#and really driven home the whole “he can't come back” thing

[loxosceleslolo]

things I was expecting the Shadow of the Erdtree final boss to be:

we get to the divine gate and find that Miquella is being puppeted by a gross black deathblight slug (kinda like what happened to Gwyndolin in DS3). he tried to bring Godwyn back. Godwyn came back wrong (if it was even truly him at all). now we get a Saint of the Deep shout-out fight.

we get to the divine gate and find out that Miquella has been dead the entire time AND NOW WE GET TO FIGHT A JUICED-UP NEEDLE KNIGHT LEDA BECAUSE SHE WAS USING US TO GET TO THE DIVINE GATE AND BECOME A GOD HERSELF THE ENTIRE TIME.

things I was not expecting the Shadow of the Erdtree final boss to be:

the final boss of Wattpad.

[mggslover]

How the Unsub Stole Christmas ❆

A Holiday to Remember: part 2

In which the BAU's holiday getaway takes a dark turn when a family is found murdered on Christmas, forcing the team to investigate while reader struggles with painful memories of her past and her growing, unspoken feelings for Spencer Reid.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!bau!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut (18+), fluff, found family Content warnings: graphic cm case descriptions!!, mentions of shitty childhood, reader getting in some unsub trouble, oral (f receiving), p in v sex. Word count: 9k 🫣 i swear it reads really fast A/n: read part 1 first! writing this story genuinely brought me so much joy, and i hope you will experience the same while reading this. this will be my last fic for the year 2024, so thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the support, i can't wait to see what the new year will bring for this blog. don't forget to interact with this post if you've enjoyed! 🎄🤍 dividers by @issysh3ll

It shouldn’t have surprised you that you’d be called out for another case. Still, the disappointment lingered thick in the air.

“It was fun while it lasted,” Garcia murmured softly, her tone sad. JJ wrapped an arm around her, bringing her in for a side hug. “Don’t worry,” she reassured gently. “The trip isn’t over yet.”

Penelope seemed satisfied enough with that answer, but then spoke up again. “I don’t want to stay here on my own. It’s spooky knowing someone got murdered just miles away.”

“You can come with us to the station. Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss and Y/L/N, you’ll head to the crime scene. A deputy will be waiting for you there.” Hotch instructed. 

You exhaled softly and gave a brief nod. Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes filled with that quiet empathy you’d come to recognize over the years.

“Good luck,” he said, his voice low but sincere.

“Thanks,” you replied, your words equally soft. “You too.”

Half an hour later, you arrived at the crime scene. The neighborhood was so small it hardly felt like one—just a handful of houses scattered across large, snow-dusted plots of land. It looked peaceful, almost idyllic, as if nothing could ever disturb the calm. The street was adorned with Christmas lights and festive decorations. The only thing slightly out of place was a crack in the bench beside one of the houses. Otherwise, the neighborhood looked like it had stepped right out of a holiday card.

As you stepped out of the car, you noticed the few neighbors who hadn’t yet been driven inside by the cold. They stood in clusters in front of their homes, bundled up in scarves and coats, watching the scene unfold with cautious curiosity.

You looked over at Prentiss. “We should start doing some interviews—maybe send a few of them over to the station.”

She nodded, her expression focused. “Got it.” Without another word, she made her way toward them.

You followed Rossi and Derek toward the red wooden house, where the Deputy awaited by the front door. He looked young—probably around your age. 

Rossi introduced you to Deputy Wilson. Wilson gave a sheepish smile, “Sorry it’s just me. Almost the whole department is unavailable because of the holidays.”

“Convenient timing for a murder,” you mused.

“The scene’s been left as it was when we found it,” Wilson continued. “The back door’s been forced open, and you can see boot prints in the snow leading to the backyard.”

Morgan immediately stepped forward. “I’ll get a shot of those prints for Garcia,” he said, already heading toward the backyard.

Wilson looked at you and Rossi. “You want to take a look inside?”

You paused before heading in, shaking the snow from your boots and making sure not to use the doormat—the one engraved with the names of the family members. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful, to dirty the only thing that might be left of them. 

You took in a sharp breath as you entered the house. Your gaze was first taken by the large Christmas tree standing in the corner of the living room, decorated in red and gold. But then you noticed the bloody mess underneath it. Four bodies—two adults and two children—lay scattered on the floor, broken Christmas ornaments surrounding them, as though the killer had dropped them carelessly after his violent act. The mother and father were draped over each other, their throats slit cleanly. The teenage daughter, too, had her throat cut, but her body was twisted in a way that didn’t seem accidental. The small boy—no older than ten—was slumped between them, his face frozen in an expression of terror, a look that would haunt you for days.

The scene before you was a sickening parody of a perfect Christmas. But the most disturbing part wasn’t the carnage—it was their faces. Each of them wore a grotesque, unnerving smile, painted onto their lips in blood. It was a mockery of joy, an image of happiness forced onto the dead.

You felt a wave of nausea rise in your throat and turned away, needing a moment to breathe. It was then that you noticed the walls, once filled with smiling family photos were now smeared with blood. Shattered frames lay scattered on the floor, as if the killer had intentionally destroyed the family’s history, piece by piece. 

Rossi spoke first. “The unsub who stole Christmas,” he mused, his tone almost playful despite the grim reality.

You gave a sharp exhale, a brief scoff escaping your lips. “Yeah, you could say that.”

You put on your gloves and picked up a shattered picture frame from the floor. You handed it to Rossi without a word. He took it, studying it for a moment before speaking again. “One thing’s for sure—this wasn’t just a murder. This is deeply personal.”

You nodded, scanning the room. The starkness of the crime scene was still sinking in, but your mind was already running through the facts. “The execution was meticulous,” you murmured, your gaze flickering over the room, “but the aftermath... messy. The unsub rushed out of here—didn’t even bother closing the back door behind him, and those footprints? Almost like he didn’t care at all about leaving evidence. We might even get lucky and find DNA on the bodies.”

Rossi considered it. “It could be that he was in a hurry. In a small neighborhood like this, people will notice anything out of the ordinary. He probably knew he had to move fast.”

You hummed in return. “It still doesn’t add up. You can’t plan a murder with this much detail and then completely overlook how to cover your tracks afterward.”

