#running on 3 hours of sleep and I had to be out most of today lol

[gutsby]

Stubborn

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel sees your baby bump for the first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding/Impreg Kink. Hurt/Comfort (mostly comfort). Mention of insecurities related to changes in Reader’s body from pregnancy (!!) Praise kink. Creampie. Girthy but unspecified age gap. Nothing bad happens to Joel Miller. He lives to 103 :)

Word count: 4.9k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It had been a long week.

The one before that had seemed even longer. Joel Miller spent every night of it curled up on too-cold hardwood floors in remote cabins or in guard towers, on duty. He would’ve given anything to be someplace else, but as it stood, Jackson was on high alert for hordes of Infected. That meant he had had to contribute his fair share and go on extended patrol, no matter how loudly every last ligament, muscle, and bone in his old body protested.

Evidently, there was a dearth of strong and gun-savvy folks in town. No exceptions could be carved out for anyone among them—not even expecting fathers.

Today, Joel stood in a greenhouse, running off two hours of sleep. He’d made it back home that morning, but before he’d even slid off his boots you’d told him you were headed to the farmer’s market and you wouldn’t be gone more than twenty minutes at most, just stay here and get some sleep while I’m out, OK? Joel had refused.

“Already spent too much damn time away from you two,” he’d said grumpily, pressing a kiss to your temple before ushering you out the door. He caught you smile at that.

By ‘you two,’ Joel hadn’t needed to gesture to your belly and the life growing within it to explain what he meant. You both knew it—had been aware of this little world-altering development for weeks now—but no matter how much time had passed, neither one of you seemed quite capable of saying the words without a glance or a grin.

“Me and baby did just fine on our own these last nights,” you’d assured him teasingly as you walked along then. “In fact, I think he was glad not to hear all your snoring.”

Joel had almost chuckled through his latest yawn.

“Yeah? She tell you that herself while I was gone?”

He was convinced the baby was a girl.

You swore you were having a boy.

As Joel leaned against a display of sun-dried tomatoes and yawned extra big again, he decided it didn’t matter one bit what the gender was going to be. He just wanted to meet the kid. He hated that he would have to wait another six months to see their face and pinch their pudgy cheeks between his fingers, but that was a minuscule price to pay for what was to come in time.

Tiny feet. Bright eyes. Beaming, toothless smiles. Greedy hands that would no doubt be yanking at his silver hairs all hours of the day. He just hoped they’d take after y—

“Joel?”

Your eyes flickered to him in question. He hadn’t heard it.

“What’s’at, sweetheart?”

You furrowed your brows.

“I’m blanking on what Maria asked us to buy. Zucchini?”

Joel had no fucking idea.

A sea of fruits and vegetables lay out before him like a technicolor dream; he was so sleep-deprived it almost seemed surreal to see so much vibrancy at once, and he had to blink a couple of times to get his vision to adjust.

Then he was looking back at you. You were frowning.

“Baby, we can go home. You’re about to pass out.”

And Joel knew you meant it—despite only being at the market in town a grand total of five minutes, he knew you’d be willing to leave in a heartbeat if it meant giving him a moment’s worth of rest. It had been his own doing in bringing his drained, deadened, stubborn body here.

“I’m fine. Really, I’m good. You said, uh…cucumbers?”

“Zucchini.” You fended off his taut forced smile with a warning look of you own, as if to say: ‘You suck at lying.’

That look remained on him for a while and was only marginally diminished by a kiss he dropped on your forehead, followed by a promise to sleep the rest of the day. He didn’t like seeing you put off in the slightest, but if it meant getting to spend an extra half hour with you and Junior, Joel decided he was willing to bend the rules.

Fortunately, your scowl was even more short-lived than expected. The next second had you turning and, seeing something in a small wooden crate across the way, glowing with a bright, eager look. You walked over.

“Look—our baby!” you cried, peering into the box.

Joel was puzzled, but then you turned again and were suddenly holding a lemon up to your stomach, grinning.

“At thirteen weeks, the baby’s about the size of this.”

You balanced the thing proudly in your palm, just over your navel, and flashed him an irresistibly sweet smile. Joel smiled back, and was right about to squeeze the little fruit and tell you he couldn’t believe this kid was growing so fast, when a new voice cut in. It was some neighbor of yours. You turned to greet her, scarcely had a second to get through ‘hello’ before talks of an upcoming potluck were entered into, and before Joel knew it, he’d lost the opportunity to marvel your fruit fetus. He felt unusually dismayed at that but blamed it on burnout.

Why did he feel like he’d missed so much already?

It wasn’t like he could change the fact that this world you inhabited was overrun with the living undead, and he had to help defend this community against them, but still.

Joel was just about to yawn again and rub his bleary eyes when his gaze meandered somewhere else.

His yawn caught in his throat as soon as he saw it, and like before, he had to blink several times to clear the sight in front of him. This time, though, it wasn’t total exhaustion which clouded his vision—it was something more, snagged in his periphery at first, only to gain his full attention an instant later. Joel’s chest tightened.

Surely it wasn’t fatigue alone making him see this.

You’d tilted your body from him a little more while talking to your friend, and in your profile, Joel could make out an unfamiliar shape in your ensemble that he hadn’t noticed when you were holding the lemon: just under the swell of your breasts, beneath the apricot-colored material of your dress, he could see the faintest outline of a bump.

Joel stared harder, half-expecting that picture to fade like a mirage. He couldn’t believe the sight before him.

He’d seen you in fits and bursts over the last two weeks—he worked double shifts on patrol, so you were often asleep when he was home, and there were all the times he was forced to sleep at one of the far outposts, but no.

No.

Joel wouldn’t have missed something like that.

He couldn’t have missed the first glimpse of your growing belly when he’d gotten so…fixated on you, this baby, the thoughts of your future together as a family.

No, he shouldn’t have missed that. A good dad wouldn’t.

Hell, even a halfway decent father-to-be wouldn’t have not noticed the growth of his own child inside you. That seemed so rudimentary—how the fuck had he missed it?

Suddenly, a coil was forming in his stomach. Unlike the one in yours, it wasn’t a child but a pit of guilt growing there. He felt his legs weaken underneath him, and he swallowed dryly. He cleared his throat. He tried to cast a sideways look at you, maybe try and urge you to get on with this neighborly conversation and be done with it, but who was he to say anything now? Joel slumped against a table full of leafy greens and tried not to sulk.

He blinked and five minutes had passed, at least. His head was swimming with thoughts of shame and remorse, wanting to kick himself for agreeing to pick up shifts for his brother last week, and feeling like he’d failed you and your baby already—and they weren’t even born.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder again. Two bloodshot eyes darted to the left.

“Joel,” you said, softly. Your voice was full of sympathy.

The man couldn’t bear to hear it. He didn’t deserve it.

In fact, he felt so down on himself and dead tired now that he couldn’t muster up the strength to speak when you nudged him back onto his feet. You walked beside him with a basket that now contained three zucchini, two bulbs of garlic, a lemon, and a dozen other food items that he couldn’t place at the moment. Joel had no idea what you’d be cooking tonight, but he couldn’t help but wince at the sight of that tiny yellow fruit in front of him.

You knew this would be a long day.

Joel never slept well after those week-long stints going back and forth between patrol and home, and ever since taking Tommy’s as well while he was out sick, the man before you was drained of all his energy. Dead, almost.

Okay, maybe ‘dead’ was an overstatement.

Joel was very much alive; his body just sagged, his head lolled forward where he stood, and he refused to sleep.

It made no sense to you. It was like the longer he’d been awake, away from you, the more adamant he became that he couldn’t spare a minute while he was home dozing off. When you’d dragged his hulking body up the stairs to your bedroom, he shook his head in protest.

“I— I missed seeing her,” he mumbled dejectedly. Resisting your efforts to push him onto the bed.

“I know. You can talk as much as you’d like after you get some rest, OK? We’ll be right downstairs in the kitchen.”

That didn’t seem to appease Joel at all. If anything, he made an effort to shake his head harder and seemed ready to follow you back downstairs to help you cook.

You weren’t having any of that, so you nudged him back.

“Joel—”

“No, I missed it, honey. I missed it.”

He was talking nonsense now, surely.

“What do you mean? Missed what, Joel?”

With a deflated sort of sound, he collapsed on the bed behind him. Joel steadied himself wearily, blinking more.

Seeming as if he wanted to meet your gaze but couldn’t.

Then, to your surprise, he slid off of the bed and sank to the floor, on his knees. He shuffled closer to where you stood, and then slowly, sheepishly, peered up at you.

“I missed seeing this,” he clarified quietly.

And two hard, muscly arms wrapped around your lower half from where he kneeled. Joel’s face was mere inches from the fabric of your dress—where it flared the slightest bit out front and almost prodded at his nose.

Your little bump was protruding under your clothes now. It couldn’t be helped, no matter how loose of winter attire you wore, and you felt guilty that, at first, you hadn’t liked how it looked. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to be some exquisite, transcendent experience wherein every waking moment had you cherishing what your body did for you, like sustaining a brand new life? You’d felt awful.

So terrible, in fact, that you hadn’t even thought to mention the development to Joel, which somehow made things even worse. You just wanted to wrap up and hide, for no other reason than that you felt so self-conscious.

Now here Joel was, pressing his face to the little bulge in your frame and peering up at you with the widest, most glass-like pair of eyes you’d seen in a long time. He was watching you like he was riddled with guilt himself, oddly

You couldn’t imagine what the shame might be for.

“What are you talking about? You didn’t miss anything,” you said softly, lowering your voice to just a murmur.

Joel winced as if you’d just reared back and struck him.

“I did,” he whispered back, tone hoarse. Then, somehow, his next words came out even more broken. “I was gone so long I— I didn’t even notice you had a bump already.”

He sounded so despondent as he said it—like he’d missed some great milestone in your pregnancy and not an event that you’d actually wanted to keep out of sight.

Your heart ached in your chest. You hated seeing this.

You wanted to join him on the floor and hold him tight, tell him he hadn’t missed one single thing, but Joel’s grip around your hips was far too much to move an inch. So you remained standing instead and stroked his hair.

“What, this?” you said, gesturing toward the swell of your belly against his face. Forcing a smile when you felt guilt flood your insides. “It’s…it’s just a little bump, Joel, it’s—”

Joel drew back momentarily to meet you, eyes serious.

“It’s our baby,” he resumed, tone all soft solemnity.

That made the shame balloon in your chest.

You should’ve told him. Shown him.

But no, you’d been too afraid of what he might think of your changing body. You’d kept the news to yourself and let things go on as if nothing had happened at all. At the time, you told yourself you were doing it in Joel’s best interest—letting him rest and not spend too much time off-duty worrying about you. You’d played tougher than you really were and ended up causing the man pain over missing a moment like this. Your bottom lip trembled as you pulled him in closer to you. You hugged him to you.

“I— I’m sorry,” you croaked. You touched his head gently.

You’d just threaded your fingers through the soft, grey hair at the back of Joel’s head when he tilted his whole face back up to you. His chin hovered above your bump, and his eyes were shining up at you. Shortly, he frowned.

“Sorry for what, sweetheart? You didn’t—”

“I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to see.”

You blurted it out before you could think.

Joel was watching you so intently—tenderly—with his face so close to that spot you’d been trying to hide away. His look was open and sincere, and you felt like shit, so you just kept rambling on to clear your conscience of it.

“Ever since I saw the bump myself, I…I just…” you trailed off, feeling dumb as soon as the words started tumbling. “I didn’t like the way I looked. I wanted to keep it from you, because I was…scared of what you might think.”

And here he was, on his knees from how bad he felt.

His grip loosened, like he was processing things.

You found yourself lowering to the floor, too. You couldn’t help it. Your eyes began filling with hot, wet, hormone-induced tears like you’d been experiencing a lot of these last few weeks, and you hugged Joel again. You winced.

“I didn’t think it would mean so much to you, Joel. If I had known…If I knew it would hurt you not to know…”

Your wince became a full grimace—an ugly kind of cry that you’d long chastised yourself for doing—and you pulled back. You placed your palms over your eyes to hide your shame, but a couple stray tears leaked out.

Before you knew it, there were arms around you again. Big and muscly and warm, not hugging, but lifting you.

“Joel,” you sobbed into his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

You expected the father of your child to respond in words, but instead, at first, he just sat down on the bed with you in his hold. He let you rest your head on his chest, and for several long moments, he rocked you.

He held you, and you cried, and one of your hands came to fist the warm flannel of his shirt for sometime before you realized that Joel’s own palm was stroking your hair. Caressing it. Then, slowly, moving so he could thumb at the tears sliding down your cheeks, and holding you as close to his body as possible. Because of this, your ear was pressed flush against his chest, and you heard him.

Joel’s heart was hammering, and his breaths were quick.

You lifted your head, and as soon as you did, you were greeted with the sight of Joel peering down, face no more than a few inches away. Eyes soft and glossy.

“Joel, I’m so sorr—”

“You don’t,” Joel cut in, words still impossibly tender. “Don’t gotta apologize for nothin’, baby. Not one thing.”

You searched his face and saw exhaustion in every feature—there was no hiding that. Not just in the weeks but in the years he’d spent living in this world, fighting to survive and having all the scars and striations and thick, shining grays to prove it. You took stock of every sunspot and wrinkle, seeing a softness there that no pain had stolen, and found yourself all the more in love with this man. Your old man, the one who’d put this baby in you.

Without thinking, you reached for the hem of your dress.

You couldn’t get to it, as the skirt was long, and the material was splayed out all over Joel and the bed, but you were still able to bunch the fabric in your hands.

Tug it gently, but resolutely, up your legs. Near your hips.

Then over them. Suddenly sitting at your ribs, while your eyes stayed locked on Joel’s. The air felt a bit cooler now.

The house that you shared was always warm in winter. Now, with your stomach bared and your hand sliding at a snail’s pace up your front with Joel’s fingers clasped in it, you’d never felt a chill so biting in your life. Or frightening

Joel’s touch brushed the little bump above your pantyline, and instantly, you wanted to squirm. You hated how you felt that way, but it also couldn’t be helped. Your belly never protruded like this before, and you were still getting used to it—it would take time.

Joel hadn’t seen it even once before today.

Although he touched your body nonstop, with his focus centering a lot more on your tummy these days, he’d never actually gotten to feel the proof of his child growing inside you until now. You were showing.

Your belly was swollen beneath his hand and heaving lightly with every breath you took. You looked up at Joel.

And for once, he wasn’t looking back. He was looking at you, but his gaze this time was plastered to your lower half, where his palm was gradually moving to rest atop that tiny bump. He splayed his fingers. Yours sat timidly above his, and you wondered if you might not move back

Then you felt wetness on your hand. It was an odd, foreign feeling at first; you had no idea where those little droplets came from, but in a second, it dawned on you.

Joel’s head was bowed, and he was blinking hard.

The moisture was from his tears dripping down.

Your body almost caved with the realization. Your fingers tightened around the back of Joel’s hand, and presently, your voice was as hoarse as it had ever been as you shifted to sit up. Trying not to cry anymore yourself.

“Joel, don’t—don’t, no. This is my fault.”

“It’s my fault. I haven’t been here.”

And just hearing those words leave Joel’s mouth seemed ludicrous to you. He’d been there every step of the way to date, rubbing your back through the worst bouts of your morning sickness, spoon-feeding you on days you found it difficult to move a muscle, stroking your cheek and speaking soft words of consolation—he was there.

And here he was, meeting your gaze with bleary, bloodshot eyes as he blinked through his tears.

You couldn’t bear to see it.

You scrambled up from Joel’s lap and hugged him—no, attacked him with an embrace that knocked him flat on his back on the bed. Your arms wound around his neck, and your stomach brushed against his softer one. If it weren’t several weeks premature, you might’ve thought you felt some movement inside you. You squeezed your old man even tighter then and started shaking your head

“Oh, Joel…”

You pressed your body to his, hoping he’d feel your sincerity, if not the heat and the swell of your belly, thanks to what he’d done inside you. Now, more than anything else, you wanted to show him what he’d made happen—what you were so happy to feel every day, despite your insecurities and fears about some parts.

You wanted him to know how much you loved him.

“You’ve been here,” you assured him softly. Lifting slightly so you could lie on top with your front to his. “You always have and you always will. You hear me?”

Joel swallowed as soon as your lips attached to his neck and started peppering kisses to tufts of black and silver.

Gently, he reached around your back to hold you to him. His arms had just constricted in a protective grip around the base of your spine when you wriggled out. You sat up

You unzipped your dress and shifted on your knees to pull it off you completely. You tossed it and took a breath.

Now you were naked, save for your pale cotton panties, and sitting there. Straddling him. Soft rays of morning light filtered in through the window, and for a beat, you hoped the shadows it cast on your body didn’t make you look…odd, or undesirable to the man lying beneath you.

Fortunately, that fear was dispelled as soon as it arrived.

Joel’s gaze melted at the sight, and he swallowed again.

Wiping his eyes with one hand and beckoning with the other, he said, soft as anything: “Sweet pea, I love you.”

“I love you more.” You were fumbling to get your panties off—not even with sex in mind, but just so that Joel could see more of you. All of you. You wanted him to be able to drink in every inch now, like he couldn’t before.

You wanted to be naked with him, like you’d been when you made this baby together. It didn’t have to be anything more than pure and simple appreciation.

Though when you fumbled with the bottom buttons of Joel’s flannel and murmured, ‘Take yours off, too, please,’ you couldn’t deny that it had an edge of something else, as well. That was only natural.

Within seconds, Joel was stripped of his clothes, and his body was on display, the same as yours. You could stare at him, he could stare at you, and together, you could cherish the knowledge that these bodies made a third. There was a new one growing inside of you, day by day, and now you could see the proof as well as you’d felt it.

For once, Joel hardened, and it didn’t feel like just lust or love or arousal at the sight of your nude body, but a primal urge. When your folds dripped and glistened in turn, it wasn’t merely a product of wanting but of acknowledging what had already been done here.

This big man, this stiff and graying man, this kind man had put his seed inside you more times than you could count, and one of those moments had made him stick.

Stuck as he was, claimed as you felt, you were happy.

At last, one of your hands came to rest over your belly in a sweet, appreciative, and loving way, and you rubbed it.

It might’ve been the first time you’d done it.

That was definitely a first for Joel.

His hand immediately joined.

“You put a baby in me.” You said it gently.

“I put a baby in you,” Joel repeated.

In a breath, it was affectionate. In the next, it was protective. In the one after that, you felt his cock pushing inside you, but it hardly felt that way at all sitting on him.

It was sex, though. You rolled your hips and took him to the base. Joel’s hand stayed on your belly, trailing each movement with a look of awe. And strain. His smooth, bulbous tip grazed somewhere deep within your body, and your walls contracted around him. Sucked him in.

“Right there.” His fingers flexed over where his cock was currently stretching you out from the inside, and you whimpered softly. “Ain’t that where I stuffed you full?”

“Yes,” you breathed, free hand anchoring on his chest.

Joel fucked up into you gently, and damn, this was even better in the second trimester than the first. Your body was more responsive. Your slick warmth drew him in.

Every nerve-ending in your system seemed attuned to the one man who’d made himself a part of you, like he was made to be exactly where he was, and no place else.

“My sweet girl let daddy make her a mama, huh?”

It didn’t feel like fucking and still, you were a minute from coming. Joel’s words, paired with a hand on your swollen belly and the soft, pleasuring cadence of his thrusts made you helpless to the sensation. You looked down.

And for once, you relished the sight below. You loved it—Joel’s hand over your belly, his cock splitting you in two.

“Y’like how it looks? Me in you?” Joel chuckled. Behind it, you could sense that he was getting close too, though.

His thrusts sped up, and you bounced to meet them, a smile spreading across your lips once you found his gaze.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Know how goddamn pretty ya look swole up with me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice was sweet. Supplicating. Sincere.

It wasn’t as if your fears and insecurities all vanished the moment Joel told you you were pretty, or when he said that you had no need to be sorry. That would have to come with time—but the praise certainly helped. His words spoken so tenderly to you then had an effect.

You wanted to believe all these things, and the closer you got to climax, the more readily you shed your inhibitions. Your hips started gyrating with more force, and you no longer gave a shit whether your body looked so different.

For now, at least, you’d just have to accept that growing Joel Miller’s child inside you meant many things would change. There was no escaping it. What mattered now was your health, being together with Joel, and knowing how much he loved you, no matter what might happen.

And that much was clear from the way he eyed you suddenly—needily—and how the fingers splayed across your front migrated down your stomach, over your bump, and between where your body and his were joined. He always made sure you were taken care of, and of course, that concern extended virtually everywhere.

A series of quick, deliberate circles on your clit and his cock hitting you repeatedly in your most sensitive spot made you see stars. Your eyes were tempted to roll back in pure bliss, preparing for your orgasm to hit, when Joel snagged your attention back. He pulled you in until your chest was practically parallel with his, and then he drilled you from below. His mouth moved dangerously close to your ear, and from there, it was apparent he had plans.

Pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust, he spoke gently. He made sure you heard, though

“Y’like the way this feels now, don’t ya, sweet pea?”

In response, your words were more like a babble.

Still, you somehow managed to whine a ‘yes.’

And that was all Joel needed, apparently.

He leaned in even nearer, murmuring:

“Good.”

Good?

You were seconds from release. One hand was fisting the sheets now, your body moving in frantic tandem with Joel’s, and all at once, he was lifting your head. Tilting it sideways to meet his own while he fucked you relentlessly from below. He was beaming.

“Better get used to how it feels, ‘cause I’m keepin’ this belly full as long as you’ll let me keep on givin’ it babies.”

Fucking hell.

Your stomach clenched as if to say yes again, your brain went blank, and all you could think while you came on his cock was how much you loved him back—no matter how wary you were about these changes, how unwise making a man change diapers all throughout his sixties might seem, you’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

You might change your mind.

You might not.

But by the look on Joel’s face as he finished and flooded your insides with all his hot, sticky seed, you wanted to believe you would. One baby or a hundred, you’d give just about any number a shot with your old man, Joel Miller. You let him fuck you and fill you to the brim, and when it felt like he couldn’t go any deeper, or give you any more of this release, Joel pulled you in for a kiss.

Against his lips, muted between soft, sloppy movements, you managed to get out quietly:

“Whatever daddy wants.”

And when you’d finally pulled apart and were eye-to-eye again—after everything you’d been through today and these last couple weeks, these past few months—you couldn’t help it. A grin broke out on Joel’s face at the same moment it did yours. You both breathed heavily and felt your belly pressed against his. You were reminded, once more, of what brought you here and all you had to look forward to in the next months and years.

It would be hard, but well worth it with Joel by your side.

Gently, you nudged his nose with yours.

“I love you so much, Joel,” you whispered.

“I love you more, sweet pea,” he whispered back. Smiling

[mariasont]

hi pookie! <3

i loved loved loved the recent lipgloss fic! could you write smth about perfume? like bimbo! reader smells sweet asf and all of a sudden reid (or hotch) comes into the office smelling suspiciously sweet

tytyty!! <333

Suspiciously Sweet - S.R

a/n: hiiiiiii pookie!!!!!!! thank u so much for requesting i loved this lololol

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

warnings: fluffiest fluff, established relationship, spencer's relationship almost being exposed, hotch saving his ass, hotch hinting to having a secret girlfriend (aka my girl bimbo!assistant)

wc: 1.3k

You had a very distinct scent. This wasn't a bad thing, no, far from it. It was sweet and intoxicating, it reminded him of ripe peaches in the height of summer and cherries soaked in syrup, with a hint of something citrusy that reminded him of lazy afternoons in the sun. Was that too poetic? Spencer wasn't sure.

He noticed it everywhere. In the office, where it announced your arrival before you said a word. He noticed it at home. His pillows, his sheets, even the collar of the sweater you'd borrowed once — it was all steeped in the same honeyed scent that lingered after you left his bed, as if you were something he couldn't wash away — not that he wanted to.

This was why Spencer had started sleeping in on weekends when you stayed over. It wasn't laziness, not exactly, but how could he resist staying wrapped up in the thing that reminded him most of you?

Especially on those mornings when you were still half-asleep and clingy, burrowing into him with sleepy little hums, like you were trying to fuse yourselves together, and somehow, it worked. Your scent didn't just stick to his things, it stuck to him, sinking into his skin and leaving him a little dazed by the time you finally rolled out of bed.

Sure, he could rationalize it with some scientific explanation about heat transfer, molecules, or something equally clinical. But science (and he hated to admit this) didn’t account for how it made him feel.

Unfortunately, those feelings, didn't do him any good when one of those slow mornings he was becoming so fond of turned into an emergency call from Hotch about a case.

Now, he found himself here, hunched over the impossibly small sink in the jet's cramped bathroom, scrubbing his hands raw for what felt like fortieth time today. The scent wouldn't budge. It was as though it had soaked into his skin. He knew it was his fault, he couldn't seem to stop his hands from roaming across every inch of your body morning.

It wasn't that he minded smelling like you, but focusing on case details and running probability algorithms became infinitely harder when every breath reminded him of how tightly you had wrapped yourself around him just hours before.

He let out a bated breath, shutting off the sink before pushing his way into the main cabin of the jet. He found his way to his favorite seat, third back on the left side, which happened to be located far enough from the engines to minimize auditory distractions.

Morgan looked up, sniffing once as Spencer slid by. "Man, I don't know what it is, but something smells good in here."

Spencer tensed, his stomach dropping. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he fought the urge to whip around. Surely it wasn't that strong. It couldn't be.

Rossi glanced up from his crossword, brows furrowing.

“Huh. I was thinking the same thing. It’s faint, but it’s nice. Like fruit or… maybe something floral?” Rossi’s nose wrinkled as he added, “Certainly an improvement over Morgan’s cologne.”

Spencer ducked his head so fast it could've looked like a nod, his cheeks burning as he avoided everyone's gaze.

JJ came out of the coffee area moments later, glancing at the case file in her hand as she passed him. She stopped abruptly, sniffed the air, then frowned.

"Wow, Spence, you smell really good. Did you finally cave and buy cologne?"

Spencer blinked up at her, every ounce of blood in his body rushing to his face.

"Uh, no," he said flatly, trying to mask the embarrassment. "I suppose I woke up smelling like this."

Technically not a lie.

He was acutely aware of everyone's eyes on him. Emily tilted her head, brow furrowing before a wide grin spread across her face. Not a good sign, he concluded.

"Wait a second," she said, pointing at Spencer. "That smells exactly like outside of Cruz's office. I pass it all the time."

Spencer cleared his throat, his fingers tightening around the armrests as his mind scrambled for an explanation, any explanation, to divert their growing attention. He could practically feel the walls closing in on him. He was doomed. This was it.

Spencer’s pulse was thundering in his ears, his face still flushed, when Hotch finally set down his pen.

For a second, Spencer braced himself for the worst, the horrifying moment when even Hotch would add to his scrutiny.

"That smell? It's the same hand sanitizer Cruz keeps in his office. He offered it to me after a meeting, probably the same stuff Spencer borrowed when he spilled his coffee this morning."

Spencer looked to Hotch, mouth opening and closing before nodding as if in agreement. "Yeah, that's... probably it."

The rest of the ride passed, to Spencer’s immense relief, without further incident. Morgan gave him a few odd looks now and then, but Spencer was too preoccupied, his thoughts spinning as he tried to figure out why Hotch had saved his ass.

When the last of the team finally stepped off the plane, Spencer hung back, letting the others pass. Hotch did too, falling in step beside him. His pace was slower than usual, his gaze fixed forward, but when he spoke, his voice was loud enough for Spencer to hear.

"Word of advice, Reid, next time, carry mints and a travel sized bottle of something unscented. You'd be surprised how much that helps."

Spencer’s head whipped around, his face going a deep shade of red. Hotch, meanwhile, kept walking, his expression completely neutral, as though he hadn’t said anything at all.

—

"He said what?"

You were laughing uncontrollably, the kind of laugh that made your shoulders shake and left you gasping for air, your hands grabbing him for balance. Rollers filled your hair, a ritual you'd patiently explained to him before, and loose wisps curled around your face.

