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nanamiskentos · 1 month ago

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MY STRATEGY ✤ 呪術廻戦

SYN. ➤ You're a man-eater, and he's just a light snack. A.K.A how you're just driving these sorcerers wild. ૮ • ﻌ - ა

𝐉𝐉𝐊 ➤ Getō, Sukuna, Chōsō, Tōji, Hiromi, Naoya, Gojō, Kashimo

cw ─ MDNI. afab!reader, màting préss, oràl (m), food play (?), drunk séx, semi-public séx, bàckshots, breéding kínk, proposals, créampié, bathtub séx, jealousy, wall séx, ooc naoya, reader is called a slút, cowgírl, pràise kink, big díck gojo, face sítting, oràl (f), múnching

wc. tba

呪術廻戦 NOTE ( author says ) someone requested a jealous!naoya fic so i just incorporated it in this 😭 and as a returned reward for me, i decided to add kashimo so we actually won 😁

➤ GETO SUGURU

"Fuckin' soaking all over me, darling. I'm really g-gonna' –"

Frankly, much of this evening has become a blur for Geto but he can faintly remember seething at those useless cunts over at the temple, and at the stack of paperwork piling up on his desk (yeah, apparently running a cult involves a lotta' bureaucracy).

He had thrown aside the heavy violet gojō-kesa, rummaging away for a faded, dark hoodie and thick cargo pants. He remembers knocking at the door of your apartment, and doing his best not to fall to his knees when you sweetly answered the door, pulling him in by the hand.

And somehow, between that blurry haze and him desperately kissing his girlfriend like his very life depended on it, Geto had found himself a happy, happy man, with your pretty ankles twitching around his shoulders. Pressing deeper into you, so your thighs were knocked straight up against your chest — pressing right into the fat of your tits as he slapped his hips right up against yours in the meanest mating press possible.

Your hands are in the mood to wonder too, it seems. Trembling ever so slightly for the surefire hits that Geto delivers when his rummaging, girthy cock thwacks! into you, over and over.

But your nails are running over the traditional dragon design that licks and curls up his left arm, trailing over his upper bicep where the ink tapers off over his back. A tattoo, something from his early days, often hidden underneath the draping robes he dons at the temple.

"Thaaat's my good girl," Geto murmurs, running his tongue behind his teeth, jostling himself closer to you so he could sip at your pretty mouth once more. Slick strands of saliva glistening between your lower lip and his, violet eyes narrowed as he feels your pussy clench around him in such a dizzying way.

"M-missed you so bad, Sugu', all day." You're whining, cunt twitching and quivering, releasing dribbling puddles of slick all over the fresh bedsheets.

Geto just chuckles, nipping his teeth over the juncture of your collarbone, leaving a faint, bruised mark that is certain to bloom into pretty petals, "I know, think ya' might have missed me jus' a bit too m-much, hmm?" Dipping a fat thumb to roll at your clit, "Pretty pussy was already sticky n' wet for me when I got here."

How sweet. Geto's practically swabbing every inch of your insides with his cock, and yet, the mere mention of him knowing about your lovely fingers spreading yourself apart and playing with yourself has you flushing so beautifully. God, Geto thinks to himself, if he doesn't marry you, he might really just die.

"Look at ya', wish I could take a photo," Geto murmurs, and you can hear just how much he truly does love you. Your (mildly suspicious) enigmatic boyfriend with his titan-steel thighs, and choppy dark hair is whispering sweet nothings in your ears, professions of loves that you know will make him fluster and blush all the more sweetly later on, "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen in m' whole life."

Raking your nails past the hypnotising dragon tattoo, to claw at his rippling biceps. Crimson lines blooming in your wake, as crescent edges leave their mark in a way that makes Geto groan. "Gonna' cum for me, baby? Can f-feel ya' sucking me up, god."

The rhythmic clenches of your pussy, the sheer, powerful arc of clear fluid spraying over Geto's groin and drenching his cock are enough to make the man moan, loudly, and not giving a single fuck at who hears. He's only burying himself further into you, driving himself right home with each spattering drivel and swivel of his hips into your glorious heat.

"Good g-girl, takin' it all for m' like a champ."

➤ RYOMEN SUKUNA

"What the fuck has gotten into you? Been in the cellars again, have we? Now, what did I say about that, eh?"

It's rare to hear Sukuna so bewildered, but the fact that the King of Curses is allowing you to manhandle him, to push his beefy, four-arm form into your private chambers is sign enough that he's indulging you.

"Wanna' kiss you, 'Kuna." You murmur, catching your husband's faint look of surprise, russet eyes widening as you yank his shoulders down. Planting your lips to his, muffling whatever snarky comment was sure to leave his fanged mouth, "Didn't like how she was looking at you."

Sukuna pulls back, if only to briefly trace his tongue along the side of your neck, down those fine crimson robes he so loved to see you in, "Who?"

"That courtesan." You shudder as gleaming fangs nip at your soft skin, shoving Sukuna closer towards the plush, vast expanse of your shared bed, "She was all over you, 'Kuna."

"Ah, that's what this is. My lil' Queen is jealous," Sukuna's back hitting the mattress, looking far too priggish and self-satisfied with your envy, "They're courtesans, brat. They pour our wine, flitter around like gnats, it's all a part o' the job description."

And because Sukuna truly can't resist himself, riling you up even further, "Besides, are you really surprised they're makin' stupid eyes at me, heh? I mean, look at me, I'm allll muscle and – mmph!"

In the short time that Sukuna took to gas himself up and rile up his pretty wife, you had already managed to snake your hands into the loose waistband of his wide pants. Clawing the fabric down absurdly broad, muscled thighs and undoing the thick, black knot holding his garments together.

A gentle peck on the upper-stacked of his two sculpted cocks has Sukuna suddenly glaring right down at you. All four eyes suddenly glazing over, "This is the game you wanna' play, brat? Really? 'Cause I can – fuck!"

You're pressing the flat of your tongue, the textured muscle right against the thick vein that runs along the underside of his absurdly long, girthy shaft. Ensuring that the second of his cocks doesn't feel left out, beginning to pump it slowly in the other hand.

"S-shut up, and let me do this." You're muffling around the smooth, taut skin at the very tip, beaming red and weeping the more you lave at it, "Wanna' taste you, 'Kuna."

"Heh, if I ever say no to that . . there's a knife in that wooden chest over there. I'd want you to use that on me, 'cause I'd hafta' be out of my damned mind to —"

There's a faint frazzled jump, a whine, colouring Sukuna's tone and you can tell that he's doing his best to muffle the sound. Determined to keep at least some dignity for himself, dark claws come to settle in your hair. Keeping that same steady pace to bob your pre-stained mouth up and down on the upper of the two shafts.

"Ouh, I was gonna' send those courtesans away, you k-know, if they were makin' my wife upset," Sukuna snickers, both cocks engorged enough that you really have to put in an effort to stretch both your hand and your mouth over them, "But if t-this is what I get outta' it, then they might jus' stay."

You glide your mouth away from Sukuna's cock with a loud pop! Giving your husband an unimpressed stare as he flounders, scowling, "Okay, m' sending them away. Was o-only a joke."

You can taste salty beads sinking into your tongue, and if you angle your head just right, you can press your head down enough for blush-pink hairs to tickle at your nose. The scent of him, the taste, the feeling of his hot n' heavy inches weighing on your tongue — you can feel a hot pulse beginning to jump up between your legs.

When it rains, it pours. When Sukuna climaxes, it. . also pours.

You know that there is no way you could possible envelop that much of his seed, but you lick gently at the spurting ropes of white, thick and opaque release. Feeling splatters paint all over your chin, your chest and the edges of those gorgeous robes Sukuna gifted you for your name-day.

"Wanna' climb on, brat?" Sukuna's peering down at you, and you can take some satisfaction in the flustered blush that he is furiously trying to hide, lolling his head away from your line of sight to little avail, "Still got another cock if ya' wanna ride. Gotta' fill ya' up so the whole estate can know that what my wife wants, she gets."

➤ CHOSO KAMO

Yeah, so introducing Choso to the idea of Friday night drinking? Probably not your most. . strategic decision. But after a gruelling day of training, and an even more excruciating day of self-restraint and not throwing yourself immediately at your boyfriend, you figured a good bottle of red, two glasses and a quiet evening on the wooden deck were well-earned.

So, now, here you are, perched in his lap, watching that wine-kissed flush bloom across his pale, clammy cheeks. His hazel eyes roam over you, shy, as berry-red stains his lips, and you lean in to sip the taste right from your favourite source.

Oh, and you're both utterly naked, training robes discarded in crumpled piles on the outdoor deck. Normally, you'd be a bit concerned that someone could turn the corner and find you perched over Choso's bare thighs, but the hour has grown late and you're on the far end of campus.

Thus, there's only one other massive factor to really consider here. And massive, well, that's an understatement of the century.

Choso's surprisingly relaxed like this, milky thighs flexing as he props you up, pulling you closer to him, but what really grabs your attention is the gleaming, red shaft that must be agonising by now, prodding right at your core. Right where you're balanced over the fat tip.

"No-one is gonna' walk past right?" Choso's blinking, dark lashes so long that they almost brush his lower brow as he flutters his eyes up.

You giggle, tilting the wine glass in your hand so more wine spills over the rim, dribbling down your bare form. And Choso, ever the greedy one, follows the slow trickle, laving his searing lips over your skin, right down your collarbone and over your breasts to lick up every last drop.

"Nah, and if there is gonna' be anyone, it'd be like. . a curse that got past the curtain." You're hiccuping, tracing faint lines over the edge of Choso's jaw, "And we'd have bigger problems anyway."

Your eyes are trailing downwards, to the curl of dampened, dark hair right over the base of his thick cock, and Choso scoffs, "You're about to say something lecherous, aren't you?"

"Wanna' give me a bigger problem, then, Cho' ?" Batting your lashes ridiculously at him, but even the half-curse can't resist how his heart is pounding, leaning in to plant a sweet curse on your lips.

"Are you sure?" Choso's gentle hands rolling over your spine, softly ghosting over your bare back that pebbles in the cool night air. Mahogany air tickling at your cheek as he situates large, soft palms over your waist. Swivelling you around so his impressively carved line of abdominal muscles are pressed against your back, and his breath ghosts are your ear.

