#Though I’d also like to belong to Key too

[orionember]

The Bisexual disaster of Long Live Evil is actually just me being attracted to Rae, Key, and almost every one else in this entire book.

I would do absolutely anything for every single one of the Vipers. I love all of them so much.

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

💚 masterlist | inbox | AO3 💚

On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

[jellalism]

Kinktober 2024, Day 12: Consequence (Erotica)

You were caught by Noel, and now you have to suffer the consequences of your escape attempt. Sequel to Day 5: Sneak.

Word count: 2441 words

Genre: Erotica, horror

Reader’s gender and sex: gender neutral, but “boy/girl” used. Reader does not wear a bra.

Content warnings: Yandere and all that that entails, including sadism/torture, rape/dubcon, manipulation. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT.

Notes: Noel is an OC of @devotion-disorder. The art in the banner is also by them!

Read below or on AO3.

“Go on. Walk. You know the way to the punishment room.” Noel gives you a push in the back, making you stumble forward, forcing you further up the stairs. “The more you dawdle, the worse it will be. Time’s ticking, honey.” The way he uses that term is nowhere near cute. It is possessive. He uses it specifically to remind you to who you belong. Anyone else who’d call you ‘honey’ would soon eat their words… or become unable to speak any word at all.

You obediently make your way upstairs. Your body already hurts. The blood drips from your nose into your mouth and down your chin. The way he has kicked you in the back and slammed his body into yours once you were on the ground makes you feel sore all over. But you know it’s going to get worse. I’d better obey him, you think. There’s no way out.

“See? You can obey me. If only you had done that earlier, we would not be in this sticky situation. But noooo, you just had to try to break out.” He smacks your ass hard, but your trousers take some of the impact. For now. “Now I have to punish you.”

You reach the top of the stairs and go right without a word. To the punishment room, right next to the bedroom. The activities done in one room may easily lead to the adjoining one.

“Stand there.” He points some distance away from the door. He fishes a key out of his pocket and opens the door. “After you.” He holds the door open for you. For just a second, you hesitate, but you know you have no choice. Any survival instincts kicking in must be repressed. You have to embrace the pain to survive, counter-intuitive though it is.

The room is filled with all kinds of devices to inflict pain. There’s different whips, pads, cuffs, and things you don’t even know the use of. ‘Punishment room’ is a euphemism; ‘torture chamber’ is more apt. In the middle, a wooden table stands.

“On it. On your back. I want to see your face.”

You do as he says. Noel roughly grabs your wrists and clicks them into the cuffs attached to the table. They’re above shoulder height, so they don’t twist your arms too badly. But that’s not the point of the cuffs, anyway. The point is not even to stop you from escaping—Noel is strong and fast enough to do that with his body. The point is simply to make you feel helpless. To be unable to reflexively lift your arms in self-defense, to be unable to have that basic biological function do its work, adds to the utter despair that he can arouse in you. That he will arouse in you.

He takes your ankles and cuffs them to the table, as well. Your legs are a little ways apart.

“Oh, it seems like you still have your clothes on. Totally forgot about that!” Noel says, clearly acting. You can’t see him from your position. “Guess we’ll have to rid you of them unconventionally.” And suddenly, he hangs over you, showing you a knife. It looks sharp as hell. Your breathing grows shallow. You hope he isn’t going to do what you think he will.

He moves to the side of the table and positions the knife at the neck of your shirt. Then he presses down. You feel it pressing into your skin. He takes your shirt and starts cutting. He doesn’t press the knife into your body every time. But every once in a while, you feel the sharp blade moving over your torso, opening it up, no doubt making you bleed.

“Noel, I’m afraid,” you mutter. You didn’t even think about the words; they just came out automatically. Strangely, sometimes you find that you want him to comfort you. He’s always there for you, after all. The only one who’s there. And sometimes, in your despair, you cry out for him.

“You’re afraid? As you should be.” He finishes cutting and tears the remainders of your shirt from your body. You feel the cloth covering your back slide out from under you. Your entire torso is now displayed to him. “Bad [boy/girl]s won’t get any comfort from me. You fucked around. Now it’s time to find out.”

He clenches his fist and smashes it into your stomach. Pain sears through you. You feel the bile rising in your throat, but swallow it down. Then you sputter and cough, and scream.

“See? No pity from me. It’s all your fault, you know? I can be nice. You know I can be nice. I love you, and I want nothing but the best for you. You know this.” He caresses your face with the knife, leaving a shallow cut on your left cheek. “That’s why I’m hurting you. It would be terrible for you and me both if you were to continue misbehaving. So I need to beat it out of you.”

“P-please,” you stammer in fear. You know it won’t do anything, but the words just spill from your mouth.

Noel ignores you. He moves to the back of the table, outside of your field of vision. “Time to get started on your trousers.” He sets the knife at the bottom, making a cut in the cloth near your right ankle. “Fuck it, I don’t have time for this.” You hear the sound of tearing cloth and feel cold air running up all over your leg. He does the same for your left leg: a small cut at the bottom, and rest is just one big tear. For the last part, near your waist, he takes out his knife again. He doesn’t hold back this time. He sets the knife in the cloth forcefully and cuts the last bit of cloth efficiently, without regard for your skin. You whimper and cry as the knife leaves a deep cut. You hear Noel chuckle.

He quickly removes the tatters of your trousers from your body. You’re only wearing your underwear now, though there’s not much left of it. But there’s still enough to conceal your most private parts.

“I’ll leave that on for now.”

You sigh in relief. A last shred of dignity can be retained. It is a tiny shred, but you have to take what you can get.

“Just kidding!” And he tears your underwear apart, exposing your genital area.

“Noel!” you cry out.

“What is it, baby?” He sounds cruel.

“Noel… please… I’m s-sorry. I’m so so sorry. I won’t do it again, I swear!” You’ve completely lost control of your mouth, rattling off apologies without even thinking about it.

He moves so that you can see him again. “No can do. I told you: if you are naughty, you will be punished. It’s not like I want to hurt you, but it’s necessary. You should never ever forget what happens when you break the rules. The consequences of that should be as dependable as gravity.” He says that, but you know better. He fucking loves to hurt you. Part of him is happy you broke the rules, so that he has a good excuse for fucking demolishing you. Knowing that only intensifies the fear.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, but to no avail.

Meanwhile, Noel moves back and rummages around. “Ah, got it!” He steps towards you to show you his find. A whip. But not just any whip: this one has spiky studs. “This will be a night to remember, y/n.”

“Please, for the love of God, Noel, stop!” Tears are streaming down your face; the terror he inspires in you is out of this world. “I beg of you!”

“Hmmm… should I stop?”

“Please, Noel! I’ll do anything for you! Please, just… don’t hurt me.” Something inside of you breaks, and you start sobbing even louder, making you unable to speak another word.

Noel just laughs. Suddenly, you feel a searing pain on your thighs, and you scream at the top of your lungs. As soon as you finish the scream, you gulp for air, but then the whip strikes again. Another scream escapes you; your entire world is pain. Somewhere in the back of your consciousness, you hear Noel complain giddily about how you make too much noise, but it doesn’t register. All you can do is sob and scream.

More lashings follow—you don’t even know how many, nor how long it lasts. Just that, at some point, the burning pain stops renewing itself. Suddenly, Noel’s face is right above yours; too close. “Now that’s what I like to see. You’ve learned your lesson now, right?”

You nod shakily, unable to do anything else. He could be asking you to sell your soul and you’d still nod; all you want is for the pain to end.

“Good, good.” He undoes the cuffs around your wrists and ankles. You feel his arms slide under you and, with a grunt, he lifts you up and walks out of the room. You both know you wouldn’t be able to walk by yourself. Still sobbing, you snuggle against him. God, how you missed him. This softer Noel. The one that would hold you in his arms.

He chuckles. “You’re such a good [boy/girl] now.”

A few moments later, he throws you on the bed. It doesn’t come as a surprise that he carried you to the bedroom. Noel is undressing hurriedly, unable to wait another moment.

“On your stomach. And place a pillow under yourself, so that your ass sticks out.”

You’re not sure if this is part of the punishment, or just ‘business as usual’. Things blend into each other. But at least, when he fucks you, he’s not as cruel as he is in that other room. So, for all intents and purposes, this is not punishment; this is a treat. Even though he’ll fuck on his own terms, as hard as he wants.

You obey him and, within seconds, you feel him take his place behind you. Two lubed up fingers massage the rim of your asshole. “You always make me so horny, you know? I love to see you happy, but God, your crying face just makes me want to fuck you so hard.” He slips in a finger and thrusts it in and out at a high pace. “I just can’t wait to fuck all those sweet moans out of you. It was so hard for me too, you know? To not thrust my cock inside you then and there.” Already, he adds a second finger. “You’re still tight, but I’ve waited so long, I can’t just…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

You want to speak, but you’re still unable to, your body completely broken and shaking all over. Noel continues his preparation of your ass. After a little more than a minute, he thinks he has prepared you enough. You’re not quite so sure, but you don’t struggle. If he thinks it’s enough, it must be enough. What Noel says goes.

“Ready for my cock, love?” He is holding your waist as you feel the head of his penis stimulating the rim of your anus. He presses inside; his impatience in the preparation makes it a little tight still, but he enters. There’s pain, but compared to the pain elsewhere in your body, it’s negligible. He sighs deeply, contentedly. “So damn good.”

He changes his position to lay on top of you, covering your body with his. With one hand, he pins your right hand to the mattress; the other wraps under your left armpit and grabs you at the throat roughly. Your breathing becomes more labored as he constricts the air flow.

“You like that, huh? Being all mine. You don’t get to breathe unless I allow it, got that?” He starts moving his cock, thrusting in and out slowly. His member is rather thick, and it always takes a while for your hole to get used to it.

When you don’t reply, he shortly squeezes your throat hard before loosening his grip, leaving you gasping for air. “I said, did you get that?”

“Y-y-yes, Noel.” Your voice comes out as a wheeze.

“Good,” he coos. “That’s how I know my sweetheart.” He lets go of your throat and pins your other hand to the mattress, too. “I think you’re loosened up enough by now.”

It’s true; his cock is going in and out more easily than it was before.

“Let me paint your insides white.” With those words, he starts fucking you in earnest. Hard and deep; with each thrust you scream it out. “That’s it, y/n!” he moans in your ear. “Let it out. Let me hear how good you feel.”

And, despite everything, he was right: you did feel good. He had abused you, even tortured you. But that was the punishment, which was over now. So, surely, now you could enjoy yourself… right? It was hard to think straight around him. He didn’t allow you the space in your mind.

“How does it feel, baby?” Not having gotten his answer in words, his tone became more demanding. He accompanied it with a particularly hard thrust. The pain surged through you, but there was pleasure, too.

“Feels so good!” you mewled. “Noel… Noel…” You moan his name over and over, and he, with his mouth so close to your ear, whispers yours. You can feel his breath and hear every tiny sound he makes.

“See? If you behave, I’ll fuck you nicely. Isn’t it pleasant like this?”

