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vivs-fics · 2 days

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In The Woods Somewhere

Logan Howlett x Reader

Warnings/ Tags: Swearing, smoking, smut to come

Lumberjack AU

Word Count: 8924

The flaming heat of the mid-summer afternoon sizzled down to tepid embers with the arrival of a pleasant sprinkling of rain. The light pitter-patter of rain on your windshield coupled with the slow, easy jazz that flowed out of the radio made for pleasant company on your drive out to the small shopping center in town. A cool wave of contentment washes over you, you relish it. Finally, you feel as though you’re in a place where the entire world doesn’t feel like it’s crumbling around you. Staring out onto the open road ahead of you, a faded white line divides the smooth tarmac surface. Evergreen trees stand proudly on either side of you, the heady scent of pine is thick in the air, amplified by the rain. A sad, sullen thought slinks through your mind.

Was there even a point to bearing witness to all these beautiful things if you had to see them alone?

Thoughts like these creep up on you sometimes. Getting out of a four-year relationship that had you twisted from the inside out will do that to a person. It took you well over a year to process. Countless hours of gentle parenting yourself and using every crappy, overly marketed self-help tool at your disposal to breathe, and mantra, and journal your way through everything. And it worked, partially at least.

Learning to live with yourself was a little harder than expected, but being out here helped. Perhaps it was because of the mountains. Weathered and different from how they once were- carved and indented by the hands of men… But still strong, still present. And maybe, you thought, you should extend the same grace to yourself. Acknowledge that things inside and around you have changed, but never underestimating the importance of the fact that you are still present. Present despite every setback, disappointment and broken heart- and that is no small feat.

You smile. Fuck yeah, emotional regulation. Just as a small blossom of hope sprouted in your chest, it was crushed by the heavy boot of your car engine sputtering, backfiring and then smoking profusely. No. Sweet, suffering Jesus, no. You were too far from the town to get a signal on your phone and were too unfamiliar with the surrounding area to know where the nearest tow company was. You supposed you could just walk to the grocery store you were heading to and ask someone there- but it was at least five miles and visibility was shit because of the rain.

You pull over and rest your head in your hands for a brief moment, recalling all the choices that led you here. You didn’t even have the luxury of blaming all of this on the impulsivity of a drunken night out, no. You sat, and thought, and researched about all of this. This came to you, bit by bit, with a clear mind. A rasp of wry laughter escapes your parted lips. At the angst of it all, the fucking absurdity.

“Alright.” You mutter to yourself, gathering quiet strength stored deep down and get out of the car. You pop the rain spattered hood of your car and assess the damage- the engine smokes, a great roaring heat hits you as soon as it’s given an escape from the confines of the car. “Shit.” Yeah, shit. You wouldn’t be able to fix this, not without some divine imparting of mechanical wisdom. You wait for a moment, collecting yourself.

Your silent prayer to the heavens is interrupted by the distant rumble of an engine. As the sound grows louder, you look up, hoping for a good Samaritan that could aid your current predicament. A red truck makes its way into your vision, an oasis in the desert of your despair. The pickup rolls to a stop, and your eyes move through the rain to see the figure stepping out.

He is a mountain of a man, broad-shouldered and rugged. The brown plaid of his shirt is muted by years of wear- muscles bulge under the fabric. His hair is a warm chestnut, framing his face perfectly. He’s a few feet away, eyeing you with a mix of curiosity and what you took to be mild annoyance- as if this situation was an inconvenience to him. The silence he shrouded himself in was almost tactile. It fills his immediate surroundings with an unspoken reserve that suggested a man chained in solitude. As he approaches, brows furrowed and lips set in a solid line, you notice the shining hazel of his eyes- they’re soft. Surrounded by harsh lines and weighed down by his sullen expression, but soft, nonetheless.

“You alright?” The stranger enquires, eyebrows raising a hair in concern. He looks behind you, almost through you, and lays his sights on the wispy, darkened smoke rising from your engine.

“Yeah- I mean… No. Not really. Stupid fucking car just gave out on me.” You sigh out, exasperated.

He grunts and steps closer. “Want me to take a look?”

A smile graces your features at his offer, “Please. Yeah, go ahead. You know a lot about cars?” You sidestep the vehicle to give him access to your disaster of an engine.

“Some.” He responds, eyes downcast.

He surveys the scene with an air of practiced detachment, “Yeah. It’s fucked. I can tow it into town, if you want.” he offers, his tone carrying a hint of reluctance.

You manage a wry smile, relief flooding you. “That’d be great. Thanks. I couldn’t get a signal out here either so, uh, you’re kind of saving my ass.”

“I’m Logan.” he states plainly, not bothering to shake your hand. He keeps himself away, not allowing the hands that caused so much hurt and pain to taint you with their touch. An invisible border closes him off from you- maybe from everyone, you theorise. He closes the trunk with little regard and turns to you.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you.” You wipe your clammy palms on your pants, unsure of what to do. His head bows only a little, only for a moment. If his presence wasn’t so encapsulating, you’re sure you would’ve missed it.

He works with an efficient precision, unhooking your car from its spot and securing it to his truck. The heavy clink of the tow hitch falling into place was oddly reassuring, a small promise of resolution to come.

Logan moves to the passenger side of his truck and opens the door for you, extending his arm as a gesture for you to get in. You do so wordlessly, a tight smile flung his way as a measure of gratitude.

As you climb into his truck, the faint scent of blended tobacco and leather wafts its way into your nose. It provides you with an odd sense of comfort. You take in the interior- the brown seats are worn, the dashboard cluttered with pinecones and other forest finds. Odd, you think, but refrain from asking about it. Instead, you ask the only thing you could think of- it comes out sputtered and unkempt, “So, uh, have you lived here long?”

“A while.” His eyes don��t leave the road, his knuckles tighten slightly around the dark expanse of the steering wheel.

Am I annoying him? You think to yourself, but quickly shut it down remembering how he offered to help you. Perhaps this is just his nature, it fits with the gruff woodsman aesthetic he’s wrapped himself in.

“You don’t talk much, do you, Logan?” You peer over at him. Jesus fucking Christ this man is so beautiful. Maybe you’d be more annoyed by his shitty attitude if he wasn’t so goddamn pretty.

“Not if I can help it, angel.”

“Angel? Ah come on, Logan. Don’t tell me you’ve resorted to that because you’ve already forgotten my name.” You jest, a small ring of laughter coming from you.

There is the tiniest uptick of his lips, you note it. “Didn’t forget it.”

“So you say.” You smile at him once again, subconsciously willing him to look at you again. He does, but only for a moment. Just enough to indulge the butterflies inhabiting your belly. Logan drives with focus, intensity. You were sure he applied the same intent to everything else in his life.

The truck glides steadily along the winding road. The landscape remains breathtaking, even as you get closer to civilisation. The towering pines, strong and evergreen; the lake shimmering like a million sapphires, and the mountains looming majestically with peaks partially veiled by mist. You suck in a deep breath, letting the serenity of the outside make its way inside you. Logan is not blind to this; he checks on you periodically. It takes every fibre of his willpower to not look at you. He wants to drink you in, satiate himself on the divine radiance of your presence. So bright, so beautiful. He wouldn’t dare risk casting a shadow over that.

Your attempts to make conversation with the burly plaid-clad man feel like an exercise in persistence. “So… Is it a habit of yours come to the rescue of beautiful, stranded motorists?”

He lets out a non-committal grunt. You sigh, deflating into the seat slightly. He notes the pang he feels in his chest at disappointing you. He means to crush it under his heel, with the force and might of a tank, but he can’t seem to bring himself to. Logan shakes it off, reminding himself that he is, at his core, stone and adamantium, sharp edges and an impenetrable centre. The world breaks against him.

He glances at you briefly before focusing on the road, stealing seconds of you for himself. Logan supposes he could indulge you, just this once. “Not always. Just when it’s hard to ignore.”

“I have been told I light up a room. Maybe that same mechanism made me look like the world’s prettiest, most devastated road flare.”

Logan lets out a scoff, it’s half-hearted and something close to a show of amusement. The corners of his mouth ascend as he turns onto the road leading into town. You witness it, photograph it, and frame it in your mind.

The truck rumbles down the road as the mechanic shop comes into view. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you sook it out. It is a dingy, slightly crooked building with a battered, sun-bleached sign that reads "Ricky’s Auto" just barely clinging on to the wall. A sad collection of vehicles lay scattered around the lot, most of them looking like they were long past saving.

You sigh deeply, eyeing your pathetic excuse of a car that’s still hitched to the back of Logan’s truck. This is not how I imagined my day going, you think to yourself. You had envisioned picking up some cherries from the greengrocer and making a pie, maybe getting some reading done with a hot cup of tea. But here you were, courtesy of Mr Sex on Legs, who so far had spoken about fifteen words to you.

As soon as Logan parks the car, he exits and moves around the vehicle in an imperceptibly swift motion and opens the door for you. You hop down from the slightly raised surface and give him an easy smile, coupled with a genuine, albeit slightly surprised, “Thank you.” You doubt he hears you though, because he’s already moving to unhitch your car. And, by God, you try not to stare, but it seems like the world’s most impossible task. Seeing the way his muscles moved under the lines of his plaid shirt makes your mouth water. With the same quiet efficiency as before, he unlatches the tether between the two vehicles.

Before you think too much about how incredibly strong he looks, a man in oil-stained overalls emerges from the garage. He has a crescent moon hairline and thin, wire framed glasses. Splotches of grease stain his fingers as well as the cloth clasped in his left hand. “Logan m’boy!” he calls out, slapping his rag down on a pile of neatly stacked tyres. “Haven’t seen you ‘round here in a goddamn minute.” The grey-haired man stands a few feet away from us, a half-smoked cigarette dangles from his lips. His blue overalls are stained from decades of oil changes and brake jobs. A canvas upon which he painted his years of experience.

“Been busy,” Logan mutters, his voice gruff as all hell, but you notice the faintest flicker of a smile tug at his lips.

The mechanic turns to you, putting his hands on his hips. “And who might you be, Miss?”

“Oh- I’m Y/N. My car decided today would be a good day to give out on me and, um, Logan here so generously offered me a tow.” You flash him a half-smile.

“He did, eh?” Ricky peers over his glasses to assess Logan, standing with his arms folded over his chest. Logan furrows his brows, a silent conversation occurring between the two men. You shift on your feet awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

Ricky shrugs his shoulders and walks over to the car. The bespeckled man leans over, scratching his chin. “Alright Miss Y/N. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” He pops the hood and squints, practiced eyes examining the situation. “Yeah, looks like the radiator’s shot. I can fix it, but it’ll take a day or two for parts.”

A day or two? Fuck me, you think to yourself. You make an attempt to shirk your disappointment, but it is as evident as the light of day upon your face. “Right. Okay. I suppose if that’s the only way…”

Before you could dwell on it, Logan speaks up. “Ricky’s the best. He’ll get it done, angel.” Your eyes meet momentarily, sincerity evident behind his hazel irises. “If you need a ride or anything… I can, uh… I’m around.” He curses himself out mentally. Now why the fuck would I say that? He thinks, clenching his fists slightly.

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, the butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly. Considering how he behaved like simply towing your car into town was a chore, you hadn’t expected an offer like this. “Uh, yeah. That’s really sweet of you, Logan, but I wouldn’t want to put you out…” you fiddle with the rings on your fingers, hoping he sees through your feigned polite declination.

Ricky, however, wasn’t about to let this moment slide. He interjects, leaning against your car. “Don’t be silly, Miss. ‘Course he’ll take you.” An air of finality surrounds his words.

Logan shoots him a look, jaw clenching in the most delicious way. This, however, just causes an even wider grin to spread across Ricky’s wrinkled features. “Young miss, you were headin’ into town, weren’t you? Logan here would be more than delighted to take you ‘round and bring you home after.”

You glance over to Logan, eyes wide, curious, pleading. He nods his head, albeit begrudgingly. You let of a smooth sigh of relief, thank God. After giving Ricky your details, you exit the well-loved repair shop to see Logan with his hands shoved deep into his jean pockets.

“C’mon then angel.” He rumbles, tilting his head in the direction of his truck. He opens the door for you once again and waits until you’re strapped up before he shuts it.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound breaking the tension the tiniest bit. “So, I wanted to go to the grocery store to pick up some cherries. I was going to bake a pie tonight.”

He hums in response, eyes focused on the road. “You bake often?” It comes out gritted, restrained. Knuckles whiten around the worn steering wheel.

“When I can. I thought I’d bake as much as I could before the school year starts. I’m, uh- I’m starting work at Oak Haven High School in the fall.”

He nods slowly- soaking in the bright, melodious nature of your voice. He could listen to you talk about nothing forever, he thinks to himself. He wants to hear you laugh; he wants your smiles to come about because of him. He wants to hear you whimper under him while he- No. No. Can’t think about that, Logan scolds himself for allowing his mind to wander.

“You know I-” You pause for a moment, thinking about how to say this. He glances over as you stop speaking, brows raising a fraction of an inch, egging you on.

“Well… it’s just that you’ve been so kind to me, and I’d like to repay your favours.”

“Don’t need to, angel.”

“No, but I want to. I don’t know if you’re busy later but maybe you could come to mine for dinner? I was going to cook Chicken Adobo and uh, and the pie, obviously.” You smile, teeth flashing from under painted lips. And his heart catches in his chest. Every ounce of better judgement is silenced by the screaming of every cell in his body, telling him to say yes. It’s beyond desire, beyond want. It’s necessity. He must see you again.

“You don’t- no. That’s not necessary.”

“Aw c’mon, I can’t say the food will be anything to write home about, but I can promise some good company.” You bat your lashes at him and smile and for the first time in a long time, Logan feels weak.

“Alright.” He drawls out, the faintest whisper of a smile graces his face.

“Really?” You beam, all sunshine and warmth. It lights something up inside him, a fire he’s kept covered since he moved out here. He nods, loosening his grip on the steering wheel. It’s surprising to him, how easily he lost this battle of wills with you. And maybe, he thought, he should allow you to win again and again.

The drive into town is pleasant, less tense than before. You glance at Logan from the corner of your eye, mind reeling at the sight of the beautiful behemoth of a man to your right. He is clearly a man of few words, his stony exterior surely aids in his want for solitude. Every now and then, you’d catch him looking at you, infinitesimal moments that he took for himself. Neither of you comment on it.

“So… you and Ricky go way back?” you enquired finally, breaking the seemingly never-ending silence.

Logan shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes trained on the road. As if he knew that if he allowed himself to look at you properly, he’d never be able to look away. “Knew him from town. He’s good people.”

You nod, eagerly awaiting more from him. When he doesn’t give you anything else, you decide to press a little. “He seemed to enjoy teasing you back there.”

Logan huffs, something resembling a laugh escaping his perfect lips. “Ricky’s a pain in the ass, but he means well.”

That, right there—that tiny hint of humour hidden under his stony exterior, it makes you smile. “Seems like everyone in this town’s got a lot of… uh… personality.”

He glances at you, his gaze lingering just a second longer than before. “Guess so.”

Subtle as it may have been, there’s something a touch different about the way he gazes upon you now. A hairline fracture appears in the brick-and-mortar walls that surround him, letting the slightest sliver of something out, something real and tactile and intoxicating.

Strolling into the little greengrocers, you glance down at the shopping list in your hand. The air in the small space is fresh, produce is lined up in neat piles sprawling across the aisles. Logan is pushing the cart with squared shoulders, he’s tense. He glances moves past the fresh vegetables receiving a light misting from the sprinklers above. His hazel eyes scan the surroundings, as if he’s waiting for something- or someone to pop up.

“Are you always this tense when you go shopping?” you ask, a vain attempt to lighten the mood, raising an eyebrow at him as you stop in front of the baking section.

Logan looks over at you, his expression hard, unreadable. “What do you mean?”

“You know, some people find this relaxing,” you said, grabbing a bag of sugar and tossing it into the cart. “But you look like you’re being hunted for sport.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “I just like getting in and out. Not a fan of lingering.”

“Not a fan of lingering,” you repeat with a smirk, eyeing him as you reach for a small bottle of almond extract. “I guess I shouldn’t ask for your opinion on pie spices, then? Too much lingering involved.”

He gives you a slight shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “As long as it’s edible, I don’t have a strong opinion.”

“High praise, Logan,” you jest, rolling your eyes playfully. “I’ll be sure to aim for ‘edible’.”

Logan remains silent, giving you the sweet nothing you’d become slightly accustomed to. You could, however, see the tiniest bit of amusement flicker in his eyes. He isn’t exactly chatty, but there is something oddly comforting about his presence. He’s grounded, solid. Reminds you of the mountains- he smells like them, too. Fresh, earthy, safe.

As you reach the fruit aisle, you glance at the cherries, bright and shiny under the fluorescent lights. You grab a bag and hand it to him, watching as he weighs them in his large, calloused hands.

“Do you even like cherry pie?” you asked, sliding your hands into your back pockets as you lean against the cart.

He paused for a second, looking down at the cherries, then up at you. “Never had it.”

Your eyes widen in blatant disbelief, “You’ve never had cherry pie?”

Logan shakes his head, his expression still neutral, though you notice the faintest trace of amusement behind his eyes. “Nope.”

“Well, now I feel like I’m under immense pressure,” you said, mock serious. “I’m taking your cherry pie virginity, Logan. What if I mess it up?”

He raises an eyebrow, his voice teasing. “Didn’t you say somethin’ about aiming for edible?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Shut it.”

He shrugged again, his lips twitching into a near-smile. “Just holding you to your own standards, angel.”

“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” you shoot back, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Alright then, tough guy, let’s see if you can handle the next critical decision.” You gestured grandly to the dairy section. “Butter or margarine?”

Logan drinks you in, sizes you up, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly. “Butter. Always butter.”

You clap your hands together and sigh dreamily. “A man after my own heart.”

The gruff lumberjack feels his cheeks heating, he needs to look away from you- you’re too goddamn beautiful, even under the harsh fluorescent lights. He feels as if he’s going to combust, but he cannot bring himself to tear his gaze from you. So, he smiles. It’s bright and big and you catch a glimpse of his sharp canines.

The banter continues as you wander through the aisles, each small decision becoming a chance for you to tease him, and for Logan to surprise you with his dry, understated responses.

At one point, you reach for a carton of eggs, only for him to pluck it off the shelf before you can. “I’ve got it,” he said, placing it carefully in the cart.

You tilt your head, pretending to size him up. “You’re surprisingly helpful for someone who looks like they’d rather wrestle a bear than be in here.”

He lets out a low chuckle, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not that bad.”

You grin, leaning in a little. “Oh? You sure about that? Because the guy I met a few hours ago...” You raise your eyebrows and suck in a breath through your teeth.

Logan’s jaw clenches, there is no anger behind it though- more like he is deciding how much to give away. You decide to leave it alone, best not to press him, you thought as you see him shift, like he isn’t used to being called out.

“I guess you caught me on a rough morning,” he says finally, his voice quiet but sincere.

You soften at that, watching him for a second longer than you intended. There is something vulnerable in his honesty, and it throws you off guard. You want to watch him unravel next to you- you want to kiss the scars on his hands and shield him from the world.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you hum, your tone lighter again, “I, um, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Logan shook his head, dismissing it easily. “It’s fine. I don’t mind.”

You let the silence hang between you for a second before deciding to break it. “Well, in that case, I think you’ve earned the right to pick the ice cream.”

He glanced down at the freezer section in front of you, clearly aware of your attempt to steer things back to neutral territory. “Vanilla.”

You groaned, dramatically covering your face with your hand. “Vanilla? Really?”

Logan’ lips twitched again. “What’s wrong with vanilla?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head as if you were gravely disappointed, “It’s good. Classic.”

“You seem surprised.” He adds, eyebrows raised in faux surprise.

“Yeah,” you reply, a concealed smile on your face. “I had you pegged as… like a… mint chocolate chip man.”

He smirked—a full-on, unmistakable smirk. “Mint chocolate chip.” Logan swirls the words around in his mouth He kisses his teeth and shakes his head, playing disappointed. “That’s… certainly something, angel.”

You throw your hands up in defeat. “What do you mean? Mint chocolate chip is a perfectly respectable flavour to enjoy!” He grunts in response, picking up the vanilla ice cream and dropping it into the little trolley.

As you make your way to the checkout, you can’t help but sneak glances- actually, scratch that... You cannot help but full-on stare at him, eyes trained to his pretty face or his rippling muscles the entire time- shamelessly. There is just something about the way he carries himself—strong and steady, but there’s also faint whisps of humor peeking through his tough exterior. It made you feel like you’d been graced with a glimpse of the real Logan.

And maybe, no… Definitely. You definitely like what you see.

The drive back to your house is quiet, as you anticipated. Not an awkward silence- more like the kind that settles in when two people are comfortable. Logan’s prized red truck rumbles steadily along the road, the low hum of the engine filling the gaps in conversation. You stare out the window, watching the trees blur into a mix of greens and browns as the slightly parted clouds give way to balmy rays of mild, yellow sunlight.

“This is me,” you state, a pointed finger directing him toward a small, cozy house nestled between the trees. You could already see your porch light flickering on, casting a warm, yellow glow over the front steps. As Logan slows to a stop, the tires crunching on gravel, you feel a little flutter of nervousness again. I should’ve mowed the goddamn lawn, you chastise yourself internally.

Logan put the truck in park, glancing around as if taking mental inventory of the place. You observe his hazel eyes sweeping over the porch, the old oak rocking chair in the corner, the hanging ferns swaying slightly in the breeze. He doesn’t say much, but you can tell he is taking it all in- just like he’d taken in the details of you back in the store. Quiet, observant.

“You moved into Sixty-Seven?” he enquires, his voice low, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blink, looking at him as you fumbled for your seatbelt. “Yeah, it was- uh- I just fell in love with it, y’know? It’s got this bay window out front, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful the view would be from there when it snowed.”

Logan gives you a small nod, his hands still resting on the steering wheel, gaze lingering on your abode. His heart clenches in his chest- this, all of this and you- so beautiful, so perfect. His eyes catch the flicker of the porch light, and for a second, you wonder what he is thinking. Surely nothing about how goddamn unkempt your lawn looks. Surely.

“You live nearby, Logan?” you ask quickly, a flailing attempt to fill the quiet.

“Yeah. Not far from here.” His voice is gruff, but there was something almost... tentative about it. Like he hadn’t really expected to say that out loud. “Just, uh, down the street actually.”

You hum and give him a smile, looking out the window again. “So… I guess, uh, I should get going?”

Logans lips twitch slightly, though his eyes remain fixed on your house. “Guess so.” He almost seems lost in thought. You couldn’t possibly fathom that he was lost in a fantasy, so long passed that he never thought he could reach it again. He imagines love flowing out of your house, music playing softly in the living room. His mind wanders to you: you who should not have such an immense hold on him this soon; you with your dazzling smile and bright eyes, with that sweet fuckin’ ass and those perfect tits- Logan blinks and suddenly the domestic fantasy is dragged away from him. The prospect of warmth like that is stolen and an icy reality washes over him. The reality that he is alone- and perhaps it was best for everyone if it stayed that way.

For a moment, neither of you move. You feel the weight of the day settle between you, meeting one another, the shared shopping trip, the easy banter, the way he had quietly helped with everything without making a fuss. And now here you are, sitting in his truck, only a few feet from your front door, and it feels like you are still... suspended. Like neither of you quite want the moment to end.

You catch him glancing at you again—just a quick, fleeting look, but enough for you to notice. He has this way of looking at you like he isn’t sure what to do with you, as if you are simultaneously the most innocent and dangerous thing in the world.

“I, uh, appreciate the help today,” you say finally, your voice resounding melodically in the quiet cab of the truck. “And the ride. I really do. Thank you, Logan.”

His fingers flex on the steering wheel, his knuckles brushing against the worn leather. “Not a big deal,” he mutters, his hazel eyes finding yours before looking away again. He finds it hard to breathe, even with the windows of the car open. You shine and radiate and fill up the space with your insurmountable beauty. He doesn’t know how he’ll ever be able to look away.

Isn’t a big deal? You smile to yourself. Perhaps this is just his way? Saying something isn’t a big deal when he’d gone out of his way to make sure it was sorted out. Like when he stayed with you at the mechanic, or when he let you tease him about lingering in the grocery store without getting defensive. Every little thing about today had shown you more of who he was beneath the gruff exterior. And you want more.

“Well, it is to me,” you said softly, your fingers brushing the door handle as you hesitated. “So… thanks.”

He nods, still not looking at you directly, but you can feel the weight of what isn’t being said between you. You weren’t sure if it was the quiet of the woods surrounding you, or the warmth that lingered from the setting sun, but something about the moment felt... heavier. Like it wasn’t just about the grocery run or the ride home.

He shakes his head, as if clearing his mind from the thoughts he is having about you and moves to open your door. His tan boots crunch heavily on the gravel. The cool afternoon air engulfs around you, a chill runs up your spine. You turn back to face Logan, who was still here, leaning against the side of his truck. He watches you in that way of his—silent, steady, almost unreadable.

“So, um… I’ll see you tonight around seven?” you query, a genuine lightness in your tone.

Logan nods slowly, his gaze shifting between you and the house, like he was still sizing up the situation. “Yeah. You sure you don’t need help takin’ all that inside?”

“I’m a big girl, Logan. I think I can manage carrying two shopping bags twenty feet into my kitchen.” You jest, but your hands feel clammy, and your belly constricts at the thought of him coming into your absolute mess of a house. It horrifies you, boxes sprawled across the floor, clothes haphazardly strewn on the backs of your chairs, dishes piled in the sink left with the promise of fixing it up after your ‘quick run into town.’ Not exactly the best circumstances for a… what even was this? A date? A thank you dinner? God knows.

But before you could take another step, he calls out, his voice a little softer than before. “Angel. Thanks, uh, for the invite.”

You turn back to him, your heart doing cartwheels at the sound of that nickname in his mouth. You wanted to hear it over and over, every second of every day, sung out in pleasure and joy.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice softer than you intend. “Of course.”

He nods once, like that is all he needed to hear, before turning around and hopping into his car. As you watch him pull away, the truck’s rumbling engine cutting through the serenity of the street, you cannot shake the feeling that something is shifting. Inside you, perhaps inside him. It could be nothing. Or maybe it is everything.

You didn’t think that you’d live to see the apocalypse, yet here you were standing in what can only be described as a catastrophe-riddled kitchen. Bombs of flour litter your immediate vicinity. It’s on the counters, the floor, it even managed to get on the potted fern by the window it’s leaves dusted white like a winter’s morning. The air smells of sugar, sweet cherries and the buttery pie crust, which was about the only thing that was going well at this point.

Oh God. Why did I think this was a good idea?you think to yourself, contemplating why you didn’t just offer to invite him to dinner tomorrow.

Inviting Logan over for dinner seemed like such a simple, kind gesture at the time. A little thank you for all his help with the car, perhaps a little excuse to indulge in his presence once more. But now, standing in the middle of this culinary battlefield, your confidence is crumbling faster than the edges of your pie crust.

You flail around attempting to make your house seem presentable, shoving clothes into your laundry basket and wiping up the remnants of flour and sugar and pie crust that had somehow spawned all over your kitchen.

The clock on the wall ticks louder than usual, reminding you that time is running out. Fifteen minutes until he arrives. You glance at the mirror by the door and cringe slightly at the sight. Flour streaked your cheek, your hair is dishevelled, your teal apron is muddied from its time on the aforementioned culinary battlefield.

Your heart does a little flip, and you immediately scolded yourself for it. Why are you nervous? It’s just a friendly thank you dinner. A friendly thank-you dinner with a pretty, brooding, unimaginably sexy man. You suck in a few deep breaths before changing into something appropriate for dinner.

The setting of the table is interrupted by three sharp raps on your front door. You swing the door open, and there he is, standing on your porch in all his glory. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, a fresh red flannel shirt stretches taut across his defined chest, and his boots are coated in a fine layer of dust, a bottle of red wine is clasped in his right hand. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade into the background, and it was just the two of you, standing in this strange, unspoken space between strangers and something else… something more.

His hazel eyes meet yours, flicking quickly to the warmly lit living room behind you. You see a brief flash of ardour in his gaze before his face settles into its usual unreadable expression.

“Hey,” you sing out, a big smile gracing your features. You step aside and extend your arm in invitation. “Come on in.”

Logan nods and steps inside, moving slowly, as if he isn’t entirely sure if he belongs here. He glances around, taking in the varnished wooden floors, the cosy linen couches, the scent of sugar and cherry hanging in the air. His eyes settle on the antique record player in the corner of the living room, and for a second, you think you see his lips twitch, the ghost of a smile. It feels unfamiliar to him, but it was good, he thought. Something about this cosy space, with its cluttered charm and lingering warmth, made him feel less out of place than he expected.

He watches you move, your hands fidgeting as you finish setting the table. There was something... endearing about it, Logan thought. Something about the way you hold yourself that makes him feel warm inside. An almost indefinable quality that tells him that this is you, unabashed and unashamed of your nature. He yearns for that.

“Uh, I hope you’re hungry,” you said, your voice a shining as you gesture to the table. “I’ve got the chicken stewing, and the pie’s almost ready... sort of.”

Logan gives you a low grunt of approval, his eyes flicking to the pie cooling by the window. “Smells good,” he said, his voice rougher than usual, like he’s trying to find his footing in this strange, domestic moment.

You smile awkwardly, fiddling with your fingers. “It’s my first pie in, well, uh... years. Let’s just hope it tastes better than it looks.”

She’s nervous, Logan realizes, watching the way your delicate hands tremble slightly. He’s used to people being nervous around him, he’s an intimidating man, but most just avoid him altogether. But here you are, standing in front of him, your eyes bright with uncertainty, trying to make the best of this impromptu dinner.

He takes a seat at the small kitchen table, the polished chair creaking slightly under his weight. The space feels too small for him—too cozy, too... personal. But he notices the little things, the details that make it feel like a home: the way the warm porch light slants through the window, catching the edges of the remnants of flour on the counter, the faint hum of the adobo bubbling on the stove, the warmth that seemed to fill every corner of the room. It is a place he could never have imagined for himself, but in this moment, it feels like he’s supposed to be here.

You shuffle around the kitchen, stirring the stew, checking the pie. But you can feel his eyes on you- those sharp, quiet eyes that seem to view more than they let on. You weren’t sure if he’s judging your messy kitchen or just observing, but either way, the awareness of his gaze makes your heart race.

“So, do you cook often?” Logan enquires, breaking the silence, his voice low and steady.

You let out a breathy laugh, gesturing to the flour-covered counter. “I know it probably doesn’t look like it, but I promise I do.” You rub the back of your neck sheepishly.

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of playfulness flickering in his eyes. “No, it- uh- it smells good, angel. Want me to open the wine?”

You chuckle, nodding your head. “Yeah, let me- I’ll just get some glasses. Thank you for this, by the way. I thought I was supposed to be making it up to you for everything you did, and here you go adding to the list.”

“Couldn’t help myself.” Logan said, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed. He didn’t smile, but there was a softness in his tone that surprised you.

You dished out the stew, setting a bowl in front of him. Your fingers brushed his as you passed the bowl, and the warmth of his skin sent a tiny spark up your arm, more surprising than you wanted to admit. He retracts his hand, causing the stew to drip down from the side of the bowl, “Shit. Sorry.” He quickly grabs the cloth napkin that the cutlery was laid down upon and wipes up the stray droplets.

As you sit across from him, you try to relax, but every time you look up, there Logan is, sitting at your kitchen table like he belonged there, like this wasn’t the most surreal thing that had happened since you moved here. He eats in silence, his movements slow and deliberate, the way someone eats when they’ve learned to savour every bite. Why does he have to be so... solid? you wonder, watching him out of the corner of your eye. There is something grounding about him, something steady. Even though he barely said a word, his presence filled the room, making it feel smaller, warmer.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “what do you do when you’re not out chopping trees? Any hobbies besides... lumberjacking?”

Logan raises an eyebrow, his mouth morphing into some kind of reserved smirk. “I’m not that interesting.”

“Oh, come on,” you tease, leaning forward slightly. “There has to be something.”

He shrugs, honey eyes drifting to the window. “Just take care of the land. Fix things up. Keeps me busy. I’m up on Lot 48- it’s lakeside. I, uh, started redoing the house when I moved out here.”

You nod, picturing him out in the woods, working with his hands, surrounded by nothing but the sound of nature. It was such a different life from anything you knew, and you couldn’t help but wonder what had led him to choose that kind of isolation.

“Must get lonely,” you coo softly, not quite sure why the words slip out.

Logan’s jaw tightens slightly, his gaze still fixed on the window. “Sometimes. But it’s better that way.”

The silence that follows is heavier this time, charged with something unspoken. You want to ask more, to understand why he kept himself so closed off, but before you could say anything, Logan smiles at you. His eyes are soft, mellow pools of gold that you want to lose yourself in. The smile catches him by surprise, but he can’t help it- you’re so fucking gorgeous, and you put so much effort into this meal. Things of beauty, such as this, seem foreign to Logan.

The rest of the meal passes in quiet conversation, the tension from earlier slowly melting into something softer. You serve the cherry pie and wait in eager anticipation for his feedback. Logan takes his first bite, fork passing through his soft, pink lips. His eyes widen slightly, just enough for you to catch the flicker of approval. He lets out the most delicious low moan.

“This is so fucking good,” he said, his voice rough, sincere.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest that had nothing to do with the wine or the steaming hot cherry pie. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you’d done something right. Truly right. Completely right.

“Really?”

He lets out a muffled “Mhm.” Mouth still stuffed with vanilla ice cream and cherry pie. “I, uh… I don’t usually have a sweet tooth- but you’re- uh, this is incredible, angel.”

"That's mighty high praise, Logan. Would you go so far as to say it's edible?"

A laugh rings out from him, more joyful than a thousand church bells, sweeter than all the combs of honey the world has to offer. "Fuck yeah."

The scrape of chairs across the floor feels almost too loud, punctuating the end of dinner with a finality that leaves your heart beating just a touch faster. As you stack the plates and glance toward Logan, the room feels smaller somehow, heavy with the weight of something unsaid, something hanging in the air between the two of you. Nobody comments on it, neither of you have the courage to.

Logan so moves easily, like he’d done this a thousand times before, confident in every movement, every stride. Taking the plates from your hands without so much as a word, his fingers brush yours again, but he doesn’t flinch away from it this time. Even though it’s just for a second, it sends a spark of electricity up your arm—a reminder of the tension that has been simmering since he came into your house.

“I’ll take care of this,” he murmurs, already heading to the sink. His voice is low, gruff as always, but there’s something softer beneath it tonight. He rolls up his sleeves, exposing his forearms—strong, tanned, with just the right amount of scruff. You have to physically stop your jaw from dropping. You can’t help but stare, and apparently, you aren’t as subtle about it as you think because he catches you looking and raises an eyebrow.

“You alright over there?” he asks, a teasing edge to his tone.

“Fine,” you say, too quickly, reaching for a towel. “Just... uh, trying to figure out how you’ve made washing dishes look like some kind of art form.”

“That all?” He chuckles, the low rumble of his voice makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“Yeah, I just… I can’t remember the last time someone did the dishes for me.”

“Don’t be too impressed. I can clean up after myself.” He winks, leaning over the sink.

You dry the dishes after he rinses them, the comfortable silence between you filled only by the clinking of plates and the soft hum of the evening beyond the window. Every now and then, you catch him sneaking a glance your way, and each time, it makes your pulse quicken just a little. There’s something brewing here, something that neither of you seem ready to name just yet.