You took another slow turn around the room, examining the details. Every piece seemed to add to the strange puzzle, but none of it fit together. As you passed the fireplace, something caught your eye: a piece of paper tucked into one of the stockings. You reached for it carefully, your fingers brushing the corner stained with blood.

You unfolded it with precision, revealing the scrawled words in black ink. The sentence was short and written in Latin, a language you hadn’t encountered in years. You stared at it, furrowing your brow as you tried to make sense of it.

“You wouldn’t happen to know Latin, would you?” You asked Rossi, half-joking, though the seriousness in your voice remained.

Rossi looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and dry humor. “Does it look like I know Latin?”

You smiled, already pulling your phone out of your pocket and speed dialing Spencer. As the phone rang, you turned your attention back to the paper, the blood spatter still making your stomach turn.

“Hey,” you breathed out as he picked up the phone after the second ring.

“Hey,” Spencer replied. “Are you okay?” His voice was soft with concern, your single syllable being enough for him to decipher how you feel.

You glanced over your shoulder at the murdered family, swallowing hard before turning away. “I will be,” you responded. Once that fucker is behind bars.

You straightened, pushing the thoughts away, and focused on the task at hand. “I’ve just found a piece of paper at the crime scene. It’s a text written in Latin. I figured it’d be quicker to ask you than wait for Garcia to look it up.”

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment. “Good call. What does it say?”

You glanced at the paper again, stumbling slightly over the unfamiliar words. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Spencer spoke, his voice calm but precise. “Nunc sciunt te perfectum non esse. ‘Now they know you’re not perfect.’” His perfect Latin pronunciation made you wince at how poorly you’d read it.

“What’s that supposed to mean? A taunt?”

Spencer’s voice was thoughtful. “Sounds like he’s trying to prove something. It’s definitely personal.”

You exchanged a look with Rossi, who was standing nearby, holding the broken picture frame. “Yeah, that’s what we’ve been thinking. Whoever this unsub is, he knows the Reynolds family intimately.”

“Garcia’s already digging into the family’s background,” Spencer replied without missing a beat, already a step ahead.

“Good,” you muttered, relief washing over you for a moment. “How are things going over there?”

“JJ’s been trying to reach family, but they don’t live nearby,” Spencer answered. “A snowstorm hit. I’ve been tracking the meteorological data, and the chances of them making it are close to zero.” 

You nodded, a dull ache settling in your chest. “Well, I’m going to keep looking around here. The bodies will be picked up soon to go to the lab, and then I’ll be heading over to the station.”

“Alright,” Spencer replied, his tone warmer now. “I’ll see you there. Be careful.”

“Always am,” you said, offering a small smile even though he couldn’t see it.

The words on the note kept drifting through your mind. Maybe it was the sentiment that came with Christmas—or maybe it was the fact that, up until now, you were having a perfect holiday, something you never thought you’d get to experience—that made the scene remind you of your childhood. How everything looked so joyous from the outside, especially during the holidays. But if you looked closely, you’d see the cracks. The ornaments on the tree, hastily glued together, their edges jagged and uneven. The hole in the wall, cleverly concealed behind your stocking. 

You were probably overthinking it. After all, it wasn’t the family that was broken like yours was—it was the unsub who had shattered their picture-perfect life.

Rossi’s voice broke through your thoughts. “You okay, kid?”

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the past and into the present. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get out of here.”

You and Rossi walked into the secluded room the Sheriff had arranged for the team, exchanging your findings with Morgan and Prentiss along the way. You’d made a quick stop at a Chinese takeaway to grab food for everyone, knowing the team needed fuel for the long hours ahead.

The rest of the team was already seated around the table, and Reid was in the middle of showing Hotch something on the map of the neighborhood.

“Oh, you guys are the best!” Penelope sighed, her voice full of appreciation as she caught sight of the plastic bags you were carrying.

“We couldn’t leave you to go hungry,” Emily responded with a grin.

You took a seat closest to where Spencer was standing, and he naturally slid into the chair beside you. You reached into the bag and pulled out the only plastic fork, knowing he’d struggle with chopsticks. He flashed you a grateful, closed-lip smile as he took it from you.

Once everyone had filled their plates, the conversation turned back to the case.

“Garcia dug up some useful info,” JJ began. “Stephen Reynolds owned a construction company that’s on the verge of going bankrupt. It’s possible the unsub was an employee who got fired—or was cut loose because the company couldn’t afford him anymore.”

“It seems like the whole family was targeted,” you added, leaning forward. “The note was left in one of the children’s stockings. It doesn’t feel like the murder was just directed at Stephen.”

“That’s why we need to find out more about the Reynolds family outside of their neighborhood,” Hotch said. “The employees at the construction company could have insight. It’s clear the neighbors aren’t going to give us much.”

Rossi’s eyes narrowed, a skeptical look on his face. “Did they really not give you anything? The neighbors, I mean.”

Prentiss shook her head. “Nothing useful. They kept insisting that the Reynolds’s were a perfect family. They even seemed offended when I pressed for more.”

“That doesn’t sit right. The note specifically mentioned how the Reynolds’s are not perfect.” Rossi replied. 

“I gotta give it to them, though,” Garcia chimed in. “The Reynolds’s are model citizens. The parents were both heavily involved in charity, and the kids have won multiple prizes in spelling bees and other competitions.”

“Has anything bad ever happened in that neighborhood?” Morgan asked, clearly skeptical about the idea of perfection.

Penelope clicked away on her laptop. “Well, there was a fire in one of the houses about ten years ago, because of damaged Christmas lights.” She made a sad face as she continued searching. “Oh, and a cat got stuck in a tree once… didn’t make it.”

“What happened to the family in the house?” Spencer asked.

Penelope’s fingers paused over the keys. “Uh, let me see… The Eriksens died from smoke inhalation. Oh… this is sad. They left a child, Christopher Eriksen. He was put into foster care when he was just eight.”

“Did the Reynolds’s live there when that happened?” JJ asked.

“Yeah, they did. Actually, they organized a fundraiser to build a bench with the parents’ names engraved on it, in their memory.”

You felt your pulse quicken at the mention of the bench. Something about it seemed strangely familiar, but you couldn’t trust your mind right now—not with everything still scattered from the case, and the ghosts of your past tugging at the edges of your thoughts.

You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, but you decided to ignore it, keeping your focus on Hotch as he spoke up. 