“Yes, Noel.” You’re not even sure anymore if you mean what you say, or what the causal chain of events is. Did you agree with him because it is pleasant, or is it pleasant because you agreed with him?

“That’s a good [boy/girl].” His breathing grows more labored as he keeps penetrating you deeply. “I’m going to cum soon,” he whispers in your ear. “I’m gonna cum inside, and fill you up really good. You did so good bearing the punishment. You deserve it, you deserve my thick cock shooting it all inside you.” His voice grows more frenetic as he gets closer to ejaculation. He moans and groans and you feel his cock throbbing inside of you. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Fuuuuck.” With a final thrust, he shoots his load inside of you. He can’t help but twitch inside of you as he ejaculates. “God damn, you feel so good.”

You feel a warm feeling welling up inside you. It’s happiness. You feel happy you can please him.

You’ve truly become his bitch.

[jadeshifting]

❦ … LOCKBOX … OF … (WILDEST) … DREAMS

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

if u want the KEY, here it is ���> 🗝₊˚⊹♡

౨ৎ ABOUT ME

— i’m JADE, a very typical and normal shifter with too many DRs, too many interests, and too many soulmates (none in this reality, eugh.)

— i love books and movies and anything I can devour and integrate into my identity, which I do with all of them. born in ‘05, i’m 19, and pinterest, tumblr and letterboxd haaaate to see me coming. I write— sometimes a whole bunch of nothing, sometimes things I’m convinced belong in the bible, but I still do it like my fingers will fall off at anytime

— think curled up in bed wearing a fur coat AND wrapped in a fur blanket, eyeliner from three days ago, furiously typing away, struggling to drink 80oz of water a day and also see every film that’s ever been made. obnoxious right

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶

i want a yellow diamond engagement ring .. a BIG one. i want a country house with a porch. i want a velvetine bunny rabbit with floppy ears. i want a stone house next to the sea. i want the whole sea.

and I can HAVE it, and so can you. isn’t shifting fun babes ౨ৎ

౨ৎ SHIFTING JOURNEY

it’s likely nothing you haven’t heard before. I found out about shifting when everyone else did (Hogwarts, which I’m sure you can tell stuck to me like tar) and lived with only misinformation for sustenance on shiftok for a loooong time (rip </3) until I had the sense to use amino, some reddit, and finally ended up on shiftblr

❦ … ALTERNATIVE … REALITIES

(not DESIRED, because I don’t desire things I already have or places I already go to)

⋆. ࿐࿔ HOGWARTS REALITY … school in the echoing, ever shifting stone walls of Hogwarts, excelling at forms of magic that are unknown to the rest of the world. holing up in dorms, lanterns’ glow illuminating ink-smudged fingers and invented incantations. returning to the manor in the summertime, when the fun really stars, when we twirl absurdly in silken gowns at gala after gala, kiss people our families wouldn’t approve of, take our liberties in between swaths of velvet and drenched in silvery champagne. in the end, though, it all comes down to one thing: power. the opulence, our loyalties, our endless magic. it all serves that one thing

𓆩♡𓆪 — intro

𓆩♡𓆪 — introducing (him)

𓆩♡𓆪 — a student’s guide to hogwarts classes

𓆩♡𓆪 — hogwarts class favorites & non-favorites

𓆩♡𓆪 — the hogwarts newspaper

𓆩♡𓆪 — the hogwarts yearbook

𓆩♡𓆪 — what’s in my (school) bag

𓆩♡𓆪 — mattheo loves the water

𓆩♡𓆪 — the hogwarts library (and creeping into the restricted section)

𓆩♡𓆪 — dinner in the great hall

𓆩♡𓆪 — intro 2 the slytherins

𓆩♡𓆪 — pansy (best friend made of silk & venom)

𓆩♡𓆪 — draco malfoy in my DR

𓆩♡𓆪 — galas at Malfoy Manor

𓆩♡𓆪 — wizarding sports (as played by the serpents)

𓆩♡𓆪 — slytherin magical innovations

𓆩♡𓆪 — the 4 components of a wizarding wardrobe

𓆩♡𓆪 — dueling gear

𓆩♡𓆪 — the OWLs ( your guide to keeping sane during exam season )

⋆. ࿐࿔ THE WALKING DEAD REALITY

𓆩♡𓆪 — intro

𓆩♡𓆪 — what’s in my (apocalyptic survival) bag

𓆩♡𓆪 — my DR self moodboard

𓆩♡𓆪 — 25 days of shiftmas :)

⋆. ࿐࿔ STARLET REALITY

⋆. ࿐࿔ BOARDING SCHOOL REALITY

⋆. ࿐࿔ HORSEMEN REALITY

⋆. ࿐࿔ EVER AFTER HIGH REALITY

𓆩♡𓆪 — lore blurb

𓆩♡𓆪 — shoutout to my original s/o (nostalgia, apple ml)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶

❦ … NAVIGATION

⋆. ࿐࿔ asks are always open and I luvvvv them, i’d be totally happy to write scenarios, blurbs, give shifting motivation or scripting ideas, or really anything else. don’t be shy & feel free to send whatever you want :-)

MUSINGS ( SOMEONE STOP HER. )

𓆩♡𓆪 — the spectral glamour girl

𓆩♡𓆪 — don’t feel guilty for your main character syndrome

SCRIPTING IDEAS

𓆩♡𓆪 — places to script (hogsmeade)

𓆩♡𓆪 — the art of moodboarding ( & using it to script )

𓆩♡𓆪 — uniquely characterizing yourself ( small, important details )

𓆩♡𓆪 — 100 scripting ideas . road trip edition

SLYTHERIN HEADCANONS

pansy parkinson headcanons

theodore nott headcanons

blaise zabini headcanons

blaise zabini headcanons no.2

lorenzo berkshire headcanons

draco malfoy headcanons

SHIFTMAS

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 1 — a slytherin christmas morning

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 2 — to the forgotten antechamber

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 3 — chalet in the alpine mountains

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 4 — one family Christmas party per year

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 5 — a gift from the winter woods

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 6 — mini me music box

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 7 — the hogwarts christmas feast

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 8 — christmas cards

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 9 — an early Saturday afternoon in December

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 10 — a Slytherin Christmas portrait

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 11 — the role of Santa (Lorenzo)

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 12 — recipe for Jade Grimm’s luxe peppermint & dark chocolate elixir

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 13 — classic wizarding films like ‘Frost and Folly’

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 14 — a very merry Black Friday

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 15 — stolen mistletoe kiss

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 16 — thyra the Christmas kitten

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 17 — Grimm holiday traditions

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 18 — slytherin christmas radio

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 19 — a yuletide gown

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 20 — Jade Grimm’s silly Santa arsenal

𓆩♡𓆪 DAY 21 — enchanted treats for the holidays

25 DAYS OF SHIFTMAS

౨ৎ … CHRISTMAS CAROLING (DAY 1)

౨ৎ … GINGERBREAD HOUSES (DAY 2)

౨ৎ … EGGNOG (DAY 3)

౨ৎ … SLEDDING (DAY 4)

౨ৎ … SNOWMAN (DAY 5)

౨ৎ … STOCKINGS (DAY 6)

౨ৎ … CANDY CANES (DAY 7)

౨ৎ … MISTLETOE (DAY 8)

౨ৎ … SNOWFLAKES (DAY 9)

౨ৎ … ICICLES (DAY 10)

౨ৎ … TREE SKIRT (DAY 11)

౨ৎ … ORNAMENTS (DAY 12)

౨ৎ … SLEIGH BELLS (DAY 13)

౨ৎ … COOKIE CUTTERS (DAY 14)

౨ৎ … ELF ON THE SHELF (DAY 15)

౨ৎ … WRAPPING PAPER (DAY 16)

౨ৎ … GIFT TAGS (DAY 17)

౨ৎ … SNOWBALLS (DAY 18)

౨ৎ … MITTENS (DAY 19)

౨ৎ … ICE SKATES (DAY 20)

౨ৎ … COAL (DAY 21)

[1arkspur-aconitum]

THE BLIND LEADING THE BLIND (s.r.)

IN WHICH: Spencer shows up late to work wearing glasses for the first time…

PAIRING: Season 3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: fluff

CONTENT: pining, oblivious idiots in love, swearing, Emily being a little meddler

WORD COUNT: 3.7 (this was meant to be only 1k…whoops…)

PUBLISHED: 03/10/24

‘OH MY GOD.’

It’s the best I can do. It is the only thing I can think as Spencer Reid steps through the glass doors into the bullpen.

It’s one of those rare days where Spencer arrives later than me—later than the rest of the team, in fact—and I’m already sitting at my desk when he walks in. A cup of coffee from the Paper Cup (arguably the best coffee in Virginia, bite me Derek Morgan) steams away beside a half-eaten blueberry muffin, the crumbs of which litter the crossword before me. It’s partially completed, but I have yet to finish this specific paper’s puzzle without the genius’ help—I swear it’s almost as if they designed it for him. I’ve even marked little stars next to the ones I’m intending to ask Spencer.

Or, at least, the questions I was intending to ask Spencer. I may not ever get the opportunity to because I think he has decided to kill me this morning.

Spencer Reid steps into the bullpen dressed in brown slacks (as usual) and a striped shirt tucked into said slacks (also normal), but that’s where the familiarity ends.

He’s not wearing a tie which is very bizarre. In fact, the top buttons of his shirt are undone as if he’s rushed out of the door. From this distance I can see the contours of his throat.

We once had a surprisingly in-depth conversation about why ties are more commonly associated with men (due to the inherent power and authority we attach to them) and Spencer said that he tried to always wear one because it made people take him more seriously. I distinctly remember it because it made me kind of sad. The idea that people didn’t take him seriously bothered me more than I’d care to admit.

It’s not the tardiness, nor the lack of a tie, that wipes every thought from my brain, though. It’s not even the way he has pushed his hair away from his face like he’s some kind of Disney prince—though that on any other day would have done something similar to hitting the delete key on a computer.

No, it’s the damn glasses.

Spencer Reid has the audacity to be wearing a pair of horn rimmed glasses.

They’re perched on his nose as if they belong there, which—judging by the way they make his face distort when he turns to greet Derek—they do. I don’t know what it is specifically, but seeing him in glasses makes my stomach drop out of my feet, through several floors of the Quantico building, and deep into the ground.

Obviously Spencer is smart. Anyone who has the luxury of meeting him can tell you as such. It’s not as if he hides it, mister three PhDs and counting. But…but the glasses just do something extra, highlight that aspect of him, and I’ve always been a sucker for intelligence.

I genuinely didn’t think he could get prettier.

‘Shut your mouth, you’ll start drooling.’ Emily sidles up to my desk, thankfully keeping her voice low. I jump embarrassingly and manage to drag my eyes away from where Spencer is deep in discussion with Derek about something Derek doesn’t appear to want to talk about. Astrophysics? The flight path of bumblebees? If I was in Derek’s place, I would be hanging off of Spencer’s every word. ‘Honestly, could you be any more transparent?’

