#BUT MAYBE THERE'S HOPE IN HAVING SOMEONE TO LIVE FOR—SOMEONE WHO UNDERSTANDS THE STRUGGLE OF REDEMPTION DESPITE ONE'S NATURE

[underskz]

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility. 

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop 

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both. 

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that just you can’t quite itch yourself, barely sated by these comments. 

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession. 

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight. 

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon. 

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get. 

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university. 

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well. 

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession. 

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch. 

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain. 

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place. 

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day. 

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find. 

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now. 

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars. 

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing. 

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it. 

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down. 

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera. 

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to  find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy. 

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy. 

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more. 

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!” 

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.  

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might. 

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone. 

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain? 

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route. 

You always do. 

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request. 

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall. 

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others. 

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation. 

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home. 

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P 

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > < 

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3 

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing. 

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball. 

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp. 

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box. 

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.” 

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table. 

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay. 

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.  

“Need to charge my phone!” 

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back. 

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months. 

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins. 

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word. 

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore. 

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh. 

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head. 

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him. 

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it. 

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.  

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher. 

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start. 

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out. 

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now. 

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?” 

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down. 

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together. 

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him. 

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!” 

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop. 

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.  

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–  

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.” 

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site. 

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue. 

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air. 

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly. 

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind. 

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start. 

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.  

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out. 

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes. 

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous. 

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again. 

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked? 

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this. 

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth. 

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up. 

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.” 

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more. 

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare. 

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.  

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.” 

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.” 

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible. 

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped. 

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust. 

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm. 

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly. 

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage. 

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips. 

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you. 

“I’m still gonna stream.”  The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums. 

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his. 

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape. 

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.” 

You blink. 

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”  

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss. 

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee. 

“Okay.” You grin at him.

[unequivocallyreid]

Why Didn’t You Tell Me?

it has been SO long... i was suffering from serious writers block but it think i'm finally out of it :)

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: Spencer Reid used to be your best friend, but things changed. How long can you pretend that you don't love him before it ruins you?

warnings: angst! (with a happy ending), smut (unprotected piv), character loss, mention of Maeve, very sad Spencer, mental health struggles, drinking/bar scene, light choking, fighting, slight praise kink

wc: 8.8k 🤗

i’m very proud of this one! i hope you love it!

Every morning when you wake up, you feel a familiar and creeping sort of dread in the pit of your stomach.

Don’t get the wrong idea; you love your job. You love helping people and stopping horrible people from ruining any more lives, but the creeping feeling and desire to get out is always in the corner of your mind. Anyone working in this field would tell you that. There’s no absolute separation between you and the victims and their families. You take all of them home with you, and you just have to learn how to deal with that and not let it eat at you.

It doesn’t help that it’s an isolating job as well. The last time you were in a serious relationship was in college. Now, every date you have ends in disappointment. Not only do you lack interest in most of the men and women, but it couldn’t go anywhere even if you did. 75% of your time is spent in the office, on a jet, or hundreds of miles away from your home.

All of this contributes to the feeling, but the worst part of your job is Dr. Spencer Reid.

He’s secretive and dismissive and just about the most attractive person you’d ever seen. You honestly don’t know what is worse: his constant physical presence in your life or the fact that you can’t stop thinking about him no matter what you do. You’ve tried to get over it; you’ve buried yourself in work, lamented to your friends, and gone out on dates (all with guys that looked vaguely similar), but nothing has worked. All his worst traits grate your nerves and light you up at the same time.

The worst part of it all is that it wasn’t always like this. When you first joined the BAU nearly two years ago, you and Spencer got along well. You were friends, he talked to you about his life, he understood you, and you really severely fell for him. He became your best friend.

Everything changed around six months ago. Spencer started to develop migraines, and as those developed, he started distancing himself from you. He became snippy and closed off, he started hiding things from you, and he stopped talking to you about life outside of Quantico. It was like overnight, you became nothing to him, and you really didn’t understand. Everyone else on the team got the same old Spencer, but you went from his right-hand man to someone he only spoke to when it was necessary.

Maybe he didn’t deserve to be vilified. You know, realistically, he can and should be able to decide who he wants to be close to, but working with a man who unknowingly broke your heart was close to the hardest thing you’d ever done. So, you decided hating him was easier. The real emotions you feel toward him sit somewhere inside you, but they have been covered by manufactured distaste. Addressing the actual feeling would hurt too bad, so you pretend to hate the things you used to love.

Nothing, however, could have prepared you for the last case you worked on: helping Spencer save a girl he met about six months ago, a girl he loved. You tried to stay collected, you said nothing when Spencer assisted when he shouldn’t have, and goddamn, did you do everything in your power to find that girl. Maeve. She was perfect for Spencer, and you saw that immediately. Everyone did. The sight of him sobbing in front of her body is one that will never leave your mind.

Now, two weeks later, no one has heard from Reid. The only indication that he hasn’t abandoned his life altogether is the absence of the gift baskets on his doorstep that Pen leaves daily.

Nearly everyone has been to his apartment, but they are met with a closed door and have yet to receive a response. Everyone but you.

Penelope is the first to bring up your lack of appearance at the end of a long day of paperwork.

“Y/n, please, you just have to try. No one is getting anything from him.”

“I really don’t think my presence would do any good,” you pause for a moment, trying to collect the thoughts running through your head like a freight train. “Me and him haven’t been close in a long time, Pen.”

Before you can continue, she cuts in, “Everyone has tried, Y/n. Hell, I’ve even considered tracking down Gideon, and I really, really do not want to do that.”

She pauses for a moment before looking up at you with a pout on her face, “Please, Y/n, for me. I can’t bear the thought of him in there all alone, just wasting away in grief.”

For someone who claims not to be a profiler, Penelope knew exactly what to say to get you to agree. She’s the only person in your life who you told about how you felt, though you’re sure everyone else (aside from Spencer) knew: you’re shit at keeping secrets.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try.”

She nearly bursts with excitement, “Thank God-“

You cut her off before she can finish, “But I’m telling you, I’m not the person he wants to hear from right now. Don’t get your hopes up.”

“Yes, yes. I just want him to know we all want him to be okay.”

Before you can hurry out of the office to follow Pen’s instructions, she stops you and hands you a basket full of assorted snacks and fruits.

“Make sure he eats!”

The walk up to Spencer’s apartment is a hard one to take. The smell of his building hits you as soon as you step into the lobby. From there, everything rushes back at once. Memories of nights you spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or listening to him prattle off about whatever he last read assault you with every step. As you slowly make your way up, you start to question why you agreed to do this in the first place.

You feel a lot toward Reid. More than you should and less than you could. But all that care and feelings that are so close to love aren’t enough to make you forget why you’ve been trying to hate him for so long. He deserted you without an explanation and cut you off without a warning. You spent weeks (three months) crying over him like a love-struck teen. So, as much as you want to hold him and comfort him, you know it’ll hurt you to do so. Penelope sent you, with the whole team’s approval, you’re sure, to try to patch up a broken heart he got loving someone else. There’s a sickness in your gut, but it’s not enough to stop you from rapping your knuckles against his door.

“Spencer? It’s Y/n.”

There’s no response.

“I know you probably don’t want to hear from me right now, but I want to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me you’re alright?”

Again, nothing.

You know he’s there. Despite your lack of communication, you know Spencer well enough to know that he would never leave his life behind entirely. That being said, your next few attempts at garnering a response are unsuccessful.

You decide to try one final time before just leaving the basket alone on his doorstep and texting Pen it was a bust.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about you now, and I won’t pretend to know what you’re feeling.”

You don’t exactly know where this is headed, but you continue on regardless.

“I know you’re in there, and I know you can hear me, and I know you’re hurting. You shouldn’t- I don’t want you to be alone right now, Spence. You can either unlock your door, or I can pick it, but I’m coming in one way or the other. You know I will.”

You wouldn’t, actually. It’s a last-ditch effort, and it’s met with the same silence you’ve heard on the other side for the past ten minutes. You’re about to turn to head back down the stairs when you hear the very faint sound of a deadbolt turning.

There’s no other sound or movement, and for a moment, you think you might’ve imagined the sound, but you try the handle anyway. It turns, and the door slides open. You take a step in.

“Spencer,” you call out to him.

You don’t see him at first in the mess of his apartment, but when you do, you feel a crack form in your heart.

Beyond the clutter of his entryway, you see his back on the couch. His frame looks smaller than you’ve ever seen it, and you can see his legs curled into his chest. You set down the gift basket by a collection of others on the entry table and walk over to him. Slowly, like you’re trying not to spook a lost dog, you creep in front of him.

His head is down, and his gaze stays trained on his knees.

You reach out your hand and lay it over his. He flinches but doesn’t pull away.

“Spence, I’m so glad you opened the door.”

You didn’t plan out what you would say, but ‘sorry’ feels redundant and useless.

You go on, “I’m here. I- I don’t know what to do or say, and I’m sorry that I don’t. I can get someone else for you. Just tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

You wait for him to say he wants Penelope or JJ, but it doesn’t come. Nothing comes. You start to move to get up, figuring you could clean up a bit and try to make him something to eat, then go, but he grasps your arm before you can.

He looks up at you, and his eyes hit you right in the gut. They’re bloodshot and sunken but still beautiful.

“Stay. Please. I just- I need to know I’m not dreaming. I keep thinking I’m dreaming.”

His voice is croaky from disuse and breaks at the end, but it’s so heartbreakingly earnest that you feel your breath catch. You move from your crouch and sit beside him on the couch; your hand is still in his.

You stay like that for a long time. His breathing is shakey and uneven, and every so often, his body shakes with what you can only assume are sobs. You stay pressed to his side the whole time, thumb rubbing back and forth over his hand.

Eventually, you speak again, “I’m gonna get you some food, Spence. You should eat.”

He says nothing back, but he does loosen his grip. You push yourself up from the coach with a promise you’ll be as fast as possible.

His kitchen is nearly empty, and you hope he’s been eating from the baskets. Still, you find enough to make noodles and butter, and you figure the carbs should help his energy some.

You return with the bowl. Spencer hasn’t moved, but his head follows you as you walk back over to him.

“It’s not fine dining.”

He studied you for a second, and you catch a glimpse of the old him in his eye.

“You did the same thing when I was sick on a case a year ago.”

You smile at his recollection.

“It helped you then.”

The rest of the night is spent mostly in silence. Occasionally, you tell him something to try to remind him that you’re there and that you won’t leave as long as he wants you there. Eventually, you get up from the couch again.

“Spencer, it’s too late to still be awake.”

He nods and still says nothing, but he is far more receptive than before. You reach your hand out to him to help him up from the couch, and he takes it.

He leads you to his room at a slow pace. His head stays down as you both take a seat on his bed, hands still interlocked. Being in his bedroom is odd for you. You’ve been to his apartment quite a few times before he disappeared from your life, but you never breached this space. It’s all very him. Almost surprisingly cozy, with books scattered around nearly everywhere there’s space.

You take in the moment for a beat before saying, “I’m gonna head home, Spencer, but please call me if you need anything at all. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

This makes his head snap up, and his eyes lock with yours.

“Please stay.”

That’s all he says, but every part of him is pleading with you. It’s not a good idea, and you know it. You’re the only person he’s seen in days, you aren’t close anymore, and you don’t particularly want to sleep on a couch tonight.

“Spencer, I don’t want to sleep in your living room tonight. I’ll come back.”

He pauses for a moment, “You can stay here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

Your heart cracks again. There was a time when this was all you wanted. It’s still, deep down, all you want, just not like this. You know he doesn’t really want you there and he’s not himself. But you aren’t strong enough to say no, so you don’t.

He gets you clothes to wear, and you change in his bathroom. You come out and find him in his bed, laying with his back to you. You have no fucking idea what you’re doing, but you get into bed next to him anyways. There are a thousand thoughts racing through your head, but the prevailing one is how badly you want to touch him, to hold him, to make him forget, just for the night. You stay still, though, confined to the edge of the bed and start to count to drown out the noise.

Though, you can’t drown out his voice, saying, “Can- Could you hold me? I think that everything feels better when you touch me.”

Another crack. By the end of this, you know Spencer Reid is going to break your heart all over again.

~

When you wake up the next morning, Spencer is still asleep. You sneak out of his room and call Hotch. When he answers, you tell him Spencer has let you in, and you ask for time off to try to help. You can tell from his voice that he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, but he grants you it anyway.

Much of your day is spent like the night before. You stay next to Spencer, and you cook for him after leaving to pick up clothes and groceries. Then, you get him to shower and wash his hair. He sleeps with his head in your lap, and you feel like a fucking idiot at first, but as long as it’s helping him in some way, you let it happen.

That’s the thing: you don’t really know how to help him. You know he isn’t the type to talk about something until he is entirely ready, so all you can do is add something domestic and bright to his life while he grieves. It’s all you can think about in the moments of silence. Hell, you even read to him to try and get your mind off of it, but it barely helps.

The night is the same. You change in different rooms and slip into his bed at different times. You feel dirty for imagining what it would be like if the circumstances were different: if he wanted you like you have wanted him for the past two years. You hold him against you, and you pray for sign that you should be there.

The sign comes the following morning when Derek calls you.

“Y/n…”

You can hear his teasing tone over the phone.

“Hi, Derek.”

“What are you doing, mamas?”

You sigh, “What do you mean?”

You’re playing coy. You know he’s wondering why you’re at Spencer’s house, picking up the pieces, but you won’t be the one to bring it up.

“Why’d you ask Hotch for the week off, Y/n?”

Another sigh, “You know why, Derek. I just, I want to help him.”

“I know you do, Y/n, I know.”

He pauses for a moment, and you let the moment fill with silence.

“I know you care about him. We all care about him. But who is taking care of you?”

“I am. I can take care of him, and I can take care of me.”

“I know you can, but I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/n. Don’t let this be something that hurts you.”

“It won’t. I- You have to- Fuck, I’ll be fine. He’s not fine. I don’t care about me or any feelings that may get hurt right now. I’ll be fine.”

There’s another bear of silence, “Okay, Y/n. Just know you’re allowed to tap out.”

You try to think of anything else to say, but nothing comes, so you say your goodbyes.

You won’t need to tap out. You can take care of him and be good to him and ignore the other feelings you have. You can be good.

The call does make you think it’s time to push, to try harder, to help him get better. So, you approach him that day before bed, before he tucks himself into your arms and falls into a fretful sleep.

“Spencer?”

He takes a moment and then responds, “Yes?”

“You have to talk about it. I think that you need to talk about it. It doesn’t have to be to me but to someone.”

He’s quiet for a long time, and your breath is caught in your throat, waiting for him to say anything.

“I- I don’t want to,” his voice cracks while he says it.

“Spence, you can’t come back if you don’t. You can’t move forward if you don’t.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

A ringing echos in your ears.

“You don’t mean that. She- she would want you to keep going.”

Wrong thing to say.

“You don’t know anything about what she would want.”

He’s seething now, below the surface, but smoke has started to plume from his ears. Still, you don’t stop.

“Spencer, everyone knows that. No one would want you to put your life on hold.”

He speaks his next line through his teeth, “You don’t know anything, Y/n.”

You’ve never heard him sound so angry.

“Spencer-“

“No, just stop. You don’t know her. You don’t know me half as well as you think you do. You don’t know anything. I don’t even know why you’re here. I don’t want you here. You can't be what I need.”

The ringing in your ears is louder.

“Spencer, please. Just-“

“No!” His voice is raised now, bordering on a yell, “I don’t want you here. I want you out, Y/n.”

This has to be what shell shock feels like. The ringing, the tingle in your limbs, and the heat in your face. You don’t know how you are moving, but you are.

His voice is echoing in your head, or maybe he’s still talking, but you can’t tell either way. The only thing you can focus on is how Spencer sounded like he hates you and that Morgan was right about the hurt.

~

You spend the next day trying desperately to shut down the noise in your head. It doesn’t work. The day after is the same. And the days following that. You ignore calls when they come, you ignore the texts, but you can’t stop looking at your phone for a message from the man who fills your thoughts.

Spencer doesn’t call, obviously, and you have to sit with a pit in your stomach while you beg yourself to just get the fuck over it. Two years of reckoning with the severity of your love, months of watching him live happily without you, and it’s the three days you spent trying to help him feel incrementally better that floor you.

You feel like a dumb teenage girl with so much love and nothing to do with it. On top of everything, you feel selfish. Spencer lost the love of his life forever, and you’re nursing the worst heartbreak of your life because a boy will never want you and never has. Still, you send out prayers for him over and over. You hope you’ll see him in the BAU again, even if his eyes glaze over you. Hell, even if they look at you with hate the way they did two days ago. You just want him to function. You want him to be good and eventually be happy. You try to go to bed with soothing thoughts, but you end up with a mantra of his name.

You wake to your alarm and dress for work before you realize you aren’t actually supposed to go back yet. You never set a date to return. You wanted to be open as long as Spencer needed you. You’re supposed to be with him. You’re supposed to be helping and not tapping out. But you aren’t.

You have no reason not to return to the bullpen, so you do. You walk in and feel eyes on you. You wait for Morgan to call out to you, but he doesn’t, so you follow the feeling.

Your breath catches in your throat; it’s Spencer. He’s sitting at his desk, paperwork spread out, and he doesn’t look away from your gaze; he just holds it. His face is unreadable, and yours is definitely not, so you look away first. You don’t look up again until you reach Hotch’s office. You knock and hear him call out to come in.

“I’m back if that’s okay.”

He looks up at you, and you want to cry. You know he can read you. He has always been the best at it.

“Are you okay with that, Y/l/n?”

You lock eyes with him, “Yes, sir.”

It’s no use; he knows your tells and you aren’t being honest.

“Alright, conference room in five.”

Whatever he sees in your face, he ignores and takes you at your word, but there’s a warning in his tone. He knows when to let things go and when to push. More than that, though, he knows you’d never let something like this affect your work.

~

The first case back is in Maryland, and the one after is in Austin, and the next is in Philadelphia with The Replicator. The job takes you all over the country, and the cases blend together. You don’t speak to Spencer through all of it. You’re never partnered, never work together, you sit on opposite ends of the jet. You don’t even speak at Strauss’ funeral. It’s radio silent, and everyone notices it, but no one brings it up.

In that time, you allow yourself to slip away slightly. You don’t go out with the team, you see Pen at nearly half frequency, and basically, the only time you speak is on cases. It’s stupid and melodramatic, but you call it healing. Derek tries to reason with you, JJ sticks to you a bit more than usual, and Penelope calls you virtually whenever she can, but their efforts are mostly in vain. This is your way of protecting yourself. You feel like you have to isolate in order to improve, and you know, given time, you will come back to yourself.

Penelope’s insistence that you go to her Day of the Dead celebration breaks your distance.

“Y/n, please come. I know you aren’t going out, but you have to. I know you have people to honor, and I need you there.”

You sigh, “Whose going, Pen?”

“The team, which you are a part of, so you must be there.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I promise you I will celebrate with you. I’ll help you set up, just please don’t make me go.”

Penelope pauses, but the glint in her eye keys you into the fact that she is not interested in giving up.

“We miss you, Y/n. Everyone loves you and misses you. You’ve been living this stupid, isolated life, and it’s time for you to come back. You are not this person. I refuse to believe it. You’re coming, and that’s final.”

Maybe you don’t have the energy to argue, or maybe you know she’s right, but you agree to go.

~

The thought of seeing him makes your heart race, and the clock you keep glancing at makes it worse. Just a few more hours before you're trapped in a confined space (Pen’s beautiful home) with a man you haven’t spoken to in weeks.

You busy yourself with preparing. Lights are hung, food is made, and you make a trip to the store while Pen sets up her remembrance table. When everything is said and done, you can’t help but feel this is the most beautiful thing you’ve been a part of in a long time.

The first knock comes at 7:30 exactly, and it’s Hotch and Rossi. They are followed closely by Blake, then Derek and JJ. By 7:00, the atmosphere is light and loving, and you feel a bit of your anxiety let up as the minutes go by without Reid. But, eventually, the knock comes, of course it does, and you move into a corner as Spencer walks in. You feel a shift in energy, though you doubt it’s palpable for anyone else. Rossi is the first to make his way over to you, and his presence comforts you nearly immediately.

“How you doing, kid?” His voice is soft like he’s speaking to a scared rabbit.

“I’m better,” you say, and it’s about as honest as you can get. As much as you’d like to think he knows nothing about what’s gone on, you’re smarter than that. He’s the best profiler on the team, and he’s always known when someone was off with you. Even so, you are better than you were, even if you aren’t quite good, and you know he believes you.

There’s some idle conversation between you before he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not tonight. I don’t know when, but I will. Eventually, I will.”

It’s good enough for him, and you move on easily, which surprises you.

Right before Pen gathers you all to present your photos, he says, “Sometimes we think we’ve seen the whole picture, but we miss a big part. People do things because they don’t want to be hurt, but those things hurt them more. Just, be open.”

You don’t quite understand what he means, but you hope you will.

Penelope presents the first picture, which shows her parents. JJ honors her sister, Derek, his dad, Hotch Haley, and Rossi, Hernandez; then it’s your turn. You place down a photo of your best friend. You hadn’t talked much about her, but you think of her daily. She passed a few years before you joined the BAU.

“I was lucky to have someone that hurt that much to lose.”

That’s all you say, but it’s enough for you, and it would be enough for her.

