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reiding-writing · 9 hours ago

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hiyaa, cold reader series is so so amazing i just read it all in one sitting again but i was wondering if you could do one where she's jealous of a woman who starts flirting with spencer on a case maybe? maybe she's pissed because it's "unprofessional" but really she's pissed because he's being flirted with

AS IT SEEMS — SPENCER REID!

a local detective seems to hang on spencer’s every word. the unprofessionalism of it all really frustrates you.

spencer x cold!reader | 3.3k | flangst | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist.

a/n — is this… progression?

The flashing red-and-blue lights of the local PD’s vehicles paint shifting patterns across the asphalt as the BAU team steps onto the scene.

The air is thick with the scent of damp pavement and something acrid—gunpowder, maybe, or the lingering remnants of a nearby dumpster fire.

Officers mill about with that particular brand of tension that comes from knowing the FBI has been called in, half-relieved, half-defensive.

You take it all in quickly, the details slotting into place in your mind like a well-practiced routine. The weight of your badge clipped to your belt, the holster pressing against your hip—everything is familiar, grounding. But then she appears.

Detective Elena Foster is sharp-jawed and self-assured, the kind of woman who wears authority like a second skin. Her strides are long, purposeful, the confidence in her posture making it abundantly clear that she knows exactly how competent she is.

And she’s looking at Spencer like he’s fascinating.

You stand slightly off to the side as introductions are exchanged, arms crossed over your chest, expression unreadable. You’re practiced at this—at keeping your face neutral, your tone cool, your presence sharp enough to command respect without ever needing to raise your voice.

It’s always been easy. But right now, as Foster’s hand lingers just a little too long in Spencer’s when she shakes it, something tightens in your chest.

“Dr. Reid,” she says, eyes flicking over him with open appreciation. “I read your paper on statistical anomalies in serial offender data last year—brilliant work,”

Spencer, to his credit, looks momentarily startled. “Oh—thank you,” he says, blinking. “That was actually an extension of some previous research on—”

“That’s impressive,” she interrupts, flashing him a smile. “I’d love to pick your brain about it later, if you’ve got time,”

You watch as her fingers graze his forearm in a way that is entirely unnecessary.

He doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with processing the compliment, his mind already spinning with whatever information he had been about to share. You, on the other hand, notice everything. The deliberate lean-in, the way her voice dips just slightly when she speaks to him, the way her eyes linger.

It’s unprofessional.

That’s what irritates you. Not the fact that her attention is singularly fixed on him, or that he’s being flirted with in the middle of a crime scene. Certainly not that she’s touching him when she doesn’t need to be.

It’s the principle of the matter. This is an active investigation, and Foster should be focused on the case, not Spencer’s academic credentials and whatever else has caught her interest.

Your jaw tightens as you glance toward Hotch, who doesn’t seem to care about the interaction as long as it doesn’t interfere with the briefing. Morgan, beside you, exhales a quiet chuckle under his breath, like he’s picked up on something amusing. You ignore it.

“I assume we have a body to look at?” you say, voice even.

Foster blinks at you, as if only just remembering your presence. You don’t react, don’t shift under her assessing gaze, don’t give her anything to work with. Eventually, she nods.

“Of course,” she says smoothly. “Right this way,”

She turns, and Spencer follows, already mid-sentence about some statistical deviation he had noticed in the case file. And you?

You stay exactly where you are for half a second longer than necessary, exhaling slowly through your nose before following after them.

—

You follow the team through the cordoned-off area, past uniformed officers and the murmuring press lingering at the edges, searching for scraps of information. The crime scene is up ahead—an abandoned warehouse, dimly lit and rank with the scent of stagnant water and decay. It should have your full attention.

But instead, you feel your focus splintering.

Just behind you, Spencer is still speaking, his voice carrying that familiar, eager cadence he gets when discussing something intellectually stimulating. “It’s interesting—well, not interesting in the traditional sense, given the context, but rather statistically significant—that the unsub’s victim selection aligns with a pattern previously seen in—”

“Oh, I love that you talk like that,” Foster’s voice is warm, teasing, admiring. “Most people dumb things down, but you don’t. That’s rare,”

You stiffen.

It’s unprofessional.

That’s what you tell yourself as you watch the way she tilts her head slightly when he speaks, as if absorbing every syllable. As if he’s the most fascinating thing in the room. She leans in a fraction closer—just enough to make it noticeable, just enough to make your stomach twist.

It’s unprofessional, you think again, but the words don’t sit quite right in your mind anymore.

Because the truth is, you shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t be noticing the way Foster looks at him. You shouldn’t be hyper-aware of the way her fingers brush the edge of his sleeve again, so light it could almost be accidental. You shouldn’t be waiting for him to pull back, to shake off the attention like he does when social interaction becomes too much.

Except he doesn’t. He just lets it happen.

And that irritates you.

So you do what you always do when something threatens to knock you off balance—you shut it down.

“Reid.”

Your voice cuts through the air, sharper than you intended. The team stops, turning toward you. Even Foster straightens slightly, blinking at the sudden shift in tone. Spencer glances over, his expression a mixture of mild confusion and concern.

You exhale, tightening your grip on the case file in your hands. “We’re here to solve a murder,” you say, your voice even but firm. “Not to make friends.”

Foster’s eyebrows lift slightly, but she doesn’t comment. Morgan, who had been watching the interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, makes a low sound in his throat—something close to a chuckle. You ignore it.

“I wasn’t aware discussing case patterns was off-limits,” Spencer says, tilting his head. His tone is neutral, but there’s a hint of something else there.

You meet his gaze, keeping your own unreadable. “It’s not,” you say. “Just keep it relevant.”

It’s not a lie. You are focused on the case. You do want to keep things professional. That’s all this is. That’s the only reason your patience is stretched thin.

Except.

Except you can still feel the ghost of Foster’s laugh curling around Spencer’s words. Except your shoulders haven’t relaxed since the moment she touched him. Except your own thoughts are turning against you, pressing in like a vice, asking the question you really don’t want to answer—

If you’re so unaffected, why do you have to convince yourself of it?

—

The investigation continues with the same steady pace, but your attention keeps wandering.

Every time you glance toward Spencer and Foster, you find her leaning in a little too close, her voice a little too sweet as she asks him to clarify some trivial detail. She’s careful—always careful—never quite crossing a line, but the way she speaks to him, the way she looks at him, it grates at you.

The word “unprofessional” loops endlessly in your mind, but each time you tell yourself that, something inside you pushes back.

You’re not jealous. You just want her to focus. This is a case, for God’s sake.

But the more she smiles at him, the more he just stands there, absorbed in the conversation, oblivious to the subtle dance she’s performing, the more that uncomfortable twist in your stomach tightens. Every laugh, every overly familiar gesture, stirs something inside you that you can’t quite name.

You can feel your teeth grinding as they talk, your gaze hardening on the two of them. You’re trying to focus on the case, you’re trying to ignore the nagging irritation building in your chest, but the more they interact, the more annoyed you become.

She’s practically flirting, and Spencer isn’t doing anything about it. Or, if he is noticing, he’s pretending it doesn’t bother him.

But it bothers you. Why does it bother you?

Your fingers tighten around the edge of the evidence bag in your hand, and before you know it, you’re standing too close to them, watching as Foster tries to steer Spencer away from the group to discuss something you know is irrelevant to the case.

It’s not urgent. You know it’s not urgent. But when you hear the soft cadence of her voice inviting Spencer to join her for a “quick chat” away from the others, the words explode out of you.

“Reid.” you say sharply, the sound of his name a snap. The words feel harsh even to your own ears.

Spencer’s head jerks around, blinking at you in surprise. His lips part, but you cut him off again, your voice colder than you intended. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

Foster stops mid-sentence, blinking in confusion at the sudden interruption. Her eyes flick to Spencer, and then back to you. The tension in the air thickens, but you don’t care.

You don’t care.

Except you do. And that makes it worse.

Spencer’s gaze softens as he turns back to you, the furrow in his brow deepening, something akin to concern flashing across his face. It only makes you more frustrated.

“I’m not finished yet,” Spencer protests quietly, but there’s a careful note in his voice, the kind that suggests he’s trying to be diplomatic, to avoid upsetting you.

You blink, realising you’ve taken another step too far. Your heart skips a beat at the softness in his voice, and for just a moment, you feel guilty. He’s just trying to help, trying to be professional. And yet, the only thing you can focus on is her.

You don’t let the guilt linger long. “Then stop getting distracted.” you snap, then force yourself to look away, eyes darting back to the scene as if it somehow holds your attention now. You’re already backing off, leaving the words hanging in the air.

Spencer stares at you for a beat longer than necessary, confusion and concern still flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t press it. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t question you further. Instead, he shifts back toward the group, muttering something to Morgan about a pattern in the evidence, and you hear the subtle shift in his voice—he’s letting it go.

But you don’t feel relieved.

The knot in your chest tightens again. Why did you say that? Why did you let her get to you?

You tell yourself it’s about professionalism. It’s about the case. You don’t have time for distractions, not when the clock is ticking. And you definitely don’t have time to unravel this feeling that’s spreading through you like an infection.

Spencer doesn’t argue. He doesn’t snap back at you, doesn’t give you the defensive posture that you might expect from anyone else. Instead, he does something that immediately pulls the rug out from under you.

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

For a moment, the world around you blurs, the noise of the crime scene and the murmurs of the team fading into the background. It’s just Spencer’s eyes, filled with something you can’t quite place—concern, maybe, or confusion, maybe a little of both. But it’s soft. Too soft.

Your pulse spikes, and for a split second, it feels like the floor is tipping beneath you. It’s so disarming, the quiet concern in his gaze, and it makes the frustration building inside you flare even higher.

“Are you okay?”

The question is simple, unassuming, and it cracks something inside you. It’s not a challenge, not a reprimand—it’s genuine, and that’s what makes it harder to brush off.

No. You’re not okay.

You’re furious, but you can’t explain why. You’re hurt, but you can’t pinpoint the cause. You’re jealous, and the idea of admitting that to yourself is enough to send your thoughts spiraling. And all the while, Spencer’s standing there, oblivious to the storm building inside you, just waiting for your response.

You can’t look at him anymore.

“I’m fine,” you mutter quickly, not meeting his eyes. You swallow, forcing your chest to loosen, fighting the sudden weight that presses down on your shoulders.

Your words come out stiff, rehearsed, and even to your own ears, they sound like a lie. But you say them anyway. Because it’s easier than admitting the truth.

You don’t wait for him to say anything else. You turn abruptly, your boots echoing on the concrete floor as you walk away, away from Spencer and away from the nagging feeling that he might see through you if you stay.

But you’re not running. You’re not hiding. You’re just… focused.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

As you round the corner, your mind keeps racing, fighting to keep everything in order. You tell yourself you don’t care about the detective’s attention.

You tell yourself it’s unprofessional, it’s inappropriate. And you tell yourself that you’ve seen it all before, that Spencer’s just being Spencer—oblivious to the subtle ways people gravitate toward him.

But none of that feels convincing anymore.

By the time you’ve reached the far side of the warehouse, your hands are trembling slightly. You push them into your pockets, trying to centre yourself. You feel the familiar coldness wrapping around you again, your professional mask sliding back into place like armour. It’s easier this way.

A sharp breath escapes your lips as you lean against the wall, your head pressed back, eyes closed for a moment. Focus.

You force yourself to take another breath. You’re here for the case. That’s all.

But as the minutes pass, the tight knot in your chest refuses to loosen, and all you can think about is the way Spencer’s face looked when he asked you that question. Are you okay?

And, just for a fleeting second, you wonder if he knows more than you think.

—

The rest of the case proceeds, but something has shifted.

There’s an undeniable tension now—both around you and within you. As you walk through the newest crime scene, examining evidence and speaking with witnesses, Spencer doesn’t give you the space you’d expected.

He stays close, hovering just behind you, always near enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence even when you’re too busy to glance at him.