‘I…I’m not transparent!’ I say, but it does take me a second to work out what she’s saying. I take a distracting sip of my coffee, trying to ignore how the light slicks off of the frames as Spencer nods vigorously. A small strand of hair falls into his face and he brushes it away carelessly. ‘Maybe—maybe I was just…admiring the make, or something.’

‘I’m not stupid.’ Emily scoffs, knocking me with the back of her hand. She seems as if she is enjoying this way too much. There’s a sardonic gleam in her eye as she raises an eyebrow. I glower up at her over the rim of my coffee, imagining how it would feel to toss it in her face—anything to get that smug look off of it. ‘You can barely form a sentence.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ I turn my nose up at her haughtily. I feel very much the petulant child denying having broken into the biscuit jar even when their mouth is covered in crumbs. ‘See? A perfect sentence.’

‘You’re not fooling anyone.’ Emily feels the need to tell me, eyes flickering between me and Spencer. I make a conscious effort not to look at him. It’s harder than I thought it would be. I wedge my foot underneath one of the spokes of my chair, forcing it to stay directed towards Emily. She grins as if she can sense my inner discord. ‘Y’know, for a profiler, you’re not very good at being discreet.’

‘I’m always discreet.’ The lie tastes bitter in my mouth and I follow it up with a sip of coffee. I don’t know where to look, what to do with myself, so I decide to focus on Emily. She’s wearing a new pair of trousers that have an embellishment up the side, a few beads shining in the sunlight streaming into the office. I wonder if she’ll let me borrow them…

‘I beg to differ.’ Emily perches herself on Spencer’s desk, crossing her legs. The tiny beads glitter like a mirrorball. This is fun for her. She likes making me squirm, and my respect for Emily is declining with every moment she holds me under this particular microscope. Part of me wonders if Emily truly is a sadist. ‘Come on, just admit it.’

‘I refer you to my previous statement,’ I swing my chair around even more to face her, firmly putting my back to where I assume Spencer and Derek are still talking. God, please don’t overhear this. What would I even say if he did? ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Sure.’ She laughs brightly, not believing me for a second—to be fair to her, I don’t even believe myself. I really should get better at lying to my coworkers. It’s frustrating that, to be a profiler, you have to be inherently astute. I’ve always been a relatively open book, which makes this whole situation worse. I have no doubt that my every thought is plastered there for her to dissect. ‘I can’t blame you, you know. I mean, it is very…different. If you’re into that kinda thing, which I think you are—’

‘Please stop.’ I say. My fingers tangle into my hair as I lean forwards, the points of my elbows bruising the soft flesh above my knee.

I hate this feeling. Being so exposed, so vulnerable, being seen like this has never been something I’ve enjoyed. Maybe it is something to do with my childhood, but I never like to think about that too hard. What it comes down to is that I can tease people incessantly, but when the tables have flipped? I hate it. I wonder what that says about me..

‘Just ask him out.’ Emily’s voice is softer now, less ribbed with merciless humour. I look up at her with a disgusted expression–as if that would ever happen. Spencer is my colleague, my friend. There’s no way I’m putting myself out there like that, and she should know that already. She sighs. ‘Seriously. What’s the worst that could happen?’

Uh, everything? He could say no. I could seriously embarrass myself–a habit I have a tendency to do. I could vomit on his new shoes. In fact, Spencer probably doesn’t even like me in that way–thinking about it, I have no idea if Spencer’s even attracted to anyone. He’s never spoken about dates like Derek does, nor mentioned exes. When we talk about our first kisses, he stays silent. Whenever the topic deviates towards something unsuitable for work, Spencer noticeably stays out of it. Maybe he’s just not into anything like that.

That thought hollows out the pit of my stomach for a second.

‘If I answer that, then you’ll just think that I know what you’re talking about.’ I sense her words for the trap that they are. What a sneaky bitch. I narrow my eyes at her and Emily’s eyebrow twitches imperceptibly. A tell. Ever since we met, Emily has had a thing about trying to trick me into confessing my secrets at any opportunity she can get. I think she thinks it’s more fun if she doesn’t ask the question straight up. ‘So no. I’m not going to deign that with a response.’

‘You’re impossible.’ Emily groans. She tries to kick my chair with a free foot, but misses by a mile. Sucker. Like the child I am, I stick my tongue out at her. ‘Come on, you have no idea how painful it is to watch you pining–’

‘You think watching me pine is painful?’ I retort, propping my chin up on my elbow. It’s only when the words are out of my mouth that I realise I may have given a little bit too much away. Emily’s eyes light up with a familiar glee. My cheeks heat and I scowl. ‘Besides, I was merely observing.’

‘Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.’ Emily practically purrs, a mischievous glint in her eye that I decidedly do not like. She pushes off of Spencer’s desk, her fingers trailing along the edge as she meanders to her own. As she does so, her lips curve into a knowing smirk. She mutters something under her breath that is just loud enough for me to catch the hint of amusement.

‘Care to share?’ The words are out of my mouth before I realise that I probably won’t want to hear what she has to say. Yet another one of Emily’s verbal pitfalls—I can’t be expected to spot all of them after-all. Sometimes I think talking to Emily is like navigating a field of bear traps.

‘Oh, nothing—just that you two are more similar than you realise.’ Her voice drips with feigned innocence. She chuckles as she sits herself down, opening a stack of files on her desk with a flourish, effectively ending the conversation and leaving me in a whirlwind of my own thoughts.

More similar than I realise? What on Earth does she mean by that? I know we’re both considered smart—we’re both doctors, we work in the same field, we’re around the same age. Admittedly, I’m not as smart as he is, but everyone can say that. There’s always been something different about Spencer.. He has always been a cut above the rest, a standard no one else can possibly hope to achieve. How could I ever compare myself to that?

I turn my seat around and allow myself a brief glance over to where Spencer and Derek are still standing. Spencer is still talking animatedly, hands gesturing in the space between them. Don’t even get me started on his hands because we could be here for literal hours. A doctoral thesis is 60,000–80,000 words. I reckon I could write that much purely on his hands.

Derek is currently looking at him with a fond, if slightly exasperated expression, having succumbed to his fate of listening to whatever it is Spencer is rambling about. They’re a strange pair but there’s no doubting the love they share between them. It’s honestly so endearing.

My gaze drifts from the pair of them to Spencer. With the glasses, it’s different somehow. The lenses magnify his eyes, making them larger, more expressive. I can see the rapid movement as he processes whatever Derek is saying in response to his rambling, I can watch the slight furrow of his brow as he formulates a response. The more I inspect him, the harder it is for me to work out why I like them so much. Perhaps it’s because he seems…softer, somehow. Less intimidating and more approachable.

More human.

Then it hits me.

The glasses are a vulnerability. They’re an admission that the perfect Spencer Reid is anything but, that, as much as his mind is as sharp as a blade, his eyesight is not. For some reason, that makes him even more attractive to me. Though, to be fair, there’s not much that would make him less attractive to me.

I tear my eyes away, a familiar heat rippling up the back of my neck. I can’t believe I’m having thoughts like this about my coworker. It’s unprofessional, impolite, and definitely dangerous. But I can’t seem to stop myself.

Every time I see him in those glasses, the more I think about what it would be like to kiss him with them on. Would he take them off, or would I? Or, maybe, he leaves them on as I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down towards me. They wouldn’t get in the way if we were careful…

For God’s sake.

I try to focus on my crossword but the words swim before my eyes. All I can see is Spencer’s face with those damn glasses, and the annoyingly infuriating way that they make his eyes sparkle. Perhaps Emily is right–perhaps I am as transparent as a window. This whole thing is stupid. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts, but it’s not like I can defenestrate them very easily.

Just as I am contemplating burying myself under several feet of damp earth, effectively giving up on the day entirely, Spencer and Derek seem as if they finish their conversation. Derek claps Spencer on the shoulder as the pair of them start to make their way towards us. I do my best to look busy, scribbling down a word on my puzzle that I am 99% sure isn’t correct. My heart hammers in my chest.

Jesus Christ, get your shit together, girl. It’s just an awkward, tall, lanky man. He’s not Hugh Grant. Or James Marsters. He’s just Spencer.

I don’t know if that sentiment makes it better or worse.

‘Morning, June.’ Spencer’s gentle, warm voice drags me out of my shame spiral. When I look up, he’s standing next to his desk, hands clasped in front of him as he peers down at me through those fucking glasses.

I plaster as much of a genuine smile on my face as possible. ‘Morning, Spencer. You’re looking very dashing today.’

Dashing? What the hell was that? Who says that? If I could make a time machine and return back to a few seconds earlier, I would. But, alas, I simply have to wait and see how Spencer responds.

His lips quirk upwards in a shy smile. ‘Really? Thank you. You, uh, you look rather…rather lovely yourself.’

‘Oh, uh, thanks, Spence.’ I mentally kick myself for sounding so flustered, looking anywhere but directly at him. I don’t think I look ‘rather lovely’ today–I’m wearing brown denim flares and a shirt, nothing too fancy. I try to regain some composure. This is so unlike me that it scares me. ‘So, new glasses?’

‘Oh, yeah,’ he says, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand. My eyes trace a vein that vanishes under the cuff. ‘I ran out of contacts and didn’t have time to go to the opticians. I don’t really like them, though, they kind of get in the way.’

‘Really?’ I try not to sound too surprised and/or offended, but I don’t think it worked very well. The next words I say are pumped with honesty. ‘I think they look good on you. Actually, they really suit you.’

‘Do you genuinely think so?’ He sounds as if he doesn’t believe me, but the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smiles. I nod, mouth suddenly very dry. Spencer sits on the edge of his desk where Emily had been moments before, crossing his long legs at the ankle. The odd socks (pink on the left, neon green on the right) make me smile. ‘I always think they make me look…well, nerdy. Derek agrees.’

I can’t not laugh a little at that, taking a sip of my coffee as I work out how to say what I want to without seriously offending him.

‘Spencer, sweetheart, I’m sorry to tell you this, but you are the epitome of nerdy without the glasses. And–and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest. It’s part of what I like about you.’

‘Oh.’ Spencer turns a furious shade of red, eyes dropping like a stone to stare intently at the floor. I immediately regret the words, but have to play it off as if I don’t. Sweetheart is a new term of endearment and one I didn’t intend to use, but it slipped out. I lean back in my seat, angle my head…do I backtrack? Do I apologise? I’m about to do as such when I see it. A tiny smile. Spencer’s next words are just loud enough for me to hear. ‘Well, thank you.’

‘That’s okay.’ I grin, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to put on a picture of nonchalance. If Emily is to be believed, he can see right through it, but it makes me feel better. I need to say something–anything–else before the silence gets too loud. ‘I actually didn’t know you wore contacts, let alone glasses.’

‘Yeah, I just find contacts easier–did you know that Leonardo da Vinci was the one who was first credited with coming up with the idea of contact lenses in 1508? It wasn’t created in his time, of course, but he was the one who first posited the idea of altering corneal power.’ Spencer’s hands gesture in the space between us as he endearingly rambles on about the creation of contact lenses. It’s sweet, and I let him talk for a while, using this opportunity to watch him. He’s just so pretty that it’s hard to focus. ‘And modern day lenses, the silicone ones, weren’t made until 1998.’