When the last dish is dried and put away, Logan leans back against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck—a gesture you weren’t sure you’d ever see, a sign of nervousness. “Mind if I step outside? Thought I’d smoke a cigar.”

You blink, not half surprised. The idea of him standing on the porch with a cigar seems... right. You nod, suddenly feeling like you need fresh air yourself. “Sure, uh, I’ll come with you.”

The evening air is cool, a light breeze carrying the scent of pine and damp earth. The sky is splattered with deep purples and oranges, with the final rays of sunlight slowly dipping behind the mountains, casting a beautiful golden glow over everything. The porch creaks slightly underfoot as you both step outside, the world around you settling into a soft hush.

Logan reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a thick Cuban cigar, lighting it with slow, practiced ease. The flare of the lighter illuminates his face for a brief moment, highlighting the strong lines of his jaw and the hazel of his eyes that caught the fading light just right. He takes a slow drag, the scent of tobacco mixing with the pine-scented air. You’re drunk on him. Gulping down every facet of the strong man available to you.

You lean against the railing, pretending to watch the sunset but feel the weight of his gaze on you, that unspoken tension still simmering. “Hey Logan?” you enquire, breaking the quiet, “what’s with all the pinecones on your dashboard?”

He lets out a low chuckle, glancing sideways at you, cigar puffing between his lips. “Noticed that, did you?”

“Hard not to,” you reply, teasing. “You’ve got a whole collection. I thought maybe you were some kind of weird tree fruit enthusiast.”

“Not quite,” he quips, tapping the ash from his cigar. “Those... well, they’re gifts.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Gifts?”

“Yeah.” He shifts slightly, looking a little embarrassed, which only made you more curious. “From my cat.”

Your eyes widen, a surprised laugh bubbling up before you can stop it. “Your cat brings you pinecones?”

He nods, taking another slow drag of his cigar. “She’s a stray I took in. Started bringin’ me little ‘presents’—pinecones, rocks, she found a… a, uh, whole stem of Harebells once. Couldn’t bring myself to throw them out, so... they ended up on the dash.”

“That’s... fucking adorable,” you said, biting back a grin. “You’re a big softie underneath everything, aren’t you, Logan?”

He gives you a half-smile, his hazel eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “Guess I’m a bit sentimental.”

You tilt your head, looking at him in a new light, a softer light. “Sentimental, huh? Never would’ve guessed that about you.”

He shrugs, blowing out another stream of smoke, his gaze flicking back toward the mountains. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, angel.”

The way he says your name—soft, low, with just a touch of something deeper—sends a shiver down your spine. You turned slightly, leaning against the railing, your arm brushing his as you did. “So dramatic, Logan. Maybe you should start filling in the gaps, then.”

Logan looks down at you, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that makes your breath catch in your throat. The air between you feels charged, the fading sunlight casting great, sweeping shadows across his face, making everything feel more intimate, more immediate. For a moment, you are sure he is going to say something—something important—but then he just smiles, that quiet, secretive smile that makes you wonder what exactly is going on inside his head.

“You really wanna know?”

You nod, biting your lip. “I do.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you, the fading light, the soft breeze, and the shared space on that old porch. You don’t say anything else, and neither of you move away from the other. Instead, you simply stand there, side by side, feeling the tension thrum between you like something alive, waiting to be acknowledged.

And then, in a quiet voice that is almost drowned out by the sound of the crickets, Logan whispers, “I like this. Being here.” With you, he omits.

Your heart skips a beat, your breath catching in your throat as you turn to look at him. He isn’t smiling, not exactly, but there is something softer in his expression, something that makes your chest feel too tight, your thoughts too scattered.

“I like it too.” you grin, not trusting yourself to say more.

He doesn’t reply, he just nods slightly, taking one last drag from his cigar before putting it out against the heel of his shoe, a practiced movement. And even though he doesn’t say anything else, the way he looks at you in that moment- his eyes dark and warm, his posture more relaxed than before but still stony- says everything you need to hear. And it scares him. It scares the fuck out of him. The whole reason he came out here was to get away from people- if no one knew him and no one wanted to know him, then there was absolutely no chance of people getting hurt because of him. But here you were, fresh faced and pure, weaseling your way into the stone walls he’d built up over so many years.

“I should, uh, I should get goin’, angel.” He sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, closing the solid barrier between you and him.

“Oh,” The word comes out involuntarily, sadness lacing the singular syllable. “No, yeah. Of course. It’s getting late.”

He clears his throat, stepping down the stairs one by one, “Thank you, again, for dinner. It was really good. Don’t put yourself down so much.”

You chuckle, nodding at his praise. You let it drip down you and warm your entire body. It feels good. The moonlight casts a pale glow over him, illuminating his features and encasing him in an angelic glow. God, he’s so fucking beautiful. You don’t want him to go, you want him to stay and light a fire for the two of you, you want him to sit and talk more about his cat and his house and everything else he’d be willing to tell you.

“I left my number on that notepad in your kitchen. Call me if you need somethin’ angel. I’m sure I’ll- uh- I’ll see you around.”

You wave him off as his headlights illuminate the road leading away from your house. As soon as he’s in the confines of his car, and far enough away for you not to hear- he lets out a long, “Fuck!” And another, and one more for good measure. He runs a hand through his hair, a maelstrom of emotions swirl through his chest. He shouldn’t feel this much for someone, not this soon, anyways. But it is the most intoxicating feeling in the world, being near you gives him a high people could only dream of; his head is a mess- his heart more so.

For now, Logan only knows two things for certain: that he absolutely should not see you again, and that he 100% would be seeing you again.

Part 2 >>>

Hi hi! So this is part one to my Lumberjack!Logan series. It's going to be a bit of a slow burn, but please let me know what you think of the story so far!

xoxo, Viv

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transform4u · 3 days

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Working as an intern for the local Democratic Party is hard enough, but it's gotten worse with the Republican candidate for mayor trying hard to recruit me and my friends to work for him. It's annoying that he thinks that I'd work for someone like him, and offensive that he thinks I'm on the same level as the dumb frat bros that work for him. They keep saying they'll help me understand, but I'm not too sure..

Sitting at your computer, you’re immersed in crafting a blog post about Kamala Harris for President, fueled by a mix of caffeine and idealism. The rhythmic clatter of your fingers on the keyboard is your only companion until a new email notification disrupts the flow. You glance at the screen, and there he is: Harlow Binger, the obnoxious Republican mayoral candidate, his waxy smile practically oozing through the pixels.

You try to close the email—click, click, click—but the cursor stubbornly hovers, refusing to cooperate. Defeated, you begin reading the email. Words like “conservative” and “family values” flood your vision, and your eyes glaze over as you fight the urge to roll them. Suddenly, without warning, the national anthem blares from your speakers, and your screen erupts in an eerie red glow.

A chill races down your spine as you feel an odd twitch in your body, a strange sensation as if time itself is rewinding. Your muscles begin to lean out; it’s like you’re shedding layers of stress and doubt and age? The wrinkles around your eyes smooth away, and that familiar anxiety melts into an almost blissful calm. You're regressing back in time, as the years wash away from your face and body. You glance down to see your casual attire morphing into something preppy—polo shirts and crisp khakis start to materialize on your frame.

You feel every muscle in your body shift, groaning with the effort, but instead of pain, there’s an exhilarating sense of rejuvenation. It’s as if each fiber of your being is shedding the weight of years and worries, leaving behind only vitality and promise. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the screen, and you’re struck by the vision before you: a young man radiating effortless charm.

Standing tall and lean, you embody an athletic frame that speaks to countless hours spent on the soccer field and in the gym, where dedication has sculpted your body into something enviable. Your toned abs reveal not just physical commitment but a zest for life that resonates deeply. The contours of your muscles tell a story of resilience and energy, each line a testament to your active lifestyle.

Your face is classically handsome, a harmonious blend of features that draw people in. A chiseled jawline frames your expression, exuding strength and confidence. Warm, inviting eyes sparkle with mischief and kindness, glinting like sunlight on a serene lake. There’s a playful glimmer in your gaze, suggesting you’ve always got a clever quip at the ready, or a light-hearted joke to brighten someone’s day.

A tousled mop of sun-kissed hair frames your face, perfectly styled yet effortlessly casual, as if you’ve just rolled out of bed and into the world. Each strand seems to catch the light, adding to that inviting aura. It’s the kind of look that hints at spontaneity and adventure, an invitation for others to join you on whatever path you choose.

In this moment, you exude a magnetic confidence that draws people in like moths to a flame. Your laughter is infectious, echoing with the joy of living fully and authentically. But it’s not just the looks—it’s the energy. You radiate a blend of earnestness and playful wit, ready with venomous quips and dismissive insights. Your anger and rage is infectious, pulling people into your orbit with magnetic confidence. Deeply rooted in your Christian values, you navigate life with purpose, advocating for your beliefs with a balance of passion and respect.

You’re the guy who volunteers at church on weekends, always ready to lend a hand, and----your head starts to sting and there it is the nauseous feeling you were afraid to let in. What you once thought of as the vile, repulsive stench of Republican ideology begins to permeate every fiber of your being. It sears its insidious tendrils deep into your psyche, burning away any shred of compassion or empathy. Slowly, inexorably, kindness and humanity become alien concepts, replaced by an overwhelming imperative to prove superiority - to feel better than everyone else. Only those pure of heart who uphold tradition and submission to a strict patriarchal hierarchy earn any modicum of dignity and respect. All others are fair game to mock, abuse and annihilate. Faggots and Woke freaks represent a special kind of evil that needs to be excised. Their depraved degeneracy is a poison in the nation's womb that must be flushed out, along with their abortion-loving, gender-bending mothers. These modern feminazis and their sissie boys have no place in sane, civilized society. It is their twisted goal to corrupt the minds and bodies of our children through public schools.

The metallic warmth of the gold cross presses against your chest, pulsating with an all-consuming need. Each word you utter drips with a dark, twisted passion - the desire to spread not only the Word of God, but the tyrannical values of far-right Republicans. Your mind reels with visions of an idyllic Christian home - a beautiful wife draped in her Sunday best, cradling their well-behaved children at the altar. But the images swiftly morph into more carnal fantasies. In your thoughts, you undress a pretty young girl from Bible Study named Clara, her shiny blonde locks cascading over her cherry-pipped lips. Your fingers explore every curve and valley of her voluptuous body, trailing lower to tease her most intimate places. You envision pinning her down on the kitchen table, spreading her trembling thighs wide, and fucking her senseless with the thick rod of your virgin cock. It throbs urgently inside your pants as you recall jerking yourself off to racy tumblr porn, pumping your hard shaft to videos of hot MILFs in skimpy lingerie.

Your dreams are filled with debased lusts that defy reason and morality. The scent of her hair, her skin, it fills your nostrils with each deep breath. In your imagination, you bend Clara over the dinner table, flip up her petite skirt, and plunge deep into her tight teenage holes. The wet squelch of her juices sounds obscenely loud. You grunt and groan as she writhes beneath you, begging to be stretched and stuffed with your uncut manmeat. Her virgin walls clench desperately around the heady intrusion. With Clara's moans echoing through your skull, you rapidly stroke faster and harder.

Your mind swims with vivid memories of standing shoulder to shoulder with your fellow true believers, holding handmade signs bearing the president's name. The smell of beer mingles with the musk of masculine aggression as you cheered his every speech and promise. At every opportunity, you shamelessly ogled the attractive women surrounding you. Their pert breasts and swaying hips stirred something primal deep within you, a hunger to breed, conquer, dominate.

Your eyes roamed greedily over their curves - lingering on the creamy skin above their low-cut dresses. Some caught your leering stares and smirked back invitingly. Oh how you longed to sweep them up in your strong arms and ravage them on the spot, right there in front of your fellow deplorables. To pin them to the ground and claim your manhood's rightful place inside their quivering cunts. But alas, decorum forbade. Still, you couldn't resist grabbing their asses for a good squeeze, chuckling as they squeaked in protest.

Ah Mayor Harlow Binger, the alt-right hero who laid the foundation for Trump's victory! His unshakable commitment to family values and traditional gender roles. You revere him almost religiously, hanging his pictures in your dorm room and scouring the web for quotes to emblazon on your bedposts. Homophobia is more than just a bug in your worldview - it's the defining pillar supporting all other pillars. Anyone who opposes it is simply godless degenerate scum deserving of persecution! This dark fury burns within your heart, a constant rage against the sick, sin-stained liberal lies masquerading as progress.

#gay to straight #male tf #transformation #ask #short tf #Preppy tf #lib to con tf #lib to con

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kana-daydreams · 12 hours

Text

punishment by tickles || gojo | fluff | 1.3k

°*:ᰔ in which gojo threatens to exact his revenge on you by releasing an onslaught of tickling rage.

tags: fem!reader . teen!gojo . established relationship . gojo and reader has a mini-argument

jjk masterlist

A loud smack resonates across the four walls of Tokyo Jujitsu High’s gymnasium. And another succeeds it with the successive thumps of a basketball bouncing until it slows into a roll across its floor.

Suguru and Shoko who sit at the bleachers stare, eyes wide, across at the once-in-a-lifetime scene that had just unfolded in front of them—Suguru being the first to break the loud silence that accompanied it in a burst of chest-quaking laughter.

"It ain’t funny," Satoru grumbles from across the centre of the gym’s ball court, a faint blush on his cheeks and lips curled down into a frown as his hand massages a splotch of red marring the forehead of his once pristine smooth face.

“It kinda is, man.” Suguru chuckles and Shoko agrees with a light giggle of her own much to Satoru’s chagrin.

It’s only when Satoru’s face scrunches into a deeper frown does the pair decide to resign their laughter, raising their hands in promised surrender, to spare him the torment of further tarnishing his pride—and to save him from the downfall of premature ageing.

But Satoru swears when he starts peeling his salty blue glare off them, he hears another sputter of stifled laughter from behind him.

He groans, reluctantly letting it go for now and instead snaps his gaze down at you—his adorable, loving girlfriend who stands in front him with your cheeks puffed, seemingly miffed at the current situation.

"Why?"

The single question echoes his confusion. And bears the hurt of someone who's just been betrayed.

A question Satoru patiently awaits a response to wanting to know why you, his adorable, loving girlfriend had nailed him square in the face with a ball using your unanticipated herculean strength.

You huff, arms crossed. "How was I s'pose to know you had your barrier down?" You reason with a click of your tongue.

Satoru feels the muscle in his right eye twitch. "Well babe,” he starts, tone measured. “My barrier was down 'cause I didn't think my own girlfriend would try to demolish my face with her godzilla-like strength," he argues.

You purse your lips, grimacing at his accusing tone; guilt slowly creeping in and taking form in a sheepish expression on your face.

Today you'd taken on the challenge of besting the untouchable Satoru Gojo in a game of basketball wanting to wipe that high and mighty shit-eating grin off his handsome face. And to ultimately prove to him that he could be outdone, letting your competitive nature get the best of you—even at the expense of your composure when you were miserably losing every game.

But, who knew the cost would be you almost caving your boyfriend’s face in, in what was suppose to be a nice, clean game of ball?

Truthfully and shamefully, you have to admit that your intentions weren’t quite…pure: that you did deliberately aim the ball at your boyfriend, and his face. Something you would never admit. Though, you genuinely weren't aware that his impenetrable force field would be deactivated—and didn’t reckon your throw would be strong enough to bruise the face he called “the epitome of perfection.”

"Stop being such a baby. I wasn’t really tryna hurt you— It was just an accident,” you retort. “Besides... it kinda serves you right.”

Satoru gapes. "Serves me right?” His white brows creases, tone drenched in utter disbelief. “Mind telling me what that even means, sweet girlfriend of mine?"

You fidget a bit where you stand. "For..." your words die on your tongue as you think your reason might be petty, and labelled immature. Nonetheless, after a brief minute, you spit it out wanting to get it off your chest. "For calling me short," you finally say, heat spreading across your face.

An uncomfortable quiet suddenly washes over the room at your answer. The kind of quiet that heralds an impending storm.

“Sa…toru? Everything alright, buddy?” you call, worried you’d stunned your boyfriend mute.

But momentarily, you notice that isn’t the case when you see his lips part to speak, his gaze downcast to the floor.

"You mean to tell me…” Satoru’s words leave him in steady breaths, an eerie shadow seeming to cloud his expression. “...you almost smashed my face ‘cause I called you short?"

You nod, failing to discern the subtle change of his tone that teeters towards the borders of something sinister. "Yeah...?"

Another beat of quiet descends the room.

Then—you notice it.

The violent but slight shudder of Satoru's shoulders, and the corners of his lips slowly tugging up into an almost deranged smile.

His gaze then suddenly snaps up to you, vibrant eyes piercing your own.

"Guess then,” he drags. “Someone needs to be punished." Satoru glides a tongue across his lips, slow and deliberate; a wicked glint in his eyes and a predatory smile that showcases his pearly white canines, spreading across his face.

You swallow, footsteps reversing to take a step back as you lower your gaze down at his fingers which flexes with devious intent—a tell-tale sign of his planned torture.

"S-Satoru?...Babe?" Your voice quivers his name. "Y'know, w-we can talk this out right. There’s no need to resolve things like this.” You take another step back as he takes a menacing step forward.

"Talk?" He chuckles darkly, a heart-throbbing melody that gives way for a river of warmth to involuntarily course throughout your entire body. He then tuts and coos, "Aww baby, it's too late to talk now. Though, gotta warn you—" he takes another threatening step forward and like routine, you mimic it with a step back. "You better pray, I don't catch you.

“S-Satoru, wait. I-I didn’t mean to do it. Please, I—waittt !” You lurch back with a squeak, eyes seemingly bulging out of their sockets when Satoru leaps toward you in a sprint.

You instantly whirl around, bolting in the opposite direction, releasing a pleading cry for Shoko and Suguru to intervene.

However, the two remain impartial to the entire situation that unfolds, leaving you to fend for yourself, and opting instead to send their good luck wishes by a gesture of their raised thumbs.

"You bitches! I'll remember this!” you scream curses at them as Satoru continues to hound after you in a chase that prolongs for almost half an hour.

A chase that you very well know could have ended in an instant if Satoru didn’t like playing with his food, savouring every minute of the chase, before aiming for the kill.

It’s only when Shoko shouts “better hurry this up guys, got a minute left!” do you find yourself, in the blink of an eye, with you back pressed flush against the wall as Satoru's towering frame stalks closer, and closer towards you. Every route for an escape, blocked.

Your eyes clench shut, preparing.

Preparing for the onslaught of tickles you were about to be subjected to.

Momentarily, you feel Satoru’s presence when it nears you. Feel his electric warmth that radiates off his skin and seeps into your own. And breathe in the tantalising musky scent of him that floods your nose.

But, the anticipated feeling of fingers against your tummy never comes.

Instead, you feel the accustomed sensation of a soft pair lips planting themselves against your own.

"Mmm, caught ya." A finger boops your nose and you crack an eye open to meet Satoru's face an inch away from your own, a boyish wide smile adorning his face.

Your own face wrinkles in confusion; an expression that Satoru finds adorable and at the same time makes him explode with laughter.

"I hate you, you know that," you mumble with a frown, and Satoru acknowledges your words with a soft hum.

A lull falls between you two as your features then morph into a sheepish look, face gradually warming with guilt. "...I’m sorry for, y'know, hitting you with a ball. In the face."

Satoru smiles a wide smile that lights up his ice-blue eyes. "I know, baby. I know.” He hooks a finger under your chin, face drawing closer to yours. “And I'm sorry for calling you short," he says before capturing your lips in a tender kiss.

#gojo satoru #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #satoru x y/n

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winxanity-ii · 3 days

Text

IT'S ME, MARIO!

ship: itadori x fem!reader warnings: non-explicit word count: 1.7k a/n: idc idc idc, yuji would definetly make a fool of himself if he knew you were nervous

★·.·´🇯‌🇺‌🇯‌🇺‌🇹‌🇸‌🇺‌ 🇰‌🇦‌🇮‌🇸‌🇪‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

Since living on campus, you'd adjusted to being on your own. It had been… interesting, to say the least.

Moving from the comfort of your hometown, where you knew everyone and everyone knew you, to a sprawling university was like stepping into another world.

But you'd managed. Slowly but surely, you'd found your rhythm.

You'd been pushing yourself to attend those countless events and programs that the campus threw at you, dipping your toes into the waters of socializing at your own pace.

Sometimes, it was easier to just be a face in the crowd, observing from the sidelines, taking mental notes of how people interacted, what made them tick.

You'd practiced small talk like it was an art form—commenting on the weather, complimenting someone’s shirt, asking what their major was—and for the most part, you'd gotten better at it.

It was a slow process, but you were learning to navigate the chaotic dance of college life.

Currently, you were sitting in your honors open communication class, trying to remember how to breathe without making it seem like you were hyperventilating.

The classroom, with its cozy size of about ten people, should have felt intimate, manageable. But instead, it felt like a pressure cooker. Every word, every glance, every single goddamn breath felt magnified.

You were staring blankly at the front of the room as your classmate, Akane, wrapped up her presentation on how to cook a traditional Japanese breakfast: tamagoyaki, miso soup, grilled fish, rice, and even a beautiful spread of pickled vegetables.

It sounded extravagant, yet she made it look so simple.

Probably because she didn't have to wrestle with the invisible, clawing beast of anxiety like you did every time you so much as thought about public speaking.

Your palms were sweaty, knees weak—okay, maybe not that dramatic, but still. You were jittery and nervous, your pulse a steady drum in your ears because you were up next. And Akane, bless her, was finishing up with a flourish, her smile bright and confident.

You tried to take a deep breath, feeling your throat tighten. Yuji, sitting right next to you, leaned over slightly, his shoulder brushing yours, and whispered, "Hey, you okay?"

You managed a stiff nod, mumbling out a barely audible, "Yeah." But you didn’t dare look at him, because you knew the concern in his eyes would undo you. Instead, you stared hard at the scratched-up desk in front of you, willing yourself not to freak out.

Yuji knew about your anxiety. You'd confided in him more than once, spilling the mess of thoughts that spiraled in your head before you had to speak in front of people.

How your heart raced, your mouth went dry, your hands shook. How no matter how much you prepared, how many times you practiced, your body still froze up.

It was like your brain and body were in this weird, dysfunctional relationship where neither of them wanted to cooperate.

"L/N-chan?" Your professor, Nitta Akari, said your name with that polite, expectant tone that sent another jolt of panic through you.

You opened your mouth, but before you could make any sound that resembled a response, Yuji spoke up.

"Sorry, teach, but is it alright if I go first? I'm a little shy…" His voice was as smooth and casual as ever, and you turned to look at him, utterly confused.

What the hell?

Nitta-sensei blinked but nodded, clearly caught off guard. "Uh, sure, Itadori-kun. Go ahead."

Yuji stood, giving you a quick wink as he made his way to the front of the room. You were still processing what just happened when he started speaking, but instead of launching into the well-thought-out paper on global warming you helped him prepare, he began with: "Mario, the Idea vs. Mario, the Man."

You blinked. Once. Twice.

What the fuck?

"Everyone knows Mario is cool as fuck. But who knows what he’s thinking? Who knows why he crushes turtles? And why do we think about him as fondly as we think of the mythical (nonexistent?) Dr. Pepper? Perchance…"

You couldn't even react properly because he was already going off, delivering the opening lines with this bizarre mixture of enthusiasm and conviction, as if he was genuinely pondering the existential meaning of a pixelated plumber's life.

Everyone in the room, including Nitta-sensei, was staring at him with varying degrees of confusion.

There was a couple of snickers, and you saw one of your classmates, Yuki, already recording this on her phone, probably for TikTok.

Yuji, however, was undeterred, fully committing to the bit as he paced slightly, gesturing with his hands like he was giving a TED Talk. "Why does he crush turtles? Is it because he's saving the princess? Or is it because he's trying to save himself from his own internal void? Is it about the princess or the chase?"

You were sitting there, mouth slightly agape, because this was not what you spent hours helping him research. You'd spent countless nights, coffee-fueled and sleep-deprived, going over statistics and climate change projections, not pondering Mario’s deep-seated motivations for stomping on Goombas.

"And those mushrooms. Seriously, who decided that eating weird fungi would make you bigger? What kind of metaphorical bullshit is that? Some kind of growth narrative, maybe? Mario, the eternal underdog—"

"—Itadori-kun," Nitta-sensei interrupted, her voice carrying that unmistakable tone of an adult who's trying very hard to stay patient. Her eyebrow was twitching ever so slightly, and you could almost hear her internal scream as she tried to make sense of whatever the hell Yuji was talking about. "What point are you trying to make with this?"

Yuji blinked, completely unbothered, like he'd only just noticed he'd wandered off into another dimension of thought. "I dunno, but I think…" he trailed off, his eyes flickering around the room like he was looking for the answer somewhere in the air.

It was almost endearing, the way he tilted his head like a confused puppy, his lips pursed as if deep in thought.

There was a pregnant pause, the kind that stretched on just long enough to become uncomfortable. Nitta-sensei exhaled, the sound barely restrained, and she muttered his name again, "Itadori-kun." There was a warning there, a gentle push for him to get back on track, but you could tell her patience was wearing thin.

And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a rubber band stretched too far.

You knew you should let him flounder in his awkwardness, let him take the hit because, well, he put himself in this situation. But instead, you heard yourself saying, "I think Itadori-kun is trying to say that Mario isn't just a game character. He's a symbol of all the pointless shit we chase in life, only to find out the reward wasn't even in the castle—it was in the journey..." The words tumbled out in a rush, your voice wobbling slightly, and you felt the eyes of the entire class on you.

There was a beat of silence, then another, before Yuji broke into a grin, his face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yup! That's what I was trying to say!" He clapped his hands together, looking almost proud, and you couldn't help but feel a little heat rise to your cheeks.

How does he make everything sound so simple, so obvious?

Nitta-sensei just sighed, rubbing her forehead like she was trying to ward off a headache. She looked at Yuji, then at you, then back at Yuji, her expression caught between exasperation and something almost like amusement. "Alright, thank you, Itadori-kun," she said finally, her voice dry. "For that… unique interpretation."

She waved a hand, clearly done with the whole ordeal. You could see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, like she was trying not to laugh, and it made you feel a tiny bit better.

At least she wasn't mad.

Just as she opened her mouth again, probably to call your name, the bell rang, loud and obnoxious and utterly glorious. You nearly sagged in relief, your muscles unwinding all at once.

The class collectively began to shuffle, packing up their things with the sluggish enthusiasm of students who had made it through yet another class.

Nitta-sensei sighed again, louder this time, and you almost felt bad for her. "Those of you who didn't present today will need to submit a recording since we spent too much time on…" She gestured vaguely at Yuji, who grinned sheepishly, "…this."

You let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, relief flooding through you as you started packing up your things, all the tension and worry melting away like snow in the spring sun.

You glanced at Yuji, who was already waiting for you by the door, his bag slung over one shoulder, looking like he'd just casually won the lottery.

As you walked over, you couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What the hell was that, Yuji? Why didn't you read the presentation we practiced?"

He shrugged, giving you a lopsided grin. "I saw you were nervous, and I figured if I made a fool of myself first, maybe you wouldn't be so worried. You know, like, break the ice or something."

Your heart gave a little flip at that, and you couldn’t help the small, soft smile that tugged at your lips. He'd always been like this since you met him—considerate in his own goofy, unpredictable way. "Thank you, Yuji..." you murmured, feeling your face heat up a bit, the corners of your mouth curling up despite yourself. "Seriously, that was… really sweet."

Yuji beamed at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "No problem! I like being there for you, you'd do the same for me."

You giggled, the tension easing out of your shoulders as you nodded. "Alright, how about I buy you lunch at The Den to fully show my appreciation. Deal?"

"Deal!" He practically bounced on his feet, his energy infectious, as he reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours in a warm, comfortable grip.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but his touch was gentle and familiar, and you found yourself relaxing, your hand fitting perfectly in his.

"Come on, I'm craving those teriyaki burgers!" he said, already pulling you into the hallway, the two of you blending into the sea of students rushing off to their next classes.

You couldn't help but shake your head, a fond smile playing on your lips as you let him drag you along, your heart feeling a little lighter, your worries a little less daunting.

Maybe public speaking wasn't your thing, but having someone like Yuji by your side, you figured you'll be just fine.

A/N: hahaha i just couldn't help myself after seeing this meme going around online...

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urbabycowboy · 9 hours

Text

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 ᝰ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; where the preachers daughter has an erotic experience with someone she shouldn’t have.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; public sex, pet names (baby, pretty girl), 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓; oral (r!recieving), fingering, climax, virgin!r

𝐬𝐡𝐞; i suck at writing smut so bear with me.

it was a warm summer afternoon as you were walking home from a youth event at your church, a bible clutched tight to your chest. the sun shone brightly, and the birds sang heavenly in the trees, matching your own light and carefree spirit.

as you turned the corner, you ran into someone you’ve tried to avoid majority of your life. chris sturniolo. he exuded confidence and charm that drew people to him. women fell at his feet and were tricked by his smooth talk and good looks.

the two of you collided, causing you to stumble back. “oh my, i am so sorry!” you exclaimed, your accent declared itself due to the embarrassment of this interaction.

chris laughed, the sound deep and captivating. “it’s okay baby, here let me get that.” he motioned towards the large, pink bible that had fell previously. his fingers briefly brushed yours as he placed the bible back in your hands, sending a tingle up your small spine.

this tingle came significant in your body as you thanked him and your heart started to beat faster than it ever had. there was something so mysterious about him but you knew you had to stay away.

“let me walk you home,” chris offered, falling into step beside you. “it’s not safe for a pretty girl like yourself to be all alone.”

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

you couldn’t refuse, and as y’all walked, conversation sparked. chris asked you about your life, dreams, and hopes. he listened intently, his dark eyes fixed on you intently.

eventually, the two of you were stood at your front gate. “thank you for your help,” you said, blushing at this encounter as a whole.

he smiled, and his eyes seemed to smolder with an unspoken desire. “anytime, y/n. i loved getting to know you, pretty girl.”

as he turned to leave, you felt an unknown boldness wash over you. “would you like to come in for lemonade? my father won’t be home for a while.”

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

a slow, wicked grin spread across chris’ face as your heart skipped a beat. “of course, darlin’.”

they say on the the porch swing, sipping lemonade, and continued their conversation. you felt yourself relaxing in chris’ presence, drawn to the relentless charm you swore you hated.

as the sky turned to a deep violet, chris set his glass down and turned to face you, his hand gracing your knee. “you know, y/n, you’re not like these other girls. there’s something special about you.” this sentence alone made your heart skip a beat as he moved closer and closer to you with each passing moment.

“i’ve never really thought of myself as special.” you admitted to him.

chris leaned closer, his warm breath fanning softly against your cheek. “you should. you’re beautiful, y/n. and i can see that desire in your eyes. you want to experience life, don’t you?”

your breath caught in your throat as you nodded, unable to speak. you had never felt such a strong pull towards anyone before, and it was both exciting and scary.

his fingers gently tilted your chin up while his thumb brushed your lower lip. “let me show you” he murmured, his voice a husky whisper. without another word, his lips began to attack yours in this bitter moment.

as the kiss deepened, he pulled you closer, his tongue seeking entrance, which earned a moan from you. chris’ hands slowly started to move down your body; ending below your ass. you gasp at this action.

the dainty cross worn in your neck was now just an accessory of your faith in this moment.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

“lie back” chris muttered in between kisses, shifting his attention towards your neck. you let out a breathy sigh as he peppered your neck with wet and sloppy kisses. when he found your sweet spot, your breath hitched. this small action earned a smirk from chris as he abused that spot; nibbling and biting at your skin. you but your lip to suppress a loud whimper you desperately wanted to let out.

eventually, one of his hands found your breast, cupping it gently. his thumb rubbed over your clothed nipple and you shivered. within a second or two, your top was off and his mouth was attached to it. your body jolts when you feel his tongue circling your hardened nipple; the fabric between your legs getting damp at his touch.

he gives the same attention as before to your other nipple, his scent invading your mind and body. ending with a few small kisses, he pulls away and looks into your eyes.

“you sure you want this?” he asks, his eyes never leaving yours. every part of you wanted and needed this but you knew you shouldn’t. his big brown eyes stared you down, analyzing your face and you just couldn’t say no.

so you nodded in response and his eyes lit up as he kissed his way down your body. once he was in front of where you needed him most, he slowly spread your legs apart.

he lifted up your skirt so that it was now laying in your exposed stomach. his thumb rubbed small circles on top of your thigh as he kissed your inner thigh. making his way closer and closer to your heat.

your body tingled in anticipation as chris was taking his precious time.

“chris” you whined. chris chuckled.

“i want you to enjoy this baby. just be patient.” he said in a low tone; almost was a whisper. his lips were grazed the edge of your panties, your body involuntarily jerking. chris smirked against you.

“so sensitive” he says before finally sliding off your underwear. your body started to heat up as chris just stared at your body in front of him. your mind racing with a thousand thoughts but they were abruptly silenced when you felt his tongue on your entrance.

his motions sped up in a quick second and your hand could be found in his hair, gripping it tightly the quicker he went.

“fuck” chris groaned. your hand in his hair made something grow beneath him which encouraged him to quicken the pace even more. your back arched out of its place on the wooden swing whilst your breath got heavier and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

he increased the pressure on his tongue; to which your moans heightened in sound and pitch. the feeling was just too good. you started to unintentionally squirm away from chris’ mouth the which he gripped your thighs to hold you in place. “don’t run away” he coos. as he scooted closer to your dripping cunt, he plunged his middle finger deep into it. this action caused you to yelp.

his finger moved swiftly in and out of your entrance as he flicked at you bud with his tongue. your hips bucked as all these feeling overstimulated you in the best way possible.

his finger curled within you against your g-spot which earned a plethora of moans from you.

eventually, chris added a second finger too. the noises from chris fucking you filled the air outside. chris gripped your left thigh as a way to keep your squirming in check.

your mind was completely blank as you pulsated with pleasure. you couldn’t stop shuddering. chris could tell by the way that you were clenching around your fingers that you were getting close; but you couldn’t tell that. he quickened his motions as he leaned up to give you a kiss, to which you couldn’t return it.

as you struggled to kiss back, your body shook intensely. “let it out” chris whispered into your ear.

after a few seconds, your body stopped. chris pulled his hand out only to reveal the mess you made on his fingers.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #zi’angel🕊️

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quinnyundertow · 1 day

Text

The Cult Leader’s Quarry

Chapter 5

Beautiful Bitchy Face

You should have known that something was going to go terribly wrong when you were enjoying yourself a little too much on your date. After his first glass of whiskey Nanami seemed to unwind a little bit and let down his guard. His fingers moving to roll up the sleeves of his navy dress shirt. The corded muscle of his forearms distracting you from whatever it was he was saying. The two of you are enjoying the time alone at the table discussing novels now as Gojo and Zoe move with the crowd on the packed dance floor.

Nanami’s deep honeyed voice calls your name again to get your attention. You feel yourself flush as you look up quickly. “I’m sorry, what was that?” You use your distraction as an excuse to get a little closer as if you are having trouble hearing. Your hand lightly rests on his bicep as you lean towards him.

He glances down to where your smaller hand gently lays on his arm. Butterflies of giddiness he isn’t used to feeling flutter inside him. The tips of his ears and high cheekbones are tinted red from a pleasurable mix of excitement and embarrassment. He can’t remember the last time he felt his heart race like this for a positive reason. Maybe it never has. You have a lot in common so far and that was the last thing he was expecting from a date Gojo had set up.

Taking your movement into his space as a good sign he leans a little closer. Nanami’s always been so busy chasing curses that he hasn’t ever taken the time to chase skirts. His sensual lips are moving by your ear. “I asked if I could buy you another mojito?”