He’s speaking to you more than usual, asking for your input first, even in situations where it’s clear he already has the answers. It’s as if he’s checking in with you constantly, gauging your reaction before making any decisions of his own.

The subtle shift doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Foster, who had been so eager to claim his attention earlier, is starting to back off, visibly frustrated by his sudden disinterest in her suggestions. She tries a few more times to pull him away for a “quick chat,” but Spencer doesn’t respond to her advances the way he did before.

Instead, he looks to you.

“Hey, I think we might need a second look at the victim’s phone records,” he says, voice casual but with an edge of expectation, like he already knows you’ll agree. “What do you think?”

You pause, the request startling you slightly. Spencer doesn’t usually ask for your opinion on the more technical aspects of a case, but you don’t have time to process it. The words come automatically.

“Yeah, definitely. It might give us a window into the unsub’s next move.”

Spencer nods in approval, his face softening slightly as he absorbs your response. But there’s something else there, something unspoken—a quiet acknowledgment.

He doesn’t say anything, just continues to stay close as the investigation progresses, as if he’s subtly keeping his distance from Foster without even addressing it.

You’re still frustrated—at him, at the detective, at yourself—but there’s a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in your chest. That small part of you that feels like you’ve been seen. That he noticed.

Every time Foster attempts to direct him away from the group, Spencer brushes her off with a polite but clear, “I’ll be right with you,” his eyes flicking to you before he moves to stand closer. You don’t say anything. You’re not sure you even want to acknowledge it. But it’s there—an undercurrent you can’t ignore.

Your mind still races with frustration. You can’t shake the gnawing feeling that something’s off, and you can’t decide if it’s the case, the detective, or yourself. But every time Spencer looks to you for direction, every time he positions himself just a little too close, your frustration starts to dull, replaced by something else.

He’s noticing you. He’s listening.

When the team breaks for a quick huddle to discuss their next steps, Spencer stands beside you. Not next to Morgan or Hotch, not pulling away to talk to Foster. He’s deliberately close, his shoulder just grazing yours as he flips through his notes.

“You alright?” he asks again, in that soft, concerned tone that makes you almost uncomfortable. It’s like he’s waiting for you to admit something, like he already knows there’s something you’re not saying.

You want to brush him off, to tell him to stop worrying about you, but the question catches you off guard. For a brief moment, the irritation—toward him, toward Foster, toward everything—subsides, and you're left with something unspoken hanging between you two.

"I’m fine," you mutter again, a little more convincingly this time, even though it’s not true. But you can’t find the words to explain it. Not when you’re still trying to convince yourself that none of this should matter.

Spencer doesn’t push. He just nods, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before he pulls away to engage with the team, but he keeps an eye on you, always just a little more attentive than usual.

You try to shake off the feeling that this—whatever this is—matters, but it’s hard to deny. The connection between you two is there, unspoken, and for some unknown reason you’re feeling a lot more vulnerable than usual.

And that, more than anything, is what frustrates you the most.

#cold!reader ᝰ.ᐟ #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst

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meadowfics · 2 days ago

Text

movie setting

thanos x f!exactress!reader

you run into your ex boyfriend during the squid games

warnings: death (not thanos, its his bestie instead sorry), some changes in the original plot, angst, reader is a blacklisted actress, one use of "bro" towards reader, even though reader is intended to be female.

you were once one of the most promising actresses in korea, starring in a hit drama that still lingers in people's hearts.

your career was supposed to skyrocket, but a scandal ruined everything.

the scandal wasn’t even your fault. the media twisted the story, painting you as the villain.

companies cut ties, contracts were ripped apart, and soon, you found yourself blacklisted from the industry.

millions of won in debt piled up before you could recover.

with no way to earn money, since you did not need to go to college because of your acting career..your world crumbled around you.

to make things worse, you and your longtime boyfriend, thanos, broke up right before everything went to hell.

you loved him.

maybe you still do.

however, you couldn’t drag him down with you, not when his rap career was still holding on by a thread.

he wanted to fight for you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“i’m not going to be the reason you sink too.”

after that, you disappeared from his life.

thano's drug addiction got worse when you left, but that is something that you did not know about until later.

just three months after suffering, you sat at the subway station after missing the last train of the night.

someone finds you..

the salesman.

he offers you the game. an escape. a chance at redemption.

you hesitate, but when you see the money, you know you don’t have a choice.

that’s how you end up on the colorful, dystopian stairs, walking toward your first game just five days later...

you don’t see thanos first. he sees you.

his breath catches when he spots you a few steps below, dressed in the same green tracksuit, looking just as lost and desperate as the rest.

he almost doesn’t believe it.

his ex, the woman he once held at night, the woman he let go of but never truly moved on from, is here.

“no fucking way,” he mutters under his breath, eyes burning into your back.

you feel it...

the weight of someone staring

when you finally turn, your stomach drops.

thanos.

your ex-boyfriend, the man you broke your own heart over, is right there running up the stairs towards you.

for a second, you do not move, holding up the line.

when he comes closer, you turn away, gripping the railing tightly as you climb the stairs faster.

he’s not stupid. he knows you’re avoiding him.

outside on the field..people notice you.

“wait… is that—?”

“holy shit, it’s her! from (drama series)!”

players start murmuring, pointing, whispering excitedly.

some of them grew up watching you on tv, still nostalgic over your most famous role.

“i can’t believe it! i had the biggest crush on her when i was younger!”

you try to ignore the attention, but it’s hard when people are outright gawking at you.

some are obsessed, borderline unsettling.

“you’re even prettier in person…”

you feel their stares, their fascination.

it makes your skin crawl.

thanos notices too.

his jaw clenches as people circle around you like vultures, bombarding you with questions.

usually, this is outside of his personality quirks.

however, he does not like people messing with his girl.

“so, is the scandal real?”

“did you really do it?”

you keep your head down.

you don’t owe them an answer.

thanos watches, expression unreadable as he stands next to namgyu.

he doesn’t step in. not yet.

when the first gunshot goes off, everything changes.

you’re frozen in place, watching blood splatter as bodies drop like flies.

people scream, run, beg for help, but it’s useless.

panic surges inside you, but you force yourself to keep it together.

“green light.”

you move.

you don’t think, don’t breathe,

just follow the rules and survive.

somewhere behind you, thanos does the same.

he sees you up ahead, your body tense, hands trembling at your sides.

he wants to call your name. tell you to focus.

he doesn’t.

he keeps jumping around like a joke..

its the drugs.

he kind of has a feeling that you will be fine.

thanos watches you as he jumps around in joy, pushing people down as if their lives wouldn't be taken too.

“red light.”

after surviving the massacre, you’re still shaken.

everyone is.

you sit in a corner of the room, trying to calm your breathing, when a shadow falls over you.

you don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“señorita,” thanos says, voice lower than you remember.

“you’re really here.”

you keep your eyes on the ground.

“leave me alone.”

he scoffs.

“yeah? and how’s that been working out for you?”

you don’t answer.

“you should’ve told me,”

he mutters after a beat.

“it’s not like that,” you whisper.

he tilts his head.

“really? really bro? ‘cause it sure seems like you wanna be near me again.”

he’s smug. a little too smug.

his ego inflates when you don’t deny it.

you glare at him.

“i’d rather be near you than anyone else in this fucking place, su-bong.”

thano's smirk fades slightly.

nam gyu watches the whole thing unfold.

he sees the way you and thanos look at each other..

the tension, the unfinished business.

it makes him sick.

“you two have history,” nam gyu states one night, arms crossed.

you shrug.

“so?”

“so,” he huffs,

“it’s fucking annoying.”

you raise a brow.

“why do you care?”

he doesn’t answer.

thanos, overhearing, just smirks.

“someone jealous?”

nam gyu scowls.

“shut up.”

despite your best efforts, you start gravitating toward your ex again.

you tell yourself it’s survival.

safety.

being where you are most familiar with..

deep down, you know it’s more than that.

every time you look at him, you remember what it felt like to love him.

you also remember why you left.

he notices the way you linger near him, even if you don’t say much.

“you’re not good at pretending for an actress señorita,” he says one night.

you glance at him.

“pretending what?”

“that you don’t want me back.”

your throat tightens.

you shake your head.

“it’s not like that.”

“sure,” he mutters. but he doesn’t look convinced.

the games are brutal. relentless.

you don’t know if you’ll make it out alive.

one thing is clear:

no matter how much you try to fight it, thanos is a part of you.

and in a place like this, maybe he’s the only thing keeping you sane.

when all of the men went to the bathroom, the dorms were eerily quiet. until the sound of chaos started coming from outside the doors. sounds of metal banding, fists colliding with flesh, grunts of pain, bodies slamming against the walls.

it was impossible to ignore. every player still in the dorm room heard it, heads turning toward the source of the violence, but no one dared to move.

you sat on your bed, your hands clenched into fists against your lap. your whole body was tense, your mind racing.

thanos was in there. so was nam-gyu. you didn’t know what the fights were about, but you knew it wasn’t good.

honestly, you would not have been surprised if your out-of-pocket ex started it all with his bestfriend.

se-mi sat beside you, watching the entrance anxiously. the minutes stretched on like hours, and with every second that passed, the pit in your stomach grew deeper.

one by one, men began filtering back into the dorms, beaten and bloodied. some limped, some had swollen faces, and some had fresh bruises forming under their eyes.

you scanned every face, searching for him.

no thanos.

you exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants. se-mi shifted beside you, glancing over with hesitation before asking,

"do you still love thanos?"

the question caught you off guard. your head snapped toward her, eyes wide in panic.

"do i love thanos?" you repeated, almost scoffing. then, without thinking, you blurted out, "no shit, se-mi!"

se-mi flinched at your sharp tone, and the realization hit you instantly. your expression softened as guilt settled in your chest.

"i'm sorry," you muttered, shaking your head.

"that was mean, you're one of my friends here and I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I'm just stressed."

se-mi shrugged, offering a small, dismissive smile.

"it's fine." she glanced toward the entrance again before sighing.

"i wouldn’t care if something happened to nam-gyu though."

you huffed a quiet, amused breath.

despite the tension, you silently agreed.

then, finally, movement at the entrance.

your breath caught when you saw him...thanos, limping back into the dorms, looking bruised but very much alive.

"su-bong," you breathed, already on your feet before you could process it.

you didn’t care who was watching. didn’t care about the whispers, the eyes on you.

you ran straight to him, wrapping your arms tightly around his body, holding onto him like he might disappear if you let go.

the rapper's arms came around you just as fast, his grip firm, as if reassuring himself that you were real.

somewhere in the distance, you heard someone murmur, "that actress and the rapper are dating?" but it didn’t matter.

you buried your face against his shoulder, inhaling his scent, letting yourself feel the relief washing over you.

he is okay.

thanos pulled back slightly, just enough to press a lingering, warm kiss to your forehead.

you closed your eyes, savoring it.

"see," he mumbled against your forehead, his voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something more tender.

"i know you wanted me back, baby."

you giggled, shaking your head.

"shut up and go sit down."

you slipped an arm under his to help him walk back to the beds, your focus entirely on him...so much so that you didn’t process the absence of a certain someone.

not until the speakers crackled to life, and the robotic voice echoed through the dorms:

"player 124, eliminated."

silence fell over the room.

your body stiffened.

nam-gyu never came back with thanos.

masterlist

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kawhh · 1 day ago

Text

I'm aware I'm gonna lose people with this but I really do need to get the thought out of my head (I'm being delusional and this'll make it worse). It's just Jack and blood does something to me. Something magical. Also for the dark!Jack askers.

1.7k words.

Warnings!!!: if you're squeamish, please don't read this. I mean it. There's a lot of blood talk. Him covering you in it. Biting. Me going insane. Being a whore on main. Somnophilia. Jack being feral. If the idea of period sex makes you go ew, this'll make you worse. Him not caring if you don't want him marking you.