“It’s best if we head back to the cabin to rest up,” he said. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and the station’s closing tonight so everyone can spend time with their families.”

Everyone nodded in agreement, the relief of getting some rest evident on their faces. But as the team began gathering their things, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. You hated the idea of putting the case on hold, even if it was just for the night. The face of that little boy kept haunting your thoughts, his wide eyes silently pleading for answers, for peace. You couldn’t help but feel like you were letting him down.

Spencer’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, his warm hold holding you in place. His lips barely moved as he mouthed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head.

The entire car ride had been silent. Spencer’s gaze would occasionally flicker over to you in the backseat, but you kept your eyes fixated on the road, watching the scenery blur past.

The silence stretched on as you said your goodnights to the rest of the team and walked toward your shared room with Spencer. As you both got ready for bed, there was an unspoken tension hanging in the air. Now, lying in the king-sized bed, you both stared up at the ceiling, the quiet stillness between you thick with unspoken words.

“When are we finally going to talk about what’s wrong?” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, careful but insistent.

You stayed quiet for a moment, trying to gather your thoughts. “Nothing’s wrong,” you replied, your words coming out a little too quickly.

“There’s obviously something wrong,” he pressed gently. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know,” you answered, your voice softer now, more honest. Usually, Spencer never had to press. There was something about him—something warm and patient—that made it easy to open up, to share your thoughts without fear of judgment. But this time, it felt different. It wasn’t just the case. It felt personal, something you couldn’t fully explain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you said, thinking aloud. “It’s just… something’s off. And I don’t know if it’s just me.”

“What do you feel?” His question was quiet, but his concern was clear.

You hesitated. “It sounds stupid,” you muttered, brushing it off.

“Nothing you could say would sound stupid to me.” His words, soft and sincere, made your chest tighten with warmth. You turned your head to look at him, noticing the closeness between you, the way his gaze lingered on you.

“You thought it was stupid that I shower at 115 degrees,” you said with a playful smile.

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, the tension easing just a little. “I don’t think it’s stupid that you like it,” he said, his voice gentle. “I just think it’s stupid that you’d risk hurting yourself over it.”

His eyes warmly looked at you. One hand rested underneath his pillow as he lay on his side. You turned toward him, mirroring his position.

"I’m really struggling with this case," you softly admitted, trying to keep eye contact, though your gaze flickered down, betraying the weight of your words.

“Was it hard seeing the crime scene?”

"Yeah," you choked out, your throat tight. You blinked quickly to try to stop the tears that threatened to spill. “It was... it was horrible.”

His hand reached out to gently rub your bare arm under the blanket. "It’s completely normal to feel affected by what you saw," he began, his voice steady but laced with the kind of empathy that only someone like him could offer. "Witnessing something as violent and horrific as the bodies of two children—it’s traumatic. The brain processes trauma in complex ways, especially when it involves young victims. According to studies in neuropsychology, traumatic experiences, particularly those involving children, can cause the brain to release a surge of stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. This flood of chemicals can lead to acute emotional responses, such as anxiety and flashbacks.”

“I’ve been experiencing flashbacks,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. You met his gaze, looking for reassurance, and he gave you the space to speak, waiting patiently. “It actually started earlier today, when we arrived at the cabin. I’ve never experienced a Christmas like this, you know, the kind that feels warm and joyful. I- I don’t know if I’m making connections that aren’t there, but the feeling I had in that house was the same feeling I used to get when I was growing up.”

He tilted his head. "What feeling?"

“...Jealousy.”

His eyebrows knitted. “Jealousy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard, gathering your thoughts. “You could feel so much rage in there. Everything that made the home feel homey—that warmth, that love—was completely shattered. The way the unsub positioned the family members under the Christmas tree, the way the note was tucked into the stocking… There’s a reason for it. Christmas represents this idealized view of perfection. I don’t think the message was to prove that the company going bankrupt is some sort of imperfection in the family’s picture-perfect life. No, it feels like the unsub was jealous of their happiness. Of the fact that they had a family who seemed perfect—something he never had. He wanted to destroy it. To ruin their happiness. He could never have it, so he shattered the illusion of perfection entirely.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, processing your words. “So you think the Reynolds’s were targeted as surrogates?”

“I guess so. But you don’t just stumble across a neighborhood as desolate as theirs.” you responded.

“It could still be one of the employees of the construction company. If Stephen bragged about his perfect family to the wrong person, it could have triggered something.”

You hummed in agreement, but Spencer could see there was more on your mind. He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

“As I got older, I learned that blaming others wasn’t going to make me feel any better about my situation. It’s like the unsub hasn’t realized that yet. The way he executed this crime—it’s almost like a child throwing a tantrum. He was so meticulous in setting everything up, and then once he got what he wanted, he just… walked away. There was no care for the aftermath, no consideration of what would happen afterward.”

“Do you think the unsub could still be a child?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Your mind clicked, and for the first time, the puzzle pieces seemed to fit together. “How old was the kid when he was put into foster care?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Eight. Why?” Spencer's confusion was evident.

“It’s been ten years since that house caught fire. That would make him eighteen now, and—"

Spencer’s eyes widened as realization struck. “And that he just got out of foster care.”

"Exactly," you said, rolling out of bed and storming downstairs.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Spencer called after you, quickly grabbing his cardigan from the chair in the corner of the room before hurrying to catch up.

“Be quiet, I don’t want to wake anyone.” You instructed, feeling Spencer’s presence behind you as you moved toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” he hissed in a whisper as you opened Garcia’s laptop on the table. You didn’t respond, your fingers already flying over the keys as you settled into a chair.

Spencer huffed, knowing full well there was no stopping you once your mind was set. He hovered behind you, draping the cardigan over your shoulders. “I’m not covering for you if Garcia finds out,” he warned, glancing over your shoulder at the screen.

“That’s fine. I know exactly what to say to win her over,” you said nonchalantly, clicking away. In your mind, the image of Spencer in the shower was still vivid—a story you could easily use to distract Penelope if it came to that.

You paused, your heart skipping a beat as you found the file. “Here it is,” you muttered, eyes scanning the information on Christopher Eriksen. You clicked to open it fully, Spencer already reading ahead of you.

“They found bruises all over his body when he was put into foster care,” he read aloud, his voice tense as the words sank in.