And your smile, well, he was perfectly certain it was the prettiest he'd ever seen you.

"Yup," Spencer confirmed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You froze mid-giggle, eyes narrowing.

"Wait, wait, wait, how does he know that? Is Hotch speaking from experience or something?" You blinked, then gasped dramatically. "Oh my gosh, what if Hotch has, like, a secret girlfriend? What if it's someone at the BAU? What if it's Garcia?"

"It's not Garcia, and it's definitely not a secret." Spencer raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as if the answer was obvious. "Hotch has been dating his assistant for years. He thinks it's some big secret, but it's... not. He picks her up lunch at least twice a week, and his closed-door meetings with her? Not as inconspicuous as he thinks."

You gasped, practically bouncing in place as you grabbed Spencer's sleeve. "Shut up! I didn't know that! I love her clothes. Do you think she'd tell me where she shops? That red skirt she wore the other day was everything."

“You don’t need any more skirts,” Spencer said, his fingers finding the sensitive spot between your hip and ribs, pinching just enough to make you squirm on the countertop. “If your closet gets any fuller, you’re going to have to rent out a second apartment just for storage.”

You giggled, tightening your legs around him and clinging to him like a koala, your arms looped snugly around his neck.

"That's why I have your apartment," you said, sticking out your tongue. "Plenty of space for my skirts, and you get to see me model them. Win-win."

"When you put in like that, it's kind of hard to say no."

He leaned in as he spoke, his lips brushing against yours softly at first, teasing and testing, like a flicker of fire before it catches. You giggled into the kiss, your laughter blending into his smile. The kiss deepened, honey-slow and sweet, golden warmth spreading through his chest as you pressed closer, closing every last bit of distance between you.

When you pulled back, his lips still tingling, you grinned. "Wow, you really do smell like me."

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[chaoticwriting]

Part 2

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 3

-An hour before-

Danny is hatching a new plan today. Usually, he goes after the rogues who decide to make a spectacle or show for the public. But today, he will be the one to make it.

As all the devices are put together, Danny readies himself to turn on the screen. Lightly slapping his cheeks a few times Danny brace himself for his first solo stream.

*Live On*

Trickster: Well hello everyone! Isn't today unusually too peaceful. With all the rogues in Arkham and no one for me to bother, I decided to do the most out of my time.

Danny walks to a big hulking machine under wraps by a big piece of cloth. Danny pulls the cloth revealing a big machinery that has a giant clock in the middle.

Trickster: Over here I have my latest invention. I realized that people in this city really love coffee so what I do is make a machine that will spread gasses of caffeine into the air for people to consume via breathing. I even make sure that the special caffeine concoction wouldn't affect children because if I know one thing, it is that children with caffeine are scarier than any rogue.

Danny walks to the panel with a comically large red button with the word 'start' on it right under the clock.

Trickster: Now, when I click this button, it will turn on the timer, which is 30 minutes by the way, and when it runs out, the machine will release the caffeine into the air making everyone unable to sleep for one whole day. What is the effect on the city you may ask? I honestly don't know. But it will be funny if tomorrow everyone just drops dead asleep on the ground at work tomorrow.

Danny suddenly stops talking and slams the button heavily.

Trickster: Anyway, the timer starts now. Come find me if you wanna stop it.

Danny then leaves the screen and lets the camera focus on the clock as it ticks down. Danny sits on a nearby table and continues tinkering with his new special glitter bomb.

It's been 30 minutes when suddenly a window is broken and comes in Batman in all his glory. Except what Batman sees isn't the machine or even Trickster. It is a maze full of what he deems as traps laying around. Batman carefully trudges through the maze as he skillfully disarms the traps that are laid on the ground.

It takes Batman a whole 25 minutes to finally pass the maze before he finally sees the machine without Trickster anywhere in sight. He slowly and vigilantly approaches the machine and sees a small blue button with the word 'stop' right beside the red button.

If Batman had more time, he wouldn't have done anything rash but right now he doesn't have the time nor the ability to safely disarm the machine without making any mistake.

He pushes the button and the clock stops right then and there. He stares at his surrounding vigilantly expecting an ambush. And he is not wrong. There is indeed an ambush. Just not a normal ambush.

The machine that has stopped moving suddenly begins to shake heavily and Batman immediately jumps back to distance himself from whatever the machine is about to do.

Except when he lands, an ice forms under his legs trapping him and he tries to break the ice but the ice is very hard and impossible for him to break immediately at least. He is going to request for backups when the machine turns into tiny robots that start to surround him. He tries to smash all of them but not only are they strong and durable, EMP bombs also don't work on them.

After struggling for a while, some of the robots finally climb their way onto his head. One of them hangs from his mask and releases a gas from its mouth. Batman starts to lose consciousness and just as he is about to pass out Trickster appears in front of him.

Danny looks at Batman and orders his robots to tie him upside down, while rummages through his belt. Danny pulls out a lot of things from smoke bomb that accidentally explodes when Danny throws them to a bat shark repellent? What the hell? Anyway, after going through his belt for a while he finally found his target.

The Batwallet.

Danny turns to the hidden camera and starts to monologue.

Trickster: Hello hello everyone. Today, we have a very special guest. Presenting to you an unconscious Batman! And right here I have the strongest weapon in the world. The Batwallet! Hahahahaha.

Trickster: Now, you might be thinking. What is so strong about the wallet? And that my dear friend is the reason I am here today. Let's take a look at what's inside shall we.

Danny pulls out a black card with a bat symbol in the middle of it. Showing it to the camera, Danny gives out the biggest smile he can (somehow).

Trickster: This is the Bat credit card. I know. Sounds stupid. But you know what isn't stupid. The limit on this card. There is no limit. That means I can buy whatever I want with this.

Danny then pulls out a few polaroid pictures from the wallet that catches his attention.

Trickster: What's this? The bats secret identity? Boring. Why would I need to know who they are? Wait. This one is funny. Is this little Nightwing? Hahahaha. He's so little. *Gasp* Little Red Hood. Aww schmuck. I wanna share this with someone. I'm keeping this. I'm sure Batman has backup of these pictures.

Danny then phases the card and the photos into his body and picks up the camera.

Trickster: All right. That's it for today's stream. Oh yeah. We are in the warehouse south of the Bowery. I will shoot a flare after this for you to come get Batman. Well, you better come fast or other people will come for him.

After that the stream is cut off and a flare is shot from one of the warehouses in the Bowery. When the Bats arrived, all that was left was an unconscious Batman, tied up from the ceiling with his belt on the ground.

While the bats are busy extracting Batman back to the cave, Danny is having a feast at the Batburger. On his table, there are 50 sets of burgers, fries and cokes (the soda). Along with his food, he has pretty much paid all the food for everyone inside the Batburger. People were pretty on the fence when he first entered, but Gothamite being Gothamite, they readily accepted him when he paid for their food.

While Danny is busy eating, a big buff guy in a suit approaches him with his own food.

???: Good evening, Mr. Trickster. May I eat with you?

Part 4

[onlyswan]

summary: in which for you, jungkook would commit crimes and his mother would peel oranges.

idol!jk x reader | fluff, angst | word count: 9.5k

warnings/content: oc passes out in the shower / jk does something crazy i’m literally insane about this / baby bam cameo 🥺 / stitches >:( / blood draw / mention of speeding / jealous not but rlly jealous oc is pissed owfffff at the nurse who has a crush on jk lmao / jk and his mom loves them to death tho so obv who wins / love is beautiful let’s all cry <3

> in which masterlist!

note: *sitcom sound effect of crowd cheering* I’M BACK 🥰 hope u enjoy the product of my madness during finals season hehehe. and special thanks to my cutieful proofreader rio!! you’re one of my most favorite people i’ve ever met 🥺💕 + my beloveds who came to the rescue when i had medical questions !! i didn’t expect to receive help from soooo many and i’m so freaking grateful i could cri :")

—

“i ordered it the other day. how did it arrive so early?”

jungkook walks back inside the apartment, arms occupied by a stack of boxes that arrived in the mail yesterday.

he arrives at the living room, head tilting to the side in confusion when he realizes that the netflix show he was watching on the television is no longer playing. instead, there is the news channel.

he gasps.

“baby, you’re alive!”

your swollen eyes flicker up to him.

you’re lying on the sofa with your legs lazily dangling on the edge. there’s a toothbrush in your mouth, foam of bubbles between your lips, but your arm barely exerts the energy to make it do its job.

“you were asleep from afternoon to morning. do you know that? you’ve never done that before!” he exclaims, carelessly tossing the boxes on the floor. “i was getting scared!”

you only hum to acknowledge his existence, pushing yourself up from the sofa and unknowingly dodging the hug your boyfriend wanted to greet you with.

he ends up collapsing face first on the empty space you left, hurt and offended.

the bathroom door opens and closes.

he flips over, whining. “yah, we didn’t see each other for a day. didn’t you miss me?!”

still not a single word from you. sleeping that long must not have cured your exhaustion, jungkook surmises. you tend to be glum and cranky when you’re feeling unwell, as is usually the case when you wake up as unrested as before.

he doesn’t always know how to make you feel better, but he always tries anyway.

“our new bedsheets arrived!” he announces from the other side of the bathroom door, making himself loud so that you can hear him despite the shower running. “do you want to unbox them with me?!”

he allows the seconds to pass, but with his hands on his hips, he eventually begins to tap his foot on the floor.

“baby? may i go in?”

he turns the knob, just to be prepared incase the answer is a yes, but it doesn’t turn. a sad pout forms on his face.

huh? why is it locked?

you must genuinely don’t want to be bothered today.

“guess that’s a no.” he mutters to himself before calling out to you. “okay, i’ll wait for you!”

with a crestfallen sigh, he begins to walk back to the living room.

he doesn’t go far, however.

only several steps later, a series of loud crashes is heard from the bathroom and his heart thunders in his chest with a combination of numbing shock and fear.

“____, what was that?! did you fall?!”

he aggressively pounds at the door, extremely desperate this time around. he has no plans on leaving until he knows that you’re safe and sound.

“baby! open this! are you alright…? are you hurt? you’re scaring me. please, answer!”

he pauses, catching his breath as his mind runs a thousand miles per hour.

“____!”

he strikes the door with an open palm one more time, more so to express his frustration that is only growing worse with every tick of the clock. he only ends up hurting himself in the process.

“that’s it! i’m opening the door!”

he frantically whips his head around, racking his brain for the location of the key. there are two copies of it somewhere in the apartment, but in his panicked state, he is unable to pinpoint either of their specific spots. and he can’t fucking afford to waste any more time.

“ah, fuck!” he curses, left with no other choice but to give in to the instinct of breaking down the door with the strength and durability of his body alone.

he would most definitely break his shoulder first before the door.

only after the first try, that much is clear.

and so, with madness inconsiderate of his agony, he resorts to kicking it over and over again.

the repeated loud collisions rattles poor bam from his slumber. not long after, the dog’s barking creates a booming dissonance with his grunts and kicks at the door.

when it finally swings open, the force of his own body sends him stumbling on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t waste time in bouncing back to his feet.

the twisting of his stomach is instantaneous.

there lies your naked, unconscious figure behind the glass— surrounded by bottles of hair and body products that must have fallen when your hands were searching for something to hold on to.

his voice cracks, breathless.

“baby, no… no, no, no.”

he kneels on the floor, and despite the strong urge to carry you out of there, he tries to calm down. it’s the first rule in every emergency case; professionals reiterate in seminars and news channel segments.

keep calm. keep calm. keep calm.

he won’t be able to forgive himself if he ends up causing more harm than good.

“____, can you hear me?!”

his instinct tells him to inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury, but then his vision becomes too blurry. he curses at the hindrance and forces himself to turn off the showerhead that was left running.

he harshly wipes his face, rushing back to you.

“please, please, please. wake up.” he begs.

he has a feeling that it’s futile. you can’t hear him and he’s wasting his breath. the thing is he doesn’t know what else to do.

“baby…”

he carefully turns your head over, almost relieved because he hasn’t seen blood so far.

almost.

at last, he gets a full view of your face, and he finds blood dripping. this has always been one of his most paralyzing fears— seeing you get hurt. now that it’s become a reality, there’s a part of him that wants to believe this is some kind of twisted dream.

“how- how did this even happen…?” he cries out, his own blood running cold.

for everything that happens after, his body acts on its own. bam is a constant presence in his peripheral, but he is barely in his right mind to acknowledge the presence aside from, “bam, move. daddy might step on you.”

he carries you out of the bathroom, kicking aside the beaten up door. he has made up his mind about bringing you to the hospital, but he can’t bring you like… this.

he lays you down on the bed, all that gentleness switched off in a split second so he can sprint to the walk-in closet. he hastily grabs whatever is on top of your neatly folded stacks of shirts and pants; and then a fresh towel on the way out. the gentleness returns as he pats your face dry, the pure white stained with dark red. he flips the towel and uses the other side to wipe the rest of your body, in a race against time but mindful of treating you like fragile glass.

once that is over, he dresses you in a pair of gray sweatpants, and with some difficulty, an orange t-shirt.

any person with functioning eyes will be able to tell that the shades don’t go together.

if you were conscious, you’d definitely berate him for making you wear this outfit.

but you’re not.

jungkook effortlessly swoops you in his arms— dripping wet hair, his and yours, leaving behind a trail of raindrops from your apartment floor to the cemented parking lot.

—

your body feels like it’s floating.

are you dreaming…?

you must be dreaming.

you hear an uncoordinated symphony of voices, but you can’t comprehend a word. in pursuit of clarity, you force yourself to open your eyes.

the voices grow a little louder. faceless figures hover you; a bright light shines over your face.

your senses must be playing cruel tricks. now it feels like you’re drowning, sinking into the unknown, and your body has succumbed into numbing defeat.

you want to sleep a little more.

you must truly be exhausted. it’s okay.

you’ve fought hard until now. you’ve done enough… has anyone tried in life as much as you did?

just as your eyes flutter shut, you regain sensation of your hand; a soft squeeze and a call of your name.

—

jungkook gently strokes your hair, sighing for the nth time since you got transferred to a private room. he’s relieved that all the scans came back clean so serious head and brain injuries have been ruled out. the doctor also asked him questions and ran some other tests before concluding that electrolyte imbalance caused you to pass out; the culmination of stress and fatigue from work, as well as your strong period, most likely being the main reasons. he didn’t even know about the latter until you stained the white sheets with blood.

it was fucking frightening being in the sidelines as they rushed to check on your vitals and to administer oxygen. even now, it’s unbearable to see you with a needle in your hand and a few stitches above your eyebrow. he already anticipated you not being pleased with having to get stitches specifically either; gasping and sitting up as soon as you heard the word come from his lips post-consciousness. consequently, the dizziness hits you. the doctor wasn’t happy about that.

“this is so annoying. i don’t want a scar.” you whine as you study your face on the camera of jungkook’s phone. “did i have to fall on my prettier side?”

“what are you saying? you’re pretty from any angle.” he interjects. “be careful. the wound might open up.”

you jut out your bottom lip, looking up at him with glassy eyes. the sight instantly tugs at his heartstrings, and he pulls you in for a hug. maybe he’s a little sad that you don’t appear concerned about the fact that you passed out, but god is he relieved to finally hear your voice again.

“ah, i should call the doctor.”

but his face remains buried in your hair.

“they told me to do so.”

“you should-”

“why?!” he abruptly reacts, drawing back. “does anything hurt?”

“chill. you said that they told you to.”

“oh, that’s right.” he sheepishly smiles. he can’t help but to overreact; he hasn’t turned off the alarms in his head. “i’ll go tell the nurse to get her.”

he starts to walk towards the door, but a tug at his shirt holds him back.

you shyly look at him with a scrunch of your nose. “i’m nervous. hug me for five more seconds.”

fuck, he would move heaven and earth to protect you from everything that can cause you harm.

“why would you be nervous? i’m right here.” he scolds you lightheartedly, not hesitating to seize the chance to hug you again. “i love you.”

“i love you more.”

you pull away after five seconds, and he’d be disappointed about you being too true to your words if you didn’t kiss him on the cheek so ardently.

his heart almost jumps out of his chest when you gasp out of nowhere as if you just realized that you left the gas tank open at home. your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“bam!”

oh, right. your child.

“my brother’s house!” he eases your mind.

you breathe out in relief, the heel of your palm pressing against the left side of your chest where your heart lives. “good… i was worried. he was probably more scared because he didn’t understand what was going on. i feel bad.”

you love bam so much; it makes him so happy. you’re so concerned about him even when you’re the one on the hospital bed. you make pretty good parents, huh?

“that’s right. he was worried about you, too. that’s why you need to recover quickly so he won’t be sad!”

—

the doctor kindly asked jungkook to give the two of you some time alone, so he’s been idly sitting at the lobby after buying a bottle of water. he’s pretty much used to visiting the hospital for routine checkups considering the nature of his job, but it always feels strange to be here for the other different purposes of the place.

is there any other building sadder than this?

if you heard him utter this question, he could easily predict what you’d say: but is there any other building with more love?

if he tries hard enough, he could listen to your voice and paint you in his mind.

you see love in every place that you step foot into.

his curious eyes continue to wander around. he spots people carrying flowers, baskets, and containers of food. there’s also a teenage boy in his high school uniform, carrying a teddy bear larger than him.

not that he wants you to stay longer, but if you have to, he writes down a mental note to bring one of your favorite plushies.

he eventually gets tired; considers scrolling on his phone again, but he decides against it when his gaze lands on a little boy sleeping soundly on his mother’s lap. suddenly, he is reminded of his childhood before he moved to seoul.

how simple life can be when you’re innocently sleeping on your mother’s lap, trusting that everything will be alright.

“ah, i miss my mom…” he utters absentmindedly. “i miss my mom so much. i should call her.”

his reminiscing is interrupted when a wheelchair rolls by infront of him. it is leisurely being pushed by an old man who wants to bring his wife outside for some fresh air.

in a parallel universe somewhere, jungkook can imagine them as you and him.

he sits up straight, looking back at the clock on the wall.

how long has it been? he wants to be by your side again.

—

“jungkook!” your face lights up as soon as your boyfriend steps into the room. “what took you so long?”

“i know. sorry, baby. i got a little distracted outside.”

“i’ve been waiting.” you pout. “why? were people bothering you?”

“not at all. don’t worry.”

you pat the empty space beside you. “here.”

“i think the bed is meant for only one person- damn, okay, okay-”

he swiftly gives in upon seeing the hurt on your face, occupying the space you reserved for him. “i love you. don’t be sad.”

you’re aching too much to wait for him to get settled. you wrap your arms around his waist like you’re a magnet attracted to steel, clinging to him for comfort.

if you’re being honest, you don’t know how you feel about being in this situation. overwhelmed? maybe a tiny bit relieved. in the past, it didn’t matter whether you were sick or not. you needed to work or else it was guaranteed that you wouldn’t survive. life is easier now. you have the luxury to use this as a reason to take a break. you have someone who takes care of you as naturally as he breathes.

“how was the doctor?”

“she’s nice… she just asked me about the things i remember before i passed out. then about my work, diet, sleeping schedule… stuff like that.”

you pull away a little, just enough so you can see each other’s face. you squint at him suspiciously. “did you have to get an expensive room?”

he chuckles. “how did you know? they didn’t tell you that, did they?”

“i literally have the perfect view of the fountain from here!” you point at the large window behind you. “i just passed out. i would’ve been fine downstairs.”

“don’t say it like that. it could’ve been so much worse.” he says with knitted eyebrows, palm cupping the back of your head and caressing softly.

he heaves a sigh.

“i was so scared that you injured your head. seriously, i thought i’d go insane if i lost you! i went past the speed limit driving you here!”

the distress he was under is apparent. you can’t help but to be racked with the guilt. you always do this, making him worry himself to death. you don’t usually do it purpose, and that only makes you feel shittier.

“you’re right. i’m sorry.”

“well, i…” he sighs. “it’s okay. i know you didn’t want this either. it’s not your fault.”

you press your lips into a thin line. “it kind of is.”

your lost eyes meet, and a connection is established like it’s a constellation sending a secret message. your heart flutters when he giggles, dimples and starry eyes and crinkled corners.

“stop it. it’s impossible to scold you when you’re so cute and self-aware.”

“then don’t scold me.” you sniffle sadly to kindle pity in him. “i’ve had enough of it from the doctor.”

your brain still works well enough to help you escape from trouble. that’s a good sign, right?

“my poor baby.” he coos, cradling your cheeks.

his hands are warm. you put yours over them; a wordless signal telling him you don’t want him to go away.

“let’s not get hurt again, please. we need to stay healthy and take good care of ourselves so this won’t happen again, alright?”

you nod in obedience. your eyes are fixed on him but you’re not certain if you’re registering what he’s telling you in your pitiful, shaken brain.

“the hospital already did me many favors. if we go back, i might have to build them another fountain as a gift.”

and knowing jungkook, with his golden heart and his black card, jokes become half-meant.

“what do they need that for?!”

he bursts out laughing, yet again, after you chide at him for his ridiculous and unnecessary expenses.

“nothing, i’m just grateful! i was really so scared but i’m relieved now thanks to them. i can’t remember the last time i felt that way.”

“you’re not scared of a lot of things.” you point out.

“that’s right.” he agrees. “only you scare me these days.”

you grimace. “am i scary?”

“you are, sometimes.” he laughs, squishing your cheeks together. “but i mean the things that could hurt you.”

as if on cue, your stomach grumbles and bellows like a monster stuck in an empty cave. your eyes grow twice its size in bewilderment, which then morphs into embarrassment.

“my stomach hurts.” you say quietly.

your nostrils flare as jungkook miserably fails to hold back his laughter. one of his hands leave your face, rubbing your tummy over the thin hospital gown.

“oh no, what are we going to do? where does it hurt? here?” he pouts. “should we go feed you now to make it go away?”

“what is wrong with you?” you slap his shoulder in annoyance. “i’m not a baby!”

“yah, be careful!” he yells, wincing as if he is the one in pain. “be gentle with the one with the iv!”

—

“you know one good thing that came out of this?” you gush out of nowhere.

you’re mixing up the ingredients of your bibimbap bowl with a spoon and a pair of chopsticks.

jungkook noisily drinks the final sips of his banana milk. afterwards, he makes a game out of shooting the box in the trash bin.

“what could that be?” he asks, doubtful.

he sits on the chair beside your bed. you greet him with a delighted grin, licking your thumb stained with gochujang.

“you proved your love. you committed a crime for me.”

he gasps to humor you, body freezing as if he’s currently processing the newly-learned information in his brain.

“oh? you’re right- i did! and you know what? i’d do it again!”

with a mouthful of rice, you shake your head in disagreement furiously. “you’re cute. but that’s the first and last.”

“but how are you sure that it’s the first?” he raises an eyebrow quizically.

silly enough, you envy him for being able to do so.

you hum in thought. “i guess you’ve stolen a few things for me, too.”

“few? you mean a loooot?”

“you’re the one who brings home food and random things.” you roll your eyes. “i never ask you to.”

“you told me you wanted the service bell!”

you feel yourself become flushed with sheepishness. he’s not lying. you’ve always found the object fascinating as a child, so you couldn’t help but to tell him to sneakily take one home after filming a competitive run bts episode.

did you have a silly phase where you and jungkook used it to summon each other just to laugh together about it?

perhaps.

“well, you’re rich. you could’ve bought me one instead.”

“but it was already there.” he reasons with a wide grin, gesturing infront of him. “i wanted to give it to my lover right away.”

his lover?

jungkook has successfully replaced your frown with an enamored smile.

“i made your heart flutter just now, didn’t i?”

a hospital stay has never felt this comfortable— not terrifying. you have stitches on your face and to add to that, this hospital gown feels super unflattering. somehow, your boyfriend’s loving gaze remains steady and you are melting.

“shut up,” you mutter, flustered, handing him the pair of chopsticks. “please eat with me. i can’t finish this on my own.”

—

“why would you let them put the needle in my dominant hand?”

you stomp your feet on the ground as jungkook squeezes some toothpaste onto a newly-bought toothbrush.

“i’m sorry! i was too stressed out so i just pointed! i think i got confused with- with left and right.”

you didn’t realize this while you were eating; that you were unconsciously holding the spoon with your non-dominant hand because the other felt uncomfortable. maybe because it was a simple task, scooping food and bringing it to your mouth. brushing your teeth, on the other hand… can be quite an arm workout.

“eeeee!”

he shows his complete set of teeth, urging you to do the same. you stare at him blankly.

“eeeee!” he repeats with heightened enthusiasm.

left with no other choice— you copy his awkward smile.

“there we go!” he praises you with an over-enthusiastic beam.

he carries on to brush your teeth, gingerly holding your chin to keep you steady as he does his job.

this is the first time jungkook is doing this for you. today is definitely not one of your finest moments. it feels a bit silly to be in this situation, and you feel bad for putting your boyfriend in this position in the first place. you can see that he’s trying his best—unnecessarily focused—and that he loves you, but you just hate giving him a hard time.

with a soft smile, he wipes the bubbles that overflowed past your lips.

“okay, spit.”

you spit out more of the bubbles on the sink. you assume that he’s finished, except he’s making another vowel sound for you to mimic the mouth shape of.

“ahhhh-”

“this is embarrassing!”

“baby, really? this is where you draw the line?” he playfully squeezes your cheeks together. “it’s almost over! ahhhh!”

and you let him do this thing, but not without a glare that is masking the embarrassing truth: you might be enjoying this more than you care to admit.

“see? was that so bad?”

as he tenderly pats your face dry in the aftermath, he says: “i’m sorry. bear with it a little more. let me take care of you so you’ll be healthy again.” and you feel every ounce of his sincerity pierce through the barriers surrounding your soul.

“stop it…” your voice suddenly comes out broken.

you want to put all the blame on your period for the tears that are now brimming your eyes, but jungkook is your biggest weakness of all and that is an explanation enough.

“why are you crying?” he panics. “what did i say?”

“it’s your fault.”

you break down into loud sobs, incapable of even keeping your eyes open. you never understood why we close our eyes when we cry, but right now, you know that you can’t bear to witness his reaction.

“you’re so sweet.”

the towel that was wiping the water from your mouth is now drying the tears from your stained cheeks.

“am i making you sad?”

you furiously shake your head. how could he say such a thing? he is the greatest joy of your life.

“no?”

“no!”

“okay, come here then.”

he wraps his arms around your trembling figure, caging you in the solace of his entire existence. a sense of calmness washes over your system, especially as he runs his hand across your back in gentle strokes. this isn’t his goal though, it seems. you hear none of his quiet shushes beseeching you to stop breaking his heart. he hopes you let go of everything that has been weighing on you, but he has already eased all your pains by loving you.

“ugh, i probably look horrible right now.” you force a chuckle to lighten up the mood, wiping your face with the back of your free hand. “i feel gross.”

“that’s not true.” he gazes at you fondly, brushing your hair with his fingers. “it’s actually infuriating how you look so beautiful still.”

“i know. i’m nice to look at; that’s why you tolerate my attitude.” you conclude in jest.

“yeah, sometimes.” he rides on the joke.

“what…?”

“i’m joking!” he rushes to take it back with a laugh. “of course i’m joking!”

you pout. “are you really?”

“oh, come onnnn.”

he coaxes you with a kiss on the lips— a good morning kiss long overdue. you’ve been spoiled rotten with affection; he knows you need more than one. he interrupts himself several times to kiss you.

“you know i’ll love you until our hair turns white and our skin all wrinkly.”

to be brutally honest, you’re not fond of imagining that far ahead. it’s daunting. you doubt your capability to age with grace. you’re horrified by the thought of having the majority of your life behind you. nostalgia has always been more bitter than sweet. but maybe this memory could be the sweetest of all, if jungkook truly stays by your side until then. in a cottage at the countryside like he said once, or a cabin by the ocean.

you’re both so young; so arrogant when it comes to making promises that are a shot in the dark. so fucking in love.

“me too.” you half-smile, scrunching your nose— a telltale sign of your joy. “now, get out. i really need to pee.”

his face becomes drained of blood. “but you’re st-”

“i won’t lock the door this time.” you cup his cheek, looking at his eyes reassuringly. “we don’t need property damage added to the bill.”