Spencer is last. He places down a picture of Tesla and a picture of Maeve. Your heart is heavy for everyone.

The night dwindles from there. Hotch and Rossi say their goodbyes, and Rossi gives you a knowing look as he leaves. You just smile. You stay for a few minutes after, but eventually, you move to leave as well.

You make it down Garcia’s porch before you feel a hand grab your arm. You turn, and it’s Spencer’s face you see.

“Would you- Do you think you could come over? Do you think we could talk?”

~

The feeling you have walking up to Spencer's apartment is similar to what you felt the last time. You’re incredibly anxious, but at least you know you’ll be let in this time.

The drive over was silent. Spencer had taken the metro to Penelope’s, so he rode with you. It wasn’t necessarily awkward. There was just an understanding that the car wasn’t the place to begin your conversation.

Now, as Spencer unlocked his door, it’s one of those rare moments you felt starved for words, and you know it’s because you’re scared you’ll say the wrong thing and face the same reaction that you did the last time you were in his home.

He leads you to his living room and motions for you to sit, and you do. The two of you are on opposite ends of his couch while you wait for him to say something.

His first words are airy and light, “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

You look at him but remain silent, waiting for him to go on. All you can think about is why he wants to speak to you at all. The last time you spoke, he made it incredibly clear he did not want you in his life or around him at all.

Before you can think about it more and let your anger and sadness build, he speaks again, “I feel really stupid right now. I kind of feel stupid whenever I’m around you recently.”

He pauses momentarily before going on, “I’m so, so sorry, Y/n. About the last time we spoke. I’ve been thinking about it pretty constantly for the past few weeks.”

You open your mouth, unsure of what exactly to say, but you can’t get there before he’s off again.

“I’m not sure how to talk to you anymore. I don’t think I’ve known how to for a long time. I just, I need you to know how sorry I am for speaking to you like that.”

He takes a shakey breath but keeps going, “That wasn’t me, and that isn’t how I feel. I’m just unbelievably sorry, Y/n.”

He stops there, and you work to collect your thoughts.

“I know. A part of me knows, at least, that you didn’t mean it. I just wanted to be there for you, and hearing that made me- I just- I think it made me hate myself for wanting to be there.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m unbelievably sorry.”

“You didn’t talk to me for months, Spencer. I just don’t understand. I don’t understand why you let me in in the first place. I thought you hated me.”

He’s silent for a long minute.

“I never hated you, Y/n. I just stopped knowing how to act around you, and then I met Maeve. I fell so deep into it that I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I- And I just started to feel like you didn’t want me to speak to you, so I didn’t. But, when you came here, after everything, I guess I just felt like you were the only person who would get it. You never, no one on the team ever treated me or talked to me how you did. I just wanted that.”

Tears had begun to well in your eyes now. A part of you gets what he means, at least about letting you in, but the other part is so confused as to why he stopped being comfortable around you.

“I don’t understand, Spencer. Why did you stop knowing how to be around me?”

There’s desperation in your voice that makes you sound like a stranger to yourself. Maybe you’re a stranger to everyone right now.

“I uh, I don’t really know.”

“That's not fair, Spence.”

You’re crying now. Just a little bit, but you can feel the wetness on your cheeks. You can see that you are by the look on his face. He looks broken, and you know it's a reflection of your own image.

You wipe your face, “Thank you for apologizing, Spencer. I just, there are parts of this all that I don’t understand, and if you can't explain them to me, I don’t think I ever will.”

“Y/n-,” he calls out your name like a prayer.

“It’s okay, Spence. You don’t have to say anything more. We talked, and things will go back to how they were eventually.”

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You smile sadly as you get up to leave.

“I am, too, for what it's worth. For whatever I did to make things change in the first place.”

You leave it at that, and it takes everything in you not to look back as you leave his apartment.

~

Things do get easier after that. Not completely. You still love him, and it hurts, but it helps to know he doesn’t hate you. He talks to you some, cordial things, and you do the same. You're sure your teammates still sense something is off, but this works for you. Right now, it works. Getting over him, not loving him anymore, is going to take work, but eventually, you know that you won’t hurt anymore.

Shortly after you and him talked, you started going back out with your friends. Spencer joined periodically, but that was normal. Bars were never really his scene.

Tonight, everyone gathers at your local pub. Your last case was particularly grueling, and you all need a way to blow off some steam. It's fun, and you feel good, even with Spencer sitting across from you. You feel proud of yourself for getting to this point.

JJ and Penelope feed you drinks to try and get you to dance, and you let them. Tonight feels as good of a night as any to ‘get back out there’ as Pen says. So, you do. You dance with them, and you ward off the other cops and agents around you who try to pull you away from your group. You aren’t interested in that. Right now, you're just having an appropriate amount of fun for a woman 15 feet from her boss.

Time goes by quickly, and by the time you get back to the table, you, Derek, Penelope, and JJ remain. He tells you that Hotch, Rossi, Reid, and Alex left a few minutes before. The conversation between you flows for a while, up until the drinks loosen Penelope up enough to bring up what you were pretty sure the team designated a no-no topic.

“Y/n, you have to talk about it.”

You’re still laughing as something Derek said when you reply, “What?”

“You know what. You and Boy-Genius. What on Earth happened? You went from ice-cold to semi-friendly. None of us saw it coming.”

“Babygirl-,” Derek tries to stop her, but you cut him off.

“No, it’s okay. I have to talk about it at some point, and I think right now is the only time I’ll be tipsy enough to let you get it out of me.”

You're still laughing slightly, but the pit that's lived in your stomach for the past few months starts to rear its head.

“After your Day of the Dead party, he asked to talk to me. I went to his place, and he apologized. I don’t really understand what he said or what he meant, but I can’t be sad about him forever.”

Pen perks up a bit at that, “I knew that party would bring good things!”

You giggle a bit at her outburst, but then JJ asks, “What did he say?”

The faces around you all tune in at that. You know they don’t see this as gossip. They care about you both too much to trivialize it like that.

“He just said that he stopped knowing how to act around me, and he didn’t know why, but then he met Maeve, and I guess it didn’t matter so much after that. He was my best friend, and then he was nothing.”

JJ shares a glance with Derek and then speaks, “Oh, Y/n.”

“What?”

After a beat, Derek says, “He didn’t just not know how to act around you.”

Now you're confused, “What do you mean? I talked to him, that's what he said. He didn’t know why. I mean, he knows everything and didn’t know why he didn’t want to be around me anymore. How fucking stupid is that.”

You laugh again, but it does come off as genuine in the slightest.

“Y/n, he probably doesn’t really know why. At least not fully. For someone as smart as he is, the kid can be really stupid.”

“Stop being cryptic.”

Derek sighs but goes on, “Pretty girl, pretty boy was in love with you. Probably still is. He just didn’t think you’d ever feel the same.”

“No. That's not true.”

You look at the others around you, but their faces are serious.

“He loved Maeve. He loves Maeve. That, that doesn’t make any sense.”

It's JJ’s turn to talk now.

“He definitely did love Maeve, no one is denying that, but we all saw how he was around you. His whole relationship with her was safe. He couldn’t be hurt by her rejection every day because he had no way of seeing her. With you, he could.”

Your mind is moving a mile a minute, “Did he tell you guys this?”

Penelope puts her hand over yours and says, “He didn’t have to, love. We all say the way he looked at you and acted around you. The way he talked about you. That boy was head over heels.”

“Guys, I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but this isn’t real. Spencer doesn’t- this is not real.”

“Y/n, pause. Think about the way he acted around you, the things he said. Think about how Reid is.”

You hear what Derek said, but it all sounds faint like someone stuffed your ears with cotton while you weren't paying attention. All you can focus on are the different scenes running through your head, the scenes of your life with Spencer in it. How he memorized your coffee order and brought it for you every day, how he never shied away from your touch despite his aversion to contact, how he consistently went out of his way to protect you on the field. At his house after everything, the way he clung to you and wanted to be held. How he said in his own words, “You can't be what I need”; not “you aren’t,” but “you can’t.”

Your whole world is crashing down in this bar, and you can’t do anything to stop it.

“Y/n?”

JJ’s voice snaps you out of your spiral.

“Just go talk to him.”

You nod mutely, and you get up.

~

Everything in the last ten months of your life has led you to the exact spot you were when everything blew up in the first place: Spencer’s door.

This time, you aren't too worried about him not letting you in. If anything, it's the opposite. Him opening this door could open a hundred others, and you don’t quite know if you are ready for any of them. You sit there and sit there and sit there, trying to work up the courage to knock, though you aren’t sure it's there to begin with. Right as you're about to walk away and decide you’ll come back another day, his door swings open.

“Y/n?”

His face is lit up with shock, and you notice his hand that is not on the door is holding his pistol.

“What are you doing here?”

You don’t answer, “Why did you open the door?”

He sets his piece down on the entry table before responding, “I heard footsteps in the hall and saw they stopped here. I was anxious. 50.3% of home invasions happen between 8:00 pm and 7:00 am.” He cuts himself off there, “Y/n, why are you here?”

You didn’t pay attention to anything he said. All you could think about was the way his lips were moving and the way his eyes locked onto yours as he talked.

“Do you love me?”

That is not what you wanted to say.

His lips fall open as he takes in a sharp breath, “What?”

“Or I guess did you love me? Before everything? Because Derek and JJ and Pen, they all said that you loved me, and now I can’t think about anything else, Spencer.”

He doesn’t speak, but you don't really give him a chance to.

“I just, I know I sound crazy right now, but I feel fucking crazy. I keep going over everything in my head, and I have been, for the past year I have been, but now it’s all different. It's all different because they said that you loved me, but you didn’t think I’d feel the same way.”

Here, you do pause, but he still doesn’t say anything, so you go on before you can stop yourself.

“Because if that's true, Spencer, it's just- I did. I do. And if it's not, then please just tell me so I can stop feeling this way.”

He sounds resigned when he says, “Y/n,” and you feel like you know what that means.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I'm doing this. You don’t have to say anything. Actually, please don’t say anything. I don't think I can hear it. Just pretend I never-”

He cuts off your ramble, “Y/n, stop.”

You draw your eyes from the floor, look up at him, and find something in his gaze you have never seen before. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at you, and it takes everything you have not to look away. His hand raises to cup your jaw, and your skin lights on fire. Before you can process what he’s doing, you feel his lips press against yours, and something clicks. At first, his touch is light, like he’s giving you the chance to pull away. But, when he grasps that you won’t, he presses himself to you harder, and all you can think about is how nothing has ever felt so right.

His lips move against yours, and you don’t know how you're managing to reciprocate because it feels like everything in your body has gone fuzzy. The kiss is by no means long, but it feels like it lasts forever, and by the time he pulls away, you’re breathless.

His forehead stays connected to yours, and he whispers, “I do, Y/n, love you. I have.”

You don’t feel the tears on your cheeks until he’s wiping them away.

“Oh, Y/n.”

“Did you know? That you did? Is that why…”

You trail off, hoping he’ll pick up on what you're asking, and he does.

“I didn’t at first, or I didn’t realize I was falling in love with you until it happened. I got scared, so I ran. I just never thought that you could feel the same or that I was hurting you. I didn’t realize that. I just thought I was doing what was best for us. I felt guilty for being in love with my best friend.”

“And Maeve?”

“I loved Maeve. I’ll always have love for her. I was trying to move on, and I thought I could eventually be with her and be around you without it hurting. I wish I would have told you this before.”

“You’re telling me now. That's enough.”

This time, it's you who pushes your lips to meet his. Your arms snake around his neck, and his fall to your waist. You follow when he pulls you into his apartment and closes the door. There is still pain on both sides, but you can feel it dissipating as you cling to each other. You’re just two broken people who have finally found a way to each other.

This kiss is different, hungrier. Neither of you pulls away for longer than a few seconds as you navigate your way from his entryway to his couch. Every touch is desperate like you're searching for something you never knew existed until now. His hands pull you closer and closer until he's pulling you on top of him, and each of your legs rests on opposite sides of his hips.

Your lips break from his for a moment, “What do you want, Spence?”

His reply is instant, “You.”

From there, things move faster. Your hands unbutton his shirt and push it from his shoulders while he undoes your pants. There are moments of awkwardness that come with exploring another for the first time, but it feels good. His hands trace over your hips and push further until you're left on top of him in only your underwear and bra. He takes you in like you are something to be marveled at, and you know your eyes reflect the same adoration.

You raise yourself off of him and work to get him in the same state of undress as you, and when you position yourself on top of him, you feel his length press against your center. The two thin layers of fabric do little to hinder the intensity as you rock into him. He lets out quiet moans at the action as his lips trace down your neck and over your collarbone.

His breath ghosts over you and makes you shiver when he asks, “Can I touch you?”

“Please.”

His hand moves between the two of you, and his fingers find your clit easily, rubbing circles over the fabric of your panties. You pant his name against his lips at the action. You feel like your whole body is lit up, and under any other circumstance, you'd feel embarrassed at how worked up you are, but you can’t seem to care.

After a few moments, he lifts you up and carries you to his bedroom. From there, he positions you below him on the bed, removing your remaining clothes in the same motion. The new setup lets you grip him, and he feels big in your hand. His fingers resume their previous assault before dipping down into you. You cry out at the feeling of him inside you, slowly pushing in and out, finding a spot that makes your legs start to shake. He’s relentless in his pursuit and all you can muster up the energy to say is his name.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n.”

It's somewhere between a whimper and a whisper, but the sound of his voice causes you to clench around his fingers.

He picks up on this, of course he does, and quickens his pace as he coos at you.

“So pretty like this. I’m so lucky.”

You’re embarrassingly close already, so when he moves his thumb over your clit to rub circles as he fucks into you with his fingers, you come undone almost instantly with a warning and cry of his name. He works you through your orgasm, all while whispering praise in your ear. Once you come down from your high, you start to push his boxers down his legs, but he stops you before you can fully.

“We don’t have to do anything more, Y/n. I liked just making you feel good.”

“I want more. I want to feel you if you want that too.”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I couldn’t regret this, Spencer. I love you. I want all of you.”

It's the first time you’ve actually said those three words to him, and it feels so fucking good to say.

“I love you, too. God, so much.”

With that, he positions himself back on top of you, running his fingers over your slit gently before gripping himself.

“Do you have a condom?”

“I might somewhere, but I have an IUD, and I’m clean. I can try to find one if you’re more comfortable with that?”

“IUDs have a failure rate of around .05% and are largely considered the most effective form of birth control, so uh, as long as you're okay with it, I am.”

You smile to yourself at his statistic but nod, “I want to feel you, Spencer.”

He returns your smile before rubbing his length over your entrance a few times and slowly pushing himself into you just slightly. He teases you, or maybe himself, for a moment before fully entering you. You push your hips up to meet his, and feeling him in his entirety makes your jaw fall open. He’s big, and you feel unbelievably full.

He waits a moment for you to adjust before he starts to develop a rhythm. His hands are everywhere, but his eyes are focused solely on your face like he doesn’t want to miss a moment of your reaction to him inside of you. To be fair, you are probably putting on a good show. Every movement he makes hits you in exactly the right spot, and you don’t think you could be louder if you tried. You can feel the leg he’s not holding up against his shoulder shake against the bed. Your first orgasm has made way for your second to be incredibly close.

“Spencer, please.”

You’re crying out, desperate for a little more to push you over the edge.

“What do you need, baby?” His voice is tight like he’s not far himself, and it sounds better than anything you’ve ever heard.

“Harder. Please, harder.”

He takes your direction immediately, rubbing circles on your clit with one hand while he thrusts into you with a bruising force. He’s fucking you like he wants you to remember the feeling long after he stops, and you know that you will. Everything about it is overwhelming: his smell, his pace, his eyes. You are covered in him, and he is covered in you.

After a moment, the hand he had on your stomach trails up to grasp lightly at your throat, and you fall into feeling. You can’t warn him that you're about to come before you do. The feeling is white hot. Bigger than your first, and the fact that you're coming on him sends you into overdrive. You can feel his hips falter for a moment, but you're lost in a daze, crying out his name.

He pumps into you a few more times before he follows suit. He pulls out, and you feel stripes of his come paint your cunt and lower stomach as he finishes with a moan of your name.

He falls next to you on the bed, and it takes you both a few moments to collect yourselves and catch your breath.

Once you do, the only thing you can think to say is, “I love you.”

It feels like those are the only words circling around in your head at the moment. Some mixture of his name and that declaration. While you know you each said it before, that your profession was the exigence of the sex you just had, it feels uniquely vulnerable to say now. It’s like the moment you just had together could have changed things or made him realize that he doesn’t actually love you after all.

That shoe doesn’t drop, though. Instead, you hear the three words echoed back to you by a man who, 6 hours ago, you thought would never, ever say them.

You turn to face him, and the love on his face feels like it could knock you out. He’s looking at you and smiling in a way you haven't seen in a long time.

“Will you let me clean you up?”

You know that part of the reason he’s asking has something to do with the likelihood of bacteria growth or something like that, but you think it's mainly that he wants to take care of you. Him wetting a rag and running it over you feels intimate in a different way, in an excruciatingly gentle way. Personal in a way that makes you feel like nothing between you could ever be wrong again, and maybe that's naive to think, but you feel hopeful regardless.

Once he finishes, he takes his space back next to you in the bed. This time, he pulls you into his arms, and it's different than it was all those months ago. This time, you know that he won’t push you away and that you won't hurt yourself by being next to him. This time, you just tuck yourself into him, and you let him whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you begin to drift off. This time, it feels like peace.

~

The following day, you wake up to Spencer still next to you, looking incredibly soft in the early morning light. You search for a moment to find your phone in the piles of clothes and are greeted with a text from Pen.

How did it go????

You smile before turning your phone off and climbing back into bed next to the man you love. It couldn’t have gone better.

-

all done! yay!!!

i hope you guys love it!! i’m not 100% happy with the ending but i’ve been writing this for so long and just needed to be done.

this is my first time writing angst on here and my longest fic, so PLEASE tell me what you think! all (nice) feedback is welcome and i love to hear from you guys!! :)

[yanderedrabbles]

So I've been rereading the wild west gang cause I'm a degenerate who also lives in a bumfuck nowhere developing country who has nothing to do. So I've been thinking, it was established that if we would favorite one of the outlaws, it might be dangerous for the both of us. But what if we un-favorite one of them, if that makes sense. Like, what if only really struggled and cried when with the gunslingers, and obviously much less so with the others. Or even funnier, if instead of the gunslingers, it would be the pale guy (is that his name?).

Sorry for that brainfart. Keep doing the lord's work

P.S. I would also turn patriotic and join the army to protect your brilliant mind xx

oooh this is such a great question. I had to think about it for a while but I think not liking someone is a whole different dynamic.

Showing one of them more favour than the other's is a recipe for disaster. You're giving one man what all the others want, what they feel entitled to. It's going to bring about all sorts of ugly jealousy, even in a band as tight knitted as this one.

But if you don't like someone? If you show time and again that this person in particular has the touch most abhorrent to you? To them, that's just less competition. If anything, it makes them feel smug that it isn't them getting on your bad side. I can see a lot of mocking between them, a lot of smug insults traded when they drink too much.

How each outlaw reacts to being that person is entirely different though:

I think the boss will be calm about it. It's not surprising that you don't want him to touch you. He's a lot older, his hands are too hard with labour. Little thing like you probably spent her whole life dreaming of a lover soft and sweet, only to end up trapped by a bastard like him. He understands. And as the leader, I don't think he gets insecure about it either. He's already the top dog, he can afford to let the others enjoy your kindness. But it won't stop him from using you. Won't stop him from holding you down and taking what you don't willingly offer.

The gunslingers take it poorly. Manly, rough, mean. To them it's an insult that you're being more submissive or sweet with the other men. Are they not fucking you well enough? Are they not making you come hard enough? It's a slight against their masculinity.

They aren't the type to sit and reflect. They won't realise that maybe the reason you're so difficult is because they're just too rough with you. Hell, the thought won't even cross their minds. Their solution is to double down. To take it out on you with teeth and nails and cock shoved in when you're not nearly ready. If they can't make you love them, the least they can do is make you hate them the most. At least hate is passion of some sort.

The wrangler is hurt by it, but he won't show it. He's patient, gentle. A lot more insightful than people realise. He's spent years taming horses. He knows it's only a matter of time before you give in and accept his touch. He can wait.

(Btw, I don't think he'll actually end up being the guy you hate the most. If anything, he's the one in danger of your favour).

As for the boy, well, you feel pity more than anything else. Even when he's holding you down and eating you out, all you can think is that he never would have ended up like this if it weren't for the others. You don't blame him. You don't hate him. You just hope that one day he'll be free of this life.

I realise I didn't actually give the last guy a proper title, but he's actually the second in command. He also doesn't take it well.

Logically, he knows that you have the most reason to hate him. He's the one who planned this, he's the one who chose you. All your pain can be blamed on him.

He knows. He understands. But that doesn't stop him from hating it. He's the one who wants your love the most, he's the one who's longed for you the longest. It's so awful to finally have you and you won't even look at him. You hiss and fight and snarl when he takes you, even though he knows the others haven't had as much trouble.

His solution is also to just double down, but in a different way to the gunslingers. Instead of just getting angry, he'll try everything he can to be gentle. To win your forgiveness. He'll be so sweet when he fucks you, so slow and loving, even though he desperately wants to go faster. He'll kiss you every time he sees you, he'll hold you down and focus entirely on your pleasure, he'll bring you wildflowers and cook your favourite foods. He doesn't care how long it takes - he'll crawl on his knees for years if it means you'll forgive him. He'll do anything, anything at all. Please just look at me little dove, qīn’ài de, please.