You've been worried about him since he got hit - knowing how bad some high stick injuries can be. Stressing until he was shown on the bench, barely calming down seeing all the blood still covering his face. How casual he is about it, not being phased at all, making no effort to wipe it off.

How aggressively he's playing after it, there's more aggression in him when he takes face offs. There's more push behind his skates up and down the ice. More concentration on his bloodied face.

If you're being honest, the whole thing is incredibly hot. Even though there's an underlying beat of concern. You don't like seeing him hurt.

It's late at night, so you're cuddled up on the couch in one of his shirts. Always feels like he's home with you when you're bundled up in his scent.

It's too much for him when he gets home. It's like someone's sucked all the air out of the room. His knuckles white as snow from his grip on the door frame. He doesn't dare move. Feeling like he's one step away from losing any and all sanity that he has left.

His girl.. all perfect.

His shirt on you.. how small you look in it. It's physically stunned him.

He can feel the blood on his face still. He was in too much of a rush to get home to you, he wouldn't take the time to wipe it off. He wasn't wasting time showering. Not when he knows you're all alone at home. He's not phased by it, just slowly dragging his tongue over his lip to prevent it from getting out of control.

He's no stranger to blood in his mouth. Injuries are common and he can't just stop whenever it happens.

He figures you're asleep. Who knows how long he's just been stuck there, trying to piece together the non feral part of his brain. You haven't made any noise, haven't reacted to him coming home.

He's free to just.. observe.

He's salivating over your legs. They look so pure and untouched, unmarked, oh so long looking under the shirt. Fuck.. he doesn't know what he wants first.

He could have them wrapped around his waist, have you scratching your own marks into his back as he fucks you into the wall. Wanting to see the pathetically adorable tears streak down your face until you get noise complaints.

Have you bouncing on his dick, slamming you down to force you to go at his pace, forcing you back down to meet his savage thrusts even if you try and crawl off to escape.

Wrapping them around his head, forcing them tighter against his head, wanting to suffocate against your cunt. Feeling you cry and squirm against him, trying to escape his tongue.

How pretty he'd paint you with the blood that's still leaking from his mouth. What a perfect way to make a point.. show you how much you truly belong to him. It'd stand out so vividly against your skin.. against your cute little cunt.

It's enough to take the final sanity percentage from him. He can't stay here watching you from afar now. He's gone too deep. The chances of him walking by you to shower before coming back.. non existent.

He's like a possessed animal stalking towards you, hair loose, half covering his face. His expression dark, his eyes barely visible. His pupils fully dilated.

If he doesn't get his mouth on you and in you, he thinks he might lose it. He can't even wait for you to stir. He doesn't have the restraint. Doesn't fucking want the restraint.

He's hovering over you before he can even process it, grabbing your legs as gently as he physically can in his state, making room for himself to kneel between them on the couch. Leaning over to hover over your face, staring at how innocent you look under him.

His baby must've stayed up late worrying yourself to sleep, he knows how you get.

His fingers not being able to resist digging into your shoulders, staring at the way that your body doesn't resist him. The slight bruises he leaves, painting you. The way you almost lean into his touch in your sleep, seemingly seconds away from mewling like a cat.

He can't resist pulling your shirt up. He can't get it fully off without waking you up, but he inches it towards your neck as gently as he can. Restraining you slightly as it reaches armpit height.

He's slightly startled as he hears a small sound, like a droplet. Looking down, realizing that some of the blood from his mouth is smack bang in the middle of your exposed chest now. Trailing it with his eyes as it slides down your cleavage, under your bra, leaving a skin stain as it goes.

He can't stop the gulp, processing how it feels to see him on you, in such a different way..

There's nothing more him than his blood. It's so striking against your skin. He can't explain the sudden urge he has to follow it with his tongue. To cover you in him.

He makes a fatal mistake, resting his head against your shoulder. His attempt to control himself only makes the problem worse as he lifts his head, realizing that you're now covered in his blood, your whole left shoulder looks like a murder scene.

He can't resist licking your skin. Just once. Tasting your skin combined with him. He's never felt this possessive before, never felt more sure in the fact that you're his.

Sinking his teeth gently into the skin, just enough to leave a mark. He doesn't fully know what's wrong with him. This need to just.. mark you up. To mark up every single inch of your skin. You're such a little fucking cute bunny rabbit. So adorably small against him. So weak. So fragile. So his.

He can't stop at just your shoulder. He's inching down, nipping and sucking at your skin, occasionally licking at the blood if it pools too much. Making his way down to your chest, watching the droplets drip down your tits, following the perfect curve, seeping into your bra.

He can't resist running his tongue down your cleavage. Slowly folding the cups over enough to get his hot, wet mouth around your nipple. Biting harshly, eyes flicking up to you as your squirm in your sleep. He wonders if you're dreaming about it. If you can feel his body. If you're mentally aware of how deranged he's feeling tonight.

Squirming more as he reaches your stomach. He half entertains spelling his name on your stomach but he truly doesn't have the patience. He's biting his lip more as he goes, trying to agitate it, getting frustrated that the blood's drying up. He doesn't care if it hurts, how much it stings with every single movement. He'll take care of it later. It's not important.

It does rush him slightly. He can't risk running out of it before he gets to his meal. Skipping mostly past your stomach, dragging his parted mouth down until he reaches his meal. Resting his mouth against your cute underwear. Smirking as he realizes there's adorable little teddies on them. Slowly staining them with blood as he keeps his head still, resting his mouth above your clit. The contrast of the blood and your visible innocence, he could moan.

He's just resting there, breathing you in. He can smell you. Feel the heat coming from your adorable pussy. He can't resist gently biting, mostly gripping your underwear in his teeth, letting it smack back against your clit, hearing you let out the littlest moan. He doesn't care to check if you're waking up now. It's not like he'll stop, even if you do wake up and protest. There's nothing you can do about it.

Nuzzling his nose down where your thigh meets this delicious skin, breathing you in. He can feel the dampness of your pussy smearing on his face as he drags his cheek down. Marking himself up with you.

Biting you in a harsher manner on your inner thighs, feeling how your skin melts like butter at his attack. Smearing you in the blood that's drying up faster now, licking up the arousal that's seeping from your underwear.

His girl loves this so fucking much.. as you should.

The little whimpers you let out.. he can't wait any longer. He's teased himself enough. He can feel the fucking precum soaking his shorts. Hell, it's probably even on your legs at this point. The throbbing is so hard for him to ignore, but you aren't fully claimed yet. He hasn't had his fill of your cunt.

Spinning you slightly, dragging you to the edge of the couch. Sinking to his knees in front of you.

He's ripping your underwear off with his teeth, laughing cruelly as he hears your startled gasp. You're awake now it seems. Maybe you're swearing at him. Maybe you're begging him to stop. Maybe you're moaning. He doesn't care. It's time to eat.

Swiping his tongue all the way from your cute hole to your adorable clit. There's only a faint amount of blood leaking from him now, but it's enough for him to slowly watch it mix with your arousal. Only fueling him more to eat you.

Stretching you apart with his fingers, putting weight behind it to make sure you can't move. Can't protest. Sucking every last drop from you, lapping at you like you're water in an oasis. Feeling you clench. Nipping at your clit, not wanting your body to get used to one sensation.

Thrusting his tongue into your cunt, licking against your walls, wanting to consume you from the source.

He's thrusting slowly against the couch, imagining splitting you open with his cock, mimicking the motions with his tongue. You're spasming around him, he can hear your cries getting louder.

Slowly thrusting in with his finger, adding another soon after. Stretching you open, making room for him to shove his tongue further in along with them.

Feeling your legs shake around his shoulders, restricting his breathing. Cumming in his shorts at you getting off on being claimed.

Pulling back, eyes half lidded, running his eyes over your body. Admiring all of the blood smears and marks on your body. He's never felt so in control. So satiated. So utterly dominant over you. There's no doubting that you're his.

And he hasn't even fucked you yet.

#jack hughes #jh86 #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x you #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes fanfiction #nhl smut #jack hughes smut #jack hughes imagine #dark jack

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mattodore · 2 days ago

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falls to my knees seeing the older version of this post was reblogged again instead of the NEW VERSION!!

i learned how to paint a flushed face, furrowed skin, and betters tears after i posted this originally so ignore the old version pwease the emotion on theo's face was all wrong 😞

memory holes litter my mind, blotting out years. i don’t follow the rabbit down them.

#river dipping #cw blood #i just didn't say anything after i updated the old edit bc i'm in my mentally-ill-because-it'll-be-my-birthday-next-month phase #plus i got bad vet news the other day and have just generally been <3 having a great time w my avpd lmfao #hence why i'm a 2-6am poster rn when not many ppl are online #but fyi!!!!!! i updated the edit. ignore the old version i fr don't like it fkdhng #W river moment editing the new version tho. what killssss me about pose making is that you can't really like. scrunch up a face.#like i WANT sneers to have those little lines around the mouth i WANT crying to look a mix between angry and pained #i spent ages scrunching my face up in a mirror to figure out how to paint his expression when i updated it #but yeah...#it is a little funny tho that i said i wouldn't think abt the edit anymore after i got it out of me #and then i ended up thinking about it a lot actually . . .#well . he's my number one guy and i never really stop thinking about him so... i inevitably kept thinking abt it until i fixed it #you understand #anyway. back to not saying anything again 🚶#it’s like that sometimes

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leaderwon · 3 days ago

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UNDER THE SUNLIT SKY : YJW | 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐝𝐚𝐲 — 𝟔)

Synopsis : Jungwon invites you to a small picnic date at a secluded garden he found. As the two of you share homemade food and stories under the setting sun, Jungwon reveals a surprise that leaves your heart racing.

Warnings : Fluff, playful teasing, romantic tension, lots of soft moments

Wc : 3.1k+

masterlist

The warm spring breeze rustled through the trees as you followed Jungwon down a winding trail, the faint scent of wildflowers filling the air. He walked a few steps ahead of you, a picnic basket in one hand and a confident smile on his face.

“You’re being really mysterious about this whole thing,” you teased, quickening your pace to match his. “It’s not that mysterious,” he chuckled. “I just thought it’d be fun to do something different today.” Your curiosity piqued. “Different how?” “You’ll see,” he said with a playful glint in his eyes.

After a few more minutes of walking, Jungwon led you to a clearing surrounded by vibrant greenery. The scene was like something out of a fairytale, a secluded garden with wildflowers dotting the landscape and a serene pond shimmering under the afternoon sun.

“Ta da” Jungwon announced, spreading his arms wide. “Our secret spot for the day.” Your eyes widened in awe. “This place is beautiful, Jungwon. How did you even find it?”

“I come here sometimes to clear my head,” he admitted. “But I figured it’d be better with company.” Warmth bloomed in your chest at his words. “You really went all out, huh?” He grinned, setting the picnic basket down on a patch of soft grass. “Only the best for you.”

Within minutes, Jungwon had set up a cozy picnic spread complete with a checkered blanket, neatly arranged sandwiches, and a thermos of lemonade. The two of you sat side by side, basking in the tranquility of the moment.

“This is perfect,” you said, taking a bite of your sandwich. “Way better than anything I had planned for today.” Jungwon’s smile widened. “I’m glad you think so.”

As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly. From childhood stories to random musings about life. Jungwon’s laughter was contagious, and you found yourself grinning more than you had in days.

“Okay, okay,” he said between chuckles. “But you have to admit, my prank was legendary.” “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” you said, playfully shoving his shoulder. “I’m never trusting you again.” He feigned a hurt expression. “Never? That’s harsh.”

“Fine,” you relented, “I’ll trust you on picnics. But that’s it.” “Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky. You laughed, linking your pinky with his. “You’re ridiculous.” “And yet, you’re still here,” he teased.

As the afternoon sun began to dip lower in the sky, Jungwon stood up and dusted off his hands. “Come on,” he said, offering you his hand.

“Where are we going?” you asked, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. “You’ll see.”