A happy shiver rolls down your spine as you nod, “I’d like that.” He’s close enough to you now that you can smell his heavenly mixture of man, sandalwood, spice and whiskey. He looks reluctant to move away as he gestures for another round from a nearby waitress.

You leave your hand on his arm lightly. You’re relishing in the difference in textures; the crisp dress shirt, his light masculine blonde arm hair and the warmth of his pale skin beneath your fingers.

From the corner of your eye you see someone casually slip into the empty seat across from Nanami. The new voice being smooth and sensual with a hint of warning as they address your date, “Well, isn’t this nice? When Satoru claimed he had found a replacement for me this evening I didn’t imagine it would be the ever stoic Nanami, Kento.”

You can sense something is wrong long before your vision can see it. Nanami’s relaxed posture tightens up and exudes hostility immediately in response to the uninvited guest. You’re turning in confusion, your gaze landing on a man with closed eyes and a Cheshire smile. It’s only when he opens his eyes and you see the dangerous glint within that you register this isn’t just a random stranger. It’s him. He's so staggeringly beautiful it’s hard to look at him. His features, so prettily crafted, make him appear like a fallen angel. His raven hair is pulled into a messy bun with only a small bit of bangs resting to cradle his face. He’s wearing the same gauges as the last two times you ran into one another. The only difference now is several more piercings on both ears and onyx metal snakebite piercings that pull your gaze down to his lips.

If it wasn’t for his, better than you posture and tone of voice, you might have thought it was a different person entirely. The iconic monk robes are gone. His black button up dress shirt is worn casually. The fabric pulls tauntingly over his muscular chest and arms. The top two buttons undone so a bit of his chest is exposed. He isn’t looking at you. In fact he is refusing to acknowledge your existence to the point where he’s actively ignoring you.

The silence around the table drags as Nanami’s jaw flexes in agitation, “Suguru Geto.” He spits the name out like it’s a curse.

Geto raises a wry brow in response, “How formal.”

The waitress comes by the table carrying the two fresh drinks for you and Nanami. She misses the hostile atmosphere and greets your newest party member happily, “Good evening, can I get you anything from the bar?”

Before Geto can respond Nanami is frowning deeply, “No, he was just leaving.”

Tilting his head with a hum, Geto asserts, “Actually, I think I’ll stay for a while. Let me get what he’s having.”

“Right away.” The young lady chirps with a flirty wink before disappearing back into the throng of bodies.

Geto’s lip curls in disgust at her retreating form. “I don’t know how you can stand to be surrounded by all this monkey stench.” His eyes roam the room with disdain.

Your stomach dropped in panic when the man you now know is named Suguru Geto states his intention to stay. You try to rein in your fear, pulse pounding in your ears. Your fingers are turning white and tightening on Nanami’s arm. It’s only now that Nanami seems to notice your fearful expression. His hand moves to hold the back of the stool you are seated in. An effortless tug of the metal frame moves you so you're pulled slightly behind his own seated form.

The gesture makes you feel a little safer but Geto just laughs in response. “You don’t have to be so cold, Nanami. I have no problem with you.”

You can hear Nanami’s teeth practically grinding in irritation, “I can’t say I feel the same.” His tone is short and to the point. Your vision tracks around the crowded room. No Zoe or Gojo present. Nanami continues, “There are orders to bring you into custody, if encountered, dead or alive.”

Geto doesn’t look particularly surprised or even interested at this news. “Is that so? Do you think you can manage it?”

“No, I’m not an idiot.” The tone Nanami uses sounds bitter and resigned. You had no clue what they are talking about. Is Nanami a police officer? You wouldn’t be surprised if this Suguru Geto is a wanted criminal.

Geto stretches nonchalantly, several silver rings inlaid with black diamonds flash in the low lighting. The waitress brings Geto’s drink over, her posture excited to have an excuse to interact with the handsome man once more, “So what brings-.”

The girl barely gets three words out when without so much as a glance Geto does a rude shooing motion with his hand. The woman draws back in surprise at the attitude but rolls her eyes before turning away.

“Thank you!” You call after her retreating form, the placating words coming out of your mouth before you consider if they should.

Only at that do Geto’s eyes lazily move from Nanami’s gaze to your own. He scrutinizes you for a moment. His gaze is so intense that it feels like he’s pulling you into his coal shaded orbs. There’s something strange in his expression. The emotion shown is so brief that you would later think you had only imagined it; a sliver of wistfulness, longing, maybe even regret. But as soon as it came the vulnerability was gone. His eyes return to Nanami and he gives that closed eye grin. His hand disappears into his pants pocket only to emerge with some sort of small bottle of disinfecting spray. He sprays himself a few times as Nanami stares at him in confusion.

“It’s the only thing that helps with the monkey stench.” Geto replies nonchalantly as Nanami’s face shows incredulity.

The muscle in Nanami’s jaw ticks, “I thought it was an exaggeration, but you really did go insane.”

“No, I simply began to understand my worth. You’d do well to learn your own as well.” He cuts a glance at you, his lip curling in genuine revulsion, “Then you won’t lower yourself to dating something so beneath you.”

You have had enough. This crazy ass cult leader didn’t even know the first thing about you and he’s just smiling away as he insults you to your face. Your fingers tighten against the drink in your hand. The glass perspiring and wetting your fingers in the warm room. It almost feels like time is moving in slow motion as you jerk your arm forward and watch with satisfaction as the alcohol inside it sloshes over the rim and across the table. The action was so unexpected, so outside of any response you’ve had thus far, that he didn’t see it coming until it splattered across his beautiful bitchy face. The table is absolutely silent as the liquid drips down his nose and mouth. One or two ice cubes slide into his shirt as they fall to the floor.

Your aim was uncharacteristically spot on. Nanami has a look of horror on his face as he moves to stand between you and the now drenched curse user. Geto’s eyes are still closed when the deathly quiet is shattered by hysterical laughter from none other than Satoru Gojo. Of course he and Zoe chose now of all moments to emerge from the dance floor.

You’re tempted to make a break for it but find yourself frozen in place as the man you just soaked turns to meet your eyes. Finding your courage you stand and lean around Nanami to address this Suguru Geto, “I don’t know who the hell you think you are but I’m done taking shit from some pretty boy with a God complex! Get over yourself, you're not better than anyone else in here. If anything you’re worse because you survive by leeching off of the same people you look down on. What a pathetic existence that is.”

You expect rage, for him to stand up and try to strike you. Instead he’s staring at you with a mix of malice and amusement. His smile is stretched into almost a grimace, his cheek twitching. Geto’s tone is clipped when he finally speaks, “Are you quite finished?” You don’t respond but your hand lowering to place the glass back on the table is answer enough for him. He sounds mocking and condescending as he answers his own query, “That’s what I thought.” He pauses briefly, his head tilting slightly as he watches you. It reminds you of the way a snake watches its prey before it strikes. “You’re feeling very brave today. Hiding behind a sorcerer's back.”

Your brow furrows in confusion at him calling Nanami a sorcerer. This guy really is crazy. You step to the side, moving closer to Zoe and Gojo. Your intent, more importantly, is to move out from behind Nanami’s protective shadow. Your visage is challenging as you tilt your head up in defiance.

At some point Gojo had stopped laughing. The sounds of the club are interrupted by a different laugh this time. Geto barks out a singular sharp “Ha!” He’s starting to look manic now. His pupils dilating as he fixes you with a crooked grin. “You’ll do well to remember this moment when you are sobbing for mercy later.”

He says the threat so casually that you can’t help but question if you heard him correctly. The response of those around you lets you know you did. Gojo is stepping forward to speak to Geto as Nanami ushers both you and Zoe into the crowd and towards the nearest exit.

Zoe looks panicked when you meet her eyes. She’s peering around Nanami and cycling between Geto and Gojo at the table. Her vision finally landing on you as the three of you quickly leave. Her free hand grabs on to your own. Not to pull you back or make you stop but to give reassurance. She’s leaning forward, her voice an urgent whisper, “What the hell is going on? Are you okay?”

You glance at her quickly before talking over your shoulder. “I am so fucked.”

Zoe looks confused, glancing back one last time at the two gorgeous men they left behind. She can’t help but feel a shiver go down her spine at the way the alternative looking guy is staring you down. “I’m assuming this is not a good fuck?”

“This is really not the time.” You whine. Your breath catches in your throat as Nanami’s hand rests on your lower back and pulls you closer to his side as you pass a particularly rowdy group of drunks. Zoe trails close behind, essentially walking in the wake of people Nanami leaves. Her eyebrows wiggle with a barely concealed snicker seeing you flush so hard up against the man’s massive pectorals.

A rush of cool air and the muffling of music lets you know the moment you appear outside the club. Your group moves over to the side so you don’t obstruct the entrance as you look up at Nanami a little guiltily. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like- “.

You’re momentarily stunned when the stoic man starts laughing. He raises a hand and clears his throat to try and mask the sudden outburst. “You really shouldn’t have.” His tone is chiding but there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “That said, I was about to reach over the table and make a bigger scene than you did.” He’s looking down at Zoe, an apology ready, “I’m sorry I whisked you out of there so fast as well.”

The corner of Zoe’s mouth twitches as she tries to hold back giggles. Hand fluttering, she waves him off while stepping away from you two, “Don’t mind me. I’m just a fly on the wall. A cigarette butt on a street corner.” She was definitely still buzzed despite the excitement earlier. As she steps further away and out of Nanami’s line of sight she flashes you a giddy thumbs up that has you hold back a fit of laughter. You are definitely not sober either.

Nanami’s glancing behind him at the club his face pinched in concern, “I’m not worried about Gojo’s well being but I should get back in there for damage control.” He frowns at you for a moment before asking, “How were you ladies planning on getting home?”

You glance in the general direction of the metro station, “We’re just taking the train.”

“Home?!” Zoe’s loud interruption is followed by the sound of her hand slapping her mouth shut. “Ignore me, I’m just a leaf on a tree. A-a cricket on a- shit..” She mumbling out some other crackpot analogies as Nanami turns back towards you.

“I’m really not a fan of not walking a date home after. Can I call you a car?”

It’s your turn to wave him away. Despite the chaos of the evening your blind date had been an unexpectedly pleasant experience. “No, we’re fine. We take the train home from this station after work everyday.”

Zoe leans forward talking to no one in particular, “A ride home would be nice.” You’re giving her a reproachful look as she turns her face away so as not to see it.

Nanami already has the phone to his ear by the time you turn back to insist you’re fine. “Yes, I’m sending my location. I need a driver to take two ladies home.” The person on the other line must have asked something uncomfortable as Nanami’s cheeks turn crimson. His fingers fiddling with his tie awkwardly, “You’ll have to take it up with Gojo. He’s the one who- right. Thank you.” Nanami hangs up the phone without further comment. His warm hazel eyes meet yours for a moment as he clears his throat, “I need to get back in there. Do you- Can we exchange numbers?”

You can’t help the giddy feeling that races through you at the thought of a prospective second date. You’re smiling from ear to ear as you fish your phone out of your purse. “Sure, I’d like that.”

He nods, opening his contacts and passing the phone over while you do the same. He clears his throat again as he finishes typing and holds your phone back to you. “If anything unusual or strange happens, you shouldn’t hesitate to reach out.”

Your stomach drops, the giddiness extinguishing. “Oh, right. Okay then.” What was with these guys and referencing something strange. What even qualifies as something strange?

All hope for a second date flies out the window as the man bows his head to you and Zoe before going back inside the club.

Zoe walks up to stand beside you. “Sooo, you wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Heart racing, blood pumping, nerves alight and senses tingling. His erection is straining against his suit pants; his thigh tacky with precum. It’s a little past two am. The parking lot is dark and full of vehicles. His own exorbitantly expensive sports car looks out of place in this middle class area. He doesn’t bother to lock it. One of his curses lazes in front of it, its directive to kill anyone who tries to tamper with the luxury vehicle.

Suguru’s footsteps echo off the pavement as he approaches your apartment complex. Even after going into the mens room at the club and washing his face off, he still feels that stickiness on him from where your drink had landed. His shirt, no longer damp, still reeks of booze and lime. His cock twitches painfully in his pants just thinking about the way you attempted to bare your fangs at him. You reminded him of a feral kitten; simply adorable and harmless as you tried to draw blood.

If Satoru hadn’t been there tonight he might have lost control at the bar. He had found you almost immediately in the crowd when he entered. His eyes drawn to your presence. You had your hands all over a man. It hadn’t even registered immediately to him that it was Nanami leaning into you; speaking in your ear as you laughed gaily. Of course Satoru would drag another sorcerer into this. It was all just one big game to his white haired foolish friend.

Fucking Satoru and his medlsome nature. If he hadn’t interfered Suguru would have bent you over the table in front of everyone. Taken his belt to your ass right there until you viscerally understood that your bratty attitude would not be tolerated. No, he should thank Satoru. He would have had to kill everyone in that club after they saw you exposed and writhing beneath him. Satoru’s presence had forced his rage into a simmer, turning the heat down from that roiling boil you left inside him.

Your apartment door stands only feet in front of him now. He resists the urge to break the hinges with a powerful kick. The curse he summons simply turns the lock from the inside. The door slowly creaks open to invite him in. It’s dark. If not for the artificial city lights outside your window it would be pitch black inside. Suguru reaches out a hand with black painted nails to shut the door after him. The bolt lock slowly clicking into place. He doesn’t want to be interrupted tonight.

The front door opens up to your kitchen. He considers leaving your present on the counter like he originally intended. But you didn't really deserve it right now. Maybe he’d change his mind after he was done with you. Right now he needs you to understand your position on his modified food chain.

Suguru’s breath is picking up as he passes through your kitchen and makes his way down the hall to your bedroom. He’s excited, ecstatic, aroused. He likes the unexpected fight you showed him this evening. He wants to take his time breaking it out of you. His fingers levitate over your bedroom door knob for a moment before he goes to swing it open.

Satoru Gojo and Nanami Kento stand outside on top of an apartment complex adjacent to the one you’re asleep in. The night is chilly but neither man seems to notice as they wait to see if Suguru Geto will show himself. Nanami is more than a little irritated at his snowy haired colleague and Gojo is aware and simply doesn’t care right now. The mood is tense and only after several hours have passed and the lights inside turn off does Nanami finally speak. “Why haven’t you put him down yet?”

Gojo turns to look at Nanami, the blindfold not impairing his vision at all. “Put him down? He’s not a damn dog.” Gojo tries to mask the irritation in his tone but knows he’s unsuccessful. He comes across as sarcastic and agitated.

Nanami turns to meet his gaze head on. He’s never been one to shy away from confrontation. Especially when he feels like it concerns something ethical. “You’re right. A dog would do a hell of a lot less damage.”

Gojo turns away without comment. It’s not until Nanami starts to think he’s going to be ignored that Gojo finally breaks the stalemate. “You went to school with him too. Even if you didn’t like him. How can you just say something like that?”

Crossing his arms, Nanami's lips turn down into a deep frown. “Gojo, he’s a murderer.”

Gojo spins on the slightly shorter man, his canines glittering as he bites out, “So am I and so are you!” His tone is vicious.

Nanami’s response is firm. “It’s not the same thing and you know it. We’ve killed curse users or people turned into curses. We don’t kill innocent people.”

A sarcastic laugh leaves Gojo’s throat, “We don’t know if the people Suguru is killing are innocent.”

“He killed everyone in a village, surely they were all not guilty of crimes deserving death. Gojo, he killed his parents.”

Gojo doesn’t want to hear this. He can’t ignore the atrocities Suguru has committed when Nanami keeps shoving them in his face. The next line he speaks is under his breath like he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying, “Someone else can do it.”

Nanami feels his temper explode, “Like hell they can!” He’s grabbing Gojo by the shoulders and shaking him violently. The fact that Gojo is allowing it is lost on Nanami in the moment. “You know damn well you’re the only one capable of beating him in a fight! It’s your responsibility as the strongest to-.”

Gojo gives a sarcastic chuckle that catches Nanami off guard, “Yeah, well you know what Nanami? I never asked to be the strongest! I never asked to be seen as a weapon; to be used at society’s whim. I’m a human fucking being with feelings of my own. So you wanna know when am I going to “put down” my best and only friend? When I fucking feel like it!”

Gojo activates his infinity and Nanami feels his grip on the man in front of him release. Without another word Gojo sits down facing the apartment complex’s parking lot. A long gap of time passes in silence. Both men rehashing in their heads the words they said. Eventually, Nanami lets out a deep breath. He’s not about to apologize for anything he’s said and neither is Gojo but at least they know where each other is coming from whether it’s right, wrong, or somewhere in between.

Nanami sinks down to sit next to Gojo. His posture is less aggressive as he genuinely tries to understand this evening, “At least tell me why all this.” He gestures around him at the apartment complex, his implication clearly the involvement of the two non-sorcerer girls. “You dragged me into this and I at least deserve the answer to that.”

A long moment goes by before Gojo finally speaks. His tone defeated, “That mask he wears. That smile. The only time I’ve seen it slip since he left was when it involved the girl you went out with.”

Chapter 4

#jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #ao3 fanfic #yandere suguru geto #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto x reader #reader #reader x nanami kento #heed the tw #tw noncon #tw stalking

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t43andbooks · 2 days

Text

Pairing: Chuuya Nakahara x reader

Wc: 1.3k

Content: implied/slight smut, dom reader.

Note: might be pretty fast paced or ooc sorry 😞😞🙇🏽‍♀️ I try my best

————

You were terribly stressed—you had just gotten fired, someone had caused an entire rumor, that eventually reached the higher ups, to get you out. You desperately needed to take your mind off of things.

Walking on the sidewalk illuminated by the broken streetlights that flickered from time to time, you stumbled across some kind of jazz club. You could tell it was bustling, even from outside, you had never been to one, but you were feeling brave so you headed over.

Walking in, there were warm lights and soft music playing in the background, serving quite the intimate atmosphere. You head over to the bar, making sure to take a seat where people had mingled away from. You’d rather try to drink your mind away than talk to anybody here.

You had given the bartender your order and leaned your cheek against your palm as you waited patiently. You chose something random, so you’d hope it’d be good.

You were stuck in your own head until you heard the creak of a chair next to you, turning your head and glancing over, you noticed it was a very fashionably dressed man that had decided to take a seat.

As soon as he made himself comfortable the bartender had came over and dropped off your drink. He spoke, in a smoky tone, slightly slurred.

“first time?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.. how’d you know?” You asked as you looked over to examine him entirely, fixing your posture as you did so. Ginger hair that hung loosely over his shoulder, a fedora, a long dark trench coat, along with a grey vest that hugs his waist just right, and black dress pants, and god—the smell of the cologne he’s wearing makes him so much more alluring.

While you were busy staring at him he answered while pointing to your drink, “That drink is pretty shitty, I don’t think anyone who actually drinks would get that on purpose.”

Cheeks tinted, he looked directly into your eyes, almost seductively, they were mismatched. The left was a crystal blue while the right was a chestnut brown. You could drown in them. He dragged his eyes down while smiling, looking you over.

“I’m Chuuya.” He remarked, tilting his head slightly.

“I’ve got one that I think you’ll like.”

He seemed to know more than you did so you gratefully accepted his offer and introduced yourself as well.

He called the bartender over and quickly explained the ingredients of a drink to him, requesting one for himself as well.

“So, you look a bit.. stressed.” The area under your eyes were dark, and your clothing disheveled, it was obvious really.

“Work problems.” You answered.

“Yeah I definitely get that.” He grumbled angrily, eyebrows furrowed while he spoke. “Same reason I’m here.” A specific person on his mind as he complained.

You smoothed your hair down, a futile attempt to make yourself look presentable. The bartender had come back and dropped both of your drinks off.

You took a sip, it fit your tastebuds well. “Good?” “Delicious, thank you.”

…

you were on your third drink now, you were tipsy, slurring your words once in a while.

He didn’t drink as much as you but he’s definitely as intoxicated as you are, he only took small sips of his drink as he talked (flirted) with you as the night went on.

Before you knew it though he had raised his hand, grazing your cheek faintly— he reached for the strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes, brushing it out of the way.

The both of you were now completely facing each other, knees touching while you conversed. He looked at you with such adoration as he tucked your hair behind your ear. He leaned his head onto his palm while he rested his elbow on the counter. His face was flushed scarlet, he looked at you through lidded eyes while smirking once more, he exuded a confident energy the more he drank.

“Mm, you’re gorgeous.” He mumbled, your eyes flitted over to the crowd, trying to look anywhere but into his eyes, you don’t think it’d be good to fall into a stranger’s bed tonight but you might just give in if he keeps looking at you like that.

“What a flatterer..” you smiled, you jerked as he placed a hand on your knee, “Y’know, I know a way we can let all that stress go..” he whispered as he leaned closer.

“How bold.. you seemed much more reserved before?”

“Eh, alcohol just does that to me… so, what do you say?”

You hummed, “where would we go?”

He giggled, grabbing your wrist and pulling off of your seat as you walked to the exit. “My place.”

After a bit of stumbling and heated kisses he had called a cab.

Getting out of the car after reaching his, you both walked inside, pressing the button to call the elevator—you waited. Taking the time to grab him by his collar and plant kisses and little love bites onto his neck, him letting out small whines as you did so.

The elevator doors opened next to you as you wobbled inside.

Him fishing into his pockets to find his keys to open the door, your lips messily smashing against one another while bumping into numerous objects making your way to his bed, you didn’t care about anything but him in this moment.

You, so gently, dragged your fingers into his hair until harshly pulling, leaving his neck bare to you as he let out a whimper. Taking your chance, you delivered a bite to the junction of his neck and shoulder, his moans were even louder.

The rest of the night were flashes of memories, you taking off his clothes and him reciprocating, tongues tangled as you made out, you biting and kissing at his waist while pressing into his groin with your palm.

Such pretty noises were released from his mouth the entire night, underneath you.

…

Damn it all.

Your head was pounding, your mouth was dry, and your muscles sore. The breeze of the air conditioner hit you even harder than usual, you tried opening your eyes before grunting and shutting them. The sunlight peeking through curtains was shining directly into your eye.

You struggled trying to get used to light until you focused on the warmth next to you, you ruled it as a dream but it made sense now. You had laid with him last night.

You were curled around him, bare chest pressing against his back. There were countless marks littered over his body, the evidence of that night.

Should you have left?

You moved away from him, slowly, as to not wake him with your movement. You searched around the bed, gathering the clothes you shamelessly threw last night. Now that you’re laying more attention, his room has a very dark, romantic feel to it.

Making him something would probably be the best thing right?

You sigh, you were definitely new to this. Sure you’ve had sex obviously, but getting drunk and doing it with a stranger is another thing entirely.

Making your way out of his room you made your way to his kitchen. Grabbing some water for the both of you, you drank a few gulps before you made your way back. You set it down on the nightstand near his bed and shuffled back onto it.

You nudged him, he responded with a sigh before you nudged him again, he finally opened his eyes, trying to hide his face from the unrelenting sun. Seems like he’s struggling as much as you did. You quickly moved the cup of water towards him as he pushed himself up, the blankets resting on his hips. He held his head, trying to find a way to ease the pain before looking at you. He didn’t seem angry that you stayed so that was a good sign.

He took the cup of water and eagerly gulped it down, a smile adorned his face as he looked up at you.

“Honestly didn’t think you’d stay.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No, can.. can we do this again?”

…

“Of course, hun.”

#chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bsd #chuuya nakahara x reader #bungou stray dogs #reader insert #reader #dom reader

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faytelumos · 1 year

Text

A Good Girl's Eulogy

cw: real death; animal and human death mentions

---

On August 28th last year, some time around 5pm, my family's 18 year old chow/shepherd mix took her last breath.

When we first got her, she fit comfortably in my mom's hands. She was the runt, and mom had picked her out for that fact. The runt of the litter doesn't always get adopted, she said. While us kids and Dad were at home, fawning over our new baby, Mom went to get bowls, food, and toys. Us kids went to bed and Dad watched the puppy, the gears in his mechanic's brain working, and when Mom got back, he looked up to her, our new family member in his lap.

"We have two choices for her name. Diesel, or International."

Diesel was smart, and maybe all dog owners think theirs is unusually intelligent, but our girl was clever.

By the time Diesel was a "teenager" she knew we didn't like her out of the yard alone. She belonged in the back yard when there wasn't anyone around to watch over her, since the front yard was completely unfenced and open to the neighborhood. Every day, when Mom got up, she would let Diesel into the back yard to do her business, and ten or so minutes later, would call Diesel back into the house for breakfast. Every single day, this was the pattern. And one day, Mom strayed from that pattern to look out into the front yard.

And there was Diesel, casually patrolling the front yard, unattended.

Shocked, Mom had headed to the back yard, but by the time she got around the side of the house, Diesel, too, was in the back yard.

We learned that day that she had found a hole in the fence, and more than likely was taking daily constitutionals into the front yard, perhaps to check up on things or watch birds, before returning to the back yard to be collected for breakfast. If she ever had any more sneaky escapades or excursions, we never caught her.

We adopted other dogs, who became Diesel's companions and fellow family members in her adulthood. A stocky little thing that had been surrendered to us from another family (we gave him a Nicholas name after a US president) a tiny pup we had gotten from a local breeder (who we also gave an automotive name) and another tiny breed who we adopted from a home that couldn't care for him anymore (named after a color).

Diesel was always the biggest by far, tall and strong. She was dominant in personality and in charge, and she often led the others around the yard here and there to anything that was interesting or required attention.

She didn't need a leash if a human was with her. She started one-sided fights with President, chased rabbits and birds, always came when she was called, knew how to shake hands, and you could pat your chest to get her to jump up, put her paws on you, and gives kisses.

She deserved more love than we gave her.

Dad played fetch with her, took her for rides in the truck, and called her his good dog. He was outside working often, and they spent time together when she wasn't exploring or checking things out with the others. She'd sit with him inside in the evening, and he'd give her scritches.

Five years ago, he died suddenly. I lived out of state. The police officer on my mom's doorstep told her she didn't want to see the body.

A lot happened in that week. I asked myself more than once if Diesel knew he was gone. I came and visited, and then went back to the life I had left paused.

Three years ago, Diesel got very sick.

Mom wasn't sure she'd make it through the weekend, and I dropped everything again to return. She was sixteen at the time. She had been a part of my family for sixteen years, and I stopped just short of telling my boss and coworkers that my sister was dying.

She was his dog, Mom wept over the phone.

When I got into the house, she was in a sorry state; skin and bone, her strength sapped as she lay on the living room floor. She hadn't eaten in two days, and she'd stopped drinking that morning. I couldn't have imagine it, not from the girl who had been a powerhouse and boss over her huge back yard not so long ago.

I gave her bland food to coax her to eat, and overnight she seemed to gain ten pounds. I took her to the vet, told them where she hurt and to be careful of her temper, and then took her home. The appointment that, three days ago, had been for her final breath, turned into a prescription for antibiotics. But at her age and in her state, chemotherapy and surgery wasn't an option. So we let that battle go.

I came, visited, and then went back to the life I had left paused.

Last year, another call.

She's really bad. I think this is it.

Tell her I'm coming. Tell her I'll be there tomorrow.

I silently hoped I could perform that miracle twice.

She was so thin. She wobbled on her back feet, toes getting caught as she walked. She coughed, raspy and rough. I picked her up, my once 60 pound firecracker, and she let me carry her upstairs so mom could give her a bath in the tub.

I laid with her for hours, two towels wrapped over her and curled up against her back so she didn't shiver as she dried.

The vet came to us. A new, affordable program for geriatric or terminally ill dogs. I made sure Mom would get her ashes back. Because we'd had her for eighteen years, and she was going to stay with us now forever.

The other dogs and all of us kids and mom held her and stroked her. The vet was so kind, and we all watched as our beloved girl let go of her pain.

I carried her, wrapped in my dad's favorite blanket, to the back of the vet's car. There were two other bundles in the back. Small, and tenderly covered.

I watched her go, and I stayed in the street after she'd turned the corner.

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lokissweater · 2 months

Text

“i love you and i love you.” ᡣ𐭩

{yuta okkotsu x f!reader}

summary: yuta okkotsu has been hopelessly in love with you since he was fifteen. you, his muse and his reason to live as you took care of him growing up more than anyone else in his life. in fear of breaking your best friend pact and losing you entirely, yuta swallows his feelings for the sake of keeping you in his life, but he can only take so much.

warnings: college au, friends to best friends to lovers trope, lowkey ooc yuta oops, mentions of underage drinking, hopelessly devoted and lovesick yuta for reader, cursing!!! both reader and yuta cuss lol, lots and lots of fluff, ANGST, afab!reader, use of y/n, pet names, no smut in this one! slight sexual themes, reader is older than yuta by two years.

word count: 8.7k

authors note: YAAALLL i actually poured my heart and soul out into this one so i really hope it reaches your heart and soul as well! it is so so cute and i had so much fun writing it. this is definitely not the end of this au! i plan to write more short stories that take place after this one :) mwah.

————————————————————————

yuta was thirteen years old when he first saw you.

you were a casual friend of his older brother who had invited his entire group of friends over for a thanksgiving feast reunion amongst yourselves. yuta stayed locked in his room for the most part, from time to time lazily making his way down the halls and through the kitchen where you all sat to get a glass of water for himself, silently savoring at the food on the table.

eventually you had picked up on his lame attempts of coming into the kitchen for random excuses, concluding that he just wanted to gawk at the food and maybe score a bite or two of the pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream, sitting pretty and proud in the middle of the table.

but after various unsuccessful attempts and various defeated stomps down the hall and back to his room after every shoo from his brother, he knew he wasn’t going to get even a lick. at the end of the night when the group settled down and many began to take their leave, yuta made his way back down one more time in search of any lucky scraps left behind.

but what he found instead was you, standing in the kitchen with a white porcelain plate in your hands, a slice of pumpkin pie drenched in whipped cream sitting pretty in the middle.

“for you,” you had said calmly, plate outstretched, beckoning him to take it. “i saw you come down a few times looking at it, and i think whoever brought it is taking the rest of it back home, so here.”

yuta had never spoken to a girl before, much less a fifteen year old one with the sweetest smile he had ever seen in his life on her face, but he timidly and awkwardly took the smooth plate from your offering hands, and muttered a squeaky thank you before stumbling down the hall and slamming his bedroom door shut.

from then on, yuta looked forward to the next time his brother would have his friends over, nagging at him constantly with questions of when, and even going as far as to straight up planning the hangouts himself (the location of all of them being at their house of course), but his brother would only shove him out of his room and lock the door shut.

luckily for yuta his wish was granted, and his curious eyes saw you around a lot more often than not, and you gradually became a close friend of yuta’s brother instead of just casual one. every time you came over to his house, you always greeted him with the biggest smile on your face before going into his brother’s room with the rest of the group. and over time, your greetings to yuta went from sweet smiles, to pats on the head, to ruffling up his hair occasionally, and to his personal favorite, the side hug.

you always were around in yuta’s growing life and always made sure he had gotten something to eat that day, or if he had a ride to soccer practice, or if his phone had enough battery to last him through his tutoring sessions, or even if he had someone going to watch his soccer games in the mornings (which was never).

yuta was fifteen when he realized he liked you.

“so no one is going?” you asked sharply, “again?”

yuta shrugged. “its at eight o’ clock in the morning. i don’t expect anyone to, not even you-“

“well i’m going,” you said simply, putting the rest of your textbooks away in your locker and slamming it shut. “geez not even your brother goes to your games? i’m gonna yell at him later.”

“it’s fine.” yuta shook his head and gave you a small smile, his insides twisting and contorting with an overwhelming boy crush for you. “a lot of my teammates parents don’t go either, usually only to the first two of the season.”

but not you. you went every single time, even going as far as dragging his brother with you so he could have family there to watch him play. yuta always made sure to turn and raise a hand to you from across the field, waving it side to side before getting back in the game, his heart thumping wildly in his chest with an insane sense of adrenaline to do good on the field and show off— because you were watching.

yuta was still fifteen when he realized you liked his brother.

firstly, he felt utterly stupid for not picking up on it before. yuta was always too busy staring at you and memorizing every inch and detail of your face to realize that you were looking at his brother the same way yuta looked at you. he was too busy running around in soccer fields and eating the ham sandwiches you always made for him after practices to realize how red your face would get when you sat next to his brother during his games, or when you gave him sandwiches. yuta was too busy drooling over you in his mind that sometimes you wouldn’t even notice him waving at you from across the field like he always did, your eyes trained on his brother instead, that sweet smile he was all too familiar with shining for someone else.

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fair at all. yuta felt like his brother always got everything and he always ended up with scraps. yuta never got a friend group like his, or a stellar reputation in a sport like he did, or people at his beck and call everywhere he went, or nominations for pointless shit like homecoming king.

but yuta didn’t give a flying fuck about any of that. he didn’t want any of that. he wanted you. just you.

but he couldn’t have you.

yuta was sixteen when he realized he was in love with you.

he had been for a while actually, and he knew it, but the thought alone of you liking his stupid brother only fueled the fire of denial to save himself from getting hurt more than he already was.

but it was absolutely pouring rain that day, his tutoring session having been cancelled last minute due to the weather, and because of this he had no ride home and no umbrella to even attempt at walking home, not that he could anyways seeing as it would take him thirty minutes to do so. yuta absolutely could not take that chance. he had his laptop in his backpack with all of his school work, and worst of all, his final project that he had been working on since the beginning of the school year, a precious green portfolio filled with notes worth more than gold to him.

yuta grumbled as he scuffed his feet against the concrete at the front of his school under a rooftop, lips pressed into a thin line in annoyance. his parents were at work, there was no way they could just drop everything and go to him (not that they would anyways), and his brother was too busy hanging out with you doing god knows what at god knows where— so even calling you was out of the picture.

at the mere thought of you hanging out with his brother, he sighed softly, sadly, and slumped down on a blue bench with his cold hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, eyes trained to the ground.

heavy pit pats of rain smacked against the ground as he sat there in thought, the sounds of cars zooming down the wet streets as the only source of life around besides himself, seeing as it was already late in the day and everybody else had gone home. without him even noticing, the front doors beside him creaked open as he sat there grumbling.

“yuta?”

his head snapped up upon hearing your pretty voice call out to him, his eyes wide as he saw you standing there with an umbrella.

“what are you doing here?” he asked softly, standing up. yuta looked at you then and noticed your eyes were red and tired, and a shock of worry shot up his spine.

“i was-”

“are you okay?” he asked quickly. “your eyes are red.”

“oh really?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes with your palm, waving him off. “it’s nothing, i didn’t even notice.”

he pursed his lips, concern written all over his face as he took in your defeated expression, but before he could press any further, you spoke again.

“why aren’t you in tutoring?”

“oh they cancelled last minute,” he stuffed his hands further into his jacket and looked to the side. “i don’t have a ride home now because of it, and i can’t even walk home because it’s raining hard as fuck and i have my laptop in my backpack.”

you hummed in understanding, and even though it looked like the worst possible thing ever just happened to you, you gave him that same sweet smile he craved every time he saw you. “let’s walk to your house together. i have an umbrella we can try and fit under.”

he looked at you incredulously. “no no! it’s okay! you live down the street i don’t want to make you walk thirty minutes in the rain with me and thirty back-”

“it’s okay!” you laughed. “i would never leave you here by yourself yu, you know that.”

oh how he loved when you called him that.

his shoulders slowly relaxed, a wobbly cute smile spreading across his face, his cheeks a fuzzy pink. “okay.”

you walked together in a comfortable silence, your little umbrella just barely covering the both of you and yuta’s cheeks were still an intense pinky shade due to the close proximity, his steamy breath basically fanning the side of your ear as he huddled close to you.

after a few minutes spent walking on the sidewalk, yuta spoke up again.