He'll do anything in the world to win your forgiveness. Anything but let you go.

[zinaanqar16]

Hello there, wherever you are. Maybe you're reading this while at work, during a break, or relaxing with your loved ones. I don’t know exactly where life finds you right now but I do know where I am. I'm writing this after being forced to flee my home under the deafening sounds of bombs and artillery. I didn’t leave because I wanted to I left because I had no other choice. Just for the hope of safety. Imagine that... running, not for a better life, but just to stay alive. But fleeing isn’t the end of the hardship. I’m now struggling to find clean water, food, and a safe place to sleep. This is what daily life looks like for me and so many others not a moment of peace, just survival. What we’re living through can’t be fully captured in words, photos, or videos. It’s a pain you have to live to understand. So please, if you’re able to donate even a little it would mean the world. And if you can’t, I completely understand. Just share this message. Maybe someone who can help will see it. I’m not asking for luxury only the basics. Only survival. Only hope. So please donate now.

Please share

@pitbolshevik @rickybabyboy @txttletale @mushroom-punk @yekkes @marxism-transgenderism @northgazaupdate @neechees @dykesbat @apas-95

[cwwv9]

Hii I saw ur plead for requests so I thought of this

What about sensitive reader with the BLLK boys. She loves animals, has the biggest mushiest heart you’ll ever find, always feeling bad for people, buys plushies she thinks look “lonely”, cries to sad songs easily, and overall just a lover

«Warmer than the whole world»

— Without gender!Emotional!Reader x Isagi Yoichi, Meguro Bachira, Hiori Yo, Karasu Tabio, Chigiri Hyoma, Michael Kaiser Rin Itoshi, Alexis Ness, Shidou Ryusei, Sae Itoshi.

Warnings: Emotional sensitivity of the reader, Tears, scenes of sadness and vulnerability, Soft interaction and gentle treatment, Topics «tenderness among cruelty», emotional openness and acceptance

Note: Love such requests. thanks for the request, hope you like.

mailbox open for queries!!!!

Isagi Yoichi

▪ Isagi didn’t know how to react at first.

▪︎ He is a man of purpose, tension, struggle. And you? You stop in the middle of the street to feed the pigeons. You tell the teddy bear he’s safe because he has a house now.

▪︎ It was confusing at first. But one day, after a hard workout, he came home and found you lying on the floor, hugging a plush whale who, you said, «was too sad to leave him in the store».

Isagi sat next to me and just watched.

«You feel so deeply... I never knew what was possible. Maybe with you I don’t need to be perfect. Just being kind is enough».

▪ Now he checks himself if your toys are cold.

Meguro Bachira

▪︎ Bachira fell in love with you at once. Like in music. Like in the morning fog. You talk to animals as if they understand you. You call the puddles «small houses for reflections» and cry when you hear an acoustic version of the old song.

▪ You’re a miracle to him. He loves watching you hug stuffed animals, telling them they’re not alone.

▪ - You’re like a forest fairy who escaped to our world - he says, lying with you on the floor, surrounded by your «saved» toys. - You cure me just by existing.

▪ He is sure that your kindness is a superpower. Not noisy, but eternal.

Hiori Yo

▪ He watches you hanging tiny sweaters on your stuffed animals.

▪ Hears you sing a sad song, dries out the tears, and doesn’t interfere - just brings you a cup of tea.

▪ Hiori lives inside of you, and your sensitivity as if it animates something in him. With you the world becomes brighter. Warmer.

«I thought it was too quiet for someone. And then you appeared - and made my silence a home».

▪ He started to pick up the toys himself, to add to your collection. But he does it in silence, with small notes: «He looked lost».

Karasu Tobio

▪︎ You piss him off. Well, in theory. You cry under the advertising jingles, protect plush pandas from loneliness, pity criminals, because «they must have been bad too».

▪ Karasu rolls his eyes, ulcers, calls you a "soul blanket".

▪ But when you once held an old toy to yourself and whispered, I just don’t want anyone to feel unnecessary," - he stopped.

«Damn, you’re overstating me...»

▪ Now he wears in a backpack of plush cactus with hearts on his feet - "don’t ask, it’s not your business." But you know.

Chigiri Hyoma

▪ You hurt him. Not on purpose. Just by your kindness you remind him of the version of yourself that dreamed, felt, believed.

▪ You pet a stray dog without fear of getting dirty. You cry when you hear the stranger’s story on the bench. You can’t get past the pain.

▪ And Chigiri feels something moving in his chest.

- You’re like spring, he says one day, pressing your palms to his lips. I’ve been... too long in winter.

▪ He is afraid for you. But more than that, he’s afraid of losing your light.

Michael Kaiser

▪ He was disgusted by you. At first.

▪ He’s used to a world where kindness is weakness, and you... you bought a rabbit with an ear ripped out because "he seemed sad."

▪ But then the Kaiser started to notice how you’re hugging the toy, sitting in a corner, listening to music and quietly crying, not pretending to be strong.

He doesn’t understand you, but he does.

«Maybe there is a place in this world for someone who does not play at the show. Who just loves».

▪ Now he goes with you to the store and chooses animals himself. With a grin. But buys. And he says so that you are not difficult.

Rin Itoshi

▪︎ You upset him. He doesn’t know how to handle it. He’s practical, closed-minded, rational. And you? You’re holding a teddy bear in your hands and saying he needs love.

▪ First, Rin frowns and is isolated.

- Won’t you get tired of feeling everything?

▪ But then he walks into your room when you’re listening to the song and shivering with tears. He sits next to you. Silent.

«You are real. More than anyone».

▪ He doesn’t know how to hug words. That’s why he just sits next to you. Just so you know: you’re not alone.

Alexis Ness

▪ Ness immediately saw the pure gold in you. He is delighted to see you talking to the toys as if they were your team.

▪ It captures your reactions to the music, specifically includes tracks from which you stop.

- You must feel deeper than anyone else, he whispers. And yet you continue to shine.

▪ He ties your stuffed animal toys with ribbons. Makes them tiny plates.

▪ He wants to be a part of your warm world. With his whole soul.

Ryusei Shido

▪ He’s laughing. Of course he’s laughing.

- Are you seriously crying because this toy is «lonely»?

▪ But then you look at him with eyes full of sincerity. And he suddenly shuts down.

▪ Because I’m not used to that kind of look.

You’re not lying. You really feel it. Everything.

- You, I think, are the craziest man I’ve ever known, he says, lying on the couch. And I like that.

▪ Shido himself begins to bring you the «strange» toys. Supposedly from fun. But you catch, as he sometimes holds them at night.

Sae Itoshi

▪ He watches in silence as you take out a stuffed whale and wrap it in a scarf. As you whisper: "He is tired today."

Saee doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t ask. He just looks.

«In a world where everyone wants something from others, you just... love».

▪ He understands that your goodness is not weakness. It’s a rebellion against cruelty. It’s a faith that doesn’t ask for evidence.

▪ And Sae begins to bring you toys from other countries. - This one, I think, looked just like you at dawn.

▪ He is silent. But in his silence there is awe.

[mylovesstuffs]

“It’s not cute” — Choi Seungcheol

Request: hey, Celeste!!! how are you doing? I'm so glad your requests are open!

i wanted to request something (in whatever form you feel most inspired to): reader having essential tremors (it's an actual condition im not making it up 😭✋) and being frustrated about it, maybe lashing out or breaking down one day. the fact that everyone points it out and sometimes joke abt it, etc. angst + comfort , maybe? also i'd like it to be w cheol or wonu, but tbh any of them is absolutely fine!

tysm <333

It starts with eyeliner and ends in a breakdown. The world doesn’t understand what it’s like to live in a body that won’t always obey, tired of laughing first before someone else can. But Seungcheol doesn’t need to understand it all, he just holds your trembling hands like they’ve always been steady, and loves you like you’ve never been less.

Genre: Non-idol au, established relationship, angst and comfort, introspective slice of life and character study

Pairing: Seungcheol × fem!reader

Content: Essential tremors [aka benign tremor, familial tremor, and idiopathic tremor], emotional breakdown, eyeliner symbolism [bc girlyhood], comfort from a loving partner who is choi seungcheol, no judgment, warm arms and understanding hearts, one-sided flashbacks to bullying/teasing, reader struggling with internalized shame, reassurance, love that stays

Content warning: Mentions of medical condition [essential tremors], anxiety, childhood bullying, ableist microaggressions, internalized frustration and self-doubt, crying, cursing once or twice, one emotionally charged breakdown. No explicit content.

Word count: 921 words

A/N: It was supposed to be shorter... about 400 words like a drabble, though I still think it's drabble but I was hoping for it to either be 400-500 words or 1k 😔

For my sweet anon—i hope this gives you even a sliver of the comfort you were looking for. This one was written with a lot of heart at like... 2:46 am when i should’ve been asleep but cheol brainrot said otherwise. To anyone else who reads this and relates even a little: your exhaustion and frustration is valid, and your hands deserve to be held gently too. I experience a slight tremor as well, though I believe it’s genetic since it runs in my family. According to my doctor, mine is primarily triggered by stress and anxiety [I was under treatment back in October during a period when my mental health went really down]. I’ve been prescribed different medications since then, not specifically targeted for tremors, but the tremor was listed as one of the symptoms being addressed in the medication guidelines. While I might not fully relate to this experience, as my condition hasn’t been formally diagnosed and doesn’t really interfere with my daily life, I still hope I was able to do this piece justice. Also, huge thanks to Calli @hhaechansmoless for beta-ing. As always, we run anyway ! (￣▽￣)ノ♡

It starts small, and it always does; a dropped spoon, a tremble in your fingers while pouring water. The slightest bit of shake that you'd think it could pass unnoticed, but that, people always notice, and never don’t comment on.

“Why are you always shaking?”

“You nervous or something?”

“You should drink less coffee.”

“Aw, you’re like a baby deer.”

Haha, it is so funny to you at this point. But today, it feels entirely different to you, it's like you're not yourself anymore. You’re tired, and you just want to put your eyeliner on, but the line goes jagged again. And for some reason, that tiny thing becomes the last straw of the day.

You slam the eyeliner on the counter and nearly knock over everything else with your unsteady hands. “God, I’m so sick of this!” you hiss. “Why can’t I just be normal for five fucking seconds?”

The bathroom door creaks open and you already feel Seungcheol behind you. “Hey,” he says softly. “What’s going on?”

You blink back your unshed tears, but still they betray you like everything else lately. “It’s not cute, Cheol. It’s not quirky, or funny, or something you get to joke about. I hate it. I hate how I shake. I hate how people treat me like it’s some personality trait. It’s a condition, and I’m tired.” Your voice cracks, and so does your composure, and you sink down onto the closed toilet lid, face in your hands, breath shaky just like your very own fingers. The way they’ve done for so long, it doesn’t even surprise you anymore.

All you expect right now, is silence. But instead big, calloused, warm hands wrap gently around yours.

Shaking or not, he brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles, softly and slowly. “I know it’s not cute when people don’t take it seriously,” he says, kneeling in front of you. “And I’m sorry if anyone’s ever made you feel like you have to pretend it’s no big deal.”

You look up with your glassy eyes and trembling lips. “I’ve never once thought less of you for it,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to be ‘normal’ to be everything I love.” A small sob leaves your lips, and he pulls you into a hug, his arms secure around you, voice a low hum against your hair. “You can be frustrated. You can hate it, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I’m here, even if your hands shake every day for the rest of your life, I’ll still hold them just like this.”

You want to believe him, even as your fingers tremble. In fact, you do believe him; believe that he doesn’t want to let go, that he won’t.

But there’s something bitter lodged deep in your chest, a heaviness that doesn't disappear just because someone holds you through it, because you've heard this before. Variations of it. Words that sounded like comfort, but were laced with pity, gestures that looked like care, but never stayed long enough to be safe.

You remember being younger and dropping your spoon in front of classmates during recess. The laughter and the mock sympathy haunted you for years and they still does. “Are you scared?” they'd tease. You weren’t; not then at least. You didn’t even know what was happening, and why your body betrayed you when all you wanted was to be still.

And now, years later, it’s not even the tremor that hurts most, it’s what comes along with it without your consent. The way people watch, the way they assume it’s your fault, the way you're constantly being explained—to others, to yourself, that you’ve become a walking explanation.

“You know, she has this thing—”

“It’s not that big of a deal—”

“She’s always been like that—” You’re always like that.

It chips away at you, little by little, and you start adjusting your life to avoid the gaze. No eyeliner on days you feel particularly self-conscious, two hands to hold a cup, even if it makes you look ridiculous, rehearsing how you’ll brush it off when someone points it out again; laughing before they do, so it seems like you're okay with it.

You’ve weaponized your own shame into pre-emptive jokes. Turned your fear into something palatable… but it still hurts. It hurts when people don’t even ask if you’re okay. They just assume you’re something to laugh at, to observe, and you’ve been strong for so long, that today just felt like the end of it. Like how this one tiny thing —the jagged eyeliner—was all it took to remind you how helpless it can feel to live in a body that doesn’t always listen. But now, there’s warmth.

And maybe that should terrify you, because if people can be cruel, then love can be temporary. But his arms around you don’t feel temporary, his silence doesn’t feel judgmental, and most important of all, he doesn’t ask you to feel better; he just stays along with you.

You want to believe that someone can see all of it: the struggle, the cracks, the exhaustion, and still choose to stay, but not because they pity you, not because they want to fix you, but because they love you even like this, and especially like this.

Your breath hiccups in your throat, and you let yourself lean into him just a little more. Though your hands still shake, you begin to believe they don’t make you any less worthy of being held.

[softersynths]

How did Shifty feel about Ford and Stan fighting?

Does he take a side? Or does he stand to the side, and hope they work things out?

Also weridmagedeon…?

Does Shifty ever end up having at least a decent relationship with Ford or Fiddleford or both?

How does he feel about his…would they technically be his niece and nephew? Uh—second cousins I guess? American family naming conventions are confusing. I say this as someone who is half.

Also do you have sweet moments to share about Uncle Stan and Shifty/Nicky?

I want to draw a lot of this but for now I'll answer in text........

Shifty reacts like a kid watching their parents argue: with worried helplessness. At least at first. He missed Ford terribly, but Stan was a father to him for much longer. When Shifty learns that Ford intends to kick Stan out at the end of the summer, it causes a great deal of friction between them. He’s no longer the clingy pet that Ford left behind, he’s a person who loves Ford’s brother deeply, which Ford struggles to understand.

As for weirdmageddon... I think maybe he ends up with Soos for most of it. When they reunite with Stan and the refugees at the shack, Shifty is able to reconcile with McGucket, and they help build the shacktron together.

Post-canon he has a good, if occasionally strained, relationship with both of them. Negative feelings and memories are difficult for him to let go of. But he still wants family in his life, and seeing the process of Stan and Ford (as well as Tate and McGucket) reconciling helps him a lot.

I think the first time they 'meet' after McGucket gets his memory back, Shifty calls him 'Uncle Fiddleford' without really thinking about it, and all of McGucket's paranoia gets blown out of the water. His wariness of Shifty dies when he meets him with a clearing mind and sees, in place of a monster, a frightened, lonely young man - one whose feeling of loss, and confusion over his identity, he deeply relates to. McGucket's guilt and Shifty's bad memories make them hesitant to reach out to one another (and McGucket's erraticisms still startle Shifty after 30 years of avoiding them) but after Stan and Ford leave for the Arctic, they spend a lot of time catching up. They could potentially get to the point where Shifty is calling him 'Pa' rather than 'Uncle Fidds'.

He loves the twins, and wants to be liked by them. The 'Nicky' identity is invented by Shifty and Stan once they learn the twins will be staying the summer, explicitly to be a "distant cousin" that their parents "forgot about" (him being anything other than a Pines never even crossed their minds). He's distant at the beginning of the summer bc he worries about revealing himself, but becomes like a big brother to them both as he gets more settled into the role. His modus operandi when interacting with them is “what would Stan do with me” - and then he does that. A lot of riding on shoulders and affectionate noogies. He tries to steer them away from Gravity Falls' weirdness with little success. He bullies Dipper a little too. LOL.

As for sweet moments...... As a kid, Shifty would occasionally turn into a dog (or some other furry animal) and sleep next to Stan in his bed. Stan kind of misses it (he would never admit this). Shifty can also turn into inanimate objects (albeit living ones) and in the first couple winters frequently turned into scarves and coats for Stan to wear. Yes, Stan found it strange and clingy - but when you’ve spent months freezing in your car, you’ll take what you can get. Stan also teaches Shifty a lot of best practices for shoplifting and identity fraud. Which he uses frequently. lol

[mononijikayu]

marry you — ryomen sukuna.

Sukuna stared at him for a long moment, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You want me to propose... during a football practice?" Yuji nodded enthusiastically, as if it were the best idea in the world. "Yeah! It’s unexpected, and you’ll have the whole team there! Megs and Norbs can help out too! Everyone will be pumped, and the atmosphere will be amazing!" Sukuna groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. "That’s... quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), fluff, family, slice of life, family dynamic, light hearted, domestic, romance, banter, humour, physical touch, happy ending, hurt/comfort, depictions of family dynamic, depiction of anxiety, depiction of slice of life, boyfriend! sukuna, amnesiac! girlfriend! reader, domestic uncle sukuna!, nephew!yuji, i love you nephew!yuji;

WORD COUNT: 7.4k words

NOTE: the people have spoken and ryomen sukuna won my poll (again!!!)~ this is the final (maybe) installment of amnesia and a day in a life . reader and sukuna have been together for a while after this. they're much happier and healthy here. yuji loves his unckuna and auntie!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy it. i had a ball writing this because i just, this was fun. seeing sukuna be silly. anyway i love you all!!! see you in the next one <3 also @midnight-138, this is for you, im sorry for my angsty writing <3

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── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

THERE WAS NEVER A TIME IN HIS LIFE THAT ANYTHING WAS NOT MEASURED. Ryomen Sukuna had always lived by the belief that precision and decisiveness were the cornerstones of strength. His brother, Jin, was the opposite in that regard.

Jin was easygoing, someone who flowed through life with a relaxed confidence. That’s how he had ended up casually taking his wife Kaori’s name without a second thought after marriage, something that had never sat well with Sukuna. 

It wasn’t that Sukuna found it disrespectful; rather, he simply couldn't understand how someone could relinquish a piece of themselves so easily. To Sukuna, names held power, identity, and control. They were not to be changed on a whim.

And most of all, it was who he was. If his brother was going to let the name die, who would continue it? Yet maybe, that’s besides the point. Because it wasn’t the point.

The point was this — Ryomen Sukuna found himself in an unusual position, plagued by doubt. Unlike his brother, who easily adapted and made decisions without looking back, Sukuna was being dragged through an internal war, and this was uncharted territory for him.

He had always been sure—sure of his choices, sure of his actions, sure of his strength. Whether in battle or in the mundane aspects of life, he operated with an unshakable conviction. It had defined him for so long.

Except now, with the ring in his hand, everything felt different. 

For months, Sukuna had been reduced to a more fragile version of himself, struggling with emotions he thought he had long buried, emotions he used to scoff at as weakness.

But this—this wasn’t a trivial matter, not something he could merely slice through with a sharp blade or dismiss with his usual unyielding demeanor. This wasn’t about power or domination. It was about vulnerability, commitment, and the gravity of the choice he was about to make.

The ring wasn’t just a symbol; it was a testament to something far deeper. Sukuna had never hesitated before. But for the first time, he was wrestling with fear—the fear of being vulnerable, of giving a piece of himself away, just as his brother had done so easily. But was it really a weakness? Or had he, all this time, misunderstood the strength it took to let someone in?

He had bought it months ago. A shimmering band, simple yet unmistakably meaningful, one that carried the weight of everything he had come to feel for you. Every glance, every brush of your hand, every laugh—each moment had woven itself into the threads of his existence. And now, here he was, staring at this small, ridiculous piece of jewelry like it was the most dangerous object in the world.

He wanted to propose.

He had never wanted anything so badly in his life. He wanted to tell you, to kneel (a position he never imagined himself in) and offer you the promise of forever. The thought was absurd, wasn’t it? Him kneeling before someone?

Yet for you, the idea seemed... right. He didn’t just want you; he wanted to spend the rest of his days making you happy, something he had never imagined himself capable of until you.

And that’s what drove him mad.

He didn’t know how to do it. How was a man like him supposed to express something so fragile? Words weren’t his strong suit, and even if he could gather them, they always seemed to fall short when it came to you. How could he ever explain the storm of emotions, the way you’d carved a place for yourself in his blackened heart? The very thought of it made his fingers clenched into fists.

The timing, too—it was never right. Every time he thought he might do it, something held him back. What if he wasn’t enough? What if, despite everything, you said no? The ring burned in his pocket like a curse of its own, a reminder of everything he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Ryomen Sukuna who’s been in delinquent clubs, who’s been the most fearsome wrestler and now undefeated weightlifter — who has done anything, and yet never been frightened. Not at all. But proposing to you? That terrified him.

Sukuna wasn’t used to nerves, but ever since he bought that ring, they seemed to follow him everywhere. And as much as he hated to admit it, Sukuna was struggling. So, he decided he was going to get this over with—no more overthinking. How hard could it be, really? It was just a proposal. 