He led you to the edge of the pond, where the water glimmered like a thousand tiny diamonds. The reflection of the sky painted the surface in hues of pink and orange.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Jungwon’s gaze was fixed on you, not the pond. “Yeah, it is.”Your breath caught in your throat as you met his eyes. There was something different about the way he was looking at you, like you were the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen.

“I have something for you,” he said softly, reaching into his pocket. Before you could respond, he pulled out a small velvet pouch and handed it to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, your fingers trembling slightly. “Open it” he encouraged, his voice gentle.

You untied the pouch and carefully tipped its contents into your hand. A delicate silver bracelet with a tiny sun charm glinted in the fading light.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed. “I saw it and thought of you,” Jungwon admitted, his cheeks tinged with pink. “The sun reminds me of how you always light up my day, even when I don’t realize I need it.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right thing to say. “Jungwon, I…”

He shook his head, stepping a little closer. “Wait. I need to say this now, or I might chicken out.” Your breath caught in your throat as he continued, his voice steadier than you expected.

“I like you. A lot,” he confessed. “I’ve liked you for a while now, but I didn’t know how to tell you without messing everything up.” The sincerity in his words made your heart race. “Jungwon…”

“You don’t have to say anything right away,” he rushed on, his ears turning red. “I just wanted you to know. You’re really special to me, and I—I didn’t want to keep it to myself anymore.”

A wave of warmth washed over you. Reaching out, you took his hand in yours. “You’re special to me too, Jungwon. I was just too scared to say it first.” Relief flickered across his face, followed by a bright, breathtaking smile. “Really?” You nodded, your own smile spreading. “Really.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted. “Does this mean I can call this our first date?” he asked, a teasing glint returning to his eyes.

Laughing, you squeezed his hand. “Only if there’s a second one.” “Deal” he said, his smile widening.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the world in golden twilight, you knew this day would be etched into your memory forever. And this time, it wasn’t just the beginning of a beautiful day, it was the start of something even more wonderful between you and Jungwon.

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marauroon · 3 days ago

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i heard open requests??? anyway if you can, maybe sirius with a reader who's just the epitome of whimsical? THANK YOUUU take your timeee

── .✦ 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. (𝐬.𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤)

you’re strange, odd, and yet sirius has never once questioned any aspect of your personality. you think it’s love.

sirius black x fem!whimsical!reader | 1.0k | fluff | masterlist.

You are a whirlwind of colour in a world that often feels a little too grey. A splash of paint in a monotone masterpiece, a wandering melody in a room full of silence.

You flit through life like a butterfly caught in a summer breeze—never quite landing, always in motion, always chasing the next moment of wonder.

And for some reason, Sirius Black has decided to follow you.

Which is strange, really; Because Sirius is sharp edges and quick wit, all rebellious fire and effortless cool. He’s the kind of person people write songs about—untamed and unafraid.

You, on the other hand, are… well, let’s be honest. You once spent twenty minutes talking to an owl just to see if it had any interesting gossip.

But here he is.

And, if the smirk tugging at his lips is any indication, he finds you absolutely ridiculous.

“Are you going to keep talking to that plant, or should I come back later?”

You gasp, scandalised, and throw your arms around the large, leafy fern in the corner of the Gryffindor common room. “Don’t be rude, Sirius! Fernanda has been nothing but kind to us,”

James snorts from where he’s lounging on the sofa. “You named the plant Fernanda?”

You nod seriously. “She told me her name herself,”

Sirius crosses his arms, his expression full of exaggerated skepticism. “Oh, did she? And what else did dear Fernanda tell you?”

You lean in conspiratorially, as if sharing a great secret. “She thinks your hair is too long,”

James howls with laughter. Remus, sitting nearby with his nose buried in a book, sighs deeply but doesn’t argue. And Sirius… well. Sirius watches you with something unreadable in his gaze.

You’re used to being laughed at—people don’t always know what to do with someone like you. But Sirius doesn’t laugh at you. He laughs because of you. There’s a difference, and you notice it.

—

Somehow, he becomes a permanent fixture at your side. You drag him into your world of absurdity, and, much to your delight, he doesn’t resist.

There’s the time you convince him to help you build a makeshift raft out of old broomsticks and attempt to sail across the Black Lake. (It sinks within three minutes, but Sirius insists it was a noble effort.)

Or the time you declare, with no context whatsoever, that you’re going to write a heartfelt apology letter to the portrait of the Fat Friar after accidentally bumping into it. (Sirius proofreads it for you and even adds a dramatic postscript: P.S. I shall never forgive myself for this most heinous crime. My soul is forever stained.)

And then there’s the time you find a stray cat on the school grounds and insist it’s an omen of good luck. Sirius, ever the enabler, helps you smuggle it into the Gryffindor dorms. The cat, whom you name Orion in his honour, promptly becomes best friends with him and takes to draping itself across his shoulders like some kind of bizarre fur scarf.

You catch him one evening, sitting by the fire, idly scratching Orion’s ears while absently listening to your latest ramblings about whether or not ghosts ever get bored.

“You’re a menace, you know that?” he mutters, but there’s no real bite to it.

You grin. “And yet, here you are,”

His eyes meet yours across the flickering light. There’s something soft in them. Something warm. “Yeah,” he says, almost to himself. “Here I am,”

—

You think you might love him.

Not in the way the poets describe, all aching hearts and longing sighs. No, loving Sirius Black feels like running downhill too fast, like the rush of wind through your hair when you’re flying, like the moment right before a laugh escapes.

It feels like freedom. Like joy.

And maybe—you hope—he feels the same.

Because when you drag him out onto the castle grounds in the middle of the night just to dance beneath the stars, he doesn’t roll his eyes or ask why. He just twirls you, laughing, as the moonlight glows silver in his hair.

Because when you hand him a daisy crown you spent far too long making, he doesn’t scoff or throw it away. He wears it, head held high, as if it’s a crown of gold.

Because when you stumble over your words, when your mind runs faster than your mouth and you get lost in your own tangents, he never rushes you. He just listens. Really listens.

And when you fall asleep beside him in the common room after a long day of nonsensical adventures, he drapes his cloak over you without a word.

Maybe love doesn’t always need grand declarations. Maybe, sometimes, it’s found in small moments. In laughter shared over stolen midnight snacks, in whispered conversations under enchanted ceilings, in the simple act of staying.

Sirius Black has always been a runner. But with you, he stays.

And that’s how you know.

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black

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lunameimei · 2 days ago

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okay okay why not @miraculosus this one is for you!

But first! I'll have to make a few reverences clarifications:

I will write below what I WANTED to depict, not what I MANAGED to depict. (To be honest, I think I did a bad job with this task, but well everything comes with experience and all that)

There is no right way to perceive art, so if your thoughts and feelings differ from what I say - THAT'S OKAY. And it's really interesting to read people's comments and see different interpretations of the same thing~

And last but not least, I will be writing about Marinette. But this is not my criticism of her actions in general, it is just something like dry facts describing what is happening. So I beg you not to read this as a "salty post".

Okay, here we go!

In the art, we see Adrien trapped between a wall, the floor, Ladybug, and a COLUMN that was about to fall on him. Even though Adrien was saved, the most important thing is that he is still trapped. Both the threat to his life and Ladybug are invading his personal space too closely. He literally has nowhere to run. (That's why even though Adrien has the love of his life standing in front of him, he doesn't feel comfortable. He feels trapped. And the emotions on his face tell us that.)

The column (until the overlays have changed the colors too much) looks more like something alive, broken into pieces like meat with bones sticking out

Also, the shape of the broken column looks like "butterfly wings". And since the image of a butterfly in the show is more associated with villains (Hawk Moth), then here Ladybug's "wings" depict her as the "villain" in the situation, the cause of the problem.

creating new problems

The title of the art and the column wrapped in a yo-yo hint that the column was broken by Ladybug herself. Trying to solve the problem with the akumatized, she, as usual, created a new problem: almost killed Adrien and put herself in a very uncomfortably close position next to him. Yes, of course she likes this boy, but Marinette doesn't feel happy right now. And trying to escape from this closeness with Adrien, she will again create a new problem that will affect others (a problem that she will have to solve again).

It's an endless circle of creating new problems and avoiding these problems.

BTW the colors in the picture are deliberately "unusual" to better express what is happening. (And because I want to learn to paint with more "strange" colors, I see this as an opportunity for me to show "feelings" and not just "reality") and I also thought it would be fun to depict Ladybug with long ponytails, like a magical girl, and without pupils (like in the old DС cartoons haha)

I think I had more thoughts, but that's all for now! Thank you for reading and good luck to you!~

creating new problems

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monokuromuheaven · 20 hours ago

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Interview With Actor Carlos Diehz

“I’m kind of a nerd, really,” says the 53-year-old. “When I find something I like I get really deep into it.”

(…)

The casting process for Benitez took three months, and by the time Diehz booked the part after several rounds of auditions and was flown to Rome – where most of the filming took place – he had put those self-proclaimed nerd tendencies to good use.

“I spent a lot of time studying the other actors, particularly Ralph Fiennes,” he says.

“All my scenes are with him, so I watched a lot of his interviews and movies and I would pull my chair right up to the screen to look at his expressions, how he plays certain situations, the hints he gives. Even his breathing.

“So when it was just the two of us, I would not be distracted trying to find out his dynamic.

“Because so much of acting is reacting, you have to inspire confidence in the other performer and try to follow their rhythm, but you have to be as natural as possible. Ralph is a master of that."

Diehz might be considered something of an apprentice. Growing up in a suburb of Mexico City, he enjoyed the arts but was hesitant to perform. Prior to landing Conclave, his appearances had been limited to short films and student projects.

Spending such a significant portion of his outside the world of acting has, Diehz believes, equipped him with a greater range of experiences to draw from.

“They say that youth is a defect that gets corrected with age,” he says with a smile. (:D)

“When you are young you don’t have these experiences, like playing someone who has gone through divorce and you haven’t experienced that. You have to be very observant, you need to have a notion of what it is like.

“Having worked for years in architecture and construction, sometimes in leadership positions, it gives you the experience and courage to stand up in front of an audience and deliver bad news in a way that maintains the trust of your clients.

“There is no second take, no rehearsal, no script, you have to improvise and drive these situations to a good ending."

“Sometimes it goes wrong. But you have to deal with the consequences and keep moving on."

“So architecture is like acting in a lot of ways. I wouldn’t say it makes it easier, but I think it means you have a larger range of real-life emotions and experiences to pick from.”

“You are who you are, it’s what you do about it. That’s what matters” as Diehz puts it.

And in Benitez, Diehz found someone he immediately resonated with. Many of the character’s values, Diehz reveals, align with those of his younger self.

“When I was 19 years old I had a mystical phase in my life,” he says.

“I found God after an existential crisis and I was so excited. I got really deep into faith and spirituality. That’s how I learned about people like Saint Francis of Assisi.

“He refused all the luxury and privilege from his family to help the poor. I wanted to be like that."

“Then life happened, but when this character came along I felt as though I was playing someone that I wanted to be at one point in my life."

“Ok, I’m not as deep, spiritual or peaceful as Benitez but it was a good reminder of what I could be."

“And that was very rewarding. Benitez is one of those characters worth taking home with you.”

Home, it seems, plays an important part in Diehz’s life. While he is happy to ride the crest of the Conclave wave for a while longer – an experience he admits has been “surreal” – he seems equally content embracing life’s more simple pleasures, be it painting or karaoke in his living room.

“I mostly sing songs from the 1980s,” he adds. “I really love Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns N’ Roses. It’s incredible.”

Source

#Carlos watching Ralph on a screen TwT he was PRACTICING!!#Carlos Diehz #Conclave #Conclave 2024 #Im putting all the interviews at unholy hours but idk #When I'm obsessed I want to read all the things available so that's what Im doing right now #making things more easy tehehe

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tehrevving · 22 hours ago

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Vincent Valentine Week 2025 - Kiss

Gonna be honest with you all, this is likely to be the only prompt for this week that I fill, but being that the prompt is Kiss, I just couldn't help doing a sequel to my very well received 'Monster' prompt from the last one. Enjoy!