“why are your eyes red?”

you immediately froze, but relaxed quickly.

“just tired s’all,” you responded weakly, but the little wobbling of your bottom lip told him otherwise.

yuta slowly lifted his hand and reached out, placing it softly on top of yours and clenching over the stem of the umbrella. the action caused you both to stop walking, your curious eyes snapping to his.

his palm felt like it was on absolute fire at the feeling of your soft hand under his, yuta’s breath trembling as he breathed out.

he swallowed. “can you please tell me why.”

your eyes flooded with tears then, and you shut them tightly as you dropped your forehead solemnly to rest against his shoulder, your frame shaking with quiet sobs escaping your lips.

yuta’s eyes softened and he quickly took the umbrella from you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders in a tight hug. his heart thumped so hard against his chest that he could hear it ringing through his ears.

he patted the back of your head gently. “what happened? what’s going on?”

you shook your head against his chest.

“y/n..” he sighed worriedly, running a soothing hand over your shaking back now.

“i have a crush on your brother,” you sobbed.

he knew. god he knew. but hearing you say it out loud broke his heart ten times more than it did when he found out on his own.

yuta slightly pulled back, bending his knees a little to look at you at eye level, his hand on your shoulder.

“i know.”

your eyebrows furrowed, more silent tears spilling from your eyes. “you know?”

yuta nodded, smiling sadly at you as he wiped your tears with his thumb, your eyes closing as he did so. “i spend almost every second of my life with you, of course i know. i noticed.”

you sniffed.

“weren’t you just with him now?” he asked.

your eyes shut tightly again, eyebrows contorted in pain as you nodded. “i confessed to him. i wanted to tell him before we graduated next month.”

you lifted your hands and covered your face, sobbing into them. “i’ve loved him since middle school.”

loved?

yuta’s shoulders slumped as he stared straight ahead, feeling like he wanted to crawl into a deep dark hole and stay there.

“he-“ you hiccuped. “he rejected me.”

his head snapped down immediately, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of disbelief and anger. “huh? he rejected you?”

you nodded, dropping your hands from your eyes and burying your head in his chest.

“why? what did he say?”

“he said he didn’t feel the same way—” you stopped for a moment to even out your breaths. “and that he was sorry.”

yuta scoffed, shaking his head. “what a big fucking loser.”

you snorted at that, and he looked down at you fondly, relieved you laughed.

“he… he thanked me for everything that i’ve done for your family though, especially you.”

he stayed silent.

“he said he was thankful that i was like another sibling for you, and that i took care of you.”

another sibling?

yuta didn’t say anything, that phrase like a slash through his heart while he still thought about how much of a fucking idiot he was to reject you. you, out of anyone deserved to get everything you wanted. you were selfless, incredibly sweet, the most gorgeous human being to ever walk this earth, and you had done so much for everyone that you neglected your own needs all of the time.

how could he not love you back? how could his brother not see the angel in his life that loved him, that sentiment alone an absolute privilege to have? something he would kill for?

yuta knew he shouldn’t make this about himself. he knew you were absolutely hurting and heartbroken, but he just had to know. it was eating him alive inside and out and over and over again as he kept thinking about it.

“is that how you see me?”

“hu-huh?” you hiccuped, picking your head up from his chest to look at him.

“as another sibling. is that how you see me?”

you blinked up at him, your eyes trailing over his furrowed eyebrows and worried gaze, and you hesitated for a moment, not knowing exactly why.

but you nodded, slowly. “you’re my best friend, yu. you’re not just anyone to me i care a lot about you. more than most people in my life.”

for a moment, yuta looked at you blankly, his mind unable to properly register your words. he didn’t know whether he wanted to cry, call up his brother and yell at him, kiss you, or run away.

a part of him knew that too, that you only saw him as a sibling. but like everything else in his life, he buried it down and chose to pretend like it didn’t exist for the sake of his heart.

but regardless of you not returning his feelings, he would rather be something to you than nothing at all. he would rather make some type of difference in your life and have a special spot, than be an absolute nobody to you.

so he smiled. he smiled with soft sad eyes and nodded, pulling you back in and resting his cheek against the top of your head. “you’re my best friend too.”

yuta didn’t see you around much at his house after that, which he understood.

but you still texted yuta everyday and hung out with him sometimes at school, and you still went to his games and practices and made him ham sandwiches after, and you still gave him that sweet smile he loved so so much.

but he never missed how sad you got around his brother, even at the mere mention of him. he never missed how your eyes stayed glued to the ground or had a far off look to them, your arms wrapped around yourself with a safe distance between you both.

when you graduated high school, yuta was a brat the entire ceremony. he was pissed. so pissed that you were two years older than him and that he wasn’t going to see your pretty self around school anymore, which was pretty much the only reason he tolerated it in the first place.

but when your graduating class threw their caps up into the air and his family went down to congratulate his brother, yuta made a beeline for you instead.

and behind that scowl on his face that he had the entire day, his eyes were glossy.

yuta never cried.

when you noticed, your shoulders instantly dropped and you ran to his open arms, practically throwing yourself on him. “yuuu! don’t cry for me!”

“who said i’m crying?” yuta grumbled into your shoulder.

you pulled back and smiled at him, “i’m gonna miss you the most.”

yuta smiled, but then faltered, and a sliver of fear shot up his spine. was this the last time he was going to see you? was this the start of you both slowly distancing, and then ultimately falling apart? were you still going to call him and text him everyday?

as if you could sense his fear, you quickly shook your head. “you’re literally stuck with me for life. you will never find another best friend to replace me, you got it?”

you waved your little index finger at him sternly, and yuta laughed. “i got it.”

yuta was nineteen when he almost kissed you.

after you graduated high school, luckily you went to a college that was only about a thirty minute drive from his place. you were still in yuta’s life, if not way more than it was before, which he thanked his lucky stars for. you went from being a best friend of his brothers, to being only his best friend, as you and his brother didn’t really talk anymore after high school.

and to that, yuta was happy.

and when he graduated high school, you of course were there, crying and pinching his cheeks and hugging him so tight his back cracked a little bit.

he didn’t go to the same college you did (although he definitely tried but didn’t get in) and went to one that was about forty five minutes away from home, one he commuted to everyday like you did for yours.

you both got so much closer that you obliviously acted like a couple, when you weren’t. yuta would pick you up from class and drive you to lunch, pay for all of your meals and anything you practically wanted despite you fighting him every time on it. he would kiss your forehead and your cheek and throw his arm around your shoulder when you walked, he would call you baby and compliment you every single day, and he would sleep over at your house almost all of the time, your head on his chest and his arm wrapped around your torso.

he knew best friends weren’t really supposed to act like this, but did you? you both had grown so accustomed to it that it wasn’t a weird thing for you both, but the constant questions from your mutual friends or even each others parents was a dead giveaway that it in fact, was not how best friends were supposed to act.

but neither of you seemed to care.

“stop moving yu!” you whispered harshly as you applied an aloe vera mud mask to his face. yuta snickered, dodging your fingers every time they came close to applying the mask, with the only reason he was doing it being because it made you laugh.

you were both sat on your fluffy pink rug in the middle of your room in your pajamas, surrounded by all of your skincare essentials and even the fancy products you only pulled out on special occasions. it was one in the morning at this point and you both were still up, trying to keep your laughter to a minimum in attempts at not waking up your parents downstairs.

“baby this stuff smells kind of funky,” he commented as you applied some to his cheek.

“the funkier the better,” you responded, focused. “kind of smells like you.”

he pinched your side and you giggled, flinching away. “i’m kidding! i’m almost done, don’t move.”

yuta listened and stayed still, watching your concentrated pretty face that was practically inches away from his as you applied the mask to the rest of his face, his poor heart almost giving out.

once you were done, you smiled triumphantly and wiped your fingers with a warm damp towel. “all done!”

yuta smiled fondly at you and kissed your cheek. “thanks. is this what you put on every night?”

you shook your head, “not every night, only when i want my skin to look extra good for special occasions.”

“which is..?”

“it’s usually when you invite me over to your family events or when we eat dinner at that one really nice place by your school.”

yuta stopped at that and he felt his heart clench at your words. he didn’t know why and he usually didn’t let it, but his mind was making him believe that maybe…

no.

he relaxed again, humming in acknowledgement. you picked up a circular pink little tub compartment thing and unscrewed the cap, dipping your ring finger in the shimmery product.

“what’s that?” he asked softly, nodding his head to it.

“it’s my lip scrub!” you responded enthusiastically, lifting your ring finger and scooting closer to him. his eyes looked straight at you as you slid your finger over his lips. “it has kind of like a rough texture, it’s supposed to exfoliate your lips and make them really soft.”

his cheeks slowly turned pink, his eyes trailing down to your lips as you sat back, finished.

“here— put some on me now so you can feel what i’m talking about,” you handed him the little tub and he dipped his index finger in, swallowing the lump in his throat.

he timidly lifted his hand and pressed his finger to your waiting perfect lips, softly and gently running the product on your bottom lip before going to the top, his eyes mesmerized and nearly drooling.

yuta was practically tracing you, wanting to burn forever the shape of your mouth into his brain to remember for the rest of his life, wanting nothing more than to press his lips on yours.

but he inhaled sharply and quickly dropped his hand. “i’m finished.”

you pressed your lips together and spread the product around, “did you feel it?”

he shakily nodded, wiping his finger on the warm damp towel before handing it over for you to do the same.

you held up a corner of the towel to his lips and gently wiped the scrub away, “and now they’re soft.”

you passed the towel back over to him, and you sat back, eagerly waiting for him to do the same.

yuta swallowed again and mimicked you, except he was much slower, much more gentle over your plush lips as he subconsciously leaned closer to you that by the time he was done, his nose almost bumped with yours.

with eyes half lidded, he stared at your lips in a daze, licking his bottom lip slightly as you looked at him with wide eyes. he wanted to, so badly, to just grab your face and press your lips together, to pour the love he’s had for you for the past four years out and cherish you with everything that he has.

“yu?” you spoke softly, your voice barely above a whisper, your breath fanning against his lips.

his eyes immediately snapped to yours and he flinched back like a deer in headlights. “so— so when do i take this off?” he pointed to his face. “the mud mask.. when does it come off?”

you looked at him curiously, your eyebrows slightly pinched together as you tried to make sense of what was happening, if anything even really happened.

“almost..” you responded, unfocused. “in about five minutes.”

yuta quickly nodded and pressed his lips into a thin line, his hands clenched so hard into tight fists that his knuckles turned white.

he couldn’t look you in the eye. what the fuck was he doing? he was going to scare you away if he kept doing things like this, if he kept almost slipping up and doing something that could jeopardize your friendship with him.

your trust.

you nudged his shoulder with your finger, and he finally looked at you.

“is the face mask bothering you that much?” you said with a silly smile, and yuta physically deflated, affection pumping through his system.

“no baby,” he shook his head. “i like it! i think i should keep it on for the rest of the night and go to class with it tomorrow morning.”

you snorted and shook your head, “don’t be mean.”

he raised his hands up frantically, “i’m not! you think everybody has the privilege of getting a free facial by their pretty best friend?” he held up his index finger and wiggled it side to side. “i don’t think so.”

you giggled, so much, and grabbed the warm damp towel again, scooting closer to him by your knees. you began wiping away the mask on his face, being careful of not going too rough in fear of accidentally irritating and hurting him. yuta held you by the hips, assisting in keeping your balance and rubbing little circles into your stomach with his thumbs.

your cheeks went a little pink after a bit.

as the rest of the night went on, and when you both finally settled into bed facing each other— his hand on the side of your hip, you softly traced the rather dark bags under his eyes and frowned.

“you need to get more sleep, yu. i think you’ve had these bags since you were fifteen.”

“it’s because i always grind so i can buy you a big white house with a wiener dog and a picket fence.”

you laughed a little too loud and slapped a hand over your mouth, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his as your shoulders shook. when you settled down, you removed your hand and smiled sweetly.

“only if the house comes with you.”

yuta’s breath hitched, and his eyes searched yours desperately, for any indication that maybe, just maybe, you…

no.

“what… you want me as a roommate?”

you playfully rolled your eyes and gently shoved his shoulder.

yuta was twenty years old when he confessed to you.

it was also the first big fight you guys ever had in your entire years of knowing each other.

your relationship stayed the same, two peas in a little pod through college that never seemed to go to one place without the other, so much so that when you did, people would often ask where the other half was. he loved it. he loved you so much, and he found it harder and harder and more heart breaking for him as the years went by watching you not be his in any way shape or form.

every time he visited your campus or went with you to your college parties, he noticed the lurking eyes it seemed like every guy had on you everywhere you went, and it agitated yuta more than anything else. he was still a stubborn brat, and instead of doing something about it and maybe telling you how he feels, he just endures the pain and scowls at their glances, leading you through crowds by the hand or by the small of your back.

he never really indulged in the traditional college experience like you did, and never ever talked to any other girl besides you. he never wanted to or had any interest in doing so, regardless of you returning his feelings or not. you also never really talked to any other guy besides yuta or made any mention of your dating life, people mostly assuming you both were.

yuta weaved through the crowd, trying to spot a place for the both of you to sit while you went to get drinks from the kitchen. upon finally breaking free from the pile of dancing sweaty bodies, he recognized one of your girl friends and a couple of others sitting on a long lounge sofa, her eyes perking up.

“y/n’s boyfriend! you came?”

he stopped a bit, then smiled wide.

“yeah! she’s in the kitchen now by the way, she’ll be over here in a second.”

and when you did come over, already a bit tipsy from the line of shots you got pulled into while getting drinks, you walked over to where yuta sat while greeting your friends, handing him a red solo cup. and instead of sitting in the spot yuta had saved for you right beside him, you settled neatly on his lap.

his eyes nearly bulged out of their eye sockets as you swung an arm around his shoulders for support and made yourself comfortable. you had never done something like this, and he swallowed the huge lump in his throat as trembling hands settled around your waist and over your lap. his arm tingled with the feeling of your thighs underneath, afraid to put his hands anywhere near them in fear of making you uncomfortable or accidentally grabbing your face and making out with you.

but the chance of that happening wasn’t anywhere near impossible, as he was already tipsy by his drink and his hand was already gently caressing over the skin of your soft plush thighs.

best friends don’t do things like this.

and he did not give a single fuck.

your boobs were practically shoved up in his face, his pinky cheeks absolutely blazing as his eyes darted to every corner of the house and anywhere else that wasn’t your tits, his lips itching to feel, to taste.

the night progressed and the both of you got increasingly more and more drunk, clinging on to each other on the couch or stumbling through the house, laughing when one of you would trip and almost face plant on the hardwood floors, leaning on to each other for support.

“your boyfriend almost knocked over the tub of tropical mix in the kitchen!” your girl friend yelled over the loud booming music, laughing.

yuta expected you to correct her, but you didn’t, and only laughed along with her.

“no it wasn’t him! it was me,” you giggled drunkenly, your arms around his neck as his were tight around your waist, your group standing off to the side of the dance floor. “he had to grab me and pull me from it!”

and that’s how it often was, just you and him. you taking care of him and him taking care of you in every way possible, trying to pay you back for all of the years you spent being there for him when he was younger and way more, simply because he wanted to.

and on a night where yuta was studying for finals in his room, his brother that was visiting from college came in and sat down on the edge of his bed.

“you studying?” he asked.

yuta nodded, not bothering to take his eyes away from his notebook, still scribbling down his notes. he never really had the best relationship with his brother, much less after what had happened with you getting rejected by him.

his brother took a deep breath through his nose and nodded. “i um… are you still friends with y/n?”

that caught his attention, and yuta’s eyes lifted from his notes to look at him. “yes? i’m with her like, most of the time. if you haven’t noticed.”

“no i have,” his brother murmured. “how is she?”

yuta took a second to respond. “she’s good.”

“that’s good that’s good. does she um- does she still have the same number?”

yuta put down his pencil and leaned back against his desk chair. “why?”

“i wanted to just catch up with her is all,” he shrugged. “i saw her when you brought her here for mom’s birthday and i hadn’t seen her since graduation.”

“catch up with her?” yuta mumbled. “since when do you give a shit about y/n?”

his brother scoffed. “i always have, yuta.”

“didn’t seem like it when you rejected her and started dating one of her close friends like the next day.”

his brother didn’t say anything, and yuta rolled his eyes at the lack of response, picking his pencil back up to continue his work.

“i still have her on social media and see what she’s up to… she posts you a lot. are you guys like— a thing?”

yuta bit the inside of his cheek. “no.”

his brother visibly relaxed for whatever reason and nodded. “i just want to talk to her again, is all. maybe buy her dinner—”

yuta pushed his textbook away, dropped his pencil again and spun around, looking at him with narrowed eyes. “fuck no.”

his brother scoffed. “i’m not asking for permission—”

“fuck no.”

“yuta i’m your brother i literally took you to school everyday and took care of you—”

“y/n did that.” yuta cut him off. “y/n gave me rides to school when i didn’t have my license and bought me food when i didn’t have a job. she also came to every single one of my games regardless of the weather and helped me with my homework when i was too stupid to figure it out on my own, everything you should’ve done.”

“that’s not true—”

“yes it is.” yuta crossed his arms in annoyance. “she didn’t have to do any of that. she never had to take care of me the way that she did but she did it anyways. she took on your role because you were too busy being a dingus doing god knows what and she knew that. y/n has done more for me than you’ve ever done in your entire twenty two years of living.”

his brother sat there in silence, yuta’s heavy angry breathing being the only thing heard in the room.

“okay well—” his brother stood from his bed and walked over to the door. “i’m just going to text her—”

“why the fuck are you gonna meddle into her life now? what… are you bored? are you not satisfied with whatever fucking girl you find up there at school?” yuta threw his arms up in irritation, his blood beginning to boil. “you treated her like shit. like absolute dog shit when you ignored her and avoided her for months after she confessed to you. do you understand how disrespectful that is?”

“whatever man it was high school—”

“and what, that gives you a pass to treat her like that? when that happened i was sixteen picking up the pieces you shit all over at your grown age—”

“i’m leaving.”

and with that, his brother walked out and slammed the door shut, and yuta was left absolutely red. red with anger he had never felt before in his life as he grabbed his notebook and chucked it across the room. he hated how casual he spoke of you, like you were just another girl he was going to try and get to know and fuck— to then leave without another word like his brother’s been doing his whole fucking life to girls. but not to you, it couldn’t happen to you.

and it was like yuta was going through the five stages of grief because then he was afraid. what if you let his brother back into your life? what if you fell for him again? you’d done it before the chances were not zero of you doing it again.

yuta didn’t want to lose you. he would rather gauge his eyes out and eat them for breakfast.

with that, yuta stumbled through his room putting on his shoes and snatching his car keys from his night stand, running down the hall and slamming the front door shut before getting in his car.

the drive was only about fifteen minutes to your house, and he felt so bad that it was nearly two in the morning and he was most likely going to wake you up, but he couldn’t stand it. he was going absolutely crazy, everything in him gnawing and eating him alive, his brother having pushed every single button in his body and more.

his tires screeched as he pulled into your driveway, thankful that your parents were away on a getaway trip as he slammed his car door shut and made his way up to your front door. yuta rang your doorbell twice before you finally opened it.

slowly, you peeked your tired eye through the slit, and your body immediately relaxed at the sight of him. “oh my god yuta, you scared the absolute shit out of—”

you stopped, your face falling at his livid expression and the way his chest heaved erratically. “yu? are you okay? what’s going on—”

but yuta only pushed passed you and trudged up your stairs without another word. dumbstruck, you closed your front door with a click and locked it, following him up the stairs and into your room.

“what’s wrong?”

“my brother is visiting from college.” he mumbled, sitting stiff on your desk chair. you moved to stand in front of him.

“…you mentioned that yeah—”

“and he… he told me that he wants to reach out to you.”

your eyebrows furrowed, taken aback. “me? for what?”

“he says he wants to catch up with you, see how you’re doing. be friends again i guess.”

yuta’s eyes remained stuck to the floor like glue, and you remained silent as you processed his words, confused out of your mind.

“i mean… i mean i guess? i guess that’s fine—”

his head snapped up, “that’s fine?”

you shrugged, “yes? i don’t see the big deal i don’t—”

“baby—” he shook his head in disbelief. “he absolutely broke you and treated you like nothing in high school, and you’re fine letting him back into your life? great.”

you narrowed your eyes at him. “why are you being like that? he just wants to be friends again and that’s fine with me—”

yuta scoffed. “he doesn’t deserve it! he doesn’t deserve you—”

“yuta, whatever happened between your brother and i was years ago! i’m over it! this isn’t a big fucking deal!”

you hated fighting with him, god how much you hated it, and the way that he looked at you now was making you absolutely sick.

“so you’re just gonna be friends with him again?” he shrugged, looking at you with narrowed eyes.

“yeah?”

“you’re fucking stupid,” he spat, getting up from your desk chair and walking over to the door, reaching for your doorknob.

you instantly grabbed his shoulder and spun him around to face you. “what the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“what’s wrong with me?!” he raised his voice, jabbing a finger to his chest. “what’s wrong with you! do you not remember how bad you got when he did what he did?! do you really think i would stand here okay with you rekindling your little love for my brother?”

you scoffed, “my little love?!”

and before you knew it, angry tears were streaming down your face. you hated the way he was talking to you, and you didn’t know how your argument escalated so quickly and so drastically as you wiped your cheeks furiously.

and at the sight of you crying, yuta faltered slightly, his eyes softening.

“why do you think i still love him? i don’t! i haven’t since he rejected me!—”

“who says you won’t start again?” he spoke lowly, arms crossed over his chest. “my brother never had to lift a fucking finger for you to be head over heels for him. you don’t give a shit about yourself and you’re willing to throw yourself at him again—”

“shut up.” you spat, sobs raking through your body. “the fact that you’re stuffing a bunch of fucking words into my mouth and assuming i’m going to jump into your brothers arms is bullshit.”

“i—”

“is this how low you think of me?”

“no baby i don’t—”

“yes you clearly do because everything that’s come out of your mouth—”

“no! no i’m sorry i don’t—”

“then why—”

yuta shoved his hands into his hair exasperated, “because i love you!”

he let his arms fall limp, his eyes glossy and red with the most gut wrenching look on his face that read pure exhaustion. you had never seen him so torn.

“i love you and i love you and i have since since i was fifteen,” his voice shook with each word, hands trembling at his sides. “more than a best friend, more than anything in this world, and i never saw you like another sibling like you did for me.”

“fi.. fifteen?” you spoke so softly he almost didn’t hear you.

he nodded sadly, silent tears slipping down his cheeks and you automatically reached up, softly wiping them away with your thumbs as he closed his eyes, much like how yuta did when you got your heart broken by his brother on that rainy day.

yuta never cried.

“i swallowed it. you loved my brother and i swallowed it. i didn’t give a shit if you only saw me as a sibling because i would rather make some type of mark in your life and be in it than not have you at all. but i can’t take it anymore.”

he let out a sob, and he instantly shoved his face in the crook of his arm in embarrassment.

“yu…”

“you mean absolutely everything to me baby,” his voice was muffled a bit by his elbow, and after roughly wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater, he dropped his arm to look at you again. “i would do absolutely a-anything for you. you’re precious to me and the prettiest girl i have ever laid my eyes on and will ever lay my eyes on.”

he hiccuped and crossed his arms over his chest, staring up at your ceiling. “but i know you don’t love me like i love you. i’ve known for years and i just can’t bring myself to let you go. it’s so bad that i would rather you break my heart over and over again than let you go for the sake of my wellbeing and watch you walk out of my life—”

“yuta, can you please look at me?”

“i— i can’t,” he shook his head as his voice trembled, tears slipping from the sides of his eyes as he continued to stare at your ceiling. “i can��t do it—”

you slowly reached out and cupped his wet cheeks in the palm of your hands, tilting his face down gently to look at you, your eyes filled with remorse at the defeated look on his face.

“why didn’t you tell me?” you asked softly. “why didn’t you tell you were hurting so much?”

he shook his head slowly in your hands. “it’s not fair to you. i didn’t want to put you in a difficult position—”

“what difficult position, yu?” you spoke so gently, so sweetly to him that he almost fell to his knees. “how could you have kept this in for five years? i can’t even imagine—” you hiccuped, “i hate that you were hurting because of me-“

your voice began to contort again into sobs, and he quickly shook his head. “no baby no, it was not because of you, you did nothing wrong. you did the exact opposite.”

you wiped more of his tears with your fingers as he spoke, listening intently.

“no one gave a shit about me the way you did. not even my own parents, and not even my stupid brother that pretended like i practically didn’t exist. you were the only one that was there and you didn’t have to be. you could’ve easily ditched me at any given point and you never did, and i can’t thank you enough for giving me a reason to keep going.”

he wiped his eyes. “and that’s why i fell in love with you so hard because you were so selfless and sweet and i love your smile. i don’t think i could ever make up for everything you’ve done—”

“but you have!—” you interjected, but yuta only shook his head.

“no i haven’t. i’m a stubborn asshole who just said a bunch of shit five minutes ago that i didn’t mean and i only hurt you and i never wanted that—”

“yuta.” you spoke firmly. “you’ve literally done more for me than anyone else in my entire life and i hate that you can’t see that or give yourself credit. you were there for me when i went absolutely insane after your brother rejected me even though you loved me then. you put your own feelings aside to take care of me baby..”

you softly took his hands and led him to sit with you on the bed, wiping his wet cheeks with your sleeve.

“do you not remember when even though you didn’t have a job, any chance you got money you would spend it on me instead of yourself?” you laughed softly. “the minute you got your license you drove me anywhere i wanted… and even to little things like the store because you said you didn’t want me to spend gas money.”

yuta slightly smiled.

“you never ditched me either, when there was every opportunity you could’ve. you always make sure i eat and get enough sleep… and you make me so happy yu, i wish you could see how much i miss you when you’re not around.”

he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and leaned in, softly planting a kiss to your cheek. you smiled warmly.

“who told you i didn’t love you back?”

yuta froze. “you did?”

“when?”

“the day my brother rejected you?” he cocked his head to the side. “i had asked you if you saw me as another sibling and you said yes.”

you threw your head back and moaned, “oh my god yu, of course in that moment because i was stupid and into your brother and i had just gotten rejected!”

you deflated and smiled at him warmly then, your eyes shining with emotions he didn’t allow himself to believe were there. for five years, yuta forced himself to believe you could never return his feelings as a form of protection, and now there was a huge wall in his brain that was itching to come down.

you scooted closer to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, your foreheads touching. “ask me again.”

“hm?” he was dazed, wide eyes staring into yours.

“ask me that question again,” you spoke softly. “the one from that day.”

yuta swallowed thickly, his breathing shaky through his nose, reiterating the phrase he played through his head like a broken record since it happened.

“as another sibling…” he murmured. “is that how you see me?”

you shook your head gently against his forehead, “no… to me—” you leaned back slightly and tilted your head to the side. “you look like the man i’ve been in love with for the past three years.”

silence. nothing.

and then, his eyes welled with tears as he tackled you down and just cried. he cried and he cried into your neck and shook like a little leaf, you holding him so unbelievably tight as your bottom lip wobbled. yuta’s arms were snaked around you as he held you with just as much force if not more.

half a decade. half a decade yuta spent hopelessly lovesick for you that your words burned over his entire body like a fever, his mind reeling and hazy. he held on to you so fucking tight and refused to let go of you, in fear that this was all just some horrendous sick dream and he was going to wake up alone in his bed without you.

you placed a hand on the back of his head as you hugged him, “i love you so much yuta that sometimes i feel like im going nuts.” you laughed softly. “it was always you… it’s been you that’s why i said earlier that i didn’t care if your brother wanted to be friends again, because i love you and i don’t give a shit about him and i’m sorry i made you upset—”

“no,” he lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked at you, his cheeks flushed with dried up tears and red eyes. “that was just me being an absolute dick and scared of re-living high school all over again. i took that out on you and that wasn’t fair at all, baby. i’m sorry.”

you carded your fingers through his hair. “we both have things to be sorry about, and a lot of years to make up for.”

and finally, yuta grinned so big that his cheeks hurt.

“can i—“ he exhaled shakily. “can i kiss you?”

“please.”

and he smashed his lips against yours, greedily kissing you with so much desperation as he lip locked with you, his hands squeezing and roaming your body. the sound of your lips smacking was loud, and his kisses were so needy and sloppy against your soft plush lips that you squeaked at the intensity. you felt him grin again at your noise and he pulled away from you.

“i’ve wanted this for so long…” he breathed out, his breath fanning against your face as you tried to recover from what was probably the best kiss of your life. you nodded frantically, too dazed and caught up in the thought of his mouth on yours to respond with sentences that made sense.

he chuckled cutely at this, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i love you and i love you.”

and since then, it was like the final wall had finally crumbled down, and yuta began to live like he was supposed to, like he was meant to, with you. his days of yearning and silent torment were over, and most of the time it still felt like a dream whenever he was by your side.

things stayed relatively the same between you two, as you now acknowledge how much of a couple you both actually were acting prior to yuta’s confession. the only major difference now though, was that yuta earned the privilege to call you his and give you sweet kisses as he picked you up from class, or when you make and hand him those ham sandwiches you always do just for him, only this time adorned with a honeyed kiss of your own.

sitting on his living room couch now, your head resting on his lap as a random horror movie played in the background, yuta’s fingers gently brushed over the features of your face as you stared at the tv, his eyes stuck to you like sticky lovesick glue.

you turned your head to look at him after a bit. “why don’t you start playing soccer again?” you hummed. “is there a team at your school?”

yuta nodded, “there is baby.”

“why don’t you try out?” you smiled sweetly at him, and his heart ached. “i always loved watching you play. i miss it.”

“okay,” he tapped your nose. “just for you.”

you rolled your eyes playfully. “and i’ll start dragging your brother with me again.”

yuta’s eyes flung open as his jaw dropped, and you snorted, giggling uncontrollably as he tickled and pinched at your sides. “i’m just kidding! i’m kidding! i’d rather die.”

he let out a boyish laugh, his eyes sparkling as he looked down at you. “as much as i hate him, i can’t thank him enough for being a stupid dingus.”

you quirked an eyebrow, “thank him? why?”

yuta gently and softly pinched one of your cheeks as he smiled at you, and it was then that you noticed the bags under his eyes were nearly gone. he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, moving some of your hair away from your face after he did so.

“because he brought you to me.”

and you smiled, that same radiant sweet smile that made him fall in love with you in the first place, as you reached up and ran a tender finger under where his eye bags once stood, your voice light and airy as you spoke—

“i love you and i love you, yuta.”

4K notes · View notes

1nthedarknessofthenight · 2 months

Text

﴾ michelin star

pairing: bangchan x f!reader

genre: one-shot, idol au, smut

word count: 7,2K

warnings: oral (f. receiving) ⋆ cunnilingus ⋆ face sitting! ⋆ almost getting caught ⋆ not established!relationship ⋆ thigh!kink (chan is huuungry in this fic)

summary: he’s been ignoring you, only leaving you to wonder what exactly you have done to make him so quiet and one night you just have enough of it as much as he had enough of trying to keep himself away from you

author’s note: so happy for everyone that saw skz in milan and london! (not jealous at all)

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You have noticed it first at the practice room last week. How jumpy he was. Overly sweaty from only warming up before the practice, stretching his arms over his head with a long sigh. You watched him from one of the couches in the room — how he kept wiping the palms of hands over his sweatpants, scrunching the material between his fingers. How he kept running a hand through his messy curls, before putting his baseball hat back on, only to mess up his hair again. His tongue licked at his bottom lip, little chapped, tasting his own sweat that kept running down his forehead, but he didn’t looked thirsty — at least for water.

And you definitely weren’t the only one to notice his unusual behavior. Minho kept a careful eye on him, not saying anything, but as he would catch your eye, you could see the small concern in them. As time passed by that day, you stopped scrolling through your phone as every time you would look down, you heard the guys sighing what sounded like in defeat. You put your phone down, just catching as Chan stumbled over his own foot and it seemed like by the reaction of the other guys, this was the thing they were so annoyed about. They don’t usually get like this, getting annoyed about someone’s mistakes and as you look up it wasn’t even that.

Everyone looked at Chan in confusion, asking him if everything was okay. Him, like the good leader he was, brushed them off, saying he was just maybe getting rusty and then saying he again didn’t sleep that well. Everyone seemed to believe him, but something wasn’t just adding up. For just a small glimpse of his eyes on your figure told you that somewhat it wasn’t truly it. But you didn’t know that all of this was because of you.

The second time that this weird behavior of his appeared was in the middle of recording. You came in, carrying drinks for everyone and as weirdly as it sounded, you could just feel him staring into the back of your head when you gave Seungmin his drink. You huffed under your breath from the way his glare made you feel so small, smoothing down your skirt, before walking up to him and Changbin who sat next to him.

You smiled at the other who at least not like his friend mirrored your expression as you put his drink down. From the spot you were standing you leaned over the back of Changbin’s chair, arm stretched out with his drink, but it was like your hand had frozen over it at that moment. Chan with his thumb between his lips, bit at his nail as he burned holes into your exposed legs. You caught a glimpse of how his eyes became darker in the few seconds. He looked up, brown eyes falling on your waist where your soft tummy was slightly spilling over your skirt, from the corner of his eye catching the way your hand slightly began to shook, before finally glancing at you through his lashes. You have never seen him look like that, he almost looked like he was angry with you, but before you could even question your own thoughts, he took his drink from your slightly shaking hand, giving you a small ‘thanks’, his attention again everywhere, but you.

Soon the thought of him being angry with you became the only relevant thing to you. He didn’t talk to you for whatever reason. You two got along well, always so open with each other, but suddenly you felt like you were strangers again. He didn’t acknowledge your presence whatsoever and that hurt you. For the past few days your mind was occupied with him only, also wondering what possibly you could’ve done so wrong to make him act this way.

You thought back at the night you spend over at the dorms. Maybe you did something that day? However you can’t think of anything. Maybe it was the thing of you trying to get the guys to stay that day at home, as it was so hot outside, plans of going out to the park completely forgotten by then. They agreed with you, happily, laying on the cold ground in light clothes, fan on maximum, all of you completely basking in the cold air. No, that wasn’t it. He also agreed with your idea. He was laying down under the couch while you took every inch of it for yourself. The guys hated the idea of their skin sticking into the material, so they let you have it, like the gentlemen they are.

No…you really have no idea, why he is like this and that made you even more mad.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The constant guilt and sadness rising in your chest. Every time he looked away from you made you sick. Maybe, it is because you have been hanging around a lot more lately as it was the beginning of summer. Maybe, he is just bothered by your nonstop presence…The past few days the others kept their eyes on both of you, shocking you by keeping their mouths shut. Suddenly they didn’t have anything to say. You and Chan are great friends and seeing you two ignoring each other like that — well, it was only one sided anyway, made them realize that they probably shouldn’t mess with whatever this thing between you two is.

You also did exactly that. You waited for him to say something, do anything, but he didn’t. You stayed quiet, but it was slowly killing you. He was starting to drive you crazy from his constant short glances, not being able, for whatever reason, to fully look at you. So, you decided to finally make him.

────

Your hand formed into a fist, for a second raised in the air, before finally knocking on the door. You bite at your lip, chewing it, tasting your strawberry chapstick on your tongue. The breath you took was already stuck in your throat, choking you as the door flings immediately open. You somewhere in your mind hoped he would greet you, but you are more thankful for the vibrant smile sent your way from the freckled boy, standing in front of you.

“Hey, Y/N.” Felix greets you, tugging you quickly into a small hug, making you stumble from his strong pull.