"Gonna' be a biiiig stretch, sweet thing." Choso murmurs, planting a tender kiss at the nape of your neck, and god, he was not joking for the sheer girth often manages to catch you unaware each time.

But he's eager to help out, thick fingertips trailing over you to paw at your slick folds, spreading them apart even wider. He's murmuring something and you strain to here it, but you think that he's gasping, "I think I'm gonna' cum. Early, again."

You giggle, knowing that he flushes a vibrant shade of strawberry-red each time that he busts his load in you this early. For that faint, mere kiss of your arousal and your cunt's pretty walls against his cock is enough to make the half-curse shudder and swear as he spills glossy fillings right up in you.

"It's okay, Cho', you can – inside, you know."

"R-really, lovely? Inside, yeah?" Choso doesn't need further encouragement because he's already groaning, and you're already feeling wads of buttery cum drip down your thighs, feeling your hips twitch and shudder as the half-curse is determined to make up for this. Running his fingers along the side of your clit in a determined V-line, flicking gently over the swollen nub.

You're dazed, feeling the sudden build-up from your own orgasm creep up over you. The wine going straight to your head and making every cell in your body so tingly, and sensitive.

Watching with faint fascination at how fucking filthy this all is, the sopping leak of Choso's creamy cum dribbling out from under you, mingling with the blood-red drizzle of the wine still plastered to your thigh. A faint, pale shade of pink that has you aching to swipe your fingers through it, bringing it to your lips. And it has Choso groaning, cock hardening alll over again in you.

"You're going to be the death of me, sweet thing."

➤ TOJI FUSHIGURO

"Yeahh, arch ya' back for me like that, beautiful."

And fuck, Toji swears that if he had not been ass-naked, and there had been a ring in his back pocket right now, he would have whipped it out to propose to you, right then and there. Because, god, he's so truly in love with you, and the way that your pussy is a killer.

Capable of rendering an assassin dumbstruck, slack-jawed as he does his best to attach himself to reality once more. But all he can feel is the tight slick of your cunt clenching once more around him, the plush of your ass bouncing back to meet the base of his wide cock. Skin slapping so filthy and sticky against the trail of dark hair pattering down his abdomen.

Two wide palms searing into your skin, scooping him right up so his deliciously long cock can curve and glide right through your pussy. Bullseye! Right onto that sweet spot that makes you keen, and claw and whine, "Toji – right there, fillin' me up so good."

And you always know the right things to say because that rough, lil' scar on the upper corner of Toji's mouth is twitching, fighting off the dopey, love-struck grin that plasters itself on his face. Fighting the rising blush that threatens to make itself visible on his back, neck and ears.

He's a grown man, for fuck's sake! But never has he ever felt something so disarmingly charming and incredible as this, caging you in his arms as he pounds his hips into you, slap! slap! slap!

"We should get m-married, right? Right, doll?"

Toji doesn't even realise what he's babbling, too intent on feeling every inch of your walls, every sticky divot that he can press his inches into but god, he means every word that's falling from his slack lips, "M-marry me, doll. Gon' get ya' a diamond ring, anything ya' ask for, just say the word to ol' Toji here."

At first, the buzzing in his ears is so loud, so goddamn obnoxious that he cannot make out what droopy, muffled words are falling from your glossy, beautiful lips. But he strains his ears to catch them over the sound of his hips pistoning themselves against your skin, strands of translucent gloss stringing and snapping.

"W-wanna marry you too, Toji!"

For all of Toji's hard work in the sweltering gyms in the shitty basement of his apartment complex, his vast, muscular arms suddenly lose their strength. Everything in his broad, heavenly carved body turning into jitters, heart dangerously leaping up into his throat at just how much he loves you.

There, he said it. And now, he thinks he'll never be able to stop.

Emerald eyes not even sure where to focus on, the bounce of your tits that he can spy from underneath your glorious arch, the soft bounce of your ass against him, or the beautiful curve of your spine, "Loveee ya' doll, gonna' give you the whole package, I swear."

Each phrase puncuated by the heavy thwack! of his weeping tip against your cervix, pressing right up against where he's hoping his seed will take, "Gonna' make ya' my wife, my gorgeous wife." Sweeping a muscled arm beneath you to find your sensitive clit, pressing right at the sensitive bud, "Gonna' fill this pretty pussy up so good, wanna' see you allll round and g-glowing for me."

"Fuck, I'll even pay that s-shitty clan a visit, eh? Make 'em hand over the family ring, just so I can see it on ya' finger." God knows that those little shits don't need it, that pretty band of emerald that Toji can already see in his mind's eye, gleaming on your ring finger as he presses gentle kisses to your hand.

The very vision of you with your belly round, gleaming like the fuckin' sun itself, has Toji shuddering, planting his knees further into the mattress so he can jostle you even closer for a good fill. His wife, yeah, she'll get only the best.

Groaning as he feels wrinkled skin tighten, before thick ropes of sloppy, pearly cum shoot out from his angry tip. Overflowing in droves as he continues to buck his hips against yours, watching as your squelchy, puffy folds take up every single drop.

"I'm all yours, doll. I mean it."

➤ HIROMI HIGURUMA

"This was what you wanted . . angel?" Your husband coos, spreading his thick thighs (deliciously dusted with fine, dark hair) further apart, so you can slot comfortably in-between. So you can press your naked back to his bare chest, letting the warm water of the tub gently soothe that miserable ache in your bones.

"Mhm." You sigh, letting your head rest back against glistening, creamy skin, "Been so long, 'Romi. You're always soo busy with work, baby."

The man behind you sighs, rubbing gentle hands down your pebbled arms, pressing soft and loving kisses to your neck, "I know, and m' sorry. Wish we could find more time like this, my love."

You can hear the apologetic tone in his voice, frowning at the idea that he must believe that you're truly upset with him, your beautiful and wide-eyed husband, "I'm jus' glad you're now, and. . .uh." You shift back slightly, hoping that he gets the hint from where you're pressing up against him.

"Aw, angel's all needy now?" Hiromi laughs against the shell of your ear, "Ah, I shoulda' known you were gonna' start squirming like this. Gorgeous lil' thing."

You feel his large hands wrap around you, exploring and wandering your chest. Pinching, flicking and softly caressing the sensitive skin, his large nose brushing against your neck, "Bet you want me to go even lower, am I right?"

"Please."

Your husband never lets you down, never leaves you dissatisfied, for his quick fingers are already dancing over your abdomen before dipping in between your legs. You squeal at the sudden contact, the damp pads of his thick fingers brushing against your folds, and the water lurches in the wide tub.

"Careful, now. Otherwise, we're gonna' have to clean up the mess after," Hiromi chuckles, but he seems just as eager to let his fingers explore you. To play you masterfully, nipping at every nook and cranny of where you're most sensitive.

He's even gasping in faux-surprise, baritone chuckle giving way to a marvelled rasp, "And so wet already? Barely even touched ya', and your pretty cunt's all slippery for me."

"What can I say?" You slick back a little against his chest, head falling lower as you squirm to help him find the right angle, "It's never as good when I do it with m-myself."

Hiromi's sudden grunt amuses you, your stoic and clever lover suddenly envious from the mere mention of him missing the sight of you pleasuring yourself, "Always gotta' play some games, don't you, angel?"

He doesn't wait for your stuttering response, a wide finger already breaching past your glossy entrance, brushing against your inner walls as heat licks greedily at your groin, "S-soo good already, baby."

"Jus' be patient, and let me do more," Hiromi mutters, his lips pressing to the juncture of your neck. Another finger joining the first, your walls clenching down on the welcome intrusion. He begins to set a steady pace, pistoning the digits in and out, and again, in and out of your pussy in a way that makes breathy whines fall from your open lips.

"Gorgeous." And it's his honest, love-struck praise that makes you flush, a rough thumb brushing over your needy clit, gentle swipe proving that sometimes less is more, "Spread 'em a bit wider for me, love."

And you comply, thighs shifting wider, muscles trembling with the bulk of Hiromi's fingers smearing your slick arousal back and forth over your folds. A soft and breathless whimper escaping as the pleasurable ache deepens, "Wha –"

The trembling, excited question beginning to fall from your lips, just as Hiromi slips his fingers out of you, prompting a whine that's quickly silenced by him pressing the sweetened digits past your lips, "Had to stretch m' wife out there, now taste."

You gasp around his fingers, feeling something far heavier, and wider prod at your entrance from behind, keening as Hiromi lifts you ever so slightly higher so the flushed mushroom-tip of his cock can easily slip into your cunt, curving deliciously up into your pussy.

So perfectly snug as your husband stifles a loud moan, bucking his hips up, water pooling over the edges of the bathtub, "We're gonna' be making that m-mess, angel, so hold on."

➤ NAOYA ZEN'IN

Oh, you are so in for it now. For you've never seen your petulant husband like this, never this riled up, not with such a wild and burning edge. The short walk from the feast hall to your private chambers felt like a blur as he hadn't even spared a second glance back, dragging you from your seat on the finely-woven tatami mats.

"Tch', keep up," Naoya's snapping, golden eyes darkened with a heavy haze that you suspect the sake may have played a role in. His long, dark lashes flicker against flushed, peachy cheeks as Naoya grips your wrist with a hand that's searingly warm.

He doesn't even glance back to see if anyone still lingers in the dim hallways, no, he does not even care. And Naoya's not quite sure why you suddenly do, "Oh, so now you wanna' see if someone's around? Didn't care sooo much when you were practically draped over that man's lap like a slut, right?"

One hand roughly swinging the screen door open, and another stroking over your pulse, pushing you in. And well. . you would be lying if you said that this didn't fill you with some form of glee. That this hadn't all been a part of your plan for the evening to provoke the Zen'in heir, to get some reaction from your husband,

But god, you certainly had not expected this. Hadn't expected Naoya to press the full weight of his toned form against yours, to have you right up there against the wall with no shame. His clever hands are skimming under your verdant robes to scoop strands of slick, heavy arousal between thin fingers, all while sharp fangs nip at the shell of your ear.

"So, my wife was just that desperate for attention. . wasn't she?" Naoya's scoffing, batting amber eyes at you as his tone takes on a bratty, raspy pitch, he sounds ruined. "Were ya' just really so needy t be fucked, like this? Couldn't even wait 'till the feast was over, and now m' gonna' have to explain this to everyone, yeah?"