Attempt one: At dinner.

The scene was set. A quiet, candlelit dinner at your favorite restaurant. It was your birthday. No perfect day, right? It was everything that you could ever want. It was intimate, it was heartfelt and it was just completely perfect.

Ryomen Sukuna had been uncharacteristically calm the whole night, which should have tipped you off that something was up. Between bites of your meal, you saw him fiddling with something in his pocket. Your face scrunches at the sight of him. And then your boyfriend cleared his throat—a sound that, for someone as confident as him, felt almost foreign.

“So, baby….” he began, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked just a bit. “How would you feel about spending the rest of your life—”

Suddenly, the waiter appeared with a massive tray of dessert samples.

“Would you like to try our seasonal—”

Sukuna glared at the waiter, his red eye twitching as the moment slipped through his fingers. You tried to stifle your laugh as the waiter, completely oblivious, kept talking about tiramisu. Sukuna nearly cursed the man on the spot, but instead, he dropped the conversation. That’s just as one would say — strike one.

Attempt two: Movie night.

Alright, he thought, a more relaxed setting would be better. Just you, him, and some stupid romantic movie you insisted on watching. This was just as intimate as the first one, but maybe a little bit more animated. Still, it was just between you two.

He thinks you would love it like this. The ring was ready in his hoodie pocket, and halfway through the movie, as the cheesy proposal scene played out on the screen, he thought, This is it. This is the moment.

But just as he leaned closer to you, reaching for the ring, the actor on screen dropped to one knee in front of the actress, who acted stunned. Everyone around the actors gasped and started freaking out and clapping. You groaned, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it.

“Oh my god, if anyone ever proposed to me like that!” you laughed, shaking your head. “I’m sorry baby, but I ain’t that gal. I’d die of second-hand embarrassment.”

Your boyfriend Sukuna froze, hand halfway to his pocket, and quickly pretended he was just stretching. He slumped back on the couch, gritting his teeth.

Not like that, got it.

Attempt three: At the gym.

This was it. No more romantic crap—just you and him doing something you both enjoyed. He’d taken you to the gym, your regular workout routine in full swing. He figured the casual vibe would work, that maybe he could just slip the proposal into conversation like it was no big deal. Everything about this was perfect. Everything was going to go the way he wanted. Yup, that’s how it will go.

The problem? Sukuna wasn’t built for “casual.” 

He spotted you while you were doing squats, casually throwing out, “You know… we should, uh, work on something long-term together, baby.”

“Huh? A long term plan?” You huffed back at him, your brows furrowed.

“I mean….something concrete. Like….like, something for us, you know? A long time.”

You blinked up at him, catching your breath. “Like a couple’s fitness plan?”

“Or... you know... life. Forever. Together.”

You squinted at him. “Are you feeling okay, baby? You sound delirious.”

He muttered something about “too many reps” and practically sprinted to the other side of the gym, leaving you utterly confused. Everyone was just as confused. You looked at the store clerk, Uraume but they just shrugged at you. You guess it was just one of those days.

Attempt four: The kitchen.

Ryomen Sukuna had woken up that morning and decided today’s the day. He was done failing, and he wasn’t going to overthink it anymore. He could do this. He knows he can. It wasn’t rocket science. People proposed all the time, and somehow they survived. And it happens, it ends up happening. Everything after that always ends up in a wedding. Yeah, he can do this. 

You were making breakfast, humming to yourself, when Sukuna casually strolled into the kitchen, the ring in his pocket yet again. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you. You were the only person who could make something as mundane as cracking eggs look beautiful. 

You looked up to him and smiled, greeting him sweetly. God, you were so beautiful. You looked like you were made from heaven. A genuine angel, as you asked him if he wanted coffee. He mumbled back and cleared his throat. You moved over to the other counter and started the coffee machine.

“Hey, babe.” he began, trying to sound nonchalant, but there was an odd edge to his voice. “How do you feel about... I don’t know... spending the rest of your life with me?”

Without looking up, you shrugged. “Sounds good. Can you pass me the salt?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—what?”

You finally glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “I said, yeah, sounds good. Now the salt, please?”

Sukuna stood there, frozen. Was that a yes? Did you even know he was proposing?

You stared at him, still waiting for the salt shaker. When he didn’t move, you walked over and grabbed it yourself. “Thanks, big guy.” you said with a playful smile, clearly unaware that Sukuna had just (sort of) proposed.  “Now, do you want some avocado on your toast today or nah?”

He groaned and dragged a hand over his face. It was hard for him to be angry with you either. You were too cute. Another failure.

Attempt five: The supermarket.

The ring still in his pocket, Ryomen Sukuna was now truly desperate. At this point, he was just winging it. You were both running errands, and as you reached for a carton of eggs in the store, he thought, Screw it. There were no romantic backdrops, no candles, no cheesy movie scenes—just the fluorescent lights of the grocery store. Your day to day. Nothing too much. This was now or never.

“Listen, baby.” he said, his tone more urgent than usual. “What if we just—”

At that moment, a kid ran by with a cart, ramming it right into Sukuna’s leg. A light groan came out of Sukuna as the kid’s eyes grew wide. Sukuna’s eyes turned dark as he glared at the kid. The kid swallowed the bile down his throat. As he was about to move, you called Sukuna. The kid let out a yelp and started pushing his cart. 

The child screamed, “Sorry, mister!” and ran off, leaving your boyfriend in a state of pandemonium.

You, still holding the eggs, glanced at him for a moment and burst out laughing.

He sighed, slumping against the shelf. “I’m never going to get this right, am I?”

You smiled, stepping closer and poking his chest. “Get what right, baby?”

Sukuna glanced at the ring still burning in his pocket and grumbled, “Nothing. Just... forget it.”

You didn’t push him, but your knowing smile told him you weren’t entirely clueless. Maybe you had been waiting all along. Maybe, despite all his ridiculous failed attempts, you already knew what was coming. 

Maybe, the next time he tried, you’d say yes before he even finished his sentence.

And maybe, that was exactly what he needed to hear.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

HIS MOTHER USED TO SAY THAT OLDER BROTHERS KNEW BEST. But in all his life, Ryomen Sukuna liked to pride himself never needing to end up asking his elder brother for advice. Or any help at all, if he was being honest. The scarlet eyed man never liked having his brother do things for him. He doesn’t like owing anyone anything. 

Because Sukuna wasn’t exactly known for asking anyone for advice—especially not about matters of the heart. 

But after months of failed attempts, Sukuna could only find himself sitting in his brother Jin’s living room, slouched on the couch with his hands pressed against his face. He had to give in and concede to what his mother said. His brother knew best. And he should ask him. The ring still weighed heavy in his pocket, mocking him at every turn. His mother’s nagging words came to him, almost as though she would still be pinching his ear. Maybe if you asked your brother, you wouldn’t be suffering like this!

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, bro.” Sukuna muttered, his voice low, clearly frustrated. “I’ve been trying for months, bro. Months. Every time I think I’ve got it right, something goes wrong. I’ve got the ring. I’ve got the words. But I don’t know... it’s like nothing’s perfect enough. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Jin, ever calm and collected compared to his fiery younger brother, chuckled from across the room. He sat in his armchair, reading glasses perched on his nose, looking up from the book he had been reading. “You’re overthinking it, Kuna.”

“Overthinking?” Sukuna scoffed, sitting up and glaring at his brother. “I can’t just walk up and throw the ring at the love of my life, you know? They deserve something... more from me. I want it to be perfect.”

Jin set his book down and leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth turning up in a nostalgic smile. “You know, I went through something similar when I proposed to Kaori.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “You? Really? You seem so... calm about all of this.”

Jin laughed, shaking his head. “Calm? Hardly. I was a wreck. I had all these elaborate plans I worked really hard on. I thought I’d propose on a sunset beach or during some elegant dinner. But none of it worked out the way I thought.”

Sukuna frowned, curious despite himself. “So what did you do?”

Jin scratched the back of his head, clearly amused by the memory. “We were on a road trip—just a spontaneous one. I think that’s when we decided to go north. We got lost. The car broke down multiple times in the middle of nowhere, and it started pouring rain. Hard. We were soaked, stuck under a leaky gas station awning, of all places. There was nothing romantic about all of it. And yet…..well, it was what it was.”

Sukuna stared at him, baffled. “That sounds terrible.”

“It was, little brother.” Jin agreed, grinning. “But Kaori laughed through the whole thing. She thought it was hilarious. And that’s when I realized—there wasn’t going to be a perfect moment. So, I just asked her. Right there, soaking wet, covered in mud and all the dirt in the world. I didn’t even have the ring on me because I’d left it in the car. But I asked anyway.”

“And she said yes?” Sukuna asked, still trying to wrap his mind around how his brother had managed to pull that off.

Jin nodded with a wide smile. “Without hesitation. Because, little brother, it didn’t matter where we were or how it looked. What mattered was that I was asking her to spend her life with me. She didn’t care about the setting or the way I asked. She just cared about me. And wanting to continue loving me. So, she just said yes. Damn the world or what was good. She just…wanted me.”

Sukuna exhaled, leaning back again and letting that sink in. “I just... I don’t know if I can be that casual about it. I want the love of my life to love it. I want it to be... memorable.”

Jin leaned forward, his voice gentle. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, Kuna. It just has to be you. And about your love together. If sis in law does love you, it’ll be great no matter what. It will just happen. Trust me.”

Sukuna sighed, resting his head against the back of the couch. “I hope you’re right. I just—” 

Before he could finish, the door to the room burst open, and Yuji bounced in, grinning from ear to ear. He was still dressed in his football uniform. “Uncle Sukuna! I heard you’re going to propose! Let me help!”

Sukuna groaned. The kid had such good ears, damn him. “Oi, brat! This is... it’s not something I need help with.’specially not from you! It’s—”

“Oh, come on! I’ve got great ideas, unc! We can do fireworks, or... or maybe we can surprise auntie with, like, a whole flash mob at the mall!” Yuji’s excitement was contagious, but Sukuna could feel a headache forming at the thought of any of those ideas. “I think auntie will love it, you know?”

“No flash mobs, Yuji.”

Yuji pouted for a moment, but then his face brightened again. “Okay, okay, what about a treasure hunt? Like, you leave little clues everywhere, and the final clue leads to you with the ring! I mean, auntie would love that! Auntie’s always been someone who likes puzzles!”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, glancing at Jin, who was barely hiding his laughter behind his hand. His brother was enjoying this little misery of his. His nephew’s barely thirteen and yet he’s got the idealistic mind. Too much like his brother, Sukuna thinks. But then again, his mother’s the same sort of human being. 

“Hey brat, I don’t think your auntie appreciates getting dragged across the city just to find me with a ring at the end.” Sukuna said, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “Auntie would get tired really fast then ask where’s the nearest soda shop.”

Yuji shrugged. “Well, whatever you do, it’ll be awesome. You’re awesome! Auntie will totally say yes.” He gave Sukuna a thumbs up, his usual boundless optimism shining through. “I mean, auntie’s been with you too long, so it's just bound to settle like that.”

“Wait, what do you mean settle—”

“Hey, hey! I didn’t mean anything mean about it.” Yuji pouted at his uncle defensively. “You know that much, unc! I love seeing you and auntie together.”

Sukuna shook his head at his nephew, though a small, begrudging smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks, brat.”

Jin, watching the exchange, nodded in agreement. “See, Kuna? It doesn’t matter how you do it. It’ll be great, because it’s coming from you.”

Sukuna sighed, feeling the weight of the ring in his pocket one more time. “I guess... I’ll just have to stop thinking so much and go for it.”

Yuji’s grin stretched even wider. “That’s the spirit now, unc! And if you change your mind about the flash mob, I’m totally in.”

Sukuna chuckled despite himself. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yuji, still bouncing with excitement, suddenly lit up with an idea. "Oh! I know! Why don’t you come and coach my football team for a day? You can do it there!" 

Sukuna blinked, utterly baffled by the suggestion. "Coach... football? What are you talking about, brat?"

Yuji was practically vibrating with energy now. "It’s perfect! You can come to practice, and we’ll, I don’t know, pretend something happened—like, I could pretend I twisted my ankle or something—and then, boom! You step in, gather everyone around, and propose! Auntie will be there all excited to be there and cheer us and you on."

Sukuna stared at him for a long moment, his face a mix of confusion and disbelief. "You want me to propose... during a football practice?"

Yuji nodded enthusiastically, as if it were the best idea in the world. "Yeah! It’s unexpected, and you’ll have the whole team there! Megs and Norbs can help out too! Everyone will be pumped, and the atmosphere will be amazing!"

Sukuna groaned, leaning his head back against the couch. "That’s... quite possibly the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard."

But before he could properly dismiss the idea, Jin let out a hearty laugh from his chair. “Why not, little brother? It’s certainly different. Do you have any better ideas?” 

Sukuna shot him a look, but Jin just grinned. He could see his brother’s frustration boiling over, but there was also something else—maybe Sukuna was finally realizing that no moment was ever going to feel perfect. Not in the way he imagined.

“Come on, come on.” Jin said, still chuckling. “I mean, think about it. It’s so out of character for you that it might actually work. A little spontaneity never hurts anyone.”

Sukuna rubbed his face, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “You really think I should just... go to a football practice and pop the question in front of a bunch of sweaty teenagers?”

Yuji jumped in again, totally on board with his own wild idea. “Yeah! And I’ll totally sell it—I’ll limp off the field, everyone will be worried, and then you step up like a hero. I can already picture it!” He waved his arms dramatically, trying to sell the scene. "It’ll be epic."

Jin crossed his arms, his grin still plastered on his face. "It’s unconventional, sure. But it’s definitely memorable. And isn’t that what you wanted?"

Sukuna sighed, the absurdity of it all weighing on him. Coaching Yuji’s football team, of all things, to propose? He couldn’t believe this was even a conversation. Yet, as ridiculous as it sounded, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it might actually work.

Not because it was perfect—but because it was so wildly unexpected that it would leave you speechless. Maybe, after all these failed attempts, that was what he needed.

Still, he grumbled, "If this goes wrong, I’m cursing both of you."

Yuji laughed, slinging an arm over Sukuna’s shoulder, clearly unfazed by the threat. "It’s going to be great, Unc Sukuna! Trust me!"

Jin, still leaning back in his chair, raised an eyebrow. "So, is that a yes? You’re actually going to do this, little brother? No more backing out?”

Sukuna slumped back on the couch, rubbing his temples. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but... yeah. Fine. Let’s try it your way, Yuji."

Yuji fist-pumped the air, grinning ear to ear. "Yes! This is going to be amazing. I can’t wait to see their faces when you finally propose!"

Sukuna let out a deep sigh, glancing at Jin one last time. His older brother gave him an encouraging nod. What does he have left to lose? If anything, if it works — maybe you’ll laugh it off. And he…he likes seeing you smile anyway. What does he have left to lose?

“You’re overthinking it again, little brother.” Jin reminded him. “Just do it, hm? It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Sukuna could only hope his brother was right.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

THE NEXT DAY, YOU DIDN’T FEEL LIKE GOING TO WORK. So, you had decided to stay lazily at home with Sukuna and just enjoy his day off together. Well, it worked out better considering that Sukuna informed your office you’ll be out for a while anyway. You happily hummed as you started making your cup of matcha milk for yourself. So far everything was well. In fact, the day had been going pretty normally. 

But then you could only blink at him when Sukuna, of all people, approached you in the kitchen, casually leaning against the counter. He looked... slightly awkward, which was unusual for him. His scarlet eyes darted away for a moment before landing back on you.

“Hey, baby….” he said, almost too casually. “You wanna come to Yuji’s football game tomorrow?”

You blinked in surprise. Sukuna wasn’t exactly the type to invite you to these things. Usually, Yuji was the one who asked, and then Sukuna would begrudgingly tag along, acting like he was too cool to care. But now, he was asking you directly?

“You’re asking me to go?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “And also….you wanna go?”

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. “Yeah. Is that... a problem or something?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to hide your smile. “No, not at all. I’d love to go. It’s just... surprising coming from you. Usually, you wait until Yuji begs you to show up.”

Sukuna shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing just a bit. “Yeah, well... I’m gonna be more involved this time.”

Your curiosity piqued, you leaned forward. “What do you mean? Like, are you finally going to cheer from the sidelines instead of pretending not to care?”

He looked away again, mumbling under his breath, “I’m coaching the team.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Wait, what?”

Sukuna shot you a look, already regretting this conversation. “You heard me. I’m gonna be their coach... for the game. Just a trial…..It’s just…. Maybe a one time thing.”

The shock only lasted a second before you burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. The image of Sukuna, towering and intimidating, trying to coach a bunch of high school kids was just too much. It was all too much for you to think about your boyfriend. He crossed his arms on his chest like a little kid.

“Stop laughing.” he grumbled, clearly annoyed but also embarrassed.

You waved a hand, trying to catch your breath. “I’m not laughing at you, I swear. I’m just... I’m just imagining you barking orders at those poor kids like you do with your clients at the gym.”

Sukuna narrowed his eyes at you, crossing his arms. “That’s not how I coach at the gym.”

“Oh really?” you teased, still giggling. “You’re not going to stand on the sidelines, yelling ‘Run faster, you idiot!’ and ‘Stop slacking off, sweat it off!’ like you do with your trainees?”

“Of course not, babe.” he muttered, though there was a hint of a smirk on his lips now. “Those brats won’t know what hit them.”

Your laughter continued, but now it was filled with genuine amusement. “I can’t wait to see this. You, coaching a bunch of teenagers, pretending to know anything about football. Oh, this will be gold, baby. I’m in!”

Sukuna groaned, running a hand down his face. “You’re really not helping, you know.”

“I’m sorry baby.” you said, still grinning as you put a thumb up. “I just can’t picture it without laughing. But hey, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

He grumbled under his breath again, but you could see the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’d better not laugh when you see me out there.”

“No promises here, baby.” you teased, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “But I’ll be there, front and center, cheering you on.”

Ryomen Sukuna rolled his eyes, but the blush creeping up his neck told you everything you needed to know. Despite his gruff demeanor, he was secretly pleased. And maybe—just maybe—this ridiculous plan wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

You know Yuji loves some good orange juice, so you brought cold packs of that in the cooler too. You supposed you could say that you were more excited than most. You had the full gear from their team and everything. It was something you requested from Sukuna and he got it for you before yesterday, when he got his own uniform. 

YOU DIDN’T SLEEP A WINK. But you couldn’t help it. You were too excited. The practices wee nice but each time you had to leave earlier for work. But this time, you got to have a full day just being there. These past few days, Sukuna's been in a gloom but he reassured you that its nothing. You wanted to press, but you knew your boyfriend too well to pry.

You were just one excited soul to be here. It was the tournament league now. And Yuji's team made it through the finals. You brought packs of snacks for you and Sukuna, some for the kids too in case their moms didn’t have anything on them. Some cold drinks too.

And now, you found yourself standing by the field, watching as Sukuna walked out with the team. The sun was brilliantly bright, and there was a decent crowd, mostly parents and students, filling the bleachers.

But your beaming eyes were glued to the unlikely sight before you: Ryomen Sukuna, your intimidating, tough-as-nails partner, now wearing a whistle around his neck and a deeply annoyed expression as he dealt with a bunch of teenage boys.

You could see precious Itadori Yuji bouncing around excitedly, clearly thrilled that Sukuna had agreed to coach. The rest of the team, however, seemed slightly nervous under Sukuna’s intense gaze.

Yuji’s two close friends, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, didn’t seem to care and were just playing with the balls and gloves, tossing to each other. But their nonchalant behavior was a stark contrast from everyone else. Some of them glanced back at you, probably wondering why this mountain of a man was suddenly in charge. But you don’t blame any of them. Your boyfriend did look imposing. 

Sukuna blew the whistle sharply, and you had to bite your lip to keep from laughing again. He barked out orders like a drill sergeant, his deep voice carrying across the field. “You—stop dragging your feet! Move it! You think this is a joke? Pick up the pace!”

You couldn’t help but lean against the fence, shaking your head with a smile. Well, you were right. It was exactly as you had imagined—Sukuna treating this football practice like a high-intensity training session at the gym. The kids were all scrambling around, trying their best not to get on his bad side.

After a particularly harsh instruction, you caught his scarlet eye from across the field. He gave you a look, clearly daring you to laugh, and you had to press your lips together to keep from cracking up. When you got it together, you started clapping and cheering for him. And for a moment, you could see a scarlet tint flush on your boyfriend’s cheek. That had made you smile.

During a water break, Yuji came jogging over, grinning from ear to ear. “How’s Unc Sukuna doing, Auntie? He’s totally killing it, right?”

You smiled and raised an eyebrow. “He’s certainly... in charge. The team looks a little terrified, though. Well, except Nobara and Megumi.”

Yuji chuckled, not even a little bit phased. “Yeah, but they’ll respect him. He’s making them work harder than our regular coach.”

You glanced back at Sukuna, who was currently standing with his arms crossed, scowling as one of the players asked him a question. He looked like he belonged in a weightlifting competition, not on a football field. Your boyfriend could have done so many things, you knew. But he said he got bored of it all, since people keep telling him what to do. But either way, your boyfriend would have ended up looking like this. This hunk of muscular muscle. 

“Well, as long as no one cries, I think it’ll be a success, Yuji!” you teased.