You sigh shortly into his shoulder. “Hi, Lixie.” You pull away from him, exchanging a small knowing look with each other, before he lead you inside the dorm.

You told the freckled blonde everything. From the way you felt absolutely clueless of what to do, to the way this whole situation made you feel. You realized through your words that needed so badly to be spoken, how much time you were actually spending with him before this whole situation. It was such a normal thing to be at each other’s sides that you have never noticed that maybe it was too much for him. Chan is kind. He never said anything hurtful ever to you, but maybe he should. Felix listened to your every word, weighting them, looking carefully over your expressive face. That also, even when you were laying your heart out, was kind of a little suspicious. He did listened always, yes, but something is telling you that he just knew something you don’t…

You didn’t question him as he for the matter decided for you to come the next day to their dorm where everyone would be present. No way for him to avoid you at that matter as you all will spend your time watching something in the living room. However as you walk through the hallway to glance into said room, everyone turn their heads…everyone expect him — because he wasn’t even there.

Everyone’s greetings died hallway as they notice your expression. “Where’s Chan?” You wondered out loud, fidgeting slightly under their gazes as they all briefly share a look.

“He’s in his bedroom.”

You sigh, so quietly that it wasn’t even heard over the television. A hand falls on to your shoulder next, making you look up at the blonde who frowns at your own expression. “I’ll go get him.”

“No.” You say, rather firmly as the sadness and disappointment slowly melts into anger, pulling away from Felix who just blinks at your answer. “I’ll go.” He simply nods, seeing that there is no way for either of them to tell you otherwise, silently watching you make your way to Chan’s bedroom. You held your head high, looking confident in your steps, determined to finally hold your ground, but as soon as you turn the corner your back meets the hallway wall with a big shaky sigh.

You play with the fabric of your skirt, pulling and tugging so roughly that you hear the fabric tearing from your movements. Your eyes glare holes into the closed door to his bedroom at the end of the hallway, the only source of light being the soft hue of his blue led lights coming from the bottom of the door. You know that you shouldn’t bother him when he is in his room, probably working on another song or something, but the rule was no working when there is a movie night. Also, most importantly, you are really starting to feel the adrenaline rushing in. How he can just ignore you like that? Don’t you at least deserve an explanation?

Soon enough, you are standing right before the door. Hand almost shaking as you knock on it few times. You don’t even know why you are suddenly so nervous. You hope that the reason why he become so distant isn’t something too complicated. A grunt comes out from behind the closed door and you don’t even say anything that it is you, maybe because you just know he would again just avoid you.

You came into the room, closing the door behind you and silently playing for a moment with the lock as your eyes fall on to Chan. He sat at his table, headphones on, back turned to you, but after a moment of just not hearing anything, he finally looks at you. Immediately his eyes seem to flicker with that emotion again as he glanced you over.

“Hey…” He trails off, quietly, almost like he mumbled it to himself mostly.

“Hey.” You say back, swallowing the lump in your throat, watching as he again turns away from you. Even from your position at the door, holding the handle, like you would just walk out at any moment, you could feel how tense his shoulders were. You thought that you were stubborn, hardheaded, but you for sure were proved otherwise by the man before you. It anger you even more, the silent treatment he put you in is slowly drowning you. “Are you coming? The guys already started the movie without us.” You continued, hands falling to your sides to fumble with the hem of your skirt again.

You watch him nod at your statement, almost like shrugging you off, the frown on your face deepening at that. “Yeah, sure just give me a moment I’ll be there.” Chan, says, nonchalantly, his attention on the screen of his open laptop.

The pout on your lips slowly turns into sneer as you just stood there for a moment looking at him. Can’t he just say something already? Like at least acknowledge your presence, not making you feel like air. “What did I do?” You say, arms crossing over your chest.

He humms then, just that. The fact that he still kept ignoring you, makes you stump over to him with heavy sigh, pulling one side of his headphones from his ear, your rough movements, making him yelp. His hand flies to the top of his ear that is slowly turning red, frowning at the small sting. He looks up at you with big eyes, lips parted. At least now he is finally looking at you.

“What did I do?” You question him again, arms still hugging your chest, like forming some sort of shield around yourself.

His eyes widened for a split second. He knows what you are talking about. “…..what?” Comes out from his lips, eyes almost burning holes on your face, unblinking.

You at his stare and weird behavior become for a second embarrassed by your sudden outburst, seeing him so collected and calm. But you were sure you weren’t imagining things, something seriously was wrong. With him or with you? You still don’t know. You have the right to be upset as he even now, keeps avoiding you in some way, it is like he was looking through you, eyes completely unfocused, but hard.

You sigh through your nose, your hard face softening as you again feel the guilt creeping up to you. “It seems like I did something.”

“No, you didn’t do anything.” He almost said robotically, fast, like he was scared he would suddenly say something completely different, but that is exactly what you want. He is still holding back.

Your face falls at his words. “Do you think I didn’t notice you ignoring me?” He at that, looks away from you, eyes flickering down to stare at your exposed legs. He stayed silent at your words, watching his knuckles turn white from how much he is gripping the armrests. “Chan, just tell me what I did, because I honestly have no idea…”

Sighing, you can’t fight the frown forming on your face. You watch him close his eyes, mirroring your sigh, but that is the only thing he did. You have never realize that your presence bothered him so much. Are you really that annoying? Maybe if you didn’t always require his company almost everywhere you go, this whole situation wouldn’t even happened. His awful silence gave away so much, the pull at his eyebrows and rigid breathing. You already said enough, you think and he in return didn’t, so you just got the feeling that he doesn’t want you here anymore.

You fight back tears of anger mostly, twirling around to maybe lock yourself in the bathroom for a while to calm down, but you weren’t even able to take a step further as you suddenly hear his mumble.

“You’re so stupid…”

Your head immediately whips around, startling him by the anger radiating from you. “Excuse me?” You almost spit out, emotions on the edge. You can’t believe that he just said that to you, ready to throw some insults back, but his frantic movements stop you.

His eyes snap wide open, twirling in his chair to face you, throwing his arms in the air. “No! Not you, it’s me…” He at that places his hands over his face, his next words being muffled. “Oh, fuck, I’m not mad at you or anything. Can we just forget it?”

You want to laugh in disbelief at his words. You for these past few days felt horrible and now he just expects you to forget it? You are seeing red, but you still try to keep your voice down, aware of the other people still present. “No?” You say incredulously, chest rising wildly. “You’ve been so weird, I want to know why…” I deserve it, you wanted to say. His face falls, fingers pressing into his eyelids as a broken noise falls from his mouth. He looked troubled and you are becoming even more concern about what this is truly about. You are scared, thinking the most horrible things imaginable.

“I can’t–“ Chan says firstly to himself, before pulling his hands away from his face to look at you. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” You almost whisper, eyes trailing over his reddish eyes and you hope those aren’t tears reflecting in them.

“You will hate me.”

That was his simple answer. Even now you do not hate him. How could you possibly? There isn’t truly a situation in mind that could make you hate him. It was such strong emotion and feeling it towards him, would make you hate yourself mostly. You were angry with him. The way he keeps ignoring, makes you feel so unwanted, but seeing him like this makes all the anger melt away as there was only concern left behind. You shake your head at his words, again finding it difficult to be truly be angry with him as he looked as broken as you felt inside. “Trust me, nothing could propably make me angrier…” You say, wholeheartedly, trying to ease this invisible tension between you two.

Chan look at you with a look that told you; we will see. He again glanced away from you, playing with the rings on his fingers, before sighing in defeat. “….you remember the time you spend the night when there was that killing heat?”

“Yeah?” You said, shrugging and coming closer to him. You do remembered it and you are becoming really curious about what he will say next as you also thought about that day as the solution to this problem.

As you took a step closer to him, towering over him as he still sat in his chair, his head snaps away from you again. The rough moment made him twirl away from you slightly, watching him bite his lip. “Fuck…I can’t even look at you–“

Now you do laugh in disbelief, hands flying in the air before they slap against your thighs. “Why not?” He doesn’t answer again and from your own outburst you don’t even see the way he scrunches up the material of his shorts. “God dammit, Christopher–“

He briefly stills at the sound of his name, before a gasp rings in the air. It came from him as he felt your hand at the back of the headrest, your pretty nails briefly scratching his skull. A shiver runs down his spine, eyes wide when you turn him around to face you. He immediately panics at that, his hands that were digging into the armrests flying to push you away, but they only hover as his eyes again fall on to your legs. “Please just stay there…” He watches your face crunch up in hurt, but he simply couldn’t catch his breath by the way your body is so close to his. “Stay there!”

Your own eyes widened, stilling in your spot a few inches away from him. The thing that makes you snap out from your thoughts is the way his chest kept rising up and down, you are getting a little scared that he in any moment would just smother. Your head tilts down, the hands on either side of his head, falling back to your sides. As they touched the skin of your legs, he almost jumps as your hand grazes over his, still stretched out one. “Chan?” You call out him, watching his frozen body slowly melt at the sound of his name falling from your lips.

He keeps his eyes dead set on your legs, arms still in air, you almost want to laugh at his silly position. “So you remember that night, right?” He asked, voice serious.

You wonder again what exactly happened that made him like this. “Yeah…” The way you knew that this day is somehow relevant, but still not knowing fully what you did, makes you take in a shaky breath.

“God…I can’t get it out of my head–“ You watch his hands form into fists, cheeks on fire slightly from the way he basically growls. “Your – you were wearing those goddamn shorts, if you can even call them that and I fucking tried to look away…but it only became worst when you started to only wear these skirts..and, and — fuck, I’m so sorry, I c-can’t – this is so wrong.”

Your mouth is left open, the more he talked the more he looked at you and for the first time you wish he didn’t, because he was looking at you in such way that it made you subconsciously rub your thighs together. He however did noticed, his last words coming out choked at the way the meat of your thighs rubbed together. Chan is ready to just stand up and leave, not being able to control himself anymore.

You immediately stop him, hands flying to his shoulders, pressing him back down. “Hey!” You raise your voice at him, but both of you can hear the way you also choke over such a simple word. “I don’t understand…” You kind of did, but you need to hear more, because you can’t take any more subtle words, though those words that left him so far, made you almost fall on to your knees.

His eyes glossed over and not from what you think. Chan doesn’t know what exactly happened that day. He thought, knew, you were attractive, but he never had such vile thoughts running through his mind about you. Maybe it was the way, you looked that day on the couch. Skin glistening, the sweat making your perfume smell so intoxicating. Your hair was sticking to your skin, frown on your features, chewing your bottom lip. It also didn’t help him keep his sanity — the way your legs looked from his view. He didn’t know why he chose that position. He didn’t know at that moment if he should feel blessed or just be completely begging for mercy to get the image of your yummy thighs from his head. The way you layed there, completely exhausted, not even seeing the way your shorts rolled right up to your hips — this is it.

Your legs, your fucking thighs were the thing that made him go so distant. He for a while kept it this to himself, because how could he talk about such thing with anyone? He felt dirty every time he thought back at the way your thighs looked. He wanted to just fucking bite them every time you would walk pass him, because like if you knew, you started to wear dresses and skirts…After few days when everyone seem to notice his change of behavior, he told Felix. To his shock, he only laughed, saying that it was so silly of him to be like that just because of your thighs. But they weren’t any thighs…they were yours and also Felix told him that day how he wasn’t the only one thinking about you like that. He couldn’t fight the jealousy rising in his chest as he listened to the words his band members kept saying about you, but who could he judge. He probably was the worst out of all of them.

“I started to ignore you, not because of something you did, but it was because of me…I always feel like such a pervert looking at you, but I can’t help it…they look so fucking good — I don’t want to ruin anything between us…”

You do feel weight being drop off from your shoulders as well as also the rumbling in your lower tummy. He looked so on the edge right now that you kind of found something amusing about it. He thought that maybe you would be absolutely mad, freaked out about his weird behavior, but it made the most pleasant feeling warm up your insides. “So, you were just ignoring, because you are horny?” Your voice held a teasing tone, swaying on your feet, feeling giddy inside.

His eyes widened at that. “No! Well…don’t say it like that…” Chan trails off, feeling his ears get red, face flaming hot. His eyes travel back to you as you suddenly take a step closer to him, knees almost touching.

He looked like a deer caught in headlights from the way your droopy eyes gaze down at him, bottom lip caught between your teeth. He just knows you are not even doing it on purpose. “What exactly made you so hot all over?” You wonder out loud.

The question makes him swallow nervously, realizing that the tension in the room is slowly forming into something completely different from the way you firstly step inside his room. He immediately flicker his eyes down, already giving you the answer. “…your thighs…I like your thighs…”

You tstked, basking in the way he started to become so shy and bashful. “That’s it? Tell me what else Chris.”

He again almost jumps out of his seat, but it only makes him touch his knees with your lower thighs, shocking him all over. “That’s it, I swear! I really only thought about your thighs and…” Chan curse himself for continuing after that as he saw you raise an eyebrow in question. Do you even know the effect you have on him? He probably looks pretty pathetic right now, but he really doesn’t seem to care as you tilt your head down at him, fanning your pretty eyelashes. “And how they would look spilling over my fingers…”

You suck in breath, fingers brushing over his as you stumble over thin air. His gaze turns dark at the way you almost cower. You can feel your own cheeks heating up, suddenly becoming shy under his gaze. It is the same look as the one he gave you back in the studio, now you know what it means. You could feel how his gaze changed the whole vibe of the room and you are now the one becoming bashful. “That’s it?“ You mumble, bottom lip pouting from the way you don’t even have the confidence to fully speak.

“No…there’s so much more.” He licks his lips, catching how your eyes follow the movement of his tongue. “But it would be better if I show you instead?”

“Chan…” You say his name, breathless.

He sighs heavily, eyes going everywhere, all over you. “Just say yes or no, because i think I’ll go fucking crazy otherwise.”

You shiver at his voice, the deepness vibrating your whole body. “Yes!” You almost shout and before you could even finish answering, he pulls you by your waist to his body.

His pretty fingers dig into the dip of your waist, letting you see that you could still pull away, but you only pull yourself closer to him. You let yourself fall into his lap, bottom half resting on his legs. Before you could even do anything else, he held you there, a little away from his chest so he could still look into your eyes. How did you never notice the hunger he held for you? It was completely written in his eyes, looking at you like you hung the moon. “Can I kiss you?” He says, chest bumping subtly with yours from his heavy breathing. You again want to laugh at such question, pulling the back of his head to yours closer instead. Your lips touch with gentleness for a few seconds, his lips so pillowy you can’t wait for him to kiss every inch of your body. As you pull away from each other, you give each other a long look, before one of his hands on your waist comes to weave in your hair, tugging at the root.

You gasp at the sudden roughness, letting him push his lips to your pulse, it jumping under his touch. You already probably look like a total wreck and it didn’t help the fact that just by a small tilt of your hips you could feel his hard-on. He sighs with you, kissing, licking at your neck, sending shivers all over your body. When he feels your sudden shift of your hips, something comes over him. The way his friends talked about you, made his grip tighten around your hair, pulling out a whimper from you.

He doesn’t ignore that noise, making the feeling even better with his kisses on the left side of your neck. You moan when you feel him sucking at your skin, melting into his touch even more. He start to nip at you, soaking you up in his spit from how wild he is making out with your neck. You can’t even breathe from the way he presses himself into you, making your own hand tighten around his head, him letting out a brutal groan that came from the back of his throat.

It makes him stop for a moment and you took the opportunity to pull him to your mouth. His lips felt puffy, so delicious, making you delirious from his taste alone. His tongue clashed over yours, letting your mouth open for him to just fuck you with it, as he is completely messy with it. You don’t even care about your mixed spit falling onto your shirt, but you do react when he pulls away from you urgently.

“Sit on my face.”

“What–“ You can’t even answer as he slaps his hands on your thighs, massaging roughly the fat between his fingers. “Chan I don’t know…I have never done it – I don’t want to hurt you.” You say, also breathless, freezing when the tip of his fingers almost touched your clothed core.

“I don’t care, fucking choke me with these thighs to dead, I really don’t fucking care–“

“Okay!” You answer, head snapping back to the door to his bedroom, suddenly remembering that you are in fact not the only people in the dorm right now. Your small concern melts away when you’re suddenly hoist up.

You yelp, gasp rather loudly, your hand flying to grasp his shoulders as he grip the underside of your thighs. You are shocked about how easily he just lift you up, not missing the cheeky grin on his face. You melt momentarily at the sight of his strong arms bulging, veins so prominent, you could probably spend the whole night just biting at them. He also can’t help himself getting even more hard and impatient at the thought of finally having you.

He turns around swiftly, not even giving you a warning as he throws you on his bed. You again let out a startled sound, body completely emerging into the soft mattress, bed springs screeching wildly when he falls on top of you. Your small complaint is silenced by his lips on your own, biting immediately at your bottom lip. You are already having a hard time controlling your own desires, hips jumping up and when they just softly touch his, you moan into him.

He breathes you in, heavy breaths mixing with yours, lowering himself to fully graze his cock over your cunt. The sounds you are making are really getting into his head, pushing into you just right, precum ruining his shorts. “Fuck–“ You whimper, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, nails scratching at his lower stomach. His mind was basically all over the place, but when you wrap your godforsaken legs around him, sqeeezing his hips, he sits up. You jump a little from how quick the movement is, ready to question him if you did something wrong, but you are only left confused when he falls backwards into his pillow. How can someone look this good from that angle…

“Come here-“ You are already climbing up his body by then, sitting down on his lap like before, but from this position you could feel even more. You can’t help, but press yourself harder on his clothed cock. You drool at the feeling, eyes closing to fully savour the feeling.

He sucks in breath from your smooth movements, letting you hump your pretty little clit over him as he again gets lost in your body. Chan hopes you know how good you are looking right now. Face scrunch up, hair messy from his fingers, hands pulling at his shirt like it is the only hold of sanity you have left. He bit his bottom lip, hands again traveling up your legs, peeking from your soft pink skirt and as he lifts it up a little by accident…he comes across your same colored silk panties. He will fucking cum in his pants if he doesn’t have you on his face right now.

You are pulled from your blissful state as Chan pulls you closer to him, lifting you up slightly with his strength. Your eyes open, looking into his, again glistening under your hungry gaze. “Please, sit on my face.”

You gasp softly again, but you can’t stop the desire spreading across your face. “Are you sure?” Your hand caressed his features, thumb going over the bridge of his nose, making his eyes close for a second. He for an answer pulls you again closer, making you sit up. “Wait – let me just-“ You make a move to get up from him, but he immediately grabs you tightly in his grasp.

You wanted to maybe pull down your skirt for him to get a better access to your leaking cunt, but he possibly couldn’t miss the opportunity of having you like this. Still in that pretty skirt and matching panties, like you almost knew this was going to happened. The thought of you just wearing the same thing after, juices and his spit coating your thighs, silently hoping that the guys would be able to smell him on you, made his cock jump in his shorts. “Keep it on, all…” He says, voice deep, almost not being able to hear him from the way he is already so drunk on you.

You shiver then, shuffling finally up his body, stopping at his chest, chin just grazing the inside of your thigh. “Just stop me if you can’t breathe.” He could smell your scent from here, no way he will miss the opportunity of being choked to death by your weight on his nose. He actually also never done it before, he only got the idea when you came into the picture and he can’t thought of anyone else doing it to him.

Your fingers touch briefly his as you lift up your skirt to your waist, waiting for him to shuffle down. You gasp at the sight of his face so close to your pussy, as he only groans in response from the way he could see the wet patch on your underwear growing. His hands play with the meat of your thighs, the softness, making him turn his head to suck at the skin. You moan quietly, still aware that you two are not alone, but you just can’t help yourself from moaning again as he sucks on the inside of your thigh. You could already see the purple blotches forming, not even mad when he does the same with the other. It tickled slightly, a giggle falling from your lips, hand immediately going to your mouth to silent your laugh.

However he only melts at that sound, a grin becoming prominent on his lips and you could feel it against your skin. You are just so cute and adorable, but he had to shock you by lowering you finally to his lips. No sound though leaves you, only mouth hanging open when his tongue licks a long stripe up your clothed pussy. You curse, legs trembling slightly from the way he just started to make out with your center.

You could feel his saliva smearing all over you or maybe it was your juices? Chan is already going dizzy from your tanginess, cursing himself for not talking to you sooner. He for second pulls away from you, licking at his lips, not missing anything you are giving him. A sigh leaves him when his eyes trail over the visible outline of your pussy.

“Please-“ You whimper, hips rolling slightly in the air and he almost came right there from that. The idea of you riding his face is the only thing he can think of right now, so he just pushes your ruined panties to the side, showing his mouth into your soaking cunt.

You yelp again, hand shooting to grip at his hair but it only makes you fall forward, basically squishing your whole bottom half into him. You immediately try to sit up, but he only pulls you further down. His tongue is everywhere. You are absolutely wrecked, teeth biting at your tongue to silence yourself, because how good is he?

You have never been eaten out like this before. The angle made his nose graze your clit just right and you don’t even have the strength to pull yourself up, concern about him breathing flying out the window. However Chan really doesn’t seem to care, happy you are the only thing he is breathing in. The way you just try to move away from the intense feeling, made his own hips jump. The grip he has on your legs, will propably make bruises later, but it actually made the feeling even better.

You think you are almost crying from the pleasure, drooling when his tongue breaches you and he shivers at your raw taste — delicious like a Michelin star meal. Your back arches at that, pushing yourself even harder against him. The shift makes him moan into you, pulling himself away from you for a moment, but you could still feel him working you up. “Ride my face-“ You gasp and whimper when his hand gives your right cheek a nasty slap, making you jump, clit hitting the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, baby…just like that – good girl.”

He isn’t holding you up anymore, just laying there as you shift nervously. The cuteness like you are, you are still slightly shy with your movements. It is honestly endearing, but right now he just wants you to suffocate him. He basically shoves you down on his face, one hand playing with your asscheek and the other gripping at your leg.

You feel sweat dripping down your forehead, whimpering. Chan helps you with your movements, before you finally start riding his face on your own, just like he wanted. He only groans into you, the sound vibrating around your clit, his lips wrapping around it. When he suck at it, pulling your inner labia into his mouth, you almost cum right there. Your hand comes down to caress his soft curls, completely opposite from your wild movements. You look down, eyes glossy, but not missing the hungry look he gives you in return.

You could already feel your lower belly rumbling in the very familiar feeling, completely lost in the moment. His pretty nose, which you always complimented, rubs against you in the most delicious way. Your mind is fuzzy, mouth hanging open when you start to feel the ecstasy, but then a loud unexpected noice startles you, making you jump.

“Are you guys okay in there?”

Your eyes fly wide open, falling on to equally frightened Chan. Your breathing is heavy, quietly trying to catch your breath with him, before he slightly lifts you up to answer Han. “All good!” He answers, voice raspy.

You look at him in confusion when he suddenly grabs you by your waist, giving you a small peak at his drenched face. You don’t even have time to apologize for the mess you did, head still fuzzy from your ruined orgasm, when he flings you up in the air and making you fall onto your back.

Your surprise gasp is unheard by his overly loud voice, like he just knew you would do that. “We’ll be right there-“ You don’t miss the cheeky grin on his lips, watching him kiss your pubic bone, before wrapping your legs around his head. “Just have to finish something…” He mumbles and at that he flattens his tongue, pressing it right at your puffy clit. Your hand quickly flies to your lips, crying out into your skin when he wildly moves his head side to side, almost missing Han’s answer.

“Okay! Just don’t eat each other.“

Oh, for sure…

You don’t even care that he could probably still hear your loud cry of pleasure as Chan basically devours you. Your legs start to tremble, back arching, a hand holding your bottom half down. You are losing your mind about how good he is, fingers tugging at his hair as he only suck harder. “I’m gonna cum – fuuuuck” He at your words, pulls his mouth lower, again shoving his tongue into your cunt.

“Cum babygirl, I want it.” Chan growls, head tilting up so your clit hits his nose again. Even if the position is starting to hurt, he will never complain about that pain ever, because the image of your eyes rolling into the back of your head, was definitely worth it.

Your whole body trembles, legs pressing his head even closer to you as the rope snaps. You don’t even hear yourself anymore, letting your lips open wide, moaning wildly in pleasure. You could feel yourself leaking all over his face. The high doesn’t even stop, because he doesn’t stop. You feel tear run down your face, sitting up, gasping as his only quickened is movements.

You almost want to scream at the burning feeling, hole fluttering around his tongue. “Please stop — I’m gonna cum again!” He only looks up at you, so innocently you can’t stop your hips tilting up to his face. As the second peak starts to approach your hand, falls to his, squeezing it, nails scratching his skin as the immense pleasure hits you again, now even more intense as you didn’t even have time to clam your body from the first. You see completely white, ears ringing as you fall back down in exhaustion, just letting him lick your cream all up, whole body shaking. Your heart beats wildly inside your chest, body slumping tiredly into the sheets. You don’t even feel him pulling away from your red, puffy pussy, neither him falling next to you.

When you feel a hand touching your cheek softly, moving away the wet strands of hair from your face, your eye peaks open slightly. You sighs in bliss, a drunk smile stretching across your lips at the look he gives you. “You, okay?” What kind of question is even that? You feel like you had out of body experience, still feeling the lingering burning sensation.

“Yeah.” You say, voice little, maybe from your screaming. You really don’t even care anymore about the guys hearing you as Chan gives you the most loving, soft kiss. You taste yourself on his lips, looking up at him, eyes tracing over the wetness coating his face. You are sure that every time you will look at him from now on, you will see him under you eating your cunt like there’s no tomorrow. Definitely one of the best memories you have of him.

You grin again, pulling yourself up, only slumping right back with a huff. Chan laughs at you, cooing, pulling you against him instead. You could feel how his own heart is jumping as your head hits his chest and you can’t help smiling further. “You know, you’re not the only one kind of obsessed.” You say, at his silence looking up at him.

He humms in question, brows furrowed, ignoring the sudden loud noises, like cheering, coming from the living room as you are the only thing he will ever put his attention into from now on.

“You have really nice ass.”

#bangchan x reader #chan x reader #bangchan x you #bangchan x y/n #bangchan x female reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #bangchan smut #changbin x reader #felix x reader #han jisung x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #i.n x reader #lee know x reader #seungmin x reader

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kentopedia · 10 months

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss.

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live.

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.”

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.”

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks.

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice.

levi makes his way towards the door.

“levi?”

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t.

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought.

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.”

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting.

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter.

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle.

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess.

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say.

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first.

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red.

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you.

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice.

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness.

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned.

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety.

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?”

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.”

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.”

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.”

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.”

“five—”

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

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rafecameroninterlude · 19 days

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hii!! congrats on your 5k followers, I'm glad glad. 💖💖

cann I haveeeeee 🍩?? (frat!rafe with daddy kink??) 🙈🙈 i wish you the best!!

warnings: shy!reader, kinda mean!rafe, daddy kink, brief mention of phone sex/sexting, unprotected sex, semi public sex (at a party), slight choking, slight praise, dirty talk, creampie, hint of impregnation kink at the end

a/n: frat!rafe has a special place in my heart i’m afraid.. you guys have been sending me AMAZING req’s for my 5k celebration, i genuinely can’t wait to answer as many as i can <3

“come on, baby, call me what you called me in those text messages.” rafe teased you, his cock prodding at your entrance. if someone told you that sexting with a frat president would land you in his bed with his friends right outside the door, you wouldn’t believe them. “i can’t..” you whimpered, your eyes heavy with tears as he wrapped a hand around your throat. “yes, you can.” rafe studied your face. you looked so pretty underneath him. “what, are you shy now? you weren’t so shy when you sent me pictures of those perfect tits.” he laughed.

your skin flushed at the memory. you had never provocatively pointed a camera at yourself, let alone posed and sent a photo, but rafe’s words and desperation to see you naked had made you crumble. “please! ‘just want you inside me..” you reached up, pressing a hand against his toned chest. “not until you say it.” he shook his head, squeezing the sides of your neck softly. swallowing thickly, you gazed up at him. “who’s your fuckin’ daddy?” your eyebrows knitted together as rafe leaned down, his lips ghosting over your own. “you are- oh!” you gasped when he thrusted into you without warning.

“i’m your what?” he feigned confusion, taking your thigh and wrapping it around his waist. he felt so good, your walls stretching deliciously around his length. “you’re my daddy!” you practically screamed when his thumb found your clit, his lips latching onto the sensitive spot on your neck. rafe couldn’t explain it, but hearing you call him that made something primal awake within him. suddenly he wanted to fuck you dumb, and make you a whining mess. “you’re so fucking perfect, holy shit.” he rolled his hips into yours, your back arching off of his bed at the pleasure.

the lewd sounds of your soaked cunt, paired with the heavy breathing from the man above you, did nothing to conceal the music coming from downstairs where a party was in full swing. you clung onto him the closer you got to your peak, your eyes fluttering shut as he whispered filthy obscenities in your ear. “acting like a shy girl, but really you just want to be fucked like the filthy slut you are, huh?” you cried out, his advances on your sensitive bundle of nerves sending you over the edge, your thighs trembling as you covered your mouth. rafe looked offended as you tried to keep yourself quiet.

“fuck that, let me hear you.” he took the palm you had pressed against your lips and pinned it to your side. rafe leaned down, trailing kisses down your jaw as you let out the pettiest noises he’s ever heard. you shook against him, burying your face in the crook of his neck while he spilled inside of you, his own high hitting him with an unforgivable force. he cursed against your skin, his fingers curling into the flesh of your hips while he eased his movements to a smooth stop. you were still teary eyed and going through the aftershocks of your orgasm when he pulled out, watching gloriously as his seed spilled out of you.

“i should do this to you every night.. ‘make you really give me that ‘daddy’ title.” he smiled wickedly, wrapping both of you in his sheets as he comforted you, stroking your cheek and running his fingers through your hair until you fell asleep in his arms.

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januaryembrs · 8 months

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TROUBLE ALMOST ALL MY LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader

Description: The ONE time the BAU needs you + the FOUR times you need them.

word count: 24k (what on earth was I thinking)

trigger warnings: mentions of spencers addictions + use + side affects. MOMMY ISSUES thankyou ambassador Prentiss. hostage scene + injuries. mentions of forced/pressured marriage. fem!reader. reader and Emily struggle to bond.

authors note: We never meet Emily's dad nor do we see a picture so while reader is given a nickname of Bugsy, she still keeps her real name (no use of y/n) and is given ZERO physical descriptors. ALL of my fem!readers should feel included here, let me know if this is not the case! also I don't speak any language besides English however she does speak many because of her mom, so I really tried to get it right, message me if I'm being stupid!!

series masterlist | next chapter

[this] means its spoken in another language.

—

‘trouble on my left, trouble on my right,

I’ve been facing trouble almost all my life’

1. the one where you become a translator.

“I’ll make some calls, I may still have some friends in the Eastern countries,” Ambassador Prentiss announced to the room, standing from her place on the plush sofa.

A case had landed quite literally in Emily’s lap when her mother had come by that morning asking for Hotch, a Russian migrant looking for her father with a ransom note and a sliced off finger shoved through her mailbox, wedding ring still attached.

It wasn’t every day Emily wished she’d brushed up on her Russian, but today of all days she was struggling to keep up.

“We don’t have much time, we need a division of labour,” Hotch’s serious face settled, the time constraints making him just that bit more dictatorial, “Morgan, someone needs to go to the Chernus’s house in Baltimore in case they are contacted again,”

“What about the language barrier?” Derek raised, smoothing a hand over the short scruff of his beard, “We can’t have the unsub speaking with the family directly. He could say anything to them without us knowing,”

Bugsy would hate to admit she fit the criteria for youngest daughter of a workaholic mother and distant father to a tea, but Emily would say different.

Elizabeth Prentiss had never been a warm woman; Emily used to tell her the scowl was a side effect of the overplucking of her eyebrows, not the serious nature of her job. Her youngest girl once said her mother’s lips looked like she’d sucked a lemon. Of course they admired her work, but world peace meant jack shit to a little girl wanting nothing more than a mother’s hug.

Despite the fact she’d pushed away her husband and both her daughters in favour of her career, the one useful thing about being the Ambassador’s daughter wasn’t just the money, but the widespread culture the girls had been crammed full of since they could so much as beg for a sippy cup.

“Baltimore, you say?” Emily asked Hotch with a somewhat doubtful wince, “I mean you could always-”

“Absolutely not,” Her mother cut her off, rubbing the stress lines already creasing her forehead at the very notion of her other daughter, despite the fact Emily hadn’t even finished her thought.

Emily’s sigh was a reflex, the years of her mother cutting her off sparking the frustration on instinct.

“She lives right in the city, Mother, it can’t hurt to have her just talk for them-” Emily tried to bargain, only for the sharp mouthed Ambassador shoot her a frown.

“End of discussion, Emily,” Elizabeth snipped, her manicured fingernails twitching with annoyance, “Your sister is much too young for an assignment so serious,”

Emily rolled her eyes with a scoff, as if the two had slipped back into the role of rebellious teenager and scathing mother without much thought.

“She's twenty-two, mom. She’s getting her masters degree for Christ sakes, she’s not ‘too young’,” The dark headed woman fought back, clicking her pen a few times as if the spring loaded ink would take away some of the temper Elizabeth seemed to flare up.

Her mother’s lips pursed, in the way Bugsy hated, in the way that meant she was going to be mean.

“Immature may have been a better word, then,” She replied, and Emily seemed to pause. She couldn’t argue with that. “Or perhaps lazy, or puerile; callow, wild, irresponsible. Would you like me to name more?”

“Asinine would be a good term; deriving from the Latin asinus it not only means foolish, but to be stubborn and lazy like an ass,” Spencer input helpfully to the Ambassador, only for his bright smile to fade when he saw the daggers Emily stared at him with, “Sorry, I love word games,” He muttered into his lap.

“Asinine. Perfect, Dr Reid,” Elizabeth said, and Emily could only roll her eyes harder.

Hotch huffed, the victim’s daughter watching between the two women’s quarrel with wet eyes, the ice box with her father’s finger clenched tightly in her lap, the cold of the limb bleeding into his own gaze.

“Unfortunately, Ambassador Prentiss, despite just how asinine your daughter might be, Morgan is right. Having the Unsub possibly speaking with the family without us understanding what he’s saying could prove fatal,” He explained, ignoring the way the older woman’s mouth scrunched in bitterness. They didn’t need to be profilers to see that despite how tempered the relationship between Emily and her mother was, a tension seemed to fall between the women the moment the younger Prentiss was mentioned.

Spencer was sure he was the only person who even knew Emily had a little sister.

“Very well, but don’t be surprised when you find your hands full of the girl,” Elizabeth said with a shake of her head as she led the victims, a mother and daughter that seemed to cling to one another for comfort as if to rub salt in her matriarchal wound, into the break room to get away from the frosty atmosphere that now lingered around the table.

Emily sighed, picking around her fingernails the way she did when she was bothered.

“I’m going to hate these next words that are gonna come out of my mouth,” She started with a long exhale, “But my mother’s right. Bugsy is a handful. Just try not to get her wound up, that girl smells fear,” She looked to Reid who seemed none the wiser, “I’m talking to you, wonder boy. She’ll eat you up and spit you right back out,”

Spencer gulped quietly.

Derek only chuckled, slapping a hand down onto Emily’s shoulder, “Relax, Prentiss. Your mom’s just got you all worried. Need I remind you I grew up with two sisters? This will be a piece of cake,”

–

Those were the famous last words of Derek Morgan.

Loud, heavy metal music jumped through the wooden door, so loud Morgan worried his three polite knocks would go unheard as the two of them waited outside her dorm for her to answer. Morgan was about to knock again, figuring the music had drowned out the first lot, when the door swung open and a frown the spitting image of Emily’s stressed expression met their gaze.