‘Wow, that’s kinda cool.’ I hum, taking a sip of my now almost-cold coffee. ‘I don’t know, I had you pegged as the kind of guy who doesn’t like putting his finger in his eye.’

‘What?’ Spencer chuckles, raising an eyebrow. He pushes his glasses up again and my heart stammers. ‘How could you possibly know that about someone?’

‘Spencer, you’re a known germaphobe. You don’t even shake hands.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t want someone else to put my lenses in,’ Spencer physically shudders at this idea. ‘But if I do it, it’s just my germs.’

‘I suppose that makes sense. If you had a twin, though, would you let them do it? Or someone with super clean hands? What about if you broke your hands and your glasses, and needed someone else to put them in for you?’ I rattle off question after question, knowing I really should stop talking, but it’s as if there’s a torrent of words I cannot control. ‘I mean, there are plenty of, of situations where you may need someone to…to put your contacts in…’

What the fuck am I on about? Oh God, this isn’t happening to me…I never thought I would be so swayed by a pretty face.

‘You’re a strange one.’ Spencer says, after a beat, and his voice is playful. He leans backwards and braces himself on the desk. ‘I don’t know, it depends. I mean, I wouldn’t let Derek do it, but…’

‘I wouldn’t let Derek do it for me, and I don’t even wear contacts.’ I laugh, tilting my head to the side and giving him a cheeky grin. He returns it, and for a moment, we just look at each other. The world narrows, as it always does, to just me and him. There’s a familiar warmth in my stomach that has always been intoxicating.

‘I’d let you put my contacts in.’ Spencer says the words as if they had been building up behind his lips. Pink stains the tops of his cheekbones. It might be a trick of the light, but I’m pretty sure that his gaze flickers down to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning back to my eyes. My breath hitches and I have to look away.

‘Really? I don’t know if I should be flattered or kind of grossed out.’ Another sentence I regret saying, but what does one say to something like that?

Spencer laughs, but it sounds kind of forced. ‘Well, let us hope that it will never come to that. But, if it does, don’t let any of the others do it. Lord knows where their hands have been.’

I laugh too, but before I can say anything more, Hotch’s voice booms across the bullpen. He’s calling Spencer to his office, and the tranquil spell between us is shattered.

Spencer jumps, startled, and clears his throat. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and stands up. He offers me a muttered ‘sorry’ as he walks away, speeding out of the bullpen of desks and heading towards Hotch. I watch him go reluctantly, only looking away when he vanishes inside and the door closes behind him.

The groan I let out is loud enough to make Derek look up, but I bury my head in my hands before any of them can jump on me whilst I’m vulnerable. What the fuck was that? I’m not usually one to get flustered when faced with a pretty man, and usually I’m pretty confident around Spencer. Evidently there’s something about the glasses that turns me into a blathering school girl. It’s so stupid that I have no choice but to get a grip.

When I look up from my hands, determined to not let Spencer’s new eyewear affect me, Emily is watching me with a bemused expression. She must have heard the entire interaction.

‘Smooth, June. Real smooth.’ She says from over her coffee mug, the steam coiling around her like she’s some demon. The devious grin on her face doesn’t help that mental image.

I simply flip her off and return to my crossword.

Nosy bitch.

THANK YOU FOR READING! I CAN’T DECIDE IF I LIKE THIS OR NOT BUT FIGURED WHY NOT? MORE SPENCER REID FICS ON THE WAY!

[lulublack90]

Prompt 5 - Bookshop AU

@wolfstarmicrofic April 5, word count 748

Sirius loved working in the bookshop. The Potter’s had asked if he would take over running it when they retired, as James was taking over the rest of the Potter’s substantial enterprise. But the bookshop was special, and they knew how much Sirius loved it. 

It had been the first place he’d ever worked. Effie had given him the Saturday job when he’d first moved in with them. He hadn’t wanted to keep asking them for money for things, so that had been Effie's way of giving him money without making him feel bad. 

He loved the smell of the place. Not only did they sell the new releases, but they also had a rare book section that Sirius sometimes just went to hide in. 

It was on one of these occasions that he came across a tall, lanky man wearing a truly horrendous jumper. It looked like something out of the ’70s, and judging by the threadbare cuffs, it might actually have come from that era. 

He was so engrossed in the book in his hands that he didn’t notice Sirius at first. Sirius tried to carefully back away so his customer could browse without interruption. But his movement must have alerted the man to his presence as he looked up straight into Sirius’s eyes. And Sirius felt his stomach flip. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you.” He smiled apologetically at the man before him. “I can do a good deal on that one for you.” He gestured to the book in the man’s hands. “

“Oh, no… I can’t afford any of these books.” He blushed. “I just like looking at them. Choosing which ones I’d buy if I had the money. Plus the smell of them—it probably sounds silly, but I find it soothing.” 

“This is my favourite aisle. Always come down here for at least five minutes before I go home. It’s the, er, smell for me too. I don’t know what it is, but all my troubles just seem to melt away…” Sirius stopped talking before he embarrassed himself further. The man carefully replaced the yellowing book on the shelf and straightened.  

He didn’t know why, but Sirius wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this odd man. “You can come by and read as many of those books as you like. As long as you’re careful with them.” Normally, he would never let anyone actually sit and read, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Oh, are you sure? That’s incredibly kind of you. Er…” 

“Sirius.” Sirius offered. The man smiled at him. 

“Remus.” 

Everyday after that, Remus came in and spent a couple of hours in the rare books section. Thankfully, he treated the books as though they could fall apart at any moment. Sometimes, he’d bring Sirius a coffee. Other times, they’d share a sandwich. Sirius got used to seeing Remus every day and felt the huge amount of disappointment when, after over a month, Remus didn’t come. 

He wondered if he’d done something wrong. Sirius sat in the shop an hour after closing time. Just in case Remus turned up. 

When the clock passed six, he gave up. He gathered his belongings and locked up. He turned to head home when he heard the sound of pounding feet on the pavement. He looked behind him, and a very dishevelled-looking Remus was running towards him. 

“Oh my god! What happened to you?” He asked, worried about the state Remus was in. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Some awful person stole my bag on the tube, and it had everything in it. My phone, my wallet, even my keys. I had to walk here because I didn't have any money for the train.” 

“You had all that going on, and you still came to the bookshop? Are you mad?” Sirius asked, baffled by Remus’s choices. 

“ No, I didn’t come all this way with only the clothes on my back to come to the bloody bookshop. I came to see you, you idiot!” Remus blurted out, exasperated. “Sirius, I don’t come into the shop everyday just to look at books.” 

Something clicked in Sirius’s brain. Oh, he thought. He closed the gap between him and Remus and pressed a kiss to his lips. They parted, smiling dopily at each other.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get something warm in you. Takeaway? My treat.” Sirius took his hand and pulled him in the direction of his flat. 

“Yeah, okay then,” Remus replied as he followed Sirius home. 

[gojos-thot-patrol]

Idk bout you but I’m a sucker for possessive men, so I’d like to ask for some jealousy HCs for the JJK men. Thank uuuuuuu muah

My darling, I'd like nothing more than to give them to you 💜

Now Presenting...

Starring Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, and Ryomen Sukuna

Satoru Gojo

Gojo likes to think he’s not possessive at all. Key word: Think.

In reality, he’s deeply insecure, convinced he’s not good enough for you, and is obsessed, extremely concerned with not losing you.

This unholy concoction has led to an extremely possessive man.

Now, to be fair, He’s pretty good about keeping it in check. He’s not going to lose his mind cause he saw some asshole checking you out at the supermarket. He’s better than that.

Now, if said asshole tries to talk to you, that’s a completely different story. Then he’s literally grabbing you, arms around your waist and actively trying to give you a hickey while you talk to his new number one enemy.

And good fukin luck to you my friend if you call him out on it, cause now he’s convinced you liked that guy too.

Especially early on in your relationship, when he’s still guarded because he’s scared of getting hurt, he’s going to be straight up toxic about it. 

“No, it’s fine, really. If you like him so much, go talk to him. I just wanna know when you stopped caring about me.”

Honestly, you’re better off leaving him alone to let him work out his own shit. He’ll realize he was being an idiot, no doubt helped by the fact that you’re still here, but it’s gonna take 2 hours minimum. 

Gojo is not about to start a fight over some douche bag flirting with you. Mostly because he can not catch another a case. But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to sit by and let it happen, nay nay dear reader.

No, he’s just also going to also talk part in the conversation. Wrapping an arm around your waist and finding any excuse he can, no matter how weak, to drop the fact that he’s your boyfriend.

The exception being the moment the other person puts a hand on you. The moment that happens, all bets are off, and I hope you have bail money. He’s not going to murder them probably but you’re for sure going to be dealing with assault charges. 

Also, not to get NSFW, but the sex after? When He feels like he has to prove to himself he’s good enough for you and remind you that you belong to him? Good luck bestie.

Suguru Geto

This man is nothing but jealous all the time. If he had it his way, you would never leave the bedroom. . 

He’s quick to lay his claim on you. Holding you close to him and kissing you mid sentence so that whoever the person flirting with you is get’s the point. 

Afterwards though? On the way home? Silent treatment. When you do get him to talk?

“I just don’t understand. Why don’t you love me anymore?”

Yea, he’s gaslighting, gatekeeping, and girlbossing YOU into apologizing to HIM. 

I really can’t see this man as anything other than toxic, my god. 

Still, he doesn’t put up with anyone playing with his toys. If he sees you talking to anyone while out, he’s hugging you from behind, kissing your neck and loudly asking “Hey Darling, Who’s this?” 

That Who’s this is dripping in condescension and hatred. Because he does hate them. He hates anyone that could take you away from him.

Your friends are not immune to this btw. 

Slowly he starts to pull you away from your friends and integrate you into his friend group.

Not that he trusts them either. Nay nay, It’s just easier to keep an eye on you this way. 

He’s always reminding you that you’re his. Marking you, draping his jacket over you, conveniently forgetting to buy you more body wash so you have to use his, literally anything to get the point across that you were his. 

Like, this man has deemed himself your chair, cause if you're going to be together, he’s going to find any excuse he can to sit you on his lap.

Now, Suguru is not the type to get confrontational or physical. That being said, if you express that someone is making you uncomfortable, it's game over for them.

The upsides are: no silent treatment! Instead he’s dotting on you and himself apologetic for letting you be put into that situation.

The downside is now you have to clean blood off of him. Again, probably not murder, but for sure an assault charge.

Kento Nanami

Nanami honestly doesn’t have the time to get jealous. 

He trusts you more than anyone else. He has to to date you. So, he’s not normally worried about other people. 

If he starts to feel jealous, he’ll normally just talk to you about it.

Normally. 

The exception is when it comes to your friends. 

He’s not worried about any of them taking you away from him romantically, that thought has never crossed his mind. And for the most part, he likes your friends.

But he does get jealous of how much of your time you spend with them. And of course he doesn’t want to say anything because he knows it's ridiculous. 

But when he comes home from a long day of work to see you have your friends over, meaning he has to share you when his emotional capacity has already been filled? Yea, he's not happy.