Glowing yellow eyes fill your vision, slitted pupils shimmering in the low light. You don’t want to shut your eyes, you’re too afraid, but you don’t want to keep looking either. The expression painted onto Vincent’s face is like nothing you’ve ever seen before. He looks wrong and inhuman. The creature, Chaos, is completely in control.

The sharp tips of Vincent’s gauntlet prick underneath your chin as he pulls you closer. The heat of his breath assaults your cheek, short, rough puffs of air that feel more animalistic than human. You expect his breath to smell rancid, like rotting flesh and meat, but he smells normal, a familiar mix of mint and mouthwash. You don’t know what to do.

You’re out of options, you don’t have many choices. You’re going to have to kiss Vincent, kiss the creature controlling him. You don’t think Chaos is going to hurt you, it hasn’t tried to so far but it seems tricky, manipulative. You don’t know if you can trust the deep rumble of its promises.

“Relax Sweetheart,” Vincent’s voice purrs, reassuring in a way that threatens to undo you. Chaos can make itself sound like him, it can choose how much of Vincent it puts into its voice. Your body wants to obey the command. Vincent’s voice is comforting, a warm light that you know you can always trust. You don’t know what to do.

Chaos tilts your head up while it tilts Vincent’s face to the side. There’s a snaking darkness beginning to run down from the corner of Vincent’s eyes, angular, lined tattoos dragging downwards and outlining the muscles of his face, similar to Galian’s markings. Vincent’s full lips peel back into a smirk exposing teeth that suddenly seem too white and too sharp. Chaos leans in closer. You hold your breath, desperately holding back a shudder as familiar lips press to yours.

The kiss is immediately wrong. You’ve never really noticed it before but Vincent always kisses with his bottom lip pressed underneath yours. Chaos does not. Its tongue is eager, running uncoordinated against your lips, trying to slip inside. You don’t know if you should pull away or just let it do whatever it wants. You feel a sudden hint of teeth, too numerous and sharp against your top lip. You can’t help but gasp. It’s a mistake. A tongue that is too long and too dexterous explores your mouth, lashing at the back of your throat.

You try to pull back, choking and spluttering. Chaos lets you go, laughing maniacally, the sound somehow saccharine and full of mischief. You flail, coughing and struggling to maintain your composure. Chaos licks its lips, digging a too long tongue roughly into reddened flesh, desperate to lap up whatever taste you must have left behind.

“You are too sweet,” Chaos purrs, lips curling up at the corners. “However,” it cackles, smile growing wider, far too wide to fit properly on a human face. It’s head snaps to the side with a resounding crack of bone. “I meant a kiss somewhere else.”

It takes far too long for you to understand its words and you can’t help but baulk. It can’t possibly be asking for that, can it? You don’t know if you should try to seek clarification. You don’t really want to, but you need to have as much information as possible, you need to try to be on equal footing with this creature.

Chaos lolls its long tongue from Vincent’s mouth. It’s completely inhuman, barbed at the edges and covered in small textured bumps. Its tongue shifts and suddenly it’s split in two, double ended with each part moving independently, sliding and flicking. Each tip undulates, twisting in the air and clearly imitating a sexual act. You stare, unable to look away, completely mesmerised.

Chaos laughs once more, the sound somehow crystal clear even with its tongue hanging from its mouth. It winks, yellow eyes gleaming as it slowly pulls the twirling appendage back between Vincent’s lips. “Let us find shelter,” it coos, changing the subject immediately and starting to stand up.

Vincent’s waterlogged cloak and dark clothing easily blend into the surroundings, but you can still tell that Chaos doesn’t quite know how to move its body. Vincent’s limbs splay at odd angles, not quite broken, but definitely in ways that would be extremely uncomfortable. Chaos kicks off the tree with its wings, you suddenly notice they’re starting to look more corporeal than hazy. Chaos stands, legs locked completely straight, knees not bending at all.

You look up at Vincent, at Chaos, not sure what to do. A single, skeletal wing is still angled awkwardly above your head, protecting you from the pouring rain. Vincent looks taller, somehow stretched out, already long limbs suddenly seeming unnatural. You know you must just be imagining it, his clothes would visibly look different if he’d actually grown.

Chaos looks down at you, a predatory glint in yellow, slitted eyes. Vincent’s gauntlet reaches out to you, golden fingers curled slightly to protect you from their sharp points. “Come,” it purrs with a wink.

You don’t have any choice but to follow. Chaos is still trying to protect you, still keeping you sheltered from the rain. You’re going to need to trust it. You take Vincent’s hand and you’re quickly pulled up with far too much strength. You fall, completely off balance, face smacking into the centre of Vincent’s chest. Chaos hisses with laughter and pulls you in close, arms and wings sealing you to its body.

The edge of a wing cradles the back of your head, pressing you tightly against a rumbling chest. The tight hug protects you from the rain and you can’t help but relax slightly. You want to push away but you’re still lost and upset and it’s natural to want to seek comfort with the body of your lover. You want to be close to Vincent, you always want to be close to him. You enjoy cuddling with him, ear pressed against the steady beat of his heart. Your body shifts automatically, adjusting away from the sharp press of buckles and buttons. Hugging him is second nature to you, and you know how to make it comfortable.

Chaos purrs, running its gauntleted hand gently up and down your back. The sharp golden fingers almost feel like claws and the touch is soothing even though you think it should be causing you panic. You need to keep your guard up but it’s difficult. You’re too used to being able to let go of everything when you’re in Vincent’s arms and you’re struggling to fight against your body.

A warm cheek presses to the top of your head, nuzzling softly. You find yourself relaxing, unable to help it, until you feel the sudden, wet press of a tongue against your forehead. You pull back with shock and Chaos lets you, wing angling above your head to keep you dry.

It laughs with that very un-Vincent-like cackle, wings flapping in time with its laughter. “Let’s go,” it purrs, quickly hoisting you off balance and up into its arms.

You squeak, unable to stop the noise. Chaos holds you bridal style, gauntlet resting against your back. Its wing curls around you once more, protecting you from the rain as it starts walking. The first few steps are unsteady, knees not bending correctly and joints popping and shaking. Quickly though, it works out what to do, easing into unnaturally long, steady strides.

“We will find shelter soon,” Chaos purrs, voice echoing through Vincent’s chest.

“How do you know?” you stammer, voice trembling, not even sure why you’re asking.

“The planet speaks to me,” Chaos replies, not elaborating. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you don’t.

The rain grows heavier, turning into a rough storm. Thunder roars in the distance. Your clothes are still soaked but you’re starting to dry, having been sheltered from the rain long enough. Heavy raindrops pelt against the wing above your head. It’s skeletal and barely corporeal. It looks like the rain should just go through it, but somehow it’s even protecting you from the wind.

You look up, noticing that Chaos is not making any attempt to keep Vincent’s body dry. Vincent’s dark hair is plastered against his face, the length of it blowing roughly in the wind. Chaos looks down at you and you quickly glance away from the shimmering yellow. It’s all too much. You don’t like it. You like Vincent’s usual shining red eye, you find it comforting and hate that you can’t see it.

You walk for probably five more minutes, but it’s difficult to tell. The black wing blocks most of your vision, so you can’t see what’s in front of you. You can hear that the storm is continuing to pick up, the wind howling and trees cracking.

“We are here,” Chaos shouts, taking a few more steps until the world suddenly grows quiet.

The wing leaves your front and you look at your surroundings. You’re in a carved out rock formation, you’d barely call it a cave, but it’s dry and there’s enough room for even Vincent to stand up. It will definitely do for shelter.

You’re put down carefully, hand resting supportively on your back until you find your footing. You step back, retreating carefully further into the safe, dryness of the cave. Chaos steps away, positioning just inside the safety of the shelter. It bends Vincent’s body slightly and then starts shaking dry like an animal. Fluffed up wings and hair fly everywhere as water splatters all over the walls and floor, somehow missing you. His body is blurry, moving faster than your eyes can track. He’s noticeably drier when he steps back towards you.

Chaos steps closer and you struggle not to retreat. You straighten your back and try to stand your ground. You need to not show fear or reluctance. Vincent’s golden arm reaches out to you again, sharp fingers curling as they press to your cheek. You stay deathly still, barely even breathing. You don’t want to get scratched. “Are you alright?” Chaos murmurs, genuine concern lacing its deep, echoing voice. “Are you cold? Injured?”

You’re caught off guard but try your best to reply, voice wavering. “I-I’m fine,” you stammer, because you are. You’re still wet but not enough that it will cause problems. You’re not injured, just shaken up and incredibly unsure. A sudden, loud crack of thunder echoes through the cave, making the ground shake. Lightning crackles at the mouth of the cave, casting bright lights and dark shadows everywhere. You jump back, startled, wincing as golden fingers scratch your cheek.

Chaos laughs, the sound full of mirth as it coos and tries to soothe you. “It is just lightning,” it murmurs, sounding far too much like Vincent and his dry sense of humour. Chaos steps towards you and then stops, yellow eyes zeroing in on your cheek.

Vincent’s gloved hand reaches out and grips roughly at your chin. Leather creaks as it tugs at your skin. “I am sorry,” Chaos says, genuine remorse in its voice. It tilts your jaw from side to side, inspecting the damage. It leans down and you’re worried that it might try to kiss you again. Instead Vincent’s regular tongue darts out to lick at the cut. There’s a tiny, tingling stinging and then nothing, just warm saliva quickly cooling on your skin. “All better,” Chaos purrs, stepping back with a smile.

You reach up, not feeling anything aside from wetness on your cheek. It healed you with its tongue, somehow.

“Wait here,” Vincent’s voice says and you turn towards the sound. “I will return shortly with firewood.”

You don’t know if you should protest. You don’t want to be left on your own but you don’t want to go back out into the rain either. Chaos moves too quickly, not letting you make a decision. It walks out of the cave, immediately getting drenched by the rain. Lighting strikes once more, lighting up Vincent’s silhouette, complete with horns and wings as he walks away.

You lean against the corner of the cave and wait, not sure what to do. You’re stuck with Chaos until Vincent wakes up, if Chaos ever lets him wake up. There’s no point in running, you’re safe and dry at the moment, and that’s what’s most important. You don’t think Chaos means you any harm, it had healed you and has done nothing but protect you. You feel bad for being so distrusting. You wouldn’t have any apprehension if Galian had taken over Vincent’s skin, you feel like you should give another of his monsters the benefit of the doubt.

You hear a loud echoing crack. You think it’s more thunder but then it happens again and you think that it’s actually a tree being ripped apart. Chaos returns a few minutes later, arms full of gigantic log chunks, wing angled across the top of them to keep them dry. It deposits them in the centre of your shelter, dripping water all over the floor before stepping back to the entrance and shaking dry once more.

You look up and realise that Vincent now looks even less like himself. His skin has grown sallow, pale skin tinted grey instead of pink. The veins on his face have darkened, twirling and patterning his skin like thorns. The horns on his head are taller, more pronounced and less shadowy. They’re barbed and twisted, real, his hair falling awkwardly around them, before his hair had been phasing through them.

Chaos doesn’t notice you staring as it squats down and gathers the logs into a pile, lighting them on fire with a click of golden claws. You could have done it yourself with materia, but somehow you weren’t expecting this creature to have that ability.

“Come,” it calls, head craned far further back than should be possible to look at you. You look away but slowly head over. You want to sit by the fire and warm up, and want it to stop twisting Vincent’s neck so unnaturally. You’re glad that his cowl covers him so that you don’t have to see. You slowly walk towards him, watching as Chaos sits down on the floor by the fire, beckoning you closer.