She looked so different to their Prentiss, but the way she seemed already scorned by the two of them told them they had the right woman.

“Miss Prentiss?” Morgan asked formally, though he felt the warmth grow when he caught sight of a beat up friendship bracelet around her wrist amongst newer gold chains, five white blocks spelling out her sister’s name pulling tight on her skin, as if she’d quickly outgrown the thing but hadn’t the heart to remove it.

It was then that he and Reid seemed to both reel back slightly at the fact she was standing in a large shirt, ratty around the edges, and what seemed to be a pair of men's boxers covering her bottom half, clearly not suspecting particularly important visitors.

She looked him head to toe with a frown, a dozen piercings in her ears, her hair highlighted with streaks of cardinal red, as if he was the one confronting her in his underwear, before she moved onto Spencer, who’s face seemed to be getting hotter by the second as he forced his eyes away from her bare legs.

“Are you guys strippers? Did someone send strippers to my door?” She asked, strawberry gum smacking between her lips as her gaze seemed to finish mulling over Spencer’s tall form and returned to Morgan.

“Emily sent us.” Reid said shortly, the music blaring in his ears making it difficult to focus on what it was she was saying, “As co-workers, no-not strippers. We’re with the FBI,”

He hated loud noises anyway, cringed at the sound of particularly cutting rock songs, but since he’d developed his … problem, the dilaudid had him feeling like someone was clawing at his skull, tugging his brain through his ears.

“Emily sent you here?” She asked with a scoff, looking the two up and down again. They both easily caught the way her face hardened, “Are pigs flying today or something?”

“We’re here to ask for your help on a case,” Spencer rushed through a sweaty brow, “Emily said you’d be able to act as a translator for us and some Russian citizens who are being targeted,”

She sighed sceptically, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame, “Any strippers or non-strippers can fraud an ID. Emily’s name was in the paper just the other week. I’m gonna need a little more than that,”

She keeps track of her sister despite the supposed distance between them. Spencer was quick to profile, his mind whirring at all the ways she reminded him of her sister down to the way she raised her eyebrows expectantly at them.

“Emily was born October twelfth, 1970 at 7:12am, graduated from Garfield High School in 1989,” Spencer said as if reporting the weather, her eyes narrowing in on him all the more coldly, “She attended Chesapeake Bay University and speaks six languages, as I expect you do from moving so often with your mother. She coined your nickname Bugsy from your childhood love of ladybugs, which she said you grew out of by the time you turned eleven yet the name stuck, though you still like counting the spots to identify their species. Your parents split when you were five and your father moved in with his now wife, born September ninth-”

“Alright- alright. What are you, living in her walls?” She interrupted incredulously, before turning her attention to Derek who seemed to hide a chuckle with a cough. “Either you really are a stripper or you’re a terrible friend,”

“She loves Kurt Vonnegut,” Derek held his finger as if to prove her entirely wrong, although not much else came to him. Maybe he was a bad friend, he thought guiltily, or maybe he simply lacked an eidetic memory like the wonder boy next to him, who had been about to tell her how old she was when Emily’s pet betta fish died, “Slaughterhouse 5?”

Rolling her eyes, she grunted at them, kicking her door open for them to enter.

“Everyone loves Vonnegut; only losers under a rock dislike Vonnegut,” She drawled, edging back into her room, the heavy bass rock growing in volume as they followed her in, “I’ll be ready in a second- Emily’s always bugging me about wearing pants,” She said vaguely, scanning around the dirty dorm, until she found one particular pair of jeans laying half under her bed, quickly yanking them up her legs. “Come in, come in.”

She flicked the speakers way down to which Spencer took a breath of relief. His eyes fell to the laptop that had been set up on her desk, the five different textbooks littered around the spare space, energy drinks and empty mugs filling the cracks where he could barely see the generic white of the table top, his nose crinkling. About as gross as he’d expect from a college student.

“Emily said your Russian was pretty good,” Derek made conversation, his eyes wandering over the various posters plastered over her walls, some fraying round the edges from where she had likely been moved from bedroom to bedroom when the Prentiss’s inevitably had to move country again.

“Yeah,” She snarked, pulling a nicer top over her head, “Kinda tends to happen when you live in Russia,”

Morgan raised his eyebrows to Spencer who seemed to give him the same look back, though the latter was biting back a snicker at her words.

How in the hell was she the Ambassador’s daughter?

–

“This all involves Russian Mafia, it’s really beefed up here the last ten years or so,” Agent Cramer, a tall, slim man who looked entirely overwhelmed by the workload on his shoulders reported, as she listened intently.

She had been somewhat de-briefed in the car, Emily messaging her for the first time since Christmas, the message a simple: “Have you met with Morgan and Reid yet? Make sure to put on pants,” to which she sent her a thumbs up emoji. She didn’t have much to say to her at the moment, barely even knew her sister anymore.

“It started off mainly in New York and LA but they send lieutenants from the old country,” Cramer went on, and she caught Reid scratching his arm beneath his shirt. She knew it was mozzy weather, and he was already under the blaring sun in a little sweater, it wouldn’t surprise her if he felt a bit prickly.

“Pahkans,” She interrupted, the man named Gideon shooting her a glance as she dug through her purse.

“Your Mom do much work about the Mafia?” He asked, as she produced a clear nail varnish.

“Here and there, I had to sit with her in her office for a whole Summer once when I got caught sneaking out. Picked up a few things, though,” She said, holding the polish out to Spencer, nodding to his arm, “Here. Supposed to help bug bites,”

He looked at her as if he wanted to say something, perhaps question her sources for such an old wives tale, but he stopped himself quickly, taking the varnish out of her hand with a dejected nod.

“Thankyou,” He muttered, shoving it in his pocket.

Three months he’d been in this rabbit hole. She had noticed it in a matter of hours.

“They open up branch offices in other cities. Baltimore, Saint Louis, Chicago, Dallas, the list goes on,” Cramer added, nodding at her words, “They’re mainly offshoots of the Odessa Mafia and they’re especially tough to crack from a law enforcement standpoint. I mean beside being well organised with sophisticated technical equipment, there’s Vory v Zakone to contend with,”

“The thieves code, eighteen principles they live by,” Reid jumped in before she could, to which she nodded as Gideon looked to her for more.

“It means ‘thief in law’, or ‘thief with code’. It's a system of repeatedly jailed convicts that have been crowned or ‘made’ with a strict list of ideals, breaking them usually means death,” She explained, kicking a stone between her feet.

“It’s like bible to these guys. We’re not gonna be turning any of them informer anytime soon,” Cramer said. Gideon seemed to tune the three of them out however, his gaze locking on the house across the street, where a curtain twitched, and a man’s face appeared in the window, watching the crime scene with guilt.

“Then we’ll need a witness who will talk,” Gideon replied, heading straight towards the neighbour who seemed just a little too invested in what was happening, much more than a concerned third party should be. Though, she had barely noticed, digging through her purse once more for chapstick.

“So, you study Russian or something?” Cramer asked as she applied it gently, Spencer swore he could smell the cherry flavour from where he stood beside her.

“I lived in Moscow until I was six, moved back to France, then back to Italy, then Algeria for a bit. Bounced around Europe for a bit longer, but I still speak better Russian than anything else,” She clarified, and she saw Cramer’s eyebrows shoot up, “Military brat except I don’t get the cool discount at the store,”

“You must have had a lot of friends though, going to so many schools,” Spencer added, and though there was nothing teasing about his tone, she laughed sharply anyway.

“You’re funny,” She snarked, but smiled at him anyway.

Spencer had never been called funny in his life. ‘Funny looking’, ‘funny sounding’ maybe, but never funny.

In fact he was so confused by what she had meant, whether it had been a taunt or genuine that he almost missed the sound of the whole street locking their front doors, dead bolting their lives away when a black prius, an expensive one at that, pulled through the street and swerved into park next to them.

“Guess who,” Cramer bit, her eyes ripping away from where Gideon had the door slammed in his face.

Detective Cramer aged by about five years when two tall men got out of the luxury car, opening the door for a shorter man in the back seat, their faces thunder.

“You familiar with them?” She asked, shoulder brushing against Spencer as she turned to watch the men approach, entirely aware of the .9mm on each of their hips.

“Arseny Lysowsky,” The detective identified, his voice cold, eyeing the two men who flanked the leader, towering over them.

“Agent Cramer, how are you?” Lysowsky smiled at him, which oddly enough seemed somewhat real, as he also took stock of the three other people around him. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, noting her lack of gun and badge, trying to decipher if she was local or just a very unprepared fed.

“Lysowsky, what brings you out?” Cramer asked, a tightness to his tone, his hand all too eager to grab his own pistol.

“I heard Chernuses had problems,” He kept it vague, didn’t reveal too much, and looked back at the victim’s house with a scorned frown.

“How did you hear that?” Gideon challenged, stance unwavering as the mob leader turned to meet his cold gaze.

“And you are?” He asked, a sinister smile on his face that flipped her stomach. She didn’t like the tension that had overcome the little patch of sidewalk they took up, and she was quick to notice how Spencer moved towards her.

He, by far, wasn’t the best shot on the team, but he was sure Hotch and Prentiss would have his and Morgan’s heads if any harm came to her.

“Churneses said they hadn’t told anyone,” Agent Gideon ignored his question, hands firmly planted on his hips. If he was unnerved by the criminal in front of him, he never showed it, not even when Lysowsky’s grin widened horribly.

“It is a small community. Word gets out,” He said simply, looking past him to the neighbours house that had kicked Gideon to the curb, “Are you a friend of Gorban’s?”

A second of silence passed between them, neither of them backing down from the moral standoff they’d engaged in.

“Mr Gorban wouldn’t talk to me,” Gideon admitted, and Arseny only smiled again, flicking a look at the house behind him, as if hearing his dog had obeyed without command.

“Would you like me to talk to him for you?” The threat was there clear as day, clear enough to have Gideon’s eyes narrow, “I can’t promise something will come of it,”

“You!” In a second, Natalya, the victim she’d briefly met when Morgan had pulled up around an hour before, had stormed out of her house, her black kitten heels clicking against the concrete, “Where’s my father? He has my father!”

“Wait a minute,” Derek called, restraining her where she stood, trying to pull his muscled arm from her shoulder, “Do you know he has your father?”

“He’s responsible for all of this,” She spat, her eyes cold as she glared at the three men with vitriol hate, “Why everyone’s afraid, him and his animals,” She threw a hand up to his bodyguards that seemed barely contained by Cramer’s silencing hand.

“I am only here to help,” Lysowsky replied, confident and calm in his words, though not as taunting as the agents would have thought, as if he truly cared for her.

A vast difference to the sadistic mob boss Cramer’s team had painted him to be.

“Help?” She laughed woefully, tears in her eyes, “You’re a dog,”

“Natalya,” Arseny said in a warning, the way a teacher would to a student, as her breath rattled in her chest through a weep.

“How exactly can you help them?” Bugsy braved to speak, Gideon and Reid both flashing her a look. She’d always had trouble holding her tongue.

Lysowsky turned his attention to her then, his eyes running down her figure, still deciphering whether she was armed; she looked much too young to be an agent.

“In any way that they’d like me to, darling,” He replied, the disdain in her frown clearly not deterring him in the slightest, though again the act of concern held up in his own grimace, “As I said this is a small community. If one is in pain, we’re all in pain.”

Natalya weeped behind Morgan, sniffling as the boss made his way over to her, “Natalya, [you didn’t have to bring in outsiders],”

The younger woman’s ears pricked up as he spoke in his native language, Spencer’s eyes flicking to her from behind his sunglasses.

“[Let me help you],” He continued, taking a step towards Natalya, unthreatening yet she saw Morgan tense, his fingers twitching towards his gun.

“[My family will never come to you for help],” Natalya hissed back, also in Russian, her face contorted in disgust, “[Get away from my house],”

“[You are not right, Natalya],” He replied, yet again the concern in his eyes was either genuine or very well faked, “[You have made the wrong decision],”

Taking a step away from the victim that wept with a scorned sneer, he looked back to the agents, noting the way the youngest of them glared at him hotly, before retreating to his car.

“What did he say? Did he threaten you, Natalya?” Morgan asked, the woman watching the group of men drive away, as if Mr Chernus wasn’t still missing and they hadn’t just bumped themselves up to number one of the suspects list. “Talk to us and we can do something about it,”

“He said I made the wrong decision,” She said wetly, frustration turning on Derek as he pushed her for an answer, “I hope I didn’t,”

With that she stormed off back into her house, the same stomping of her kitten heels in her wake, leaving the agents to all look between one another before they simultaneously turned to look at Bugsy, questions hovering on all of their lips.

“What did he say exactly?” Gideon asked without frills, a hand rubbing his brow. Relaying the information, the men’s faces all drew into frowns as they heard Lysowsky’s parting statement. Gideon huffed, turning to Morgan and gesturing for him to follow Natalya inside.

“Morgan, keep an eye on her, Reid and I are going to Cramer’s office to look over the files,” He looked at her then, worry lines littering his otherwise friendly face, damn near scowling as she looked over at him, “You are here to interpret, you understand? You do not speak to the suspects, that’s our job.” He growled, watching her with disappointment, the same tone a father used when scolding a petulant child, “Do you have any idea how much danger you could put yourself in? These guys won’t hesitate to take you out the second we’re not around, kid,”

“But-” She started with a bite, though her whole fight left her when he silenced her with a raised hand.

“Buts are for cigarettes, kiddo,” He interrupted, and Spencer winced slightly, knowing he’d heard that one a few hundred times when he’d first started under Gideon and had yet to mature entirely. Reid watched something rebellious flare in her eyes, and he worried for a moment she might just slap his boss for the patronising tone he took, “Just keep your mouth shut, you’re doing great so far,”

She opened her mouth to protest, only to then register his words entirely and stay silent once more, appreciating his praise with a guilty smile. For once, she listened.

–

The grandfather clock chimed to tell them it was merely 11am; two hours until the unsub would start cutting more if they didn’t get the ransom fee, two hours to figure out who wanted Natalya’s family to suffer.

Said woman paced her living room at the sound of the hour, as Bugsy picked over the knick knacks on her fireplace, a small smile teasing her lips when she saw a picture of three small children grinning toothily at the camera.

She had never gotten any photo’s similar, Emily being fourteen years older. The majority of their childhood photos consisted of a very grumpy teenager holding her baby sister that seemed to squirm in the tight, formal dresses Elizabeth Prentiss had forced them into, identical scowls on their faces as they were made to sit for the picture.

There were some good memories, ones where Emily let herself be a sister and not a mom, where she would put makeup on her for fun and do her hair, let her have all the clothes out her wardrobe she thought looked nice, reading to her before bed, even letting her sister keep her pet corn snake when she left home for good.

But now, it seemed like she was too caught up in her super serious grown up job to give a shit that her sister lived just an hour away. Still messaged each other for holidays, but the last few times she’d braved a call to the eldest Prentiss, it had gone unanswered. They argued the majority of the time they spoke, or there was an awkward long silence in between words, whichever was worse, but they each knew the other would come running if they were to ever need them so desperately.

“Are you hungry? I could make something?” Natalya offered kindly, Derek having a poke through her collection of books that sat on the end table, though he’d have a tough job reading them as she’d already caught most of them were in her home language.

“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine,” He replied with a small smile, putting down the books to calm the clearly on edge woman that looked to the twenty-something year old hopefully.

She shook her head, “I’m good, thanks,” which seemed to deflate her entirely as she sat next to Derek with a sigh.

“I guess I’m like my mother. When she’s upset, she cooks,” Natalya said with a sad huff of a laugh, running a hand through her short, dark hair.

“Yeah, mine does too. I think that’s just a mom thing,” He replied, and Bugsy felt the two of them look at her as her finger traced the old brass ornaments gently, “How about you, baby Prentiss?”

She snorted, “You’re kidding, right?” smiling bitterly, “My mom never cooked for us, she said we needed to figure it out for ourselves rather than relying on the staff. Didn’t stop her from trying to end world hunger though,”

It wasn’t lost to Morgan the way her eyes trained on the picture of Natalya and her mother, cuddled together with genuine love in their embrace, the snarky humour as she spoke, the same longing Emily seemed almost too good at hiding from them.

“Your mother is a great woman,” Natalya complimented, though she missed the way the girl’s face steeled over, chewing her bottom lip as if to stop herself from snapping at the woman who meant well. She said nothing. “Where is your mother?” She turned her attention back to Derek who seemed the more talkative of the two of them.

“Chicago. That’s where I’m from,” He replied, watching Bugsy turn away from the two of them to inspect more of the Chernus’s trinkets on their walls.

“I’m from Dolgoprudny. Just North of Moscow.” Natalya replied. Opening her mouth to add something else, she was cut off by a knock at the door and the three of them froze in their place.

“Are you expecting someone?” Morgan asked Natalya in a hushed tone, reaching for his gun and heading for the door.

She shook her head, “No,” She whispered back. Morgan pulled the curtain back the smallest inch to see a small blonde boy staring back, a box in his hands and a bored look on his face.

It all happened too fast from there, Natalya opening the door for the neighbourhood kid, opening the box to see a decapitated ear, the blood fresh and pooling in the bottom of the box. It couldn’t have been taken longer than an hour or so ago, unless they were keeping the parts on ice.

Bugsy’s hand slapped over her mouth, Natalya’s scream piercing through her as she shoved the box into Derek’s hands, fleeing to the toilet, and she heard the woman retching. Part of her felt the same nausea settle in her stomach, looking away from the body part with a wince as Derek got straight on the phone to Gideon.

“They didn’t wait, man. They sent a box with-” He swallowed thickly, “With Mr Chernus’s ear inside.”

Gideon replied, and whatever it was, it had Derek looking back to her. He agreed, hanging up the phone and rooting through his pockets, producing a set of rattling keys, holding them out for you between the tips of his fingers.

“Gideon wants you, kid. He said they’re at the Little Kiev restaurant, they’re going to talk to Lysowsky,” Morgan said, grimacing as he held the ear away from her, “You sure you’ll be okay to drive?”

“I’d rather be on the road than look at what’s in that box,” She said in disgust, taking the keys and heading out to the car.

She thought it best for everyone she didn’t tell him she hadn’t yet got her licence as she made her way over to the restaurant.

“Reid and I will do the talking, just see if anything he’s saying connects with Vory v zakone, think you got that?” Gideon instructed her the second she got out of the car, taking the keys and handing them back to Reid who gave her a small nod.

“We think the reason it was Mr Chernus who was targeted has something to do with the code,” Reid explained, his hands in his pockets as the three of them approached the restaurant, “You said earlier you understood the tenants,”

“Why me, though? I thought I was just translating?” She repeated Gideon’s earlier words, almost cocky that they needed her.

“Lysowsky would feel the need to show face in front of men like Morgan and Cramer, even in front of Natalya since she lives locally. Between the three of us, he had less reputation to uphold, less so with a young woman like yourself,” Reid added, holding the door open for her to go in front.

And so there she was, trailing behind Gideon and Reid over to where Lysowsky sipped a spoonful of borscht, as she tried not to marvel at the grandeur of the establishment inside. Clearly, Arsney had money to build a place like this, and wasn’t afraid to be flashy about it either, that much was apparent from the other clientele that tended to their beers around their own tables, Rolex watches and designer shoes adorning nearly every one of them. She hated to think of how many ears or fingers those suits had cost.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asked, a chunk of bread in his hand dipping into the thick sauce, seemingly unbothered that they were there, “This borscht is exquisite, it’s my mother’s old country recipe,”

“Didn’t you forsake all your relatives when you swore the thieves code?” Reid asked, which she guessed was hit foot in to get Lysowsky to talk.

“I didn’t forsake her recipes,” Lysowsky replied with a shrug, looking to her where she seemed to be staring at his plate, “Borscht?”

She shook her head, her nose wrinkling, “Much preferred stroganoff, mom used to force me to have borscht to make sure I ate my veggies,”

His eyebrows raised, surprise written over his face, before he gave a short laugh.

“[Where are you from]?” He asked in his mother tongue, gesturing for the three of them to sit down, though his eyes lit up as he watched her carefully.

“[I was born in DC, but my mother worked in Moscow for a few years],” She answered shortly, and he seemed to find it even funnier that the near child they’d brought along on their case spoke as fluently as he did.

Laughing with a heavy hand smacking on the table, he gestured to a nearby waiting staff to come over.

“What are you having then, borscht for the gentle man?” He looked at Reid and Gideon, the former shaking his head while Gideon nodded with an awkward smile.

“I’d love a taste,” He said, though any enthusiasm seemed to have drained out of his voice.

“And what is the little lady having?” Lysowsky asked, his eyes falling back to her, as she straightened in her seat.

She chanced a quick glance to Gideon, who nodded at her to play his game. She had not expected to be so deep in criminal territory when they’d said they needed a translator, and truly they hadn’t planned on getting her in the field until they realised she would know much more about this than they would.

“Do you have sharlotka?” She asked, returning his smile wearily as he clicked at the waiter who all but bolted to the kitchen.

“A sweet tooth. I like it,” Arseny replied, shovelling a heap of beets into his mouth, “Our favourite was always Leningradsky,”

“Ours?” She prompted, giving a polite thanks to the waiter who returned too quickly with a slice of cake. She caught Spencer glancing at the bowl with intrigue, the hunger clear on the quiet man’s face. Gently pushing the bowl and clean spoon towards him, he flicked a look up at her, “Apple cake,” She whispered, sending him a small smile, “Really yummy with the sugar on top,”

“Mine and my mother’s,” Arseny replied, though Gideon and Reid both caught how he paused before he replied, as if he had to think about the answer he was giving; the oldest tell that it wasn’t entirely true, “We didn’t have much when I was a boy, but that was always our dessert of choice,”

She stopped for a mere second, missing the moment when Spencer spooned the tiniest bite of the cake into his mouth, trying to ignore the way his tongue exploded in the sweet, fruit taste. He hadn’t eaten anything properly in days, and maybe that was why it tasted so good, but more likely it was just the fact that everything sweet tasted even better when he was on his come downs.

“We need to talk, Arseny,” Gideon interrupted, ignoring the way Spencer pined to go back in for a second mouthful, but chose to hand the bowl back to her with a small smile.

“We are on first name basis?” Lysowsky asked, shaking his head, and she took a small bite of the sweet cake for herself, “I still don’t even know who you are,”

“I think I understand something about this,” Gideon replied, his thumbs tapping together, the waiter returning with his borscht, “You have a problem,”

“I do?” The pahkan titled his head at the agent, the annoyance clear on his face.

“That’s why you came to the Chernus’ house this morning,” Gideon answered, unbothered as he began to scoop the borscht onto the spoon, the apple cake in her own mouth going down a treat.

She kept her head down, took tiny bites of the dessert that certainly tasted like a fresh baked sharlotka. But her thoughts lingered on what Lysowsky had said, about his own favourite pudding.

It made no sense that he would have ever tasted Leningradsky shortbread, not for the time that he was born, nor with the amount of money he claimed his family lacked. Infact, the way he fully pronounced his vowels, the akanye, the stress he put on certain parts of his words, all pointed to the same dialect you’d heard back in Moscow, more central than anything else.

So how on earth would he have eaten the so-called ‘Royal Cake’ that had only been made eight hours from there, in the town it grew its name from.

There was something glaringly obvious about his story missing.

“A man like me?” She tuned back into the conversation, swallowing another mouthful down as Gideon took another bite himself, though it seemed the topic had turned sour as Arseny wiped his mouth with the corner of his napkin.

“Four watchtowers and a convict signifies a stay in prison,” Spencer cut in, nodding towards the tattoos branded across his knuckles, “Each one of those crosses symbolises an individual sentence,”

“Twenty three years in prison in the Ural mountains,”

But she was still stuck on what it was she was missing. It had been such an odd thing to lie about, particularly when he’d even admitted himself that they hadn’t had much money, so he clearly hadn’t been lying to fake a reputation.

So why lie?

She was ripped out of her stumped silence when Natalya entered the restaurant, her voice grabbing the men’s attention immediately.

“Mr Lysowsky. You said you could help me,” She said, her purse over her shoulder and her own car keys gripped tightly in her hand as if she’d all but thrown herself out the vehicle to get there faster.

“Don’t you already have help,” Lysowsky snapped, clearly Gideon had dug under his skin enough to garner a reaction.

“I made a mistake,” Natalya replied, barely meeting Bugsy’s gaze as she stared at her from her seat at the table. “I talked to my father on the phone,”

The girl frowned at her, “That’s a lie,” It came out before she could hold herself, brows furrowed at whatever it was she was trying to pull. Gideon said her name in a reprimand, though he too was looking at the woman as if she’d grown a second head.

“Thankyou for coming, but I don’t need your help,” The woman met her confused look with a saddened expression, nodding to her solemnly.

Leave it alone, she seemed to be saying, there’s nothing more I want you to do.

And with that, the two of them left the restaurant, Natalya walking by his side obediently, her purse tucked in close under her arm, as Morgan and Cramer filed in from the parking lot, watching their only leads drive away without a fight.

–

The team were quick to head back to Natalya’s home, only to find the ear missing and the finger gone too, the only evidence left of any crime being committed leaving with the victim’s daughter herself.

“She’s not here, and the garbage was never taken out,” Morgan said with a grimace as he walked down the front steps to meet the four of them on the sidewalk.

“Her dad just went missing, surely we can cut the girl some slack-” Bugsy words were hidden in a huff, rolling your eyes at the man who cut a glance to her.

“No, no. When Hotch first talked to us, he said she noticed her father’s car in the driveway when she took the garbage out,” Morgan explained, his shades blocking the way the cogs turned behind his dark eyes.

“Right?” Reid asked, his own sunglasses now covering his eyes that winced at the brightness, surrounding them.

“Garbage can in the kitchen is completely full, she never took it out.”

“She lied,” Gideon said with finality, the penny beginning to drop for him too.

“She could be half way back to Dolgo-whatever by now,” Morgan scoffed, his arms smacking against his side as the lightbulb went off over her head, the final puzzle piece falling into place.

“Dolgoprudny?” Spencer asked, exchanging a glance with Cramer, “Isn’t that where Lysowsky’s from-”

“Yes, YES, of course!” She exclaimed, grabbing onto Spencer’s arm as he spoke.

He looked at her with wide eyes, not that she could see since his shades blocked the way, only to feel her shake him harder in the midst of her enthusiasm. Part of him wanted to rip his arm out of her grip, waiting for the sickness to crawl up his throat at a strangers germs touching him, but the oddest part of him reasoned she had the same germs as Emily did, that the fifty percent DNA the women shared negated the fact she was a stranger, just as it did when he met Jack. Jack had Hotch germs. Bugsy had Emily’s. He didn’t feel so sick thinking of it like that.

“I knew I was missing something,” She said, turning to Gideon, “He was lying before, about his favourite dessert. There was no way he could have had Leningradsky with his mother. Given his age, at that time in Soviet Russia, shortbread was incredibly expensive, only extremely wealthy families could have eaten it. That, and given the Central dialect he speaks in, I’d pinpointed he lives somewhere near or around Moscow, which means there was no way he was eating that cake considering it was only ever baked in one shop at first, one way up in Leningrad, where St Petersburg is now, like nine hours away from Moscow-”

“What’s your point?” Cramer asked, tired of the somewhat slew of thoughts she’d been saving until she knew for sure what she meant.

“Before when he said it was ‘our favourite’, I don’t think he was talking about him and his mother,” She explained, looking to see if Spencer at least understood what she was getting at.

“It was him and his own child…” Spencer finished, as Morgan’s phone began ringing.

“Yeah, what?” He asked, the frustration clear in his tone that they were all still without the evidence needed to pin it on Lysowsky, “You’re sure? Uh-huh. Okay, thanks doll,”

The four of them looked at him expectantly as he nodded to her, “Garcia just got into the bank’s system, somebody wired 500 thousand dollars into the account ten minutes ago,”

“Who wired it?” Spencer asked, though he was still reeling from the way she’d touched him, the way her voice went up about five octaves and a dozen decibels.

“She didn’t say, but the name on the account is Lyov Fulenko. She says that’s Lysowsky’s wife’s maiden name. Fulenko.” Morgan replied, and her brows furrowed.

“Why did she bring us into this?” Gideon asked, though the solemn look on his face said he already knew, “Because she needed to put pressure on the other victim,”

Gideon headed towards Mr Gorban’s house once more, though it was clear he had already sketched out in his head who was their unsub and Natalya’s involvement, he simply needed the confirmation.

Morgan clapped a hand on her back, “Nice job, baby Prentiss. Those were some mean profiling skills out there,”

She frowned at him, scoffing, “I’m not a profiler, that’s Emily’s job. It was just basic linguistics really; more a display of how I need to lay off cake for a while.”

The man kissed his teeth with a grin, “Don’t put yourself down. What’s your degree even in?”

She shrugged, picking under her nails for something to do, “Individualised genomics and health.” She said as if it were child’s play, though Spencer’s head shot to her.

“Biotechnology?” He asked, and she glanced at him with a nod, “What’s your thesis on?”

Gideon had returned by the time he’s asked, and began corralling the two of them back to the car, “We’re heading back to the restaurant. We need to speak with Lysowsky again,”

But it had fallen on deaf ears as Spencer looked at her expectantly.

“Just some new research into prenatal screening, nothing too fun,” She simpered, climbing into the back seat as he nodded with her.

“I read a fascinating paper on the uses of hCG in a woman’s body-”

“Reid,” Gideon cut him off with a short glance from the front seat, “Continue this conversation once we’ve found Mr Chernus alive,”

Spencer blushed, feeling like a kid caught in the cookie jar, “Sorry, sir,” He looked over at her, only to see her hiding a smile to herself.

He thinks it was then he’d decided Emily had been wrong about her.

“You paid the ransom already,” Gideon said plainly, the four of them trailing behind him as he followed Lysowsky to a small seating area in the front of the restaurant. She could tell the whole way Spencer had been itching to ask her more questions about her paper, barely contained as his fingers had twitched in his lap, but he seemed to straighten himself out once she’d reached the restaurant, “You paid all the ransoms,”

“Sit,” The boss ordered, barely glancing at them as he held his strong whiskey up.

“Are they going to kill Mr Chernus?” Morgan asked, cutting to the chase as Lysowsky spared him a bored glance.

“No,” He replied shortly, the look on his face about as grumpy as when they’d left.

“The account is in the name of Lyov Fulenko. Lyov is a man’s name.” Spencer input, crossing his arms as the boss glared at him, “A son’s name. Vory v Zakone. Never have a family of your own. No wife. No children.”

“Lyov,” He looked at her then, gesturing to her with the glass of strong liquor, “You know what it means?”

“The Lion,” She replied gravely, steeling herself against his dark eyes.

“No one else would be so stupid,” Lysowsky ran a hand over his weathered face, swigging his drink as if it was the only thing keeping him talking. “At first it didn’t mean much. It was a way of letting him earn his own money. I could afford it, it came from the fund. And no one questions the use of the fund-”

“Where is he?” Gideon asked, his elbows on his knees as he leaned in.

“What else could I do?” He was ignored, “I couldn’t admit I wasn’t blessing the kidnappings, I couldn’t even admit my son existed.” He huffed when he saw Gideon’s face unmoving from the glower, his question still unanswered, “Chernus will be home in a few minutes. You should be there, he will need medical attention,” He shooed them away, with his final words, drink sloshing in his hand. His face darkened, impossibly so, and the five of them looked at him, something sad and remorseful shining back.

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“Vory v Zakone.” He said heavily, nodding to her, “We take care of our own troubles.”

It was a silent journey back to the Chernus’ house.

Morgan and Reid pulled up to the campus, the younger girl in the back seat almost dozing off with the rhythmic hum of the engine, the evening sun much nicer on Spencer’s sensitive eyes.

“This is you, baby Prentiss,” Derek’s voice jolted her out of the half sleep she was in, straightening herself from where she had her head pressed against the window.

“Thanks,” She muttered, rubbing her eyes and unbuckling herself as they did the same, assuming they wanted to walk her back to her dorm since it had gotten dark, “I’ll be okay on my own, campus security should be out by now,”

“You sure?” Reid asked, flicking his watch up to his eyes to see the meagre 6:13pm staring back at him, “I thought they started at 7,”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows quirking for a moment, “How do you know that?”

“Johns Hopkins was my backup option- well actually it was my third, I much preferred Caltech’s curriculum, Yale was my second-” He started, flicking a glance to her where she waited for him to finish, “Not that Johns was bad, there were just better- alternative options out there-”

“Don’t shit your pants, I’m hardly the dean of the university,” She chuckled indignantly patting them both on the shoulder before sliding over to open the door, “Nice meeting you both, I’ll just get back to my mediocre college with my poor curriculum, nothing like the solid gold bathrooms at Caltech-”

“I never said that!” She laughed again, with her whole chest, at his defensive tone as she stepped out the car, hand on the door to shut it behind her.

Leaning down to give them both a wave goodbye, Derek’s voice stopped her again, “Baby Prentiss, do us all a favour and enrol yourself into forensics, we need more people on our team,”

Smirking at him, she shook her head, “Very funny. Never gonna happen. I like my little slides and samples, thankyou,”

Slamming the door on the two of them she headed for the front gates, swinging her purse over her shoulder. She was stopped by a hand on her shoulder, and she quickly realised she’d been too tired to even realise a set of footsteps jogging after her.

Maybe she should have taken that walk home after all.

Whirling around, her eyes widened as Spencer had clearly not been leader of the track team as he was half out of breath just from the few feet he’d covered, though she reckoned she could have guessed that seeing his lean ribs beneath his shirt.

He shoved a business card in her face as he caught his breath, though it was more just his name and credentials followed by a phone number.

“I-I don’t have email otherwise I would-” He huffed, scratching his forehead as she frowned and looked at him.

“I’ve never been hit on via business card before,” She bit her lip with a smile, reading over the card again as he choked on his words even more than before.

“N-no, I-” He spluttered, ignoring the way Morgan beeped the horn for him, seemingly in a debate with a ticket metre that had caught him parked on yellow, “If you needed us for anything, or if you needed a second pair of eyes for your thesis, I’m happy to help,”

“You don’t have faith in the dummy that got into Johns?” She asked, and his head couldn’t shake fast enough, though he seemed to catch her teasing and shared her smile, “Thanks, Dr Reid,”

“Spencer’s just fine,” He said, giving her a small nod and a wave as Morgan’s palm bounced on the horn a dozen times. She flashed him one more smile, pocketing his number and heading back to her dorm, wondering what the doctor would think about the paper due in tomorrow she’d yet to get started on.

+1. The one where you get arrested.

The case had been heavy. They’d felt it in the car on the way back to headquarters. A little girl, molested and groomed by her own uncle, his own wife covering for him.

His mother always told him love makes you do crazy things, but Spencer hoped that whatever part of him worth loving would at least stay sane by the time he found the one. He was loyal to his team, to his mother, but that was where he drew the line. He was loyal to his family, undoubtedly so.

Yet so was Emily.

The call came to the second SUV, her phone set up to hands free mode, quickly flicking to answer the call on speaker, the other half of the team ahead of them on the freeway.

“Prentiss, speaking. Who is this?” She spoke clearly to the unknown number, her knuckles going white at the wheel when she heard a nervous laugh.

“It’s me,” Her sister mumbled through the speaker, “You wouldn’t by any chance be near DC would you?”

She huffed, cursing the knack Prentiss women had for showing up at the worst times.