You leaned forward, your breath catching. “This is it,” you murmured. “His parents— they must’ve bought into that ‘perfect family’ image of the neighborhood, but behind closed doors, they were hiding this. Can you imagine what it must’ve been like for him? Everyone thinking his parents were saints, while they were hurting him? All the while, they’re the ones who get a memorial bench, their lives celebrated while they tortured him.”

“It was on Christmas that he was put into foster care. Now, it’s the first Christmas since he’s been out. It makes sense to go back to the place where it all started,” Spencer concluded.

“I need to go there,” you said urgently, slamming the laptop shut.

“Have you lost your mind?!” Spencer asked, bewildered. He immediately followed you as you rushed to the door, still in your pajamas. “You’re not seriously planning on going out like that?”

“It’s just a quick peek. I need to see if I was right about the bench,” you said, almost to yourself, already focused on the task ahead. You didn’t even glance behind you as you pulled on your shoes and yanked open the front door, wrapping Spencer’s cardigan tighter around yourself to ward off the cold.

In moments like these, Spencer knew exactly who had trained you. You were unmistakably like Gideon—determined, single-minded, and often impulsive once your mind was set. And that, in turn, always left Spencer in a state of mild panic.

“You can’t drive at night,” he said, his voice rising with concern as he followed you into the snow-covered yard. “You have nyctalopia!”

You didn’t stop, your focus unwavering. “You should take night-blindness seriously, it takes forever for your pupils to dilate, and by that time, you’ve already missed the stop sign or, I don’t know, hit a pothole or something. Your contrast sensitivity goes down, so objects blend into the background, and—did I mention the glare from headlights? Because that’s a huge problem, and it makes it worse! You’re already having trouble seeing, and now the glare from every car that passes is just blinding you. It's like trying to navigate in a fog, but it’s just light fog, which—okay, that’s a really bad analogy, but you get the point!”

His words fell into the background as you continued walking, your mind fully occupied with proving your theory. The case had been driving you mad. If you could just confirm that the bench was broken—that Christopher was the one who’d done it in a moment of anger—everything would click. The case would be solved. You’d give the Reynolds family peace. And, selfishly, you’d give yourself peace.

“Please,” Spencer begged, now standing in front of the car door, blocking your path. “If you’re going, at least let me drive.”

His comment made you halt in front of the car. “You hate driving,” you pointed out.

“I’d rather be uncomfortable for a few minutes than risk something happening to you,” he admitted.

You stared at him, feeling a surge of gratitude for how much he cared, how he believed your theory and was willing to go along with you. 

You reached out and took his hands. It was a gesture he rarely tolerated from anyone, but you’d learned over the years that Spencer appreciated it when it came from you. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “Thanks, Spence,” you said softly, the words simple but your voice full of appreciation.

He swallowed, his eyes softening as he nodded. “We’ll just take a quick look, right?”

“I swear,” you promised, a reassuring smile tugging at your lips. “Just a quick look.”

He sighed, still clearly uneasy but unwilling to argue. You handed him the car keys and moved to the passenger side, sliding into the seat. 

—————

Spencer slowed the car as you neared the familiar area, the headlights casting long shadows over the snowy driveway.

"Let’s stop the car here," you suggested. The thought crossed your mind just in time—it would be very inappropriate to drive into a quiet neighborhood with an unknown car at this hour, especially after a murder had taken place.

You and Spencer stepped out of the car, the cold biting at your skin as you walked side by side. You stayed close to him, partly to keep warm, partly to follow his tracks through the snow, the dark pressing in around you. The Christmas lights that had lit up the neighborhood earlier were now off, leaving everything shrouded in an eerie quiet.

You made your way to the bench. Your hand skimmed over the smooth wood, lingering on the top right corner where you felt a distinct break—something sharp and jagged where a piece had clearly been broken off. You exhaled in relief. You were right.

Spencer’s hand shot out to gently grab your wrist, his fingers warm against the cold night air. "Careful," he said, his voice low but insistent. "You don’t want splinters. Stay here, I’ll grab a flashlight from the car."

You nodded, watching as his footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the thick darkness around you.

Alone now, you scanned the area. Everything was still and silent, save for the occasional crunch of snow beneath your feet. Your eyes were drawn to a dim light flickering from inside the rebuilt house where the Eriksens used to live, just past the bench. Curiosity nudged you forward, and before you could second-guess yourself, your feet were already moving toward the light.

You crept closer to the window, standing on your toes to peer inside. The house was barely furnished, still very much in the process of being worked on before it could be sold. You pressed your hands against the cold glass, forming makeshift goggles with your fingers, your face just inches away from the window as you tried to get a better look.

A sudden pressure on your stomach snapped you out of your thoughts. Before you could react, an arm tightened around your waist, yanking you away from the glass. For a brief moment you thought Spencer was playing some kind of prank, trying to startle you—but the movement was so fast and forceful, you knew Spencer would never grab you that aggressively.

Your gasp caught in your throat, immediately silenced as a cold, rough hand clamped over your mouth. Panic surged, but your body went stiff when the sharp edge of a knife pressed to your throat. You didn’t need any further confirmation that this was the unsub.

"I don’t know who you are," the voice rasped, low and dangerous, his breath hot and heavy in your ear. "But you shouldn’t have shown up here."

The tension in his voice was unmistakable. You could feel his rage, his plan disrupted by your unexpected presence. Every instinct screamed at you to fight back, but you remained frozen, knowing that one wrong move could end it all.

“I didn’t plan on killing anyone innocent, but you’ve put yourself in this situation,” he spat, his grip tightening on the knife.

In that fleeting moment, you made a decision. Taking a leap of faith, you sank your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. The sudden bite startled him, and by sheer luck, he loosened his grip on the weapon.

“Christopher!” You shouted, the name ringing out with urgency.

It was enough to catch him off guard. In that instant, you turned, quickly positioning yourself with a better angle. He was taller than you—still, just a boy, consumed by something far beyond his control. His pain was evident, lurking beneath the fury in his eyes. You knew this wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Who are you?” His voice was strained, the words gripping with suspicion and confusion.

“I’m here to help you,” you said sincerely, keeping your voice steady.

“No, you’re not,” he denied.

“I swear I am. I know what happened to you. I know what your parents did to you.”

Without warning, he shoved you hard against the house. Your head slammed into the window, a sharp pain exploding in your skull. “You don’t know anything!” he screamed.