Naoya's always oddly chatty when he's running his hands over you, mouth running wild and desperate. His fingers have torn away beautiful, new emerald-green silk robes, pinching and tweaking your swollen clit between clipped nails. Scoffing and snickering when you buck your hips into him, whining his name.

"Ha! As if m' gonna' let you have this easy, you think I'm just gonna' give you my cock now, like you weren't just whorin' yourself allll over that sorcerer's lap – heh, he must've been thinking it was all the wine." Naoya snarls, already tugging at his own dark haori, and the thin waistband of his pants, "He should have asked me then, I coulda' told him just how cock-drunk my wife gets when she's lookin' for my attention."

What your husband has lacked for in wide girth, he makes up for in length, and he takes some (really fucking annoying) egotistical pride in knowing how to wield those inches. He's using his warm hands to hold your thigh up — to run the angry, pink tip down your dewy cunt. Hissing when the tip snaps on your weeping entrance.

The first few inches has you keening into him, not caring about how this is the man that you profess to love on some days, and vow to poison with arsenic on others.

Naoya's patting your cheek with short taps of his manicured hands, bullying his cock further into you, "Hey, wifey. Pay attention now, look d-down. This is what ya' wanted, right?"

And you do look down, gulping at the sight. His veined cock being enveloped by your swollen, puffy folds. And each time that your husband teases and draws his cock out in heavy strokes, well, it comes out glistening and creamy. And it's clear that Naoya is amused by your dazed giggles and sighs, but even he isn't above the sheer pleasure that your pussy gives him, shaking his head of sandy, soft hair.

"Ouh, take a look at that, she's l-loud tonight, isn't she?"

And you profusely flush, hearing the pap! pap! pap! echo through your quarters, the slick thwacks! of his cock sliding in and out of your heat as you mewl. And Naoya almost, just almost, looks fond of you, his wife, pressing a shaking thumb to the pad of your lower lip, pressing down as you nip sharp teeth around flesh.

"Pretty, p-pretty lady," Naoya babbles out, probably without even realises that he's paid you an accidental compliment, loose strands of flaxen hair brushing against his forehead as he leans in to press a filthy kiss to your lips, "Wanna' go one more time on the bed? O-or how 'bout the hallway? Everyone can hear how I make ya' scream."

➤ GOJO SATORU

"Oouh, you just make everything so much better for me, baby." Gojo's laugh rumbles from his bare chest, snowy lashes fluttering over creamy, flushed skin as he presses his back further into the plus mattress.

You sigh, and it's a happy, content sound that makes something awfully soft settle in Gojo's chest. You're pressing soft kisses to his reddened, twitching mouth, melding yourself to his lips.

"Now, c'mon, off!" You tug at the black silk wrapped around his eyes, curling your fingers into the smooth fabric to just yank it down. Your eyes meeting Gojo's lazy, pleased gaze as you do. He's just so smug like this, knowing that he's got you naked in his arms. You can see his jewel-blue stare appreciatively run over your bare form, his favourite sight in the entire world. A veiny hand pulling at the curve of your ass, pushing you further on top of your fiancé.

"And to think I was in such a bad mood earlier, baby," Gojo murmurs, tapping his muscular thighs. A silent indication for you to hop right on, hovering your dripping core right over his angry, weeping tip. "Thought I was gonna' have the worst day ever, the higher-ups fuckin' with me and all. But how could I ever forget m' pretty baby waiting at home?" Each sentence delivered with a soppy, sweet kiss to your smiling lips.

"Thaaaaat's it, there we go," Gojo snicker as you slowly lower yourself over his considerable, fat inches. And the strongest is just so amused, watching you bite your kiss-stung lips, struggling to keep the wanton moans in, but you're not letting him off that easy. For the second, the very second that your hips meet the base of his groin, slick seeping into that thatch of white curls, you're giving him a thick squeeze.

"F-fuck!" Gojo wheezes, white strands of hair falling back against the pillow as he does his absolute best to not lose the last semblance of iron composure. But the way your gorgeous, tight cunt is wrapping him good, he fears the game is long over before it even began.

Yeah, he considers himself a pretty lucky man.

"Ya' good, 'Toru?" You giggle, threading your fingers through tousled, frosty strands, feeling Gojo practically purr from underneath you. He's cracking a stormy eye open, pressing his mouth into a thin line, "Yeah, girl. Never been b-better."

See, Gojo Satoru was a. . .practical man. Well, no, scratch that. He was the strongest, but when faced with your dizzying, maddening grip — he feared that there was no power or technique on this planet that would be able to help him.

"Have you gotten bigger, 'Toru?" You plant your shaking hands on his broad chest, nose scrunching as you stifled a weak sniffle at the sheer magnitude of the delicious stretch. Trying to keep your head smart on your shoulders, but god, it's just soo difficult when you can feel every veined-inch throb and pulsate in the gummy walls of your pussy, his second-favourite girl.

Gojo just squeezes his eyes shut, knowing that if he were to crack cerulean eyes wide open, the sorcerer would immediately bust a fat load at the sight of his wife's naked form, and that's not to mention the magnetic pull of his gaze to your chest. He's gasping as you begin rocking forward, setting your own comfortable pace that already has him seeing stars, "Wha', bigger?"

"Yeah, s-so much bigger, each time – each time, I swear." You're mewling, words tumbling right into each other. And that, that mere sight of you struggling to accomodate to wide girth of him. . .well, that is almost enough to have Gojo busting a thick wad of seed into you.

Shaking fingers come to pinch at the fat of your ass, gently tapping it for good measure, "Don't say stuff like that, wifey. M' already s-sensitive." Gojo's huffing, admiring the way that you roll those killer hips faster now, gliding around his thick cock in gooey, filthy circles, and taking every inch of him so well.

You laugh in uneven, frayed bursts — trailing a single finger down the handsome line of his jaw, feeling his pulse jump underneath for he's so in love. "So much better than that stupid m-meeting, right?" Arching your back just a little more on top fo him, so the probing curve of his cock is brushing gentle kisses on your insides, swabbing over that rough patch of nerves that has you suddenly gasping and keening.

Gojo threads a quivering hand at the nape of your neck, so you can feel the cool band of his wedding ring brush at your skin. Bringing you down for a messy kiss, all so sloppy and desperate, "Y-yeah, so glad I left early, heh. Just knew I was needed here, c'mon, baby. Arch for me a b-bit more."

He feels dizzy, lightheaded and he know he must look a whorish mess. His staff uniform already scattered somewhere on the floor, having been discarded in a desperate trail on your way to bed. Dark blindfold having slipped under his face, and ice-white hair dishevelled in raked tendrils. Sticky strands of his pre-cum and your glossy arousal pulling away with each slap! slap! slap! of your pelvis against your hips.

"Think ya' can go a bit f-faster, baby?" Gojo runs his large, warm hands over your chest. Cupping your tits with calloused palms, and pinching them in a way that makes you squeal, "Or how 'bout this? Just move back a lil', yeah, up. So I can feel you here."

Here being in-between your thighs slapping against his, your swollen clit absolutely aching for his attention. And Gojo, duly, delivers. Rubbing furious, tight circles over where you needed the most, sending you hurtling head first into a dazzling orgasm that has you shaking in his beefy, muscled arms.

The rapid, pulsing clenches of your pussy have Gojo seeing visions of wedding vows and golden rings, amplified only by how his own ground-shaking orgasm washes over him and runs him senseless, your tight walls milking him dry for all he's worth.

Thick, glossy ropes of white seed shooting out of his tip, steaming and searing as they fill you right up, pressed right up against your cervix. And in such greedy volumes too, for you're leaking sticky cream all over your aching, shaking thighs.

"You should keep going, sweets, ride m-me as much as ya' can," Gojo gasps out, feeling the overstimulated sensation of your cunt clenching as you writhe on top of him, "If you can make me cry, m' gonna' marry you tomorrow."

➤ HAJIME KASHIMO

". . .What did you just say?" You gape at the teal-haired sorcerer, eyes wide as Kashimo suddenly seems to find the floor far more interesting than you. His heel dragging against the ground, scuffing the pristine white of his boot.

Kashimo just clears his throat — once, twice, then pointedly looks anywhere but you. How adorable, you think, watching as he turns away from you, tugging his cream martial robes apart. "Do not make me say it again, dove."

"Baby, if I didn't hear you right the first time, then. . ."

"Just sit on my face, please."

You're grinning, far too sweetly for the medieval sorcerer to keep his cool, "Say less, 'Jime." Almost cooing at the vibrant red flush climbing up Kashimo's back.

It's a once-in-a-blue moon spectacle, the bratty warrior genuinely conceding defeat for his wants. No smug, fanged grin nor insufferable gloating. So, as you watch him practically collapse onto your bed, limbs sprawled and cyan hair pooling around his head in a tangled mess, you clench your thighs subconsciously, already feeling a bit light-headed.

There's a gangly lurch in your steps, a sway to your balance as you're peeling your panties away from damp thighs. Stepping out of your underwear so you can inch just a bit closer, watching as Kashimo's eyes widen. Turquoise eyes, the same disconcerting shade as his glossy hair, widen — glazing over with something far more familiar to you. The same look in Kashimo's eyes when there's a battle that he has to win, and this endeavour warrants no less ambition in him.

"Come here, girl, let me – ouh," Kashimo's voice has hardened into a needy rasp, his eyes not leaving your mound even once, pupils trailing after a single droplet of slick tearing down your thigh. He's hastily slamming his arms forward, wrapping your thighs up in his tight hold.

Laving his sharp, pink tongue over that droplet and groaning, eyes fluttering shut for a split second before he's mouthing soft kisses over the gentle, plush flesh. Catching any more stray strands of slick before the main meal.

But there's a very slight hesitation in your movements, the faintest uncertainty as you hover with aching muscles over Kashimo's torso. Gnawing on your lower lip, contemplating whether you should actually —

"What's wrong, little dove?" Kashimo frowns, scarred hands reaching out to hungrily envelop your thighs, dragging your sopping cunt closer to his chin.

"Are you sure you want me to, uh, –" You're gesturing to his face, trying to convey that you're suddenly having second thoughts about suffocating the sorcerer with thighs around his head, and Kashimo seems to glean your thoughts, clicking his tongue, "Silly, aren't you? Jus' sit, I have you."