You’d prefer to sit opposite, but Chaos pulls you down the second you walk close enough, bundling you up into Vincent’s lap. His body is warm against your back, while the fire is hot by your front. You curl against him, getting comfortable as arms and wings band tightly around you. You won’t be able to escape unless it lets you go.

“You would enjoy my company,” Chaos murmurs, the facade of Vincent’s face by your ear. “I can please you better than he can.” Vincent’s cheek presses to the top of your head, keeping you steady as Chaos starts removing his gauntlet. It comes off with a click and a creaking of leather as Chaos peels off the elbow length glove underneath it. You know what Vincent’s arm looks like, slightly monstrous and completely inhuman. It doesn’t bother you, you’re used to it even though he rarely removes the glove and only ever touches you with it in the heat of the moment.

Chaos flexes the long, thick fingers of it, jagged claws shifting. Chaos chuckles and then suddenly retracts the claws. You didn’t know Vincent could do that, you think that maybe he can’t. Chaos drags its fingers across your cheek and then down to press at your throat. Your breath hitches. You trust Vincent and you think you trust this part of him too, but his monstrous fingers are pressed to your throat. If his claws unsheathed, you don’t think you’d survive it.

Chaos sniffs violently and buries Vincent’s face into your neck, desperately breathing in your scent. “Your fear is delicious,” it murmurs, “but your pleasure would be even sweeter.” It’s long tongue darts out, laving over your shoulder, the separate, dual tips of it deliberately teasing at different parts of your skin.

You lean away. It feels strange, good, but overwhelming and you’re not sure how you feel. You don’t know what to do. You’re safe and warm now, you’ll be fine until the rain stops or until Vincent wakes up.

“You may say no,” Chaos whispers. “I will not force you, my sweet.” It brushes Vincent’s nose across your cheek. “But I know you want to say yes.”

You shake your head. You don’t want to say yes, you don’t want to do anything with the creature possessing Vincent, and you definitely don’t want to do anything in a cave in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Chaos chuckles. “You are curious, even if you deny it. You already know it is better when I join in.”

You gasp, shaking your head. You don’t want to think about it. There’s always an energy, something powerful and sharp on the somewhat rare occasions that Vincent grows horns. It makes your pleasure stronger and scatters electricity across your skin.

Chaos starts to kiss your neck, pressing warm lips against sensitive skin. “I have waited so long to have you to myself. Allow me to worship you.”

Sparks dance across your skin and skitter down your spine. Everywhere that Chaos touches you radiates an energy, a tightening, lingering tension that grows stronger with each passing moment. You’re curious, you know that you are, even if you want to deny it. You hang your head and open your mouth. You intended to say no, you truly honestly did, but as Chaos cackles sharply behind you, you realise that somehow, the opposite word left your lips.

#vvw25 #vincentvalentineweek25 #vincent valentine #rev writes #my writing #call me chaos

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kravinoffswife · 1 day ago

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Red Hood x fem!reader (Bridgerton AU)

Authors note: I really enjoyed writing this! Sorry if Jason seems a bit OOC, I tried to make him fit with regency-era language and customs. I'm thinking of making this multiple parts because I have soooooo many ideas for chapters!

Warnings: AFAB reader, a bit of angst/flirting with sexual undertones.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･��: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *

Trepidation bubbled in her stomach as her uncle's carriage pulled onto the drive, the clip-clop of the purebred horses slowing to a halt. It was the second ball of the season; a masquerade hosted by Lady Danbury. It was also the second ball that [y/n] had ever attended having lived most of her life in the countryside. Of course, there were events amongst the nobility of Yorkshire (where she had grown up) but these were nothing more than barn dances in comparison to the glitz and grandeur of the ton.

In a bid to distract herself from the impending ball, she surveyed her environs through the small window. Even in the near-darkness she could see the sheer immensity of the building in front of her; pristine cream blocks and gargantuan pillars. The grounds were well-kept with a perfectly mown lawn, viridescent hedges and cone-shaped bushes.

Her elder cousin, Edmund, exited the carriage then took her hand and helped her onto the magnolia gravel. Each step felt like a pulsing heartbeat as they neared the entrance to the manor. Once inside, time seemed fly by and she was soon surrounded by the clamour of the London Ton. She held her mask close to her face as if that might shield her from the abrasive judgements of her fellow ball-goers. The mask was a sage green colour with delicate silver details, perfectly matching her dress, which she fidgeted with nervously with her other hand.

The hall was large, endlessly so, each wall decorated with satin curtains and ornate paintings. Daisy-yellow light was cast from the myriad of diamond chandelliers. The band was stationed in one corner, streams of music drifting from their instruments.

She did not know where to look, where to go. Her cousin had left her to catch up with some of his acquaintances from his boarding school days that just so happened to be in attendance. She drifted towards a huddle of young girls that were stood next to the refreshment table, quickly u-turning after catching a glimpse of their sour expressions.

One of said girls, a tall young lady with fair hair and bird-like facial features walked past [y/n], spilling the contents of her glass on her dress as she did so.

"Oh my, how clumsy I am!?" She said with mock apologeticness that was actually insulting. "Ever so sorry."

"I am sure you are, Cressida." [y/n] held back harsher words. Back home, she was known for her sharp tongue and volatile temper. That was part of the reason she had to leave. She refused to repeat the mistakes of her past.

"Excuse me." She pushed past Cressida and the gaggle of ball-attendees that had gathered to watch the drama ensue. She fought her way out of the room and navigated her way to the gardens. The cool spring air entering her lungs sent waves of tranquillity through her person. Solitude was finally hers, and she could not be more grateful. One thing you must get used to as a lady of London's high-society is that you are rarely truly alone. There is always a lady's maid, servant, prying peer or well-meaning familial relation nearby - or in this case a dashing young man.

He took off his crimson mask, revealing a face that was crafted by Michelangelo himself.

"Am I interrupting something?" He spoke bluntly as if having to talk to her was a chore that he would rather not have to do.

"Yes, go. You are interrupting my wallowing." She snapped before she could stop herself.

"You are not the only one who would like to use this space for wallowing, miss..." He trailed off expectantly.

"[l/n]. Miss [y/n] [l/n]."

"Jason Todd. Under other circumstances I might kiss the back of your hand and say it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Careful, Mr Todd. Lying is a sin."

He let out a bitter chuckle. "And what would you know about sin, Miss [l/n]?"

"Do not let my debutante status and nervous demeanor fool you. I know ample amounts about sin." She said the last part quietly under her breath. He raised a brow at this and wet his lips with his tongue. He took a confident step towards her and bowed his head so that his breath danced against her neck as he spoke.

"I think I shall need proof of your alleged debauchery." He said lowly. [y/n] felt an unfamiliar tingling sensation in her lower abdomen which seemed to gain in intensity the longer she breathed in his musk.

"Please, elaborate."

"What I am envisioning is not meant to be said in the presence of a lady." His fingers trailed the soft skin on the back of her neck.

"Yet you have no qualms about envisioning said things." She scoffed and cut him off as he tried to retort. "Are you scared I'll swoon?"

"If you do I shall catch you."

"How valiant." Her eyes rolled.

"Yes, quite." His eyes traced the lines on [y/n]'s lips. In the lack-luster light she could not decide whether they were blue or green, simply a cacophony of ocean shades with a fleck or two of gold. Flush crept up her neck and onto her face. Her breath hitched, chest pushing against the stiff fabric of her dress as she inhaled deeply.

"Am I making you nervous, miss [l/n]?"

She shook her head, suddenly devoid of words.

He smirked. "Do I make you excited?" His well-muscled arm encircled her waist. He gradually drew her closer to his chest. Even through his various layers of clothing, she could feel the warmth that his body radiated. [y/n] melted within his embrace. The feeling in her stomach meta-morphed to a pulsing feeling in her lower regions.

[y/n] did not get to answer his question. Edmund's voice cried out, "[y/n]! Where are you? Are you hiding? Come back the ball this instance!"

As quickly as he had come, Jason Todd disappeared, leaving only a yearning in her heart (and other parts of her body).

She had to see him again.

#bridgerton x reader #x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #dc comics x reader #bridgerton #jason todd x you #batfamily #jason todd imagine #red hood #kravinoffswife #dc fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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koobiie · 2 days ago

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a list of one piece art/artists i love in no particular order

no one asked for this but you know what. i love a lot of one piece fanartists and artists could always use more love <3

ford-owner's band au

amazing and perfect band au. everyone is perfectly designed and characterized. merry as the van is so inspired and their style has so much life !!!! and fun expressions!!!

kimboltart's furry/mink au

never have i seen a more incredible and perfect furry au. the species choices are IMPECCABLE and every design is PERFECT and feels so soso right !!!!! ! !! !

jakkenpoy/99kahoy

you know when someone draws a character so much it becomes theirs? thats what happened with jakkenpoy and iceburg. congratulations on becoming the CEO of iceburg. i mean just look at this lovingly crafted painting. their sense of stylized anatomy is AMAZINGGGG too!!! so shapes!!! like okay welcome back leyendecker!!!!! !!

cranity

i mean what else can be said abt cranitys i assume we all know and love them by now. absolute MASTER of lines and texture and composition and funky colors and ! !! !!!! every new post of theirs blows me out of the water fr

toboldlymuppet

personally i know toboldlymuppet as "artist who draws angry one piece women getting their retribution and it fucking rules." i love this one especially as a water 7 stan, like the absolute raw emotion and feeling it evokes?!?? AAAAAAAAAH ITS SO FIRE

saishoguu

oh my god the way saishoguu draws anatomy is just so., um. uits. i kind of lack the words to describe how it makes me feel except for i LOVE IT!!!!! so so shapes!!!! everyone looks so simple but ALIVE at the same time its so so so gso good.

wellfine/wellship

personally i am not very much into shipping anymore. but one BIG exception is wellfine's ship art. every time they post a ship comic it drags me kicking and screaming into loving it and theyre so wonderfully characterized. i think about this specific comic ALL THE DAMN TIME. such wonderful lineart and interpretations of character designs too!! same face syndrome is afraid of them!!!!! congrats on being the CEO of sanji as well!!!

elekilokal

absolutely DELIGHTFUL so CARTOONY and full of WHIMSY!!!!!! i love their art style so so much, its really so saturday morning cartoon and it fills me with such joy <3

this one specific post

unfortunately it seems that op deactivated and i'm not sure how to find them but this one specific post drives me crazy. i remember that at my height of high school one piece obsession i literally shoved this in everyones faces and reblogged it so much. the shape language for them is seriously perfect and idk what itch it scratches in my brain but it makes me feel CRAZY!!!!!!

anyways thats all. please do go check the original post versions of those links especially cause they only show the first image. of course theres so much more amazing stuff that i didnt include..... thank you artists i love you artists

#not tagging anyone because erm. i am shy #but the message here is lets all appreciate our fellow artists making banger shit every day #one piece #text #they call me the yapping yapper

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navyiera · 2 hours ago

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TERRAPIN;

pairing: caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader

synopsis: what's a better day than cuddling up to your girlfriend and playing games while she reads?

VERY short. sorry. I have many completed drafts for cait and even ellie so ill be posting them very fast. But PLEASE feel free to share your ideas in my reqs. I'm more than happy to comply. smut might take a while bec I'm not very efficient when it comes to that. Still it's open for reqs!!

The evening settles around you like a soft blanket, the kind Caitlyn always drapes over your shoulders when she thinks you’re too cold. The warm glow of the bedside lamp paints the room in amber hues, contrasting with the cooler, bluish light of your phone screen. Caitlyn’s beside you, sitting up against the headboard, one hand holding a book open while the other absentmindedly strokes your hair.

You’re curled up against her side, legs tangled with hers, head resting against her shoulder as you tap away at your game. The soft rustle of pages turning blends with the faint, rhythmic sounds of your gameplay. It’s a comfortable quiet, the kind you’ve come to cherish with her.

"You're frowning," Caitlyn murmurs, her voice gentle, her lips barely brushing your forehead as she speaks.