Yuji laughed and then leaned in closer. “So, do you think they suspect anything yet?”

You raised an eyebrow. You were confused. “About what?”

He gave you a mischievous look, a grin playing at the corners of his lips. “You know... Uncle Sukuna’s plan. The proposal.”

You blinked, your smile fading as confusion washed over you. Wait, hold on. Was Yuji talking about Sukuna’s proposal to expand the gym? He’d been telling you about that for months now, outlining every detail, every plan. Surely Sukuna hadn’t forgotten.

“Wait. That’s today?” you asked, half-expecting to hear more about Sukuna's latest gym renovation idea. 

But something in Yuji’s expression didn’t quite fit the usual conversation. His grin widened, almost teasing. You suddenly had the sinking feeling you might not be on the same page at all. But just as you were going to go and talk to him about it, the whistle blew again, and the game began. Yuji saluted you and ran off to the field once again.

You tried to keep your eyes on the match, the sounds of cheers and the smack of fists hitting against gloves filling the air, but your mind was elsewhere. Sukuna’s plan. It kept creeping into your thoughts, pulling your focus away from the fight.

He had been working tirelessly on the gym expansion for months, meticulously coordinating every detail. The proposal with the contractor was a major step, one he had been looking forward to with a mix of excitement and that quiet intensity he always had when he wanted something done perfectly.

But now, you couldn’t shake the worry creeping up your spine. If Yuji’s casual comment about the proposal meant what you thought it did, then something had gone wrong. Sukuna must have missed the meeting with the contractor. Your boyfriend never missed important business meetings, especially not one like this, which was practically the culmination of weeks of hard work and planning. 

You bit your lip, your gaze flickering back to the field, but all you could think about was Sukuna. His sense of control, of always being on top of things—what could have possibly distracted him? And why hadn’t he told you? Maybe you could’ve reminded him or helped him juggle things better. 

Your stomach tightened with unease. Sukuna wasn’t the type to slip up like this, not unless something bigger was weighing on him. You’d seen the way he had been acting recently—distracted, quieter than usual, though he would shrug it off if you ever asked. Was this just about the proposal, or was there something else, something deeper he hadn’t shared yet?

As the game continued, it became even more intense, but not nearly as intense as the look Sukuna had on his face as he barked orders from the sidelines. You could see him glancing your way every now and then, his jaw set, his eyes determined. This was insane, even for a league of teenagers in middle school. But you suppose that’s what happens when you put your boyfriend to coach on the field.

As the game drew to a close, with Yuji’s team pulling off a narrow victory, you noticed Sukuna’s posture shift. He was still his usual composed self, but there was something nervous about the way he kept adjusting the whistle around his neck. He takes a moment for a breath. 

When the final whistle blew and the players began congratulating each other, Ryomen Sukuna called out to them. “Alright, listen up! Get over here. I’ve got something to say.”

The entire team gathered around him, and you stood at the edge of the field, your heart pounding as you watched the scene unfold. You could see Yuji trying (and failing) to hide his excitement as he joined the group. Everything about was making you feel like you were going to lose it.

Sukuna cleared his throat, looking oddly serious. “There’s someone here today who’s... important to me.”

The players exchanged confused glances, and you felt your cheeks heat up as you realized he was talking about you.

Sukuna continued, his voice a little gruffer than usual. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I’ve been trying really hard to make this happen. I really have been. And I just…I’ve been thinking, to hell with it. We might as well go through with it. Even if it's going to be too much and lame.” He shot a pointed look at Yuji, who gave him an encouraging thumbs up.

Your heart was racing now, and you could feel the eyes of the team turning toward you. Sukuna reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box from his pockets. He opened it and you could clearly see it. There was something small and shiny inside of it. 

“This…..” he said, holding up the ring for everyone to see. “ This is what I’ve been working up the nerve to do for months.”

The entire field went dead silent. The team, the parents in the stands—everyone was watching.

Sukuna’s scarlet eyes finally met yours, and in that moment, all the tough, intimidating layers seemed to peel away. He stepped toward you in the bleachers, his beautiful face softening as he held the ring in his hand.

“I’m not good at speeches. Or, apparently, proposals.” He smirked, and you couldn’t help but smile through the nerves. “But I know one thing. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The world seemed to blur around you as Sukuna knelt down, holding out the ring. “So, what do you say?”

Your heart swelled as you took in the sight of him—this fierce, stubborn man who had somehow, in his own awkward way, found the perfect moment. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes as you whispered the only answer you could give.

“Yes.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, with Yuji practically jumping up and down as the team whooped and clapped. Sukuna stood, slipping the ring onto your finger, and pulled you into a tight embrace, his breath warm against your ear as he murmured, “Told you it didn’t have to be perfect.”

You laughed softly, wiping away a tear. “It was more than perfect.”

Ryomen Sukuna grinned, leaning down to kiss you as the noise of the crowd faded into the background. Everything about the past? That didn’t matter at all now. Because all this, this is what mattered. After all that you both went through, after all that happens — everything was well. Because he was going to marry you. 

── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

epilogue

As Sukuna pulled you close, his lips brushing against yours, the cheers and whistles from the crowd surrounded you both. Yuji, of course, was the loudest, pumping his fists in the air and hyping up the team, who were now clapping and laughing at the unexpected turn of events.

“Unc Sukuna’s engaged!” Yuji shouted, jumping onto the field. “Best day ever!”

You pulled back slightly from the kiss, your face flushed and your heart still racing, meeting Sukuna’s gaze. His scarlet eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, standing in the middle of a whirlwind of noise and celebration. He took your hand, where the ring sat on your finger and placed a small kiss upon it. You grew even more flustered.

Sukuna sighed, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

You chuckled, brushing a hand against his cheek. “Believe it. You just proposed in front of an entire football team.”

He groaned slightly, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Nope. But I love that you did it.”

His arms tightened around you for a moment before he pulled back, glancing at the team who were still buzzing with excitement. He gave them a half-hearted glare. “Alright, enough gawking. Get off the field. We still have a game to win.”

The boys quickly scattered, though you could see the smirks and murmurs they exchanged as they left. Megumi and Nobara were snickering at how soft their coach Sukuna was looking at you. Your nephew Yuji, of course, was the last one standing there, grinning like an idiot.

“So, Unc Sukuna,” Yuji said, nudging his uncle’s arm. “How’d it feel to propose in front of an audience? Pretty cool, huh?”

Sukuna shot him a deadpan look. “Brat, don’t think I’ve forgotten this was your idea.”

Yuji only grinned wider, completely unfazed. “But it worked! Look at that ring! And look at auntie’s face!” He pointed to you, beaming. “You guys are the cutest engaged couple ever!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yuji, stop embarrassing your uncle.”

Sukuna crossed his arms, shaking his head in exasperation. “You’ve been spending too much time around Gojo, I swear to god.” he muttered under his breath, glancing at Yuji with mock annoyance. “I better tell your dad to never let you back in Fushiguro’s house.”

Yuji just shrugged. “Hey, I’m just a romantic at heart. I love seeing love win!”

Before Sukuna could retaliate, his elder brother Jin appeared from the sidelines, clapping his younger brother on the shoulder. “See? I told you it didn’t have to be perfect.”

Sukuna let out a long sigh, shooting Jin a look. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you were right.”

Jin raised an amused brow. “Guess?”

“Fine, fine.” Sukuna grumbled, a reluctant smirk forming. “You were right.”

Jin grinned. “That’s more like it. And for what it’s worth, little brother, you pulled it off pretty damn well. Look at that, you’re getting married. I’m so proud of you, hm?”

Sukuna grunted, still not entirely comfortable with the praise, but you could see the tension slowly leave his body. He wasn’t one to bask in sentimental moments, but for this one, he was letting himself enjoy it. 

“Thanks….big brother.”

“Alright, I’m gonna go back to the bleachers. Kaori’s gonna get lonely.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s meet down here so we can have dinner together.”

Jin grinned. “Oh, you’re paying tonight?”

“Oh, don’t think too far like that, big brother.”

Yuji, still full of energy, suddenly clapped his hands together. “Alright! Since you two are officially engaged, I think it’s time we celebrate!”

You glanced at Sukuna, who rolled his eyes but didn’t object. “Sure, why not?” he said with a shrug. “But I’m picking the place. No weird restaurants.”

Yuji pouted. “But there’s this ramen shop Gojo–sensei recommended—”

“No.” Sukuna said flatly, his tone brooking no argument.

You smiled, leaning into Sukuna’s side. “Wherever you want to go, we’ll go.”

Sukuna looked down at you, a rare warmth softening the usual intensity of his gaze. His voice, normally edged with authority, held a surprising tenderness. “I’ll think of something. Now go on. Go finish the game.”

You turned toward Yuji, who was standing there, clearly wanting to argue. “But unc—” he started, but Sukuna cut him off before he could finish.

“I said go!” Sukuna’s voice, firm but not unkind, sent Yuji running back to the field, his frustration bubbling over as he shouted, “It’s not fair!”

You watched Yuji dash off, his protests lost in the sound of his feet pounding the grass, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the situation. He had always been full of energy, bouncing between enthusiasm and impatience, and Sukuna loved to tease him for it—though Yuji never seemed to take it lightly.

Turning back to your fiancé, you shot him a playful pout. “Must you tease him so much? He did help you propose, you know?”

Sukuna exhaled, a faint sigh escaping him as his hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer. “Eh, He can handle a little teasing.”

You tilted your head, studying Sukuna’s face. Even though his words were casual, there was a deeper affection in them, one that wasn’t always so visible. Yuji, in his own way, had been a part of your lives, and you knew Sukuna cared for him more than he’d ever let on. But Sukuna’s way of showing love was always layered with a bit of roughness, teasing, and challenges—he never made things too easy, even for those closest to him.

“He’s just a kid,” you murmured, leaning into him, your pout softening as you placed your hands on his chest. “He looks up to you, you know.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, his eyes flickering with amusement. “Yeah, well, he should know by now I’m not gonna go easy on him.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile broke through your pout. “Maybe try cutting him some slack next time. You can’t torment him every time he tries to help.”

“Torment?” Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “Come on, he loves it.” He chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced toward the field, where Yuji was back in action, still muttering something under his breath. “Besides, if I didn’t push him, who would?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, giving his chest a playful shove. “Alright, alright. But don’t be too hard on him. He really did come through for us.”

Sukuna’s expression softened again, and he gave you a knowing look. “I know. I’ll make it up to him.”

As you both watch Jin go back to the bleachers with Kaori, you feel your fiance's arms wrap around you. Your hands intertwined and on top of his hand, was your own. You couldn’t help but glance down at the ring on your finger, your heart swelling with happiness. 

Ryomen Sukuna had surprised you—more than you ever thought he would. And while it hadn’t been a grand, romantic gesture in a traditional sense, it had been perfect in the most Sukuna way possible. Unconventional, slightly chaotic, but undeniably heartfelt.

And you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

[unitedwestandts]

An Open Letter to Family Influencers

This quote from The New York Times article ‘A Marketplace of Girl Influencers Managed by Moms and Stalked by Men’ should chill every person posting a photo or video of a child on the internet to the bone.

I want to be upfront from the start that this letter is not meant to shame or criticize. I only hope it will raise questions and concerns for the welfare of the children we’re raising in this chaotic technological era where there are no enforceable rules or regulations, protections or safeguards for anyone involved in sharing their personal lives on social media. The internet is truly the Wild West right now and we all have to do better. 

We are raising children in possibly one of the most dangerous times. Yes, we have more resources at our disposal than ever before to monitor our children’s health and safety but the foundation of many of those resources, the internet, is a vast ocean of uncertainty when it comes to how the information we’re putting into it on a day-to-day basis is being used and by whom.

Several documentaries have come out recently, Devil in the Family: The Fall of Ruby Franke and Bad Influence: The Dark Side of Kidfluencing to name some, that not only highlight the deeply troubling realities behind family vlogging but also how unprotected and vulnerable the children of today are the minute we post anything about them on social media. There is no way to control who is consuming anything on the internet and this has created a breeding ground for sexual predators and pedophiles to roam freely amongst innocent viewers watching lighthearted videos of childhood. 

Many families turn to family vlogging for monetary reasons and I understand that incentive. In this increasingly unstable and high-cost economic world we’re living in, posting a few videos every day about the ups and downs of family life that generate anywhere from a few hundred to a few thousand dollars seems like a magical answer to the very real financial hardships so many people struggle with today. 

But the fact is, you don’t know who’s watching. Doesn’t that scare you?

I used to regularly consume family vlogger content on Instagram and Facebook. Who doesn’t want to watch beautiful families go through the same things you are in a funny, lighthearted, real way that makes your potentially invisible struggles and joys seem somehow seen and heard. You laugh and cry with these content creators and their kids, you purchase things they recommend because maybe they’ll help your child through the same developmental leap or help you stay comfortable or awake for the long days at home or at work. It’s a potentially flawless system for stay-at-home parents to contribute to their household income without the burdensome cost and uncertainty of child care. 

Except it’s not flawless, it opens up your family and your children to so many unspoken safety risks that we all seem to be willing to turn a blind eye to for the sake of enjoyable content that takes a little bit of tension or stress out of our daily lives. 

I think people don’t realize how much of our personal information is out there for people to find if they do a slightly in depth google search or pay as little as $15 a month for access to anyone’s public record information. My profession has nothing to do with investigation or background researching. I have the average number of tech skills someone raised in the age of the internet would have. And still, with someone’s name and general known location or just a phone number, I could find out where you live, any addresses or phone numbers associated with you, any potential relatives or associates and their information, any minor or major criminal charges, social media profiles, automobile type and license plate number, all listed out plainly on one internet page for my perusal.

Note: I do not write the following comments to specific family influencers with any sort of menace or threat, only to point out the incredibly dangerous situations they are putting themselves and their families in.

K.D., it is admirable that you and your family have listened to the wishes of your eldest child and not filmed or posted any content of him or her on your social media. However, you have mentioned his or her first name in posts several times, not a common name, and people know your previously married name. You’ve also posted about the type of activity he or she participates in. It takes one google search of those two names put together with your name attached and immediately a post came up that contains information about the exact location of where that activity is practiced. Doesn’t that worry you that anyone who really wanted to know could so easily find one of your children?

H.N.A, your antics and daily journey with your child are lovely and adorable. But you’ve made it known where you and your family live, that your partner works while you stay at home, and you regularly post timestamp videos about your routine with your child. Does this not invite someone to know exactly when you are home alone with your child? I only have to look up your name, age, and location on one of these inexpensive information websites to have your exact address. Doesn’t this concern you for the safety of yourself and your family? 

It has become commonplace online for family vloggers to post Amazon Wishlists where people—i.e. strangers—can you send you gifts. It is a wonderful thing to help others, that instinct should not be discouraged. But as highlighted in the Bad Influence documentary, how do you know who those gifts are coming from? In the documentary, a pre-teen girl was receiving gifts from ‘Megan’ who turned out to be an adult man, a sexual predator as we find out. Do you really want your toddler playing with a toy or your teen wearing an article of clothing that came from a pedophile?

I think there are two main questions family influencers should ask themselves. 

The first is: How far will you go? You start out filming your babies and toddlers, how far into their childhood are you going to post content of their lives? 5? 10? 13? 16? When they say they don’t want to keep smiling for the camera but you’re relying on that YouTube, Instagram, Amazon, ect. generated income, are you actually going to listen to them or are you going to persuade them into 'just one more video'? Which of their experiences and reactions are you going to post? Crying? Tantrums? Injuries? Their first period? Where does the line get drawn? 

The second question is: Will it be worth it? Will the money be worth your child eventually knowing you potentially put them in harm’s way? That you shared their childhoods, their vulnerable moments with complete strangers without their consent? Do you want to risk their faith and trust in you as a parent, the person they implicitly believed would protect them against the world? 

What will your child think of all this in the future? 

I am not here to blame or fault people who turn to family vlogging. The age of the internet has turned how we engage and interact with each other on its head and we’re all navigating this together, doing the best we can. While I believe social media did mainly start from a place of good intention in regards to helping people connect with one another, it has unfortunately morphed into a sort of money-hungry chimera that no one really knows how to control or regulate. 

The monetization of these platforms that we use daily only benefits the few people controlling them and hurts the rest of us by preying on our stress and shame. They make it seem like they’re here to help you if you can just crack the code on how to make a tiny slice of the monetary pie they’re making. Post content, advertise yourself and your family and you will be rich and successful for essentially just living. But, as much as we want it to be, life is never that simple. Taking the easy route almost always proves to be the wrong path in the long run.

I am a parent of a young child, a parent that does not post any personal information or photos of my child. This was a mutual decision between my partner and I, although it was my partner who insisted on doing this before our child was born. While I was reluctant at the time, I am now so grateful that I agreed. 

We have to collectively do better. I don’t know what the solution is to keep our children safe but I think that until we have one, the solution is to keep children off the internet. At least until they’re prepared to give informed consent regarding the use of their image and information. I don’t know what age that is, I don’t know what fully informed consent would be considered. I just know it is our responsibility as parents and people engaging with social media to keep the children of this world safe when we know of a specific threat. And the internet in its current state is a threat to them. Private profiles can be hacked, fake accounts created. There is no privacy on the internet. And as tools like the Way Back Machine and others have proven, the internet is written in permanent marker.

How are we going to continue writing its future with our children at stake?

[canine-witch]

What Should You Hope For? ~ Pick A Pile

In our lives, the concepts of hope and faith can be difficult to understand. Maybe not all of our dreams will come true, but my intention with this reading is to show you some dreams and hopes you should not give up on.

Drink some water, pick a pile, and feel free to discard what does not resonate with you.

🕯️ kofi | paid readings | pac masterpost | youtube 🕯️

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Pile One: The Flame

You should hope for vengance. There is a person in your life, who is actively blocking you from pursuing something else, other than them. They are blocking your transformation by underhanded means. They have so far successfully seemed to dodge every turn of accountability for how they mistreated you. This covers a broad range of possibilities for the collective, but it's someone you have been fighting with for a while, perhaps even years. You may have given up on justice.

It has been difficult to overcome this person and their energy by yourself. So, you need to begin accepting help from others. Be more open about your struggles and your doubts that this person has created in you. Seek help of professionals, perhaps even legal counsel or civil court. (That will depend on the energy you are willing to put into getting vengence). If you are religious, pray to your higher power to take this burden from you and assist you. You don't have to fight alone, and it is not a hollow hope that you will be redeemed and lifted up, while they are blinded by your light.

Heavy Libra energy is present here. Scales, coins, hearts, and flags may be significant symbols right now. The numbers 1, 3, and 6 are present.

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Pile Two: The Statues

You should hope for forgiveness. In our lives, we all do wrong to others. There is a specific person, perhaps tied to a specific event, that you have hurt in the past. This may be an old wound, but a wound you often go back to. You hurt this person badly, but not maliciously, and you have since been trying to change yourself. You wish that you could make it right, and your oppurtunity to do so is coming in.

You may meet with this person again after a long time. You have been putting the work in to heal yourself from your past mistakes and regrets, and this person will see it. They have also grown and changed, and perhaps looking back they see that you should have a place in their life, if you have truly changed. So, they will seek you out, and you will have an opportunity to earnestly apologize. I am seeing that, even if you are not perfect, they will see your regret, and forgive you for the old wound. It will heal, and no matter if you both will continue to see each other, the burden will be lifted from you.

Air energy or air signs may be significant. Feathers, birds, and clouds are here. The numbers 2 and 7 are present.

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Pile Three: The Wings

You should hope for a second chance. There is something from the past that has been hurting you. A major heartbreak. You had to reject something, an opportunity or a person that you regret to this day. You have probably felt like your life hasn't gone right since. It was something solid, and something steadfast, and you rejected it foolishly. For some of you it was a family member, a job opportunity, travel opportunity, and more. But, there is a second chance coming for you to take advantage of it.

You will need to keep doing what you are doing. It will be coming to you, and you cannot go to it. You need to tap into your patience, and be empathetic to yourself. Listen to your emotions. Understand your frustrations. Take everything day by day. This has been a heavy burden that you have lost sleep over. You don't need to lose anymore sleep. All will be well. Release any expectations and fears, and dive headfirst into the unknown.

3, 4, and 9 are significant numbers. Goats, leaves, branches, and rain may be contants in your life. Capricorn or Aquarius energy may be significant.

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Pile Four: The Book

You should hope for more confidence. I am seeing that you may be shy or a reserved person. You may describe yourself as a lone wolf or you just genuinely don't like interacting with people very much. Whatever the cause is, you shouldn't leave behind your dream of stepping into your personal power.

There may have been conflicts in the past that hindered your self growth. Arguments with friends and family, school bullies, and/or discouraging teachers all played a part in making you feel like you should hide who you are. Even if you prefer to be more private or out of the spotlight, it was made worse by those around you. Nurture yourself, be kind to yourself. You can be more confident than you are now. Remember, you are the master of your own world. You can create anything you wish, but first you have to take the leap of faith. Your transformation is coming. Work on yourself, slowly move out of your comfort zone. For some of you, volunteering at a soup kitchen or having a role in a play will help you. Something with a community where you can see that your active participation contributes, and you can build your personal power that way.

Aries and Leo are significant signs, fire signs in general. Flowers, running water, kings, and the sun are significant symbols. 0, 2, and 5 are appearing for you.

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Thank you for your energy and time! My kofi, youtube, and other links are posted above if you liked the reading and wish to support me further! Have a wonderful day!