—

“did you not hurt yourself?”

“me?”

“you broke down the door. that’s not easy to do.”

you and jungkook make the best out of a bad deal. you’re squeezed together on the bed, browsing through television channels that seem to never end.

“it was easy because you were on the other side of it.”

that is what he claims confidently, but you are not fully convinced.

“wow, why do they have more channels than we do at home?”

“you didn’t answer my question.” you pout. “did you hurt yourself?”

“i didn’t hurt myself. i’m totally okay. i promise.”

he maintains eye-contact as he speaks. given the assurance, your tight chest unrestricts. jungkook is not a good liar. it’s a trait that causes him inconvenience every now and then, but it helps you to sleep soundly at night.

“should we just watch funny animal videos on youtube?”

“i guess that’s fine.”

it doesn’t show but you feel excitement run in your veins aside from the iv fluids that feel peculiarly cold.

from under your cheek, his chest vibrates with a giggle. “okay, hold on.”

as he pulls up the application, you tangle your legs together beneath the thin blanket. you hear the rapid tap tap tap of the remote control navigating the keypad while he types on the search bar, but your attention is someplace else. you’ve found the crook of his neck to sneak into, lazily kissing every inch of his exposed skin. your lips eventually trail up to his jaw. he smells so nice. you’re addicted.

“baby, someone can enter any minute.”

“i’m not doing anything.” you mumble.

you smile against his lips when he gives you a kiss as sweet as honey anyway.

“i’m curious about another thing.”

“what’s that?”

“did you cry?”

he comes to a still. the answer to that question requires a little time and thought.

“almost…”

“why almost?”

“no time. i had to bring you here, of course.” he replies.

you huff a laugh, exhaling a twinge of melancholia. “don’t cry.”

“i won’t. i’m happy now because you’re awake and fighting with me.”

“ow-”

your cry of pain is silenced when he squeezes you in an embrace that makes it nearly impossible to breathe.

“red panda!”

a squeal assaults both of your hearing as soon as your eyes land on the wide screen infront of the bed.

“i want one so fucking bad.”

the enunciated curse makes your boyfriend crack up in amusement. “that much?!”

—

jungkook opens his eyes to a nurse lightly nudging him awake.

“i’m sorry, i had to wake you up. i need to check vitals and draw blood.”

“shit, i’m sorry.” he panics.

his brain is foggy from the nap, but he still carefully sits up on the bed, wary of the iv line connected to your hand.

“i… was tired and i fell asleep.”

“it’s no problem; don’t worry.”

she smiles at him, but he doesn’t see it.

“you look adorable sleeping.”

“ah, really?” he awkwardly responds, absentminded. “it’s embarrassing.”

he stands on your side, about to disturb your peaceful rest much as it makes his heart ache with guilt, but you’re already stirring due to the absence of his warmth.

your heavy eyelids blink at the nurse in curiosity. “oh… do you need my blood?”

“yes, but i’ll take your blood pressure and temperature first.”

“okay,” you mumble, offering your arm. “it might be higher now because i’m scared.”

she chuckles at your joke. jungkook tries to share an endeared look with her and non-verbally communicate adorable, right?

“i promise i’ll be quick. although we definitely want it to be higher than earlier’s.”

you wince as the cuff around your upper arm goes as tight as it could, and you sigh at the same time that it begins to deflate.

“good, good, good,” she chants with a mumble. “it’s back in the normal range again…”

she brings out a digital thermometer from her pocket.

“you know where this goes.”

she hands it over to you, and you awkwardly place it in your armpit, holding it in place. it’s quiet as you wait for the device to make the beeping sound, except for her pen creating friction with your chart as she takes down notes.

“how’s your stitches? do you feel any discomfort?”

“it’s fine. thank you.”

not long after, you hear the beep. you return the thermometer to her, but not before taking a peak at the numbers displayed on the tiny screen. 36.8°C. you think you’ll live.

“i’ll draw your blood now.”

the nurse’s voice is sweet and reassuring, but it doesn’t quite ease the nervousness evident on your expression. your pupils shake as you watch her disinfect the area, and then comes out the long needle.

another one, jungkook laments inside.

“____, i’m right here.”

you crane your head, whimpering out his name. “jungkook,”

“it will be just a pinch. i’m inserting the needle now, alright?”

you take a sharp inhale.

if only he could switch positions with you, he would do it in a heartbeat. unfortunately, all he can do is caress your hair and whisper that it will be over soon.

“it hurts.” your damp eyelashes flutter, face twisting in discomfort. “i don’t like it.”

really, just a pinch? obviously a lie.

“hey, baby. look at the tv.”

the autoplay was left turned on after you fell asleep together. inside the screen is a puppy rolling around a snow-covered lawn. the wagging of its tail, the wide smile, and the pupils as big as boba balls: they all scream the happiness of an innocent.

“it’s so cute… i miss bam already. can we go to a dog park again?”

“of course!”

that promise sparks your smile. you turn to your side, and jungkook also catches a glimpse of the cotton taped to where you were poked.

“all done. you can go back to resting.”

“thank you. will you need to take blood again?” you inquire at the nurse.

“hm, probably. it depends on the doctor based on the results we get from this one.”

“can’t you just do it while i’m asleep? or is that not allowed?”

“baby…” jungkook snorts, hiding his face behind the palm of his hands.

the nurse laughs at your desperate suggestion. “that is honestly not a rare request, but the thing is… you might wake up in the middle of it and injure yourself. we can’t do that.”

“that won’t be a problem!” you passionately argue your case. “i’m a deep sleeper. seriously!”

“ah, thank you so much for your hard work!”jungkook intervenes, bowing to the nurse out of respect and gratitude. “i’m sure you’re busy. i will handle this!”

“oh yes, yes- thank you. please don’t forget the medicine for after dinner.”

“i won’t!”

“if you need anything, you know where to find me again.”

“yes,” he nods, chuckling. “thank you.”

“then i should leave…? but you’ll see me again later! bye!”

the door shuts, and his attention lands on your unimpressed form: a blank stare and arms folded infront of your chest.

uh-oh.

“did she seriously wink while saying that?”

“what?” he freezes, genuinely clueless. “i don’t know. i didn’t see anything. i was looking at you.”

“i’m right here- i’m the patient. why would you need anything from her? huh? why is she so excited to see you again?” you ramble angrily.

“right?!”

he climbs on the bed, reclaiming his spot next to you.

“that was weird.”

“what if she made it hurt on purpose? that…” you frown, glancing at your arm. “that didn’t really feel like a pinch to me.”

“ey, calm down. she wouldn’t.” he makes a doubtful face, laughing off the accusation. “…i don’t think so?”

you blink, exhaling in disbelief. “are you taking her side now?”

“of course not! baby, i’m just saying… a professional won’t do that.”

“why not? she’s still human. humans do stupid things when they like someone. she obviously likes you.”

“and so what?”

he grins with a spark of mischief, leaving an inch of a distance between your lips.

“i’m obviously yours.”

but you turn your cheek and your eyes fall on your lap, a pout highlighting your downcast mood.

“it’s so annoying.”

the regret sinks in after. he should’ve stuck to the golden rule: agree with everything that you say. there’s no point in having an argument no one will win. does it matter who’s right and wrong if each other’s sadness is contagious in addition to their own? your gut has almost always been right, and he’s old enough to be conscious of not allowing a stranger to put a dent on your relationship.

“are you serious? are you uncomfortable?” he tilts his head to try and get a better look at your face. “should i request for a different nurse?”

it’s quiet for a beat and he feels inclined to fill the silence with whatever enters his mind.

“i love you.”

almost immediately, your features soften and he knows your heart is also melting. the two of you bite the inside of your cheeks to hide a smile.

“no, there’s no need for that.”

but he still can’t help but to be worried. your peace of mind is his top priority. he doesn’t want you to be more stressed out, especially by things that he has the power to solve.

“are you sure?”

“she pissed me off. i need to piss her off too.”

of course, his ever stubborn and competitive lover. he sits up properly, amused and curious.

“and how will you do that?”

“i don’t know,” you nonchalantly shrug. “i’ll come up with something.”

—

“come up with what?”

to your surprise, a voice you haven’t heard in weeks echoes from the door.

“mom…?”

you’re stunned after only hearing yourself react to jungkook’s mother’s unexpected entrance. your head whips to his direction; your eyes wordlessly interrogating him.

“i need to go to work so i called her to watch over you.” he explains.

“why would you do that?” you argue with him as quietly as possible, lips barely moving as you try to hide your face from your mother-in-law. again, not one of your finest moments. “you didn’t have to. i can take care of myself.”

“but you don’t have to because you have us.”

jungkook marks the conversation finished with a kiss pressed to your temple, leaving you dumbfounded. he jumps off the bed and for a split second, you make eye-contact with his mother before he towered over her for a quick hug.

her kind smile is embroidered in your memory; a memory that wraps your heart in a type of warmth only a mother can provide.

“mom! i’m sorry. i really, really, really need to leave now. but! i’ll try to come back early so you can go home early too.”

“aigoo, stop stressing yourself out.”

jungkook receives a slap on the back, somehow more loving can scolding.

“i can stay the night so do what you need to do. you don’t have to worry.”

“it’s not only because i’m worried!”

she sassily puts a hand over her waist. it takes everything in you not to laugh out loud.

“then what else?”

“mom! what else?” he cheekily smiles. “of course i’ll miss ____ too much.”

did your boyfriend just…? to his mother? your jaw becomes slack from the shame.

“i missed ____ too!” she contests. “go to work and give us our alone time.”

you shyly smile when she transfers her attention from her son to you.

“hello, my baby. are you hungry?”

—

“does my son feed you well?”

“he does! but it’s funny- other mothers ask the opposite. are you feeding my son well? do you make sure he’s comfortable?”

you think out loud, transfixed on how she peels oranges with ease. your hands would always be stained by the juices, (and eyes red and teary from accidental splashes) (it’s too embarrassing to even think about) but hers are still magically clean.

“is that so?”

you graciously accept the slice she feeds you. she laughs when your face lights up like a christmas tree one more time. it’s way sweeter than you anticipated. you can’t get over how delicious it is.

“mhmm!”

perhaps you relied too much on dramas when it came to your expectations of what a relationship with your in-laws would look like. you imagined yourself running around like a dog trying to prove yourself worthy of their son, yet for some reason, it looks like they adore you for simply existing. it makes you feel extremely grateful, but you don’t understand.

“mom, i have a question… i know it’s probably too late to ask this now, but…”

“what could that be?”

“are you really not against me and jungkook living together?” you swallow your fear of the possibility of an unpleasant truth. “are you not… worried… that i’m receiving too much from him?”

because you would understand the apprehension. as a parent, one’s main concern would be their child. to outside eyes, it’s easy to come to the conclusion that jungkook is being taken advantage of and he’d be better off dating someone with the same status. sometimes you wish you were that someone too.

she utters your name sadly.

“he receives happiness and love from you. those are the most valuable things you could give to a person.”

she caresses your hair like she wants to erase the anxiety poisoning your mind.

“my dear, how come you’re worried about that until now? haven’t we told you? you’re part of the family. forget about my sister! i don’t welcome her negativity in our house!”

“living together is different. it’s a big deal. it normally happens in a relationship after…” the following words feel foreign in your mouth; they come out quieter than the rest of your sentence. “getting married.”

“then tell me. why did you agree to live with him?”

because you’re selfish. because you want more time that you can have him all to yourself. because you want to be accessible— the first person he runs to when he’s seeking comfort and stability. because you want goodnight and good morning kisses. because you were afraid of the risks but you’ve grown addicted to the thrill of love.

“he said… no matter how hard i push him away, he will stay within my reach.”

you hear your own shaky breathing. that moment— it’s still burned into your memory. you’re still holding on to it. it’s a promise he is yet to break and you pray that he never, ever does.

“i don’t want to push him away. i want to be within his reach too.”

you’re two people loving each other with everything within your means. after the endless pains and the deafening noise, you like to think that’s what makes this relationship worth fighting for.

“does my opinion still matter knowing that? will you let me stop you?”

“no, i won’t. i’d make you change your mind.”

if you had a machine connected to you, she would see how your heart rate has gone off the charts. but you’re known to say whatever’s on your mind and that, much to your dismay, isn’t switched off despite sitting infront of the woman who birthed and raised the love of your life.

you sniffle, pursing your lips nervously. “but i feel like there might be a right answer to that one.”

what you didn’t expect was her to laugh until her belly hurts; placing a hand over her mouth in an effort to calm herself down and keep grace.

“mom! stop, i’m so embarrassed!”

“no, ____, don’t get me wrong!”

she is teary-eyed as she gathers herself together.

“the more time i spend with you, the more i realize why jungkook loves you so much. i’ve seen him show incredible commitment twice. do you know that? first, when he went to seoul to become a singer. second, when he told us he got an apartment because he wants to be with you… of course, as his mother, i’ll admit that he’s young when he made those decisions, but he always proves to me that he’s smart and responsible.”

the urge to cry returns and strengthens as she speaks. you feel your eyelashes become damp with unshed tears. you don’t know how to act. you fiddle with your fingers. you stare at the strings and peels of the oranges you can still taste.

“i believe we both know jungkook’s personality well. he wouldn’t have let me stop him either. i’m happy to know that you’ll fight for him too.”

“thank you…”

“tsk, tsk, tsk- what is there to cry about? jungkook will get angry at me if he discovers that i made you cry.”

she wipes away your tears; however, the unmistakable scent of oranges that has clung to her hands and the affection in her tone bring forth a waterfall.

“seeing this makes me sadder.” she laments, referring to the stitches on your face.

“me too,” you babble in the midst of quiet sobs. “it makes me sad. it’s so ugly.”

—

you can’t remember the last time you felt this alone. perhaps it’s the effect of staying in an unfamiliar building of complete strangers. without your mobile phone, may you add. you managed to persuade jungkook’s mother to leave an hour ago because you didn’t want her to sleep on the uncomfortable couch.

the lights are turned off except for the lamp beside your bed, and with the television muted, you could hear a hairpin drop.

you’re alone and you can do whatever you want.

you dragged the visitor’s chair infront of the window to admire the garden like it’s a painting in motion. you watched people converse, stroll, and drink coffee. you watched them run for shelter when the clouds became too heavy and the sky began to fall. oh, so that’s why you couldn’t see the stars.

at this moment, there’s nothing left to amuse yourself with but the trembling of the leaves and the raindrops forming temporary rings when they fall in the water fountain.

your senses crave for more. you reach over and crack open the window, just enough to allow the sound of the rain and the scent of it permeating the earth to enter your room.

“this is kind of peaceful.” you whisper, amazed by the new lightness carried by your heart.

you close your eyes and you breathe in the petrichor deeply. you want nature in your lungs as a reminder that you’re alive. you welcome the cold wind kissing your face. you can feel your hair touching your neck. you always do, but for once, you’re choosing to acknowledge it. your thumb slowly brushes across the palm of your hand, perceiving the texture of your skin, the softness, and the lines. and your feet, they’re in the clouds, the fluffy slippers jungkook’s mother bought outside because she knows they’re your favorite to wear.

you’ve loved and despised this body for a million different reasons. your mind and heart have accepted defeat countless times, but your body wakes up to every brand new day without fail. your body implores you to live. did it finally give up on you today?

“baby!”

you look behind to search for the source of the sound.

you get your answer from the kiss planted on your lips.

you only saw his face for a split second, but even if you had your eyes closed, you’d know it has to be jungkook kissing you.

you can smell him. you’ve memorized the way the shape of his lips fits with yours.

oh, the sounds of his kisses too. you like to call them the butterfly call because they make butterflies appear in your stomach.

you could trace the scar on his cheek with your finger if you want to.

god, what a privilege it is to experience life in this vessel.

a knock on the door forces you to part too early. the same nurse from earlier enters and you internally scream all the curse words in your dictionary. jungkook acknowledges her with a bow and a quick ‘hello’ before squatting down infront of you.

“i committed another crime for you today.”

“huh?”

your wide, confused eyes take a glimpse at the nurse who is doing something with the controls of your iv line.

hahaha… she knows he’s not serious, right?

“what did you do?”

his smile is so big that his eyes have turned into little crescent moons. you’d make a guess but there is an infinite amount of things jungkook could possibly be this excited about.

…apparently, one of them would be strawberry cake.

you gape at the transparent box he was hiding behind his back all along.

“did you steal somebody’s birthday cake?!”

“it’s a producer’s birthday and he received lots of cakes, so he told me i can take one home.”

“how is it stealing if he allowed you to take it?”

he tosses his backpack on the couch as he sets down the box on the table. he rummages through the bag his mother left behind, successfully bringing out a spoon. meanwhile, you get your blood pressure taken again.

as he opens the box, he sends a smirk your way.

“no. i hid the strawberry cake because there’s so many who wanted to eat it.”

“are you crazy?!”

the nurse clicks her tongue. “don’t talk and stay still, please.”

“oh,” your hand flies to your mouth on instinct. “i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry.” jungkook also apologizes.

you and your boyfriend secretly share a look, exchanging a smile that is stifled laughter inside. your lips remain zipped as the nurse restarts the process of taking your blood pressure. on the other hand, jungkook eats a spoonful of cake, teasingly wiggling his eyebrows at you. you roll your eyes and he tries harder to laugh without a sound.

seconds later, he grumbles about the room being too warm. he wipes the beads of sweat on his forehead using the back of his hand, and he does the worst thing he could possibly do at this moment. he reaches for his back, pulling his sweater over his head. naturally, his inner shirt rides up and allows wandering eyes a peak at his glorious toned abdomen.

passed out in the shower. busted your eyebrow open. front-row seat for a woman flirting and ogling at your boyfriend.

how fucking great.

“hello? i think it’s done.” you snap.

“a-ah, yes.”

you hear her swallow as she removes the cuff from your arm. she may be wearing a mask but she’s hot and red all the way to her ears. you’ve only read about it in books. you didn’t even believe this could happen in real life until now.

“i will check your temperature too.”

“go on.”

you repeat the same process from hours earlier, drumming your fingers on your thigh as you wait for the beep.

“yah, why is the window open? you’ll catch a cold.”

jungkook, yet again, steals the attention of every person in the room when he rises to his feet. his shadow casts over you as he closes the window.

“i wanted to smell the rain.”

“is the room getting too stuffy for you?”

you shrug. “i just wanted to smell the rain.”

you feel the nurse’s stare. you offer her a smile and her nameplate briefly gets caught by your vision. kang ji-woo.

“ji-woo; that’s a pretty name.” you pay her a sincere compliment. “it’s healing, don’t you think?”

“yes? uh-uhm, y-yes…” she replies, unsure and confused by the sudden small talk. “actually, it’s been linked to a reduction in stress and anxiety levels.”

“thank you! babe, did you hear that?”

“uhuh, think about my stress and anxiety levels.” he leans against the window with his arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at you.

so now he’s flexing his arm muscles. cool, cool, cool. you know he’s not doing it on purpose and his entire existence is just naturally hot and it’s infuriating.

“i’ve been worried sick about you all day.”

his statement makes you frown for a new reason. at the same moment, the thermometer beeps.

“could you please tell him that i’m fine?”

“37.3, uhhh- that’s slightly above normal. how do you feel? does your head hurt? are you cold?”

“i feel fine though?”

“okay. please take a lot of rest and stay warm…” her gaze lingers at jungkook who is blocking the window. “keep the window closed. hopefully it won’t be higher when i check again later.”

seriously?! you could cry. you want to go home where it’s comfortable. where it’s only you and jungkook and bam.

but you bet somebody would be happy if you had to stay longer.

“i’ll look after ____.” your boyfriend sighs, pulling out a jacket from his backpack.

“you shouldn’t have kissed me. what if you get sick?”

your blatantness causes the nurse to pause in updating your chart. she awkwardly clears her throat. “yeah… that… that isn’t currently advisable.”

“i’m sorry. i’ll control myself.”

you earn a glare from jungkook, then he fakes a smile which you gladly return.

“before you go, may i request for a new blanket? sorry, i spilled something earlier.”

“sure thing! i’ll come back with that right away.”

—

“she seemed happy to leave.” jungkook remarks. “i can’t tell if you were actually being nice or being passive aggressive.”

you smile innocently, taking a bite off the strawberry you stole from the top of the cake. “i’m a fucking angel.”

damn it, why is he suddenly turned on?

were you serious about the no kiss rule?

“would you rather i be the type to pull their hair?”

he shakes his head with a laugh. “but you did slap someone once.”

“you want to see me that furious again?”

“never in my wildest dreams.”

he kisses the top of your head, producing an exaggerated ‘mmmwah!’ sound that makes you giggle happily.

“here, have some more cake.”

he offers you a spoonful of cake.

no, it’s bigger.

as a matter of fact, the piece could probably pass off as a cupcake.

you gawk at it as if you’re figuring out the logistics of putting it in your mouth. his heart does a flip when you tilt your head and do your best to take in the whole thing. however, in the middle of it, you decide that you can’t, and you end up biting it off a little more than halfway.

oh my god, he loves you. he loves you. you’re so fucking cute.

your cheeks are full as you struggle to chew. you cover your mouth with your hand but they don’t touch. you’re so elegant in your ways and sometimes he wonders how you’re still attracted to him after he acts stupid.

also, plain white nails? that’s new. you always want colors.

“your nails look pretty.”

he is so focused on you that he fails to take notice of another presence occupying the room.

“your mom did them for me.”

“i figured. she wants to do mother-daughter things with you.”

the short break of silence speaks volumes. you look at him, blinking with eyes hinting at a type of joy you’re lost on how to express.

“did you choose white?”

“no. we were watching a drama and it was the couple’s wedding.”

oh, that makes total sense.

“let me guess,” he trails off with a half-embarrassed, half-entertained smile. “she asked when we will get married?”

“why would she ask me that? how would i know?” you scoff.

his heart starts at a thousand miles per hour. fuck, are you hinting at him? are you messing with his feelings again? with you, he always needs to remind himself to be rational.

“i need more time to prove to you that i’m husband material.”

“what? stop it. i don’t care. i don’t need a ring.”

your unpredictableness pushes him to the edge of his seat.

“don’t pressure yourself. you already treat me way better than most husbands do their wives.”

the pride painted on your face is unmistakable. he feels his heart swelling in his chest. has he been doing a better job than he originally thought? after what happened today, he was terrified that he hasn’t been paying enough attention to you.

“i’m so happy with what we have.”

you offer him a delicate smile before eating the rest of the cake that was left on the spoon. he swears there’s a glowing halo above your head.

could your temperature have magically dropped in the past five minutes? would you kill him if he kissed you right now?

“is there anything else i could assist you with?”

and then he is rudely snapped out of his hopeless adoration and daydreaming.

“that’s all! thank you for your hard work!” you chirp.

he turns to the nurse with a lovesick grin.

“please come to our wedding.”

the unforeseen wedding invitation earns him a slap on the chest. he clutches the affected area, wincing in pain.

he hears you mutter. “don’t invite strangers to our wedding.”

the irritated glare he predicted to face isn’t there. rather, you’re wearing the flustered smile he only sees when he knows that he did something to make you fall for him all over again.

before ji-woo left, she tried to subtly reject the invitation by jokingly saying that she’d die to go, but most probably, she’d have to work that day. you know… being an overworked hospital employee and all. you caught her glancing at you with bitterness failed to be guised as indifference. you get it. you’d hate it if another person was in your place. frankly speaking, you could be miles pettier.

your boyfriend wipes the corner of your lips, thoughtless as he licks off the cake frosting from his thumb.

damn it, you wish she was also here for that.

“you haven’t stopped smiling.”

“you love me and you never let me forget that.”

you give an answer despite the lack of a question mark.

you just made his world stop spinning on its axis and you’re not even aware.

jungkook knows the heavenly feeling of knowing that he is loved, but he has never deeply considered the joy and relief when the person he loves believes that he loves them.

“i’m so lucky. i love you.”

you push yourself up to plant a kiss on his forehead. it’s a rarity he treasures and keeps.

“i love you too.”

he cries infront of you.

almost.

he excuses himself to the bathroom and cries in there a little.

you’re so easy to love— that’s why it makes him want to do difficult things for you. like commit more crimes?

[howlettsdoll]

light size kink & age gap w logan because i’m feeling absolutely depraved today</3

like, jesus FUCK this gif. oh my lord, i need him to throw me onto his bed and ravage me right now please !!!

content warnings ;

age gap, size kink/difference, reader’s described as very small, innocence kink, light sub/dom themes, mentions of piv, creampies, tummy/dick bulge (i couldn’t help myself)

oh, logan is an absolute sucker for size and age differences.

logan, who by now was used to sleeping with people of course younger than him — he knew how big he was compared to them, and knew he was pretty big just in general and everywhere.

but his favorite thing was when you could barely take his dick without having a bulge at least somewhere in your little body, right from where the thick head of it sat, stretching whichever hole he was fucking, making it his.

something about the way you were also just so needy for his attention. you needed him for everything, even for things as simple as tying your shoes or fixing your outfit. logan would never forget the moment you came out of the shared bathroom in your guys’ room, wearing a small little baby pink dress that barely reached the smooth, soft skin of your little mid-thighs, as you held up a pair of white stockings for him to put on for you.

he knew you enjoyed it far too much. enjoyed the way he would sigh, patting his lap invitingly for you to come over.

“pretty dress for a pretty princess, hm?” he would hum gruffly, but the tone of appreciation and approval still stuck out as he started stretching the stockings out a little with his big hands. big rough hands you wanted all over your body, squeezing and kneading at your supple flesh. your heart would flutter at the words, making you nod and bite your lip, a sentence you tried to keep inside ending up out anyway. “bought it for you..” you would mumble softly, voice slightly ashamed, feeling as his hands started to stretch the stocking over your pretty legs.

and oh, he loved your legs so much. he loved the feel of that smooth, soft skin underneath his roughed up hands when he would run them over your skin, or even when he would press little kisses to your ankle when he would do up your heels, scruff rubbing against your sensitive flesh. it felt so wrong but so right. so taboo to have such a bigger, older man like logan — a man who had been around for centuries longer than you had, who knew exactly what to do to please a woman, you being no different.

and he loved your body head to toe. in his eyes, you were the most gorgeous girl ever. his gorgeous girl, and he would do anything to make sure you knew that.

“yeah? bought it for me, that right, baby?” he asked, a low chuckle coming from his throat at your words, a sound that made your stomach flutter with warmth — and logan seemed to know, as his free hand ran up and over your little stomach: his big palm splaying across it and covering more than half of you there. where he had filled you up with his cum merely a few hours ago. your stomach, that everytime he pounded into you, felt like he was carving a spot just for his dick — your tight heat struggling to even take all of him at times, but it was always worth it to feel that warm heat pour into your sweet pussy, filling you up to every brim. it was enough to make you weak, but after all — you were always weak for logan.

[0bticeo]

air sex with mark. reader has begged him to take her flying before, but bouncing on his dick in the sky is new for him. i feel like at first he would be hesitant, but then would enjoy the thrill of showing off his strength. and maybe he also likes the idea of someone looking up and seeing, as a treat

WHAT'S NEXT, ALIEN SEX?

summary:

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil.

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit.

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

tw: air sex, piv sex, fingering, slightly ooc!mark but it'll make sense in part 3 i prommy, switch!mark, cunnilingus, mark being whipped, fluff, couples fighting together against a common enemy à la will turner/elizabeth swann minus the swords, if u know who the art belongs to pls lmk so i can give credit pls, the author being a vv slow writer and apologising, pls show my bby some love and leave a comment, mwah

part 2 to boyfriend material

having a superhero boyfriend has its perks. 

sure, you may get interrupted mid-date by a world-ending emergency or a bank robbery - because invincible has range like that. sure, cecil stedman has you on watch because anybody that gets close to mark gets the GDA premium treatment of you-could-potentially-be-useful-so-we-keep-a-close-eye-on- you-in-case-something-happens. and sure, nolan grayson's ice cold gaze - assessing, cutting, predatory - sets you on edge.

but at the end of the day, you're in love with mark grayson. mark grayson is invincible. so you love invincible. perfect syllogism. however, you could really do without the flaxans invading downtown chicago in the middle of your coffee date. 