“I do, Christopher. I do!” The words came from a place of desperation, your breath ragged. “I understand. I know how much this eats at you, how alone you feel because you’re the only one who knows the truth. But it doesn’t have to be like this. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. The truth will come out. People will know what your parents did, what really happened here. You’ll get what you want, the world will see that they’re not perfect.”

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something soft, vulnerable. 

“They all knew what happened!” He said in anger, pointing at the houses surrounding you. “They all knew and no one said anything!” He shook his head, “I’ll never get what I want. It’s too late for that.” he muttered bitterly.

Despite his words, you felt a flicker of hope. He was talking. He was listening. That had to count for something.

“It’s not too late, Christopher,” you said, your voice gentle but firm. “I thought the same thing once. But family… family isn’t just the people you’re born to. You can build your own, one that will love you despite everything. I’ve got that family now.”

He swallowed hard, his face momentarily flickering with doubt. “I wish I could believe you,” he said, his voice quiet, tinged with regret.

And then, in a flash, his arm shot out. Instinctively, you braced yourself, squeezing your eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable strike.

As the seconds stretched on, memories—both regrets and cherished moments—flashed before your eyes, a cruel reminder of everything you had to lose.

But then, a loud thud echoed in the night. Christopher crumpled to the ground, his body going limp. You whipped your head up, heart in throat, and saw Spencer standing behind him, the butt of his gun covered in blood, the impact of the blow knocking Christopher out cold. 

A shaky breath escaped you, half a sob, half a gasp of relief. You stumbled toward Spencer, your legs nearly giving out as you threw yourself into his arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” you cried into his chest, voice cracking. “I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have—”

He shushed you softly, brushing a hand through your hair as he held you close. “It’s okay. You’re safe now,” he murmured, his voice soft and soothing. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

Twenty minutes later, the team and the police arrived. Spencer had called Hotch the second you’d calmed down enough, and by the time they got there, Christopher was still passed out. The officers dragged him into the back of their car, while JJ and Prentiss took it upon themselves to reassure the neighbors that they had someone in custody.

You knew exactly what was coming when Hotch finally made his way over to you and Spencer, but your head was pounding too much to care.

Hotch scanned the two of you with a sharp, disapproving look. “Really? You went to catch an unsub in your pajamas?”

“The whole ‘catching the unsub’ thing wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” you muttered, wincing slightly as the headache flared.

Hotch exhaled sharply, then turned to Spencer, his gaze a little more pointed. “I could’ve expected this from her, but I expected better from you, Reid.”

Spencer shifted uncomfortably, knowing there was no defense. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Hotch gave a sigh in response, his expression softening just a fraction. “I’m too tired to deal with the two of you right now. I expect to see both of you in my office in the morning.”

“Actually, I checked all the rooms in the cabin, and there’s no office. Which is surprising, considering—”

“Spence,” you interrupted him with a nudge of your elbow.

He shot you a tight-lipped look, turning back to Hotch. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

—————

The second you closed the car door behind you and buckled your seatbelt, you passed out. You’d always slept best during car rides, and especially now, with your mind much quieter now that Christopher Eriksen wasn’t your problem anymore.

When you finally arrived back at the cabin, you were still sound asleep. Derek told Spencer to wake you, but he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he carefully made his way to your side of the car, unbuckling your seatbelt. He lifted you into his arms, trying not to huff too loudly as he carried you through the thick snow. He made his way up the stairs quickly, hoping Penelope wouldn’t notice the wet tracks from his boots inside the house—he couldn’t take them off while holding you.

He was glad you were in your pajamas as he gently laid you on the bed. He walked over to the closet, grabbing some extra blankets and draping them over you, hoping it would help you regain some warmth.

Then, he crawled into bed beside you. Closer than he would’ve dared if you were awake, not quite touching, but close enough to share body heat. His gaze lingered on you, watching how peaceful you looked. The night had been a lot to handle, but he knew he’d do it all again if it meant keeping you safe.

The bright light reflected off the snow outside, filtering into the room. Groaning, you rubbed your eyes, the movement only making your headache worse. You huffed and carefully opened your eyes, being met with the sight of Spencer. His hair was a curly mess, and a small, warm smile painted his face.

“Hey, how’s your head?” he asked softly.

The events of last night rushed back to you, and you groaned again. “So, all of that really happened?”

“It did,” Spencer confirmed.

“I really hoped I just got drunk on too much Glühwein,” you sighed, wincing at the thought.

“You can still do that tonight,” he teased.

“No,” you muttered in disgust. “I need to recover from this first.”

You glanced over at him again, seeing the concern still shining in his eyes.

“I’m sorry for putting you in that situation last night,” you said quietly. “Everything about it was just... stupid.”

“If you hadn’t insisted on going, who knows who else he could’ve hurt,” Spencer pointed out.

“I guess that’s true.” You thought about it for a second, the weight lifting slightly. “Still, I shouldn’t have dragged you into it.”

“I’m glad I went with you,” Spencer said, his voice softening. “If I hadn’t... I don’t want to think about what could’ve happened to you. I would never forgive myself if I wouldn’t have been there in time.”

You gave a heavy sigh, turning your gaze to the ceiling. “That’s why it’s probably best we stay friends,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him. Despite Emily’s pep talk, this was proof that it wouldn’t be wise to start something serious with Spencer.

“Friends instead of what?” Spencer asked, his voice higher, as if eager to hear the answer.

“Instead of us dating,” you said, almost offhandedly, not realizing you were speaking aloud about something you’d never discussed before, even though the topic would come up eventually.

Spencer froze, his eyes wide, hope flickering in them as he looked at you. “You would date me?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You froze too, catching up with the fact that you had said that out loud. Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately turned your gaze to the ceiling, not daring to look at his expression.

“Uh—hypothetically,” you stammered, scrambling to cover your tracks.

“You would hypothetically date me?”

You swallowed, still too flustered to look at him. “Yes. If... you would, I mean. If you wanted that, too...?”

Spencer was silent for a beat, his gaze never leaving you. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yes,” you answered, your voice steady despite the racing thoughts in your head.

He slowly moved closer to you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. You flinched back instinctively, and he immediately withdrew his hand, his expression apologetic.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your heart beating faster.

“You said you’d want to date me,” he murmured, his voice unsure.