And he doesn’t try to hide how possessive he feels in that moment either, he’s stealing your seat and placing you firmly on his lap for after work cuddles.

Oh, he’s embarrassing you in front of your friends? Oh well. Send them home then. 

He’s going to, discreetly,  kiss your neck, and rub your hips until you’re hot and bothered enough to send your friends home.

He just wants your time. It bugs him when other people preoccupy it, when he feels like you’re prioritizing other people over him. 

He can recognize that this is probably his most toxic trait, and he is working on it. 

But you’re still going to have to deal with him while he is

Ryomen Sukuna

Everyone else is an amature when it comes to being possessive/jealous Sukuna OWNS that shit

It’s literally his baseline. Other people can’t look at you without pissing off your guard dog.

He’s your guard dog btw. 

They don’t even have to be flirting! If someones talking to you, he is holding you close and actively glaring at them until they leave you alone.

And if they are flirting, well I hope they're cool with whatever god they worship. Cause they’re about to meet said god. 

Sukuna is insistent that you are his and his alone. It’s why he even takes the time to mark you up all pretty like he has. So other people can see that.

So if someones dumb enough to see your lovingly bruised neck and still flirt with you then as far as he’s concerned, he’s doing the gene pool a favor by taking them out of it. 

God forbid he thinks you’re into it. 

QUICK NSFW WARNING

He will slaughter your new toy and fuck you until you can’t walk in front of the corpse. You won't be able to walk for weeks if ever again from the punishing he’s going to put you through.

OK, NSFW OVER

Ideally, your best bet is to tell him the moment that you realize someone is flirting with you. Even if they’re not necessarily making you uncomfortable, better to keep your life than theirs, right? 

Hell, you might even get a reward for being so vigilant. 

Honestly I need to write an entire Yandere Sukuna fic cause he is made for it. He is THE most Yandere character.

[lanadeldixon]

Summertime Sadness (pt2)

Pairing: Daryl x fem reader

Wordcount: 2k

Summary: after Daryl joined the saviours you don’t get as much time together so when the opportunity arises for a little fun you know you have to take it…

Warnings: foreplay, mention of scars, public embarrassment

Authors note: This is for everyone who wanted part 2!! Also I haven’t been very well which means I haven’t been in the right mindset to proofread properly so I’m really sorry if at points it doesn’t make sense 😅 (btw to those who haven’t read part 1, you can read without having read it, but part 1 low-key slayed so as someone who is obviously completely unbiased, I recommend it.)

After everything that happened I didn’t see Daryl much anymore, he would disappear for weeks and only come back to take supplies however when we did run into eachother we tried to make the best of it.

Even if it meant just a slight touch of our hands or a lingering gaze from our separate stations. We did all we could to show one another we still belonged to eachother.

There was a day, around the end of august, I was stationed to guard the gate when I saw the trucks.

Our worst nightmare had come early, collection day, however part of me was exhilarated, the idea of seeing his face again ran laps in my mind.

A melodic whistle could be heard through the town and a sense of longing took over as I desperately searched for his face, but to my dismay I couldn’t spot him anywhere.

I climbed down the ladder, I’d normally never abandon my watch but I figured the saviours wouldn’t allow any walkers to come in and potentially harm Negan.

Besides we all had to gather up our stuff to contribute to the 50%.

“He’s here,” Rosita muttered under her breath, I could hear the despise in her voice as she spoke, I would’ve comforted her but the second the gate opened, all of my senses focused on searching for him.

My eyes darted around the group in front of us, looking for him although all I was met with was an almost knowing gaze from Negan, I still held out hope that he’d be there too…

As stressed as I felt, I made sure not to break our staring contest , “where is he” I wanted to say “what did you do?” but my mouth stayed shut.

“Dixon, bring him out,” his voice grew louder with each word and an even larger smile took over his face, fighting for power as he made sure to not be the one to break the eye contact.

I exhaled at the sound of his name, knowing he was alive was all that mattered to me…

Clanging sounds could be heard from the back of the front truck but still no Daryl in sight, worry began to fill me and it must’ve been evident on my face as Negan leaned in uncomfortably close to my ear before whispering, “don’t worry gorgeous, I don’t wanna make you cry again now do I? With a pretty face like yours, you should never be sad.” As he said it he lifted his finger to my chin so that ours faces were aligned.

My brows furrowed,

“Carl,” he exclaimed with excitement.

My head turned sharply confused as to why Carl was with them, as soon as my eyes landed on him I noticed who was stood by his side…

“Daryl,” I whispered a sad smile on my face.

He looked good, he was wearing his old clothes again and his crossbow was slung on his shoulder, the bruises on his face had faded almost completely, he finally looked like he was getting better.

Carl on the other hand looked sickening, his face was sullen and pale and his wound was on full display, that wasn’t the gross part though, the gross part was the look on his face, i didn’t know what he had witnessed but I knew it had changed him.

“Show some respect boys, you might just be looking at my next wife,” he had a sick look painted on his face as his eyes shifted to Daryl, clearly trying to gage his reaction, to test his loyalty and most importantly, piss him off.

Daryl looked at him, eyes hooded in anger, resentment painted his face and I could see the jealousy rise in him as he looked at Negan’s finger slowly tracing my jaw.

I stood straight, eyes pinned on Daryl.

God he looked good.

“What’s with all the negativity? Damn you look like you wanna bite my hand off,” he joked.

“Maybe if you keep up your winning streak, I’ll let you keep this one,” the same twisted smile reappeared, I felt as though he was stripping me with his eyes.

“Now I got some business to take care off, where’s Rick?”

“He’s not here right now,” I stated nonchalantly.

“So I came all this way for nothing?” Everyone was silent as he spoke “I guess I’ll just have to wait for him then, Carl will show me around, won’t ya? The rest of you start gathering,” he ordered.

I turned to Daryl straight away knowing he’d have a plan, he lifted his eyebrows and looked towards my house.

He walked in the opposite direction, pushing past me on the way, I of course went along with it, snarling before walking towards my house. Once I got to the doorstep I waited, the saviours were already in the process of raiding my house so I knew we’d have to find somewhere else, my eyes searched for him, until they finally stopped the door to our shed wide open, praying it was him I rushed towards it trying not to look suspicious but also desperate to get my hands on him.

As soon as I entered I was shoved to the door forcing it to close as I was pressed up against it.

“God I missed ya darlin’” Daryl’s face met mine with hunger, my teeth nibbled my bottom lip in anticipation.

“Are you gonna keep talking or are we going to get to it,” I smiled, fixated on his mouth as his tongue slicked across his lower lip.

He hummed lowly in an approving manner before smashing his lips into mine, he moved in rapid motions, desperate to taste me and I followed his lead, leaning in and out of it when he did, brushing my tongue against his teeth, doing all I could to be closer to him.

He moved to my neck, nipping at it, I knew it would leave marks but I didn’t care, all I cared about was that moment, being with him meant everything to me.

As I lifted off my shirt, I watched him struggle to shake off his waistcoat, “fuckin’ thing,” he muttered as I let out a small giggle.

Once he finally managed to get it off he practically ripped off his shirt and moved towards me once again, smiling widely.

He placed his hand on my jaw and gently stroked his fingers across my cheek for a second, just admiring me, taking it all in, being happy we could finally be together again, even if it was just for one night…

“Yur so beautiful,” he said eyes shifting to every point on my face as if creating a painting in his mind in order to never forget this moment, so that he’ll never forget me.

My hand entwined with his and I rested my head on his chest, “You’re so handsome,” I smiled.

Slowly he began to nibble at my ear, then my jaw, then my neck, then finally he stopped at my breasts, making sure to leave as many marks on them as possible.

My hands explored his frame as he did mine, and wordlessly we began our separate adventures.

His back was muscled and scarred, I could feel every mark on it, I felt like I was exploring a gallery, feeling a painting and grasping at what it means, seeing the pain and beauty behind it.

Then I moved my hands to his chest as his hand lowered, sliding down my stomach before stopping at my waistband, my breath hitched as he whispered, “ya ready? Imma make sure ya never forget yur mine,” he drew out his voice as he spoke and his fingers slid further down.

“Always,” I moaned into his ear whilst his fingers pushed hardly against my core before pulling away quickly and tracing around the line of my underwear.

I continued to kiss him, in a sloppier manner this time, terrified he’d disappear again…

“All this for me?” He questioned with a teasing smile as he wiped his hands over my thighs, feeling just how wet I was.

“Mhm,” I said quickly leaning forward, desperate to taste him again, “we got time,” he muttered but was abruptly cut off by my mouth on his once again where it belonged.

Grabbing onto my thighs he placed me against the ground, keeping his body between my legs. He then began to unbuckle my trousers and pull them off my ankles, throwing them dramatically across the room. After he struggled to tug off his own trousers, readying himself for what comes next…

I leaned away from the door until I was on top of him, I could feel him beneath me, poking into my core.

“I need ya right now,” he moaned in a hushed tone, his hands gripping my ass to keep me in place.

My hand reached into his boxers as his lips found their way to my neck yet again.

“Oh holy shit!”

My head shot up and I turned around abruptly.

“Well what do we have here?” He questioned, Rick stood behind him mouth open in shock at the display.

I quickly realised the position we were in, me on Daryl’s lap in nothing but my underwear and Daryl in his boxers gripping my ass. Not to mention the atrocious amount of hickeys that had quickly formed all over my upper half.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I exclaimed quickly grabbing whatever clothes I could reach to cover myself with. Daryl quickly began to reach for his clothes.

“Well this is certainly a sight, don’t mind me please continue if you want, no need to get dressed,” he smirked.

Daryl shot him daggers as he pulled up his jeans.

“Outside.” Negan managed to boom still in an upbeat manner.

“At least let her get dressed properly man,” Daryl tried to sympathise.

“I said outside.” Negan said more sternly this time, so off we went.

Unfortunately my hunt for my clothes in the dimly lit shed did not go as planned, so there I stood in nothing but my underwear with daryl’s vest thrown over the top.

Daryl, who was stood in nothing but a pair of jeans, methodically pulled me towards him and placed a hand over my backside, trying to cover everything he could.

We got a few wolf whistles, I’m assuming from saviours, and a couple of shocked looks from everyone else.

“Daryl my boy, you’ve been so good up till now, I mean I told you I wanted her as a wife and you went and fucked her anyway! Isn’t that insane!” He laughed, it was almost like watching a comedy sketch, seeing him turn to his audience waiting for validation.

“But this took some balls, quite literally, so since I am such a caring guy, I decided you can keep your little play thing, take her home with you… However you fuck up even once, she’s done and I don’t just mean out of the sanctuary, I mean she’s done for good.” My breath hitched at the certainty he spoke with during his final statement.

“So what’s it gonna be Dixon?” He asked sinisterly.

“She belongs here.” Daryl stated confidently.

I knew he was being kind but wanted nothing more than to just be with him.

“You don’t want her?”

Daryl was silent contemplating his next response.

“Fine, well don’t say I didn’t give you the choice, I can’t let a face like that go to waste now can I?”

I met Daryls gaze in shock, he turned pale as his eyes widened.