“seriously? it’s the third time this month!”

he sends you an apologetic look over his sugary monstrosity of a beverage. something with so much caramel and whipped cream you’re getting vertigo just by looking at the damn thing. viltrumite biology-induced cravings, maybe?

you’re cut in your musings by panicked passer-bys running for their lives.

he takes a sip through his straw, brown eyes darkening, split earth after a thunderstorm. a little pout has his lips curling downwards. you kiss it away, a short, sweet peck that has him smiling against your mouth.

“karma’s a bitch,” you grumble, downing your coffee - black, no sugar because you’re no heathen.

mark lets out a huff of laughter, something awfully soft in his eyes. his fingers lace with yours, bringing your hand to his lips.

“c’mon, baby. duty calls.”

duty is a damn bitch is what she is. one flick of your wrist has your civilian outfit - pretty, casual, a nice little sundress that had mark do a double take because you don’t wear these that often - melting away in the shadows, replaced by your trademark coat and catsuit. 

shadow’s back in the game and she’s pissed.

(her boyfriend’s struggling in the men’s room with his invincible suit, because clark kent makes wearing his super suit under his everyday clothes seem easy, but it really isn’t.)

it’s a bloodbath. 

downtown chicago has been turned into a one-sided battlefield, the harsh, viscous green of alien skin burnt into your retina. your jaw ticks. they’re aiming at civilians, laser beams turning innocents into fine, bloody paste.you witness a little girl, no older than five, face half melted in the concrete, whimpering as she takes her last breath. a twenty something college student cradling his abdomen, innards spilling out. christ’s sake, a dog, half eviscerated, crawling towards its dying master, man’s most loyal companion.

you step forward, cracking your knuckles. 

“sorry lads. the earth is closed today.”

the sun is still high above, a witness to dull afternoon hours turned into a horror scene. your shadow spreads and spreads, encompassing the army standing before you. you tilt your head, eyes rolling back behind your domino mask as you call in the darkness. the shadows twist. you raise your hand, pointing at the first few ranks aiming at you, barking in their language. 

further back, near the portal, on what appears to be their equivalent of a tank, their leader, face marred by a long, jagged scar running from his brow to his lips. they twist in a snarl upon glimpsing your silhouette. he raises an arm, finger vengefully pointed at you. ah, so they do recognise you.

looks like somebody didn’t appreciate being on the receiving end of your tridagger. pity.

you clench your hand into a fist. it doesn’t deter them, the way the ground shifts under their boots. the slow corruption of the concrete below, as it is rendered one with the dark. your shadow’s stretched out enough to encompass all of them and give them a nice, cosy one way trip to the shadow dimension. its many beasts are hungry for fresh meat. maybe then they’ll stop ruining your dates.

something shifts when the first bullet manages to hit you, the laser burning away both leather and kevlar. blood drips from your shoulder.

“oooh, so you want it close and personal, huh?”

 you grin and throw yourself in the fray, black cloying the edges of your vision.

adrenaline courses through your veins. your shadows move along with you, sliding and shifting, the ground caving in treacherously under the aliens’ feet. concrete splits open. the one on your left shouts, beady eyes wide and panicked, and shoots. bang. dodge, duck, slam your foot at the back of its knee and watch the fucker fall into the abyss. kick up its rifle and shoot. slam it in an alien’s skull before it gets to you.

the scent of charred flesh fills your nostrils. ah. you’ve been hit again. spots dance in front of your vision. you take a hit. another. another - your lips split, grin flashing wide as your hand pierces feeble tactical gear. blood drips on the ground. the alien looks at the gaping hole in its sternum.

(shadows bend to your will, you’ve explained to mark when you first met, on the edge of midnight city where you hail from. your legs were dangling carelessly at the edge of a skyscrape under his watchful gaze. even then, even before the both of you became something too much to be put into words, he wanted you safe.

you’ve demonstrated it for him. harmless things, your fingers molding together, shapes taking form on the wall, shadows rippling as they came to life, dripping down like ink as small rabbits hopped out of the dark and around mark’s legs. 

you’ve shown the lethality of it. 

your gloved hands shifted, middle and index fingers pointing towards an approaching thug, other hand cradling your curled fingers.

bang.)

you’re laughing, cradling the poor thing’s heart, darkness like ink coating your fingers like a glove. you  make it sharper, deadlier. 

a shift behind you. the burning energy of a laser bullet aimed your way, straight for the head. too fast for you to dodge. 

a fist closes on it. 

you smile, lazily.

“mm. you’re late, invisible.”

invincible grins, a little sharp, wiping away flaxan blood on his suit, red a stark contrast against the bright yellow of it. lasers ricochet off him, rippling across his broad back as he turns to face you, shielding you with that cocky little grin you love. he rolls his shoulders, barely affected by it. you bite your lip at the sight.

“sorry, shade. you wouldn’t believe the traffic.” 

he moves, liquid smooth, hands on your hips as he shifts you away from an opponent. you use the momentum to head kick the fucker, its jaw giving away with a sickening crack under your soles. a sharp, screeching sound as it crumbles to the ground. you kick up its rifle, leaning on it with a sigh.

a tilt of your fingers and a shield rises before you, lasers sizzling against the surface.

invincible’s lips brush your jaw, gaze lazily surveying the progression of the flaxan troops.

“can i make up for it?” he breathes. “being late?”

even with his goggles hiding his eyes, you feel the weight of his gaze, something that has heat settling low in your core. his grin sharpens at that, nose brushing against the sliver of skin left bare by your suit. his thumbs rub small circles on your hip bones, and you’re intimately aware of how close he is, the firm line of his body pressing against yours, all hard edges, battle-honed. you lean back into him.

“maybe later. y’know, when earth isn’t invaded by murderous aliens.”

he chuckles, pressing a soft little kiss to your cheek. you gasp when he squeezes your ass. cheeky bastard.

“lemme deal with that.”

and fuck, the way he tears into them and slams their leader into the nearest building, fingers digging in the soft, breakable flesh of its throat, concrete shattering upon impact… you watch, eyes wide behind the lenses of your domino mask, as he crushes its skull between his hands, the bone brittle under his palms.

he turns back to look at you, floating above the battlefield, sun setting low behind his frame, his shadow stretching and stretching. blood drips down his clenched fist. you think of the deadly edge of a sword, perfectly poised, teetering on the edge of carnage. 

the flaxans look up, panicked, and aim at him. 

“sorry guys.” he cracks his knuckles, his grin sharp. “can’t keep my girl waiting.”

and fucking hell, you think as you leap towards the now empty tank, taking advantage of them being distracted. you should be focused on smashing the device creating their portals. it’d be easy enough, to use the shadows as an exoskeleton to enhance your strength. 

it would be, if mark wasn’t so bloody gorgeous while smashing his enemies to pieces. you think you hear him laugh as he does, something almost boyish. sunlight hits him, all goldens and reds - so much red, dripping down his chin, staining his goggles. you watch the lean muscles ripple under his suit, the way his fingers flex as he curls them into fists, the way his shoulders tense. the way he toys with them, faster than they can perceive, dodging their shots at the very last second. he’s making them harm their own kin.

snap out of it.

you smash your rifle against the complex machinery beeping before you. utterly unrefined, but you’re not exactly well-versed in alien mechanics, so it’ll have to do. the green light of the portal fizzles out. it’s closed.

mark flies above, lazily cracking his wrist.

a low, mournful cry rises from the troops.

//

you’re standing in a secluded alleyway, having bravely fled from the crowd of journalists creeping closer to the scene of carnage. 

“wasn’t that meg?” you muse, taking off your domino mask with a relieved sigh.

mark’s thumbs find the underside of your eyes, gently massaging the skin where your mask has been pressing.

“oh, her?” 

he pouts. you giggle at that, leaning into his touch. gently, you pry off his mask, revealing what has to be humanity’s most devastating puppy eyes.

“what? she’s pretty.” a conspiratorial smirk. “i need to know where she bought that skirt.”

his hands drop from your face, lightly resting on your waist in a way that makes something primal in you purr. he’s soft with you, mindful of the cuts on your shoulder, on your forearm. from this close, you can smell him, sharp ozone, and something distinctly mark that has you almost nuzzling him, burying your nose in the crook of his neck. 

“actually that’s not a bad idea.” he grins. “it would look good on my bedroom floor.”

“mark, you little-”

“what? would you prefer your bedroom floor?”

you slap his chest.

he cackles at that, looking down at you like you’re something precious.

you inch closer, hands pressed up against his chest. you watch as his pupils dilate, a never-ending void consuming the soft brown of his eyes. his gaze darts down to your lips and he frowns. his thumb brushes away a small drop of blood oozing from the thin line where your lower lip has been split.

his thumb meets the tender skin of your mouth and you press a soft kiss to the tip of it. 

mark finds his heart stuttering in his chest. you’d think he’d be used to have you by now. three months in, tangled up in each other in both hero work and school work and yet there he is, back pressed up against the washed up wall of a dingy alleyway come dusk, flushing under your adoring gaze. 

you’re devouring him, hunger practically oozing off of you as you take him in, all firm lines and soft gazes. god, you think michelangelo might weep in despair for having died in an era without him to immortalize. his hand clenches, long, slender fingers left bare by his suit flexing smoothly in a motion that has you pressing your thighs together with a soft sigh. 

dusk settles over chicago, golden sunbeams brushing the sharp edge of his jaw and you raise your hand to trace it, absently. a smile curls up your lips when he leans into your touch, as your gloved fingers brush past his jaw to go up, up, up, carding through the soft mess of his hair. blood and viscera got stuck in it. he does get violent when he fights, you muse, absently.

there’s still blood splattered on his suit.

maybe you love him a little too much. maybe you should be worried your boyfriend once tore out one of the mauler twins’ head for having made fun of your hair, laying it before your feet like an offering. doesn’t matter when you feel him against you, hard and wanting. doesn’t matter when he’s burying his face in your neck, teeth nipping at the soft skin, marking you. 

what happens next can probably be explained by a mix of sleep deprivation, adrenaline, and not having seen your boyfriend for two months. fuck martians. fuck the nasa. fuck cecil. 

“mark?”

“mm?”

he keeps pressing soft kisses to the side of your neck, hands already reaching for the small, silver zipper of your catsuit. 

“fuck me while you fly us home.”

he freezes, parting from you. you nearly whine at the loss.

“wha- baby are you…?”

a soft flush blooms on his cheek and you coo, peppering soft kisses to his sweet face.

“c’mon… it’d be fun…”

you send him that look. the look that had him reeling at teen team’s base after a group mission. the look that had him fucking you in their showers, one hand firmly clasped on your mouth to muffle your moans as you heard rex and eve arguing outside. the look that had him fighting for his life under cecil’s no-nonsense gaze during briefings. the look that kept him company during his two months trip to space, palming himself through his suit to the thought of you.

fuck martians and their unchecked sequids invasion, he wanted you by his side. 

he has you now, so he puts his mask back on and pulls you close, breathing you in. coffee. that one vanilla and caramel perfume you love. blood. his thumb grazes the cut on your shoulder. you squirm in his grip.

“let’s get you home, mm? i’ll patch you up there.”

he scoops you up in his arms, fingers digging in the fat of your thighs as your legs wrap around his - sinfully small - waist. you’re in the air before you know it, arms wound tight around his neck, gloved fingers playing with what little baby hair is left uncovered by his mask. he shudders at the contact, a small whimper leaving his lips, barely audible with the roaring of the wind whipping past you.

you glance down. chicago stretches out, glimmering gold. at the edge of the horizon, you watch the sun set, all-consuming gold bleeding into creeping night blue. mark keeps flying you higher, careful not to go too high, where the air would be too rare for you to breathe.

your fingers dig in his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. he wouldn’t let you fall, you know.

(you’re in his bed, still panting, flushed and full in a way you’ve never felt before. mark has gathered you in his arms, and you’re curled up against him, head on his chest as he strokes your hair. he hasn’t been this relaxed in a long time, and you’re putty in his hands. 

you inch closer, fingers lacing with his, lips pressed to his knuckles. the bruises from his last fight are fading.

“mark?”

“yeah?”

“i meant it, y’know. i’m falling for you.”

he stills, a split-second of terrifying second-guessing. too much? too soon? you open your mouth, mortification creeping in. you close it when you meet his eyes, impossibly fond, the softest you’ve seen them yet.

“don’t worry. i’ll catch you. always. can’t have my baby falling.”

you boop his nose.

“sap.”

there’s a wide grin on your face. your heart feels light.)

his grip on you tightens. his lips brush against your ear, his voice low.

“i need you, baby.”

you feel his breath, harsh and heavy on your nape, the way his shoulders tense, adrenaline still coursing through him. your fingers palm his bulge, and you grin against his collarbone when you find him hard and wanting. you can feel the outline of his cock, even through the damn kevlar. you think you might feel the way he’s leaking through his boxers, too, tip flushed the same pretty shade of pink spreading across his cheeks. palm pressing in, grinding against the kevlar of his suit, you look up at him.

his breath catches. his hips stutter, his flight grows haphazard. his lips part in a soft, ragged little exhale of your name. you don’t think you’ve seen him this needy, with the way he presses you close - not just for safety - his hands somehow managing to knead your breasts, your ass, your thighs. 

it has you clenching your thighs, desperate for any kind of friction.

you lean closer, a soft whisper in his ear, lost to the icy wind nipping at your cheeks.

“is it the suit that turns you on?”

“it’s just…” he lets out something suspiciously close to a whimper. frustrated. needy. “i’m not sure how we should do this, y’know? logistically, i mean. i won’t let you fall, you know that, but what if-”

you press your lips to his, sweetly, softly. he melts against you. it feels like the roaring of the world has finally stopped, his mind a delicious, blissful blank. he’s stopped flying, he realises absently, pulling you close to him by the waist. you shiver, nestling against him, eager for warmth - viltrumites run hot. a side effect of having to fly in cosmic depths. 

he shudders deliciously when your nose brushes the sharp edge of his jaw, your mouth hot against his pulse, rabbit-fast under your ministrations. 

“baby…”

“you think too much,” you breathe.

he lets out something like a strangled gasp when you bring your hips closer to his, thigh brushing his aching cock. you stroke his cheek over his mask and he’s burning, inches away from ripping his suit off and fucking you senseless. 

he leans into your touch with a sigh, nuzzling your palm. 

“hey.” you give him a tiny eskimo kiss. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“no, i want to.” 

his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in the fat of them hard enough to leave bruises. he wonders how long it will take him to lose control, with the way you look at him like that, flushed and needy, practically gasping for air, like you can only breathe when his mouth is on yours. 

still he hesitates, because there’s something about the way you press yourself against him, catsuit drenched in blood, about the soft ripples of darkness fluttering along the edges of your coat, about how fucking out of it he makes you -

he couldn’t stay away from you if he tried, even if he should, for your sake.

he all but pins you against him, relishing in the feeling of your smaller frame pressed tight against the broad expanse of him, his hand finding its way to your chest, to that small, tantalising zipper between your collarbones. his thumb brushes the sliver of skin you’ve left exposed. for comfort, you said. 

he flashes you a grin, thumb soft on your pulse. persistent. deadly.

“comfortable?”

you splutter.

“mark!”

“that’s invincible to you, shadow.”

your jaw snaps shut. you swallow. right. no names while wearing the suit, but fuck. it’s getting hard to breathe, and the lack of oxygen isn’t at fault. mar- invincible cups your chest, hand gently squeezing the soft mound under your suit. you feel your heart hammer violently under his touch and know he feels it too. he hums, finger circling your nipple, the kevlar brittle under his touch. the motion, the rush of air as he slowly makes his way through the skies, the only thing stopping you from plummeting to your death being him-

it has you wet beyond reason.

“invincible,” you whine, desperate. 

it gets to him, the way your voice softens, the way your hips grind against his thigh mindlessly. he can’t see your face, with the way you’ve been trying to bury it in his chest, with a flustered noise.

fuck, you’re cute.

he pins you to him, your back to his chest, one strong arm locking you in place, a vice grip around your middle. you bite back a soft cry, his erection firmly pressed against your ass. his mouth presses against your neck, a hint of teeth against your carotid that has you gasping his name.

his fingers grasp the zipper, the motion a delicate little thing. cold air hits your skin and you whimper softly, invincible’s cheek nuzzling yours as he pulls it down, down, down, until your breasts spill out of your suit, nipples pebbled and aching, until his fingers reach your cunt.

“shit…” 

you see him bite his lip from the corner of your eye. his fingers dip between your lips, teasingly, barely brushing against your clit, enough for him to find you soaked and eager.

“all for me?”

you smile at his eagerness, at the (almost) innocent surprise in his voice. 

“you see anyone else here?”

he nips your earlobe, grinning wide against your ear.

“cheeky.”

you and invincible- fuck it, you and mark had sex before. hell, you lost your virginity to him in what has to be one of the most intimate moments in your life. but this? this is close second. this, you and mark, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground, head in the clouds, watching as the sun sets. mark’s lips slot against yours, your head tilting back to meet him halfway, his fingers curling in you in a way that has you seeing stars.

he sweeps your coat away with a soft growl.

“careful! it’s a gift!”

“yeah, a very inconvenient one.”

“you gifted it to me you- ah!”

somewhere along the way, he managed to free his cock, the bite of the cold air harsh against his leaking tip. you let out a soft whine of protest when he drags it along your folds, robbed of the sinful vision of his leaking tip. 

“m’gonna put it in, okay?” he babbles against your ear, hips grinding against your ass. “oh, baby-”

he lets out a low, soothing sound, nuzzling your neck as he drives himself deeper in you, until you’re clawing at his bicep with a keen.

“m-mark-”

it’s one thing to have him take you from behind, his hand warm and steady on your hip, pulling you impossibly closer to him. it’s another to do it in the air, where you have little to no leverage to make him feel good, too. 

“fuck- do you like it?” he rasps, hips snapping forward.

“mm-”

you’re caught in the in-between, the cold air nipping at your skin, mark hot and heavy behind you, fucking up into you like he’d die if he didn’t. your vision blurs at the edges. it’s too much, the delicious drag of his fingers as he teases your clit, the way his cock fills you to the brim. so fucking warm you feel like you’re about to melt into a puddle of heat. 

looking down would mean a casual reminder of your situation, hundreds of feet above ground, but you do. the sight has you moaning, wanton and debauched, with the way mark’s cock has your lower abdomen bulging out ever so slightly with each thrusts. 

you don’t even realise he’s leaning back until you’re faced with a flurry of emerging stars, watching you from lightyears away. he’s practically lying down in the clouds, the humidity of it raising goosebumps on your heated skin, like he’s baring you to the world.

slowly, he pulls out and has you straddle him, facing him.

he grins up at you, hands resting on your hips, thumbs drawing soothing circles on your hips as you sink down on him with a soft little moan of his name.

“talk about being on cloud nine.”

you snort.

“and i’m the cheeky one?”

“absolutely. my cheeky, adorably fucked-out girlfriend.”

you open your mouth to bite back when his cock hits that sweet, sweet little spot inside of you and your words die in a low, needy little moan. he’s taken off his mask, you realise, absently, discarding it god knows where. he’s taken off his mask, and he’s looking up at you like you’re his sun.

and you’re beautiful, he thinks, running his hand along the slope of your neck, relishing in the contact, in the way you melt against him. absolutely breathtaking, the setting sun cradling you in gold until, shadows framing the dips and planes of you as you ride him until you come apart. he groans, watching your slick coat the base of his shaft, your cunt milking him for all he’s worth until he’s bursting at the seams, your name the only constant on his lips as his hips buck up into you. 

“mmm fuck- i wanna try something-”

“mmn?”

he grins, something a little sweet, a little sharp. there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s up to no good.

“sit on my face.”

“you- mark!”

“what? i won’t let you fall. besides… i did say i’d eat you out, didn’t i?”

you’re trembling, when he slides out of you and pulls you to him, eager, arms wrapped around your parted thighs as he settles you over his mouth. you keen at the first contact of his tongue against your cunt, hips bucking up instinctively. he groans against you, the vibration sending shivers up your spine. 

“taste so good, baby…”

he’s looking straight at you, feeling his cock harden as you grind yourself on his face, the lapels of your coat spread out on his abdomen like he’s about to spread you out, thumbs parting your nether lips to sink deeper in you, to taste you better. 

next thing you know, he’s sinking his fingers in you and sucking at your clit, the sharp press of his teeth against the sensitive bundle of nerves a shock to your system. you fist his hair and feel him tense beneath you, his eyes hooded as they take you in.

“mark- mark i can’t-”

he presses a soft kiss to your clit. sweet. reverent. you don’t know if you find it cute or unfairly hot, not with the way you’re dizzy with him, begging for something, anything. something in you builds, coils low in your underbelly and snaps, leaving mark’s lips drenched and his eyes rolling back in his sockets with a strangled moan. you make out more than you feel his hips stuttering, coming to a stop as he cums.

there’s a ringing in your head. nagging. persistent. it won’t go away, no matter how badly you want to shake it off. the world is narrowed down to you, mark, and the way his tongue gently lap at your oversensitive cunt, cleaning you up with tiny kitten licks that have your heart hammering in your chest.

then, slowly, he peels back from you, his face ruined by your slick. he presses a kiss to your inner thigh as he pulls back, a teasing little bite, and zip up your suit.

“can’t have you catching a cold on me, can i?”

the sun sets. mark grayson tucks you in his arms and flies you to midnight city as you doze off, his heartbeat strong and steady against your ear. he looks at you, all pressed up against his chest, head leaning against his shoulder, and smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

when he gets to your home - a small little flat tucked away in sixth avenue, midnight city, seventh floor, third window to the left - he lays you down on the couch and fetches the med kit. you curl up into yourself, half-asleep, reaching for the soft blanket draped on the armrest. a little meow interrupts you, nero looking up at you blearily. you scratch him behind his ears and watch at your cat falls back asleep on the blanket, his little paws curling. 

mark takes in the sight of you, sleepily petting your grumpy furball of a cat, the two of you curled up on the couch, and feels something tug at his heart. affection. boundless love, the kind that would raze cities and bring civilisations to ashes if needed be. he settles next to you, med kit on the coffee table, helping you shrug off your coat and catsuit.

“it’s not too deep.”

his hand brushes your shoulder, relishing the contact with your soft skin. you hum, drowsy, exhaustion catching up with you.

he patches you up, quietly, pulling you close once he’s done. he breathes you in, burying himself in your hair, taking in your flat. a little messy, books everywhere, little plants soaking up sunlight because you like your tomatoes and basil fresh. your cat, snoring lightly on the armrest. you, breathing slowing down, curling up against him with a soft little: “thanks.”

he leans back on the couch, pulling you closer, and thinks, stroking your hair.

he’s been deep in the abysses of earth and felt the tides struggle against him, trying to push back. he’s been close to its core, and felt gravity weigh him down, a feeble attempt at bringing him to his knees. he’s been in space. he’s seen supernovas burn before his eyes, stood before a black hole and watched the event horizon as it tried to pull him into its orbit, a gaping, hungry maw.

but, at the end of the day, it’s you he orbits around, the earth to your sun. 

taking the liberty to tag the the amazing ppl that left comments on my mark os: @gaiasmight @vinnyvamppp @odessa-is-my-queen @shadylilac @linkwho1 @tokoyamisstuff @sp4ceboo

[chaussetteblanche]

and they were roommates pt. 2

pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!student!roommate!reader summary : the BAU team works the case, you get to help word count : 2.3k warning : canon-typical violence, mention of violence and sexual violence A/N : thank you all so much for all the love on part 1 of this !!! I love getting feedback, it's incredibly motivating ! I will probably do a part 3 :)) Also, my cat is sitting next to me as I write this, which I find quite funny

part 1, part 3, part 4

Back at the police station, Spencer had trouble focusing on the case. His mind kept wandering over to you, wondering what you were doing, how you were doing. He was on edge and the entire team could feel it. Hotch pulled him to the side to ask him if he wanted to give you a phone call. Reid refused, but settled on sending you a text, something he never usually did while working. Something he never usually did because he wasn't the biggest fan of technology and also because he couldn't decipher how you were actually feeling without hearing your voice and all the quirks in the way you spoke which gave away your real feelings.

Sent by Dr. Ironed Socks : < Hey. How are you doing? > Sent by You : < Ok, I'm having a tea on the couch. Geoff is in REM sleep on my lap. Thx for checking <3 >

Your text was followed by a pixelly picture of your slightly overweight (Spencer couldn't use that term to describe Geoffrey around you or you'd get upset) orange cat sprawled out on your lap, legs and arms askew, fast asleep. Spencer felt a small wave of relief spread through him. You were okay for now. Geoffrey was looking after you. Later, he'd help you process and give you all the tools necessary to get over such a traumatic event and move on. It was almost as if that was in his job description.

Returning to the room where the BAU team had settled in, Spencer sent Hotch a grateful nod. Hotch moved his lips in what resembled a small smile, Reid couldn't be sure. "Okay," Garcia's voice resounded from the speaker sitting in the middle of the round table, "I've contacted all of Mary Goldman's professors and it turns out she didn't go to class today. Her first class was at 11:30 but she never showed up." "None of the students we interrogated on campus had seen her after 10:15," Emily spoke up. "Spencer's roommate saw her between 10:30 and 11:00," Rossi intervened. "Okay, we'll get her to come in," Hotch affirmed. Spencer's whole body tensed. You had been the last person to see the victim. His mind was so busy reeling, thinking about everything you'd have to go through as the most promising witness, that he missed Morgan's question.

"Reid?" Derek raised an eyebrow. "Uh, sorry, what did you say?" "What was the time of death according to the coroner?" "14:30," Rossi answered. "It was 14:26, actually," corrected Reid. Rossi rolled his eyes. "Okay, so the unsub has his victim between around, let's say 11:15, and 14:26," Rossi shot a pointed look at Spencer, "that's about three hours and 11 minutes. In those three hours, he had time to take the victim someplace where neither of them would be seen or heard, beat and sexually assault her, and finally dump her in smack-dab in front of the university." "He's definitely organised and wants to send a message," Emily thought aloud. "But what is he trying to say? Look at what I can do? You can't stop me?" "Friends," interrupted Garcia, "I'm going to need at least some information before I even try to get anything out of a search. He's taking and leaving them on campus, so I'm guessing he doesn't necessarily need a vehicle. Does he live in the area?" "Yes, he's local or knows the area, he knows these women and he most likely knows the campus. Search for white males, early twenties with a record of violence and sexual misconduct. Cross-reference that with victims of reported abuse and sexual abuse in the last twenty five years. Run background checks for all university staff. Also have a look at similar victims and MOs in this area in the last five years. This may not be his first time," spoke Hotch. "On it, I'll get back to you when I've found something." "Thanks, Garcia."

You'd taken a shower as soon as you'd arrived home. The water was too hot and you'd scrubbed your skin too hard but getting out, you felt a slight bit better. Heavily disliking the way you still felt, you opted for a cup of Earl Grey tea with milk and sugar. Settling on the couch with a steaming cup in your hands, you tucked your legs beneath you and sighed.

Images of Mary's dead body were printed onto the inside of your eyelids. You still couldn't believe it. Your mind reeled as you tried to think of an explanation for it all. Whichever path you followed, you came up empty. You could not comprehend or imagine any reason of taking the life of an innocent person, especially in such a violent way. Luckily for you, you still didn't know the extent of the violence.

A familiar noise pulled you from your dark thoughts. Geoffrey had just jumped down from his cat tree. You watched him stretch and languidly walk over to you. He meowed once before jumping onto the couch, right next to you. You moved your legs so that you were sitting cross-legged and scratched his head. He purred in delight and pressed himself against you. He sniffed at your tea with an unimpressed look before climbing into your lap before letting himself flop down on his side, stretching out his appendages. You cooed as his pink toe-beans stretched too and laid a hand on his belly, scratching gently. The vibrations of his purrs had a calming effect on you. "Are you trying to make me forgive you for biting my ankle the other day when I wouldn't give you any more treats? You know Spencer says you're a bit overweight, I was just trying to get him to stop body-shaming you, my love..."