“Yes, but—” you stopped yourself as the realization hit that he was planning to kiss you. “Oh.”

Tentatively, you reached out and placed your hand on his cheek. You leaned in a little, but this time it was him who pulled back.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“Kissing you.”

“Oh,” he breathed out, his tongue darting over his lips. “Okay.”

You smiled softly, then closed the distance, your lips gently pressing to his.

Spencer hummed in satisfaction, both of you staying like that for a moment, neither of you wanting to pull away. You were the first to break the kiss, catching your breath. If it were up to Spencer, he’d keep his lips on yours forever.

Your eyes fluttered open, faces still inches apart. Spencer cupped your face and pulled you back in, placing several soft pecks on your lips before he leaned on his arm, slightly hovering over you as he deepened the kiss.

You tried to mirror his movements, but a sharp pain shot through your skull. “Ouch,” you hissed, pulling back.

“Just lay down, let me take care of you,” Spencer assured, the warmth of his words making your heart flutter. You slowly lower yourself onto your back, the soft sheets crinkling beneath you, and Spencer moves above you, the blankets still covering both of you.

His lips found yours again. He kept them slightly parted, giving you the chance to slide your tongue against his. The world outside seemed to disappear as you melted into each other, lips moving in sync.

The kisses become more heated, each one a little deeper than the last. His hand moved to cup your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, the other hand resting on your side, his touch sending little sparks of warmth wherever it brushed.

You could feel the heat between you growing. “I’m so warm…” you mumbled against his lips. 

His eyes darkened slightly. “Yeah?” His voice was rough as his fingers lightly trailed over the buttons of your pyjama shirt. “Do you want me to take this off?”

You nodded, and he slowly started undoing each button with purposeful care. His gaze flickering between your eyes and the exposed skin. He let out a moan when your shirt finally fell open, his eyes taking you in. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out in awe, before pressing his lips to yours again. 

You responded eagerly, your hands fumbling between your bodies to undo his shirt in the same way. You slid the fabric off his shoulders, letting your hands run over the muscles of his back, feeling the heat of his skin. 

He gently pressed his body weight down on you, and you shuddered at the feeling of your nipples pressing against his bare chest.

His lips delicately kissed your face, until he reached your ear. He nipped at your lobe, sending a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Do you like that?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

You answered in a soft moan, your body arching into him. He didn’t need to ask again; he could tell you were enjoying this as much as he was.

His lips slid lower, kissing and sucking on your neck, while his hand slid down to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, teasing circles.

His mouth moved to your collarbone, and then he teasingly dipped lower.

“God, Spence,” you softly moaned as he placed a wet kiss on your lower stomach. “That feels so good.”

His hand, which has been resting on your breast, trails down until it reaches the waistband of your pyjama pants.

“More, please,” you whimpered, lifting your hips instinctively. His fingers slide around the band as he slowly pulls them down, his eyes drinking in the sight of you.

He lowers himself onto his stomach on the mattress. With a tender touch, he lifts your legs over his shoulders.

“Is this okay?”

For a moment, you’ve lost yourself in his gaze—those warm brown eyes looking up at you, his pink lips swollen from his kisses…

“Y-yeah,” you manage to respond, nodding.

You moaned as his mouth made contact with your inner thighs, his tongue warm and wet against your skin. He took his time, kissing his way to the sensitive spot where you needed him most.

“Spencer…” you breathed, your voice shaky with need.

The anticipation was unbearable as his hot breath tickled you, but you didn’t have to wait much longer. Slowly, his tongue flicked over your pussy, and you gasped, your body trembling at the touch.

He moaned in response, as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste of you, his tongue swirling in soft, teasing motions that had your hips lifting off the bed in search of more. 

“So fucking sweet,” he muttered against you, before repeating the motion, licking you again and again, while he grinded himself against the matress.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, urging him closer, deeper, your body quivering as he continued. He alternated between sucking and licking your clit, his finger moving up and down your pussy until it entered you gently, then slowly adding another, the stretch an overwhelming pleasure. 

You gasped his name, your body writhing beneath him as the pressure built with every move. “Spencer… please, don’t stop…” you begged, voice thick with need.

His fingers curled inside you, pressing just the right spot as his tongue continued swirling around you. Your legs started trembling as you reached the edge.

“I’m—“ you gasped, but the words dissolved into a string of moans as the wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your legs were shaking as you came undone, clenching around his fingers, your hips bucking against his mouth. 

Spencer didn’t stop, though. He kept going at a gentle pace, letting you ride out the intensity of your orgasm. Then, he slowly pulled away, his lips glistening as he looked up at you, eyes wide and full of wonder. 

“Was that good?” he asked softly, licking his lips. 

You laughed breathlessly as you nodded, your chest still rising and falling rapidly. “Come here,” you whispered seductively, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss him. You could taste yourself on his lips, which only added to your arousal.

Spencer’s eyes darkened with desire, his forehead pressed to yours. “I need you. I need to be inside of you.”

You nodded, moving your hand down his body, feeling the hardness of him against your palm. He helped you pull his pants down, and you stroked him gently, feeling him twitch in your hand before guiding him toward your entrance. He let out a low groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pushed into you.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moaned, his hips stuttering as he filled you completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent.

You could feel every inch of him, every movement as his cock repeatedly hit those places inside that made your head spin. The room was filled with the sound of skin against skin, your moans mixing with his ragged breaths.

“You’re so warm,” Spencer whimpered. “So perfect for me.” 

Your hands gripped his back, nails digging into his skin as you urged him on, your body moving with his. His pace quickened, and you couldn’t hold back the desperate cries that escaped you. 

“Spencer… I’m so close,” you gasped.

“Me too,” he moaned, his hips slamming into yours. “Let me come with you. Please, let me come with you.”

You nodded, your body trembling. “Now, Spencer…” you begged in a breathless plea.

His breath hitched, his body tensing as he gave one last deep thrust, and then, with a loud, guttural moan, he came inside you. You followed a moment later, your body clenching around him as you fell apart. 

The room was filled with nothing but your ragged breaths, the sound of two bodies, tangled in a quiet, shared moment of bliss. Spencer collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling as he took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

“That was… perfect,” he whispered, his voice full of awe.

You smiled softly as you placed your head on his chest, fingers lazily tracing his stomach. “Yeah,” you said in a breath, your heart full of him. “It really was.”