“Nah that weren’t the deal,” he exclaimed clearly in a panic.

“The deal was you want her or you don’t. I never said I wouldn’t take her if you didn’t.”

“That ain’t fair!”

“Nothings fair dixon, now you made your choice, move along”

“I want her, I changed my mind, I want to take her back,”

“You already made your decision,”

“NO! I WANT HER!” he screamed at him.

Negan stayed silent for a second, waiting for the magic words, and soon enough they arrived…

“I’LL DO ANYTHING!”

“Beg.”

“Wha’?” Daryl said as if he misheard.

“Beg.”

[skyewritesstuff]

all too well (stan's version)

my masterlist.

entry 3 in my (taylor’s version) songfic series.

summary:  you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would've been fine...and that made me want to die.

pairing: post-covid!stan marsh x younger!reader

fandom: south park

warnings:  oh god. toxic relationship. toxic age-gap relationship (20s/50s). domestic violence (throwing things). language. afab reader.

notes: based on all too well (10 minute version), the song and the short film, by taylor swift. this has been beta read, and fun fact, this is the first fic i've written that got a perfect score in grammarly. it has been beta read. :)

word count: 2.9k

“If we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine.”

That was the moment that set you off. It was like a match was lit and dropped into a brush pile doused in kerosene. It simultaneously made you want to rip your skin from your bones and scream in agony, but also retaliate towards the older man standing in front of you…so that’s exactly what you did.

“You burned down your family’s farm. You killed your sister and your mom, and you ruined your own life just like you fucking ruined me! You told me you loved me. You took my virginity. You told me you wanted to marry me and now you’re saying our ages are a problem? That’s bullshit, Stan and you know it.”

“Fuck you. Fuck you. Get the fuck out of my house. We’re done. Go find you some guy your age that can drink to tolerate your batshit crazy ass, because my body has built too high of a tolerance to even be able to get buzzed enough to be around you. I’d rather go back to using my hand on the nightly basis than listen to you scream and cry at me like a fucking kid.”

You held it together despite internally wanting to crumble. You wanted to fall to your knees and sob and beg him to stay and beg him to love you, because despite everything, you still loved him.

“Fine.” You walked over to the counter and grabbed your belongings and your keys before turning to head out of the door. You then turned around and faced him, “That’s the funny part about all of this, Stan. My age is a problem now? Cool, fine, because you know what? Years will pass and I’ll get older…but your little girlfriends, side pieces, and fuckbuddies? They’ll all stay my age.”

With that, you walked out and slammed the door, heading to your car and exiting his driveway quicker than you’d ever pulled out of a location in your life. You tried to hold your tears in as you drove, but they started quickly pouring out and didn’t stop until you found yourself sitting on the floor of the shower in your apartment hours later

The water falling from the shower head had started running cold a long while ago. You couldn’t tell if you were still shaking from the tears or from the cold drops that fell onto your bare skin, but you pulled your knees in closer to your chest as you sat there overwhelmed by everything. This wasn’t your first fight with Stan. Things were never fully stable. He’d gotten mad at you when you asked him why he dropped your hand and stepped in front of you when a tall woman with black hair and glasses approached him at the class reunion that he’d invited you to.

“You dropped my fucking hand! What am I supposed to do with that?”

“I didn’t even fucking notice. What are you talking about I ‘dropped your hand’?” 

You shuddered again at the memory as it kept playing on in your mind as if you couldn’t shut it off even though you desperately wanted to.

“They are all older than me.”

“But like, what are you talking about?”

“I feel so out of place. You’re the only one that makes people comfortable.”

“You’re making this about you.”

“They won’t even look at me!”

You finally mustered up the strength to stand up, get out of the shower, and wrap yourself in a towel. It was removed the moment you dried off enough to put on your pajamas, consisting of one of Stan’s t-shirts and a pair of athletic shorts. Your heart ached as the cotton fabric went over your head and onto your body, hanging loosely on your frame.

You hadn’t even bothered to tell anyone what’d happened. You hadn’t from the start, so why start now. Your friends would be sympathetic and supportive, but you also knew of some friends, but more so family, that would be telling you ‘I told you so’. 

Your mother had warned you from the beginning, telling you that he had no business being with someone that was young enough to be his daughter regardless of whether or not you were both consenting adults, which had been your main defense all along. He was able to connect with your dad on sports, alcohol, and music and had even made the connection that they might have played each other in football in high school. That thought made you feel a little uncomfortable, but it wasn’t enough for you to see the concerns that even your dad silently harbored about this relationship.

You shook your head, drying the ends of your hair with a towel before curing up to lay down on your side, feeling ashamed and embarrassed that you’d even let this go on for as long as you had. There were so many signs and you’d missed them all, wearing what you could only describe as rose tinted glasses to see the world through the lens of the hope of true love.

You stayed on your side, curled up, until you glanced at the alarm clock to see the time. It was then that you were brought back to a few months prior, naked and curled up on your side in his bed as he pulled you into his chest. You felt dirty and ashamed. It was one thing for you to use your body to stop an argument and to pose a distraction from harsh words and glass bottles being thrown around, but it was another for him to go along with it. You wanted him to not take you up on your offer, coming to you with the proposition to talk about the problem at hand instead of just fucking to forget. The memory made you feel sick to your stomach…they all did.

The only thing that hurt worse than the bad memories were the ones that radiated any glimmer of hope into the spiral of your relationship. You baked cookies together at one in the morning all because you just wanted to. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you mixed the ingredients and got them prepared and hoisted you onto the counter to kiss you while you waited for the oven timer to go off. He told you all about his childhood…from his friends to the farm…information you’d never think of sharing, let alone weaponizing. You told him about yours and how you’d always dreamed of falling madly in love, getting married, and having children as to drop some kind of hint to him. He told you he loved you not even a week later when he’d come over to spend the evening with you, but the kiss that followed tasted of whiskey, planting the seed of doubt in your heart that you’d work hard to push back down every time you said those three words to him.

The good did not outweigh the bad, but your mind couldn’t wrap around the idea that someone could be that kind only to be so cruel. How could someone love you and then destroy you with such simplicity? Unless, they never loved you at all. You shook your head, trying to shake the thought out of the forefront of your mind. That could never be the case, but what if it was?

You were jarred from your thoughts by the sound of not knocking, but pounding on your door. You jumped, unsettled by the noise. You walked to the door, peering through the peephole only to see Stan standing on your doormat, partially slumped over on the door, using his closed fist to pound on the door. He apologized, begging you to answer the door through slurred words all because he loves you and he made a mistake.

You opened the door and Stan all but fell inside, stumbling and grabbing a hold of a coat rack and your arm. Several items fell off of the coat rack as he picked himself up. You rolled your eyes watching him scramble to pick them up out of the floor, almost falling again.

“Just leave it.” You replied coldly.

“N-No, I did this…I fucked it up like I fuck up everything else.” he handed you a beanie and a hoodie and you took it into your arms with a deep sigh of frustration.

His hand landed on a red knit infinity scarf. He picked it up and took a good look at it. “You had this on when we went to see Shelley and mom. I-It matched the flowers.”

You took a hard swallow, pursing your lips, “Yeah…” Your mind went back to the red carnations Stan placed on his sister and his mother’s graves that day. Regardless of his behavior, you couldn’t help but pity him when it came to his family. It was a tragedy and there wasn’t anyone that could deny that.

Once you hung the articles back on the rack, you turned to Stan, who was leaning on the wall for support. He was more than obviously drunk, per usual. You cursed the availability of self-driving cars, but you doubt deep-down that his drunken state would’ve kept him from getting behind the wheel to try and keep you entrapped considering it was something that would ultimately benefit him. Despite his self-deprecating behaviors, Stan was the love of his own life. He was his own number one and there was no one that could knock him out of that position short of the bottle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, “What do you want, Stanley? You told me to get out of your house and that we were done.”

“I-I know…but…I couldn’t…I couldn’t let you leave. I love you, Y/N. I love you and need you, baby.” he slurred, reaching for you. You took a step back and rolled your eyes as he continued, “Alexa told me I needed to stay away from you, but I just can’t. I can’t do that. She told me to stay away from ‘that little girl’ and to find someone my own age, but I told her that you’re a woman and you’re mature. It’s fine. You know that, right? I’m not…I’m not worried about your age.”

You blinked, perplexed by his statements considering what he’d said earlier, “I don’t even know how to respond to that.”

“Remember when Kyle said he didn’t know I had a daughter, but it wasn’t my daughter, it was you?”

“Yeah, and I remember your other friend stopping me at the bar telling me I needed to run too.”

The whole reunion felt like a fever dream, but the comments made by Kyle, as well as the man at the bar…a taller man with dark hair and tanned skin who was holding the hand of his husband who also looked at you with deep concern etched onto his features…stuck with you. You knew by their impact that you shouldn’t have let them go, but instead, you forced them to the back of your mind every time they’d reappear. You’d remind yourself that these people no longer knew Stan, because it’d been decades since their school years. The presence of a freshly twenty-something year old on the arm of a fifty-year old was everything an outsider needed to know about Stan Marsh.

“That’s a good idea…let’s run…let’s go to Vegas…let’s get married. I love you and I want you to stay with me.” he begged, this time dropping to his knees.

“Get up, Stan. This is ridiculous.” You said, extending a hand to help him up. He stood back up and walked closer towards you, putting his hands on your waist. Tears were welled up in his eyes and his face was flushed. You couldn’t tell if this was from the heat of the whiskey, emotion, or his history of having a sensitive stomach in times of high stress.

“I'm so sorry.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours. His lips lingered near yours and your chest tightened. Your love for the man in front of you was doing its best to fight off the anger and sorrow you were feeling as if you hadn’t been down this road before. This was a normal occurrence even if it wasn’t in the presence of a potential break up. Every fight ended like this. He’d get drunk, apologize, kiss you, fuck you, and then wake up the next day hungover. The fight would be long since forgotten.

“I can’t do this, Stan.” Your voice cracked, “I love you, but I can’t do this.”

“But you love me.”

“Sometimes love isn’t enough.” You spoke plainly, gently putting your hands on his chest to slowly push him away. Your stomach turned a little, knowing his past history of violence. He’d never hit you, but any nearby object was fair game to be tossed through the air in your general direction. You didn’t trust him not to hit you, and that should’ve been another red flag, but it also went ignored.

“But…”

“You took my virginity when we were both drunk. You lied about my age at the reunion until someone told you there was no way I was almost thirty. You’re basically unemployed. You drink all day and half-ass your job to the point where you lose clients quicker than you make money.” The more you spoke, the more the anger began to rise as you recalled all of the things you’d been ignoring for so long, “You’ve thrown full glass bottles of whiskey at me. You’ve thrown long neck bottles, shot glasses…basically anything you can drink your sorrows away in has been thrown my way on top of your phone, my fucking water bottle…anything with weight to it. You ruined my twenty-first by not showing up to my party and blacking out drunk in your own fucking bedroom, which made my parents hate you…”

“Your parents love me!” The rest of your points going ignored again.