A few minutes later, you get a text from Spencer. About thirty minutes after that, you get a phone call from him. "Hey, would you mind coming to the station? It turns out you're the last person to have seen the victim."

"I'll do the cognitive interview." "Reid, I don't think that's a good idea." "Look, yes I'm invested, I know that. But I also know her and-" "Reid, no. This is the reason we such have procedures." "But I-" "Reid." Hotchner's tone translated finality. Spencer's shoulders sank in defeat. He had figured that if he had been the one conducting the interview, maybe it would have been less traumatic for you. He hated the idea of not being there for you, with you, during such a trying moment. He bit his bottom lip.

"I'll do it," volunteered Morgan. Reid felt slight comfort at that, Morgan was one of the few people he would entrust his life to. He could entrust you to him for the interview, even if he didn't like it. Hotchner nodded. "Reid, you work with Garcia, focus on finding other victims with the same MO to help build the profile." Reid nodded and went to find his colleagues.

When you entered the police station, it was almost like he could feel your presence. He came to find you straight away, not wanting to leave alone even for a second. "Hey." "Hey." Reid immediately pulled you in for a meaningful embrace, burying his face in your hair. The smell of your shampoo, conditionner and body wash were bliss to his nostrils. They were a promise that you were here, you were safe, you were okay. Morgan watched from afar, a small smile playing at his lips. He knew Reid, and the hug you exchanged was both too hasty and too tight to be anything casual. "Are you okay? I'm so sorry to have to make you come in, but they're going to do- well I wanted to do it but they wouldn't let me, so it's-"

A slightly older, very muscular and gentle man stepped forward, holding out his hand to you. You shook it. "I'm Agent Derek Morgan. I'm one of Spencer's colleagues. I'll be the one conducting the interview, seeing as there's a conflict of interest with you and Spencer. I hope you can understand that." You introduced yourself and looked at Spencer before answering Derek. "Yes, I understand, it's- it's not a problem." "Great, if you could just follow me, please?" You licked your lips and sent Spencer a look, which he answers with a nod of reassurance and a small smile, before following Derek.

"You can close your eyes if it makes you more comfortable." You were sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair. The light above you was ticking at uneven intervals and the room smelt of worry. You didn't know how you could get any more comfortable, but listening to Morgan's even, alto voice helped a bit. "Okay." You closed your eyes. "You told Agent Rossi that you crossed the victim somewhere around quarter to eleven. Is that correct?" "Uh, yes." "Where did you cross her?" "In the main hall." "Where were you going?" "Um, I had just been to the bathroom and I was heading to my Anglo-American Literary Survey class." "Okay, can you describe to me everything about the moment when you crossed the victim? What you saw, what you felt, smelled, heard? Was anything out of the ordinary?" You opened your eyes.

"Um, I'm sorry, but could you stop referring to Mary as the victim, please? She has a name, which is Mary Goldman, and a victim wasn't the only thing she was." Derek was slightly surprised at your comment but understood where you came from. Separating from the name was a way for profilers to gain some distance from the horrendous violence. Personally knowing the victim, you didn't have such luxury. "Of course, I apologise. What did you feel when you crossed Mary? Was anything out of place?"

You nodded in thanks and tried to bring yourself back to that moment. It seemed unreal, how such a small interaction suddenly held such importance. "O-Okay, uh, my hands are still a bit wet. There weren't any towels in the bathroom. I saw her after she saw me and we exchanged a smile. I thought she looked really pretty today, but I didn't tell her. We really don't know each other that well." "Okay, that's good. Was she wearing anything out of habit for her?" "Uhh, no, she was wearing a pleated skirt and a sweater vest. She often dresses like that, I don't know exactly why I thought she looked pretty. I guess she just looked happy. Nothing was out of the ordinary." "Good. Could you hear or smell anything?" "Yeah, well, there were the voices of other people in the hall. I can hear girls laughing. I smell Mary's perfume when she walks past me. She always wears the same one, it's Chanel, Mademoiselle Coco specifically, she told me once at a party."

"Okay, do you know where she's going?" "I- yeah, she's heading for her Behavioural Neuroscience class." "Is she walking in the right direction?" "Uh... Yes, yes, she is. She's not in too much of a hurry, though, she doesn't like the teacher." "So why is she heading there already, then? The class only starts at 11:30." "She likes to reread the material from the previous week before the class starts." "Why doesn't she like the teacher?" "No one does, all he does is read off his slides and he's a jerk when it comes to grading."

Morgan suppressed a smile at your comment. "Okay, thank you so much, Y/N, this was very helpful." "Was it? I didn't feel like-" "Yes, I promise you've just shared some crucial pieces of information." "O-Okay, if you say so."

All eyes were on Morgan as he entered the briefing room. He put his paper coffee cup down on the table and looked at Hotch. "Nothing was out of the ordinary. Mary was wearing habitual clothes and the same perfume she always wore. She was heading to the same class, as she did weekly, at the same time. My guess is this guy knew her routine and did a blitz attack. Y/N gave me the number of Mary's best friend, and according to her, Mary didn't have any guys in her life except for her dad and brother."

Hotchner nodded. Spencer couldn't help but feeling proud of you for being able to go through with the interview and to provide such useful information, too. He'd have to congratulate you when he got home. "Pretty boy and I found three similar victims in the last three years. They weren't connected to this case because they were in another university, just on the other side of the state line. Last year, three girls, university students, were killed, same MO, all disappeared for about three hours before being found dead in front of the university, they attended," Garcia spoke from the speaker. Spencer nodded in agreement to her words. "What did the police find back then?" asked Emily. "Nothing, they- uh, did all they could during the month that the three murders happened but after the third victim, the unsub stopped," Spencer answered. "Stopped?" Emily repeated, brows drawn together in confusion. "Yeah, he just- stopped killing and disappeared. Our best guess is that something triggered him then and that the same thing triggered him now."

"Oh, another thing," Garcia sounded reluctant to share the information she had, "I looked at all the victims' pictures and... well, I'll just send them to you, that'll be easier."

Spencer's blood ran ice cold as he stared at the four girls on the screen. They all looked exactly like you.

Taglist : (all those of you who wanted a part two <3) @princess-ofthe-pages @usuck @theylovemelody @empressgraytea @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillianacristina

[guiltyasdave]

one of me is cute, but two though?

pairing: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x mutant!f!reader

word count: ~2.5k

summary: Your cat-like mutation gives your life some cat-like qualities... like going through heats.

warnings/tags: explicit smut (-> 18+ only!), able-bodied reader, reader has hair but no visual descriptions beyond that, cat-like mannerisms, no use of y/n, Logan lifts reader up but he's superhumanly strong, so-, alternating pov, established relationship, unprotected p in v, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, breeding kink, praise kink, a lot of animalistic behavior due to their mutations, talk of a potential pregnancy, a smidge of angst because of who i am as a person

a/n: i wrote this as a sequel to help me hold onto you, but it can be read as a standalone. i'm just in love with cat!reader, what can i say.

huge shoutout to @sizzlingcloudmentality who doesn't even like logan like that, but still patiently listens to me ramble about him nonstop. you're an angel <3

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics!

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates :)

Usually, on your days alone, you lounge around in the living room. Sun spills through the large windows, illuminating the space and drawing patterns of light and shadow over the hardwood floor.  

More often than not, Logan comes home to find you curled up on the carpet, dozing in the sun’s warmth, barely awake and slowly moving with its shine as it travels across the room. Your skin glowing, soft breaths purring from your chest. 

He likes to sit down next to you, watching you twitch with the sound of his footsteps. Sleep tends to pull you back under when he reaches out to gently ruffle your hair. He likes to wait until you roll over, bumping into the solid mass of his body. 

Tries to stifle a laugh when you blink your eyes slowly, cocking your head in confusion at the unexpected obstacle in your way. Watches the recognition sinking in and a smile slowly spreading across your face as you sit up. Catches you when you nestle into his waiting arms, a Hey, baby murmured against your lips before they connect with his. 

Nothing is more peaceful than the feeling of your body against him, to be able to run his fingertips over your soft skin while you bury your head in the crook of his neck. It settles in his chest like a weight, an anchor of warmth. The security that you’re his, that you’re safe, right there with him. 

He loves these late afternoons, soaking up the last rays of sunlight with you. Relishing in your slow, unhurried movements, in the way you press yourself against him, in your bright smile between kisses. 

Today is not a usual day. You had been restless as soon as you woke up, your whole body yearning for Logan in a way that is bordering on painful. Your skin is burning, a faintly feverish sensation simmering inside of you, steadily growing as the hours tick by. 

By the time you hear Logan’s car pull up out front, your whole core is aflame with need. The air is thick with the scent of you, so much of you and so little of him. You’ve spent most of the day pacing the cabin, burying your nose in his clothes, curling up on his side of the bed, letting the scent that’s permeating his pillow cloud your senses. It had brought you a brief sense of relief, only for the aching need inside of you to come back with renewed force mere seconds later. 

His nostrils flare when he opens the door, a growl emitting from his chest. You lunge yourself at him without a second thought, legs wrapping around his midst and holding on tight. The steady, blissfully warm embrace of his arms soothes the worst ache instantly. His eyes find yours, pools of darkness reflecting between you. Your breath is going fast, small pants fanning against his lips as you grind on him, desperate for more, more, more. 

Logan holds you with ease, the thought of his biceps bulging sending another wave of arousal through you. 

“Is it time again?” he asks, the deep rumble of his voice traveling straight to your core, stoking the flames. 

You nod, breathlessly, a small mewl escaping when he teasingly bucks his hips into you. 

“Poor kitten.” One hand soothingly scratches the soft skin behind your ears, drinking in the blissful expression on your face that you respond with. “Let’s go take care of you.” 

“Please.” It comes out in a whiny plea, one that pulls at his heartstrings. One that fills him with the instinctual urge to protect you, to give you whatever you need to ban that desperation from your voice. It mixes with his own arousal that’s clawing up his chest, a beast that he can barely contain with how eagerly you welcome it, how you ask for it. 

He keeps you in his arms, carrying you towards the bedroom in long strides. Every time you get jostled by his steps and your core bumps into the growing bulge underneath his jeans, you whine against his neck. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, ripping holes through the flannel and sending delicious pinpricks of pain through him. 

He shushes you gently, tipping your head back up to kiss you again. You respond with hunger, your teeth catching on his bottom lip, demanding more. 

“I’ve waited all day,” you complain, pouting at him between kisses. “Wanted you so badly.” 

He hums, heart clenching at your expression while his cock twitches at the desperate need dripping from your every movement. “I know, baby. I’m here now, don’t worry.” 

Kicking the bedroom door shut without looking, he turns around and pushes you against the dark wood. Trapped between the door and the press of his hips, you whine, hands working  almost frantically to take off his flannel. Logan leans back a fraction, letting you push the fabric down his arms. The scratch of your nails against his bare skin has goosebumps following in its wake. You’re not drawing blood, yet. He can’t wait for when you do. 

The heat of him is all engulfing, wrapping you up like a blanket. Finally he’s here, close enough to taste, to smell, his skin burning almost as hot as your own under your fingertips. You need him, not satisfied until it feels like your bodies are molding into one. 

Urgent fingers drag over fabric, frantically tugging at hems, only disturbed by hungry kisses and panting into each other’s mouths. Ultimately, his bare torso is pressed against yours, muscles rippling under his skin and your fingertips. You lick a generous stripe from his shoulder over his neck, affectionately nipping at his skin, before you find his mouth once more. 

Another groan erupts from his chest, vibrating against your tongue, before he moves you once more. Effortlessly carrying you over to the bed and dropping you onto the sheets, shamelessly staring as your tits bounce with the movement. 

His hands toy with his obnoxiously large belt buckle, your eyes zeroing in on the action as you’re kicking your own pants off. A moan escapes you when he finally pushes his jeans down, taking his underwear in the same motion, his cock springing free before your hungry eyes. It’s a sight that you’ll never get used to. Huge, just like the rest of him. 

He’s back onto you in the blink of an eye, so fast and yet not fast enough with how desperately you need him. He captures your lips once more while his fingers slide down your body. Stopping briefly to toy with your nipples, but quickly moving on until he’s right at your entrance, collecting your slick and rubbing a fingertip over your clit. It’s featherlight, so good and yet not nearly enough. You need all of him, full force, not holding back, smothering every atom of you the way only he’s able to. 

“Logan, don’t tease.” 

Your voice breaks over the last syllable, desperation painting your tone. 

He chuckles out a sorry, so clearly not sorry at all, loving you like this, all needy and pliant for him. Just waiting for the wild, animalistic side of you to emerge, the side that doesn’t plead and just takes.

“What do you need, kitten?” 

Still rubbing soft circles into your clit and greedily drinking in the sight of your writhing, Logan’s other hand possessively curls around your chin, his thumb caressing the corner of your mouth. Tipping your face up, he meets your eyes, your pupils blown so wide that they seem entirely black.

“Need you to fill me up, it hurts so bad, please.” You’re grinding against him, desperate to be closer, to feel every inch of his skin, to finally get him inside of you.

He allows himself a cheeky grin, one that you’re not sure if you want to kiss or slap off his face. “Yeah?” He’s so close, his voice a quiet rasp against your lips. “Want me to pump you full, huh? Give you a whole litter?”

A violent shiver runs through your whole body at his words, your eyes rolling back into your head and your hips bucking up from the mattress. Mewls of please fall from your lips as you reach for him, your grip digging into his waist so forcefully that this time, your fingernails leave deep, red scratches on his skin. 

The pain of it surges through him, flaring up and dying back down as his skin stitches itself back together. He can’t help bucking into you, mirroring your movement. He loves when you turn into this version of yourself, all wild animal, feral to get what you want. 

He can’t deny you a moment longer, not when you bare your teeth at him in a snarl, lost in the haze of your heat. He flips you over like a doll, husks a laugh at your surprised squeal that morphs into a moan when he pulls your hips up harshly, putting you on all fours. A loud hiss escapes him when his cock rubs against your folds. You’re incredibly wet, your slick already sticking to your upper thighs and coating him within seconds. 

“My poor baby,” he coos, a hand soothingly rubbing over the feverishly hot skin of your backside. It turns into a groan when you only arch your back further, your thighs splaying wider apart. You’re putting yourself on full display for him, all needy, all his for the taking. All his.

Sinking in slowly, finally, he grits his teeth to keep from thrusting too harshly into your tight heat. He knows how sensitive you are in your current state, wants to give you time to adjust, to get used to the stretch. It’s not what you want, obviously, as you push your hips back against him, fucking yourself open on his cock. You’re gasping, breaths punching from your lungs, but your movements don’t falter. He meets you with a tentative thrust, chest swelling at the high moan it elicits from you.

“You still want more, huh kitten?”

You’d scoff at his teasing, at the ridiculous nickname, if he didn’t make you feel so fucking good right now. The tension, the emptiness that had been aching deep inside of you all day, finally subsides. A different kind of warmth is building inside your body, slowly spreading through you. Not the burning need that had been eating you up, but deep bliss that is blossoming from your core, now that your body finally gets what it’s been craving.

Reaching back blindly, your fingers wrap around one of his wrists where his hand is gripping your flesh. You don’t have to tell him what you want, he lets go to intertwine his fingers with yours instantly. You feel so safe, so connected to him like this. He bends down, presses kisses into your neck, nips at the skin playfully. 

“Logan… Please,” you whine, desperate for him to hit that spot inside of you that only he seems to be able to reach. “Please, just—”

“I know.” It’s whispered into your skin, sealed with another kiss, before he straightens back up. 

One hand finds your neck in an iron grip and pushes your upper body down into the mattress. His thrusts become deeper, slowing down each time he bottoms out and grinding into you, until you can feel him against your cervix. It’s exactly what you wanted, exactly what your body is asking for. You’re gushing, soaking the both of you with your wetness, your pussy clenching around him in an attempt to pull him in even deeper. 

He growls above you, his other hand wrapping around your hip to steady you. To hold you right where he wants you, as he speeds up, and makes you take it. You’re trying to push back against him, to meet his movements, but he’s heavy against you, each thrust pushing you forward before his bruising grip pulls you back into him. 

You cry out his name again and again, the only word on your mind right now, your whole world reduced to this moment, to him and you. The only other sounds are the wet slap of his skin against yours, and his growls behind you, growing louder with every thrust. Evidence of how the line between man and beast is blurring, how his need is becoming just as animalistic as your own. 

He’s filling you so perfectly, your slick walls stretched around his length, like they were made to take him. Heat, pulsing inside of you, igniting you, blazing through your veins. It has never been like this with anyone else. You’re tightening around him, the fire brightening further, until it’s about to consume you. 

“Logan,” you whimper, knuckles tightening with your grip on the bed sheets. “I’m gonna—” 

He pulls you up instantly, one arm wrapping around you, holding you against his sweat-slicked chest. Nuzzling into your neck, the scratch of his beard almost too much for your already overwhelmed senses, while his hand’s snaking down to your clit, swiping through the mess of your arousal. 

“Give it to me, kitten, come on.” You feel it reverberating where his chest is pressed into your back, feel his breath hot against your skin. 

He’s everywhere, all-encompassing, as the tension in your core pulls impossibly tighter. One more thrust, the angle different than before, and it snaps. You shatter with a scream, your nails sinking into his arm, your whole body trembling while your walls pulse around him, pulling him over the edge with you. 

His own roar is dampened by the skin of your neck against his mouth as he grinds himself deeper, coating your insides with his release. Your hormones spike in reaction, pushing your own orgasm to new heights, until you’re nothing but pure bliss, almost boneless in his arms. 

He holds you tightly, lets the aftershocks slowly subside while he whispers praises in your ear. How good you feel, how well you take him, how you were made for him. How much he loves you. 

Never letting go of his hold on you, he slowly starts moving. Gently maneuvers you until you’re wrapped in blankets and his arms. A kiss on your forehead, another whisper of I love you. 

“Do you think it’s gonna work this time?” 

Your voice is quiet, muffled against his chest where your head rests. He traces your face gently with a fingertip, watches you lean into the touch. 

“I don’t know, baby. Maybe.” 

It’s bittersweet, imagining a family with you. You age slower, but not as slowly as him. God only knows how things would be for a child of yours.

“Picture it, though.” You beam up at him, your eyes shining so brightly that he has no choice but to smile back. “A tiny version of me. Or you.”

thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a reblog or a comment. it absolutely makes my day every time and i'd love to know your thoughts!

[roseyodditea]

early in a relationship with a sudden needy and touchy lighter?🥺

I told myself I'd get around to writing this after studying for exams and that was... TWO WEEKS AGO!?? WHOOPSIE!!!

Surprise Visit - Lighter x gn!Reader

Summary -> 700 words. Cute little wake up to a clingy Lighter. Warnings -> Not proofread. Written on little sleep. A/N -> I am so sorry this took so long to write. I'm an engineering major and had five exams in two weeks (I did good on all of them tho)

Lighter is a hard man to get close to. There are very few people he let closer than just an arms length away, like a feral alley cat. You had practically snuck your way in through his defenses with a few well placed pushes from Ceaser and one too many times Burnice “accidentally” left you two alone. It worked like a charm, of course, and before you knew it Lighter was taking you out on motorcycle rides under the stars, riding into New Eridu just to grab a coffee with you, and even upgrading his phone just so he could text you more consistently. 

You stirred awake at an hour far too early only to see a text from Lighter gracing your phone screen.

Lighter <3: “Busy today?”

Rolling over lazily to snatch your phone off of the nightstand, you squint at the light before tapping a quick reply.

You: “It’s too early to think but I’m pretty sure I’m free. What’s up?”

Lighter <3: “Can I come spend time with you?”

You thought for a moment. This was the third time this week he had asked to come to New Eridu. First it was wanting to rent a new movie from Random Play, then it was wanting to walk around around the river, and now it looks like he doesn’t even have an excuse. 

You: “Of course :)”

Shortly after sending the text, you fell back asleep, wanting to sleep until at least the sun came up. Your dream was disjointed and confusing, your body hot and uncomfortable when you woke up. You toss the blanket off of your shoulders clumsily, fist colliding with something. 

“Ow…” You suddenly jolt awake, looking over. “Lighter? Why…. How?”

“You didn’t answer the door. I thought I’d let myself in.” He rubs his nose where you had hit him. 

“The door was locked.” “I let myself in.”

“You don’t have a key.”

“I let myself in.”

“How?” You smile as you prop yourself up on your elbow, looking at the way he was laying on his back, an attempted respectful distance between you two. You broken the distance and reached out to touch his nose, making sure you didn’t actually do damage when you accidentally punched him.

Lighter melted under the touch, like a cat in the middle of a sunbeam. “I didn’t break anything, I promise.”

“Do I need to upgrade my locks?” You guide him to roll on his side so the bright light of the sun was behind him, highlighting his body in an almost angelic way. 

“Oh absolutely. Anyone with a cheap lockpick set can get in.” He drops his voice to a tone, not wanting to disturb the bubble of comfort around the two of you.

A comfortable moment of silence hangs in the air, Lighter looking at you with uncharacteristicly soft eyes, like you were the most precious thing he had. 

“When you asked to hang out, I didn’t know you meant as soon as I woke up. What are you running from, Lorenz?” You tease as you trace a finger down his jaw, feeling he had shaved his stubble off right before coming over. 

Lighter took your hand and kissed the pads of your fingers. “I’m not running from anything. I’m running towards you…”

He gives that genuine look, his guard almost entirely let down at this point. The words were borrowed, of course, probably from a book Ceaser was reading, but the fact he said it counted for a lot in your heart. 

“You’re hopeless.” You scoff and bring the blanket around the both of you, no longer caring how warm you felt.

“You like it.” Lighter immediately capitalizes on the closeness, holding you tightly against his chest, hiding his face in your hair. 

“I do… Quick little nap and then breakfast at the cafe?”

“Sounds perfect.”

**********

The ‘quick little nap’ turned into a several hour long nap, both of you feeling too safe and comfortable to even think about getting up. When you finally woke up for the last time, you were now on your back, Lighter’s head on your chest, the rest of his body draped over yours, arms tight around your stomach. You were trapped. 

“Lighter?” You nudge gently, trying to wake him up.

“No..” He squeezed tighter, hiding his face. “Please… let’s just stay like this… I need this… Need you…”

“Oh how could I ever say no to you?”

[lightsoutmatthews]

Pick Up - Seth Jarvis

summary: after a fight Andrei calls you to pick a very drunk Seth up from the bar.

pairing: Seth Jarvis x female!reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: alcohol consumption, being drunk

---------------------

The shrill sound of your ringtone ripped you from your light sleep. You had just finally managed to fall asleep after you kept overthinking everything that had happened today.

It was late. A quick look at the top of the screen, while the phone was still ringing, told you it was shortly after 3 am.

But while you still woke up and tried to figure out how late it was the phone stopped ringing, but the screen told you that Andrei had called.

Your eyes furrowed in confusion. Why was one of your boyfriends friends calling you in the middle of the night?

Was Seth okay?

The thought of your boyfriend stung in your heart. You still remembered how you stormed out of his apartment earlier in the day. You had a fight. A simple disagreement over a small thing that turned into a bigger issue than either of you were expecting.

The words you had fired at each other were still lingering in your head. It wasn’t particularly hurtful things, nothing that would warrant something drastic. It was something you would need to talk about but nothing that could lead to the end of the relationship.

You knew you had overreacted. But so had he. Not really talking to you or answering your texts while he was on the road was a small thing, and you knew how busy he was. But when you heard the other wives and girlfriends talk about how much they talked to their significant others you felt hurt.

You knew you hadn’t been in a relationship for long and that he had been part of the "single guys" group basically ever since he joined the team.

He wasn’t used to have someone waiting for him at home, someone who was looking forward to hearing from him but that didn´t warrant him ignoring you for hours at the time. Expecting to hear from him on a regular basis didn’t seem outrageous to you but when you brought it up it somehow escalated.

It was like both of you talked in circles. Him arguing that be was busy on the road and that he was trying, you arguing that others were trying harder. It was stupid really but neither of you budged so it led to you leaving.

You hadn’t heard from him since but Andrei calling you worried you. He wouldn’t be calling in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something serious, right?

But before you could think about it any further the phone rang again.

Andrei Svechnikov.

“Hello?” You voice still laced with sleep; your eyes still heavy aching to close again and let slumber take over.

“Hey.” The Russian accent on the other side of the line was unmistakably Andrei. “I´m sorry I´m calling in the middle of the night.”

“Is Seth okay?” The worry in your voice was heavy. “Yeah, he´s fine.” A short pause from the other end of the line. “Drunk, but fine. That´s why I´m calling actually.” You let out a heavy breath. He was okay, that was the most important thing.

Mumbling on the other side. You weren’t sure if Andrei was still on the line. “Sorry, were outside of a bar, KK was just trying to stop Jarvy from running into traffic.” Sitting up in bed, you turned on the small lamp on the bedside table, casting your bedroom in a softly lit space that was a massive contrast to the darkness that was looming outside.

“Who are you on the phone with, Svechyyyy.” Seth´s slight Canadian accent halled in the background. “No one, drink your water.” Andrei said, letting out a heavy sign before focusing back on the call.

“I know you had a fight, he´s been upset about it all night, I don’t even know if you want to see him, but can you please pick him up? All he asked all night was to call you and see you."

Now you let out a loud sigh. You weren’t thrilled to leave the house in the middle of the night, especially not to go to a bar in downtown Raleigh to pick up your apparently very drunk boyfriend.

“Drop me a pin, I will be there as soon as I can.”

The message came through seconds after you ended the call. You know you should hurry to not let his friends take care of him any longer, but you couldn’t bring yourself to rush. After putting on a pair of leggings and a hoodie you stole from Seth you slipped into your sneakers and made your way to the parking garage.

When you arrived at the location 30 minutes later Andrei, Jesperi, Seth and Pyotr were outside, Seth sitting on the curb surrounded by his friends. You parked the car and climbed out, Pyotr spotting you before the others, a smile spreading across his face.

You hadn’t talked much to the Russian goaltender, partly because of his still limited English but also the lack of opportunities to meet him. Still, he´d always been incredibly kind to you. His usual calm presence off the ice something you appreciated in the situation.

“Hey guys.” You said when you reached the group. “Heyyyyy.” Seth slurred, trying to get up from the ground but stumbling as soon as he set one foot up. “Hey, thank you for coming.” Andrei said, wrapping you into a quick hug. “Good to see you, even if it´s under these circumstances.”

You greeted KK with a smile and a nod before looking back down on your boyfriend who returned to sitting rather than standing.

 “How much did he drink?” You asked his friends. “Too much.” Pyotr laughed quietly. “He was really upset.” Andrei added, as if it was a valid excuse for him to be almost blackout drunk.

You shot them a look, thoughts racing around how you would get Seth back into his apartment. “Get him in the car," you huffed. The sooner you got this over with the better.

Andrei and KK wrangled Seth into the passenger seat. “Say bye, Seth.” You said when the two of them are back on the curb. “Bye, Seth,” he said with a bright smile. It almost made you laugh. “Thank you again.” Andrei shouted before you drove off and closed the window.

-------------------

“You´re pretty.” Seth mumbled as his glance focused and lingered on you for the first time since showing up at the bar. “I know that hoodie from somewhere.” He continued and you had to hold another chuckle.

You let him ramble while you drove, he gave you compliments, talked about nonsense and eventually drifted off, as the streets of Raleigh passed outside. His head leaned against the window, eyes shut, breathing heavy but relaxed.

It would be at least another 25 minutes to his apartment and right now you were happy about the silence. There was still a lingering anger in you that did not want to go away as you kept glancing on the sleeping figure next to you, making sure he was okay. It’s not like you stopped caring just because you were angry.

When you pulled into the visitors parking lot of Seth’s apartment building you softly shook his shoulder to get him to wake up. There was no way you were able to get him upstairs while he was sleeping. He needed to walk on his own.

He looked at you confused when he woke. “Come on, honey.” You whispered softly before carefully grabbing his arm, helping him to get out of the car. “You´re nice.” He mumbled still half asleep.