You let out a soft groan as Spencer stood up, and you instinctively reached for his hand, pulling him back toward you. “Don’t go yet,” you pouted.

Spencer smiled, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and affection. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, wrapping a blanket around his waist before walking to the corner of the room. He rummaged through his bag, his back turned to you for a moment as you blatantly checked him out.

“I miss you,” you murmured, leaning back into the pillows.

He chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m not even five feet away from you.”

You shrugged, your voice a little teasing. “Still feels like you're miles away.”

With a smile, he walked back toward you, sitting down on the edge of the bed, his hands behind his back. “Which hand?” he playfully asked.

“Left,” you replied without hesitation.

He swiftly shifted the small box he’d been holding from his right hand to his left, then grinned, revealing the gift. “Here you go.”

You blinked in surprise. “That was your present?” you asked, your voice filled with wonder as you recognized the familiar wrapping Garcia had handed you the day before.

Spencer nodded, watching you closely. “Yeah. Open it.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you unwrapped the gift, your heart racing with excitement. Beneath the paper was a velvet black jewelry box. You glanced up at Spencer, your eyes searching his for reassurance. He gave a soft nod, his smile encouraging.

With a gentle flick of your fingers, you opened the box—and there, nestled inside, was the most stunning heart-shaped locket you’d ever seen.

“Oh my God, Spencer,” you breathed, your voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. “It’s… it’s beautiful.”

A shy smile tugged at Spencer’s lips as he ran a hand through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. “It used to be my mom’s,” he said. “She doesn’t wear jewelry much anymore, but she wanted me to keep it... to give it to someone special one day.”

Your heart melted at the thought, and you looked at him with newfound tenderness, the weight of his gesture sinking in. 

“She was happy when I told her I wanted to give it to you,” he added, his eyes soft with sincerity.

Your eyes widened slightly. “Your mom knows about me?”

Spencer nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I tell her pretty much everything. She likes hearing about you most.”

“Why?” You curiously asked.

Spencer's smile deepened, and he looked down at his lap for a moment, as though gathering courage. When he looked up at you again, his eyes were soft, full of love.

“Because you make me happy.”

After your intimate moment with Spencer, the inevitable conversation with Hotch had to happen. Just before the talk, Hotch received a call from the lab confirming the DNA found on the Reynolds matched Christopher Eriksen’s—meaning the bittersweet news of Christopher going to prison.

“I still don’t get how the two smartest people on the team act like half a brain when they’re together,” Hotch had said with a half-smile, glancing at you and Spencer. “But… you did good work.”

—————

Later that morning, Emily spotted you, her eyes immediately drawn to the locket around your neck. “Fancy,” she commented, her smirk growing as she cocked an eyebrow. “Where did that come from?”

You felt your cheeks heat up as you absently played with the necklace, a soft smile on your lips. “It’s Spencer’s. He gave it to me.”

Emily’s smirk turned into a knowing smile, and you could see the proud glint in her eyes. “You two are something else.”

—————

Throughout the day you and Spencer did your own thing, trying to act casual in front of the team—yet every time his hand brushed your back or he leaned in for a quick kiss in the empty hallway, your heart fluttered. You couldn’t help but sneak glances at him as he played chess with Rossi, your eyes catching his in those fleeting moments.

You felt Spencer’s presence behind you like a familiar warmth as you stood in the kitchen. He slipped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck, placing soft kisses.

“Who would’ve thought you’d be such a romantic?” you mused, running your fingers through his hair, the feeling of him against you enough to make your heart race.

His lips hummed against your skin. “It’s your fault,” he stated, his voice thick with affection. “You drive me crazy.”

You tugged him up the stairs to your shared room, pushing him playfully onto the bed. You stood between his legs as you began to slowly peel away your clothes, revealing the red laced lingerie set Derek had gifted you during Secret Santa.

“Never thought I’d be thanking Derek for gifting you this,” Spencer mused, his hands sliding up and down your legs, a smirk displayed on his lips.

You smiled, tracing his jaw with your thumb, the heat between you growing. “What do you think of checking out the hot tub?” you purred.

He swallowed nervously, his eyes flicking down to his lap. You rolled your eyes as you responded in a sigh, “You can choose the temperature.”

Before you could say another word, he scooped you up, lifting you over his shoulder with a playful slap to your ass. You yelped, giggling as he carried you off toward the bathroom.

—————

The cabin was large, but unfortunately not big enough to avoid Garcia, so you knew what was coming when you heard the familiar sound of her heels clicking against the hallway floor. She was heading straight toward you, her finger pointing accusingly at you.

“I slept with Spencer.” you hurriedly spilled out before she could say something.

She stopped in her tracks. Her face went through a thousand different expressions in the blink of an eye—confusion, disbelief, excitement—before she finally let out a high-pitched squeal. “You... you slept with Spencer?”

“Twice,” you giddily answered, the smile creeping across your face before you could stop it.

Garcia’s expression finally broke into a huge grin, and without missing a beat, she grabbed your hands and started bouncing on the spot. “Derek is gonna lose his mind!”

You barely had time to protest before she was already up the stairs.

As the end of the day drew near, the group gathered around the fire pit in the backyard, cocoa mugs in hand, the warmth of the flames casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. 

“Are you sure your phone is on silent?” Garcia asked Hotch, eyeing him with suspicion.

“I’m sure, Garcia,” Hotch replied with a small smile.

She was satisfied, her focus shifting to Rossi. “The honor is yours. You may present the last Secret Santa gift.”

Rossi cleared his throat, glancing around awkwardly. “Now, this might sound like a cheap excuse for forgetting to buy a present…” Laughter rippled through the group, and Garcia shot him an offended look. “But... I think I can speak for all of us when I say the best gift is us being together in this beautiful location.”

He turned to Hotch, his voice genuine. “Aaron, you’ve built a good team here. A good family. You should be proud.”

Hotch’s smile softened, his eyes briefly glancing over the group, the weight of the moment settling on him. “I am. Thank you, David.”

And for the first time, you didn’t question whether you deserved a place in this loving, dysfunctional family—you knew you belonged.