"What if you don't want to – . ."

It is a rare thing to see Kashimo smile, a genuine grin without the promise of bloodshed or storms afterwards, but he's snickering now, eyes hazed over with an even rarer fondness. Sharp, toothy fangs peaking out from underneath cherry-lips, "I cannot even tell you how much I want you to just let me have a taste, right now."

And god, he certainly was not exaggerating for the very minute your aching cunt met his lips, Kashimo was drinking you in like a man starved. Teal lashes fluttering closed over his blissful expression, those magenta-lightning marks at the corners of his eyes crinkling as he stifles back a heady moan, "Mmph. . holding out on me with this. How did I go s-so long without – "

You don't even hear the rest of his desperate, pussydrunk words. World already turning into a bright mush of vibrant colours and sounds around you, streaks of blue and lightning-hot white across your eyes. The slick, filthy sounds of your sopping heat dripping over Kashimo's chin, dribbling down onto his neck.

The very tip of his long tongue prodding at your entrance, already slipping past your pussy's ring of muscle, "Fuuuck, 'Jime, feels so, soo good." Unsure on where to even place your jittering hands, settling to run them past the hem of your top. Slipping the fabric off and away, so you can cup your tits, and grip the sensitive flesh.

You see Kashimo's eyes crack open, and a faintly muffled whine reaches your ears, murmured encouragement of just how much he's enjoying the sight being groaned into your wet, glistening pussy, "Soakin' allll over me, little dove. Heh, tryna' drown me?"

You buck your hips over his face with greater force, feeling the bridge of his sharp, handsome nose brush against your clit as you squeal, "Shh, shh, m' already c-close."

"Already?" Kashimo's tastebuds determined to soak every drop of you in, as though you were the sole thing in this world quenching his thirst, "Always t-take suchh good care of you, right? You gotta' s-say that I do – that it's m-me making ya' feel like this."

"You, y-you, 'Jime, only you." You whine, knowing exactly what Kashimo wants to hear, what you truly believe, how he's the only being able to coax such mind blowing pleasure from you. The only one to have you perched over his mouth, gliding yourself back and forth over his glossy, swollen tongue.

"Good, heh." And you suddenly fear that you had grown too complacent, to willing to believe that this would not be another one of Kashimo's battles.

Because the sorcerer's gaze is suddenly all the more focused, laser-sharp with his eyes on the prize, your tacked clit throbbing for attention from his lips. That look when he's capable of going multiple rounds to prove that he can win, and will win. You briefly wonder if there will be any sensation left in your twitching legs by the time Kashimo is done.

"We can do this all n-night, little dove."

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inkandapex · 1 month ago

Text

hot lap

Lando Norris x Y/N

Summary: Somehow, Lando Norris managed to convince his girlfriend to join him for a hot lap.

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing, suggestive content

"Please, Y/N, I swear it’s totally safe. I’ve done this a million times before!" Lando pleads, his eyes wide with exaggerated sincerity.

"No," Y/N responds flatly, her eyes never leaving her phone as she continues to scroll, completely unbothered by Lando’s pleas.

Lando exhales sharply, defeated, and glances over at his teammate, Oscar, who’s lounging on the couch, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. He shrugs nonchalantly, clearly not wanting to get involved in the couple’s dilemma.

"Don’t look at me, mate. This one’s all on you," Oscar says with a laugh, clearly enjoying the tension.

Lando's eyes widen with desperation. "But baby, look! Even Lily's doing it—right, Osc?" He turns to Oscar again, silently pleading for him to back him up.

Y/N shifts her gaze to Oscar, who merely shakes his head with an apologetic smile. She then turns back to Lando, an unimpressed expression painted across her face.

"Nice try," Y/N mutters, clearly not convinced.

"My love, I literally do this professionally. You’ll be in safe hands," Lando tries once more, taking her hands gently in his and pressing light kisses to her knuckles.

Y/N sighs, finally looking up at him. She watches her boyfriend, who is now on one knee in front of her, hovering with a hopeful grin. "When?"

Lando’s eyes light up instantly, a spark of excitement flickering in his gaze. "Miami... that’s in May"

A heavy silence fills the room, and Lando holds his breath, almost too eager to exhale. Oscar, who’s been silently shaking his leg in anticipation, shifts in his seat, clearly just as invested in the outcome.

Y/N takes a moment, her gaze unwavering, before finally letting out a small, resigned sigh. "Alright."

Lando erupts with joy, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Fuck yeah! We're gonna have so much fun!"

Oscar chuckles from across the room, shaking his head at the chaotic excitement. "You two are ridiculous, but hey, enjoy!"

------------------------------------------------------

It was a nearly perfect day in Miami. The skies were clear, the track buzzed with energy as teams prepped for the weekend, but Y/N barely noticed any of it. She stood by the pit lane, palms sweaty, fingers fidgeting anxiously.

A small group from McLaren—mostly Lando’s crew, who had grown quite fond of her—gathered outside, eager to witness what was about to unfold. They exchanged knowing smiles and hushed chuckles, watching as Lando finally approached, two helmets in hand.

"Got something for you, baby," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

Y/N glanced over, offering him a soft, almost nervous smile. "Is it too late to back out?"

Lando chuckled, lifting one of the helmets to show her. "You sure? Had this specially made for you...look." He gently placed it in her hands.

She turned it over, eyes widening in awe. It was beautiful—her favourite color, perfectly incorporated into the sleek design. The intricate details stood out, tiny nods to things she loved the most, small symbols of their shared interests, woven together so effortlessly that it looked both classy and personal.

Her fingers traced over the design, heart swelling at the thoughtfulness behind it. "This is beautiful, Lan… Thank you."

Lando grinned, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple. "Only the best for my girl."

The crew was eagerly capturing every second—some for McLaren’s media team, others snapping away on their personal phones, already anticipating the adorable moments they’d share with the couple later on.

But as the car they were about to use rolled into the pit lane, Y/N felt her nerves creep back in. The sleek machine, now being fitted with cameras, suddenly looked a lot more intimidating up close.

"Hey..." Lando's voice was soft as he reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll start slow, and if at any point you want to stop, we stop. I promise."

Y/N nodded, eyes flickering between his and the car.

Lando tilted his head. "Gotta use your words, baby. You sure you're ready?"

"Yes," she said, then let out a small, nervous laugh. "Just really nervous."

Lando smiled, taking the helmet from her hands and gently placing it over her head. His fingers worked carefully to tuck away any loose strands of hair before securing it properly.

"Perfect," he murmured, his smirk growing as he admired her. "Gorgeous."

Then, with zero hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a quick, sweet kiss to her lips.

Y/N felt her nerves settle—just a little.

"Gotta film a quick intro, then we’re heading out, alright?" Lando guided her toward the car, helping her into the seat. His hands moved with ease as he fastened her seatbelt, making sure everything was secure before stepping back and shutting the door.

As he walked around to his side, Y/N took a deep breath. This was happening.

Lando did his usual intro, flashing a grin at the camera as he introduced his guest—Y/N—and explained what they were about to do. As they pulled out of the pit lane and onto the track, he kept stealing glances at her every few seconds.

“I’m begging you to keep your eyes on the road, Norris, I swear—” Y/N clung onto her seatbelt like her life depended on it.

“I am, baby! Don’t worry!” Lando laughed, nudging the cue cards toward her. “Alright, come on, you gotta ask me the questions.”

“Lando. Both hands on the wheel!”

Lando couldn’t help but chuckle at her panic. “I got it, baby, we’re alright. The faster we get through the questions, the quicker we’re done.”

Y/N sighed, taking a deep breath before focusing on the cards in front of her. “Alright… Who would you consider your closest friends on the grid?”

Lando thought for a moment, nodding as he kept his eyes on the track. “A few people… I wanna say Oscar, ‘cause I’m with him a lot, Max too, since we both live in Monaco. And Carlos.”

Y/N hummed in acknowledgment before moving on. “Other than your first win in Miami, which other win would you consider your favorite?”

Lando’s smile softened. “Oh, easy. Singapore.”

Y/N turned to him, intrigued. “Why Singapore?”

“The win itself felt amazing, but the fact that I had you there to celebrate with me after… that was the highlight of my night. Just us walking around the city at night… I loved that.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “You’re cute.”

“See, baby? You’re doing great. This isn’t so bad, huh?” Lando shot her a grin as he picked up the pace.

Y/N immediately sensed it. “I can feel you going even faster, so I’m gonna speed-run these now—” She quickly glanced at the next card, eyes widening as she let out a loud laugh. “Wait, what are these questions?! Lights on or lights off?!”

Lando let out his signature cackle, barely containing his amusement. “Lights on,” he answered smoothly, smirking.

“You shouldn’t have answered that!”

“Gotta give the people what they want, baby.”

“Alright, wet or dry?”

“Wet—” Lando answers immediately. “—Wait, you mean like a race or—”

“Oh my gosh, Lan! Of course, race conditions!” Y/N looks at him, jaw agape.

Lando only laughs, his eyes twinkling. “Right, dry then.”

After a few more laughs and playful back-and-forth, Lando finally pulls over by the pit lane and parks the car. He gets out, moving to the passenger seat and helping Y/N out of the driver’s seat.

What caught her off guard however, was when Lando got in the passenger seat.

“Wait... wait, what are you doing?” Y/N stands outside the car, completely confused, still processing what’s happening.

Lando smirks, already buckling his seatbelt “Your turn to drive now, my love.”

“Oh no. No no no no,” Y/N laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. But that laugh slowly fades as she looks around and notices the staff nodding at her, confirming that yes—it was indeed her turn to do a lap.

“Wait, you’re kidding?”

-----------------------------------------------

It was almost comedic—Y/N sat up straight, her hands firmly gripping the steering wheel, as she drove at a cautious city-limit speed around the track.

Lando, watching her with an amused expression, couldn’t help himself. “Baby, we can go a bit faster, you know that, right?”

“I’m aware, Lando, yes. Thank you,” Y/N replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lando laughed, glancing out the window. “I swear I just saw Carlos pass us on his bike.”

Y/N let out a genuine laugh, finally speeding up a little. “The trust the team has with me to let me drive you around on a race weekend is insane.”