You greeted the night manager at the front desk with a nod before leading your boyfriend to the elevator and pressing the button for his floor.

His weight was heavy on your shoulder and since he was more leaning on you for support than you hoped you struggled to stand upright. “Seth, let go of me. Hold onto the wall or something.” You whisper shouted to get your point across.

“But you´re warm and comfortable,” he sighed.

Warmth spread through you as you listened to him ramble again. He gave you many compliments throughout the day when he wasn’t drunk, but this took it to a new level. “You´re so nice.” He repeated the words from a few minutes ago. You just chuckled.

Pulling his keys from his jacket you opened the door to the apartment and drag him inside. Planting him on the couch you took of his shoes and jacket before heading into the kitchen to grab him another water.

“Thank you. That’s so nice of you.” He laughed, gripping the bottle a little too hard so that half of the water spilled on him and the couch. You rolled your eyes and ran to grab a towel from the kitchen.

When you started to clean up, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto his lap. You wanted to protest but you knew it wouldn’t be much use. So, you let him.

“You´re so good to me, can you be my girlfriend?” You whipped your head around and starred directly into his eyes with a slight smile on your lips. “I already am.” You replied with a soft chuckle, which earned you a soft smile from him. “Oh, lucky me.” He giggled before pulling you closer to his chest, pressing his head between your shoulder blades.

That night you settled into his bed alone while letting him stay on the couch. Shortly after he snuggled you, you got up to put the towel away and when you returned to the living room, he was asleep again.

Deciding that waking him and getting him into bed would be too much trouble you grabbed a blanket and carefully laid it over him before heading into his bedroom to take yourself to sleep.

---------------------

When you woke up the next morning it was close to 11 am. A heavy arm was draped around your waist and soft breathing tickled in your neck. Carefully turning around to see your boyfriend next to you. He was fast asleep looking as peaceful as ever.

You didn’t know when he came into the bedroom, but you enjoyed his presence. His warmth something you had missed that night even though you were used to sleeping without him.

He groaned when you tried to slip out if his grasp and tightened his grip on your waist. “Stay,” he grumbled. Reluctantly you gave in, slid back into his embrace and rested your head on his chest. “What time is it?” He groaned into your hair. “Around 11.”

“God, my head is killing me,” he mumbled after a few minutes of silence. You chuckled. “I´m not surprised.” Another, longer groan leaves his mouth. “Don’t make fun of me, babe, I´m in pain.” You laughed at his dramatics before turning around in his grip to face him.

That seemed the first time he actually registered that you were here. “Wait, how are you here?” He asked, suddenly sounding not sleepy or hungover at all.

Before you could get a word in, he spoke again. “I swear you left yesterday after our fight and you didn’t come back before I left to hang out with the guys.” Confusion laced with what you assumed was concern written all over his face.

“I planned on showing up at your apartment with lunch today to apologize.” He squinted his eyes trying to make sense of the situation which made you laugh. “Andrei called me last night to pick you up because you couldn’t stop talking about me.” His eyes flew open in surprise. “And you came?”

You were surprised by his words. “Of course I came. I would never leave you stranded somewhere, even when I´m angry at you.” His eyes softened followed by a mumbled “I´m sorry.”

“I´m sorry too.” You buried your nose in his chest, his familiar scent prominent but since he hadn’t showered since leaving the bar it was mixed with a hint of alcohol and bar.

“I´ll try to be better, okay? If the other guys can do it so can I.” A few incoherent mumbles that were swallowed by the fabric of his shirt followed from your side. “You have to take your face out of my shirt so I can understand you.” He chuckled and brushed a strand of your hair out of your face.

A loving glance spreading along his face as he locked his eyes with yours.

“I said, I overreacted. Can we love each other again?” Your question made him laugh. “I always love you.” A soft kiss to your lips followed. “I love you too.”

“Good, now that we got this out of the way, can we please go back to sleep? I need at least two more hours and some pain killers to become a functioning human being,” he groaned, which made you chuckled before snuggling back into his chest.

“Sure, but only if you treat me to that Chinese place later.” He laughed before wincing at his own loud sounds. “Promised.”

[mononijikayu]

kinikilig — itadori yuji.

“Ugh, they’re driving me crazy!" Yuuji groaned, flopping dramatically onto the dorm couch. He had dragged Megumi and Nobara into his ordeal, much to their dismay. “You’re driving us crazy, Itadori.” Nobara shot back, arms crossed as she glared at him. “Do you realize how many times you’ve ranted about this today?” “But I’m serious!" Yuuji sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Every time I try to ask them what they want, I get all... I don’t know, flustered. And then I just start staring at them instead of saying anything. And then they make a joke, and I laugh, and—" He buried his face in his hands. “I just really love them, okay?!”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Safe For Work (SFW), Post-Canon, Christmas, Aged Up Characters (Yuuji and Reader are 18+), Fluff, Young Love, Dating, Relationships, Romance, Pet Names (Babe, Yuu-chan, etc), Established Relationship, Teasing, Minor Drama, Feelings, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Light-Hearted, Pining, Holding Hands, Doubt, Profanity, Nanami and His Wife Cameo, Itafushikugi Sibling Coded;

WORD COUNT: 4.6k words.

NOTE: i promised to write this because there was a huge need to yuuji content. posting this for you @rreveurdoll as much as this is for me. and since it is christmas eve (still day time) in asia, i might as well post this since i will be sleeping for a bit!!! i hope everyone is well and happy this holiday. i'll be posting a christmas art everyone is welcome to enjoy and print out as a card or sticker. happy holidays to everyone!!! i love you!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

kilig (adjective) — "exhilarated by an exciting or romantic experience"; such feeling can be something as idiomatic as saying, "hey, i'm feeling butterflies in my stomach for you!" or next best thing to that which is "i'm genuinely feeling excited!"

“SHIT!” — THOSE WERE THE WORDS HE ENDED UP SAYING, EVEN WHEN HE DIDN’T MEAN TO. But the word echoed louder than Itadori Yuuji intended, startling an elderly woman walking past him on the crowded street. He winced and muttered an apologetic “Sorry!"under his breath, clutching the shopping bags in his hands a little tighter.

Itadori Yuuji wasn’t one to curse out loud. He prided himself on his optimism and his ability to keep things light-hearted even in the most stressful situations. But this? This was different. This time, Yuuji felt the situation demanded it. Because at this rate, he was setting himself up for failure.

He groaned, running a hand through his messy pink hair as he stood frozen in the middle of the bustling holiday crowd. Glittering lights adorned the storefronts, garlands hung in perfect loops above doorways.

And the faint melody of carolers blended with the hum of city life. The festive energy was palpable, but none of it helped ease the knot tightening in Yuuji’s stomach. How could it? This situation is driving him to a cliff of endless worries he doesn't want to end up in.

It was lovely Christmas time once more. You loved it as much as he did. It was the season of cheer, joy, and giving; it had everything and more! And the Tokyo streets buzzed with life for it. People rushed by with shopping bags brimming with carefully chosen gifts, their faces alight with excitement and satisfaction. It felt like everyone had their holiday plans perfectly in order.

Everyone except Itadori Yuuji.

This year was supposed to be special. It was his first Christmas with you as his lover, and he wanted everything to be perfect. Scratch that—he needed it to be perfect. You were his whole world, his everything, and this gift needed to show you just how much you meant to him.

But the harder he tried, the more overwhelmed he became. He’d scoured countless stores, browsed endless online listings, and spent hours walking in circles around the mall. Yet no matter where he looked, nothing felt right. Everything he picked up seemed too small, too impersonal, or just not enough.

It wasn’t that Yuuji didn’t know you. He knew the little things that made you happy. The way your bright eyes lit up at the sight of something sweet, how your laugh always started with a soft giggle before it burst into pure, unrestrained joy. He knew your favorite colors, your favorite snacks, and the way you always hummed under your breath when you were lost in thought.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because knowing you so well only made him want to give you something truly extraordinary. Something that could somehow capture just how much he adored you. But every time he thought about it, his mind short-circuited, overwhelmed by a love that was too big for words—or holiday gifts.

“Ugh, what am I going to do?" Yuuji muttered, dragging himself into yet another store. The cheerful holiday music playing in the background did nothing to soothe his nerves as he wandered aimlessly past rows of glittering ornaments and festive knick-knacks.

If he didn’t figure this out soon, he’d end up empty-handed on Christmas morning. And that, to him, was simply unacceptable. The thing was, Yuuji wasn’t bad at shopping. He’d always been good at it. Grandpa Wasuke said so! In fact, the act of searching was easy. He had a good eye for thoughtful details and a knack for picking up on what people might enjoy. 

Over the past few weeks, he had ventured into dozens of stores, scrutinizing shelves of trinkets, clothes, and gadgets. He’d spent hours scrolling through endless online listings, carefully reading reviews and comparing options. He’d even braved the chaos of the mall during the holiday rush, weaving through crowds with a determination that rivaled a seasoned shopper.

He wasn’t just browsing aimlessly, either. Yuuji took his mission seriously. As serious as he would be a real sorcerer’s mission. If anything, he’d go on and on even longer than at his missions. Because you deserve nothing but the best. He knew that much. He was going to make sure you get the best and only the best from him. His love was premium. Shouldn’t his gift to you be like that too?

He’d lingered in the holiday gift section, picking up items and putting them back down, imagining how you might react to each one. Would this make you laugh? Would that make your eyes sparkle with excitement? He spent so much time in one store that an employee asked if he needed help—or if he was lost.

The problem wasn’t the act of searching; it was what happened after.

Every time he thought about what you might like, his brain short-circuited. It wasn’t that he didn’t know you well enough. Quite the opposite. Itadori Yuuji adored you. He knew the little things that brought you joy: how your hands curled around a warm mug on chilly mornings, the soft sigh of contentment that followed. 

The way your beautiful eyes just lit up, full of passion, whenever you talked about something you loved. The way you had a talent for making the most ordinary days feel extraordinary, whether it was through your humor, your kindness, or just the way you smiled at him like he was your whole world.

And that was the problem.

Because every time Yuuji tries to take the logical next step about it all, he always seems to fail. When he thinks about asking you what you might want for Christmas—he’d freeze. Completely and utterly freeze. 

His chest would tighten, his heart would hammer, and he’d lose his words altogether. He’d open his mouth to ask, only to get distracted by how cute you looked while you were busy doing something entirely unrelated.

It wasn’t just love. No, he was sure. It was more than that. Love is not enough to describe how much he loves you. It was the kind of love that left him lightheaded, giddy, and absurdly incapable of functioning like a normal person. Yuuji wasn’t just in love with you; he was ridiculously, overwhelmingly, head-over-heels in love.

And that made everything infinitely harder.

He couldn’t even concentrate when he was around you. Instead of asking what you wanted, he’d catch himself staring, marveling at the way you furrowed your brow while concentrating or how your laughter could turn his worst days into his best. When you cracked a joke (sometimes funny, sometimes not), Yuuji laughed anyway, not because of the joke but because it came from you.

Every time he thought about asking again, he found that the words got stuck in his throat, replaced by a flood of affection he didn’t know how to articulate. He would be a bumbling mess. And you would get worried and ask him if he was okay. But he would babble that he was okay. But he can’t help that either. How could he even begin to express how much you meant to him?

And so, instead of making progress, Yuuji found himself stuck in a loop of adoration and frustration. He’d groan and mutter to himself, pacing his room or staring at the ceiling late at night, wondering how something as simple as picking a Christmas gift could become so complicated. 

When did things get complicated? When did things get hard? Everything about this was ruining his ability to think straight. And that wasn’t your fault. It never will be, no. It was his inadequacies as your lover. He was sure of that. He once more groans, earning the looks of his classmates.

“Ugh, they’re driving me crazy!" Yuuji groaned, flopping dramatically onto the dorm couch. He had dragged Megumi and Nobara into his ordeal, much to their dismay.

“You’re driving us crazy, Itadori.” Nobara shot back, arms crossed as she glared at him. “Do you realize how many times you’ve ranted about this today?”

“But I’m serious!" Yuuji sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Every time I try to ask them what they want, I get all... I don’t know, flustered. And then I just start staring at them instead of saying anything. And then they make a joke, and I laugh, and—" He buried his face in his hands. “I just really love them, okay?!”

Megumi, sitting with a book in hand, sighed heavily. “We know. You’ve said it a hundred times.”

“But do you understand how hard it is?!" Yuuji looked at them, his warm eyes wide and desperate. “Like, they’re so amazing. And cute. And funny. Like, even when their jokes aren’t funny! I can’t help it! I laugh anyway because I just... I love them so much! And I just, grrrr! Why can’t I do this right?”

Nobara threw a pillow at him, hitting him square in the face. “You’re ridiculous. Just ask them already!”

“I tried! But every time I think about asking, I get all red and tongue-tied. I can’t even look them in the eye without grinning like an idiot!"Yuuji groaned, sinking back into the couch to wallow in his self-perceived ineptness. “I just... I just want this to be perfect! They’re the ones, guys! I can’t ruin this. I want to... I want to do well.”

“You’re hopeless, aren’t you?” Nobara muttered, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a Christmas cookie from the table.

“Maybe write them a note.” Megumi suggested, not even looking up from his book. “Or I don’t know; stop overthinking everything. I don’t think it matters what you give them. They love you enough for everything else. They’re with you for a reason, Itadori. They like you. Not what you can provide them. It’s not that deep.”

“But it is that deep!" Yuuji exclaimed, flailing his arms. “I want it to be perfect! I want them to know how much they mean to me!”

“Just pick something from the heart, Itadori.” Nobara said, her tone softening slightly. “They’ll love it because it’s from you, dumbass. You don’t need to stress so much.”

Yuuji sighed, hugging the pillow Nobara had thrown at him. Deep down, he knew they were right. It wasn’t about finding the perfect gift. It’s never been like that with you, no. It was about showing you how much he cared. And he already knew how he felt: completely, utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

That night, he sat at his desk, the dorm room quiet, save for the faint rustle of snow falling outside his window. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand as his mind drifted to you. He thought about the way your laugh always seemed to bubble up like music, filling the air with warmth. He thought about how, even on the darkest days, your presence was enough to make everything feel a little bit brighter, a little bit easier.

With a deep breath, he picked up a pen and a blank sheet of paper, staring at it as if it held all the answers he was looking for. He twirled the pen between his fingers, his heart thudding in his chest. For once, he didn’t try to overthink it. He knew he had the words. He just has to let them go. 

He takes a deep breath and looks at the page again. He can do this. He knows he can. Nothing is impossible for love. Nothing is impossible when it comes to loving you. And showing you that, well, he wants to make sure you see it! And so he let the words flow, raw and honest, straight from his heart. He doesn’t stop until he gets every bit of it out. 

He started with the small things. How he loved the way you’d hum absentmindedly when you were focused, or how you’d always check to make sure he was okay, even when you were the one who’d had a rough day. He wrote about how much he admired you—your kindness, your resilience, your ability to find joy in the simplest things.

Then, as the words poured out, he wrote about the bigger things. How meeting you had changed him in ways he couldn’t fully explain. How, before you, he hadn’t realized how much brighter life could be. How he’d never known what it felt like to be this happy, this complete, until he met you.

The more he wrote, the lighter he felt. By the time he reached the end of the letter, his hand was cramped, but his heart felt full. He folded the paper carefully, tucking it into an envelope and sealing it with a quiet smile.

The next day, Itadori Yuuji ventured out into the bustling city again. The crisp winter morning coupled with the cold winter air was sharp and frosty, each breath forming little clouds that vanished as quickly as they came. Today was the day he'll get that bonus gift. He will find the perfect one. He knows it.

He wandered from shop to shop, weaving through crowds of last-minute shoppers. He studied every display carefully, letting his instincts guide him to the perfect one. He knew it just had to be here somewhere. Yet, after hours of searching, the doubt began to creep back in.

“What if I can’t find it?”He muttered to himself, the weight of his self-imposed expectations starting to press down again. “No, no. We had this talk, Itadori Yuuji! You will find it. You have the letter; that’s the present. Your love? That’s the gift. This is just a bonus, okay? No pressure!”

Lost in thought and incoherent mumbles to himself, Itadori Yuuji wasn’t paying attention to where he was going and nearly collided with a familiar figure. He blinked for a moment. It was a good thing he wasn’t carrying anything. 

“Ah—sorry!” He blurted out, stepping back to apologize. Then he froze. “Nanamin?!”

Standing before him was none other than Nanami Kento, looking as polished as ever in a dark wool coat and a long, warm-colored scarf neatly tucked into place. Beside him was a woman with a kind smile; her arm looped casually through his. She gasped and smiled.

"Itadori-kun.” Kento greeted, raising a brow at the flustered expression on Yuuji’s face. “What are you doing out here?”

“I, uh...” Yuuji scratched the back of his head. “I’m trying to find a Christmas gift for someone. It’s... really important.”

Kento’s wife tilted her head curiously. “You look a little lost, Itadori-kun. Need some help with it?”

Yuuji hesitated, then let out a sheepish laugh. “Honestly? Yeah. I’ve been wandering for hours... Well, for a long while now. And I still don’t know what to get. I mean, I got the letter and everything and my love for them. I think that’s the most important part, but the other part of it is just...”

Kento glanced at his wife, who smiled warmly and squeezed his arm. “Well, lucky for you, I’m a bit of a pro at picking out thoughtful gifts, aren’t I, Kento?” She said to him. “Why don’t we take a look together, Itadori-kun?”

Before Yuuji could protest, she guided him into the next store, her pace brisk yet purposeful. Nanami Kento merely followed a few steps behind, his expression as composed as ever, though Yuuji could swear there was a flicker of amusement in his mentor’s caramel eyes.

“So, Itadori-kun.” Kento’s wife began, glancing at Yuuji as they entered a cozy boutique lined with handmade crafts and ornaments. "Can you tell me a little about your partner? What do they like?”

Yuuji scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling shy. “Well, they love warm drinks, like tea and hot chocolate, especially on cold days like this. They always get this little smile when they’re holding a warm mug.”

Kento’s wife smiled. “That’s a lovely detail. What else?”

“They’re really passionate about their hobbies, a lot really!" Yuuji continued, his voice softening as he thought of you. “When they talk about something they love, their eyes just... light up. It’s amazing. I could listen to them for hours.”

She chuckled, picking up a small handcrafted snow globe from a nearby shelf. “Sounds like you’re pretty smitten, Yuuji.”

Yuuji’s face turned bright red at her comment. “I mean... Yeah.” he admitted, scratching his cheek. “They’re just... really special, you know? Like, every moment with them feels like a gift.”

Nanami Kento, who had been quietly observing, cleared his throat. “Itadori-kun, while that’s touching, perhaps you could focus on specifics. What’s something they’ve mentioned recently? Something they’ve wanted or admired?”

Yuuji paused, thinking hard. Then his warm eyes lit up. “Oh! They mentioned this charm they saw once—something small but meaningful. They said it reminded them of their family. I didn’t think of it until now.”

Kento’s wife clapped her hands together. “Perfect! Let’s see if we can find something like that.”

As they moved through the store, Itadori Yuuji rambled on, describing your quirks and favorite things with so much enthusiasm that even Nanami Kento seemed amused. The kid is passionate about a lot of things; he’d observed that in the time Yuuji and him had spent time together. 

But at this level? Never. He’s not seen that at all. But perhaps Kento could find himself relating to the younger man. He too is a man in love who can't help but be frantic when it comes to his own lover. And he too is the type of man who would never shut up about the person he loves. 

“They always hum when they’re concentrating. They do that really well too!"Yuuji said, smiling fondly. “But to be honest, Nanamin, it’s the cutest thing. And they’re amazing at turning little moments into something fun, like making a random walk feel like an adventure.”

“You really adore them, don’t you?"Kento's wife asked him, her tone full of teasing.

“I do. I really do,” Yuuji replied earnestly, his expression softening. “I just want to make them as happy as they make me.”

Kento’s wife exchanged a glance with her husband, who gave her a subtle nod. “Well, Itadori-kun, with that much love behind it, whatever you choose will be perfect.”

A moment later, Yuuji’s bright-eyed gaze landed on a beautifully decorated charm tucked away on one of the displays at the corner. It was simple, delicate, and intricately designed—a perfect match for the one you’d described.

“This is it! I think this is it!" Yuuji said, picking it up carefully. His grin grew wider as he imagined your reaction. “I think they’ll love it. I just know it.”

Kento’s wife smiled approvingly. “You did great, Itadori-kun. And now you can relax knowing it’s exactly what they’d want.”

Kento gave a faint smirk at the young man. “Next time, save yourself the trouble and ask them directly, Itadori-kun." It might save you hours of pacing through stores.”

Yuuji laughed, clutching the charm in his hand. “I’ll keep that in mind, Nanamin. Thanks for the help, both of you. I appreciate it. Really.”

Kento’s wife waved off his gratitude with a smile. “It’s nothing, Itadori-kun! You already knew what you wanted, you know? You just needed a little nudge.”

As they walked out of the shop together, they parted ways soon after that. Itadori Yuuji clutched the carefully wrapped gift in his hands, his heart lighter than it had been in days. This wasn’t just a present. It was a piece of his love for you, wrapped in meaning and chosen with care. And he couldn’t wait to see the look on your face when you opened it.

When Christmas Day arrived, it was just too much. Itadori Yuuji was a bundle of nerves. He paced his room, the gift and letter sitting neatly on his desk. His stomach churned with a mix of excitement and anxiety. He practiced what he would say, only to stumble over his words each time.

“What if they don’t like it?” He muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “What if it’s not enough?”

But all of Yuuji’s doubts melted away the moment you walked in. The door jingled as you stepped inside his dorms, shaking off the chill of the winter air, and the world seemed to slow. He felt like he couldn't breathe. You knocked his air away from his lungs with just your existence. You always have.

You looked effortlessly beautiful to him, even in the simple warmth of your coat and scarf. But it wasn’t just the way you looked—no, it was your presence. That radiant smile of yours, so wondrously bright and delightful. The one that always made his heart skip a beat spread across your face as soon as your eyes landed on him.

“Yuu-chan!” You exclaimed, your voice soft but bright, sending a flutter straight to his chest. You closed the distance between you in a few quick steps, your eyes lighting up with happiness. “I missed you, wah! I’m glad you’re back!”

Yuuji froze for a moment, overwhelmed by the sight of you. He had spent days thinking about this moment, stressing over the gift, over making everything just right—but now that you were standing in front of him, all of that seemed insignificant. The only thing that mattered was you.

“I, uh, got you something, baby.” Yuuji stammered, feeling the warmth flood his cheeks. His hands, which had been shaking since he first picked up the gift, now trembled even more as he extended the small package toward you. “It’s not much, but... It’s from the heart.”

You looked down at the little box in his hands, then back up at him with a soft, knowing smile. "Yuu-chan, you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, I know,” he said quickly, trying to steady his breath. “But  you know that I just….I wanted to. You’re... really important to me, you know? And I just wanted to show you how much I care. That I... I want to express my love for you like this.”

Your heart warmed at his words. You reached forward, gently taking the package from his trembling hands. You couldn’t help but feel like you were going to combust with how much warmth radiated in you because of his tenderness. 

Everything about your lover made you feel like the world isn’t a cold place. He was everything that made life so good. You were convinced of that. The sincerity in his voice, the way he was so nervous yet so full of love. It made you feel more cherished than any grand gesture ever could.

You carefully unwrapped the gift, the anticipation in Yuuji’s bright eyes palpable as you slowly revealed what was inside. The beautiful and yet simple charm, delicately designed and elegant in its simplicity, lay nestled in the box.

You gasped softly, your fingers tracing the intricate design. It was everything Yuuji had described and more. It wasn’t flashy, but it held such deep meaning. You didn’t want it to be flashy. You just wanted it to be from him, from his heart. You felt the weight of his love in it and the thoughtfulness behind every detail.

And boy, did it deliver. He always does. Your lover boy always will. 

“There’s a letter inside for you, Read it later, okay? If you want—"

“Yuu–chan!” You whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s perfect.”

His face turned a shade of pink so deep it was almost red, and he scratched the back of his head in embarrassment. “Really? You like it?”

You nodded, eyes glistening. “I love it. I love you.”

Yuuji’s heart skipped a beat, and he could hardly contain the goofy grin that spread across his face. It wasn’t about the gift. Though he was surely sure that he was happy you liked it anyway. But of course, this was more important.  

It was about the way you looked at him that made him feel whole and giddy all over again. The way your smile made his chest feel light, the way your love seemed to wrap around him, as real and as warm as the scarf you wore.

“I love you too.” He whispered in a relieved and yet so loving tone. “So much.”

“You’re the best, Yuu-chan!” You said, stepping forward to hug him, the gift still clutched in your hand. His arms instantly wrapped around you, and he buried his face in your hair, breathing you in. “I love it! I love you! Ah, I’m just so happy!”

“I’m just glad you like it, baby.” he mumbled, the words muffled in your hair, but you could hear the relief and joy in his voice. “I was really worried it wouldn’t be enough.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. "Yuu-chan, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s perfect because it’s from you. And that’s all that matters.”

He gazed down at you, the love in his eyes overwhelming. “I... I just want to make you happy. That’s all I ever want.”

And in that moment, as you stood there together, the soft glow of his dorm lights casting a gentle shimmer through the window, Itadori Yuuji realized something that took his breath away. He had already given you the best gift of all, his heart. 

All the shopping, all the wrapping, the hours of nervous pacing. All of that. they suddenly seemed so trivial compared to this: the simple, unspoken exchange of love that had passed between the two of you. This was more than enough for him. This was his paradise. This was his Christmas miracle. 

His chest swelled with warmth, and he looked down at you with a soft smile, his heart racing just as fast as it had the moment he first met you. No amount of material things, no matter how perfect, could ever compare to the way you made him feel. You were his everything.

Before he could say another word, you stood on your tiptoes, your hands gently cupping his face, and kissed his cheek. The touch was sweet, soft, and full of affection. Yuuji’s warm eyes widened in surprise, the blush creeping up his neck as he felt the warmth of your lips against his skin.

“You’ve done that and more, Yuu-chan! ”You whispered, your voice a little breathless with affection. “Don’t worry!”

His heart fluttered. He felt like he might melt right where he stood. His hands, which had been trembling when he gave you the gift, were now steady as they gently brushed a lock of hair from your face. The tenderness in your words, the way you made him feel so cherished and understood, filled him with a joy that no gift could capture.

“You really think so, baby?”He asked softly, a shy grin pulling at his lips.

“Of course I do,” you replied, smiling up at him with those sparkling eyes of yours. “You’re all I ever need, Yuu-chan.”

The sincerity in your voice made his heart swell, and he leaned in closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. The world outside seemed to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, quiet moment.

“I’m so lucky to have you, baby.” Yuuji whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m never letting you go.”

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a tight hug. “You don’t have to, Yuuji. I’m not going anywhere.”

He chuckled, his arms instinctively wrapping around you in return, pulling you even closer. “Good. Because I think I’d be lost without you.”

“Merry Christmas, Yuu-chan.” You smiled at him.

He grinned at you, taking to embracing you. “Merry Christmas, baby!"

[ahqkas]

“HEAVENLY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS! every moment with your boyfriend felt heavenly — even when he forgot to close the window

WARNINGS / TAGS! pure fluff

WORD COUNT! 1.9k

NOTES! it started snowing recently in my town soo i rewrote one of my older stuff . header below by @/v6que

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

HAVING JASON TODD AS A BOYFRIEND WAS LIKE INVITING A STORM TO STAY, both exhilarating and daunting. Some days, he was a menace—a tease with a roguish smile that made you want to throw a pillow at him even as you melted under his gaze. He'd linger in doorways with that devilish gleam, challenging you with his sarcasm, pushing just enough to light your fuse and revel in the spark. But he was also the blessing you'd never quite expected, with moments of gentleness, like finding a patch of blue sky amid dark clouds. He'd wrap his arms around you on nights when silence grew heavy, his warmth chasing away shadows you didn't realize were creeping in.