[girlgenius1111]

alone.

i wrote this in maybe a half hour and it's very short but i was very in my feels so you get angsty sol as a result before the events of family line. sol struggles. there is change on the horizon, but she doesn't see it.

-----

It was the same every morning, the same every day. A quick knock would wake you, a second knock a few minutes later telling you it was time to get up. You’d throw on clothes that didn’t quite fit with Spain’s climate, tie your hair up in a bun, and go downstairs. 

Breakfast was always quiet, ever since the first few weeks, when Ingrid had tried to engage you in conversation and you rejected every attempt. She’d ask you a question that would remind you how little she knew about your life now. You’d snap back at her unintentionally, she’d get angry, and the table would fall quiet. Eventually, it just stayed quiet. 

You’d go to school, barely understand a word spoken to you. Scrape by with passable grades, most of the time. Go back to Ingrid’s house. Do your school work at the kitchen table, where she could keep an eye on you. Hide in your room until dinner. Hide in your room after dinner. Distract yourself with a mindless show, or more often, a nature documentary of some kind. Fall asleep, dream of lakes and forests and grass and mountains; things that could never be disappointed in you. 

You went through the motions. Step by step, day after day. Not really living, just existing. Not trying, either. 

You’d stop trying a long time ago. Long before Spain, before the small, bland extra bedroom you slept in. Before disappointed looks had begun to come from your sister. You’d stopped trying when you were still in Norway, still disappointing your parents. 

Back in Norway, you felt content being mostly invisible. Your parents ignoring you was better than being yelled at, though they still did that a fair amount.There was something about being here, though, in Spain that was just… different. 

Perhaps it was that part of you, little you, who still remembered Ingrid as someone who gave the best hugs and always knew how to make you smile. Little you hadn’t ever had much hope in her parents, but she’d had hope in Ingrid. That part of you clung to the idea that Ingrid could still make everything better, like she had when you were small. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t let go of that hope. 

It crushed you, time and time again, when Ingrid yelled at you, or frowned at a bad grade, or sent you to your room for being a few minutes past curfew, without even letting you explain why you’d been late [there’d been a turtle in the road on your walk from the climbing gym, and it had taken 5 minutes you didn’t have to make sure it got across safely]. When she’d sigh after another weekend passed, and you remained locked in your room. When she’d tell you to just try harder. At speaking Spanish, at making friends, at school. 

You didn’t have anything left to give. All of your energy was spent dragging yourself out of bed. Why couldn’t she see that? Growing up, it had felt like Ingrid had been the only one to see you. Now, though, she was just like everyone else. She saw what your parents saw, you decided. Someone who just wasn’t worth it. 

Ingrid had always loved you. Even when it was hard to believe that your parents did, Ingrid always told you she loved you. She hadn’t said it in a while, though. You hadn’t heard from your Mamma in weeks, the last text you’d gotten from your Pappa had been scolding you for spending too much money. [You’d bought Ingrid a birthday present, but he made you return it before you could give it to her]. 

Maybe you just weren’t someone who could be loved. You rolled onto your side, covering your ears to block out the sound of Ingrid’s loud laughter at something Mapi had said. Tears dripped off your face, and you wished you were 7 again, burying your face in your sister’s shoulder and knowing that as long as she had you, you’d be okay. That was back when she loved you, though. You were pretty sure she didn’t anymore. How could she? When all you did was screw up, who could love someone like you? 

You weren’t 7 anymore, you were 17, and you were all alone. In a house hundreds of miles away from home, with your sister who you felt like you barely knew anymore. All alone. You were beginning to think that was all you’d ever be. Alone. 

You didn’t know a lot of things, though. You didn’t know about the book shoved under Ingrid’s pillow, about troubled teens. You didn’t know that she’d stand in your doorway sometimes, just watching you sleep. Enjoying that, at least while resting, you didn’t frown. 

You didn’t know your Pappa picked up the phone often, but never called, feeling like he’d created a gap he wasn’t sure he could ever fix. Didn’t know that sometimes your Mamma slept in your bed, remembering the small child that had once smelled of syrup and brought her flowers from the garden. 

You didn’t know that Mapi stayed up late at night, duolingo open on her phone, hoping that maybe speaking a language you understood would make you feel more at home. 

You didn’t know that Ingrid loved you more than her heart could take, sometimes, and that she was just doing what she thought would work. She didn’t realize you didn’t need discipline, that you just needed a support system. 

Things would improve, but you didn’t know that. As you sobbed into your pillow, you were pretty sure you’d always feel like this; unloved and completely alone. 

[monsterfuckerconfessions]

You are the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; when a mix of common folk and soldiers drag you from your bed you are already resigned to whatever fate they have chosen for you. You are dragged out in your sheer silk nightwear and forced to your knees in the mud of the main road. Glancing up you see the figures opposite, the enemy, the great hulking orcs your husband angered. Above you, you hear frantic talking - frantic, useless. None of you speak their tongue.

Finally, in desperation, you crawl forward and bow your head, pulling your hair aside to bare your neck. Surely that cannot be misunderstood. You are willing to give your life for peace. The townspeople are hardly going to let you live either way.

(You are the chieftain of an orc clan reluctantly drawn into this skirmish as a matter of honour, and when the humans drag out a small, helpless one of their own and offer it you hesitate. It is dressed in silk and wears jewels at its neck and throat, which means it is important. As grotesque as the practice is to you, your sense of pride, you know they often exchange hostages between themselves. You glance at your second, who visibly rolls her eyes but nods. Any excuse to go home.)

The orcs do not kill you there and then, but take you; you cannot tell yet if that is a mercy or a misfortune. You are bound at the wrists and ankles and flung over an orc soldier's shoulder like a sack of grain, and passed between many of them during the journey. In their own language they joke and laugh as they pass you over, sometimes pinching at the bare skin of your thigh where your clothes have hitched up.

At their camp you are deposited in the tent of the chieftain. You have heard rumours of what they do with captives, and between being ravaged until broken or eaten alive you do not know what to hope for. You merely lie there, limp and trembling slightly, until you hear the sound of someone entering. The hulking orc chieftain looks at you, tusked face unreadable, then drags you upright by a fistful of your hair to briefly press a flask to your lips. When you have gulped nearly all the water he drops you, grunts and leaves. He does not return to the tent the entire night. You know this, because the low buzzing terror in the back of your mind doesn't let you sleep.

(You hardly know what to do with the little thing. Your comrades say it is easy to carry but odd, it is full grown by the look of it but doesn't struggle at all or even try to bargain in its babbling little language. Maybe it is unwell. You order it placed in your tent and give it water yourself, but it shows no more signs of life, dull-eyed and staring at nothing. You decide to let it sleep and go back outside to drink until you pass out under the stars and the warm summer skies.)

On the second night you are taken to a river before camp, and following the example of those around you, you wash yourself; as you return to the riverbank you find your clothes gone. The orcs watch you, even the smallest of them half-again your size. You swallow your fear and walk naked back to the chieftain's tent. Once there you lower yourself to your hands and knees on the bedroll, bare skin still damp from the water. You cannot stop him from taking you, but perhaps it will hurt less or be over faster if you comply.

The orcs chieftain makes a brief, almost hissing sound at the sight of you, but does not leave this time. Their hand brushes across your back and you can feel their claws retracting. They touch and inspect you like a prize hound and you keep your eyes to the ground, tears of shame welling up. Then he presses two large, blunt fingers inside you, and you brace yourself. He fingerfucks you lazily for a minute or so before suddenly growling something you don't understand and turning you on your back, so you scramble to reposition yourself and hold your legs wide. He cradles your face in both his hands as he slowly sinks his swollen cock into you, larger than you think you could ever take and stretching you painfully yet unable to look away from his face. Your husband used to force you to look at him like this only when he wanted to watch you cry, so you brace yourself for the firm hold to turn into hard slaps that leave your ears ringing.

(The little thing washes with the others and you are approaching the tent with an armful of fabric in what you hope is close to their size when you are hit with the unexpected sight of them uncovered in your tent, positioned as any orc begging to be bred would be. You have to smother a gasp and restrain yourself; it has been too long, and little thing's fragile shape and delicate features are somehow all the more appealing for their strangeness. But you were raised well, taught that all parties must agree before partners bed each other; you don't know their tongue to ask them. You seek permission from their body language instead, first touching their back, the curve of their ass and leg, then with tentative fingers in their soft tight little hole. They do not flinch or try to flee, and they wetten for your fingers. Surely you can continue? Forgetting yourself you ask out loud.)

You wait to be hit. It doesn't happen. You wait to used rough and hurt inside; it doesn't happen either.

The looming figure of the great orc warrior above you moves with an almost incongruous care, pressing into you slowly and then simply resting there until your body becomes accustomed enough to his huge cock that he can start to move without tearing you. It's almost as if his gaze on your face is tracking the small hitched breaths or softening of your expression to know when he can begin to carefully thrust. Yet that makes no sense to you. Men have never used you so gentle, why would a savage orc do so?

He is big enough it does hurt some little but that sensation is soon overwhelmed by another, unfamiliar and disorienting; a low heat building your abdomen, a curl of pleasure that makes you whimper. Another growl comes in response, so you try to quieten, but his expression - it is so hard to read, so different, but he does not look angry.

(You are confused and troubled, but the tight heat of the little thing is so perfect around your cock. They are acting like a new prospective mate, taking your body like a mate would, but when you watch their face to try and find the answers you'd normally seek out loud there is something missing. You fuck them very gently, as such delicate pretty things should be treated, and forget yourself enough to apologise out loud when they whimper. You promise them in words they don't know that you want to make them feel good, you will stop if they struggle even once, that they are safe with you.)

The orc chief finishes with a single deep thrust and you can feel your abdomen swell with how filled you are, a little of their cum already beginning to leak down your thighs. He pulls away and you instinctively curl in on yourself, protective - the sound he makes in response is urgent but more distressed than angry. He paws at you to uncurl, look at him again; as you tilt your face up and force your body to relax he huffs and lowers his great head between your legs. Before you can even process it his rough tongue is on you, and you can feel the smooth dangerous weight of his tusks against your inner thighs. The rush of banked pleasure is equally unexpected, as he coaxes a climax from you that leaves you shaking. Afterward you are gathered up like a doll in his arms, and for the first time in three days actually believe you may be safe. Very, very, tentatively, you reach for his face and pause halfway in question.

(The little thing flinches only afterwards, but it does flinch and you immediately fight back a rush of guilt and worry. Rank be damned, the clan will not stand for taking any person unwilling, even a human one. You try to comfort them with small touches, check their face for signs of what's wrong. They are unreadable. You check between their legs and can tell they did not quite find pleasure yet, so quickly duck your head to correct it. Perhaps that is what was wrong, because when their body responds they do not flinch away from being held close. They even reach for your face, and after you nod encouragingly they trace their tiny fingers over the ridges of your skin and kiss nervously at the smooth curve of your tusk. You thrill, but say nothing; maybe they have no idea what an intimate gesture that is. You just happily nestle close.)

You were the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; now, it seems, you are claimed by the warrior chief who bested him and the bedmate of a mighty orc who is gentler with you than said husband ever was and - slightly endearingly - buries his face in the crook of your neck with a low rumbling sound not unlike a purr when sleepy and post-coital.

.

[gublersquill]

To love and be loved by me

Spencer x BAU Reader

Reader spends Valentine's Day alone after Spencer is called out on a case but doesn't tell her.

AN: Hey Loves <3 its been a while im trying to get writing more before i start uni so i could love any requests and feedback.

Ahh I just found out that he read this poem on spotify it’s one of my favourites!!! Linked below <3

TW: Angst. The reader is self-conscious, overthinking, and struggles with insecurity about her looks.

WC: 0.9K

The cloth scrapes across your face, smudging the mascara lines over your cheeks. You throw it aside, leaning on your palms as they press against the porcelain of the sink. Your face hovers over the basin, tears splattering against the alabaster surface.

You shuffle out of the bathroom, curling into a ball on your shared bed. Cold. It was always cold now when you slept—no soft hands tracing circles into your skin, no one there to hold you, to pull you away from the rest of the world, to whisper how much you mean.

Instead, you wrap your arms around yourself, burying your face in your sweater, trying to fight off the tears. You should have expected this—you just dared to hope that, for once, it would be different. That maybe, this time, he would finally stop trying to save everyone else and start trying to save you.

And you know you don’t need saving, You can handle yourself.

But it was just so nice to lean on someone. That had always been one of your favorite things about Spencer—how much he cared, how he always seemed to know exactly what you needed.

Well, he used to.

The book, wrapped in brown paper, sits abandoned on the marble counter. Beside it, your bag rests haphazardly, the metal strap dangling off the edge. It had taken hours of scouring bookstores to find something that felt just right, something that truly fit.

And then, there it was. Sitting in the barely lit corner of a second-hand bookstore, the soft brown leather cover was both worn and inviting. When you opened it, you found a message scrawled on the inside cover:

"With a love that the wingèd seraphs of HeavenCoveted her and me.To my beloved Lillian."

It was perfect. That poem—the one Spencer would recite to guide you into a soft, dreamless sleep.

After buying the book, you added your own note beneath:

"And this maiden she lived with no other thought,Than to love and be loved by me.To my beloved Spencer,Who showed me that love was all around us ."

You huff, sitting up in bed and checking your messages again. It wasn’t as if this was a big deal anyway. You’d always resented Valentine’s Day—the excess of it all made you feel sick to your stomach. But he had always made it special.

You had grown to understand the goofy smiles and the boxed chocolates. One year, he’d shown up at your apartment with a bottle of wine and a leather-bound copy of To the Lighthouse in his hands. He had smiled, so effortlessly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “I saw it and thought of you,” he’d said softly, his fingers brushing against yours as he handed you the leather-bound book. “I know it’s your favorite.”

You had welcomed him in, and the evening unfolded like magic—sometimes quite literally, as he laughed while pulling the bottle opener from behind your ear. The two of you talked about everything and nothing, sharing greasy takeout and sipping wine. When the night finally came to an end, you fell asleep together, wrapped in his arms, with no idea where you ended and he began.

This is what you think about as you lie in bed alone. It feels silly to be so upset over something so trivial. 

What was it Spencer had said about crimes increasing over the holidays? But he’d promised it would never happen again.

You still remember the sting of that empty seat across from you, the waitress’s pitying glance as you paid for the wine he never showed up to share.

Spencer had of course apologized profusely the next morning—something about a sadistic narcissist. You’d forgiven him. 

 But it just kept happening.

Silence and darkness always unearthed the thoughts you tried so hard to bury. Thoughts that slither into your mind on nights like these. You pull the blanket up to your chin, shivering.

Thoughts of him—his voice, the way his lips curl into a smile—are crowded with others. Was he sitting in a meeting room somewhere, his phone set to silent. You can almost picture him, gesturing with his hands, laughing at something Emily had said.

She is stunning. Her soft brown eyes are the first thing you see in your mind. You trace the features of her face—her elegant nose leading down to those perfectly shaped Cupid’s bow lips.

Is he looking at her right now? Spending Valentine's Day working with his beautiful colleague? Is he sitting too close? Can she smell the cologne you carefully picked out for him to wear today? Your throat aches at the thought.

It’s wrong to think like this—you know that. You know him, sometimes better than he does. It’s selfish. It must be selfish. You think you should have more trust in him.

But then again, maybe you are right to feel upset. Maybe you’re not being oversensitive. Maybe he just didn’t think.

It’s physically impossible for him to forget your plans. That thought does nothing but twist the knots in your stomach tighter.

You sigh, rolling onto your side, looking over at the empty space next to you and pulling the blanket tighter. You push those thoughts away as you start to whisper to yourself.

"And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee."

[dreamersworldduh]

Hi! Do you have the requests open? If so I would like to ask maybe something about tim drake x male reader. Nothing very special, maybe the reader is a Kryptonian and also has a "hate/rivalry" relationship with him, That once the reader is seriously injured by kryptonite and Tim worries and takes care of him day and night while the reader recovers. I don't know, I think it would be interesting to see that, besides you write amazingly and it would be even cooler, there could even be a mini-series lol. Well I hope you manage to do it, if not, Well, I'll understand it anyway, I hope to continue reading your stories soon (I love Damian's story) 🥰🥰🥰

THORN IN HIS SIDE

• TIM DRAKE x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — Tim Drake, the focused leader of the Teen Titans, managed the unique strengths and challenges of his team. Each member, like Cassie, Raven, Starfire, and Beast Boy, contributed in their own way. Tim thrived on structure, carefully crafting strategies while keeping the team in line. However, one member, you, constantly tested his patience and disrupted his plans. Unlike Tim, you relied on instinct and preferred spontaneous actions. Though you weren't incapable, your unpredictable methods frustrated him. Your confidence and charisma rallied the team, making Tim feel as if he was competing for their loyalty. Despite his annoyance, Tim recognized your invaluable contributions, often leading to fresh ideas and inspiring others. In his heart, he was grateful for your influence on the Titans.

WARNING! FLUFF! Violence.

WORDS! 6.3k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Thank you for your request and your support! Much love 🫶🏽 I hope you enjoy 😉✨

Y/N, a Kryptonian sharing the same alien heritage as Superman, never imagined the life he now lived. Rescued as a child from Krypton's destruction, his abilities rivaled the immense power of the Man of Steel, yet they remained raw and untamed. For years, he worked as Superman's protégé, absorbing the lessons of heroism under the unwavering gaze of Earth's greatest champion. While Y/N admired his mentor, he constantly battled with the daunting weight of expectation, struggling to carve out his own identity in the shadow of a living legend.

Amid this journey, Y/N's journey caught the eye of Wonder Girl, a rising star in the superhero world and a key figure in the Teen Titans. She saw something unique in him—a mix of vulnerability and raw strength that reminded her of what it meant to be young, powerful, and searching for purpose. To her, Y/N wasn't just another Kryptonian powerhouse; he was someone with untapped potential and a soul yearning for connection. Wonder Girl believed Y/N could bring something extraordinary to the Titans, a team that embodied the perfect balance between family and fighting force.

One day, Wonder Girl approached Y/N with an invitation that would change the trajectory of his life. She spoke with conviction about the Titans—how they weren't just a team but a close-knit family that thrived on mutual support and understanding. She described the camaraderie, the thrill of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with peers who understood the burden of extraordinary abilities, and the chance for Y/N to grow beyond the long shadow of Superman. Though hesitant at first, Y/N was intrigued. After much thought, he accepted the offer, yearning for a fresh start and the opportunity to prove himself.

Joining the Titans felt like stepping into a new world. The team welcomed him warmly, their diverse personalities forming a vibrant and chaotic tapestry of young heroism. Beast Boy wasted no time cracking jokes to break the ice, while Starfire's infectious enthusiasm made Y/N feel immediately at home. Even Raven, with her enigmatic demeanor, offered a quiet nod of approval. Missions with the team were exhilarating, pushing Y/N to adapt quickly as he realized just how much his Kryptonian powers could contribute. Yet, not everything was seamless, especially when he met the Titans' leader, Tim Drake.

Tim, the third Robin and a tactical genius, was the polar opposite of Y/N. Where Y/N relied on instinct and raw power, Tim was meticulous, deliberate, and calculated. From the moment they met, their personalities clashed like oil and water. Strategy meetings became arenas for subtle confrontations; Y/N often suggested daring, high-risk plans fueled by his confidence in his abilities, while Tim meticulously picked apart every flaw in his proposals. Tim's cold, analytical tone grated on Y/N's nerves, and Y/N's impulsive nature frustrated Tim to no end.

Their friction extended to the battlefield. Y/N's instinct to leap headfirst into danger often disrupted Tim's carefully laid plans. While his intentions were always noble—saving teammates, defusing threats before they escalated—Tim saw his actions as reckless, a disregard for the chain of command. Meanwhile, Y/N bristled at what he perceived as Tim's unwillingness to trust his instincts or acknowledge his contributions. The tension simmered, turning every mission into a secondary battleground between them.

For the rest of the team, the dynamic was impossible to ignore. Beast Boy jokingly referred to them as "frenemies," though the underlying tension was no laughing matter. Starfire tried to mediate with her boundless optimism, while Raven remained characteristically silent, though her raised brow often betrayed her amusement at their constant bickering. Despite the volatility, neither Y/N nor Tim could deny the other's strengths. Y/N couldn't help but respect Tim's brilliance, even if he found his rigid demeanor insufferable. Likewise, Tim begrudgingly acknowledged—if only to himself—that Y/N's raw power and instincts had saved the team more times than he cared to admit.

Their relationship became a powder keg of competition and unspoken respect. Y/N pushed Tim to loosen his grip on control, while Tim forced Y/N to think before acting. Each encounter between them was a battle of wills, with the team holding their breath to see whether the two would eventually find common ground—or explode into an all-out clash. One thing was certain: their rivalry, however tense, was driving them both to new heights. Whether it would ultimately end in mutual respect or irrevocable division was a question only time would answer.

Tim leaned against the counter in the Titans Tower common area, a steaming cup of coffee in hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the scene outside. The sprawling lawn just beyond the glass windows was alive with activity, the sounds of laughter and playful banter filtering faintly through the thick panes. Y/N was at the center of it, locked in an impromptu game of tag with Superboy and Beast Boy. The grin on his face was wide and unapologetically mischievous as he blurred across the lawn with Kryptonian speed, effortlessly dodging Beast Boy, who had taken on the sleek, feathered form of a falcon.