“Can’t this wait, I’m on the clock,” Emily hissed, her finger edging towards the ‘End Call’ button, “I’ll call you after,”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up!” As if sensing her movements, she all but screeched, “This was my one phone call, they won’t let me have another,”

The car went silent for a moment, Spencer’s eyes narrowing on the dash from his place in the passenger seat, JJ also leaning forward from the back with a frown.

Emily grit her teeth, her upper lip twitching the way it did when she was mad.

“What do you mean by one phone call? Where are you?” She bit in a cautious tone, though knowing how reckless Bugsy tended to be, she had a pretty good idea.

The hesitation on the other end of the line was palpable, as was the way she awkwardly cleared her throat.

“Fairfax County Jail,” She murmured sheepishly, “But it wasn’t my fault, these assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, I swear-”

“Stay there and keep your mouth shut,” Emily ordered, her expression furrowing into a sneer, “And for the love of god don’t antagonise the officers,”

The agent didn’t even wait for a response, knowing it would probably be something snarky, her mind already racing at what the hell her sister could have done this time, every worst possible explanation jumping to the forefront.

“I’ll call Hotch and tell him to turn around,” JJ offered, her fingers already searching her contacts for their boss, as Emily sighed through her nose.

“Tell him not to worry, I’ll drop you guys back to headquarters, make my way there myself,” She said, picking the skin of her nail softly with her thumb.

“By the time we’ve reached Quantico, visiting times will be over and she’ll have to stay the night,” Spencer pointed out, his own surprise evident. Sure, she had certainly been a personality when they had met, but a criminal seemed a stretch.

“Maybe it would teach her a lesson,” Emily mused, shaking her head to herself, “Who am I kidding, that psycho would Shawshank her way out of there by dawn,”

“You don’t actually think she would hurt anyone do you?” JJ said, the dial tone ringing out from the phone she held to her ear.

“Wouldn’t put it past her. She once cut a girl's pigtail off for wearing the same dress as her on her birthday,” Emily winced as Spencer’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“I thought getting swirlied was bad,” He muttered, watching out the window as Emily made a U-turn at the traffic lights. He and the now twenty three year old had been bouncing research papers back and forth for a few months, the odd one every week, Bugsy even once joking it was much more interesting and riveting than foreplay, which had his face red hot at his desk.

She was like that, he’d quickly realised, had a vulgar sort of humour about her, yet he couldn’t help the snigger that came out whenever he’d receive one of his papers back through the mail with pink writing scrawled all over his ideas. The little hearts that dotted her exclamations whenever she wrote “AMAZING!”, the odd time she’d written “sexy ideas, doctor Reid” which he’d come to understand meant it was really good. He’d even gotten back the drawing at the end of the paper of a stickman of the two of them, his hair a curly scribble and a purple tie which told him immediately who was who, her line of a hand pointing at his caricature with the speech bubble, “everyone point and wave at the smart man,” which had made him laugh.

She was odd, toeing the line between childish and witty, nothing like the scholars he usually worked with, and the writing he usually sent back on her papers were all in standard black ink, his own pharmacist handwriting staring back at him as he crammed in his every thought of her research into the margins. If she couldn’t read it, she hadn’t said, but he liked to think she took notice of it all, even if it wasn’t strewn with stars and doodles and the occasional flirt he knew meant nothing. He knew her from her writing, knew her from her ideas that sometimes kept him up at night thinking more about them, but the two of them hadn’t spoken directly, most certainty hadn’t seen one another since that day with the Chernus’.

Emily hummed, fingers drumming on the wheel, entirely unaware of the thoughts rattling around in Spencer’s head, then again that’s how it always was, “I just pray to god she’s listened to me for once in her damn life and keeps quiet,”

“Fucking bitch. The nuns in Moscow hit harder than you,” She spat, blood dribbling from her split lip. She wasn’t entirely lying, but god did her mouth sing with pain as she tried to muffle a moan.

“You got jokes, pig lover?” The other woman asked, a tattoo covering half her cheek, her nose crooked from the shiner the Prentiss girl had already given her. “Won’t be fucking laughing when I’m done, bitch,” The woman was quick to tackle the girl around her stomach, slamming her into the hard concrete of the holding cell. Bugsy felt her skull rattle, the wind whooshing from her chest as rough hands grab her shirt and pin her down harder.

The younger girl reached the nerve under her opponent's armpit, the soft of her ribs, twisting until the woman gave a bark of shock, and she took the opportunity to shove her off, climbing on top of her as they both scrambled for some sort of control.

“I got one for you. What’s got a broken nose, a black eye and doesn’t know what’s good for her?” She swung twice as hard, the other women in the cell rattling against the bars as if watching a matador taunt a bull, the air thick with excitement as the two of them cursed eachother out.

Emily’s sigh was audible across the room as the wardens separated the cat fight, the largest of the officers all but grabbing her sister by the scruff of the neck like a feral beast, dragging her over with stubborn feet to where the BAU stood in the lobby, eyes widened at the state of her.

“You better start acting your age, little girl. Mommy’s not gonna be around forever to save you,” The officer hissed in her ear, manhandling her over to where Emily glared daggers into the side of her head. She knew that look, it was eerily similar to mom’s that time she’d been caught sneaking out of the house, something in the warm brown of Emily’s eyes frosting over into a cold blackness. Fury.

She chewed her words for a moment, waiting until the man had turned around with a grunt of acknowledgement to the badge Emily had flashed to get his attention, before she spoke.

“She’s not my mom, she's my sister, dumbass-” Emily slapped a hand over her mouth, gripping her shoulder with the bear-like strength her jagged nails possessed when she was mad, the scoff of disgrace leaving her mouth as her team trailed behind the two of them.

“What the hell happened, baby Prentiss?” Morgan asked, ignoring the way Emily’s heated gaze turned on him, “What’s got you so worked up?”

“Don’t entertain her, Morgan,” Emily seethed, all but shoving her into the back of the SUV. She looked up at her sister with an open mouth, the guilt flashing in her eyes as she wavered under the pointing finger Emily jabbed in her face, “Don't you even dare,”

“But-” She stammered, cut off when she saw the glare intensified, if that had even been possible.

“I don’t want to hear another word from you for the rest of the day unless you’re prepared to give me a good explanation why I’ve dragged my team out here to save your sorry ass,” Emily hissed, and the girl’s mouth bobbed a few times, feeling the rest of the team watching as she got thoroughly chewed out.

“Wait-” Emily’s hand lingered at the car door, ready to slam it in her face as she rubbed her cuff over her chin, mopping up the damage. Her head tilted for a moment, hoping her sister had something good to say, only for it to be; “He just called you old, I hope you realise that,”

Emily’s gaze darkened, slamming the door shut with an anger she imagined her mother had kept warm for the past twenty three years, whirling around heatedly when she heard a snigger from one Derek Morgan.

“Damn, mama, hear the girl out.” He said, slapping a hand on the woman’s shoulder as he passed, heading back to their own SUV, “Maybe she’ll surprise you,”

If Emily was going to bite anything back, she didn’t. Instead she ran a hand over her brow, the group disbanding to their cars now the problem child had been picked up from daycare, except for Hotch who watched the older Prentiss with a scowl, despite the worry in his eyes.

“Hotch, I’m so sorry, just take it off my timecard, I’ll cover all the costs,” She said shakily, her own frown adorning her face as she felt herself blush from embarrassment under her boss’s gaze.

“I understand she’s your sister, but this was a gross misuse of agent time and resources, Prentiss,” He said, his gaze drifting to where Spencer sat next to the girl, pulling a packet of tissues and hand sanitizer out of his satchel while JJ rooted through her own purse for a plaster, “Don’t let it happen again,”

Emily nodded vehemently, flushed with anger, her palms sticky as she wiped them on her jeans.

“Absolutely sir. Believe me, this ever happens again, she’s on her own,” She replied, though they both knew she didn’t mean it. Emily would never.

He nodded stonily, deciding quickly that it was punishment enough that she felt so ashamed, he knew from his years of arguments with Sean what it was like to have a sibling stray so far.

“We can fill out reports in the morning, just get Reid and JJ home,” Hotch said, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder as he passed her to head towards his own vehicle, “And try not to kill each other in the company car. It doesn’t look good on paperwork,”

She beat off the smile on her lips as she got back into the driver's seat, the air that engulfed the four of them foul as she glared over her shoulder and into the back. Spencer twitched in his seat uncomfortably, his hand still passing over tissues to the bloodied girl.

“So, you gonna tell me what that was about?” Emily asked, her tone brittle and warning, not in the mood for any snarky response she could give, “Or is this old lady going to have to lay into you some more,”

The smell of strong ethanol engulfed her nose as she held the soaked tissue to her face, frowning into her lap silently and avoiding the burning stare as Emily stuck the keys in the ignition and started the car.

“Let’s start with why you were there,” JJ input, the same tone of voice she used as when talking to victims, calm and motherly, unlike the pissed off snarl Emily gave, “You wanna tell us why you were arrested?”

“You two really gonna pull the good cop, bad cop on me?” She snapped, her lip swelling around the wound, tongue grazing it softly despite the heavy taste of the sanitizer.

Emily said her name in a warning, her last warning, and she knew better than to push her luck even more, the SUV pulling out of the station and onto the road.

“I was just shopping for groceries,” She started, fiddling with the bloodied tissue, wincing under her tongue stroke, “Store clerk made a pass at me, I told him I wasn’t interested. So he put a pack of smokes in my handbag while I wasn’t looking; the alarms went off. I didn’t even know what was happening until security grabbed me at the door,”

JJ flashed a glance at Emily, like two parents deciding an appropriate punishment, the brunette’s lips straightening out into a line.

“You’re telling the truth?” She asked cautiously, glancing in the rear view mirror to see how her sister balled the mess of paper between her palms.

Rolling her eyes, she gladly accepted the other packet of tissues Spencer slid over the leather seat between them.

“I went out for milk and oranges, I was not looking to get picked up, Em,” She bit back, groaning when she felt it jostle the cut, “And certainly not for cigarettes, you know I only smoke on New Years,”

Spencer looked at her with a frown, and she caught his confusion quickly, pulling another leaf of paper from the packet.

“Emily and I had a rule after she caught me smoking when I was like fourteen, that we could have one cigarette between the two of us on New Years eve,” She explained, JJ also perking up to hear it, “So that by the time morning came around, it would be last year’s mistake, and it would be like it never happened,”

JJ smiled to herself, remembering the time she caught Roz sneaking one of her dad’s cigarettes on the back porch back when she was just ten. She remembered the little secrets the two of them kept back then, held them even all these years later.

“So how did that lead to, well,” JJ gestured to her lip, “That,”

“Yeah, didn’t I specifically tell you to not antagonise anyone?” Emily chimed in, signalling she was changing lanes as they headed down the freeway for a second time that day.

“Technically you said not to antagonise the officers,” She pointed out, before Spencer had the chance to, shutting his mouth as he caught the glare Emily shot through the mirror.

“Keep talking,” The older Prentiss ordered, as Bugsy sighed and blotted her lip some more.

“That woman, Mira I think her name was, anyway, she recognised me from that picture mom had us take on Independence Day, the one they put in The Hill, and she asked me if it was true my sister was a fed,”

Emily’s fingers twitched at the wheel, knowing the status agents and even people associated with agents held in prisons; knowing just being a Prentiss in a jail cell held a big, dazzling price over her head that said ‘kill me, kill me!”

The air sucked out of the car, a look passing between JJ and Reid as they thought the same thing, waiting for her to go on.

“So then you hit her?” Emily guessed, the bitterness slowly ebbing as she understood maybe her sister wasn’t as unruly as she thought.

“No, I told her to leave me the fuck alone, but she said you guys sent her brother down for something a while back, and she asked again if my family were all Pigs,” She picked her nails, the blood stain on her sleeve staring back at her, “I told her if she didn’t stop calling you a Pig, I’d make her squeal like one. And then I hit her,”

Emily tried to pretend she didn’t smile hearing that, her cheeks tightening, lips pulling down as she fended it off.

“Is that good enough, officers, or will you be needing fingerprints?” The girl chimed after a moment, a weight seemingly lifted from the car as Emily quickly realised she had, for once, not been entirely at fault.

“I want a handwritten apology to my boss for wasting his time,” Emily demanded, her unforgiving gaze softening when she saw her smile, “And you owe my team coffee,”

“I can do coffee, coffee coming right up,” She agreed, shoving the used tissues into her purse with a crooked smile, “It’s a date,”

Spencers ears turned red, looking over the seat at where she dabbed at her lip gently. She didn’t look much older for six months, but she had gotten her nose pierced since the last time he’d seen her, unless he just hadn’t noticed it before, and the streaks of red were slowly fading out into a blush pink that said it was old, and he wondered if she’d done it herself in that tiny little cubicle bathroom of hers she shared with the four other girls in her block.

“You finished your stats papers yet?” He made polite conversation, though part of him was dying to know out of curiosity if she could crunch numbers and equations as well as she could in her own labs.

“Got two more this week, they’re kicking my ass man,” She replied with a huff, and he didn’t think he’d ever been called ‘man’ by a woman before. He knew if he’d known her in college, ignoring the fact he would have been twelve, he would have thought she may just be the coolest person alive, “I miss my labs with my microscopes and watching all the little baby cells move around in the ethanol. Stats are like, just not sexy,”

He smiled at her as she stared out the window, unaware of the way she’d managed to make DNA sound like a play pen full of kittens. He held off from telling her he found stats really quite sexy, knowing it would never sound the same coming from his mouth.

He pulled a leaf of the tissues from the packet, producing his own pen from his pocket and began doodling carefully so as not to rip the delicate canvas.

Sliding it over to her after five minutes as Emily and JJ made conversation in the front seat, she didn’t care that the grin tugged on her split lip, the reaction was instant, she couldn’t stop it if she tried.

Two stick men stared back at her, her hair a close match in texture and a childish triangle drawn as means of a dress, a very tall stick figure next to her patting her metaphorical head, a speech bubble coming from his mouth.

“Maths is fun!” It said, and she flicked a glance at him, her smile the most genuine he’d seen yet. He just smiled back.

+2. The one where you graduate

Emily felt the looks on her the moment JJ had mentioned Maryland. The case was a little under their pay grade, nothing more than a stalker, no bodies or bloodshed, but one very rattled woman that had turned to the communications liaison with fear for her life.

With Hotch and Rossi in Boston helping a case of their own, the rest of the BAU had been twiddling their thumbs waiting for something to come across their desk.

“This case is in my hands now, and if we do nothing and something happens to her,” JJ took a heavy breath, her eyes lingering on the three names Keri had given her in case of her untimely death, “I’ll be the one notifying her family,”

Derek, despite his own hesitations about using their time for a case like this, caved the moment he saw the guilt on the blonde’s face.

“Okay,” He shuffled the papers into a pile, Emily and Spencer gathering their own resources on the case and standing from the round table.

Luckily, one government SUV was more than enough to carry the four of them for the hour drive North, all of them well aware Hotch would flip if they used more funds than necessary.

JJ piled into the front beside where Morgan climbed into the driver’s seat, leaving Emily next to a particularly fidgety Reid. It took all of fifteen minutes of the man flicking a glance at her, his mouth quirking as if he were about to use it, before he thought better and looked out the window, and the whole thing would start again.

Derek, the less shy about his thoughts of the two men, even glanced at her through the rear view mirror, before he too returned his gaze out the window silently. JJ shifted in her seat, knowing she had to tread carefully around mentioning Bugsy to Emily, particularly after the last time they’d seen her. Emily had said they’d grabbed coffee once or twice since then, but that was all she spoke about it, which left her team walking cracked eggshells at the thought of bringing her up.

It seemed the three of them were bursting at the seams with the same thought, and it wasn’t until Reid cleared his voice, his puppy eyes stuck in his loop, that she had had enough.

“Does anyone here have something to say?” Emily huffed, Derek immediately reaching to turn the radio up the same time that JJ flicked the AC on for something to do. Realising they weren’t easily broken, she turned to Spencer who already looked slightly guilty, thumbing at his sweater, “Reid?”

“Did you want to see your sister?” He asked without hesitation, as if the words had fallen out of him, “You know, since we’re so close on this case. It would be a good excuse to-”

“You did say she owed us a coffee,” JJ pointed out, spurred on by Spencer’s nerves, “Wouldn’t mind cashing in if we’re coming all this way.”

“Morgan, do you have anything to add?” Emily asked with raised brows, though she already knew what was coming.

Derek chewed over his thoughts a second, “I’m just saying, you only get to see your baby sisters grow up once- you know, and it couldn’t hurt to see her even if she runs rings around you with that smart mouth-”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on the case?” Emily cut him off incredulously, but received three knowing looks back. She met JJ’s gaze where the woman had swivelled in her seat to talk to her, and Prentiss was fast to catch the buried grief in her best friend’s eyes. She knew it pained her to even bring up sisterhood, let alone watch Emily throw hers away for the sake of a decade and a half between them. It was the desperation in JJ’s face that did it, knowing she would give anything to spend just an hour with Roz one more time, that had her drawing her cell out her pocket and calling the contact with the little ladybug next to it, “Fine,”

As a profiler she would have been tempted to ignore the way Spencer smiled into his lap; as a sister, her eyes narrowed at him.

The phone rang surprisingly only once before she answered, and she heard an unnaturally tame version of her sister answer.

“Emily?” She asked, her voice hushed, worried almost, “You okay?”

Her brows furrowed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you?” She got no more than a hum in return, somewhat agreeing though Emily could tell clear as day she was holding something back. “Look, we’re gonna be in Silver Spring, I was thinking tomorrow we could grab lunch-”

“Can’t, I’m busy, it’s an all day thing,” Her sister cut her off, yet it wasn’t rude or demeaning like usual. Nervous almost, sad, “Sorry,”

“What’s an all day thing?” Emily asked, the concern matching her words.

Her sister swallowed on the other end of the phone, before she found her words, or maybe even the balls to actually speak, “I’m graduating tomorrow,”

Emily’s face lit up, the smile spreading fast on her face, ignoring the way Morgan’s words seemed to ring true in her ears; she was growing up too fast.

“Graduating, why didn’t you say!” She asked, the joy in her tone unmissable, “How’d your papers go?”

Spencer held himself off from correcting her that she’d only done five papers, that the rest of her results had come from theory and labs, thinking better than to interrupt the one conversation they’d had where there was no underlying argument brewing.

“Full honours, obviously.” Bugsy drawled with a snicker, and Emily shook her head, the smile never dimming.

“Look at you, y’little superstar,” Emily bit her lip, ignoring the guilt that tore at her when she realised she barely knew what Bug spent her days doing, “Did Mom and Dad get good seats? Oh god, dad’s not bringing Stephanie is he?”

The silence on the other end had her halting, the light in the conversation wavering for a second, before she understood the nerves, the quick defence her sister had been on the moment the call had been answered.

“Bug-”

“They’re not coming,” Her heart ached in her chest hearing it, “I sent Mom the details, she said she’s in Ukraine this week settling some papers. Didn’t even get a chance to ask Dad before he and Stephanie were off on their fifth honeymoon in the Bahamas until October,” A painful laugh echoed down the line, as if she were holding back the gravity of the situation.

“Bug,” Emily tried again, picking her thumb viciously, punishingly, hating herself for being so blind to her sister’s troubles, “Why didn’t you invite me?”

“I figured you’d be busy,” Came the reply, sad and tender, the most honest she’d heard in a while, “You’re always busy,”

“Never too busy for you,” Emily’s guilt tripled when her sister didn’t answer, knowing if she were to counter the statement with hard evidence it would only hurt both of them, “Look, I have some time today, probably,” She didn’t, not even a few minutes, “Why don’t we get that coffee, you don’t even have to pay,”

Bugsy gave a sad laugh, “Sorry, Em, I gotta get my dress fitted today, and some of the lab techs invited me to a party later. Maybe some other time,”

“A party with biology nerds?” Emily asked with false excitement, the air turned stagnant between them now, “Well, rock on, science freak. Don’t leave your drinks with strangers, and don’t walk home alone, and for god sake use protection-”

“Bye, Emily,” She said with a chuckle, the older of the two gracing her with the same, as they put the phone down.

The car was quiet, waiting for Prentiss to speak, none of them missing the way her lip pulled between her teeth, a bitterness on her face that told them she was holding in something close to sadness. You’re always busy. It echoed around her head, stabbing at her chest to think her sister was graduating alone, no one to congratulate her, no one to pat her on the back and tell her how clever she is despite the fact Bugsy would happily tell anyone just how smart she was on her own. Never too busy for you.

“She’s graduating tomorrow,” She said to the three people waiting for an update, Spencer’s brows shooting to his hairline. He hadn’t heard from her since her last paper got sent off, and why would he? They had exchanged a few little anecdotes and doodles, sent each other research papers to be graded like teachers exchanging lecture notes, “She didn’t even tell me. She’s gonna be alone,”

JJ grimaced, “What? What about your mom- or, or your dad, an uncle, someone-”

“Mom and dad are out of the country, Mom’s brother lives in Mexico with his seven kids, he can barely get a night’s sleep let alone a day off to travel up to Maryland. Dad’s sisters passed away when I was a kid,” Emily explained, running a hand over her face, “I can’t let her go up there alone,”

“So we don’t,” Spencer said, as if he’d never been more sure of anything in his life, “We don’t let her do it alone,”

“Graduating with Masters in Biotechnology; Jasper Adams, Tom Adamson, Kristen Afkins, Gavin Agriths-”

The dean read off the names of the students as she fiddled with the hem of her dress.

The dress fit beautifully, her make up done to near perfection, her hair styled neatly, she was graduating with full honours for christ sakes. Why couldn’t she just be happy with what she had? Why had she got to be so spoiled?

Lots of peoples parents missed their graduation, lots of people her age didn’t even have parents anymore, she ought to be grateful her mother was increasing famine aid in foreign countries, all the lives she would save, or even be happy her father had found a pretty, rich new wife to tour every known vacation destination with. Or even that her sister had called her just yesterday and told her in a few words she was proud of her.

But none of them quelled the feeling of loneliness that blossomed inside Bugsy. The kind that had always been there, the kind that just wanted someone in her corner, telling her she was doing pretty good for a kid who raised herself in all those big houses they’d moved to, who saw the au pair more often than her own mother.

All those rooms were so empty, the houses so quiet besides for her. It was like living in a cemetery.

“Robert Lewsinsky. Marcus Linford. Tara Lorence. Katie Macauley.”

P would be up soon. Each name of her classmates drew an applause, some whoops and screams, one family she swore there must have been ten of them in the back row cawing and howling like monkeys at a zoo, proud of their son for making it.

She willed a smile on her face, hearing Orla Parkins get called up, and she knew just by the steward that directed her where to stand in line she was close.

“Kenneth Patterson. Joshua Perriman. Harriet Pimms. Lauren Pintons.”

She held a rattled breath as Renly Prackett walked ahead of her, strolling over the stage to collect his degree, flashing the crowd a wide smile and a fist pump. She had always liked Renly, having been his experiment partner for a year, despite the fact he never washed up after himself in the lab.

Then it was, her name was called. The one no one but her mother and Stephanie ever called her, she solely went by Bugsy courtesy of Emily. It was a family name, a nice one at that. Maybe it had been the fact she had been eight and her cool big sister crowned her the new name, or maybe it just rolled off the tongue better, made her feel less like a Prentiss, that she chose to go by her monika.

She tried not to think about where or what Emily was doing, only hoping she was safe, as she began walking over the stage, her heels clicking loudly with her hesitant steps.

To her utmost surprise she heard a loud whistle echo through the auditorium, a group of jeers and screams of her name, even an air horn signing off that had her almost tripping over her own feet turning to see who it was.

Surely it was a joke, a cruel prank, she barely had any friends in her class. Acquaintances sure, but no one so bold as to make such a fuss over her.

Squinting down at the audience, her cap nearly slipping off her head as her head turned to the source, she felt her chest burst when she saw the dark hair and bangs, her sisters butchered fingertips in her mouth with a loud cattle whistle, screaming like a firework right to the stage where she graciously accepted her award, despite the fact she barely paid any attention to the dean anymore, more to her sister who smiled at her widely as she clapped. Behind her, her team she’d met on the off chance, the pretty blonde, JJ, who pressed the air horn a few more times, cheering just as loud for her. Morgan, the handsome one who had stood himself on top of his chair, cupping a hand over his mouth to scream “Kicking ass, baby Prentiss!” at her, ignoring the way other people stared wide eyed at them.

And Spencer, tall enough to be seen over the crowd even without the help of a chair, who smiled at her, clapping those big hands of his loud enough to reach her, his own whoops never ceasing even as she stepped off the stage to head back to her seat.

The rest of the ceremony dragged, a speech from one of the alumni and the exit music playing, but she simply grinned into her hand, where her degree smiled back at her, counting down the moments she would be allowed to stand.

And then she was fast walking down the stairs, amongst the bustle of students, the black gowns flurrying around her as she burst out into the square where parents, fiancees, brothers, sisters, cheered their loved ones, pulling them into tight hugs.

Her eyes scanned the wave of black hats, landing on two dark eyes, the thick sable hair framing the dazzling smile that awaited her with open palms. All but shoving her way through the crowd, she stopped in front of her sister, the urge to jump at her with a hug shying the moment she got close.

“Told you. Never too busy for you, Bug,” Emily said, pulling her in by her shoulders for a tight hug. She knew her sister wasn’t one to beg for affection, wasn’t one to let her guard drop so soon, but she also knew she’d needed it by the way she melted against her, the way she chuckled into her hair, pulled her closer.

“Do I owe your boss another letter of apology for this or do I get you guys for free?” The girl asked, as her sister pulled away, keeping an arm around her shoulder as they turned to the rest of the team.

“No, this one is entirely on us, promise,” JJ said with a smile as she saw Emily beaming maternally over at the girl, the flat of the cap knocking against her cheek as she squeezed her in once more, “We’re very proud of you,”

She heated under the woman’s words, wriggling in her shoes as bad as Emily did when she felt awkward, Derek chuckling and taking the degree out of her hand.

“Alright, lets see the creds, Prentiss,” He held it up next to her face as she shrugged, the ‘4.0’ clear as day next to her name, “Good looking, and smart. Those boys in the lab ought to watch out,”

She grinned under his teasing, “What can I say, I got the deep end of the gene pool,” She teased, feeling Emily swat her ear, her eyes falling to where Spencer held a plant pot with a poorly wrapped bow of twine around it, the soil a little displaced from the journey.

“This is for you,” He said, handing her the small green sproutling, his cheeks blushing as her face lit up, reading the small inscription on the front, “It’s-”

“Dionaea muscipula,” She said, biting her lip as she smiled at him, “This is so cool! Where on earth did- I had a paper last semester on the ways to study their electrophysiology you just have to read- oh thank you!”

“English, please?” Emily asked, though the warmth flooded her chest when her sister threw her arms around a very rigid Spencer.

Thinking she should grab her and warn her the man disliked touch almost as much as she does, she was surprised to see him give her a small embrace back, smiling proudly the way he did when he’d made someone happy.

“Piège à mouches Vénus,” Her sister responded cockily, tugging herself away from the tall man, to inspect her new plant, well aware that Emily rolled her eyes at her use of French, “Venus Fly Trap. I’ve never seen one so young, still I should be able to pull some slides on the Rhizomes in the soil-”

Emily put a hand to her temple, JJ smiling widely as she saw for once Spencer be the one on the receiving end of an earful, chuckling to himself when she began dishing out name ideas for the sapling.

“Holy shit, there’s two of them,” Morgan grumbled, nudging his shoulder into Emily who simply sighed, her migraine already starting as Reid began jumping in with his own thoughts, which didn’t take much effort.

“Don’t even,”

+3. The one where you’re taken hostage

“Tell us about the 911 call,” Spencer requests, flicking through the file himself beside her in the back seat. She had her own set of paperwork in front of her, her pen attached to a clipboard the lanyard around her neck reading her real, honest credentials, unlike the fake ones Emily and Reid were given. She’d been to one of these sects before, invited kindly as part of her research on the effect isolation has on cultivation of crops, knew one of the mother’s well from her last research paper, and had managed to get the group a foot in the door to entering the Separtarian Sect with little fuss.

Hotch, usually hesitant to allow outsiders in on the job, especially as young and spirited as Bugsy, had to admit it would calm any potential unsubs and make them see the team as unthreatening if they had a friendly face there. He’d signed the papers with a frown that morning, and they were on their way to the little apartment the girl occupied just outside Baltimore, sample tubes stuffed into her pack ready.

“I believe the he that they refer to is the church’s leader, Benjamin Cyrus,” Nancy, a woman from child protective services, replied from the driver's seat, Emily thumbing through her papers as they neared the compound.

“Benjamin Cyrus, no criminal record; no record of him at all actually,” Reid replied, watching Bugsy scribbling notes into her lab book, perfecting her report before she had even begun, “What else do you know about him?”

“The sect I spoke to before, the one in Utah, said he was rumoured to be practising polygamy and forced marriages,” The younger woman said, looking back at him with a frown, “They were much more modern in their beliefs than these guys. Last time I spoke to Marina she was happy there, I can’t see why she would want to move here,”

Spencer looked as if he were about to answer, perhaps to tell her he was sure her contact would be just fine, when Emily shrugged and turned to Nancy.

“Do we know who the caller is?” She asked, sipping her now lukewarm coffee out of the disposable cup.

Nancy’s head tilted in a so-so motion, “Uh, Jessica Evansen is the one who the age fits, but we can’t be sure.”

“Well given their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn’t identify us as FBI.” Emily instructed, handing Reid his new, fake credentials and his gun she’d kept in her bag through customs. “Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Nancy nodded, the compound coming into view, the dust flurrying under the car wheels as the road turned into nothing more than a sandy path.

A guard seemed to be expecting their arrival as he stood, unarmed at the main gate, unlatching the bolt in the middle and opening it wide for their vehicle to pass through. She nodded in thanks, her eyes flicking out the dirty window to see a collection of mobile homes surrounding a large church, a few smaller outbuildings dotted around the compound. It was quiet, not full of laughter like the last group she had been to, the children nowhere to be seen, only a few of the handier members of the flock that were either fixing up walls, trimming trees besides a man sprawled too casually on the steps of the chapel, a bible in his hands he seemed to be catching up on.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the man that barely batted an eye at their arrival, the safety locks flicking off each of the doors, Nancy collecting her briefcase and exiting the car first.

She had all but reached for the handle when Emily stopped her, swivelling in her seat to look her dead in the eye.

“Your job is mediator, you got that?” Her sister had never looked more serious, but then again she did know her almost too well, “You and your field research are a… buffer between our investigation and the unsub. Just try to take the focus off what we’re doing, but do not provoke anyone,”

She raised her hands in innocence, “Got it, jeez, what could I possibly do that could ruin this investigation?”

Emily stared back at her blankly, unnamused, as if they both knew there was a lot she could, and would, do that would blow the whole thing.

“You look like mom when you give me that look,” She bit back, leaving the car, as Nancy spoke to the man laying on the steps, “It’s terrible,”

“I’m looking for Mr Benjamin Cyrus?” Nancy reported, her tight, knee length skirt and blouse entirely out of place amongst the dirt track.

“You found him,” The man replied, still not so much as granting them a glance of interest as he flicked through his passages.

“I’m Nancy Lunde, we spoke on the phone regarding the allegation,” She replied, which was the only thing that garnered his attention as he looked up at them behind slightly bent reading glasses.

“Savages they call us; because our manners differ from theirs,” He said, though it was clear it wasn’t entirely his own words, more likely a segment of his preach he’d repeated a handful of times. Bugsy tried to hide her disgust behind her hand tightening around her lab books she kept tightly to her chest.

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr Cyrus,” Nancy snipped as he approached the group, pocketing the glasses though he kept hold of the bible in hand as if it was part of his own arm.

“Actually it’s Benjamin Franklin,” Spencer murmured to the woman, which had Cyrus’ cold brown eyes narrowing at the tall man, assessing for a motive.

“Emily Prentiss, Spencer Reid. They’re child victim interview experts,” Nancy introduced them quickly, the two of them flashing their badges, the unofficial ones at least. Gesturing to the youngest woman, she introduced her with her real name, his gaze flicking to her as he seemed to recognise it.

“Marina’s friend? The plant lady?” He asked, face half amused as she fought her lip from twitching into a sneer. Instead she smiled, holding out her hand.

“That’s what they call me,” She said, shaking his hand, ignoring the way he flashed her a cheshire cat smile, “Hope you don’t mind me dropping by, Marina said I could take some samples for my research,”

He laughed, shaking his head, looking at Spencer, “Women and their flowers, right?” Spencer swallowed back a retort, shrugging his shoulders, though Bugsy’s eye twitched. Benjamin patted her on her shoulder, “Of course you can honey, I’ll find Jared, our head gardner, and you can run along for your research,”

He said it as if she were lying, that her degree and endless hours of work would only ever chalk up to a few doodles in a notebook, or a garden full of hydrangeas, or tulips, or roses, because she couldn’t possibly care about anything else but pretty flowers.

Nodding her head graciously, choking back the hateful response she wished to spit in his face, she gave him a polite thankyou, feeling Spencer’s eyes burning into the side of her head.

“The children are in the school as I indicated,” Cyrus said, turning back to the other three, Emily and Nancy taking off in the direction he pointed, the former knowing her sister was at risk of blowing a fuse if they were here for long.

Spencer hung back, partially because he had a plan of distraction in mind to allow the women a chance to speak with the children whilst Cyrus wasn’t around, partially because he didn’t want to leave Bugsy anywhere on her own. Sure, Emily had said they were both trained in self defence when they were kids, but with no weapon of her own, he was reluctant.

“You're using solar power?” He prompted, gesturing towards where the eight blue panels warmed under the Colorado sun.

“We’re completely self-sufficient,” Benjamin nodded along, catching the impressed look on both their faces, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said ‘God helps those that help themselves,’ you look surprised,”

“No, impressed actually,” Spencer replied, and he wasn’t entirely lying. The system was incredibly complex, particularly if they received no help from outsiders, for as many people as there were in the compound.

“Thankyou; for admitting that,” Cyrus said earnestly, flicking his gaze back to Bugsy who studied the solar panels, “I’ll go find Jared, he can take you to the greenhouses,”

Thanking him again, he led the way towards the school where Nancy and Emily had headed, as the two of them exchanged a look, Spencer smiling half piteously, wishing he could shake her and tell her just how smart she was and that Cyrus knew absolutely nothing.

He didn’t miss the way she walked closer to him, or how she thumbed the corner of her notebook, or how she looked back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He thinks he might get slapped if he pointed it out, but Emily had the exact same tell when she was nervous, which is why he bumps their shoulders together in means of reassuring her he was still there.

It was only then she gave him any sort of smile back.

Jared, as expected, had been just as condescending and patronising as Benjamin whilst she slipped on her latex gloves, scooping no more than a handful of homemade fertiliser into one of her test tubes. It had been a partial cover, their story, but she had been telling the truth when she’d contacted Marina and asked if she could drop by. She’d been meaning to expand her field research in hopes of stumbling on a job opportunity since she spent most of her postgraduate days reading while her cat pawed at her leg for more treats than he deserved, the odd phone call with her sister much more common than it had been before.

She didn’t miss the way Jared’s hand fell into the small of her back as he led her back towards the school, after having noted down a few more readings, fussing over the state of the carrots that seemed to grow entirely naturally thanks to the systems they’d been smart enough to set up. He seemed rather bored by the whole thing, for a head gardener, more interested in staring at her legs as she leaned down to identify the fat black beetle that crawled along the rockery.

It wasn’t until they were halfway to the school that the sound of tyres on a dirt path met her ears, and she saw five armoured SUVs out the corner of her eye.