Lando pulled out a set of cards, trying to get back on track with their Q&A. “Alright, ready? What’s your favourite part of race weekends?”

Y/N smiled softly. “I love seeing you do what you love doing. I can see how passionate you are about racing—it’s nice seeing you do what you do best.”

Lando pouted and nodded. “That’s sweet, baby.”

Y/N quickly added with a laugh, “And the coffee at Ferrari is top-notch, so maybe that too.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, holding up his hand in a mock salute. “Shoutout to our friends at Ferrari.” Then he grinned mischievously, turning to face Y/N. “Other than Oscar and I, who do you root for during a race?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “Oh, easy. Alex.”

Lando smirked, as if he had known that was coming. “Thought so.” He turned to the camera. “If Y/N is not at McLaren, she’s either having coffee at Ferrari with Charles and his girlfriend or at Williams with Alex.”

“Albono is my paddock bestie" Y/N laughed, "Well, Lily is, but she’s not always here, so I gotta settle for Alex every now and then.” She added teasingly

Lando chuckled and added, “Carlos being at Williams now also means she spends more time there too. McLaren’s getting kinda jealous, not gonna lie.”

Y/N shot him a playful glance. “You mean you're getting jealous?”

Lando gave her an exaggerated side-eye. “Tomato, tomato.”

The two breezed through the deck of cards as Y/N expertly navigated the track. Finally, she pulled into the pitlane, where the crew was waiting. They cheered and applauded as she slowed to a stop.

Y/N stepped out of the car with a grin, taking a bow in front of the crew, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. “Thank you guys for trusting me with your driver.”

Lando walked over to her, helping remove her helmet while still filming the outro for the video.

Once they wrapped up the filming, the two of them strolled back toward his driver room, hands intertwined. Lando shot her a beaming smile, clearly happy with how everything turned out.

“That was fun, right?” he asked, his eyes gleaming.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. “It was… thank you for today.”

Lando grinned, pulling her closer. “Thank you, baby. Gotta make you drive more often now. My turn to be the passenger princess.”

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baeshijima · 6 months ago

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— stardust

the world is a vast place. in the grand scheme of things, humans are but a speck of dust; much like how you are sure you are nothing but a meagre speck of dust in the world he lives in, forever to be remained unseen. (if only you knew how you are the brightest star he'd ever laid his eyes upon.)

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 1.5k wc, royalty!au, contract marriage/marriage of convenience, fluff, smitten reca bc what would he be other than smitten, a little hint of bittersweet at the end if read between the lines aha...

A/N : ....i have a paper due monday. i havent started it. why do i do this to myself. (reca i love u can u not hear my cries and wails as fic after fic appears in my brain for u...)

Duke Reca of the northern territory; to many he is a well-accomplished noble, a young genius set for greater things, and the owner-slash-founder of the top theatre company. He is an idol — a role model to those who aspire to be more involved in the artistic side of the world.

To you, however, he is an absolute lunatic, the bane of your existence, and your contractual husband.

It's not like you had much choice. It was either: a) remain as a hollow puppet whose strings danced at your family's fingertips, or b) find some way to escape with outside power.

You, of course, chose the second option. Unfortunately, that somehow led to you meeting the young duke when out in the shopping district, trying to escape the suffocating presence of your family's knights accompanying you by running into a secluded alleyway, even if it was for but a momentary breather.

It was a whirlwind of a meeting... quite literally. Bodies flew; clothing tousled; breaths stolen. Well, at least for you it was like this. He, on the other hand, looked right as rain. (Lucky bastard.) You hadn't realised it was him at first, too absorbed in hasty apologies and the numbing bloom spreading across your backside like a wildfire (really, they ought to incorporate more padding in these flimsy clothes!), but when he uttered an apology of his own for not paying attention to his surroundings with an arm outstretched to help you stand, your mind all but blanked. What was someone of his status doing in a dingy alley? Didn't the newspapers report word of his self-confinement, having not stepped foot outside his manor in fervent preparation of his upcoming performance?

No, never mind all that; wasn't this a blatant opportunity being presented to you? An outside power that could help you escape the clutches of your family...

With gritted teeth, all sense of self-dignity was cast aside as you grasped his outstretched hand with both of your own, gazing into his widened eyes with your own narrowed ones.

"Your Grace, I know this is hardly the appropriate time nor place, but please... marry me!" Your words echoed within the enclosed space. Duke Reca blinked slowly down at you, and it was then you realised you never elaborated. "In... in a contractual marriage of convenience, of course."

"Oh?" he grinned, amusement and intrigue twinkling in his eyes. "And what is it you can offer me?"

"I..." Truthfully, there was nothing you could offer which would be beneficial to someone like him who had everything at the tips of his fingers. You were but a speck of dust in his world, merely floating and remaining unseen within his view. But even so, here you kneeled before him, his gaze wholly fixated on a speck of dust such as yourself. If nothing else, you at least had your desperation — a desperation to be your own person. "My lineage may be from that of a baron's, but I am confident I can be of use to you if you would permit it. So long as you accept my offer, I will do anything to aid you, whether that be through practical means or a performance you wish to see."

A beat of silence.

"Ha... haha... ahahaha!!"

And, as if things couldn't get any worse than a sore rear and disgruntled self, you were pulled out of your daze by a pair of gleaming carmine eyes, a maniacal grin, and his body, now kneeled just like you were, so very close to your own.

"That determination... how brilliantly you burn with such an expression!" The sheer glee which bled through his tone sent shivers down your spine, having never realised someone so esteemed had such a side to him. The duke breathed a breathy laugh and slightly backed up, his hands still holding your arms. "Alright, I look forward to seeing how brightly you will shine in your performance, my dear leading actor."

...Was it too late to back out and find an alternative solution?

Admittedly so, for the next thing you knew vows were declared and you were moved into the duke's residence. You could still remember your family's aghast expressions the moment you declared you were marrying Duke Reca and thus cutting ties with them. It was oddly freeing to see their contorted faces reveal their true nature.

Life as the duke's spouse was... something, to say the least. His servants and attendants almost seemed to have shed tears of joy at the revelation of their ever so lonely duke (their words, not yours) finally settling down and getting married, asking you questions such as how you both met, what drew you to their duke, who popped the question first, why you chose him of all people, so on so forth. It was... cosy. Something you admittedly weren't very accustomed to, but found yourself welcoming nonetheless.

One thing you never expected was for the duke to have a little pet of his own; a little toad dressed in a miniature beret and matching suit, at that. Assistant Director is what Reca had called her, and you think for someone so obsessed with the arts he ought to up his naming sense. She was also quite susceptible to compliments, something you discovered when commenting on the little toad's cute attire, with the duke's baffling translation of her bashfulness and her own compliment on your own looks. Apparently. You're not really sure, but you're inclined to believe it ever since she claimed a spot on your shoulder.

As the days-turned-weeks-turned-months bled into each other, you found yourself oddly lost at how well-adapted you have become of your new life and the duke's personality. From impromptu displays of affection both in and outside the manor to sporadic radio silence on his end when wholly consumed by his fervent passion for a project, you sometimes wonder just how you're still alive with the amount of heart attacks the man has given you.

But despite his... eccentricities, to put it lightly, there are times where you can't quite put a finger on certain expressions he would make when he thinks you're not looking. They're unlike his (once again, to put it very lightly) passionate eyes when rambling to you during mealtimes about an upcoming performance the troupe has; unlike the sheer mania he can exude when something truly sparks his inspiration; unlike the playfully smug grin he would give you when swooping down in dramatic flair to press a long kiss to the back of your palm; unlike the rare darkening of his expression that you cannot help but stiffen at when something or someone in the troupe doesn't quite match his expectations.

No. These ones are... soft. A kind of tenderness and unprecedented longing able to be identified if scrutinised close enough. It was evident in the ghost-like touches he would trail along your skin, as though afraid just a little more force would do irreparable damage. It was evident in the attention to even the most minute details, having everything from clothing to food to the decor suited to preferences you yourself never realised you had. It was evident in the way unadulterated fondness leaked through his tone when his unique terms of affection for you slipped through his lips when all was silent and you were supposed to be asleep.

"My dearest star..."

...Much like now, it would seem.

The bed dips by where your knees slightly bend, hidden under the beige covers. A familiar musky scent surrounds you not long after, and you find yourself involuntarily relaxing at the comfort it brings as your head further burrows into the pillow.

You want to stay awake, even if it's just for a second longer, to hear what he has to say to your less than conscious state. But, oh, his fingers threading through your hair and softly massaging your scalp and the gentle touch of his forehead against yours and the subtle comforting warmth that rolls off his body in waves does little to help you fight the sleep which easily takes over.

Oh, whatever! You'll just try and catch what he has to say next time.

Eventually your breathing evens out, only soft snores now heard within the large shared bedroom. Upon noticing this, Reca cannot stop the fond smile which lifts the corners of his lips, nor can he prevent the softening of his eyes as he continues to gaze at your sleeping form.

"My dearest [Name]," he whispers into the dead of night. Even now, several months later, he still cannot believe his luck to have run into you in that alleyway. It must have been fate which made him heed its call, urging him he would discover something sure to escape that terrible slump plaguing him for weeks on end.

Sure enough, it brought him to something irreplaceable; something he has been searching desperately for.

You.

And, with the tenderest of kisses pressed to your forehead that would put even the most sickening romantics to shame, he murmurs words of promise against your skin, an oath he swears to uphold no matter the obstacles which stand before him.

"In this life, I will ensure you have only the best of endings."

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

#mr reca x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #mr reca x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #PEOPLE CAN FIGHT ME ON DUKE OF THE NORTH RECA IDC IDC I WILL NOT BACK DOWN !!! NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT??? NEVER GIVE UP !!!#im sorry . royalty aus are my achilles heel... my roman empire...#also literally the first thought i had when his model was first leaked was 'HES THE DUKE OF THE NORTH !!! HE HAS THE HAIR AND SUIT !!!!'#his lc when it was leaked further solidified that idea 🧍‍♀️#anyway his cn voice <3333 literally have had it looped for the whole day i kid u not ;w;;;#it just... hit everything perfectly.... the itch is well-scratched..........

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nikibogwater · 9 months ago

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Actually while I'm thinking about it, I just wanna say that the more live-action remakes Disney shlups out like shoveled manure, the more amazed I am that Cinderella (2015) exists. It breaks literally every standard of Disney's LA remakes.