Hovering nearby, Superboy—arms crossed and a smirk tugging at his lips—watched the spectacle with amusement. "Really, Y/N? That's the best you've got? You call that fast?" Conner teased, his tone full of mock arrogance.

Y/N laughed, his voice bright and unrestrained. "Faster than you, Conner. Want me to prove it?" He suddenly shot upward, hovering in the air just long enough to taunt his feathered pursuer. "Come on, bird-boy, step it up!"

Beast Boy swooped low in an attempt to tag Y/N, only for the Kryptonian to spin out of his reach at the last moment, landing gracefully on the grass below. The crunch of his boots barely registered before he was off again, the game picking up in intensity.

Inside, Tim's jaw tightened as he watched the carefree display. He brought his coffee mug to his lips, taking a deliberate sip as his eyes narrowed. To Tim, this wasn't just harmless fun; it was yet another example of Y/N's irresponsibility, his refusal to take anything seriously. The longer Tim watched, the more his irritation simmered until it became impossible to ignore. He turned away abruptly, setting his mug down on the counter with a little too much force.

Cassie Sandsmark, lounging lazily on the nearby couch with her legs draped over one armrest and her phone in hand, caught the telltale signs of Tim's brewing frustration. She didn't even bother looking up as she spoke. "Okay, Tim. Just say it. You're dying to rant."

Tim shot her a look before pacing a few steps across the room, his agitation evident. "You want to know what drives me crazy, Cassie? That." He jabbed a finger toward the window, where Y/N had just tackled Conner, both of them laughing as they rolled onto the grass.

Cassie arched an eyebrow, finally setting her phone down as her curiosity got the better of her. "What, exactly, is 'that'? Two Kryptonians having fun? Beast Boy living his best animal life? Or the fact that you can't relate to any of it?"

"It's not about the goofing off," Tim snapped, though the sharpness in his voice betrayed him. "It's about Y/N. He's impossible, Cassie. Ever since he joined this team, he's been nothing but a headache. He doesn't follow orders. He doesn't respect plans. He just... does whatever he wants! Like the rest of us are just here to clean up after him."

Cassie leaned forward, her interest piqued. "Come on, Tim. Y/N's not that bad. He's just... spirited. Like you were when you started. And—"

"Don't compare him to me," Tim interrupted, his voice tight with irritation. "When I started, I knew how to follow orders. I wasn't out there flying around, heat vision blazing, acting like I could solve everything on my own."

Cassie tilted her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "No, Tim, you were just dressing up in green tights and trying to keep up with Batman. Totally different."

Tim ignored the jab, continuing his tirade as he gestured toward the window. "Look at Conner. He's Kryptonian too. But do you see him acting like that? No. Conner listens. He works with the team. He doesn't treat this like it's some kind of playground."

Cassie let out a short laugh as she stood, stretching her arms above her head. "Tim, Conner used to wear leather jackets and call himself Superman 2.0. And you think Y/N's cocky?"

Tim rolled his eyes but pressed on, undeterred. "At least Conner's grown up. He's reliable. Y/N? He's all ego. He thinks just because he's Kryptonian, he doesn't have to follow the rules."

Cassie crossed her arms and stepped closer, her tone growing serious. "Or maybe you just don't like him because he's not you, Tim. Y/N challenges you. And let's be honest—you don't like being challenged."

Tim opened his mouth to argue but faltered, his expression darkening as he turned his gaze back to the window. Outside, Y/N had picked up Beast Boy—now in the form of a small, squirming cat—and was holding him aloft while laughing. Conner stood nearby, shaking his head in mock disapproval but clearly enjoying himself.

"I don't know, Cassie," Tim admitted finally, his voice quieter. "He's just... exhausting. A pain."

Cassie's expression softened, and she reached out to clap him on the shoulder. "He's your pain, Tim. And whether you like it or not, he's part of this team now. You'll figure it out. You always do."

With that, she turned and left, leaving Tim alone with his thoughts. His eyes lingered on the scene outside, a mix of frustration and reluctant curiosity swirling in his mind. For all of Y/N's recklessness, there was something about him that Tim couldn't quite dismiss. Whether it was admiration or simply annoyance, Tim wasn't sure. But one thing was certain—this wasn't the last time Y/N would challenge everything Tim thought he knew about leadership.

The Teen Titans gathered in the dimly lit briefing room, the usual buzz of camaraderie replaced by a suffocating tension. Conner had been missing for three days after not returning from a mission. His disappearance felt like a gaping hole in the team's core, but for Tim, it was personal. Conner wasn't just a teammate—he was his best friend, his brother. The loss was a wound, raw and urgent, that spurred Tim into overdrive. He had spent every waking moment combing through leads, piecing together fragments of evidence. Now, he stood before the team, every detail meticulously prepared, determined not to fail.

The holographic display of a sprawling research facility flickered to life above the central console, casting a blue glow over the somber faces of the Titans. Seated around the table, Wonder Girl, Starfire, Beast Boy, Raven, and Y/N studied the image. Each wore expressions of determination laced with unease. Even Starfire's usual warmth seemed dimmed under the weight of the situation.

Tim stood at the head of the table, his posture rigid and his voice steady as he began. "This is where they're holding Conner. A black-site research facility just outside Metropolis. No name, no public record, but the tech they're using? It's advanced. Advanced enough to take down a Kryptonian." His jaw tightened. "We don't have time to figure out who's backing them or why. The only thing that matters is getting Conner back—alive."

He tapped a control panel, and the hologram zoomed in on the facility's layout, revealing a labyrinth of corridors, fortified walls, and clusters of patrol patterns. "I've analyzed their defenses. Armed guards, surveillance drones, motion detectors. They've planned for intrusions, which means they'll be ready for us. But they've also made mistakes." He pointed to a section of the hologram. "These are their weak points. Here's the plan."

The room grew quieter as Tim's voice took on its characteristic precision. "Cassie, Starfire, Beast Boy—you'll approach from the north. Cause a distraction. Loud and chaotic. Make them think it's a full assault." Cassie nodded firmly, her fingers gripping the hilt of her lasso. Starfire's green eyes glimmered with a determined light, and Beast Boy gave a quick thumbs-up, his usual humor replaced by grim resolve.

Tim continued. "Meanwhile, Raven, Y/N, and I will infiltrate from the south wing." He gestured to a series of ventilation shafts and maintenance access points. "This area is less guarded, but not by much. Once inside, we'll head straight for the central lab. That's where they're likely keeping Conner. We regroup there, neutralize any threats, and get him out. Quick, clean, no unnecessary risks."

The team nodded along, their trust in Tim's leadership evident. All except Y/N, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his brow furrowed. His instincts, honed by his Kryptonian heritage and countless battles, often clashed with Tim's rigid, calculated strategies. Now was no different. He stared at the hologram, skepticism etched across his face.

Tim noticed and locked eyes with him, his tone sharpening. "And Y/N," he said, his voice cutting through the room, "I need you to follow the plan. Exactly as I've laid it out."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "You don't trust me? Is that it?"

Tim didn't waver, his gaze steady and unyielding. "I trust you to do your job, but your impulses are a liability. This mission isn't about showing off or proving anything. It's about Conner's life. If you deviate, if you act on instinct instead of sticking to the plan, you could put him—and all of us—in danger. Do you understand?"

The room fell silent, the tension between the two palpable. Raven glanced between them, her expression unreadable but her fingers twitching faintly, as if bracing for an argument. Cassie shifted in her seat but said nothing, her eyes fixed on Y/N. Even Beast Boy, usually quick with a quip, seemed to hold his breath.

Y/N's jaw tightened, his pride clearly bruised, but after a long pause, he gave a curt nod. "Fine. I'll follow the plan."

Tim didn't blink, didn't soften. He simply nodded back, turning his attention to the rest of the team. "Good. Then suit up. We leave in an hour."

As the Titans rose from their seats and filed out, Y/N lingered for a moment, his eyes still locked on the hologram of the facility. For all his bravado, a flicker of doubt crossed his face. Not about his abilities—he knew what he could do—but about whether following Tim's plan would be enough to save Conner.

Tim watched him from the corner of his eye but didn't say anything. He turned back to the display, his mind already running through every contingency, every possible failure point. Conner's life depended on this plan. On them. And Tim Drake wasn't about to let anything, or anyone, derail it.

The mission unfolded under the shroud of a moonless night, the Titans moving with practiced precision through the shadows. The air buzzed with tension, every member hyper-focused on their role. At the north entrance, Cassie, Starfire, and Beast Boy launched their diversion with dazzling chaos.

Starfire's energy blasts streaked through the dark like falling stars, each impact erupting in a burst of fiery brilliance that sent guards scrambling. Cassie wielded her golden lasso with an elegance that belied its devastating power, the crackling energy binding and electrocuting adversaries in one swift motion. Meanwhile, Beast Boy transformed into a hulking rhino, his massive form barreling through barricades and scattering enemies like toy soldiers. The cacophony of explosions, shouts, and roaring beasts filled the air, drawing the facility's defenders like moths to a flame.

Miles away, on the south wing, Tim Drake led Y/N and Raven with the precision of a seasoned tactician. Every step was calculated, every movement coordinated. They slipped past surveillance cameras and roving patrols, their presence a ghostly whisper in the heavily guarded corridors. Raven's dark portals shimmered with an otherworldly energy, allowing them to bypass locked doors and heavily reinforced checkpoints. Tim's grappling hook hissed as he secured it to overhead beams, pulling himself up with ease before disabling security systems with a flick of his wrist-mounted device.

Y/N followed close behind, his Kryptonian strength restrained but ready to explode into action at a moment's notice. His senses were on edge, his heightened hearing catching every echo, every distant thrum of machinery. He hated the slow, deliberate pace—every instinct screamed at him to act, to smash through the walls and find Conner. But Tim's voice echoed in his mind: Conner's life is on the line. Recklessness could cost him everything.

Tim paused at a junction, holding up a hand to stop the group. He crouched low, his eyes fixed on the glowing map projected from his wrist-mounted device. "We're close," he whispered. "The central lab is just up ahead. Stay quiet."

Raven nodded, her dark eyes scanning the corridor ahead. Y/N clenched his fists, his impatience mounting. He focused on his breathing, forcing himself to fall in line despite the growing urge to break away.

As they crept forward, a faint sound reached Y/N's ears. He froze mid-step, his head tilting slightly as his enhanced hearing kicked into overdrive. It was a voice—low, muffled, but unmistakable. His heart skipped a beat. He strained to hear more, the sound growing clearer with each passing second. It was Conner. He was sure of it.

Y/N's eyes widened, and he turned sharply toward Tim. "Tim," he whispered, his voice taut with urgency. "I hear him. Conner's down that way." He pointed toward a dimly lit side corridor branching off from their path.

Tim's head snapped toward the corridor, his jaw tightening. "We don't know that for sure," he replied, his tone low but firm. "It could be a trap."

"It's not a trap," Y/N shot back, his voice rising slightly. "I know his voice. It's him."

Tim's expression hardened. "And if it's a recording? A lure? We stick to the plan. The central lab is the target. That's where he's most likely being held."

Y/N's frustration flared, his fists clenching at his sides. "I'm not leaving him behind!" he hissed, his Kryptonian instincts screaming to take action.

"Y/N, stand down," Tim ordered, his voice sharp as steel. "That's an order. We can't afford to—"

But before Tim could finish, Y/N shot down the side corridor in a blur, his Kryptonian speed making it impossible for either Tim or Raven to stop him.

"Y/N!" Tim growled through clenched teeth, activating his comm unit. "Get back here! That's an order!" His voice crackled through the comms, but there was no response.

Raven turned her gaze to Tim, her expression unreadable but her tone calm. "Do we follow?"

Tim exhaled sharply, a storm of anger and worry flashing across his face. "No," he said after a moment, his voice tight. "We stick to the plan. If he's right, we'll find Conner. If he's wrong..." He trailed off, his mind already racing through contingencies.

Raven hesitated but nodded, her dark energy swirling faintly around her hands. "Then let's move. The longer we wait, the worse this gets."

Tim glanced down the now-empty corridor where Y/N had disappeared, his jaw tight with frustration. You better be right, Y/N, he thought grimly. With a sharp motion, he gestured for Raven to follow, leading the way toward the central lab.

Y/N followed the faint sound of Conner's voice through a maze of dimly lit corridors, his heart pounding with urgency. Each muffled syllable drew him closer until he arrived at a heavily secured steel door. Without hesitation, he planted his hands on the edges and pushed. The reinforced metal groaned in protest before screeching open under his Kryptonian strength, shards of broken locks clattering to the floor.

The room beyond was dimly lit, bathed in the eerie glow of fluorescent lights reflecting off sleek, metallic surfaces. At the center of the room lay Conner, strapped to a cold, sterile medical table surrounded by intricate machinery humming ominously. Energy bands glowing with a sickly green light pinned his arms and legs in place, the faint pulsation of their glow sapping him of strength.

Y/N's stomach twisted at the sight of his friend. Conner's usually vibrant complexion was ashen, his chest rising and falling weakly. For a moment, all Y/N felt was raw, unfiltered anger—a burning need to tear apart everything and everyone responsible.

"Conner!" he called, stepping further into the room.

The moment his boots hit the floor, his senses prickled. A chill crawled up his spine as an all-too-familiar voice echoed from the shadows.

"Well, well," the voice drawled, smooth and venomous. "If it isn't Superman's understudy."

Y/N's head snapped toward the corner of the room, and Lex Luthor emerged from the shadows, his sharp suit immaculate and his calculating smirk razor-sharp. In his hand, a small shard of Kryptonite glowed menacingly, its green hue casting ghostly shadows across his face.

"Did you really think you could storm in here unchallenged?" Lex said, his tone dripping with mockery. "You Kryptonians are so predictable. Always so... impulsive."

Y/N gritted his teeth, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. The nausea from the Kryptonite's presence gnawed at his insides, but he forced himself to stay focused. His eyes flicked between Conner's prone form and Lex, weighing his options.

"Let him go," Y/N growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Lex's smirk deepened. "Oh, I don't think so. Conner here is... special. A masterpiece, really. A perfect blend of Kryptonian and human DNA. And you? You're just another reckless child playing dress-up."

Y/N didn't wait for Lex to finish. He surged forward, pushing through the Kryptonite's weakening effects as his singular focus honed in on Conner. Reaching the table, he grabbed the glowing restraints and ripped them apart with a burst of raw strength. Sparks flew, and the machinery around him sparked and whined in protest.

"Y/N..." Conner mumbled weakly, his eyelids fluttering open. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. "You shouldn't... be here."

"Save it," Y/N said, gently helping him off the table. "We're getting out of here."

But before they could move, a sharp click echoed through the room. Y/N turned just in time to see Lex pull out a sleek pistol, its barrel glowing faintly green. His eyes widened in realization, but the Kryptonite in his system dulled his reflexes.

Lex fired. The Kryptonite bullet struck Y/N in the side, the pain exploding through his body like liquid fire. He staggered, his knees hitting the floor as a strangled cry escaped his lips. His vision blurred, and every breath felt like shards of glass slicing through his lungs.

"Foolish," Lex sneered, stepping closer, his weapon trained on Y/N's chest. "You Kryptonians are all the same—fragile in the face of real power. And you've made this far too easy."

Y/N fought to stay upright, clutching his side as blood seeped through his fingers. The room spun, but his focus remained on Conner, who was still too weak to fight.

Lex smirked, raising the gun. "Goodbye, boy."

Before he could pull the trigger, a golden blast of energy tore through the air, knocking the weapon from Lex's hand. He stumbled back in shock as the Titans burst into the room.

Starfire's glowing fists lit up the space like twin suns as she launched another energy blast, forcing Lex to retreat further. "Step away from them!" she commanded, her voice ringing with authority.

Wonder Girl charged in next, her lasso of lightning crackling with raw power. "You're done, Luthor!" she shouted, her eyes blazing with determination.

Behind them, Raven's dark magic filled the room, swirling around Y/N and Conner like a protective cocoon. Shadows danced across the walls as she focused her energy on shielding them from further harm.

Lex scowled, his perfect composure cracking. He glanced between the advancing Titans and the exit, weighing his options. "This isn't over," he hissed, retreating toward a hidden door at the far end of the room. With the press of a button on his wrist, a metallic door slid open, and he disappeared into the shadows.

"Coward," Cassie muttered, already turning her attention to Y/N.

The room fell silent except for the hum of dying machinery and Y/N's labored breaths. Tim was the first to reach him, dropping to his knees beside his teammate. Blood pooled around Y/N's side, the Kryptonite bullet still embedded in his flesh. His skin was pale, and his breathing shallow.

"Y/N," Tim said urgently, his voice steadier than the panic in his eyes. "Stay with me. We'll get you out of here."

"I'm fine," Y/N muttered weakly, though the strain in his voice betrayed him. "Get Conner out first."

"Stop talking," Tim snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. He pulled a small medkit from his utility belt, his hands moving with practiced precision. "You're not fine. That bullet is still in you."

Raven knelt beside him, her hands glowing with dark energy. "I can slow the effects," she said calmly, though her expression was tense. "But we need to get him back to the Tower. Fast."

Conner, still leaning heavily on Cassie for support, looked at Y/N with a mix of guilt and gratitude. "Y/N... I'm sorry. I never should've—"

"Don't," Y/N interrupted, forcing a faint smile despite the pain. "You'd do the same for me, Kon."

Tim's jaw tightened as he helped lift Y/N to his feet, his earlier frustration giving way to something softer. "We'll talk about your reckless decisions later," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "Right now, let's get you out of here."

With the team covering their retreat, the Titans made their way out of the facility, battered but victorious. Y/N, barely conscious, leaned on Tim as they moved. For all the annoyance and tension between them, Tim couldn't shake the thought that losing Y/N wasn't an option he was willing to consider. Not now. Not ever.

Tim stood just outside the medbay of Titans Tower, his shoulders stiff and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his utility belt. He leaned against the wall, his eyes locked on the scene inside. Y/N lay unconscious on the operating table, his normally vibrant complexion pale and lifeless. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, the glow of Kryptonite-removal equipment casting an unsettling green light over the room. Cyborg was hunched over Y/N, his mechanical fingers moving with the kind of precision only he could manage, carefully extracting every trace of the deadly Kryptonite bullet from the Kryptonian's body.

Tim's jaw tightened as he watched, his mind a storm of emotions he couldn't control. Worry. Frustration. Guilt. He was used to pressure, to life-or-death situations, but this felt different. Y/N wasn't just another teammate—he was family. And now, all Tim could do was stand there, helpless, as Cyborg worked to save him.

The sound of footsteps behind him pulled Tim from his spiraling thoughts. He turned to see Conner Kent approaching, still visibly drained from his own ordeal. The usually confident Superboy leaned against the doorway for support, his face etched with guilt and worry.

"How's he doing?" Conner asked, his voice quiet but heavy.

Tim exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Cyborg's got the bullet out, but the Kryptonite poisoned his system. It's going to take time for his body to recover. He's stable... for now." Though Tim's tone was measured, there was no mistaking the tightness in his voice.

Conner's gaze shifted to Y/N, lying motionless on the table. His fists clenched at his sides. "He saved me," he said after a moment, his voice thick with guilt. "If he hadn't come after me... if he hadn't—"

"He shouldn't have had to," Tim interrupted, sharper than he intended. Conner flinched at the words, but Tim didn't stop. "None of this should've happened."

Tim sighed, leaning back against the wall as his anger ebbed, replaced by exhaustion. He crossed his arms, staring down at the floor. "I told him to stick to the plan," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "I begged him to stick to the plan. But no—Y/N being Y/N, he had to go charging in like a hero."

Conner straightened slightly, his guilt replaced by a flicker of defiance. "He is a hero, Tim. He saved me."

Tim looked up, his eyes narrowing. "And he almost got himself killed doing it. Do you even realize how reckless that was? He ran off without backup, straight into a trap set by Lex Luthor! He got lucky this time, Conner. But what about next time? What happens if he doesn't make it out?"

Conner's jaw tightened, his voice low but firm. "You think I wanted him to get hurt for me? I didn't. But he did what he had to do. Just like you would've."

Tim opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself, the words catching in his throat. He stared at Conner, frustration and understanding warring in his expression. Finally, he leaned back against the wall, running a hand over his face.

"He drives me crazy," Tim admitted, his voice softer now. "He's reckless. Impulsive. Half the time it feels like he's actively trying to make me lose my mind. But he's also... brave. He cares about this team, about the people he's fighting for, more than anything else. And yeah, he saved your life tonight. I respect him for that."

Conner's expression softened, and for a moment, the two of them stood in silence, their gazes drawn to Y/N. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors filled the quiet, a small reassurance that their friend was still fighting.

Finally, Cyborg stepped out of the medbay, pulling off his surgical gloves. He looked exhausted but satisfied as he addressed them. "He's gonna be okay," Cyborg said, his voice steady. "I got all the Kryptonite out, and his system's stabilizing. He's not out of the woods yet, but with rest and some time, he'll make a full recovery."

Tim exhaled sharply, relief flooding through him. "Thanks, Vic," he said quietly, his voice carrying more emotion than he intended.

Cyborg nodded, offering them a reassuring smile before heading down the hall. Conner leaned heavily against the doorframe, his shoulders sagging with relief. Tim, meanwhile, stayed rooted in place, his eyes never leaving Y/N.

"You should tell him that," Conner said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Tim glanced at him, frowning. "Tell him what?"