You huff, still focused on the screen. "This boss is annoying."

She chuckles, low and affectionate. "Is it one of those fights where you’re being stubborn instead of playing smart?"

You lift your head to give her an exaggerated glare, and she meets it with an amused, knowing smile. "You don’t know that," you grumble.

"I do," she teases, shifting slightly so she can kiss the top of your head. "You get that look when you're too deep in your pride to back down."

You sigh dramatically but don’t argue. She’s right, after all. Instead, you let your phone drop onto your stomach and lean further into her warmth. "What’re you reading?"

Caitlyn tilts the book slightly so you can see. "It’s a reread," she says. "One of my comfort books."

You don’t recognize the title, but it doesn’t matter. You like the way she talks about books, the way she gets this quiet reverence when she loves a story. You press your cheek against her shoulder, letting your eyes drift over the words even if you aren’t really following.

"Read to me?" you ask softly.

She hesitates, just for a second. Then, with a slight smile, she shifts the book, her voice slipping into a low, soothing cadence as she begins. You close your eyes, letting her words wash over you, warm and familiar like waves against the shore.

Minutes pass, or maybe longer—you lose track of time in the steady rhythm of her voice and the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath you. When she pauses to turn the page, you take the opportunity to press a kiss against her collarbone.

She hums in approval, the sound vibrating against your lips. "Distracted already?"

"Mm, not my fault," you murmur, pressing another kiss, this time against her jaw. She tilts her head slightly, giving you more room, and you take full advantage, trailing kisses up to the corner of her mouth.

Caitlyn catches your chin between her fingers, tilting your face up to look at her. Her expression is soft, eyes half-lidded with quiet amusement and something deeper, something warm. "You're beautiful."

You grin. "So are you."

Caitlyn sighs, but it's a fond one, her thumb brushing over your lower lip before she finally leans down to kiss you properly. Her lips are soft, slow, unhurried—like she has all the time in the world to savor this. And maybe she does. Maybe you both do.

When she pulls away, she lets her forehead rest against yours for a moment before nudging you lightly. "I thought you were fighting an annoying boss."

You groan, flopping back against her side dramatically. "Ugh, don’t remind me."

She laughs, and you feel it in the way her chest moves against you, the way her fingers tighten slightly in your hair. "Come on," she says, reaching for your phone and placing it back in your hands. "I’ll hold you while you finish. No rage-quitting, though."

You grumble but settle back in, her arms wrapping around you as you refocus on the game. The warmth of her, the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the occasional soft kiss she presses against your temple—it all makes the fight a little easier, the loss a little less frustrating.

And when you finally win, she praises you like you’ve just conquered something monumental, her voice full of pride, her hands cupping your face as she kisses you again.

"See?" she murmurs against your lips. "Told you you’d get it."

You sigh contentedly, letting your phone slip from your fingers as you curl into her once more. "You’re so smug."

"I’m always right," Caitlyn corrects playfully, pulling the blanket tighter around both of you.

You roll your eyes but don't argue. Instead, you nestle closer, pressing your face against the crook of her neck. "Read to me again?"

Caitlyn smiles against your hair, her voice softer this time, carrying you both into the kind of quiet that lingers, warm and safe and full of love.

#arcane x female reader #arcane x reader #caitlyn kiramman x female reader #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x fem reader #caitlyn kiramman fluff #caitlyn arcane x reader #arcane fluff #arcane caitlyn x reader #caitlyn fluff #caitlyn x fem reader #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn x you #caitlyn kiramman x you

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yunholic-jongholic · 2 days ago

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Love In a Divorce [Part 2] | C.JH x Reader

SUMMARY | In a strained 10-year marriage, you and your husband decide to get a divorce due to growing tensions. While meeting with your divorce attorney, you unexpectedly develop feelings for him. As the divorce process unfolds, you find yourself in an intimate relationship with the attorney, complicating the situation as you navigate your separation from your ex-husband.

PAIRINGS | Jongho x Fem!Reader

RATING | Mature, 18+

CONTENT WARNINGS | Mentions of Abuse and Manipulation, Relationship Trauma, Toxic Relationship, Alcohol use. (If I missed some please let me know!

WORD COUNT | 4k

AUTHOR NOTE | This is the 2nd part of the story! We are finally getting into Y/N's feelings about Jongho :3c hehe! Hope you enjoyed! (I am a fast writer, look at me go!)

•

The next morning, you woke up to an unusually quiet house—your husband wasn’t home. The emptiness felt strange, a lingering sense of unease brushing against the edges of your thoughts, but you pushed it aside. You didn’t want to waste energy worrying, not today.

Rising from bed, you went through your morning routine, getting dressed in a sense of quiet determination. As you glanced at your reflection one last time, you felt a subtle shift inside you—nervous, yes, but also ready.

After gathering your things, you left the house, stopping by your favorite coffee shop to pick up a cup of warmth, hoping it would steady your nerves. Then, without letting your thoughts spiral, you drove straight to your appointment with Jongho, the reality of this new chapter slowly settling in with every mile.

"Hello! I am here for my appointment with Mr. Choi." You spoke to the front desk lady who seemed to be the one who you spoke to on the phone to schedule the appointment. "Yes! I will sign you in and he will be ready to see you in a few." The girl smiled at you, and you went to sit down. Not even 5 minutes go by, and you hear the front desk girl call you over and leads you to Jongho's office.

"Hello." You speak as you walk in, the girl shutting the door behind you leaving you and Jongho alone. He stands up and welcomes you in smiling. You smile back and take a seat in front of his desk.

"So, before we get started, I’m going to walk you through the laws and procedures," Jongho said, settling into his chair with a calm, professional demeanor. He opened his laptop, his fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard before reaching for a folder filled with neatly organized documents.

"I want you to understand exactly what I do and how we can work together to help you settle this divorce with your soon-to-be ex-husband," he continued, his tone steady and reassuring. The way he spoke made the process feel less overwhelming, like you weren’t facing it alone. You took a deep breath, ready to listen, as Jongho began explaining the steps that would guide you toward the freedom you’d been longing for.

After thoroughly explaining the legal process and procedures, Jongho leaned back slightly, his expression softening. "Have you experienced any financial issues, domestic abuse, or substance abuse problems with your husband?" he asked gently, his tone careful and non-judgmental.

The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. You went silent, your mind racing as memories you’d tried to bury began to resurface—arguments filled with anger, the emotional distance, the manipulation. It was like a flood of everything you’d endured rushing back at once.

Taking a shaky breath, you finally spoke, your voice quiet but steady. You gave Jongho a brief summary of what your relationship had been, the cracks that had grown deeper over time, and the reasons you knew you needed out. You didn’t go into every painful detail, but it was enough to paint the picture of a love that had withered into something unrecognizable.

Jongho listened carefully, his expression filled with genuine empathy. When you finished, he sighed softly and met your gaze. "I’m really sorry to hear that," he said with sincerity, his words carrying a weight of understanding. "But I’m here to help. We’ll get you started on the path to freedom."

Those words settled in your heart like a small, comforting flame, warming the parts of you that had long felt cold and forgotten. For the first time in a while, you felt a glimmer of hope. Jongho writes down the information you give him to keep aside. While he is writing stuff down, you scan the room that has a warm feeling of security and safety.

"Okay, I would need you to give me details about your first bad experience with him." You wanted to be honest it's when you met him. You only fell in love with him because you saw a handsome guy on the outside and didn't care for his personality on the inside. Even when you heard stories of when he was younger, he would verbally abuse and manipulate his own mother. You wish you would have seen and done something before agreeing to get married to him.

As you continued speaking, the weight of your words grew heavier, each memory chipping away at the fragile walls you’d built around your heart. Your voice began to falter, and before you could stop it, tears welled up in your eyes. You fell silent, the emotions overwhelming you, and instinctively looked down, trying to hide the tears as you wiped your face, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over you.

Jongho noticed immediately. Without hesitation, he reached over, gently handing you a tissue, his expression soft and filled with genuine concern. His small gesture carried a quiet reassurance that you weren’t being judged.

You let out a shaky sigh, your voice barely a whisper. "I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to get emotional." Jongho shook his head softly, his voice calm and comforting. "You don’t have to apologize. It’s okay. This is hard, and you’ve been carrying a lot. You’re safe here."

His words wrapped around you like a gentle embrace, easing the tension in your chest. For the first time in a long while, it felt okay to just feel—to let the emotions be what they were without having to hide them. As you continued, you finally spoke up about recent events.

A little while later, as the meeting was wrapping up, Jongho offered to schedule your next appointment, explaining that it would focus more on navigating the legal system and helping to ease some of the stress. You nodded in agreement, thanking him sincerely for listening and supporting you through the process before deciding to head back home.

When you arrived home, you carefully tucked away the files Jongho had given you—documents filled with important information about the legal process and the steps to initiate your divorce. Your heart raced slightly as you tried to be discreet. Glancing over, you noticed your husband on the phone, deeply engaged in conversation, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

Needing a moment of escape, you quietly slipped into the bathroom, locking the door behind you. Your hands trembled slightly as you pulled out your phone, quickly dialing Yeosang’s number. The moment he answered, his familiar voice washing over you, you let out a relieved sigh.

"Hey! I’m glad you picked up," you breathed, your voice soft but filled with the tension you’d been holding in all day.

"How was your meeting with Jongho?" Yeosang asked, his tone gentle yet curious, clearly wanting to know how it went.

You sank down onto the closed toilet seat, your back against the cool wall, and began telling him everything. You shared the details of the meeting—Jongho’s calm explanations, the overwhelming emotions that crept in, and the heavy yet hopeful feeling of taking the first real steps toward freedom. Yeosang listened quietly, his occasional hums of acknowledgment and soft words of encouragement letting you know he was there, even if just through the phone.

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you, thankful to have such a supportive friend like Yeosang. Needing an escape from the suffocating atmosphere at home, you hesitated for a moment before asking, "Hey, do you think we could hang out tonight? I just… I really need to get out of the house. My husband’s glued to it like always."

There was a brief pause on the other end, Yeosang seemingly unsure. Then he finally replied, his voice a little hesitant, "Well, Jongho, Yunho, and I were planning to go out for dinner. You can totally join us, but… it might feel a little awkward for you since, y’know…" His words trailed off into a soft cough, mumbling the last part so quietly you couldn’t quite catch it.

You didn’t think twice about it. "I don’t mind," you said quickly, brushing off any potential awkwardness. "Honestly, whatever helps me get out of the house sounds perfect." Yeosang let out a small chuckle, his tone softening. "Alright, I’ll text you the details. See you soon."

You stepped out of the bathroom, only to find your husband sprawled on the couch, deep asleep and snoring loudly. You sighed, rolling your eyes in frustration, the familiar annoyance bubbling up. How can someone be so lazy, you thought, doing nothing to support me or even help around the house? Shaking your head, you grabbed your phone, not even bothering to wake him. Your fingers moved quickly as you typed out a message:

"Hey, I’m going out with Yeosang and some friends tonight. Just a heads-up—I’ll have my phone on Do Not Disturb, so don’t bother texting or calling. I don’t need any stress or problems tonight."

You hit send, slipping your phone into your pocket with a quiet sense of relief. It felt good to set that boundary, even if it was small. Tonight was about you—your space, your freedom, and the people who actually made you feel seen.

You got ready, choosing an outfit that made you feel comfortable yet confident, a small act of self-care amid the chaos. After grabbing your things, you left the house without looking back, the tension easing with every mile as you drove to the bar where Yeosang and his friends were waiting.

The moment you walked in, the dim lights and hum of conversation wrapping around you, Yeosang spotted you right away. His face lit up with a warm smile as he waved you over. "Hey! Glad you made it," he greeted, gently guiding you through the crowd to where they were sitting at the bar.

You slid onto an empty stool, your eyes drifting over to Jongho, who was already halfway through his drink. He gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, his usual composed demeanor relaxed just slightly in the casual setting. The atmosphere felt lighter than you expected, the buzz of laughter and music offering a much-needed distraction.