“You really are oblivious as fuck, aren’t you? I’m dying inside, Stan. I can’t fucking doing this anymore. You have ruined me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be myself again. You said if we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine…but I don’t even think you could hold a relationship with someone your own age. If Wendy wasn’t married, you would’ve left me that night and moved on to ruin her too…but I don’t think she would’ve given you the opportunity…because admittedly, she’s not young and fucking stupid like me.” You pursed your lips, taking a breath, “You couldn’t manipulate her the way you do me…the way you did me…because we’re done, Stanley.”

He looked at you, eyes glazed over, his brain taking longer to process what you’d said due to his state of intoxication.

“I loved you and I tried to be there for you. I tried to create a safe space, because fuck, no one’s done it for you for the last fifty some years and I thought you deserved it…but you just took advantage of it.” You said, shaking your head, “I hope one day you find everything you’re missing. I hope you go to rehab, because you need it. I hope you make peace with your father, because you need that too.”

“Fuck Randy. I fucking hate Randy. He’s…”

“He’s your dad and sure he’s fucked up over the years, but it’s not like you’re some saint either. You both have made mistakes. Go to therapy, get your shit together, and go find happiness…with someone who isn’t me…and is closer to your own age.” 

Tears had started to stream down your face rapidly and you hadn’t noticed. He stepped closer and reached up to wipe your tears away. You shook your head, reaching up to wipe them off yourself.

“I’ll go with you out to your car and program it to take you back home, but after that, I don’t want to see you ever again.”

“You don’t mean that.”

You nodded, “I do…and I’d normally say that I’m sorry, but I really don’t think I am.”

“I thought we were made for each other.” he paused, “Maybe another time…in another life?”

You shrugged. The sentiment was nice. It was pleasant to think about, but it was sadly not a reality. It was doubtful that your lives would ever cross again and it was unlikely that he’d change. In another life, maybe, but that wasn’t something you were even sure existed.

“I don’t know, Stan.” You said, wrapping your arms around your midriff.

“I love you.”

You didn’t say anything. You opened the door and motioned for him to follow you. On your way out, the red of the scarf hanging from the coat rack caught your eye. For a brief second, your hand reached up to take it, debating on dropping the knit accessory in the back seat of his car. You knew that this would just enable Stan to try and contact you again and begin this cycle in a never-ending loop like the article of clothing itself.

You wordlessly followed Stan to his car, programming it to drive him back to his home before helping him into his seat and closing the door. You backed up, watching the car start to pull out of the lot and head down the street as he exited your life for good.

It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well…

[stargatelov3r]

If you're not sick of writing for teylabeth... 45 please 💕

Never sick of writing teylabeth, just generally sick. But I finally made it! (@kira-nerys-rocks also requested this ;)

from this promptlist

45. "Sleep is for the weak" || Teylabeth || 716 words || fluff

“Elizabeth? What are you still doing here?” Teyla asked with a stern expression on her face, leaning in the doorway of Elizabeth’s office.

“What does it look like.” Elizabeth didn’t even look up, her eyes twitching back and forth between her notebook and her tablet.

Teyla crossed her arms, slightly irritated, even though this was not the first time she found Elizabeth in her office well after midnight. “You said you were going to sleep two hours ago.”

“I said I’d try.”

“And did you?”

Finally, Elizabeth looked up, her eyes heavy with fatigue and her expressions sluggish. How long had she gone without sleep this time?

“Sleep is for the weak,” she deadpanned, and returned her attention to her screen.

Teyla sighed and strode across the room, placing her hands firmly on the desktop, and leaning consciously into Elizabeth’s personal space. After what happened last time they had been in such a tight spot she was even more conscious of Elizabeth’s sometimes reckless attitude towards sleep.

The trick worked, Elizabeth leaned back, hesitant to show their closeness in such a public space.

“Elizabeth, you haven’t seen you sleep at all last night. You belong in bed. Now.”

“That almost sounds like a threat,” Elizabeth said with half a smile, searching Teyla’s eyes as if she was trying to determine just how much longer she could test Teyla’s patience, but she stayed unwavering, not allowing herself to fall for Elizabeth’s games this time. 

“If you don’t get out of your office and into your quarters right away I will have to carry you there myself.”

“Now, that sounds like a threat.” Elizabeth smirked, wilfully ignoring the seriousness in Teyla’s voice.

Finally, after Teyla had stared her down for a good 15 seconds, Elizabeth’s smile slowly faded, her whole expression slacked and a deep sigh was released from her chest. “You’re right. Let me just…”

“No.” Teyla put a hand on top of her laptop. “Did you save all your work?” She knew from various meltdowns of various members of the expedition how important saving one’s progress on digital devices was.

Elizabeth hit a few keys, then nodded. Without another word Teyla closed the notebook for her, not giving her even the slightest chance to go back to finishing up whatever it was she had been working on. When Elizabeth’s hand moved towards her tablet, Teyla intersected her hand by lightly but insistently grabbing her wrist. For a moment, she held her gaze, then Elizabeth got up wordlessly and walked towards the door.

On their way to the living areas, Teyla could feel a certain coolness coming from Elizabeth, but she knew it would be gone in the morning at the lastest. It shouldn’t be her responsibility to send Elizabeth to bed like a child, but there were times when Elizabeth lost sight of what was good and necessary for herself and therefore for Atlantis, in which cases Teyla stepped in. Nobody else would.

“You didn’t have to walk me to my door,” Elizabeth mumbled once they reached her quarters.

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t turn around halfway there,” Teyla replied with a hint of a smile in her voice. Now that she was certain that Elizabeth would turn in soon, she felt more relaxed and calm, able to be kind and lighthearted again.

“Well, thanks.” Elizabeth opened her doors but turned towards her again, a shyness on her face that Teyla knew too well.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Is this another plot to postpone sleeping for another while?” Teyla asked, half joking, but secretly longing for some closeness that she had been deprived of for the last few days.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No. But I’ll sleep better with you there.”

Teyla’s heart softened at this open and honest confession, and she nodded, entering the familiar quarters.

Minutes later they had changed into their sleeping attires and curled up in bed, the blanket that Charin had made for them tugged up to their chins. Elizabeth’s back was pressed against Teyla’s front, one of Teyla’s arms wrapped securely around her waist, and Teyla could already feel Elizabeth’s breath slowing.

“Sleep tight,” she whispered and pressed a kiss onto Elizabeth’s dark curls before nuzzling closer one last time and letting sleep take her away.

[maerrine]

I just read another fantastic post that among other things, talks about the parallels between Sigma and Chuuya (I’ll likely reblog it in a moment) and it made me want to talk about them. So. 

I speed-read the bsd manga in like a day and one of the first things that struck me when Sigma showed up is actually how similar he was to Chuuya, and how many parallels they had! It actually made me start shipping them really strongly despite them not having had any actual interactions with each other yet, but this post isn’t about shipping, so. I’ll put that aside for now.

Lots of people have talked about it already but the first obvious parallel is the way they both have a very nebulous relationship with their own humanity. Chuuya and Arahabaki; Sigma being born from the book... they’re also both lacking childhoods to some extent as well, Sigma most of all. So they have similar backstories.

But more important is the way they’re both looking for a place to belong - and that they’re continuously being used by others. Chuuya is used by the sheep and the mafia, Sigma has been used by pretty much everyone his entire life... and this is imo consciously acknowledged by the author especially in the prison break arc at the moment. Chuuya and Sigma are literally paralleled as being the “pawns/pieces” of Dazai and Fyodor’s plans, playing almost identical roles on opposing sides, and I think that that’s done on purpose. Of course, as it turns out, Dazai isn’t only using Sigma for his power, whereas Fyodor very much sees Chuuya as nothing more than a tool, so there’s a key difference there, too...

I’ve been thinking about the differences between them too, though, and one thing that struck me was - Chuuya tolerates and accepts being used, where Sigma rejects it. Chuuya genuinely seems to be comfortable with his role in the mafia and doesn’t even really hold a grudge against the sheep for using and betraying him earlier. In contrast, Sigma is desperately fighting so that he won’t be used by other people anymore - this is a little muddied in that he did go along with Fyodor’s plans in order to get a home, and was letting himself be used in that sense, but right now in canon he’s completely turned against Fyodor and has made it very clear that he intends not to be manipulated anymore.

I’d honestly really like to see some fic that played with those differences and similarities between them a bit. Like maybe Sigma realizing how similar they are, and trying to push Chuuya to stop accepting the ways he’s used by other people?? On the other hand, Chuuya seems to have found a home in the mafia as well, or at least believes he has, whereas Sigma is still searching, so that’s another thing that could be touched on as well.

Idk. I know I’m just repeating what a lot of people have already said so maybe this post is pointless otl, but. I’m really excited for them to finally meet in canon, because there’s so much potential between them that could lead to some really cool stuff!

Tl;dr sigchuu is superior >:)

[doamarierose-honoka]

Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige removed a key element from Loki Season 2's ending according to the show's composer Natalie Holt.

Throughout the Multiverse Saga, the Marvel boss provided several notes to previous projects under Phase 4 and Phase 5.

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse director Sam Raimi revealed in the film's audio commentary Feige wanted to remove the first encounter between Strange and Mordo in Earth-838 since he felt that "it was a little corny," but the filmmaker refused.

In June 2023, Secret Invasion director Ali Selim shared that there were ideas for the series that Feige "killed" because "he has a plan going down the road."

Ms. Marvel director and showrunner Adil El Arbi also pointed out in July 2022 that Feige had a special request for the show's mutant reveal, with the MCU boss telling him to "just shoot [the scene], put the [X-Men theme] on, and that’s it."

Loki's Ending Song That Almost Came to Be

In an interview with Marvel Entertainment, Loki Season 2 composer Natalie Holt talked about the one change that Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige made to the series' final moments near the end of post-production.

At the end of Season 2's finale, Mobius and Sylvie overlook a suburban house belonging to one of Mobius' Variants. As Sylvie walks away and the camera stays on Mobius pondering his future, a rock-inspired tune starts playing. The music intensifies through the final shot of Loki protecting his secured timelines and continues to play through the credits.

The original plan devised by Holt and crew was for this song to be accompanied by lyrics.

Holt explained how she had been working with a songwriter to craft words for the epic closing song:

"I wanted to write a song [for 'Loki']. I’d been working in the studio with a songwriter, trying to come up with a song using the 'Loki' theme."

However, as the series was wrapping up, Feige altered such plans for Loki's emotional ending to be accompanied by poetic lyrics, as he thought that they would "feel too leading:"

"Kevin Feige just said, 'I don’t like having lyrics here. It feels too leading.'

But what is left is this sort of underneath of a song."

Holt reflected on Feige's advice, admitting that "it seemed to work better" without lyrics:

"It seemed to work better without lyric’s help, because when you add lyrics into a song it does make it very specific. So yeah, it has the feel of a sort of rockier version of the theme though."

Why Loki's Score Works Better Without Lyrics

Given Loki Season 2 ended with a poignant moment for Tom Hiddleston's God of Mischief, it's fitting that it was accompanied by the perfect score from Natalie Holt.