It's not a shot-for-shot remake of the original 1950 animated film, though it does include small references and homages to it, but only when such things can be incorporated organically into the story.

The creators understood and respected the cross-cultural significance of the Cinderella story. They didn't want to "fix" it, or add some wacky twist to it, they just wanted to make the best possible version of the Quintessential Cinderella that they could.

Everything that could be done practically was done practically. The carriage was a real, the horses pulling it were real, and all of the other animals (with the exception of the mice and lizards, since their performance was a lot more involved than the others') were real living animals, the lizard footman and goose carriage driver were wearing prosthetics instead of just having their animal features added in post, the Fairy Godmother's dress had little LED lights sewn into it so that it would actually glow for real, the ballroom set was built by hand and included real chandeliers with more than 2000 total candles that were all actually lit for the scene, and I could go on but you get the point.

There's a ton of attention paid to little details that make the world feel real and lived in. Ella's shoes are always a little scuffed and dirty. Her farm dress is faded and wrinkled. When she breaks down and runs away to the woods, she rides her horse bareback (which, once again, was a thing Lily James actually did, no stunt-double or editing in post), because not only is that something a country girl like her would know how to do, but it also makes sense that with as upset as she is, she wouldn't want to waste time with saddling the horse. When she's dancing with the prince, it's visually obvious that he is leading her and giving her cues because of course Ella wouldn't know the latest ballroom dances, and would need him to guide her through it.

Hey speaking of dancing, y'know what else this movie does that no other LA remake has been allowed to do (at least not to this extent)? ROMANCE. Land sakes alive, this is one of the most unabashedly and yet still tastefully romantic movies I've ever seen. Ella and Kit are just oozing romantic chemistry from the moment they lock eyes for the first time. It all comes down to the fact that these two characters both have the same core values of courage and kindness, which makes their admiration for each other feel grounded and believable. Richard Madden also really sells Kit's feelings for Ella with the way his eyes go all big and soft whenever he looks at her. And don't even get me started on Lily's performance as Ella. Her quiet awe that someone as powerful as the prince loves her. The timidity and fear that she's not really worthy of that. The selfless determination to protect him from her family's cruelty, even if it means she'll never see him again, I'm just-- *banging my fist against the table and screaming into a pillow*

Absolutely god-tier costume design. No notes, I think Sandy Powell's work speaks for itself. Btw, in case you were somehow still wondering, yes, Ella's ballgown is fully practical--those layers upon layers of dreamy silk skirts are real. CG was only used to brighten up the blue color to make her stand out from the crowd more.

Wicked stepmother was allowed to actually be wicked. The movie never tries to make you sympathize with Lady Tremaine, or shift the blame off to someone else. And her villainy is given an extra layer of depth with the reveal that she is a dark reflection of Ella. They've both lost people they loved, but where Ella refused to let her grief get in the way of kindness, Lady Tremaine became utterly consumed by it. She views the death of her first husband as a sort of twisted justification for pursuing all her worst impulses. She despises Ella for her ability to flourish even while enduring terrible suffering, for being everything Lady Tremaine was either unable or flat-out refused to be.

Also Cate Blanchet absolutely SLAYS in this role. Hands-down my favorite portrayal of the wicked stepmother character.

Anyways, TLDR: Cinderella (2015) is the only Disney live-action remake that can justify its own existence and that's because it actively defies everything the LA remakes are today.

#niki rambles #cinderella 2015

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moldycheezeit · 1 month ago

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Prologue

Before You read I'm letting you know again this is the first time I've ever written fan fiction so if it sucks I'm sorry. :( This does have swearing and mentions of death and blood. Also I think I'm just going to make batsis just a mix of Nami and Uraraka b/c idk how to incorporate Mitsuri into her. And if you watch mha or one piece I'm sorry if I don't make batsis accurate to both characters, even though I've watched both shows I feel like I'll mess it up somehow.

By the time you were born Bruce Wayne and his wife, your mother, had adopted Richard Grayson also known as the first robin or Dick. Your mother was heavily pregnant at the time and about to pop. But when the birth happened about a month later something went wrong, she lost too much blood and did make it. Overcome with grief Bruce nor Dick could look at you, because they couldn’t see a daughter/sister all they would see was the thing that killed somebody whom they loved.

This caused Alfred to be the one who had named you because no one else would, so Alfred picked the name (y/n). He can remember how much your mom loved the name. But let's interrupt the sadness if you had to talk about your run in with your so called “family” it would be like this…

Dick would talk to you but it’s not like he enjoyed or wanted to so he made excuse after excuse to get out of talking with you. Like how he’d said “ I’m sorry (y/n) but Damian asked me to help him study you know how it is.” you knew he really meant training with Damian. another lie he'd say was “oh I’m busy at the moment i'll catch you next time.” which was never.

Jason was a great brother. keyword was, when he first joined he loved to hang out with you even if you couldn’t do much because you were a toddler. When he died no one told you well Alfred tried to explain that Jason would never come back but all it did was confuse you and made you start looking all around the manor for him hoping he would appear. When he did return you were 10 and wow was he an ass. When you tried to talk or bond with him like you used to he’d yell things like “go the fuck away” or “stop being such a whiny princess” God that man got irritated easily.

Tim, well you didn’t really talk to him. I mean you tried to, he seemed to like similar things to you, like building and inventing gadgets. But all he did when you tried to talk to him was just look at you with disgust in his eyes. Well screw him too.

Now Damian what to say about this demon you're related to. The first time you met him was when you were 16, you were 2 years older than him. And kinda excited to meet someone other than Bruce you're related to by blood. God how blind you were. Damian had walked into the library while trying to find his way around the Wayne manor.

“Oh hello I’m (y/n) you must be Damian, Alfred had said you were to arrive some time today.” you had happily said to him. But he took one look at you and had the impression of who you were. “Tch.” Was all that was said but you knew instantly he thought you were some weak defenseless bimbo.

Bruce, god how you hate being related to this man. As you could tell he practically seemed to blame you for your mothers death. Like how is it your fault, you couldn't control if she was going to live or die. Anyways the man seemed to not care for what you do and where you are. The media doesn't even know about you so why bother acting like he cares. But why do you care about what he thinks you can practically have done everything on your own. Some father he is.

Lastly Alfred. He's the man that practically raised you. He was there for you when you were younger but the older you got the more you pulled away from him. You love him but anytime you bad mouth any of you “family” he instantly defends them. You also have to remember he serves the whole family, not just you.

YIPPIE I FINALLY FINISHED IT (≧∇≦) hopefully you guys liked it. Well thats it for rn buy :)

Taglist: @cxcilla @starslightzz @jackchanzzz

#neglected reader #teen!reader #yandere batfam #platonic batfam #fem reader #batsis!reader #moldycheezeit

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darkmatilda · 2 months ago

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𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your toothbrush was in his bathroom, clothes in the wardrobe, and the sheets had long since grown accustomed to the scent of your skin. you were practically living together, but that day, when you're about to move in officially, one conversation with your boss, one ultimatum, and one decision change the purpose for which you're packing your boxes.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: glasses reid x bau!female reader, ugh mostly fluff with a bit of hurt and comfort, unspecified height difference mentioned

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 5.k

𝐚/𝐧: it wasn’t a request, but @penelopegarciaismygf kind of suggested it in a conversation—thank you, thank you, love, for the inspiration <3

The golden light seeped through the imperfectly covered window, making its pilgrimage across the entire width of the room straight to your bodies buried under the bedding and, more precisely, to your eyes.

You furrowed your brow and rubbed your still half-asleep eyes. The morning silence was fragile but steady—it seemed to rise and fall gently, adjusting to the rhythm of Spencer’s breathing as he lay on his side, facing you. Although the prospect of crawling out of bed, getting up, and going to work didn’t exactly fill you with enthusiasm or make you want to leap to the ceiling with energy, a small, lazy smile spread naturally across your lips.

Maybe it was because of the expression on his sleeping face—or rather half of it, since the other half was buried in the pillow. Maybe it was those unruly brown hair strands you wanted to smooth with your fingers, but you held back, knowing that waking him when he looked so peaceful and idyllic felt almost like committing a crime. Maybe it was simply his presence.

At that very moment, the sound of the alarm clock snapped you out of your trance and pulled Spencer from his sleep. His temples tensed for a second as his eyes started to open. You quickly leaned over his body to reach the source of the noise, silencing it before it could take over the room.

He opened his eyes, blinking slowly, as if shaking off the heavy grip of sleep that had just held him. Then, his still partly absent gaze focused on the figure hovering above him—on you.

You crawled onto him, pressing your weight down just enough to keep him from sitting up.

"I've got good news for you," you began, resting your forearm on his collarbones and propping your chin on it as you spoke.

Your voice was soft, husky—the first words you’d uttered that morning.

Spencer, just as you intended, remained on his back. His hand had somehow found its way to your hip, as if he were making sure you wouldn’t slip off. Looking at you through half-closed eyes, he gave you a gentle smile.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice edged with a bit of morning rasp that seemed to make the air between you vibrate ever so slightly.

For a moment, you stayed still, simply looking into his eyes, until you remembered that you both had work that day and couldn’t afford to be late. It didn’t matter how warm his body felt beneath you, wrapping around you like a blanket, or how the scent of the night you’d just spent together lingered softly on his skin.

“A good fairy visited you and is offering an extra five minutes of sleep,” you murmured. “While she makes coffee.”

His eyebrows arched slightly with intrigue.

“Is this fairy an altruist, or is there a catch?”

“Mhm. There is a catch. But it’s a pretty easy one,” you said. “Just one kiss. There could’ve been more, but you get a discount for those pretty eyes.”

You even closed your eyes again, waiting for him to fulfill your request. But Spencer remained still—physically, at least—though his sleepy face showed growing amusement.

“The fairy should know I have a girlfriend,” he replied with a slight shrug. “And she wouldn’t be too happy about me kissing someone else in our bed. Even if it is an incorporeal being.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop the wide smile spreading across your face.

“The fairy already talked to her about it,” you snorted, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “And she thinks five extra minutes of sleep is an offer too good to pass up. So?”

Spencer let out a defeated sigh.