Waking up to the unsettling prickle of a shiver running down your body was hardly the best way to greet the morning. With a groggy sigh, you turned your head to the left, squinting at the vintage clock on your nightstand—the one Alfred had gifted you under the guise of "decor." In reality, it was less an adornment and more a tool of accountability, meant to ward off excuses like the last one you'd made: "I stayed up late because I lost track of time." It had been Alfred's gentle yet firm way of reminding you to take care of yourself. And while you had to admit it worked most of the time, today you were reluctant. The clock read 8 a.m., a perfectly reasonable time to wake, yet all you wanted was to sink back into the warmth of your blankets, to slip back into dreams.

Of course, that weariness was Jason's doing. Last night, he'd coaxed you into staying up late—well past the witching hour, maybe until 2 or 3 a.m. You'd lost track as the hours slipped away in the quiet comfort of each other's voices, filling in the gaps that too often felt like chasms in your time together. With his double life, Jason was like a ghost haunting the city's shadows, fighting to make Gotham safer, a noble but lonely battle. So when he could carve out time just for you, you treasured it, sleeplessness and all. He'd made you laugh, drawn you into those moments of closeness only the midnight hour allowed, where the world faded, leaving just the two of you. It was worth every yawn, every reluctant rise from your pillow this morning. Moments like that, with him, were a rarity you'd gladly lose sleep for.

You shifted slightly under the covers, your gaze drifting to Jason, who lay beside you. The sight of him, with his dark lashes resting softly against his cheek and his lips slightly parted, made a smile tug at the corner of your mouth. He looked so much like the term innocence in those rare moments of stillness, his usual sharp edges softened in sleep. His strong arm was draped across your waist, holding you close in that possessive yet tender way he always did, even in his sleep. The weight of it was comforting, grounding—like a reminder that no matter how chaotic his world was, you were his anchor, just as he was yours. His breathing was slow and steady, the rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the room, save for the faint sway of the curtains from the morning breeze. You could tell he was still exhausted, his body betraying the fatigue that even sleep couldn't fully chase away.

As you lay there, your attention shifted from Jason's peaceful, sleepy form to the source of the chill that had pulled you from your slumber—the open window. The faint light of dawn filtered in, casting a soft glow over the room, but it did little to combat the cool draft creeping through the crack in the glass.

Shivering again, you curled closer into Jason's side, the cold air clashing against the heat his body radiated. His arm tightened slightly around your waist, almost as if sensing your discomfort, but he remained blissfully unaware, lost in the kind of peaceful sleep you rarely saw from him. His body was always so tightly wound, even in his rest, like a coil ready to spring at any moment. But now, his relaxed form and steady breathing made you feel safe, even with the chill around you.

A quiet realization settled over you as your eyes lingered on the open window. It hadn't been you who left it open. Jason, of course. He must've forgotten to close it after stumbling in last night, exhausted from his patrol. You could picture it—him half-dazed, muscles aching, eyes clouded with the weight of the night's work, and then . . . the window left ajar, as if his mind couldn't juggle the simple task with everything else on his plate.

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face as you watched him, still wrapped in the softness of sleep, completely oblivious to the cold creeping into the room. You reached out, your fingers brushing gently through his hair, tucking the messy strands away from his forehead. The motion was so familiar, so gentle, that it almost felt like a silent promise, a reassurance that you were there, even in these small moments.

Jason stirred slightly, the warmth of your touch pulling him from his dreams. His face twitched, and his eyelashes fluttered against the pillow as he tried to shake off the fog of sleep. Still, he didn't open his eyes, his lips parting in a soft sigh.

You continued, fingers grazing the soft waves of his hair, brushing them back with a tenderness that made your heart skip. The movement was slow, gentle, just enough to stir him without fully pulling him into wakefulness.

"Jay," you whispered, your voice playful but still soft. "Did you forget something last night?"

He groaned softly, his body shifting as if to pull you closer, but you pulled back just enough to keep him from falling back into slumber. His forehead creased as his eyes barely fluttered open, still trying to hang onto the warmth of sleep. The half-conscious look he gave you was adorable, though tinged with confusion.

"Hmm? What?" His voice was rough from sleep, a soft rasp that only made your heart ache in the best way.

You gave him a teasing smile, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "The window," you said, your tone laced with mischievous scolding. "It's freezing in here."

Jason blinked, clearly processing the words, before his eyes finally focused enough to glance toward the open window. Realization dawned on him slowly, and he groaned again, his face half-buried in the pillow as if wishing to escape the responsibility. But the corner of his mouth twitched upward into that familiar, apologetic grin he often sported.

"Guess I forgot," he muttered, though his voice was still full of sleep. "Sorry."

"You're lucky I'm comfortable here," you teased, brushing your fingers through his hair again, this time a little more deliberately, letting the soft texture soothe both of you.

"Yeah, I'm really lucky," he murmured, pulling you back against him, his arm tightening around your waist. "I'll close it in a minute."

You couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped your lips. "Nope, I'm not letting you off that easy."

Jason groaned, clearly not thrilled about leaving the warmth of the bed, but the glint in your eyes was enough to get him moving. Slowly, he pushed himself up, his bare chest exposed to the chill in the room. His dark sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric clinging to his frame in a way that left little to the imagination.

For a moment, you just lay there, frozen in the softness of the morning light, admiring him as he moved to close the window. His muscles rippled with each movement—his broad shoulders, the defined lines of his chest and abs, all sculpted from the life he led, one of endless challenges and unspoken battles. There were scars, of course—some faint, others more pronounced—etched into his skin like a map of his past, each one a testament to the strength he carried, the price he paid for the man he was now.

You didn't need to ask about them; they were part of him. And though they were reminders of the violence and pain he'd endured, they didn't repulse you. If anything, they made him more real, more human. More Jason.

You felt your heart swell as your gaze lingered on him, his broad back flexing as he pulled the window shut with a soft click, his body turning toward you. The air felt warmer now, the room no longer biting with the chill it had moments ago. But the warmth you felt wasn't just from the room—it was him. It always had been.

Jason caught your gaze as he turned, his lips curving into that signature, lazy grin, completely unaware of the way you were drinking him in. "See? All fixed," he said, voice thick with sleep but still holding that certain edge.

You smiled back, but it was softer, more sincere than you realized. "Yeah, thanks." Your voice caught in your throat for just a moment as your eyes wandered over him again, and you had to blink a couple of times to keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks.

Jason's smile faltered as he noticed the way you were looking at him, that quiet admiration on your face. He took a slow step forward, his posture casual but with a subtle vulnerability underneath, something that always seemed to surface when he felt the weight of your gaze on him. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, but there was a touch of humor in his voice. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, trying to snap out of your daze. "No," you said, voice a little quieter now, "just—just you."

He stepped closer, his expression softening like it always did in your presence. "What about me?"

You smiled again, but this time, it was all warmth and affection. "I love you," you said simply, your voice barely a whisper, but it was the truth. Every scar, every muscle, every part of him. It was all Jason.

Jason stood there for a moment, eyes locking with yours, as if reading the quiet sincerity in your gaze.

"Yeah?" he murmured, his voice a little raspier than usual, thick with emotion. He reached up, his hand brushing gently against your cheek, a soft gesture that seemed to speak volumes more than words could.

You nodded, your smile still there, but now tinged with a softness that only Jason could bring out of you. "Yeah," you whispered again, a little breathless, "just you, Jason."

For a long moment, he didn't say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze deep and knowing, like he was searching for something in your eyes. And then, with a slight curve of his lips, he whispered it back, his voice so raw, so full of everything he usually kept hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and nonchalance.

"I love you."

It was simple, but the way he said it—the way his hand lingered on the apple of your cheek, the way his eyes softened, like the weight of the world didn't matter as long as you were  there—made the words feel more real than anything.

You felt your heart skip a beat, warmth blooming inside you at the truth in his words. This was Jason, in every imperfect, beautiful way. And you loved him just as much, maybe even more, for all of it.

[shewki]

What it's all about ☆*: .｡. — k.bkg

a/n : HI GIYS AHHH ITS BEEN A WHILE & I MISSED WRITINGGGG SO IM FEEDING YALL TODAY. SORRY IF IT'S BUT RUSTY, IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I'VE WRITTEN A WHOLE FIC 😢

cw : u & kats have an unnamed baby girl, pure fluff, he's cringe (affectionately)(he's js being loving), not proofread 💔 & ooc kats.. 🙁

YOUR POV

It was now an hour past her bedtime, I tried to get her to bed at a reasonable hour, I really did. But how could someone reject my sweetheart, asking to stay up and wait for daddy to get home? not me, for sure.

It's been such a long day

With all the noise caused by the bundle of joy, the toys on the floor.. starting to think this is even more exhausting than my actual job.. jokingly, of course. Either way, I wouldn't have complained. My baby was just so excited to have her mommy around since it's my day off work after all.

Right now, its quiet, suspiciously quiet. No giggles, no sounds of waddling around, no continuous calls and coos of "mama" for no reason? huh. I was just gone for a minute to pee.

I followed the sound of rustles, which led me to my shared bedroom with Katsuki. Only to see my baby girl standing on a chair, rummaging through my makeup bag as she faced the vanity mirror in her pink tutu. I didn't utter a word, no, simply watched and held back a giggle at her for smearing the lip balm all over her mouth, followed by my.. ysl.. lipstick.. that I'd just bought.. Oh dear.

"Hey!" I sneak behind her back and put an arm around her while tickling her side.

"Mama!" She squealed while giggling.

"Whatcha doin' huh? being a naughty brat?" I giggled with her and kissed her cheek multiple times to distract her from my makeup, making her cry out a hearty laugh that I didn't even hear the door open.

KATSUKI'S POV

Shit.

Just absolute shit.. is what I would describe how this day went.

Why are people so fucking stupid? The amount of work I had to do today just because people didn't know how to do their fucking jobs were just, well, shit. Had better things to do than waste my time with people like that! Like spending time with my girls. This is just stupid, everything's just droppin' on my shoulder all at once.

"I'm home." I grumble as I take my shoes off, dropping my bag wherever as I take a mental note to clean up after myself later before my wife obliterates me.

No answer.

Fuckin' brat would be running to me by now.. And my woman would've been nagging her ass off about my stuff on the ground.

"Mama!" I hear a squeal. Hah!

I tiredly got up the stairs to see what they were up to. It's late anyway, and the little girl should be sleeping by now.

I followed where the sound came from and It led me to our bedroom. I sigh and take a look, my forehead relaxing all of the sudden.

There they were, my 2 girls, laughing their hearts out as they engulfed themselves in each other's love.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

This is what it's all about.

I live through shitty days, through hell, through hardships, and never give up. Just to end my day with these beautiful moments in life, with the most important people in my heart. Eugh, that's pretty disgusting, but I was never known to be a liar.

I grin and surprise them with a roar-like laugh to mimic a monster, making them scream and laugh in surprise.

"Katsuki!" My beautiful wife groaned but laughed softly regardless. Followed by my little bundle of joy, who calls out to me excitedly.

"Papa!" Her eyes shined like I was the greatest thing she'd seen in her 3 years of living and reached out for me to carry her, which I did.

"Hmph. Why are 'ya up ha? way past your bedtime." I say, pretending to be mad as [Name] kissed my cheek, radiating a warm welcome back home. The little girl shrugged and pointed at her mama, making her gasp in betrayal.

"We're pointing fingers now, ha? Who asked to stay up and wait for papa?" She teased and tickled her lightly once again and both laughed in delight.

Suddenly my battery is charged, by everlasting laughter that carries love across every corner of our home. This is what it's all about. :)

"Hey, where'd u drop your bag?" Oops.

[maladaptive-daydreamer-23]

A/N: I wrote this for my dearest friend @cringeiknow <3 love you bestie <3 It's also posted on AO3 if you prefer to read there! I will drop the link below. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!

Love, Mal <3

Summary: On a case in Alabama you find yourself facing your worst fear- thunderstorms. To your surprise, you don't have to face it alone.

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence, unsub critically injured via lightning strike, cursing, Thunderstorms, anxiety, implied age gap.

Tags: Aaron Hotchner/reader (No use of Y/N) Angst, fluff, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, soft Hotch, pre-relationship pining.

Word count: 5.4k

Masterlist

Ao3 link here

Aaron had always loved the smell of rain. He didn’t know why, there was no formative memory or specific reasoning for his love of the scent. He just liked it. So naturally he also loved rainy days. He liked to watch the raindrops run down the floor to ceiling windows in his office, and occasionally lightning would streak across the sky and he always thought it was so—majestic. Rain on the roof at night was the perfect way to fall asleep. It was soothing and it kept him in a deep sleep all night. Rain brought life in the spring and rainbows almost always followed. He just loved rain.

This week though, the rain was nothing but a hindrance. The team had been on the trail of an unsub in Alabama who was using the line of thunderstorms moving through the south as cover, and part of his ritual. This unsub only killed when it was raining, which doesn’t sound like a huge issue, it only rains every few weeks in the south in the summer so the team should have had plenty of time between the third kill and the next rainy day to make progress and complete a profile. Right? 

Wrong. The entire south was experiencing a tropical depression because of the hurricane that had just hit the Gulf a few days before. Which meant, it was raining incessantly, and the unsub was now officially on a spree. 

To make matters worse, the worst of the storms were due in the next few hours and they were coming with severe weather warnings. The local meteorologist was calling for strong straight line winds, hail, electrical storms, and—at the worst—possible tornadoes across the state. Reid had been watching the forecast all day, and Aaron was sure that thunderstorms and supercells were going to become his newest hyperfixation. 

The unsub hadn’t struck today. Not yet. That was the most frustrating part of this whole case, the team had racked their brains over it for the entire week, but they could not figure out how the unsub was choosing his targets! It was about to drive Aaron up the damn wall. 

“Hotch! We got another one!” Morgan called from the doorway of the breakroom where Aaron had been standing behind Reid, attention fixed on the radar and the line of storms that was bearing down on their location. “It’s on the other side of the county.”

Aaron sighed heavily and squared his shoulders. “Let’s go and see what we can gather from the scene before these storms hit.” He said, looking from Morgan to Reid. “Why don’t you stay and keep an eye on those storms, that way you can call us if we need to take shelter.” 

“Sure.” Reid said, barely glancing over his shoulder at him as he said it. His focus solely on the weatherman’s words and the bright colors splayed across the screen. Aaron shook his head at Reid—fondly, despite the circumstances— and started toward the door, where Morgan had already disappeared to gather the rest of the team. Until he noticed you.

You were sitting at a table in the corner of the room, eyes locked on the TV, brows furrowed. 

As the newest member of the team—having joined only three months prior—Aaron didn’t know much about you personally. He knew you were a hell of an agent, and a brilliant profiler for your age. He knew you got along great with the rest of the team and he knew that he’d like to get to know you a little better when he had the time. He liked to know as much as possible about his team, it helped him to lead. You were usually bright and cheerful. A bit of a smart ass, but in an amusing way that was never truly disrespectful. You often had the team in fits of laughter with a well timed one liner and he appreciated your ability to lighten the mood on occasion.

This afternoon, however, you were quiet. Skittish and even bordering on paranoid. You jumped at loud noises and every time he’d said your name it had taken him three or four tries to get your attention. It was unlike you to be so distracted—as far as he was aware anyway—and it was beginning to concern him. Currently, your knee was bouncing a mile a minute and you were snapping a hair tie against the skin of your inner wrist while biting your cheek. Christ, you looked tense.

“Hey.” He murmured, stepping between you and the TV to get your attention without startling you. 

“Huh? Sorry Hotch, did you say something?” You asked him, shaking your head as if clearing it like an etch-a-sketch. 

He smiled at you, though his concern was clear. “I hadn’t yet, no. I was just trying to get your attention.” He explained gently, stepping a little closer and studying you while you were disoriented. He’d often found himself studying you. He wasn’t sure what it was about your features that drew his interest so often. He found you pretty, beautiful if he was being totally truthful, but you were also… young. Young enough that he shouldn’t notice how pretty you were—but his brain didn’t seem to get the memo. It was an issue. 

“Oh.” You mumbled, your voice quiet as you barely managed to maintain eye contact. Thunder rolled softly in the distance and your eyes darted to the nearest window, widening slightly as you startled. Hmm. He’d ponder that later.

“Are you coming?” He asked you expectantly. “Morgan just said we have another victim.” 

You once again looked around him to the TV and then looked back at him. Then frowned. “Actually, I think someone should stay behind and pay attention to the weather. Just in case.” You volunteered. 

“Yes, that's what Reid is doing.” He told you then nodded his head toward the door. “Come on.” He prodded, not thinking anything else of it. “We’ll need you at the scene. We’re trying to get back before the next line of storms hits.” 

You looked like you wanted to argue, which was strange because you had never given any push back over a simple instruction before. He raised an eyebrow at you—waiting for some sort of explanation— and you sighed softly, standing from your seat and walking to the door without a word. He’d have to check in with you later. 

You HATED thunderstorms, the only good thing about them is petrichor. You loved petrichor. However, lightning and thunder might as well have been the bane of your existence. You’d been dreading it all week. The last few days had just been incessant rain. A constant, miserable, humid downpour that had made you feel as though you were never going to be dry again. You hated that too. Tonight though, that would be the absolute cherry on top of a terrible week. You were so glad you had grown up in the Mountain West region of the States, where hurricanes didn’t exist and tornadoes were so rare there hadn’t been one in your lifetime. The high altitudes and dry air didn’t allow for it. Thank God. 

In the back seat of the SUV you noticed that Hotch kept glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. You didn’t know why, or what you had done, but you were sure you were in trouble— for something… That was just another thing to add to your ever growing list of grievances, but one you’d worry about later. Those thunderheads in the distance were growing ever closer, and the nearer they got the louder the thunder became. Every distant flash of lightning had made you more and more anxious. So Hotch’s possible ire would just have to wait. It was going to take all your energy to maintain focus on the scene, so you didn’t have any left to worry about him. 

The crime scene was at a trailer park. The last place you wanted to be with bad weather on the way. The poor victim had been killed sometime during the previous night. No one heard or saw anything because of the rain. Hotch had split the trailer into sections for you all to go over and pick apart. You could hardly focus as you looked around the small bedroom. It was girly frilly and soft, everything was either baby pink or cornflower blue. She had lived alone but she had pictures of friends and family everywhere. There was so much blood, it drenched the bed and splattered the walls and one word kept coming to the forefront of your mind: overkill. It was entirely unsettling, especially as the flashes of lightning grew brighter and the thunder got louder and louder. 

“What do you see?” Hotch’s voice made you jump and let out a small shriek. You’d been alone in the bedroom, and you hadn’t heard his footsteps coming down the hall over the a/c unit in the window. You panted as your heart rate spiked and you tried to settle yourself with a hand on your chest. “Sorry, I didn’t intend to frighten you.” 

“S’okay.” You breathed on an exhale, waving off his concern dismissively. You looked around the room once more before you attempted to give him a response, hoping to see anything you may have missed before. “She was loved. She wasn’t a loner like the last guy, she had friends and a family. She was tidy, there’s nothing out of place—besides the blood— and everything is completely aesthetically pleasing. She liked order, or she had just finished a deep clean. But more importantly, she made this space homey, she was comfortable here. It’s not the ritz but she was making it work. 

“She graduated from the University of Alabama in May. It’s August so she’s probably only been living here for three months at the most and look at what she’s done with the place. I mean, it’s not my style, but it’s nice. Very sorority, but nice. She wanted to feel at home here. The degree on the wall is in early childhood education, and I’ll bet Garcia is gonna tell us she was going to be working at the nearby elementary school we passed on the way over when school starts back next week. 

“Given the amount of pictures, the fact that she was in fact in a sorority, and seemed to be a ranking member, I’d say she was probably outgoing. That’s really all I can gather about her from the appearance of the room, I haven’t gone through her closet or drawers or anything like that yet. I had to wait for the coroner to move her body.” 

He studied you intently while you spoke and you just pretended not to notice. 

“Good, that’s good.” He murmured, glancing around the room as well and then nodding at you. “What about our unsub? What does this room say about him?” He asks you, looking you over with a soft curiosity.

That's when you realized this was a test. Or maybe a teaching moment? You were unsure, but you knew he was looking at you expectantly and you didn’t want to disappoint him. You know it’s probably silly, but you have a thing for Aaron Hotchner. He drives you absolutely crazy with his dad bod and unruly hair that he keeps cut short because of the cowlick above his forehead. You can’t help but stare at his enormous hands and sometimes you giggle to yourself at the way they dwarf absolutely everything. His phone, pens, the hands of other men when he shakes them, your hands… Which you know because he helped you down off a chair the other day when Penelope couldn’t reach something she needed on a shelf even with the chair. You and JJ were the only ones there to help her and you’re taller than JJ but still not quite tall enough to reach the shelf from the floor. So you climbed on the chair, then Hotch came into the bullpen and almost had a fit because apparently standing in rolling chairs is dangerous—as if you don’t hunt serial killers for a living—and he demanded that you get down. Carefully. He offered you his hands before you stepped down and so you accepted the help—because you thought he might actually pass the fuck out if you just jumped— and that was when you realized that your hands looked like they were tiny compared to his. 

Focus.

You cleared your throat and looked around, before looking back at him and answering. “I just keep thinking: Overkill.” You gestured around the room. “This is different than all the other scenes, he didn’t do nearly as much damage to the other victims, or leave such a huge mess. It’s overkill, I’m just not sure why…” 

“But you do have an idea?” Hotch prompted you gently, his mouth quirking up at the corner in a rare smirk. 

You sighed and nodded slightly. “I think she fought back.” 

“That’s exactly the conclusion we all were coming to. Good work.” He said, and the added praise had your cheeks heating to a shade of red you were sure was unflattering. He turned to head back out the door, but stopped and looked over his shoulder to say something else. 

A loud clap of thunder beat him to the punch, scaring you absolutely shitless. You screamed bloody murder and jumped nearly out of your own skin. “Fuck!” You hissed, bending down to rest your hands on your knees as you tried to catch your breath. 

He startled at your outburst and then turned back to you. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, stepping back to your side and laying a gentle hand on your shoulder, squeezing firmly. 

You tried to laugh it off, waving a hand and chuckling awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” You chuffed, giving him a weak smile. “The thunder just startled me, that’s all. I’m not a big fan of thunder and that one was super loud, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” You tried your best to be convincing, standing up straight and doing what you could to mask your anxiety. 

He was frowning at you, but he nodded his head anyway. Stepping away from you, he removed his hand from your shoulder and then went back to the door. “I was going to say, we’re about ready to head back to the station. We’ve seen enough and we don’t want to get caught out in these storms if we can help it.” 

Then he simply walked away, leaving you to regain a semblance of composure in the gore of this once cozy bedroom. 

Aaron was now sure that something had his youngest agent on edge. You were normally unflappable, a crime scene like that one would have been just another day on the job for you. You’d seen worse, he knew you had because he’d personally been there with you. Maybe it was that the victim was near your age, or that she had fought back and you could see yourself in her. Maybe he’d just caught you off guard and that was what had unsettled you. 

But none of that rang true for him, not really, because you’d been anxious all day. Come to think of it, now that it had drawn his attention, you had seemed a little nervous all week and the longer this case went on the more nervous you got.

He tried to tell himself that the only reason he really noticed was because you were still new and relatively untested. He was just keeping an eye on his newest subordinate, making sure you were settling in alright. 

But that was bullshit too, and he knew it. 

You had finished “settling in” weeks ago. You fit in with this team so perfectly it was almost like you’d always been there. Your giggles ringing out through the bullpen as you laughed at Morgan’s jokes had become a familiar sound. Your gentle teasing of Reid now an everyday occurrence that he barely registered anymore. The way you popped your hair tie against your wrist to focus had become as recognisable to him as the way JJ chewed on pencils and Prentiss cracked her knuckles. 

You weren’t as experienced as the rest of them, sure. But you belonged here, with them. There was no question about it. He had no doubts about your potential and often he found himself relying on your uncanny ability to mirror others. If there was ever a time when he wasn’t sure when a person was a victim, witness, or suspect he had figured out that he could throw you into the room with them and you would sniff it out like a bloodhound. An empath, Penelope had called you. Hotch had thought he knew how to make empathy a tool and often used it himself to get what he needed from a witness or a suspect. However, the affinity you had for it was something he’d never seen before. It was like you crawled into the other person’s emotions, learned them, understood them, and molded them to fit your needs. It was an impressive interrogation tool and one he had taken full advantage of in the last few months, when the situation called for it. 

So he really had no reason to watch you as closely as he did. There was just something about you that drew him in. It wasn’t your beauty alone, he’d worked with plenty of beautiful women in the past. It wasn’t your age, that was what made him agonize over this the most, he felt like a perv every time he found himself watching you. It wasn’t just your personality, your beaming smiles and your quirky little laugh. It was a combination of everything and it was maddening. 

Now, back at the station he found himself watching you again. This time however, he was watching with immense concern. You were wound tight enough to break, your muscles tense and your face drawn. Your leg was bouncing wildly and you were snapping the hair tie on your wrist with such force he could hear the slap of it against your skin from across the room, it made him flinch each time. It was pouring down rain outside and thunder rolled every few minutes, each rumble causing you to twitch anxiously. The worst of the storms were due to roll in any minute now and the team had moved from the break room of the station to the basement, built specifically for nights like this. There was plenty of space and light down here to continue working on the case and so that’s what they’d all been doing. You, however, seemed to have nothing to contribute to the conversation. Instead staring into the empty corner of the room, a blank but worried look on your face. 

Thunder roared, shaking the whole building down to the foundation and suddenly the room was pitch black. A shrill scream rang out followed by a loud scrape of chair legs on the floor, a crash as the chair in question seemed to topple over and several other loud thuds as someone fled the room. He didn’t need light to guess who had run. 

The power came back on shortly once the generator kicked on, and the lights flickered now but they could deal with the minor annoyance. What he couldn’t deal with, was not knowing where you had gone and if you were alright. You might have hurt yourself running in the darkness like that. He was going to have to find you. Just in case. 

“I’m going to go check on her.” He said to no one in particular. “I’m not sure what that was about, but she ran into at least two chairs and a table on the way out, so she could be hurt.” 

The team nodded their agreement and he set out in search of you. 

It was raining so hard now that he could hear the drumming of it on the roof all the way from the basement. The thunder continued to shake the building with every crash of lightning and the wind was howling so loudly it sounded like a band of demons wailing through the halls. He searched every room of the basement until he finally found you. 

You were in the very back corner of a supply closet sitting on the floor with your knees tucked to your chest. Your head was buried in your lap so you did see him come in and you were pressing your palms to your ears so forcefully your elbows were shaking. You were rocking back and forth and your body was trembling. He could just barely make out the sound of your sobs over the wind and rain. 

“You’re not a ‘big fan of thunder’ huh?” He said softly, just loud enough to alert you to his presence. You looked up at him with tears rolling down your face. Sniffling, you wiped at your tears, it was useless to try though. Your cheeks were soaked and you were just smearing mascara everywhere.

“Sorry.” You gasped, barely able to get the word out because your breathing was so erratic that your chest was heaving and you were doing the uncontrollable hiccup thing that was nearly painful. He smiled at you kindly. “I’m terrified of thunderstorms. It’s pathetic, really I’ll be fine.” 

“Don’t apologize, it’s not pathetic. Not at all. Everyone is afraid of something. Thunderstorms are powerful and dangerous, it’s a perfectly normal thing to be scared of.” He said calmly, trying to soothe you. Walking closer and squatting down in front of you, he noticed a box of Kleenex on the shelf just above your head. Grabbing it and tearing back the seal, he pulled out a couple and handed them to you. You wiped at your face, noticing as you pulled the tissue away that there were black streaks on the white tissue. 

“Fuck…” you muttered, wiping harder at your face to the point that he was worried you’d rub your skin raw. 

“Here let me.” He offered, grabbing a clean tissue and reaching toward your face. He gently dabbed at the black streaks until he was satisfied that they were cleaned up enough. “There.” 

He brought his eyes back to yours, finding you staring at him in what he could only describe as shocked awe.

“How can I help you?” He asked, hoping his voice was calming and patient. You shook your head. 

“You can’t.” You whispered, your voice shuddering as you looked down again, avoiding his eyes and wrapping your arms around your knees. 