Kevin Feige's advice to not put lyrics in Loki Season 2's finale score is understandable since including them would've spoon-fed the viewers what kind of emotion or reaction the creators wanted them to feel.

While it would've been unique for the score to be a full-blown song while Loki's ascension is happening, hearing a powerful theme without words is more impactful and thrilling for the viewers.

[chthonicgodling]

(April’s)Huevember - Day 26!

featuring: Loki & Hecate

[in which I’ve made my very own #Huevember wheel this year (that you can use too! Pls tag me I’d LOVE to see!) - unabridged version continues, including a wide array of Elysium’verse characters across the rainbow!]

‼️moody deity with a superiority complex who’s built his entire identity around being a sorcerer VS actual goddess of all magic and witchcraft from competing pantheon just chillin’ = FIGHT!‼️ jkjk aka yay witchy gang in lavender!! well I SAID yesterday that today’s post was low key 🤭 notes!!

I am at a point in my life that I am constantly forgetting that Elysium!Loki is technically not an OC and is in fact transplanted from — but to me he is 🥰 listen he’s been here for like 11 years he can do what he wants

BUT Hecate’s supposed to be the big focus here cause this light pinky purple is her color! Hecate is 💞pastel goth💞 she is::: very cool. very nonchalant. extremely powerful but like, ehh yknow whatever, about it. not a big deal.

I’m not sure that she knows that she’s locked in an eternal behind the scenes competition with Loki, who IS also very cool BUT can’t be nonchalant about anything ever?? “Competing for what” I literally don’t even KNOW? but he views her as a Threat and a Challenge 😠

again I can’t stress how little Hecate knows or cares about his Opinion™ ffkfkfk. he’s actually more courteous to her than he’d like to be bc she’s sort of like, dating one of his sons (Fenris)?? lmao!!?? grinds his fuckin gears but WHATEV

these two witches (which is another strike against her, Loki does not appreciate being called a witch🙄) do often team up to perform magical deux ex machina tasks and favors in the palace, most famously co-healing Chal’s arm after Ker ate it off which came with a Chthonic-brand-magic side effect of some black claws on one hand. a cool look though! magic is cool, is the moral here 😎 that’s the gist

stay tuned for tomorrow, which has two pics attached to it!! 🤭😇🥰💞 get hype! Loki belongs to………… Well. cmon now E!L is mine. let’s be real here. don’t tag the m word. also hilariously I don’t know who has custody of Hecate anymore I think she’s currently @fenixethekid’s ?? does Not matter - click the link up above to see the whole Huevember wheel - feel free to use the tag AceprilHuevember if u want to play too - and my tag this year can be found here!!

[kpophoneybunny]

Reactions - WEi as boyfriends

Request: yes

Disclaimer: This is entirely my interpretation and in no way reflects the true characters or personalities of the WEi members. Also these images do not belong to me and were all found on Pinterest.

Y/N: I’m to lazy to go on my computer. I’ll add the “read more” line break tomorrow.

Daehyeon

Spoils you but in a subtle way. He doesn’t like you making a big deal out of it. Helps you out on your shoes like you’re a princess. Let’s you use his jacket if it’s cold. Buys you heat packs to warm your hands. If he’s cooking, he’s cooking for you too. Even if you say you’re not hungry. Lots of small gestures but rarely any big ones. Very low key. But one thing that he’s very obvious with is hand-holding. If anyone looks at you for too long, he’s holding your hand and kissing it to claim his territory.

“Of course I’d think of you. You’re my baby.”

Donghan

I feel like he’d be a very classic romantic guy. Holding doors open for you, pulling out your chair, flowers, chocolate, teddy bears. He’d be very into showing up and showing out for you. It doesn’t even have to be a special occasion. Every occasion with you is special to him. Not into extravagant gifts because he wants to surprise you often and prefers to take you on nice dates or on fun trips.

“I got you flowers to replace the ones I got you last week. I noticed they were wilting.”

Yongha

He’d be a bit clingy as a boyfriend, always wanting to hangout and talk. It would borderline seem toxic how much he wants to know what you’re doing or where you are but it’s out of pure curiosity and wanting to know you’re safe. He’s never controlling and doesn’t tell you what you can or can’t do. He’s just interested in your day and likes getting updates as it’s happening instead of at the end of the day when it’s all over. Of course, he’s also giving you all the details of his day as it’s happening too. It’s only fair.

“It’s like seeing live tweets of an event. And your life is my favorite event.”

Yohan

Like Donghan, I think he’s a very classic guy. His gestures might be a bit fancier and spread out though. That expensive outfit you eyed when you were out shopping together? He surprised you with it a week later. The designer shoes you liked on Instagram were waiting on your bed when you got home from your work trip. He wants to spoil his baby. If you like getting your hair and nails done, he’ll pay for it if you let him pick the style of your hair or color of your nails.

“See? I pay attention to the things you like.”

Seokhwa

He gives me vibes of the kind of cheesy boyfriend. And by that I mean he’d like to have matching couple items and outfits. Not 24/7 and certainly not down to the underwear but matching colors or matching patterns would be his favorite. Especially for random occasions. Even if you aren’t going to see each other all day, he’ll still want to match. I get the feeling he’d like the laid back dates. Things like zoos or museums. Nothing fancy like a Michelin star restaurant. If he takes you somewhere that fancy, it has to be for something really special.

“What do you mean you don’t want to wear the safari outfits to the zoo? I thought it was cute.”

Junseo

Junseo would love to be the one getting spoiled. Yes, he gets you nice things and pays attention to details but he’ll love getting notes and tiny gifts from you. I think he’d love exchanging selfies on days you won’t get to see one another so he can still compliment you on what you look like. He likes being detailed with compliments, commenting on your specific outfit, makeup, or hair. And he’d love for you to do the same. Nothing can convince me he doesn’t live for your praise. But more than that, he lives for your smile.

“Knowing you’re happy is enough to make me happy.”

[ellie-e-marcovitz]

to remember

November entry for @hp-12monthsofmagic. tw: memory issues, COVID (iimplied) IYKYK.

early November, 2023

I sealed the envelope in front of me, before flipping it over and scrawling ‘Devon’ on the front. There only tended to be a few birthdays in November among my friend group, but there were some, and I dutifully did my best to owl them a card between exams and homework.

The cards would go out over the next few days. Kleio, Jasmine, Marlowe, Bill… That should be everyone… I mentally counted, reaching for my list to double check.

Which I had misplaced. Great. Stuff like this had happening more and more frequently since February.

I rested my elbows on my desk and stared intently at the small round object sitting quietly under my secondary computer screen.

Both Kleio’s and Devon’s cards needed to be sent ASAP. Aurora could handle both as soon as she returned from hunting… The small object shifted in colour, turning from a placid, near transparent sphere into an opaque, deep red sphere that seemed to glow a little in the dim light of my office, as my thoughts drifted.

You’re forgetting something…

No… really? I thought sarcastically, starting to shift the already graded work on my desk into neat-ish piles. The Remembrall had been taunting me since April, when it was given to me after misplacing my car keys one too many times.

It wasn’t exactly helpful, considering all it did was turn red and glow a bit to let you know you were forgetting something. It didn’t show you what you were forgetting.

I’d seen doormats that were more useful.

Papers somewhat sorted, I found one of my cookbooks, a Mary Berry one, along with my list stuck in at the Yule Log recipe I’d been wanting to try.

I sighed, finding an old, marked up envelope (with several lists, all largely checked off) and sticking it in the book instead.

Looking at the list, I realised I had forgotten both Victor Kesueki and Levi Kidd’s birthdays, though I had lost contact with both of them a long time ago. I’d never been close with Victor, and I hadn’t heard from Levi for quite a few years, not since the Middle East exploded with infighting in 2011.

I wrote him one anyways, setting it with Jasmine’s and Bill’s cards. No doubt there were plenty of others I didn’t remember, as I pinned my list back to the corkboard.

Weasley family birthdays were a task unto themselves, considering the immediate family was huge. Somehow, I just managed to keep the nieces and nephews ones straight, let alone Charlie’s siblings and their partners.

There was also my family, which was more manageable. Just. Eileen had a better grasp on our wider family, and more patience with card finding.

Families aside, there was also my (surprisingly large) group of friends. Uni, the phoenix resistance, Hogwarts and even a couple from the years wandering the world.

Another couple cards filled out, I shuffled them into a stack, keeping them in the correct order, helped by the date written in the corner.

A flutter of wings caught my attention, as Aurora landed in the open window. I threw a few owl treats into the bowl next to it, which she chased around the bowl, as I tied Devon’s and Kleio’s cards together.

Jacob would be able to send Aurora on to England.

Having eaten her fill of the treats, Aurora hooted dolefully as I attached the letters. I gently petted her feathers, apologetic. I, too, wished for even a brief break, but there was always something.

“I know,” I replied. “Jacob will probably have some treats or something. Greece should be nice, even.”

A little bob, almost curtsy, or the owl equivalent of rolling her eyes, before flying off. Hopefully, Devon and Kleio would appreciate the cards.

Devon belongs to @kathrynalicemc 😊

[daisychainsandbowties]

27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?

46. How would you describe your style? (Character/emotion/action-driven, etc)

hmmm.... 37. How do you choose where to end a chapter?

27.

favourite part of writing is going off with my grubby little autistic hands, making out sloppy style with wikipedia, and then coming back to cram utter senselessness into an otherwise straightforward (though, never straight) narrative. i love weaving things into my stories, taking wild tangents, trying to drawstring everything together. it’s a bad prose habit but a rather good poetry one, and i love doing it too much to stop.

least favourite is trying to finagle a scene that doesn’t want to be written. most of the time that means there’s dialogue in the scene that doesn’t sound right to me, or dialogue i just can’t find so i end up writing around and around that absence which is very frustrating because it feels like i’m missing the ‘key’ to a scene and if only i could find it everything would tangle itself out just so.

46.

my style is definitely meandering, a little (okay a lottle) dense at times. the more wet with blood it is, the more it feels like my writing.

i have a tendency to break away from what’s happening in-scene to frame or re-frame the scene. again, a terrible habit, but sometimes terrible habits are what make your writing belong to you. i think probably you could look at a lot of very influential pieces of literature and point to the ways in which they’re self-indulgent, or act in defiance of the preferred stylistic trends of their time, so i don’t worry too much about the fact that i do occasionally annoy even myself with my apparent incapacity to simple write the damn scene.

bluntly i think i’m a very character-driven writer; i could happily write a book with no action scenes. or, rather, i’d prefer to write a character-focused story with no action than one with lots of action and very thin-on-the-ground characters. so… i think this itself is proof enough that my writing style is best described as ‘long-winded’

37.

oh, a chapter usually slams the door in my face. i often write the last line about halfway through a chapter and simply accept that as the end point. frequently the end appears before the beginning.

i like working or running or falling towards the ending as i write. makes it feel like a cascade, lends it a bit of pacing which i am always sorely in need of.

i tend to end chapters as i would end a poem, which is to say with a sense of completeness but also as a misstep - the reading equivalent of thinking there’s another step when you’re going downstairs in the dark. that moment of wild abandonment.