As you settled into the seat between Jongho and Yeosang, Jongho leaned in slightly, his voice low and gentle. "Are you feeling better?" he asked, his eyes flickering with genuine concern.

You gave a small nod, offering a faint smile as you signaled the bartender to take your drink order. The chatter of the bar buzzed around you, blending with the sound of glasses clinking and laughter from nearby tables.

Across from you, Yunho was completely absorbed in the basketball game playing on the TV, his focus unwavering. But Yeosang? He wasn’t nearly as subtle. You caught him glancing at you with a smug grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, clearly noticing how your eyes kept drifting toward Jongho.

You couldn’t help it—Jongho looked effortlessly good under the warm bar lighting. The way his hair was slicked back, his jawline catching the glow, and the slight crease in his brow as he focused on his drink—it all pulled your attention without you even realizing. Yeosang’s knowing look made you roll your eyes playfully, but deep down, you couldn’t deny it. Jongho had definitely caught your interest.

Yeosang winked at you pointing his eyes at Jongho suggesting you talk to him. You felt your face heat up as you realized Yeosang knew how you were starting to feel. Jongho sighed asking the bartender another drink as he finished his last one. You just started your drink already feeling the strong taste hit you in the face.

"Oh my god. I don't think that was a good idea." You scrunch your nose sticking your tongue out playfully. Yeosang laughs at your reaction teasing you. "Oh, what do you usually like?" Jongho asked, his tone casual but laced with genuine curiosity as he glanced over at you.

You hummed softly, thinking for a moment before answering honestly, "I don’t usually drink, but when I do, I stick to margaritas or iced drinks." You smiled, feeling a little shy about the simplicity of your choice.

Jongho nodded, his lips curling into a warm, easy smile. "Everyone has their own tastes," he replied, his gaze lingering on you just a second longer than expected.

That simple smile did something you weren’t prepared for. You felt your face heat up, a soft flush creeping across your cheeks. It was subtle, but undeniable. There was something about the way he looked at you—calm, confident, and unbothered by the noise around you—that made your heart skip, even if just for a moment. Yeosang tapped your knee with his knee suggesting you keep talking to him, but you couldn't.

Feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks, you nervously reached for your phone, pretending to check the time while also giving yourself a reason to break away from Jongho’s gaze. As you glanced at the screen, your heart instantly sank.

Five missed calls. Multiple texts. All from your husband.

A cold wave of anxiety washed over you, replacing the brief comfort you’d felt moments ago. Your mind raced, heart pounding as the worst-case scenarios flooded in—Did something happen? Is he angry? Did he find the files? The room felt louder, the chatter and clinking glasses now a distant hum against the rush of your thoughts.

Yeosang glanced over, his playful expression fading as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. Jongho, too, seemed to sense the tension, his casual smile replaced with quiet concern. Yunho's eyes were still glued to the TV.

You swallowed hard, your fingers hovering over your screen, unsure whether to open the messages or leave them unread, afraid of what you might see. You glanced up, catching both Jongho and Yeosang watching you with quiet concern etched on their faces. Forcing a small, strained smile, you quickly reassured them, "It’s okay, really. Nothing to worry about."

But the tightness in your chest betrayed your words. No matter how hard you tried to push the anxiety aside, your mind kept circling back to those missed calls and unread messages. The worry grew heavier with each passing second, making it impossible to focus on anything else.

With a shaky breath, you finally gave in, unlocking your phone and opening the text messages from your husband. You read the threats he has sent you and you felt your breathing get faster as you slowly started panicking when you see the photos of your husband finding the divorce files and paperwork.

Jongho stood up and walked over to you, his expression filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

You quickly shoved your phone into your pocket, staring down at your hands as they trembled. A lump formed in your throat, and you fought hard to push the overwhelming emotions deep into the pit of your stomach, trying to keep yourself from breaking down.

Your voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. "Yeosang… is it okay if I stay with you tonight? I don’t think I have enough money for a hotel…" You stuttered, your words fragile, carrying the weight of everything you’d been holding back. Yunho finally turned his head from the TV towards you then Yeosang.

"If you want, I have a guest room you can stay in," Jongho offered gently, his voice filled with genuine care. "Only if you feel comfortable, of course. I just want to make sure you’re safe."

You looked up at him, your heart softening at the kindness in his eyes. "Thank you… I really appreciate it," you replied quietly, feeling a small sense of relief. After a brief pause, you nodded. "I’d like that. Thank you, Jongho."

With the tension slightly eased, the four of you shifted the conversation, letting the night flow into lighthearted chatter and casual banter. Yeosang cracked a few jokes, Yunho stayed animated about the basketball game, and Jongho occasionally threw in dry comments that made you chuckle despite yourself.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the stress begin to fade, even if just temporarily. Their presence was grounding, keeping your mind distracted from the heaviness you’d carried with you.

After sharing a few more drinks and light conversation with your friends, you finally left the bar, following Jongho to his place. The drive was quiet, giving you a moment to breathe and collect your scattered thoughts. When you arrived, you pulled up just as Jongho was parking his car.

Stepping out, you glanced around, taking in the sight of his home. It was surprisingly nice—modern yet cozy, with warm lights glowing softly through the windows, giving it an inviting feel. As you walked toward the door, Jongho unlocked it and held it open for you.

The moment you stepped inside, you were greeted by a fresh, clean scent, a subtle mix of something earthy and calming, like cedarwood and a hint of citrus. The space was neat, well-kept, and minimalistic, yet it had a warmth that made it feel lived in.

"You’ve got a really nice place," you murmured, your voice soft but genuine as you glanced around, feeling a strange sense of comfort, you hadn’t expected.

Jongho gave a small smile, shrugging slightly. "Thanks. I try to keep it peaceful—it helps after long days at work." You nodded, taking a deep breath. The weight you’d been carrying all day felt just a little bit lighter.

You glanced over at Jongho as he shrugged off his coat, revealing a crisp white button-up that fit him perfectly, subtly outlining the lean definition of his frame. Your face grew warm again, and you quickly looked away, brushing off the unexpected thoughts.

You made your way to the sofa, plopping down with a soft sigh, letting the comfort of the cushions ease some of the tension in your body. Your eyes wandered around his living room, taking in the clean, minimalist decor with thoughtful touches—framed photos, neatly stacked books, and soft lighting that gave the space a cozy, inviting feel.

Jongho walked over, his expression softening as he sat across from you. "So… was everything okay?" he asked gently, his voice low and sincere, clearly wanting an honest answer.

You hesitated for a moment, staring down at your hands before meeting his gaze, feeling the weight of the question settle between you both.

"Not really, my husband found the files of the divorce papers and blew up at my phone..." You sigh. Jongho sat back on the sofa next to you. "I am sorry about that. Can I see the messages?" he asks. You are hesitant at first but give in anyways. He scrolls and keeps them in his mind.

"I need them for proof to show later on. It’ll help your case in the long run," Jongho said, his voice firm but controlled, though the frustration was clear in his expression. You could see it in the way his jaw tensed slightly, his brows furrowing as he processed everything, you’d told him about your husband.

It wasn’t just professional concern—it was personal, too. The way your husband had been treating you clearly didn’t sit right with him. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly, trying to keep his composure for your sake.

"I just hate seeing you go through this," he added quietly, his tone softening as he looked at you, his frustration shifting into genuine concern. "But we’ll make sure it’s handled properly. You deserve better than this."

Those words lingered, comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. Jongho sat up and handed your phone back to you. You slid the phone in your pocket just wanting to forget what your husband said to you. Jongho offers you if you want anything to drink but you just hum a 'no'. Jongho comes back with a glass and sits in front of you.

"I want you to try this," Jongho said, his voice a bit softer now, trying to ease the tension in the room. "You mentioned earlier that you liked iced drinks. It’s a bit sweet for my taste, but it was my mom’s favorite. She used to ask me to make it for her whenever she visited."

The warmth in his voice and the nostalgic smile tugging at the corner of his lips managed to lighten the mood just a little. You couldn’t help but smile back, touched by the small gesture.

You reached for the glass, bringing it close to take in the aroma—a subtle blend of fruity and fresh with a hint of something floral. It was comforting in a way you couldn’t quite explain. Taking a small sip, the sweetness hit your tongue, perfectly balanced with a refreshing coolness that made you hum softly in approval.

"This is really good," you said, smiling genuinely this time. "I can see why your mom loved it." Jongho chuckled softly, a relaxed look crossing his face. "Yeah, she had good taste." You set the glass down and mainly talk with Jongho all night about both of your pasts.

"Have you ever thought about getting married?" you asked, your curiosity genuine. "I know you’re a divorce lawyer, but with all the broken relationships you see, have you ever thought about marriage for yourself?"

Jongho let out a soft sigh, pausing for a moment before glancing at you, then shifting his gaze to the floor.

"Well," he began, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt with practiced ease, "I haven’t been in a relationship since high school. The girl I liked back then chose someone else… a guy who, well, wasn’t exactly stable. Nothing too extreme, but he definitely needed help."

As he spoke, you found yourself slowly drifting off—not from boredom but lost in quiet admiration. The way he carried himself, the calmness in his voice, and the subtle confidence in his movements drew you in. His thoughtful expression, paired with the soft lighting, made him seem effortlessly composed, and for a brief moment, you felt your heart warm up just by looking at him.

You let out a soft yawn, feeling the exhaustion finally catch up with you. Jongho noticed right away, his gaze shifting to you with gentle concern.

"Do you want to head to bed?" he asked quietly, his voice low and considerate.

You nodded softly, stifling another yawn as you stretched slightly. Jongho stood up and offered his hand to help you, his touch warm and grounding. He guided you to the guest room, the quiet footsteps echoing softly in the hallway.

As soon as you reached the bed, you sank into it with a relieved sigh, the mattress cradling your tired body. A fuzzy warmth settled in your chest and head, a mix of fatigue and something else comfort, maybe even a bit of safety.

Jongho lingered at the door for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the doorframe. "If you need clothes, there are some in the closet. They’re men’s sizes, though," he added with a small smile.

You nodded again, your eyelids already growing heavy. "Good night," he murmured softly before quietly closing the door, leaving you wrapped in the comforting stillness of the room.

You slowly got up, feeling a bit lightheaded from the drinks, your movements slightly unsteady. The quiet of the room wrapped around you like a blanket, but the lingering fuzziness in your head made it hard to fully relax. You wandered over to the closet, sliding the door open to find a few neatly hung clothes.

Your fingers brushed against a baggy sweatshirt, soft to the touch, and a pair of men’s shorts. Without overthinking it, you grabbed them and slipped them on. The sweatshirt hung loosely on you, the sleeves slightly covering your hands, while the shorts were comfortably roomy.

The moment the fabric settled against your skin; a wave of unexpected comfort washed over you. It wasn’t just the coziness of the clothes—it was the faint, familiar scent clinging to them. A mix of clean laundry with a subtle hint of something uniquely Jongho—maybe his cologne, something earthy and warm.

You couldn’t help but smile softly to yourself, feeling an unexpected warmth in your chest. The clothes felt like a gentle hug, grounding you more than you’d anticipated. As you sank back onto the bed, wrapped in the oversized sweatshirt, you realized it wasn’t just the fabric that made you feel cozy—it was the quiet comfort of being in a space where, for once, you felt safe. You slowly fell asleep on the bed in ease.

•

Wow! Long chapter! I am sorry there is still no heated smutty moments yet.... But I promise you they are coming! You have finally developed feelings for Jongho and I can't guarantee but maybe... MAYBE next chapter will have smut (more towards the end...) I usually don't like leaving chapters more than 5k words... Anyways! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! If you want to be tagged next one (or only for the smutty chapter.... Let me know... 👀

#ateez smut #ateez fanfic #jongho fanfic #jongho x reader #jongho smut #choi jongho x reader

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