over, Doctor Reid. And if you wish to still pursue your adoption you are well within your right to. But you’re entitled to know what’s going on and I’ve said before-”

“The state will be more likely inclined to place her in an environment similar to where she came from. Two parents instead of one.” His voice was monotone, not an ounce of emotion to it.

“I’m afraid so.”

Spencer wanted to cry. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream and break something. He wanted to drink or take dilaudid.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change.

“O-ok.” He croaked.

“Ok?” Jenny frowned at him, clearly expecting him to put up more of a fight.

“I want what’s best for Wren above all else. Maybe two parents can give her more than I can.” He choked back a sob. “I’ll keep fighting for her, to the bitter end. But if it doesn’t work in my favour there’s nothing I can do, right? I have to accept the things I can’t change.”

“For what it’s worth,” Jenny pushed herself to her feet. “I’m rooting for you. But there’s only so much I can do.”

“Thank you.” He stood as well.

He saw her out and padded back to the couch, running his fingers through his tangled hair.

It was only then he realised how exhausted he was. These last few months had taken everything out of him, physically and mentally. He’d continue to go through the motions in the hopes this might end in his favour but honestly, he couldn’t keep fighting the way he had been.

He loved Wren, with every beat of his heart. But perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe he was never supposed to have a family.

He grabbed his phone and typed out a quick text, hit send and closed his eyes.

Before he could succumb to sleep, there was a knock at his green front door.

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