“Hey.” He whispered back, reaching out again to move your hair out of your face so that he could see your eyes. “Let me try, I can’t just let you sit here alone, terrified. I won’t do it. So tell me what helps at home.”

You scoffed and shook your head, new tears falling from your eyes and splattering on your pant legs. “At home I put in earbuds, curl up in a ball under a blanket in my bed and cover my head with a pillow to drown out everything but the music.” 

You looked up at him, your face embarrassed and expectant. As though you thought he’d make fun of you. He just nodded his head, a plan forming in his mind. He could work with that. “I’ll be right back, stay right here.” He murmured.

“Don’t worry I will.” You quipped, a tad sarcastically and he smiled softly, deciding that attitude was better than tears. “My ass is firmly glued to this spot.” 

He chuckled quietly as he left the room, in search of something to help you.

You watched him go with curious eyes at first, but the first peel of thunder after he disappeared had you shaking and crying again. You wished, briefly, that he had just stayed. He made you feel safer, just with his proximity to you. But then you dismissed the notion. You didn’t want him to witness your tears. The shaking, breathless, sobbing mess you referred to as your ‘ugly cry.’ Not when he was always so perfectly composed and put together. 

You’d never once seen him crack. Nothing flustered him. Not that you’d ever seen anyway. Granted you’d only known him a few months, and he’d been chasing serial killers for over a decade. Of course he was solid as a rock under pressure. 

You didn’t hear him come back. He didn’t say a word, just got to work. He’d found a couch cushion—somewhere—which he placed on the concrete floor against the wall near where you were sitting. The puff of air was what had alerted you to his presence again. 

“This should be more comfortable than the floor.” He murmured, gesturing to the cushion and offering a hand to help you stand. You took it and then sat, as he instructed, on the cushion instead. He didn’t stop there though, no, he had a few more tricks up his sleeve. “I couldn’t find a blanket, but this should swallow you whole and it’s already warm.” He said taking off his suit jacket and draping it over you carefully. Then he turned to a nearby shelf and picked something up, handing it to you. It was a set of headphones. “I borrowed them from Morgan. Do you have music on your phone?”

You nodded but then frowned and shook your head. “I left it in the other room.” 

“That’s okay.” He soothed, sitting next to you on the cushion. “I’ve got mine.” 

He fiddled around in the pocket of his slacks and extracted his phone. Retrieving the end of the cord, he connected the headphones to his cellphone and started to search for the app he needed. 

“Hotch, you don’t have to–” You started to protest, desperately trying to let him off the hook. 

But he interrupted you with a gentle nudge of his shoulder against yours. 

“I know.” He murmured, smiling at you kindly. “I want to.” 

You were speechless. Breathless. Unable to comprehend the words he’d just said. Because why? Why did he want to sit here with you in this tiny little supply closet and comfort you through your juvenile fear of thunderstorms. 

“Here. Put those on.” He instructed you gently. 

You didn’t move, still flabbergasted at the improbability of Hotch sitting here, with you, just because he wanted to. He raised a brow at you expectantly but you couldn’t get your hands to reach up and put the headphones over your ears. So he did it for you. Gently taking your wrists in his hands and guiding your hands up to your head then situating the headphones so they rested comfortably over your ears. He let go of your wrists and you wrapped your arms around your knees again, pulling his suit jacket tighter around your body. You watched him carefully, still trying to find a reason for his kindness. His mouth turned up in a slightly amused smirk as he looked down at his phone again and tapped the screen once. Julie Andrews' voice flowed into your ears and you snorted a surprised laugh. “You think you’re hilarious right now, don’t you?”

You bumped him back with your shoulder, playfully, without thinking about it. The song was My Favorite Things from The Sound Of Music. The main character, Maria, sings it to the children she nannies during a thunderstorm to take their minds off the fear and the joke is not lost on you. 

He laughed softly and looked over at you with a mischievous smile. “I’m honestly just impressed you got the joke. That’s an old movie.” 

“I think I’m morally obligated to refer to you as Fraulein Hotchner from now on.” You joked, sniffling a little because your nose was still running and you’re sure you looked SO attractive, not. He laughed at your joke and bumped your leg with his, on purpose. Your stomach flipped, and he changed the song to something slightly more modern. You say slightly because it was late eighties rock and it was a song you’d never even heard before, but you weren’t going to tell him that. He had the volume high enough that you couldn’t hear the storm, but low enough that you could hear him perfectly. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course.” He murmured, giving you a soft smile that lit you up inside. 

“What are you afraid of?” You whispered, and immediately wished you could retract the question, rambling an explanation instead of letting him answer. “I mean– you said everyone is afraid of something… this fear I have of thunderstorms seems… ridiculous, juvenile even. But it's real and I can’t shake it. So I was wondering… If maybe you’re being so kind because you also have an irrational fear?”

The soft smile remained, and he opened his mouth to respond– but was interrupted by a brutal shockwave of thunder that shook the ground and everything else. You whimpered involuntarily, ducking your head and clutching your knees tighter to your chest. He put his arm around your shoulders—without hesitation— and tucked you tightly against his side. “You’re safe, I’ve got you.” He murmured into your hair and suddenly you forgot entirely about the storm. You nestled in closer, not really caring about the unprofessionalism of the entire situation. You felt safe tucked under his arm like this, so you rested your head on his shoulder and he let you. 

“I hate, hate, hate thunderstorms.” You grumbled, huffing frustratedly. “Which sucks because I LOVE petrichor!” 

“What’s petrichor?” He mumbles into your hair again, talking so softly to you that your stomach was having a literal butterfly rave or something. 

“The smell of rain.” You sighed quietly. “I love it, but I can’t truly enjoy it because rain itself makes me anxious.” 

His thumb was softly stroking your shoulder through the material of his suit jacket and he laughed softly. “Is that what it’s called?”

“Mm hmm.” You hummed back. “Why?” 

“It’s my favorite smell, I didn’t know it had a name.” He murmured, his breath moving your hair so that it tickled your forehead. His phone started to ring, but he didn’t move to answer it. 

Then you realized that he couldn’t hear it ringing because of the headphones. “Your phone is ringing.” You murmured sitting up straight. 

He unplugged the headphones and answered it on speaker phone without ever looking at the caller ID. “Hotchner.” 

“Hey, did you ever find her?” Spencer’s voice rang out in the quiet as you took off the headphones. Too quiet, you realized after a beat, you couldn’t hear the rain any longer.

“Yeah, I did. You’ve got us both, what is it?” Hotch asked him. 

“Oh, good. We’re all going back upstairs, the storm is past us and the weather channel says it's over for the night.” Reid informed you. 

“Thank God…” You muttered, relaxing fully into Hotch’s side. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly and smiled at you. 

“We’ll be right up.” Hotch said and started to hang up but Reid hurriedly interrupted him. 

“Wait! I was also supposed to tell you that we think we have our unsub.” He rushed out. 

“As in, we’ve got a strong suspect or we have him in custody?” You asked in confusion, glancing up at Hotch with your brows furrowed, only to find your expression completely mirrored his. 

“Both… Kind of.” Reid answered. “We got a call about a man who was trying to break into a single woman’s house and was subsequently struck by lightning. He’s in the hospital, but they don’t think he’s gonna make it. Which isn’t surprising given that lightning is molten plasma that is generally around 30,000 degrees Kelvin.” 

“Woah.” You muttered. Hotch’s face echoed your sentiment. 

“Thanks Reid, we’ll be right there.” He said and ended the call. “Are you alright to go back upstairs?” 

“Yeah, if the storm is over I’m good.” You replied. “Hey, if this is our guy, do we get to go home and get away from this horrendous weather?” 

He chuckled softly. “Yes.” 

“Oh good! Now I’ll have two things about thunderstorms to kind of— sort of— appreciate.” You joked, leaning forward to look back at him. 

“Oh yeah?” He asked, smirking softly. “What would that be?”

You grinned at him cheekily before chirping. “Petrichor and Plasma.”

[yoditopascal]

Like A Prayer (Part One)

summary: best friends with wade you’re always being dragged into something even when he’s not trying to, what are you to do when you find the fate of your timeline in the hands of yourself, your chaotic merc and an angry wolverine who’s hellbent on drinking himself to death?

content warning: romance, some angst, a little fluff, character deaths, canon-typical violence, smut, lots of cussing, mutual pining, found family, drug and alcohol use, reader insert but with no use of y/n cuz I hate that shit, deadpool being deadpool, mentions of poor mental health (depression anxiety and ptsd mostly), scent marking, the honda odyssey scene needs a warning all on its own MINORS DNI

a/n: lots of wade in this one but no wolverine just yet!

tag list: @allmyn1ghts, @oscarissac2099

Masterlist//Next Chapter

Not Ok

Flashes of images invaded your mind. You were in a tank, arms restrained to your sides as the oxygen was slowly sucked out of the chamber, suffocating you. Your nails digging into the leather cushioning beneath you as you try to claw your way out.

Now you were strapped to a table, an array of needles embedded into your arms and legs as you were injected painfully with all kinds of different things you weren’t even sure of.

You startled awake before the sound of your alarm had a chance to rouse you from your sleep. Groggily you run a shaky hand over your face before rolling over to grab your phone checking the time. You still had about 3 hours before it was time to get up and get ready for work. Knowing you most likely weren’t going to go back to sleep, not that you wanted to anyways, you toss the covers off of you and head to the bathroom.

You turn the water of the shower on, waiting for it to heat up as you stand back up you catch a glimpse of yourself in the bathroom mirror, taking in your disheveled appearance you sigh as you lean over the sink.

There’s visible dark circles under your eyes from being torn from sleep countless times over the last few months. You were sure why the nightmares had started back up again, it had been years since you had been freed from the Weapon X program so why was it all coming back now?

Pulling your tank top over your head you quickly undressed and hopped into the shower. The water cascaded over you, the warmth a welcome relief. You closed your eyes, as you felt your tired muscles slowly start to relax under the soothing spray. Lathering up your soap on a loofa you quickly washed and dried yourself putting on ample amounts of makeup to hide your dark circles.

Once dressed you sat down at your little table in the kitchen and helped yourself to a bowl of cereal as you checked your phone again.

So much shit was happening in the world, genocides, corrupt politicians running for power, starving children. It was all you saw anytime you opened up anything and it was all too much. The world was going to complete shit

You lock your phone and check the time, you still had about an hour before work. Slipping on your shoes you grab your keys and your bag and head out the door nearly bumping into Wade who was munching on a bagel in the hallway.

“Jesus fuck Wade!” You said placing a hand over your rapidly beating heart. “You scared the shit outta me!”

“My bad pookie bear. Didn’t know you worked today.” He said with a shrug adjusting his wig as he did so.

“Almost every day this week.” You said with a sigh rubbing a hand down your tired face. You had been doing that a lot lately. “God I’m so tired.”

“I hear OnlyFans is really popping off right now.”Wade said but it was hard to tell if he was joking or not with his straight face.

“Yeah? So what, you and Vanessa can be my only subscribers?” You snorted with an exaggerated laugh.

“I know for a fact Colossus would pay top dollar for a sneak peak of your toes!”

The sound of your ex's name made you grimace. Not that you had any ill will towards him, you were both still good friends albeit a bit awkward now that you’ve dated for a short time, but you still didn’t want the thought of him anyway near anything sexual you did.

“Hard pass.”

“Suit yourself.” Wade said taking another bite from his bagel and you two walked down the hall together.

You start to rub at your forehead as you felt a headache coming on as you walked, another occurrence that had started to happen more and more often.

“More nightmares?” Wade asks, his voice laced with concern as he watched you.

“Yeah…but don’t worry about it Wade.” You could handle yourself, a few ibuprofen and you’d be fine.

He calls your name, as if to say it’s too late not to be worried about you, but you wave him off as you dig around in your backpack for a second before pulling out a small black envelope.

“Happy birthday by the way! You’re hard as fuck to shop for so I hope you like it.” You smile at him as you hold out the gift hoping to change the subject.

With an exaggerated gasp Wade tosses his bagel behind him and holds up his hands up in surprise before taking the envelope from you, and ripping it open. Inside were two tickets to a Celine Dion concert, one of his favorite artists.

“Oh my-!” He starts with a gasp “I didn’t even know she was touring!” He cried excitedly as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“Yeah I had to basically stalk Ticketmaster for those so you’re welcome.” You said returning the hug.

“Sugar booger! I love it!” He said releasing you.

“Now you just gotta figure out who to take with you.” You said as you bump shoulders with him. “Maybe Peter….oooor I don’t know maybe a certain someone we all know and love who works at a particular strip club that we like to visit on occasion?”

“Peanut…” Wade warned, you held up your hands in surrender. It was like a kid trying to get their divorced parents back together.

“Look, all I’m saying is it wouldn’t hurt to ask her.”

“I’ll think about it.” He says quietly as he stares out deep in thought.

With that the two of you part ways, wishing each other a good day at work, Wade heading for his bike where Peter was waiting and waving at you, and you heading toward the bus stop.

Work at the pet shop was the same as always, mundane and mind numbing but it paid the rent so who were you to complain about it. You had your fair share of zooted teens coming in to ask dumbass questions and waste your time as well as the occasional fish snob who complained about the size of your tanks but all of that was typical of a normal day and honestly made it go by quicker. By the time you realized what time it was it was time to clock out and head on home to help set up for Wade’s surprise party.

Once home you dropped off your bag and changed your clothes putting on a loose fitted t-shirt and jeans with a cardigan before heading over to Wade’s place with a bunch of drinks. You didn’t drink much but everytime Wade went out on a “business trip”, as he called them, back in his Deadpool days he’d bring you back a bottle of something.

Inside Wade and Blind Al’s apartment across the hall, many of your mutual friends were already busy at work setting up for the party. Colossus Ellie and Yukio were busy blowing up balloons and decorating while Dopinder Buck and Vanessa were busy setting up the food spread.

Looking around yourself you felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips, all around you were the people you and Wade loved the most and you were incredibly lucky to have them in your lives after everything you all had been through over the years. A pang in your chest made you hold a hand over it and your smile dropped. Something still felt missing though and no matter how hard you thought about it you just couldn’t place what it was.

“How you doing sweetheart?” A soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Whipping around you were pulled into a tight hug by Blind Al.

“I’m doing alright.” You smiled weakly “How’d you know it was me?”

“I’m blind not deaf sweetheart,” she said “ain’t nobody else here sighing that hard but you and Wade and Wade’s not here yet.”

“Sorry.”

“Your dreams still giving you trouble?” She asks as she leads you further into the home.

“I wouldn’t say dreams, more like night terrors but yeah they are a little.” You say as you place the bag said booze you bought on the kitchen counter and follow Al to the living room where she seated herself comfortably in her recliner. “It’s nothing to worry about though.”

“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter baby.”

For someone who was blind Al sure could see right through you sometimes.

“I’m probably just stressed is all.” You try to downplay the situation but Al wasn’t having it.

“It’s been months.” She says matter of factly.

“It’s been a stressful few months.”

“Look… I may not have been there when you and Wade went through what you went through in that program but it’s over now. It’s done and that Ajax guy can’t hurt you anymore.” She said resting a hand in her arm gently.

Al hadn’t been a part of the Weapon X program like you and Wade had been but that hadn’t stopped him from telling her in excruciating detail about all the horrible shit you both had gone through during it.

“I know Al I just-“ you start but stop not fully knowing how to describe what you felt. “I just wish I could switch my brain off, just hit the reset button and be done with it but I- can’t get the memories outta my head.”

“I know sweetheart it’s gonna take time but time ain’t gonna do shit if you don’t let people in to help you.”

You knew she was right but you’d be damned if you’d admit it out loud.

“When did this turn into a therapy session? I thought this was supposed to be a party.”

“Smart ass.” She said tapping you on the leg with her cane. “Go help Vanessa make the jungle juice before he gets home. I’m gonna go see if that dumbass has any Bolivian marching powder left in his stash.” With that she stood to her feet and went to her’s and Wade’s shared bedroom

“Oh Al come on! I thought you guys were done with that.” You called after her with a frown.

“Not till I’m dead babygirl.” She called back and if she could you think she’d wink at you.

Back in the kitchen you and Vanessa make quick work mixing and setting up the drink you bought making light conversation as you do so.

“So-“ she starts off but pauses as if deep in thought for a moment.

“So?” You ask curiously as you take a sip of the alcoholic punch taste testing to see if it needed anything.

“You uh seeing anybody new yet?” She asks.

You nearly choke on your drink in surprise.

“N-no I uh no I’m not.” You stuttered trying to compose yourself. “Are you?”

“Y-yeah there’s this guy. I met him at work, he’s kind.”

You could tell she was lying, but didn’t speak on it.

“Y’know, I hear Colossus has been talking about you to Ellie a lot lately.”

Here we go again you thought.

“Oh nah hard pass we tried that dance already didn’t really work out.” You waved her off, but she continued anyway.

“I’m just saying he’s a nice guy, and he’s big, like everywhere, and made of metal, that’s like totally your thing. Remember when we saw the Winter Soldier and you wouldn’t shut up about Bucky’s metal arm?”

Not she was calling you out.

“Just think about it hun, you're always stuck up in your apartment or at work, you’re lonely and I think a little human connection would do you some good.”

“Yeah alright I’ll think about it.” She smiles at you before caressing your cheek, like she was the big sister you never knew you had.

“But only if you think about giving Wade another chance too.” You slip in “Deal?”

She contemplates for a moment before she smiles back at you again. You knew she still had feelings for the man and so did he.

“Deal.”

Before either of you could change the topic of your conversation the front door opened up again, this time revealing Peter and Wade.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted as Dopinder Ellie and Yukio threw confetti into the air.

“Oh you guys!” Wade gasps dramatically. “You’re lucky I’m not armed!”

“If this was five years ago you’d all be dead.” He laughed as he went around hugging everyone.

The party went on without a hitch. Wade intermingling with everyone as he was passed around the room. You stayed in your own little corner as you watched sipping on your third drink for the evening. Parties weren’t really your thing but for Wade you’d endure them when you had to. Just as you were about to move to get yourself another drink you spotted Wade and Vanessa talking quietly amongst themselves in the kitchen hovering over the punch bowl. With a smile just glad they were finally talking to each other you thought it better not to disturb them for the time being.

Soon after however you all found yourselves piling into the kitchen as Wade called for everyone to come and cut the cake. Wade snapped a few pictures on Yukio’s Polaroid, making some cheesy speech about how lucky he was to be surrounded each and every person he ever loved in one room, something you rolled your eyes at even though you had found yourself thinking the same thing just earlier, before going to make a wish blowing out his birthday candles as he did so.

The party continued to progress throughout the night and the stuffiness of all the bodies in the room was starting to get to you. Excusing yourself from conversing with Buck and Peter you step out into the hallway for a moment to try and get some air. Your head felt like it was swimming, probably from all the alcohol and not enough food, and you were starting to feel nauseated as a pounding sound hammered through your skull. Eventually you decided to take a step outside to get some actual air to see if that would help.

After a handful of greedy gulps of the fresh night air you finally decide to return to the party before anyone came looking for you. Once inside your hallway you spotted Wade first, but he wasn’t alone this time. Surrounding him were at least 5 guys all dressed in black body armor and masks with weird electrical looking batons in their grasps. Immediately your defenses rose as you silently crept up behind them.

“Oh peanut, you came back! I’d offer to let you join in on the orgy but I don’t think this guy here’s down for sharing me.” Wade quips as he sucks on a breath mint leaning on his doorway. His comment drew most of the men’s attention towards you but not before he drew it back to himself. It seemed that they could care less that you were even there. “He’s got this whole hate sex, love 'em and leave' em vibe going for him right now.”

“Shut your mouth clown!” The guy in the front snaps as he goes to grab Wade by his toupee. Just as he grabs it an orange doorway opens up behind Wade and a pair of arms reach out pulling him inside causing his hair system to get ripped off.

“Wade!” You shout as you sprung into action, using all your weight you shove two of the guys causing the three of you to fall through the strange orange doorway just before it closed behind you.

[guiltyasdave]

paper rings

pairing: modern!Oberyn Martell x f!reader

word count: ~1.7k

summary: after two months with oberyn, you're not sure if his feelings are as strong as yours.

part of my modern!oberyn universe, takes place after delicate but can be read as a standalone too <3

warnings/tags: able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, angst, so much fluff, making out

a/n: written for @jolapeno's lovely dear-uary challenge, and if you think i'm late then you're wrong <3 thank you so so much for hosting, jo!

huuuuge thanks and kisses to @sizzlingcloudmentality for beta reading and encouraging me, ily!

dividers as always by @saradika-graphics <3

find my full masterlist here and follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates!

Getting coffee, wait for me in bed ;)

The note sits on your kitchen counter when you shuffle into the room. Early morning sunlight is streaming through the window, warming the hardwood floor underneath your feet. 

Smiling to yourself, the note still clutched between your fingers, you retreat towards the bedroom and back under covers. The domesticity of it is sweet on your tongue, all warmth and honey. It’s all still so new, so fresh, butterflies alive in your stomach almost constantly. 

Your smile widens when you hear the apartment door open and close, footsteps that you can tell are kept more quiet than usual, in case you’re still asleep. You slip the note under your pillow when Oberyn steps into the room, a paper bag and two cups of coffee in his hands. His hair still mussed from the night’s sleep, his whole frame softer in the early hours. 

“Good morning, princess.”

His body smothers yours against the mattress when he joins you in bed again, your laugh coming out muffled against his lips. He alternates between feeding you kisses and sweet dough, covered in powdered sugar that he licks off the corners of your mouth. 

The note lands back between your fingers later when Oberyn has gone back to his own apartment. You decide to keep it, a reminder of the blissful morning you just had, kept safe in the top drawer of your desk. 

Had to go to work, call me when you get up.

Lunch later? :)

Have a great day today!

Don’t be nervous about the meeting, you’ll kill it!

There are leftovers in the fridge if you want them :)

You looked so beautiful this morning.

Had to run, I’ll text you later.

Can’t wait to see you tonight :)

You have no clue how Oberyn knows that it sends your heart flying every time you find a piece of paper with a message from him, either at your place or at his. But you love it. It’s so much sweeter than a text message, more tangible somehow, like he left a small part of himself with you.

You don’t tell him, but you keep every single one of them. It’s a little clingy, maybe. Not how you want to appear after just a couple of weeks of dating, especially not with a man like Oberyn, who you know could take a different person home every night, but who has somehow, inexplicably, chosen you. 

There has been no awkward what are we talk, thank God really, but— You do want to know what you are. If he feels as good with you as you do with him, if he thinks of you as much, if his smile widens when he talks about you too. If he talks about you at all. Surely he does, right? But what if he doesn’t? What if it’s just fun to him, something he enjoys right now, but not how he imagines his life long term? 

You’re around each other more often than not, one of you sleeping over at the other’s place most nights, and you really could get used to it. To the way he’s touching you constantly, not in a sexual or demanding way, just a warm, heavy reminder of his presence against your skin. You could get used to his jokes, to the way he makes you laugh, to the pull of his lips when he grins at you, to the crinkles around his eyes. To his quiet breathing beside you at night. To how safe he makes you feel. 

And you don’t tell him, but you are getting used to it. 

I had a great evening, thanks again for dinner! Call you later.

You leave the note taped onto his coffee maker, before heading out of his apartment and to work. You have an early meeting, one that you curse silently when you think back on how warm and soft you felt a mere hour ago, wrapped in bedsheets and Oberyn’s arms. 

Absentmindedly, you daydream about him waking up, making his way into the kitchen, his body still bare from the night. It’s a sight you’ll never, ever tire of. The golden skin, the lean strings of muscles rippling under his skin, the dark trail of hair leading down his stomach towards—

You stop dead in your tracks. The note. You drew a heart on the note. You’ve never done that, neither has he. Smileys, yes, but no hearts, no L words— 

But it’s probably fine. Not a big deal. You’re overreacting. It’s just a stupid doodle. You use heart emojis when you text after all, and so does he. Maybe you’ve become a little attached to the whole post-it thing, giving it way more weight than it merits, from a rational point of view. 

Still, you’re cautious when you call him later, but he sounds just like he always does. His voice purring into your ear as he tells you about his day, just as carefree and effortlessly charming as he always is. 

A few days later, you wake up to a note pasted to your fridge. A promise to be back in a few with coffee and croissants from your favorite place. With a little heart drawn into one corner. 

Weeks turn into one month, then two, and you still don’t know what to call this thing that you have with him. 

You almost slipped up a couple of days ago, talking on the phone with him on your lunch break and making plans for the weekend. You were just about to get back into the office building, saying your goodbyes, and your mouth moved faster than your mind, only catching yourself at the very last second. 

“Lov—” you had started to say, then bit your tongue hard when you realized the words it was forming. “Let’s talk later.” 

You didn’t give him a chance to reply, hanging up as quickly as humanly possible. You did not just almost tell him you loved him. Over the fucking phone, of all things. You don’t even know if you love him. Of course you don’t. It’s still way too early for that, right? Right? 

You just love spending time with him. Love how he looks at you, touches you, love the way you feel when you’re with him. But that’s it. A crush, nothing more. 

Things come to a head when you run into an old college friend on your way to dinner. When you introduce them and stumble over your words. 

“This is my—” Your what? Boyfriend? Crush? Situationship? Fuckbuddy? “This is Oberyn,” you settle on, and bravely ignore the quick look of pity she shoots you. 

“Pleasure,” Oberyn purrs, shaking her hand with his usual charming smile on full display, but it flickers off as soon as you keep walking. He grabs your hand, holding it tightly, a small crease forming between his brows. 

He’s unusually quiet through dinner, which makes you ramble to fill the silence, to try making yourself feel like everything is fine. Maybe he is getting bored. Maybe he’d rather spend his Friday night at the club, than listen to you recount your week. 

“Is everything okay?” you ask when you’re back home, leaning against the kitchen island and watching him pace around the room, his head bent, the crease on his forehead more pronounced now. You’re already bracing yourself. Maybe this is it, maybe this is how he’ll leave.

He stops in his tracks and looks up at you, seeming strangely lost, out of his depth. The fridge hums quietly in the corner, filling the silence that stretches on. Finally—

“Why do you only ever tell me the truth when you think I won’t hear it?” 

It’s not angry, not an accusation. Just— a question, like he genuinely doesn’t understand. 

Your hands drop to your sides. This is not what you had expected.

“What do you mean?” 

He takes a step closer to you, reaches for one of your hands, gently holds it in his palm. 

“You like me, don’t you? That is what you said.”

You think back on the very first morning with him. How similar you had felt back then. How the words had tumbled out of your mouth. I think I really like you. And his reply. I think I really like you too.

You nod, squeezing his hand. “I do.” 

“Then why are you scared?”

You avoid his eyes, training your glance on your hands, your intertwined fingers. Gently, his other hand finds your chin, tilting your head up. You melt under the soft, brown warmth of his eyes. 

“I’m not sure if you like me the same way.”

It comes out hushed, breathy. Words that you can’t take back, a weakness that you’re handing over to him. 

His expression softens, his hand traveling up from your chin to cradle your cheek. 

“I thought it was obvious.” He smiles, almost shy, if Oberyn was capable of looking shy. 

“It wasn’t,” you manage to mumble before he leans in, pressing his lips down on yours. Your fingers burrow into his hair, tugging him closer. His hands start roaming over your body, warmth sinking through your clothes and into your skin, anchoring you to him. 

You moan into his open mouth when he grabs your ass and pulls you into him. He nudges your cheek with his nose, prompting you to look at him.

“I make you feel good, don’t I?” he purrs, gently biting your earlobe. 

You moan again, louder this time. Your fingers dig into his shoulder. 

“You do.” 

“You know why that is?” 

His smile paints his voice, all soft and honeyed in your ear. 

“Because you like me?” 

It still creeps in, the tinge of doubt, but you already know it’ll be kissed away before you fall asleep with him by your side tonight. Oberyn nods, the beard on his jaw scratching lightly against your skin. You think you might be melting. 

“A whole fucking lot, princess.”

thank you so much for reading <3 reblog and comments are the best thing and make my day!