“Well then…”

You leaned in to kiss him, his head still resting on the pillow. Under the pressure of your lips, he sank even deeper into it, and his hand on your hip tightened its hold. His sleepy mind seemed to have forgotten the concept of moderation, wanting everything at once as he pulled you even closer. For a moment, he forgot to breathe, letting out a soft, involuntary whimper when you pulled away. It wasn’t easy, but someone had to make sure you both didn’t end up getting fired.

“Five minutes,” you reminded him before sliding off of him and then out of bed.

Well, you didn’t mention that you’d already wasted at least half of that time teasing each other.

He kept his head slightly raised, as if wanting to see you off with all the honor and dignity his sleepy state could muster, following you with his gaze until you reached the bedroom door. But as soon as your foot crossed the threshold, the rustle of the sheets announced his swift retreat back into them, fully intending to make the most of the time granted by the good fairy.

After a wake-up like that, a gentle smile lingered on your lips as you made your way to the bathroom. You’d left a toothbrush there for yourself a while ago, and not long after, a face wash had joined it. Before you knew it, your collection of toiletries at your boyfriend’s place had grown larger than the one at your own. The realization hit you one evening when you and the girls from the team were getting ready for a night out—you couldn’t find your favorite lipstick because, well, it was there. Same with your favorite perfume.

Most of your clothes.

You could say that your entire life’s belongings had slowly started to migrate.

It didn’t bother you—in fact, you were spending more and more time there anyway, and it was convenient to have everything within reach. But it did create a bit of a cycle. You spent another night at Spencer’s place because all your things were there, and all your things were there because you spent another night at Spencer’s place.

Soon enough, your own apartment started to feel a bit foreign. Almost like all those hotels you ended up in while working on cases. Sure, you could relax there, catch your breath after a long day, but it just wasn’t the same.

You headed to the kitchen to make the promised coffee. At that exact moment, Spencer appeared in the doorway as well. His eyes weren’t fully open yet, and his hair was a true mess—barely deserving to be called hair at all. He was trying to put his glasses on the wrong way, accidentally poking himself in the eye.

A snort escaped you.

"I seriously doubt even the strongest coffee could pull you out of this state," you remarked with a touch of amused sarcasm.

"It doesn't hurt to try," he groaned, this time managing to put his glasses on correctly and without risking an eye injury. That’s when his gaze fully landed on you. His lips parted slightly, as if he’d just remembered something. "The mugs are—"

"Here," you finished, opening the exact cabinet where they were stored. Spencer nodded, mouthing a silent right. "You don't have to remind me every time,"

"I know, sorry," he sighed, moving closer to you at the counter where you were making coffee and leaning against it sideways.

His hand, straightened at the elbow, rested on the edge, and the pads of his fingers tapped out a rhythm, as if lost in thought. A similar expression appeared on his face. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him watching you in a thoughtful way.

Handing him the mug of freshly made coffee, you raised your eyebrows.

"Do I have toothpaste around my mouth or what?" you asked.

"What?" He jolted, completely caught off guard by your question. For a moment, he froze in place, then shook his head, realizing he'd zoned out. "No—I... Thanks for the coffee," he said, still looking somewhat dazed.

You tilted your head to the side with curiosity. Was it just regular sleepiness, or something more? Somehow, you had a gut feeling that something a bit more elusive was behind his behavior. You were probably becoming an expert at reading him.

"You're welcome," you replied.

"I really like when you're here in the morning."

"Because I make you coffee?"

He let out a chuckle, lowering his gaze to his mug. Standing so close, only two wisps of steam rising from your drinks separated you. You slowly set yours down on the counter, adopting a more focused, expectant stance.

"Not just because of that," he denied, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. For a moment, he held his mug in an uncertain grip, as if he'd forgotten what it was for. Only after a prolonged sigh did he also set it aside, briefly rubbing his forehead.

"Maybe I should put it better. It's not just that I like when you're here in the morning."

He paused, lifting his eyes to meet yours through the small difference in height between you. You saw how the softness in his dark, now fully awake eyes mingled with a hint of nervousness. He swallowed.

"I like when you're here. Just...here."

For some reason, an inexplicable stress washed over you too. For a moment, you felt surprised by it, only to realize a beat later what this feeling was called.

Excitement.

"Mhm," you hummed slowly. "I like it too. I mean, being here."

You thought you knew where this conversation was headed. You thought you wanted to help guide it there, but at the same time, you didn’t want to apply any pressure. If he didn’t ask, that was fine. But if he did...

"I've actually been thinking about this a lot lately," Spencer continued. "You know, we work together. I mean, I know you know we work together..." He blinked. "Okay, from the top. What I meant to say is that since we work together, it would actually be quite practical. We wouldn’t have to commute from two different places and...and our carbon footprint would be smaller..."

"Spencer—"

"...So it wouldn’t just be convenient, but also economical and, I think, enjoyable, because, as we both just agreed, we like being here, with each other..."

You opened your mouth, but he beat you to it again.

"But if not, that's totally fine. I’m not trying to pressure you, of course—the most important thing is whether you want to, whether we both want to, but I just... I just wanted you to know that I really would like that, and it’s just a matter of..."

"Spencer, are you trying to ask me to move in with you?"

You felt that if you didn’t put it into clear words yourself, he might never get there. He’d sooner deliver an entire lecture on CO2 emissions, lose his train of thought halfway through, and somehow end up talking about the JFK assassination—leaving both of you completely unsure what his original point was.

You couldn’t really criticize him for it, because you knew you’d listen, completely enchanted, for an embarrassingly long time—thinking about how adorable he was when he drifted off-topic without even realizing it.

Spencer paused for a moment, his lips slightly parted, as if he were in shock that it was possible to say it so simply. He nodded eagerly.

You, too, froze for a moment, because, well, it had just hit you. He had really meant to ask that from the beginning—it wasn’t just a figment of your imagination or some mistaken assumption. You drew in a deeper breath, nodding even more eagerly, because forming a full sentence had suddenly become quite difficult.

"Are you sure?" The question slipped out, and he seemed amused by it.

Okay, asking that after he even brought up ecological reasons was seriously unnecessary.

"Of course I am. I've been sure for a while, actually. I wanted to suggest it earlier... but I didn't know how you felt. I wasn't sure if you’d think it was too soon."

You took a sip of coffee, barely tasting it because you were so absorbed in the situation and his words. You, too, had spent a lot of time thinking about moving in together, not knowing how to bring up the topic. There was no universal rule for when a couple should start considering living together—no ancient script with a clear decree to do it after a set number of months. They say that living together is what truly tests a couple, showing you each other in the most intimate situations, in a place where the dress code requires taking off the mask. It's not uncommon for this stage to be the beginning of the end.

But you weren’t worried about that at all. You knew you’d make it work—this thought dominated your mind, and no doubts could withstand its strength. After all, you’d already been practically living together for a while; bringing a few more things from your apartment wouldn’t change anything—if anything, it would only solidify what already was.

The only stress you felt was the good kind.

"I’ll need to move everything over. Well, it’s not that much since most of it’s already here, but still, it’s a job for a day off, which means..." You were already planning everything and estimating how many boxes you’d need. The effect of excitement, probably.

But then your gaze fell on the clock, then on your boyfriend, still in his loose sleep t-shirt, and finally on your own clothes.

"Oh, shit, Spencer, we’re gonna be late!"

He straightened up, realizing the same thing. You pressed the mug to your lips, wanting to finish your coffee as quickly as possible and immediately get moving to get dressed. Despite the rush, you still tried to savor that morning.

Soon, good fairies, moving plans, and cardboard boxes would be replaced by something else—specifically bodies, victims, and unsubs.

"I'm exhausted," you groaned, leaning your shoulder and temple against the wall.

Concern shimmered in Spencer's eyes as he stood across from you.

"We'll be home soon," he reassured you gently. But then, his brow furrowed. "At least, I hope we'll be home soon. I have no idea what Hotch wants to talk to us about. Do you?"

You shook your head. The boss had told you both to wait for him outside his office, so there you were, leaning against the wall opposite the door with his name on it. You wondered what this could be about, but you were too tired to really care. The last three days had been spent working on an incredibly difficult case in another state, and all you wanted now was to crash into bed, snuggle up against your boyfriend, and erase everything from your memory.

Tense, you wrapped your arms around yourself.

"I swear, if he comes in here to tell us we're going on some secret mission to Florida to chase a cannibal who makes human soup, I won’t even cry," you declared. "I'll just jump out the window right away."

"You’d lose your job," Spencer pointed out. "And, well, you’d die."

"Interesting that you mentioned losing my job first. Boyfriend of the year, no doubt."

"Oh, don’t complain."

He snorted, but a tiny, tired smile lingered on his lips. Before moving closer to you, he glanced around. At work, you both rarely showed affection—it was something you had mutually agreed upon. Well, the FBI wasn’t exactly the place for that kind of thing.

However, the fact that you were completely alone in that hallway convinced him to break your private protocol. He leaned in just enough to press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“We’ll survive the talk with Hotch, and then it’s just…”

“Sleeping,” you finished with a dreamy sigh, resting your temple against his chest.

“Well, not exactly,” he replied. His hand found its way to your head, fingers gently tangled in your hair. “Tomorrow, we’re spending the whole day cleaning out your old place, remember?”

You let out a long groan.

“Why can’t everything just magically transport itself instead of needing actual human effort…”

“Because…” Before he could respond with some undoubtedly logical explanation, something alerted him, and he stepped back from you.

You glanced over your shoulder. Hotch was approaching, clad in a black suit and, much like you both, wearing a less-than-fresh expression.

"I'm glad you stayed," he said, his tone a bit robotic and devoid of any emotion, which amusingly contrasted with his words.

As if we had a choice, you thought as he led you into his office. He took a seat on the other side of the desk, and you quickly exchanged glances with Reid. You were both starting to feel a bit anxious. There was something in Hotch’s posture and stride that didn’t exactly suggest, say, a raise.

"Did something happen?" Spencer asked, his brow furrowing. "Is it about the case, or maybe the report...?"

"No, it has nothing to do with that," Hotch stated. You held back from exchanging another glance. He froze for a moment, his gaze fixed on both of you, but his expression gave nothing away. Then...he sighed.

"We're all tired, so I'll get straight to the point. This is about the two of you."

"I think we figured that much out," you remarked.