Conner smirked faintly. "All that stuff about respecting him. You know, before you start chewing him out for breaking the plan again."

Tim rolled his eyes, though a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I'll think about it."

They stood there for a moment longer, watching as Y/N's chest rose and fell with steady breaths. The tension that had gripped the Tower for hours was finally beginning to ease, replaced by the quiet strength of their bond. For all their arguments, all the mistakes and risks, they were a team. And in that moment, Tim knew one thing for certain: he'd fight just as hard for Y/N as Y/N had for Conner.

They would get through this. Together.

The past few days had blurred into a haze of recovery for Y/N. After surviving the mission, the Kryptonite wound, and the chaos of Lex Luthor's escape, he was confined to the medbay at Titans Tower. His Kryptonian physiology had worked overtime to heal him, but the lingering effects of Kryptonite poisoning slowed his usual rapid recovery. Every movement sent a dull ache radiating from his side, and exhaustion hung over him like a heavy cloud. He hated feeling vulnerable, trapped in bed while the team moved forward without him.

What Y/N hadn't expected, though, was Tim's constant presence.

Tim wasn't known for his warmth. He was the strategist, the tactician—the one who held the team together with sharp focus and relentless discipline. But since Y/N had stabilized, Tim had been a near-constant fixture in the medbay. Y/N would drift in and out of restless sleep, only to find Tim sitting nearby, flipping through mission reports or scrolling through data on his tablet. At first, Y/N thought it was a coincidence, but by the third day, it was clear: Tim wasn't just checking in; he was hovering.

The morning light filtered dimly through the reinforced windows as Y/N stirred awake, groggy but alert. The soft whoosh of the medbay door opening caught his attention, and he turned his head to see Tim walking in, balancing a tray in one hand and a folder in the other.

"Is that...?" Y/N rasped, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Chicken noodle soup," Tim replied without missing a beat. He set the tray on the bedside table with a practiced ease, as if he'd done this a hundred times before. "Figured you'd be tired of Raven's herbal remedies by now."

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the gesture. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he propped himself up on his elbows, wincing slightly at the motion. "Didn't peg you for the soup-delivery type, Drake."

Tim raised an eyebrow, pulling up a chair and sitting down. "I didn't make it. I'm not a miracle worker," he said, his tone dry. "Picked it up from that diner downtown. Best chicken noodle soup in the city."

Y/N chuckled softly, though the movement made his side throb. "Wow. I didn't know you had a nurturing side. What's next? Tucking me in?"

Tim rolled his eyes but didn't respond to the jab. Instead, he unfolded a napkin and placed it neatly next to the bowl, his movements precise and deliberate. "Eat," he instructed, gesturing toward the tray. "You need to keep your strength up."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, more curious than amused now. "Okay, seriously, what's going on with you? You've been checking on me like clockwork. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it, but... it's a little out of character."

Tim hesitated for a moment, his usual composed demeanor faltering just enough for Y/N to notice. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he met Y/N's gaze. "You almost died," he said bluntly. His voice was even, but the weight behind his words was unmistakable. "And before you give me the 'Kryptonians bounce back' speech, don't. Kryptonite changes everything. We didn't know if you were going to make it, and I—" He stopped himself, glancing away briefly before continuing. "I don't want to go through that again."

Y/N's smirk faded, replaced by a look of quiet surprise. He wasn't used to seeing Tim like this—unguarded. Vulnerable. "Tim, I'm fine," he said, though the words came out softer than he intended. "You don't have to—"

"I'm going to, whether you like it or not," Tim interrupted, his voice firm. "You're not fine yet. And until you are, I'm going to make sure you have what you need. Even if that means... soup."

Y/N studied him for a long moment, the teasing gone from his expression. There was something unspoken in Tim's words, a guilt he hadn't voiced. "You're blaming yourself," Y/N said quietly.

Tim's jaw tightened, and he looked away, staring at the wall as if it held the answers he couldn't give. "If I'd handled the mission better—if I'd planned for Luthor, accounted for the Kryptonite—none of this would've happened."

"That's not on you," Y/N said, his voice firm despite the ache in his side. "I made the choice to go after Conner. Nothing you could've done would've stopped me."

Tim shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. "You shouldn't have had to make that choice. It's my job to keep this team safe, to make sure everyone gets out in one piece. And you—"

"I'm still here," Y/N interrupted, his tone steady. "You did your job, Tim. You got us out. You saved me."

Tim sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly as the tension eased. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to make sure you're okay now."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound carrying more warmth than amusement. "You're stubborn, you know that?"

Tim smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. "Takes one to know one."

The room fell into a comfortable silence. Y/N finally picked up the spoon and took a tentative sip of the soup. It was warm and surprisingly good, a welcome change from the bland nutrient packs he'd been stuck with. He glanced at Tim out of the corner of his eye, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

"You know," Y/N said, his tone light but teasing, "if you keep this up, I might start thinking you actually like me."

Tim scoffed, his smirk widening slightly. "Don't push your luck."

For the rest of the afternoon, Tim stayed by Y/N's side, quietly flipping through mission reports while Y/N finished his soup. It wasn't a grand gesture, and Tim would never make a big deal out of it. But to Y/N, it meant more than words could say. For all of Tim's stoic exterior, his actions spoke volumes. And in that moment, Y/N realized something he hadn't before: Tim Drake cared. In his own stubborn, meticulous way, he cared. And that made all the difference.

[itsnesss]

hwang in-ho x reader fic inspired by prison for life by olivia rodrigo please i have a vision i cant fulfill...

myb lee byung hun x reader either one works !!

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 | hwang in-ho (the frontman) × fem!reader

summary | you feel conflicted about your feelings for hwang in-ho, the owner of the games, fantasizing about him as a protector while dealing with the power dynamics and your own emotional struggles

warnings | mention of violence, psychological manipulation, emotional distress), mentions of power dynamics and control, emotional tension and internal conflict, mild language, fantasy elements (imagining a protector figure)

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

"I'm a feminist, obviously, but I wouldn't really mind him savin' me."

The cold, dark corridors stretch out in front of you as you walk, each step echoing as a reminder of the invisible prison surrounding you. Here, in this place, people play, run for their lives, and die with the hope of escaping. But you know the real prison isn't on the playing field. The real prison is inside you, in the despair that builds with every passing minute. No one can escape this torment. The men and women around you are trapped by the need to survive, but you… you're trapped by something much darker. The soul.

It's not just the need to get out of here that consumes you; it's the lack of something more. Something that makes all this suffering feel like it has a purpose. Something that makes you feel that maybe, just maybe, the control of your destiny is in someone else's hands, someone who could rescue you. Sometimes, you think of him, Hwang In-ho. The man behind all of this, the owner of the games, the one who orchestrates every move from the shadows, never in the center of the chaos. He’s not a participant, he’ll never be, but you wonder if that really makes him any less real.

In this place, where everyone is fighting for their life, he's the one who has the true power. But he doesn’t get involved. He’s not part of the brutality. He’s the spectator, the director, the one who gives the orders from the shadows. You wonder what would happen if he stopped being just a figure in the background. If he were to step out from behind the curtains.

"And I know that I'm fine without a man, but I think I would like his protection."

When you reach the control room, the air feels thicker. You know he’s there, watching everything from his control tower, as he always does. It’s impossible not to notice him, even though he’s always hidden behind the screens and monitors. In-ho controls the fate of everyone who plays, and he does it from a place of absolute power. But he doesn’t participate. He’s never in the middle of the brutality. He’s the one who calls the shots from the shadows. You wonder what would happen if he became something more than just a distant figure.

In that moment, something inside you shifts. It’s not just curiosity. It’s not just the need to understand how all of this works. Something awakens in you that you weren’t expecting. Maybe it’s fear, or maybe it’s hope, but you can’t help but think of him. Of how things would be different if he weren’t just a shadow. Maybe he could rescue you. Maybe you could trust him, even though he’s never shown you anything to prove it. In the end, the idea seems absurd, but you keep walking toward the room with that same sensation you can’t extinguish.

"I'm just bein' honest, can't change what I like. I'll never forget it, he told me one night, 'If anybody hurts you, ha, I'm goin' to prison for life."

When you enter the room, the light from the monitors blinds you for a moment, but you quickly adjust. You see him standing there, his gaze fixed on the screens showing the different games. Hwang In-ho is always present, but never close enough for the players to feel him. He’s the man who controls, who manipulates, but who never gets his hands dirty. He’s not a man who acts; he’s a man who observes. You wonder what would happen if he weren’t just the one pulling the strings.

Finally, you look him in the eyes. He doesn’t flinch, but you do. You wonder if it’s even worth pursuing this fantasy, if you even have the right to expect anything more from him. But for some reason, you can’t help it. There’s something in his presence that makes you think that, if there were an escape, if someone could rescue us, maybe it would be him.

You walk up to him, without thinking too much about it. You’re afraid, but also filled with that absurd hope. In-ho watches you, his eyes cold and calculating. In that moment, the words leave your mouth before you can control them.

"What if, one day, someone gets in your way? What if someone hurts me?" Your voice is low but firm. "Would you really go that far to make them pay?"

In-ho looks at you for a long time, as though he’s measuring every word, every action. Finally, his face remains impassive, but his voice holds a tone you haven’t heard before. There’s something in his words, a touch of sincerity, that makes you feel like, maybe, there’s more to him than just indifference.

"If anyone hurts you, I’ll do what it takes to make sure it never happens again," he replies, his voice deep and calm. "I’m not a man who makes empty promises. And I’m not a hero. But I won’t let them harm you."

Those words hit you unexpectedly. You didn’t expect them. You didn’t expect the man who runs this deadly game to say something that wasn’t calculated, cold, distant. But there they were, showing you a side of him that made you think that maybe there’s more to his attitude than just control. Maybe, just maybe, somewhere deep inside, he cares about something beyond money and power.

"I know it's bad to fantasize about robbers and bad guys, but if he were there to save the day, ha, think I'd let that man marry me."

You think about it while he watches you in silence. You imagine a different future, one where In-ho isn’t the man behind the curtain, but the one who takes you by the hand and tells you everything will be okay. A fantasy, of course. A thought you know has no place in this world, where life is just a game and players have no choice but to survive. But for a moment, you find yourself wishing that he could be more than just the man who controls the rules. Maybe, in this world so distorted, he could be the only one who could offer you just a little bit of what you really need: safety, protection, even if just for a moment.

It’s a silly thought, you know it is. But you can’t help but dream of a future where someone as imposing as him could be your protector, not just a distant observer. And for a second, you find yourself wishing he could be what you can’t be for yourself. Your hero. Your savior.

The thought terrifies you. Not because you need it, but because, in this dark world, you wonder if anyone will ever be able to save the souls trapped here. And if that someone could be him.

"I'm no damsel in distress, no, but I like assertiveness, so. Wrap your arm around me, babe, and tell me that you'll keep me safe."

The fantasy fades into the air, but the feeling lingers that maybe, just maybe, In-ho could be more than just a shadow. Maybe he could be something else. Even if he’s not the hero in fairytales, maybe in this world, he could be the only one capable of offering you a little bit of what you really need: security, protection, even if it’s just for a moment.

And as the silence stretches between the two of you, you wonder if perhaps this prison isn’t just physical. Maybe, in this world, the real prison is the one you create for yourself. And maybe, just maybe, there’s an exit you haven’t considered until now.

[suikung]

Sasuke left his girlfriend pregnant (without him knowing) before leaving the village, and when he returned he found a boy very similar to Itachi.

|Takes place when Sasuke goes back to the village with Orochimaru to revive the previous Hokage

NOT proofread

Alone. The only thing you had felt the months after Sasuke defection from Konoha. Never bothering to see anyone despite your friends constantly coming to check on you. It made no sense to see anyone if they weren’t him. Your life was thrown into a spiral after he had left, which explained not noticing continuous weight gain, and when you did putting it off as over indulgence in comfort food. No matter, you couldn’t put it off for long, not when it came with nausea and missing cycles. A trip to Lady Tsunade confirmed you hadn’t been alone these past months. Sasuke had left you with a piece of himself, one that would change your whole world. “Did he know? Did he do it on purpose?” The only thoughts to occupy your brain the entire pregnancy, a part of you always imagined the three of you as a family. You knew of Sasuke’s goals to restore the Uchiha Clan, so he must of planned this before he left. No matter what you’d take charge of raising your baby into a fine shinobi just like their father. A part of you understanding his desertion, but another anguished he left you in such a state.

It’d been 5 years since he left, in that time you moved on no longer clinging to hope he’d come back. Especially after he joined the Akatsuki and attacked the 5 Kage Summit. There was no reason for you to wish he’d come back and be a present father. You knew now this wasn’t Sasuke’s plan to leave you with a baby, he’d never be so heartless and to leave you pregnant and never once come to check on you. But maybe he was, you knew he wasn’t the same.

His eyes focused on the two moving figures, struggling to take in all the moonlight to ensure he was seeing right. What was below him was a little boy identical to Itachi, the same dark eyes and hair as him. However what set him apart was his distinct nose and mouth shape, a shape from a face he remembered well, the one of the woman standing next to the young boy. He knew it couldn’t have been anyone else but you, how you had changed. Even more beautiful than he remembered you, but what he couldn’t grasp was that little boy next to you. Was he perhaps your younger brother? No, unlikely your parents had you in their 40s, he doubted they’d have another child. “Mama can we go back home now! I’m getting tired.” What did he say….? He had heard right, that boy called you his mother.

“Sasuke what’s wrong, we don’t have much time to be standing still.” Orochimaru broke him out of his shock, he could see the way his vision was trained on you. It peaked Orochimaru’s interest, but they had an urgent matter to attend to.

The war was over. Sasuke was now a changed man who’s heart laid in protecting Konoha, protecting what he had left inside of it. His return to the village was filled with interrogations to make sure he was no threat. In these few days he spent under investigation all he could think about was finding you and the boy. He needed to know the truth. Naruto had come for him on his day of release, a heavily awkward walk back to his apartment. “So how’s everyone?” Sasuke breaking the silence. Naruto nodded looking up as the sky as he continued walking, “Everyone’s been okay. Of course training to get stronger. But I get the feeling you want to know about someone specifically.” Naruto had grown, or maybe it was just written all over Sasuke’s what he wanted to know. “She lives across the Yamanka flower shop, you’ll see it. Her family name is written on the door.” He was gone the second Naruto had finished his sentence.

After everything Sasuke had done, all the people he battled, all those he killed and somehow he could not bring his hand up to knock at your door. He could only close his eyes as he raised his hand to knock three times at your door. Footsteps came down the stairs, small quick ones. “Can I help you sir.” He saw no one in front of him as the door swung open. It was the same boy from before, eyes just like Itachi’s. “I’m looking for you mother, is she home?” The boy was suspicious, some random man just showing asking for his mom. “Yeah she is.” His eyes squinted. “You wait here, I’ll get her for you.” A second later the door was closed with such force Sasuke’s hair was pushed back briefly revealing his rinnegan. Back he was now to playing the waiting game, but he didn’t have to wait long. Footsteps now heavier approached the door, unconsciously Sasuke was doing a mental check of how his appearance looked. The door was opened, his eyes now leveled with someone. The boy was now on your hip, “Mommy this is him, he was asking for you.” It was an eternity spent looking at each other. All you could think to do was put your son down, “Karasu go upstairs and finish your breakfast. Mommy has to talk with this man.” Just like that both of you were left facing each other.

“Is he mine?” He was no man to beat around the bush, even if he, it was killing him inside to know. Expressionless but inside he burned with anticipation, searching for any look of rejection on you face. “The first words in years and this is what you tell me? I’m not even sure how you knew of him. But yes Sasuke he is yours.” God it all made sense now, back in the rescue mission when Sasuke both left, everyone told him how much you needed him but he never realized why. “I see.” He paused. “Karasu huh. He looks just like Itachi. A strong boy I would assume seeing who his mother is.” Something about him testing your son’s name like he had been there the whole time irked you. All this time and he’s saying his name like he personally named him. “Yes well he’s advancing quickly, dear I say I’ve raised him good.” Your words stung. He knew he’d never been there but he was so blinded by revenge and he never knew you were carrying his child before he left the village. Even so a small flame of happiness ignited knowing he began the repopulation of his clan without even knowing.

Lost in his thoughts he failed to notice your retreat from the door. Only when a breeze kicked his face did he realize you closed the door in him. He knew more than anything you didn’t care for him anymore. Didn’t care for him to rejoin the life of your son because all had been well without him, why would you change the dynamic now? He would respect that if he was anyone else, but Sasuke now felt the need to protect Konoha and that meant protecting his family. It wouldn’t take long for him to strike. You’d be crazy to believe he would walk away from this. He had all he had ever wanted in life, a family and he’d be damned if you kept it from him. He would have his perfect family.

He spent the rest of the afternoon going over how he’d do it and where he’d go. There was many perks to being from such a large clan, the most important to him right now was his ability to place anyone under genjutsu and the Uchiha hide outs scattered about the Land of Fire.

Night was the perfect time for all things considered a crime. Breaking and entering and kidnapping would fall under Sasuke was doing right now. How low he’d fallen he thought to himself. He’d start with you first, then move on to Karasu. As he roamed through the halls he could see now all the milestones he missed of his son, all the birthdays, trips, etc. It pained him, but he knew after today he’d be there for anything, he’d never miss any important event in his sons life. It didn’t take long to figure out which room was yours. A mother always kept her door open to reach their baby in time. Now standing over you, he couldn’t help really taking in just how much you’ve grown. Your face matured in way that showed the struggle of being a mother, but of course he couldn’t help noticing how you’d grown in other places. A light sleeper you were so it didn’t take long to feel a presence standing before you. It was common for Karasu to come sleep with you when he’d have night terrors. “Karasu did you have another bad dream baby?” Rising from your pillow expecting to see your soon to embrace him and talk away his fears, except you were met with glowing red eyes. Not able to say anything to him before falling limp into your bed. Next was Karasu, simple enough. He lightly shook him awake to allow him to fall under the genjutsu.

It took a few hours to reach the hideout. It was teetering on the edge on the edge of the Lands of Fire and Sand. A small one it was, placed here to house any Uchiha that need a place to call home on the way from a mission. Using his Susanoo to transport you both took a toll on him. By the time he reached the hide out he was exhausted. However he needed to prepare the place for when he’d release you both. Light dusting, changing of sheets and a few amenities was all Sasuke managed to do both he heard wailing in the other room. It was Karasu, he clung to your body shaking you violently. “Please mom wake up.” How had he managed to break from the genjutsu? Seeing Sasuke in the doorway Karasu stood guard in front of you. “What did you do to my mom!” His face was red and glossy from the tears. Sasuke didn’t know what to do. He only thought to tell the boy the truth.

He made slow cautious steps towards Karasu. “I brought you here both to protect you.” Karasu was even more angry. “We were perfectly fine in the village! Why would a man like you take me and mom! We don’t know you!” Before he could even register his next words, he blurted, “Because I am your father! And it’s my duty to protect you and your mother. Now you’ll stop crying and realize I’m doing this to give you both a better life.” He’d admit his words are harsh, he’s just never been around children. At that moment Sasuke would release you from the genjutsu in hopes to straighten this out with you. It didn’t take long to register what was happening, seeing your soon in front of you in an unknown place and Sasuke only a few feet away. Now it was time for you to stand in front of Karasu.

“I don’t know what sick joke this is Sasuke but you have no right to have brought us.” He stepped closer. “Take us back.” He laughed. “I can’t. I brought you here to be a family. I’m sorry I was away but I’m here now. Please let us be happy together. Karasu needs his father.” In a way he made sense, Karasu had always felt the absence of a father, but you in no way intended to place house with a war criminal. “We have been fine without you and will continue to be.” Why wouldn’t you stop being so selfish and understand him. “Let’s talk please. Listen to me.” You could only think to get your son out of here. “Karasu go outside. I’ll be there soon.” Following your words, he ran past Sasuke and went outside. He wouldn’t leave without you so he’d stay put waiting for you.

The two of you were once again alone. Sasuke closed the door behind him. Every second he took a step towards you. Every second you took one back. The room felt as though it was closing in, temperature riding enough in your thin pajama pants and shirt. “I want us to be a family. I didn’t know you were pregnant when I left. You knew how important restoring my clan is to me. I would have never left alone if I knew.” Eventually there was no more room to back into, a wall now embraced you with its freezing touch, a relief from this situation but a panic setter knowing you couldn’t go anywhere else. “We don’t need you Sasuke. I have no intentions of living a home life with you. We can co-parent to allow you to know your son better but never will I be your house wife.” What a displeasing answer. There was something more sinister now in the way he looked at you. “You’re nothing but a washed up ninja who didn’t go on more than 10 missions. Do you really think you have a say in this? I’ve made it easier for the three of us by bringing you here. Even if you tried you think you could fight me? Understand you are in the inferior position. I will have my family and the restoration of my clan like it or not. You both are now mine to protect and love and your lack of acceptance will not keep me from having my family. Do you understand.” It wasn’t a question, he knew you would understand because you knew you’d never be able to fight against him. He could kill you in any second. Head hung low as to not allow him to see your tears, what could you even say.

Rough hands brought your face closer to his, “I want the best for us. I’ve always loved you, and now you gave me all I’ve needed in life. So please, marry me.” It wasn’t a statement it was a fact. You would be his wife and you would keep intact a perfect home and family.