She hadn’t even the time to question what was going on, before Jared’s face dropped, the hand gently holding the soft of her back grabbing on her forearm hard enough to leave bruises, as he was dragging her to the chapel they had seen when they had pulled up.

Emily had said the rest of the team stayed in Quantico, if it wasn’t them, who was it.

“Whats going on- who is that?” She asked him lamely, her feet stumbling as she half fought his heavy hand off.

That was when the shooting started.

She thinks it came from the compound first, she’d seen two men stationed on top of one of the outbuildings, thinking nothing much of it, until she saw clearly now the assault rifles they bore, pointing it straight at the vehicles that drew closer. The whistle of bullets, bangs of the chambers emptying their artillery, and it wasn’t until she heard the doors to the SUVs start opening, more gunfire began hitting the wall ahead of them that she started running. Running fast, for the cover the church provided until she figured out just what the fuck was happening.

Jared all but threw her past the chapel door, where Cyrus and four other men were waiting, a heavy barricade in their hands, her chest pounding with adrenaline, she couldn’t help the yelp that left her as Cyrus whirled on her, grabbing her shoulders firmly and looking her dead in the eye.

“Did you know anything about this?” He asked, his calm demeanour cracking when she scrambled for a response, “ANSWER ME,”

“No-no not at all.” She shook her head, voice weaker than she’d like, but the sight of more guns in the men’s hands twisted any resolve she had, “Where are the others- the- the experts-”

“Take her into the tunnels,” Cyrus ignored her question, nodding at one of his men to grab her as Jared armed himself. She felt another callused hand yank on her upper arm, and part of her wondered if that was how men handled all women here, as if they were herding cattle, as she was dragged down into the catacombs below the church.

They’d made plans for a day like this to come, she realised.

Her heart constricted at the sound of bullets rattling above them, she hadn't been able to tell in that last moment whether Cyrus believed her or not as, nor whether she was being taken to the tunnels for her own safety or to be questioned harder about the gunmen.

She could only hope Emily was safe.

She felt her tongue too big for her mouth as the man all but shoved her into the bunker, the nervous chatter of women and children, some of the more elderly men, as they clung to one another for safety, the scathing remark she would have usually made about his heavy hands failing her as she scanned the room for her sister.

Emily was faster however, and she nearly yelped again as two bony arms yanked her into a hug, a rare one, and she knew by the blazer and the sigh of relief in her ear it was Em.

Usually she would bat her off, tell her to stop fussing like a mother hen, but today she embraced her right back, trying to note if her sister had any bullet holes in her before she allowed herself the same relief.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Emily asked, the whole thing coming out in a slew of worry, and she nodded, pulling away as if she needed to see the proof in person.

Bugsy’s eyes were wild, as if she were a doe in a meadow hearing a rifle cocking near. No scratch that, she was a doe being chased and shot at and hunted, narrowly escaping being mounted on a wall.

“They were all shit shots,” Bugsy said, through a laugh she didn’t quite mean, “You would have done much better.”

Patting her sister on the shoulder, Emily finally released her when she realised the humour meant she at least had her head on her shoulders. Spencer watched her with meticulous eyes, knowing the shock that registered on her face, knowing it was the same one he wore when he first had shots fired at him. He saw her own eyes quickly check him over, satisfied with a breath of relief when she saw they were both fine.

“Where’s Lunde?” Emily asked, and she realised then Cyrus had followed her down into the shelter, two of his men grabbing handfuls of guns she had never seen before, likely imported out of country, and returning to the ground level, preparing for more shooting.

“It wasn’t us,” Cyrus replied, as if that negated the fact their recklessness had gotten the agent killed.

“What? You can’t shoot it out with the cops, you have children in here,” Emily seethed, her voice harsh and incredulous.

“I didn’t start this,” Cyrus bit back, looking towards his men as they grabbed boxes on boxes of ammunition, “I’ll take the front, you take the roof,”

And with that they stormed their way back through the tunnels, leaving the three of them to look between each other, knowing this could only end badly. Knowing the only people that could figure out how to get them out of this mess was the BAU, all 1,700 miles away.

–

They’d been in the bunker for fourteen hours when there was finally movement. The shooting seemed to have quietened down, in which Spencer whispered it was around 11pm and it was likely neither party had a clear shot. She’d managed to fall asleep leaning against the wall, Emily’s blazer draped over her legs. She’d regretted wearing cropped pants, despite how the shade of green complimented her eyes nicely, and she’d been shivering by the time she fell asleep, Emily’s hands stroking her hair gently as if she knew she was struggling to relax.

She hadn’t realised she was staring at her little sister, frowning even as she slept, which made part of her want to laugh, until she caught Spencer’s tired eyes looking between them, something knowing and warm in his gaze.

“You know, she’s always scowled in her sleep, ever since she was born,” Emily said, quiet enough it didn’t interrupt the hum of small snores, the odd baby cry that filled the bunker, but loud enough for him to smile at her, “She used to sleep walk terrible too. I’d find her in the kitchen trying to make pancakes with a cheese grater. It’s like that big brain of hers doesn’t know how to shut off,” Emily shook her head with a fatigue, rubbing her eyes.

“Was it weird? Being fourteen years older?” Spencer asked, his own hands shoved into his sleeves to try defend from the draught. Emily thought for a moment, her hand slowing for a second on her sister's hair, before she answered.

“I felt guilty leaving her in that house with my mom when I went to college,” Emily answered, Bugsy unconsciously tucking her face closer into the jacket, “I think part of her kind of hated me for it for a while.” She went quiet, the shame in her voice thick as the silence that encompassed them, “She’s never been very affectionate you know? Before her graduation I don’t think I’d hugged her in twelve years,”

Spencer held himself back from pointing out that she had been just as touchy with him since they’d met, and that maybe it was Emily’s own regret that seemed to shut the both of them down. He wasn’t one to rub salt in the wound, not since he’d gotten this job and learned to watch what he said.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t want to give her advice, knowing the whole subject of their slowly repairing relationship was a sore one. He had no siblings of his own, had a mother who loved him despite how much she grappled with her own mind, and he had only known the girl briefly enough to consider her a friend at a push.

“I always thought the two of you were similar,” Emily chose to continue, offering him a small smile. He returned it, his face blushing at the fact that was a huge compliment to him, “Granted, you roll your eyes at me less and don’t act like I’m dumb, but you remind me of her,”

“Thankyou, I wish that were true,” He replied, eyes flicking to her sleeping form, the way her eyebrows were indeed scrunched in a permanent frown. He wondered if she was actually angry, or if she was just thinking hard, perhaps her dreams were full of equations or labs she needed to sort through. Either way, he wanted to know. “She’s much cooler than I’ll ever be,”

Emily snorted, shuffling against the wall to cosy herself, “That’s one way to put it,” She said, smiling over at him as he did the same, his head resting against the wall, Bugsy’s legs stretching out to knock against his feet, and he didn’t mind that she scuffed the bottom of his already dirty trousers. “Get some sleep,”

And so they did.

–

Cyrus had corralled the whole flock into the church, where the shooting had stopped and the bodies had been removed, stating at the break of dawn that there was a hostage negotiator coming in to make sure everyone was safe before they made any deals.

She sat next to Spencer, the three of them stiff from their sleeping arrangements, and her stomach churned with hunger. It had been over 24 hours since they’d gotten here, and besides the small bit of bread and water Cyrus gave everyone for breakfast, she was starving.

“Remind me to never leave the house, ever again,” She grumbled, as everyone waited in the pews for the negotiator to arrive, “My cat is gonna be pissed I’ve not fed him,”

“Since when did you get a cat?” Emily inputted from the other side of Reid, keeping one eye on the door in case any agents start shooting again.

The girl shrugged, “I got lonely, there’s not much to do now I’m not studying anymore,”

Reid watched how she clutched her stomach, feeling his own complaining at the lack of nutrition, “Morgan wasn’t lying when he said you should sign up for the academy. We could always use the help, we wouldn’t have solved that case in Baltimore without you,”

She snickered, nudging his foot with her boot, “You’re being modest, you would have done it just fine,”

He was a little, wasn’t surprised she called his bluff either. “Okay, so probably yes- but it would have taken us a whole lot longer. Mr Chernus likely would have died,”

She shook her head, glancing at Emily who watched her carefully, “That was all you guys. I just translated.”

Emily and Spencer exchanged a glance, leaning back in their uncomfortable seats calmly.

“You’re probably right,” Spencer said, dusting the dirt off his trousers, “Probably couldn’t handle it, high intensity mind games and such,”

She blanched, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head, not knowing him to be so brutally honest, realistic yes, but not bordering on rude.

“And it’s a lot of work,” Emily jumped in, her mouth a straight line, “I don’t know if you’d be dedicated enough,”

Bugsy scoffed, indifferently. “I have a masters degree, I was offered a scholarship to do a PHD, asked to be an assistant professor at Yale, I can work hard, Emily,” She snipped, and perhaps she was particularly just hangry or they had struck a nerve with their doubt, “and I could do it if I wanted to, I’d have the best shot they’d ever seen, guaranteed- mom made me take lessons when you left- trust me I could do it-”

She shut up when she saw their small smile exchanged, as if she’d told them a joke, or moreso they’d had the same identical thought and that alone was hilarious.

Scowling at them, she looked from where Spencer looked almost, almost, guilty at making her the butt of the joke, to where Emily had a ‘told you so’ smirk, and she kissed her teeth at their childishness.

“Are you guys reverse psychology-ing me? Seriously, so original guys,” She snapped, crossing her arms and straightening herself in her seat, ignoring the snigger that passed between them.

“You’re not wrong though,” Emily replied quietly as Cyrus walked past them, his eyes falling to them with a frown. Bugsy kept her head down, heeding Emily’s warning of not provoking anyone, and Spencer eyed the way she leaned closer to him.

If she was going to retaliate, whether agreeing or not, she stopped herself, the doors the church opening and an older gentleman walking through the doors, arms full of supplies she’d figured must have been part of the negotiation. He was patted down by an armed guard, searching for his own weapons do doubt, or a wire perhaps, as he handed the box over to another who took it without a thankyou.

“Rossi,” She heard Reid whisper beside her, and from the look he shot Emily and Spencer she gathered he was from the BAU, just as they’d expected. His eyes fell on her, softening as alot of Emily’s team did when they saw the two of them, as if they were picking her face apart for the tiny ways in which she resembled their Prentiss, or maybe it was the way she curled up in her seat, tired, hungry, on the defence. He just looked sorry for her.

“The children,” Cyrus said with no greeting, the air between them particularly frosty. He gestured towards the three of them, though Rossi had already clocked their tired faces staring at him with worry, “And our guests,”

She saw him trying not to react, guessing they had not let it slip to Cyrus he worked with the two undercover FBI agents, looking away from them as if the sight of their forlorn figures was enough to turn him sick.

Judging by the way Cyrus and he spoke quietly, tensely, Bugsy just hoped they had a plan to get them out of here soon as he soon left with a rigid handshake to the man keeping them hostage.

–

The three of them had been moved to a backroom a few hours later. Her stomach ached, the little sustenance Rossi had brought being distributed to the community before they’d been offered anything, which hadn’t left much. Reid and Emily had tried to get her to take some of their sharing, and despite how her insides cried out for it, she declined, stating they would be more use than she would; that they needed their strength more than her if they were going to get out of here alive.

The two of them hadn’t liked that answer judging by the frowns on their faces, but they sat in their seats with little fuss as they waited for things to quieten down after Cyrus’ staged “mass suicide” that had turned out to be nothign more than a test of loyalty and grape juice.

They had been sat in silence, aside from her foot bouncing on the floor impatiently, as she picked at the threads on her pants, the material uncomfortable on her skin after a day of wearing it. The door slammed open, Cyrus entering the room with nasty scowl. She didn’t know what had changed in the man in a matter of hours as he stormed over to them, two of his men behind him, loaded rifles in their arms.

This was not good.

“Which one of you is it?” He asked almost too calm for his demeanour, his eyes flicking between the three of them, where Emily attempted to brush her hair using her fingers, Reid played with the hem of his cardigan, an she sat beside him, resting against the cold stone wall behind them, her eyes narrowing at his furious expression.

The three of them remained silent, waiting for him to explain more, though clearly it was not the answer he was looking for as he threw his jacket open, revealing a loaded pistol tucked into his jeans. Drawing it into his dominant hand, her body tensed up, her back straightening like a rod as she looked up at him through fear.

“Which one of you is the FBI agent?” He repeated in that same calm tone, and her heart fell through her stomach.

She opened her mouth to say something in retaliation, though the way she saw his hand shaking with fury, she knew it was better to stay quiet in case her voice would be the final straw that made him trigger happy.

“Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?” Spencer replied softly, and if he was panicking even a fraction amount she was he held it back, though his eyes flicked to Emily.

But it was a tell. The smallest movement alone was a tell he was lying, or perhaps it was the fact he’d answered a question with one of his own, distracting from the attention on them with the unsubs own answers. Maybe his quiet and calm showed how trained he was for a situation like this, showed he had gone up against bad guys before and won.

Whatever it was about him, it had Cyrus cocking the barrel of the gun straight at Spencer’s temple.

“God forgive me for what I must do,” The preacher murmured, his finger moments away from the trigger, when she lurched forward in her seat, hand shooting out to grab his wrist deathly tight.

“It’s me,”

She hadn’t realised she’d said it until the room went quiet. She thought for a moment it had come from Emily, Emily had always been the braver of the two of them, but it wasn’t until Cyrus’ unforgiving, dark gaze fell to her where she froze in her spot, that she understood her mouth had been the one moving.

Emily looked as if she was about to vomit, Spencer looked dumbfounded, but all she could do was stare back at Cyrus as if to will herself not to back down, knowing all three of them could fall victim if she gave them reason to doubt her; he could kill all three of them just to be sure the mystery agent was dealt with.

“It’s me,” She repeated, voice stronger this time, and she felt her chest relax just the tiniest amount as he turned the gun away from Spencer’s head.

He stared back at her for a moment, before the weapon smacked across her face in a sharp whip, her cheekbone crying out in a sting she knew was going to bruise.

He grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck, yanking her into a stand hard enough she yelped, despite not wanting to give him the satisfaction of the torture.

“Watch the other two,” Cyrus barked, dragging her out of the room as she squirmed under his hand, feeling it only tighten into an unforgiving pull.

She barely caught Emily bolting out of her seat to yell at the other men, all but fighting in their heavy grasp to follow wherever it was he was taking her, only for the door to be slammed shut behind them.

It was only then she realised how fucked she truly was.

–

She struggled to breath through the blood clotting in her nose. She didn’t think it was broken, not that she could check where her hands had been tied to the bedpost, tape over her mouth to stop her calling for help, her feet bound. She’d done nothing but give him hell as he’d been laying into her, keeping her cries and groans of pain silent as he’d kicked her in the ribs hard enough to know he’d damaged something at least.

She’d not made it easy for him to tie her down, worried about what they were planning next, she’d managed to headbutt him in the mouth, and the way he clutched at his jaw when he’d left gave her a sick satisfaction, though her temple now hurt more than she’d like to admit. But they’d only covered her mouth after she’d screamed obscenities at them for an hour or so, hoping to attract attention, hoping if the BAU were on their way, Emily and Reid would be able to find her fast before they could dispose of her.

Bugsy didn’t want to go like this. Tied up like cattle, gagged and beaten, the spirit kicked out of her as the dehydration gnawed at her limbs, making her too weak to even try wriggling out of the binds.

She felt herself dropping off to sleep, or maybe it was a concussion, he’d slammed her face into that mirror quite viciously, she wouldn’t be surprised if it had rattled her head around. Fighting with her eyelids to stay open, she jumped in her battered skin as the door unlatched, and she thrashed on the rickety bed to get away from the impending second beating.

But it wasn’t Cyrus. A fawn haired woman entered, her eyes falling on the girl on the bed, where blood trickled down her cheek, pouring from her nose like a thick liquor. Frowning, she was on high alert as the woman approached, a small, damp cloth in her hand.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you honey,” She hushed, approaching the young girl. Bugsy didn’t believe her for one second, her head pulling away from her as far as it could, her eyes wild and distrustful as the woman kneeled down beside the bed. “I’m Kathy,”

Bugsy debated jabbing an elbow in her face then and there, telling her in few words to stay as far away from her as possible, that the moment she was free she didn’t care who she hurt; she was getting out of here even if she had to crawl.

“That woman’s your sister right?” The blonde said, and the words stopped her heart for a moment, giving the woman the chance to run the cloth over the dribble of blood, “Emily,”

“Where is she?” She tried to ask, but the gag made it little more than a muffled cry, the woman’s eyes turning down in sadness. Pity. Bugsy hated every second of it.

“She’s okay, she’s worried about you though,” Kathy said, wiping under her nose, making her wince at the feeling, “Put up a hell of a fight after they took you away,”

She must have rolled her eyes, or perhaps it was just telling on her face that that didn’t surprise her as the older woman wiped over the superficial cut on her forehead she hadn’t realised was deep until the cloth went over it and she yawped like a dog having it’s tail pulled.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Kathy cooed, and she seemed genuinely guilty as she did. She tutted, shaking her head, fighting the urge to smooth the girls hair down the way she did when her own daughter was upset, “Emily said they’ll be coming for us at 3am, Cyrus has a mass suicide planned but they think they can stop him, you just have to hold on a little longer honey,”

“I want to see her,” Bugsy tried to talk again despite her mouth being covered, only for it to come out unintelligible once more. Huffing, she resigned herself to glaring at the ceiling, biting back frustrated tears. Kathy seemed to want to say something else, but thought better of it as the twenty something year old turned away from her to stare out the window, as if she were being dismissed.

Sighing, she rose from the bed and headed for the door, praying the FBI would get them out in time, before Cyrus put his plan into action.

–

Bugsy didn’t start panicking until it hit 2:50. She’d managed to kick the small analogue clock on the beside into working, the red numbers seeming to take a millenia to change over.

Yet it wasn’t until 3am neared, and the hallways remained silent, did she start to wonder if Kathy had been telling the truth at all. What if they had found out Emily and Reid were FBI and not her? What if they’d already been caught?

She really had wanted to see Emily, wanted to scream at the woman, who had meant well, to bring her sister to her or she would make every damn bible basher in this compound regret the day they were born. She felt helpless. She despised feeling helpless.

It was only when she heard shots rattling from outside did the cold fear set in. 2:52. Any minute now.

It was then an even worse thought struck her. What if they didn’t bother to come for her? Reid and Emily were safe downstairs, at least that was how Kathy had made it seem. If they got the women and children, the agents out first, she wondered if they would leave her for last since she wasn��t their top priority.

2:53 stared back at her.

At least Emily would make it. She was more important, had more going for her. She was supposed to be an only child anyway, mom had said it herself. Bugsy was the product of a failing marriage and a shared bottle of 1896 Bourbon that had been a wedding gift they’d never opened.

2:54.

She could have sworn she tore something the way her head snapped to the door as it swung open on its hinges, as if two large men had thrown their weight into it. But it wasn’t two men at all, just one frantic Derek Morgan with an FBI grade assault rifle.

The relief in his eyes was immediate, and he pulled a pocket knife from his boot, rushing over to where she lay, almost in shock, wondering if he was real at all, her heart pounding as she heard shouting in the corridor.

“I’m gonna get you out, kid,” The man promised, slinging his gun over his shoulder as he sliced through the rope on her ankles, her eyes trained on the 2:55 that watched them as if to laugh at them.

She whimpered, cursing behind her gag when she heard footsteps pounding through the hallway, and she was sure they were going to get caught. She thought then it would have been better if they’d forgotten about her, that at least Derek would have been safe, and he could have made sure the children got out safely, could have gotten Spencer and Emily medical.

Derek whirled on the doorway the same as she did as a tall figure all but skidded around the corner, his legs weak as hers felt, too long and not at all built for running. Clumsy almost.

Spencer. She should have known from the way he looked white as a sheet the moment he saw her it was him, but maybe she really did have concussion, as it seemed within moments he was fussing over her face, tearing a little too sharply at the tape over her mouth.

She thinks she groaned, or maybe cursed him out, as he started apologising immediately, his eyes a puppy kind of sad as she stared up at him, Derek handing him the knife to cut her arms free.

He was talking, but she couldn’t make a lot of it out, just that he was really sorry, it was 2:56 now. It was like her brain switched itself back on when she realised she was free, and the two of them were trying to haul her to her feet.

“Come on, princess, we gotta get out of here,” Derek said, as Spencer looped an arm around her waist, helping her limp across the room where her weak limbs did little to hold her upright, her ribs throbbing with every step, “We managed to stop Cyrus from detonating it manually, but the circuits are all still live,”

Morgan took the lead with the rifle, knowing some of Cyrus’ men had stayed to look for them, that they would go down with the building even though he’d already shot their leader the moment they’d breached the front door, because that was how loyal they were. They’d proven so already with the wine.

She kept her groans behind tight lips as they made it down the stairs, knowing Spencer didn’t mean to hold her bruised bones so tight, that he was just worried and her legs were doing the bare minimum to keep them both moving very fast. It wasn’t until they made it within a few feet of the door that they seemed to pick up the pace.

And she saw why.

Jesse, Cyrus’ child bride that had been the reason they’d come here in the first place was holding the detonator, her face tear streaked at the sight of her husband and prophet dead on the floor, the people responsible all but dragging a lame girl through the foyer and to the doors as if they hadn’t killed a handful of her flock tonight.

Bugsy saw the moment Jesse decided she wanted vengeance on them, but then, she guessed Spencer had already acted as he slung one of her arms over his shoulder, yanking her out the front door in a matter of seconds as Morgan pulled up the rear, and the two men shoved her down behind the small wall outside the church steps.

Bugsy expected the bang to be louder as the rubble flew over their heads, the floor shaking with the impact of the bomb detonating, and it was then she realised one of Derek’s large warm hands held her head into his shoulder, protecting her already rattled skull as best as he could. Spencer had done the same, throwing half his body over her back as he covered his ears, the two men tucking into the wall tightly and waiting for the dust to settle.

Spencer started coughing first, though his position over her never faltered, and she heard his chest wheezing, and knew they needed to move away from the thick smog that blew into their faces. Morgan released her ear, tipping her head back to check her over once more.

“Kid! You okay?” He fretted, noticing the way her nose had started bleeding again from all the movement; the way the bruise had already started blotching her cheek from where Cyrus pistol whipped her.

“I didn’t think you’d come for me,” Was all she could say, and Derek thought it was the saddest he’d ever heard her.

Reid was pulling her to her feet then, where he was still hovering over her, despite the fact the blast had already cleared, still sputtering and hocking up a lung, but it didn’t stop her from throwing herself at his middle, burying her face in his dusty sweater, not caring one bit if he jostled her aching ribs.

He was trying to be gentle with her as he squeezed her back, but she knew by the way he pressed his face into her hair he needed it just as badly.

“You saved my life,” He said, his long arms wrapping around her waist, hauling her whole body against his.

She laughed through a cough, their cheeks brushing past one another as she pulled him in tighter, thankful, relieved.

“You saved mine,”

And then she heard Emily. Emily, who sounded frantic and heartbroken as she called for her, her voice breaking as if she was crying, or atleast on the verge of, and as comforting as Spencer’s long arms around her cracked ribs were, she needed to see her sister was okay.

Ripping herself from his embrace immediately, she tore off after the sound, and there she was. Her older sister, who had always seemed immovable, like she wouldn’t so much as budge for a bucking horse, like water couldn’t drown her, or however many unsubs she’d faced could stop her from catching them. Her older sister, who looked like she’d taken a few punches of her own, judging by the blood on her blue blouse, that looked around the crowd of fleeing people with watery eyes and a shaking bottom lip.

“EMILY,” She yelled, her voice a bleat, a lamb calling for its mother, as she sprinted down the steps, whatever strength she had left carrying her to where Emily was rushing towards her, taking the stairs in threes, “EM-”

She crashed into her sister’s chest, and it was only then she started crying.

“I swear I’ll never give you trouble again, I’ll never talk back, I’ll never be a bitch ever again-” It was all a slew of mumbles against her sisters shirt, that was beginning to wet through at the rate the tears were coming, “I thought he was going to shoot you-”

“I was so scared, Bug, oh my god,” Emily murmured into her hair, squeezing the life out of her baby sister that sniffled and sobbed, “You don’t ever, ever do that to me again,”

Bugsy shook her head, clawing at Emily’s back as she pulled her closer, feeling Emily stroking her hair softly to calm her even in the slightest. They stayed like that until she managed to wrangle her sobs into little sniffs, the fire burning her eyes where it burned the rest of the church to ashes.

She stayed with Emily for a month after that.

+4. The one where you leave the altar.

She knew she was turning heads, walking down the street of a drizzly day in Virginia, hair wet and sticking to her face, makeup running down her cheeks, and the sodden, dove white wedding dress clasped in her hands as she paced towards the government building.

Whether the guards recognised her as the Ambassador’s daughter, or whether they really didn’t want to get into it with a bride looking like that on her day, she didn’t know, but they opened the door for her nonetheless, exchanging raised brows as a trail of wet followed her gown over the marble floors.

Heading up the desk, she flashed her driver's licence, which was enough to gain her a visitors pass she didn’t bother putting to use as she headed for the elevator, her ballet pumps squeaking under the body of the dress. Waiting for the doors to start closing when she finally let a few tears slip, burying her face into her cold, drenched palms, undoubtedly making the mess of mascara even worse.

Her heart gave a leap when she heard someone stop the doors, hoping she could get to her sister with little delay, and she quickly wiped her face with whatever was left of her pretty, dobby cloth shawl she had yanked on before she’d ran.

Whatever excuse she was about to give, whatever one liner she was about to drop to clear the awkwardness this agent was about to walk in on was sucked out of her when she saw Spencer staring at her, his briefcase in his hands he’d used to hold the doors, a wide eyed look plastered on his face as soon as he saw her state.

“Bugsy,” It was somewhere between surprise and sadness, jumping into the elevator before the metal could shut again, the button for the sixth floor already lit up in a ring of red, “What are you- I didn’t even know…”

“Spencer!” As seemed to be a common occurrence between them now, she threw two very cold arms over his shoulders, tugging him for a hug he quickly reciprocated, feeling like she needed it in the moment, “It was so awful, I just couldn’t all those people staring at me, and he- I just feel so-”

“Hey slow down,” He soothed, slipping his favourite cardigan off his body to put over her shoulders, ignoring the way he cringed as it quickly got sodden, “Let’s get you to Emily, I’m sure we can fix this,”

She nodded, though he could tell she was still shaken up, the elevator dinging to a stop on the fifth floor where an agent looked ready to step in, his face dropping when he saw the sight.

“Sorry, we’re full,” Spencer said, with little room for discussion, pressing the button to close the doors once more, and taking her by the elbow as she began shivering, “We’re gonna be just fine, you look beautiful,”

She laughed sadly with a roll of her eyes, the tears sticking to her cheeks. She knew she looked no better than a drowned rat, windswept and disgruntled, her dress full of muck from the street.

“Thankyou, Spencer,” She mumbled, the door sliding open to the sixth floor, where Penelope and her everlasting smile greeted her favourite boy genius.

She almost dropped her glitter pen when she saw the woman stood next to him looking like Dorothy dragged through the twister.

“Oh you poor little lamb, what has happened to you honey!” She all but cried, the cute little pom poms in her hair bouncing as she brought Bugsy closer, taking her hands tightly. “Your hands are ice! You’ll catch cold with that wet hair, and your gorgeous dress-”

“Garcia,” Spencer cut her off, though the woman didn’t seem to mind being manhandled into the kind grip, he guessed her state had her letting her guard down, “This is Bugsy, Emily’s little sister.”

Penelope gasped, her ponytails swishing around some more, the gems on her glasses as bright as the light in her eyes as she yanked the younger girl in for a tight hug.

“It is so nice to meet you! Emily talks about you all the time,” She said, pulling away and fumbling through her pockets for her fresh pink handkerchief she always carried around, mopping up the girl's eyeliner.

“She-she does?” Bugsy asked, sniffling, her body trembling as the AC beat down through the water ladened on her body.

“Of course she does, come on, let’s go get you coffee, I have a new machine in my office that makes the best espresso-” Garcia grabbed her hand as if they were kids in the playground, as if she’d known the girl years, which she sort of had. She had, of course, stalked every single one of Emily’s known relatives, even a distant cousin that never left Europe, and that had thrown up the quiet corner of the internet that Bugsy took up.

“I needed to talk to my sister, if that’s okay,” Bugsy braved enough to say, the swishing of her dress on the carpet making her wince, practically hearing the gallon of rain that soaked the expensive fabric.

“Ofcourse! How silly of me, I’ll bring it out right to you, little bug. You just go with Spencer,” Handing him the handkerchief, she set off towards her ‘bat cave’ in search of a hot beverage for the shivering woman, “Spencer, clean her makeup!”

He did as he was told, dabbing the water off her face as he led her to the BAU, where Emily and Morgan sat on their desks, chatting as they finished off lunch, Emily flicking through photos on her phone of baby Henry that JJ had sent over to her that morning from maternity leave.

“He’s just the sweetest little boy, he’s got the biggest blue eyes just like Jayj,” She said through a smile, “You know Will even said-”

“Holy shit-” Morgan cut her off, and she glanced at him, wondering about his use of a curse. Following his eyes over her shoulder, she swivelled in her position to see where Spencer led a very wet, shaken version of her little sister through the doors of the BAU, a snowy ball gown hanging off her, a veil clinging to her hair that had seen much better days.

“Holy shit,” She agreed, immediately darting for the girl that tugged Spencer’s cardigan tighter to her body, “Bugsy,”

“Emily, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t take up too much time- I just couldn’t do it- and I know mom’s always saying ‘Bring home a doctor, bring home a rich man,’ but I just couldn’t no matter how rich his daddy is, he wasn’t even too bad-” It all came out in a slur, not making too much sense, and she didn’t stop until Emily held up her hands, as if easing a wild dog.

“Woah, take it easy, kiddo,” Morgan hushed, as Emily brought a hand over her sister’s cheek, wiping away the last of the mascara, “What happened?”

Bugsy took a deep breath, looking between Emily and Derek, feeling the rain drip down her back.

“So a few weeks ago, Mom made me go to that stupid debutante ball,” She started, rolling her eyes already as Emily winced, knowing Elizabeth loved any excuse to dress her youngest up like a Barbie doll.

“I hated those things,” She confessed, shaking her head, “I thought you’d agreed you didn’t have to go to them anymore,”

“That was while I was in college, she said at least I could focus on my studies,” The girl explained, as Garcia tottered back through the office, a steaming cup of coffee in her beloved Bratz mug. Taking it from the chirpy woman, she took a deep gulp, not caring if it burned her mouth as she wished for the damn chill to go away, “Thankyou- But she made me go to this one on the condition she would pay off some of my college loans, and I was dumb enough to fall for her bribe,”

She huffed, taking another sip, her stomach warming with the hot liquid settling through her throat.

“You know how she is at these things, she knows everyone, and everyone knows her. I had four guys asking for my dance card within minutes of arriving there, it was like trying to walk through a dog pound wearing a meat suit, all the hand holding, trying to touch my waist- one guy even called me Madam Prentiss,” She grimaced, shuddering at the thought of it, “Madam? No one even calls mom that-”

“Focus,” Emily reminded gently, and she seemed to nod to herself, setting back on track.

“Right. And then he was there. Byron Hastings.” Bugsy said, wrapping her hands around the mug some more.

“Oh, isn’t he that super yummy bachelor that just inherited his fathers business?” Garcia jumped in, not noticing how it made her wince, “I hear his dad totally owns a bunch of shares in Facebook and as like just signed a deal with a new company that will change the future of computing-”

“Not now, baby girl,” Morgan said calmly, patting Penelope on her shoulder when she saw the bride’s crestfallen face.

“Right, sorry. Your turn, little bug,” She said, shaking her head and fiddling with her dozen rings.

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replied, running a slightly warmed finger over her eyelash where rain even collected there, “And you know, I wasn’t complaining, he was certainly easy on the eyes, and he smelled nice, like he just smelled rich, but man alive he was so boring,” She sighed, “I like computers as much as the next girl, no offence, but he didn’t once ask me what I was into or, and when I tried to bring up my degree he just patted me on the head and said ‘That’s nice’ like I was some child that had brought him a pretty colouring or something,”

“Ouch,” Emily grimaced, rubbing her arms over the cardigan to warm her up a little more, “And then?”

“And eventually, his dad and my mom cut a deal that we’d make a good pair. He said we could be married within the season, and suddenly everyone seemed up for it, and it was like no matter how hard I tried to dig my heels in, no one would listen, and mom just seemed so pleased with me-” She spluttered, sipping her drink to catch her breath, “I just let it happen and just thought, you know, maybe we could learn to like each other, or we could just be like mom and dad and separate in everything but paper,”

“It’s your life, who is she to tell you how you’re gonna live it,” Emily was outraged, the tip of her nose pink, her dark eyes stormy as her hands fell to her hips, huffing as if it had been her backed into a corner, “I can’t believe she would do this to you,”

“I was fine with it, really. It's not like its the fifteenth century when I’d be forced to consummate- anyway,” Bugsy rubbed her face, “I just got there, and mom put on my veil and told me I’d make a lovely Mrs Hastings, and just the sound of it- I couldn’t-”

“What on earth is going on?” A new voice cut through the BAU, and the group disbanded like kids caught trading answers to the homework. Rossi and Hotch stood by the unit chief’s office, brows furrowed at the wet bride and his team that tended to her as if she were a princess.

“Should we be expecting four wet bridesmaids too?” Rossi asked, the two of them making the steps down to the floor, approaching the guilty faced woman, noting Spencer’s cardigan wrapped over her shoulders.

“Nope, just me,” Her joke fell flat as she met the stony face of Aaron Hotchner, who looked thoroughly unimpressed, “Nice to see you again, Mr Hotchner, sir,”

His gaze slid to Emily, mouth opening to share whatever scathing remark bounced around his mouth, but the younger girl beat him to it, everyone’s eyebrows raising when she all but cut him off.

“This wasn’t on Emily, sir, I just showed up out of the blue, I can go- I’ll go- I just need to figure out where I’m staying since I left my purse at the church- don’t you worry I’ll be out of your hair, Aaro- sir,” Bugsy stammered, plonking the mug onto Emily’s desk, backing away to the doors of the office, clutching her visitor pass tight in her fist.

Maybe it was because she looked so hopeless, or maybe it was the way his team shot him the same look of horror he would be so regimental, or maybe even it was the fact part of her reminded him of Sean, only his brother wouldn’t have had the courtesy to apologise for his mess.

Sighing, he gestured her to come back, “Wait,” He said her name, her government name because the other one didn’t fit right in his mouth, “Reid, get her some clothes out your go bag. Emily, tell your mother she’s safe and will be staying in Quantico until you can figure something out,”

Heaving a sigh of relief, she launched her still sodden form at the chief, wrapping him in a stiff hug, bolder than anyone else on the team had ever dared to be.

“I swear to god, Mr Hotchner, the next letter you're getting will be the best one yet,” She mumbled into his hard chest, and he fought off the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards. Patting her on the back gently, he ignored the way his dress shirt wet through.

–

let me know what you think! mAYBE A FEW MORE PARTS COMING UP ??

Edit: This is a part one of 3 or 4 I have planned, thankyou so much for all the love on this I did not expect the reaction 🥺🥺

SECOND EDIT: part two and three are out now!! Have a look at the top where it says ‘next chpt and it’s there bbys!!

THIRD EDIT: we are now balls deep into this universe here's th link for the masterlist

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer reid imagine #Spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #Prentiss #prentiss!Reader #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #mathew grey gubler #Matthew grey gubler x reader

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