The sarcasm wasn’t meant to be rude—it slipped out as a natural response to the sudden wave of stress that washed over you. Hotch's gaze lingered on you for a moment, and that was all it took. You knew what this was about. You simply felt it.

"You know that relationships between agents aren’t exactly encouraged here."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Spencer’s face grow taut. A prolonged silence fell over the room. Neither of you spoke, as if staying quiet might somehow halt the conversation altogether—freeze it in that moment and then let it melt away, disappearing like a cube of ice.

A lump formed in your throat, so massive it made swallowing difficult.

"But they aren't forbidden," you said.

It was true—there was no such rule. If there had been...well, you weren’t sure what would’ve happened to you two. Would you have hidden it? Or maybe you’d never have allowed anything to develop between you in the first place? It wasn’t the kind of question you pondered for fun before falling asleep, so you genuinely had no idea.

In theory, you hadn’t done anything wrong, yet in practice, you were sitting in Hotch’s office.

Something had to be up—something had to be wrong.

"Which doesn't change the fact that such relationships are not looked upon favorably," your boss continued. There was no reprimand in his voice—he wasn’t scolding you for being together. In fact, you doubted he cared about it at all. The fact that you were in a relationship hadn’t changed the way you did your job in any way.

"And it also doesn't change the fact that you've attracted particular attention," he paused for a longer moment, cleared his throat, still incredibly calm, though something was beginning to break through on his face as he stared at you both. Displeasure? "If it were up to me..."

"It actually is up to you," Spencer interrupted him, sitting as straight as a string in his seat, staring at him almost without blinking. There was a silent plea in that gaze. And perhaps the last echoes of denial that had long since quieted in you. That’s why you didn’t even flinch when Hotch shook his head. "Right? You could vouch for us...It didn’t start yesterday, you know our relationship has never once caused us to botch a case, or anything like that, not once has it negatively impacted an investigation—"

"Reid, I am fully aware of that. This is not my decision," he emphasized. His next words came out slightly quieter. "Just as it’s not my decision which one of you will leave the team. I know this will be difficult, but I’m leaving it up to you."

Spencer parted his lips, not knowing what to say, while you only took a loud breath and held it at the top. Suddenly, you didn’t feel sleepy anymore. You felt as if a soap bubble had burst right in front of your eyes, and a bit of the stinging liquid had gotten into them. But above all, everything colorful and wonderfully distorted by the bubble’s shifting surface had suddenly vanished.

You could have predicted this. The last few months had been going too well. Something had to burst.

You were the first to shake off the shock and rise from your seat. Your movements felt as if something was restraining you.

“We’ll let you know what we decide,” you said to your boss.

Spencer stared at you with a dazed expression. Not directly at your face, but at the calmness surrounding you. He shook his head, not blinking.

“No, wait, we don’t—” he trailed off, watching Hotch nod as you slowly moved toward the door. He stood up as well, but he didn’t look like he intended to follow you. “We can just figure this out; no one has to leave the team. Who decided this?”

“We should go,” you said quietly, before Hotch could answer him.

He met your gaze, a hint of disbelief in his eyes. From his perspective, it might have seemed strange—as if you were choosing to give up without so much as a discussion or an attempt to change anything. But perhaps you simply accepted things more easily, even the worst news, and recognized when a situation was truly lost.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

Spencer finally decided to follow you, clearly unsettled by your strange behavior. Before you both left, you managed to exchange a fleeting glance with Hotch. Brief, yet filled with a certain understanding. Because he, of course, knew.

You didn’t have a heated argument on the way to your car—in fact, you didn’t say a word. He watched you closely, and it was clear that so many questions were pushing against his lips, a whole shapeless, chaotic mass of them. That state lingered even inside, the parking lot nearly deserted, and the night—just an ordinary night like any other day of the year—felt somehow withdrawn and distant, as if it was afraid to come between you.

"I don't understand you," Spencer finally said, his hands dropping onto his knees in a gesture filled with helplessness. He had been sitting completely turned toward the front windshield, his gaze fixed there, and only shifted it to you a second before speaking. "Instead of trying to handle this, you decided to walk out."

"Because it can't be handled," you said firmly, pressing your back hard against the seat. "We can argue and try, of course we can, but what's the point? This isn't some new school rule we don't like—it's our job, our team, and a whole lot of people above us. "Listen, I don't want it to look like I just gave up right away. I just looked at it realistically. If even Hotch couldn't do anything..." You waved your hand with a sigh, as if that gesture could finish the sentence.

Spencer took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. He drew out the motion, gathering his thoughts.

"It's not fair that he left us with this decision," he said after a long moment. "Basically speaking, he just dumped it on us. And what are we supposed to do now? Choose which one of us leaves the team?"

You didn't feel like the question needed an answer. This was the situation you were in—that was the fact—and even Spencer seemed to be starting to understand it. You didn't have the strength to face the looming sense of injustice. It would be different if you had actually committed some violation or broken any rules. Then, at least, it would make sense. But as it stood, you were put in this position simply because word of your relationship had reached the wrong ears—ears that had decided to shut it down, seemingly out of nothing more than some arbitrary whim.

You looked at each other again, in a quiet stillness that made it harder for you to breathe. He gave a slight nod, swallowing. He didn’t look like someone making a decision. He looked simply lost. Like you, he was exhausted. Combined, the two of you sat side by side, incredibly fragile and weak, forced to make an overwhelming decision in this state.

You wanted to speak, but he beat you to it.

"I can do it," he declared. He cut the last syllable short, almost swallowing it, as if he was afraid his voice might break. He held eye contact with you only sporadically, but you didn’t need to look into his eyes—or even at him—to understand the obvious truth. That this job meant so much to him. "I have...I really have plenty of other offers. There’s bound to be something even better than the BAU. You should stay."

"Don’t be ridiculous."

"I'm not," he insisted. "I...I'm a good profiler, but I’ve never been great in the field. Not as good as you. You’re smart, you adapt well to new situations. If you stay, you’ll be far more valuable to them than I ever could be."

He looked into your eyes, and the fact that he was saying what he truly felt seemed almost too much to bear. You hid your face in your hands for a fleeting moment, then stretched out your hand, stopping him from saying anything more.

"We’re not discussing this," you declared.

It was, in a way, cruel—to have to look each other in the eye and say out loud which of you mattered more. But, thankfully, you didn’t have to do that. For one reason, a reason that echoed through all the looks Hotch had given you during your conversation. And whose beginning lay a few weeks back, in the offer you had received—but had kept entirely to yourself.

"Well, I’d rather not either, but we have to—"

"We don’t have to," you interrupted him, exhaling sharply. For a moment, you turned your face toward the side window before looking back at him to say the words you hadn’t yet had the chance to voice out loud. "I...Two weeks ago, I also received an offer. Something... something really serious, but I didn’t want to tell anyone because I knew you’d try to convince me to take it, and that would mean, um...it would mean..."

He gently reached for your arm.

"Maybe you should start from the beginning?"

Focusing on his touch, you nodded.

"It's Interpol. And well, not exactly a job—it's training. Undercover Operations and Covert Techniques, something...something that would give me a lot of opportunities."

"Is that something you’d want?"

"Spencer, it's in the Netherlands."

You saw it—the expression on his face shifted for a fraction of a second. He lowered his gaze to hide it, then returned to his original position, forcing a slight smile that didn’t quite land.

"But still. Is it something you want?"

Slowly, you reached for his hand on your shoulder, covering it with your own. You gently ran your fingers over the back of his hand, over his knuckles.

"I don’t want to leave you."

He leaned his face closer to yours, gently shaking his head from side to side.

"That’s not something that should hold you back. Did you want to take it?"

You shrugged, because, truly, it was a complicated matter for you.

"I was considering it, but I was a bit scared. I’ve gotten used to our team. Well, after today’s conversation with Hotch, I’d probably agree to it without hesitation—after all, one of us has to," you explained on an exhale. "But it’s a different continent, and lately...lately, everything has been so good. Between us. Not that it wasn’t before, but recently, I keep catching myself thinking that I love you, and it feels so natural and so honest and so good, and I was supposed to move in tomorrow, and I feel like I’m going to ruin everything by leaving right now..."

You fell silent, feeling the first tears welling up in your eyes under the weight of all the thoughts and doubts. You tried to push them away by looking up and blinking faster. When you looked at him again, his gaze followed your actions with a gentle sadness.

“You won’t ruin anything,” he promised quietly, his hand shifting in yours, trying to hold on more firmly. Slowly, you relaxed your fingers around his. “It was good, you’re right, but... we can’t stay in the same place forever. And it wouldn’t be wise to turn down such an offer just because of this.”

You stayed quiet for a moment. Once you’d started spilling your doubts and fears, it was hard to stop.

“It’s not just that,” you admitted hesitantly. “I know you know the statistics. What percentage of relationships fall apart when one person leaves?”

“It doesn’t matter because statistics don’t apply to us,” he stated firmly, straightening slightly. “Statistics say drowning in a bathtub is more likely than a plane crash, and I’m sure you’re more stressed about flying than taking a bath.”

"I don’t know what you’re getting at."

"Me neither."

You stared at him in silence for a moment before the corners of your mouth curled up. It was a somewhat bitter smile, a paradoxical expression of the weight on your chest and the fears swirling inside you. You took a deeper breath, the air trembling as it moved through your lungs, and leaned in to rest your forehead against his. A simple gesture, allowing yourself to close your eyes and, if only for a brief moment, shut off your mind.

"I love you too," he said after a long moment.

You opened your eyes, a bit surprised by the suddenness of his confession.

"Earlier, you said you catch yourself thinking that you love me. And well, if my memory serves me right...I never really told you that, at least not directly. But I do, and maybe, hm, maybe that's why I know that we'll be alright. No matter what happens."

A part of you wanted to ask out loud if he truly believed that. Another part didn’t need any more reassurance—constantly seeking it only fed your insecurities and fears. So you simply nodded gently, your foreheads still pressed together.

“We’ll be alright,” you echoed him.

Those words carried a certain calm with them. They weren’t a promise that could be kept or broken, setting you up for great disappointment. They were simply a fact, tossed into the air, and despite their lightness, they found their own path, eventually sticking to your heart.

“Can we go home now?”

He pulled his head back, leaving his hand in yours, and just nodded softly.

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