[atarathegreat]

I'm Naked Here. Ken Ryuguji

Draken had been busy for a while. Day after day after day it was like he always had something that he had to do. Visiting his friends, helping Mitsuya, and then there was that whole month that he was gone while Mikey was racing. Now that he was home he was still busy catching up on things that needed fixed around the house, helping Shinichiro at S.S Motors, looking over literally everything else but you.

You were pissed.

Even now he was out in the garage, looking over his own bike with the intent of going for a ride to make sure it was fully fixed. Kenny had been out there all day, covered in grease and sweat while only coming in for water and a small snack.

"Kenny?" You wandered in with a glass of water for him, "How's it coming along?"

"Not great," He grabbed the glass and took a quick sip, "a few things are still broken and I need to replace the seat. The damn leather has been ruined 'cause I can't get out here to take care of her."

There wasn't much you could do but stand next to him as he tinkered. You didn't know much about the motorcycle, much less on how to fix it. What you did know, however, was that Kenny was dense. Here you were, next to him and talking to him, naked as the day you were born.

"Do you think I could show you how to take care of the leather for when I'm gone?" He asked, reaching for a tool before going back to the bike, "Replacing the seat is going to be expensive and I can't keep doing it every time I get home."

"I'll try." You nodded.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

You continued to sit and talk to him, handing him tools and waiting for him to notice you. Usually he was very attentive, so this was a little funny to you. You couldn't help but laugh at the way he wasn't even looking at you.

"What's so- Holy shit..." Ken looked up after gods know how long. His dark eyes trailed all over your body, landing on your chest and hips and-

Kenny stood quickly and nearly slammed you into the work bench behind you, "Fuck...I really have been gone too long if I hadn't noticed this." He rubbed his developing hard on up against your leg, groaning at the feeling of it. "I hope your plan was to get fucked." Draken slipped from the pants he wore and rubbed his tip through your folds, "I'm not-I don't think I can be gentle."

The way you giggled shot straight to his cock, making his tip swell a little more. You knew he wouldn't be gentle, not with his physique and strength, but that didn't bother you. Something about the way he sounded when he had complete control over the situation drove not only him crazy, but you. He was an animalistic man, driven by pure need and primal instinct.

"The hell are you thinkin' anyway? Comin' out here in nothing but your skin?" Draken tapped your clit harshly to make you hiss, "We have neighbors. What if I had the door wide open?"

You shook your head at him, "You close the door at nine pm sharp."

"Smart girl thought ahead, hm? Thinks that makes it better?" Kenny whispered in your ear, fixing the way you were sat on the workbench. Comfortability was his main concern when he made you cream. Location was of little consequence when he could feel your muscles tightening around him in pure, pathetic need. Making you cry was his main goal half of the time, the other three percent was seeing how loud he could make you. "Just wanted my attention, didn't you, ya' little minx." Draken pulled your hair to expose your throat to him, "Reminds me of the ladies that raised me, y'know."

Calloused fingers squeezed your jaw, dark eyes bore into yours, "Think you could survive if I left you in the Red Light District, hm? Would this little cunt make it out without bruising?" His deep laugh made you wet, wetter than you had been, at least. "No, not my baby. You'd be destroyed."

Not that he minded. Hell, he'd never even actually leave you in the store, let alone a dangerous part of town. But those big pupils of yours excited him to no end.

"Tongue out." Kenny released your jaw to spit on your tongue and press his finger to it, "Good girl. Swallow." Having you obey him after coming out to the garage bare ass naked was throwing him through a million plans. Gods, the ways he could bend you fucking backwards for his pleasure and you'd take it... It made his cock throb painfully.

"Deep breath." He whispered in your ear. You'd no sooner breathed in when he stretched you, bottoming out with a light growl in your ear. "Fuck... Definitely too long if you're this tight. Fucking choking me, baby."

The workbench creaked its protest as Draken fucked into you. There would be faint bruising from his thighs hitting the tabletop, but that wasn't his concern. You're cries of pleasure and the way you were breaking through the skin on his arms had all his focus. "That's right. Fucking cling to me." His cock was hitting as deep as your body allowed, "Needy girl... All for me, yeah?"

"Kenny!"

"There ya' go. Scream for me." Draken grabbed your throat, "Let the neighbors hear us. Let 'em know you've got a needy little cunt."

"I said, let 'em know." His fingers tightened around your neck.

You held his wrist as he slammed into you, his tip feeling like it was moving your insides around, "Please, Kenny! Need you!"

Awful, squelching, wet noises drew his attention to where he was bullying you, "Fuck yeah, you do. I can hear her talkin' to me. Pretty little cock sleeve, ain't ya?" Draken moved you from the workbench, bending you over his bike seat. "Goddamn... So fuckin' good for me. Hold tight, baby, I ain't gonna be done with you anytime soon."

[neonshadows9000]

Two tropes I love are TimKon Clone Baby AUs and Tim being of Asian descent, so what if we combine them?

In his grief induced, sleep deprived spiral Tim manages to produce a viable embryo and conks out right after confirming that it has no detectable defects and will not terminate if he takes his eyes off it.

When he wakes up he realizes how fucked up this whole situation is but by then accelerated aging has already grown the child to be visible with the naked eye and Tim can't bring himself to abort it despite the moral concerns and ramifications of keeping it. It's not Kon, he knows that, but it's the closest he has to him so he decides to let incubation progress and deal with the consequences.

He stops the accelerated growing to give himself more time organising how he's going to mange this and so he can tell the relevant people beforehand instead of just turning up with a child. But then Bruce dies, or so everyone thinks, and Tim leaves to get him back himself when it becomes clear that he can't rely on anyone to help.

His search for Bruce works on a different time schedule driven by desparation and recklessness because he needs to get back to the child as fast as humanly possible. This causes him to take more risks and be less forgiving in his actions and he manages to gather enough evidence sooner. He sends the information to the JL and makes sure to prevent Ra's from continuing the fight in Gotham before getting the kid and dropping off the grid, letting everyone else make their own assumptions on what happened to him. Their actions when he confided in them about his theory had shown him that he can't trust them anymore, so he leaves.

He rushes to prepare his departure with the now born baby and leaves for his mother's childhood home in the Philippines. He'd visited it a few times with his mother and once with Kon but nobody else knows about it. (What Tim doesn't know is that in his haste to disappear he forgot to erase the simplest thing.)

Tim raises the child there, learning more about his own heritage and meeting estranged family members along the way.

He's using tech to disguise himself, appearance and biosignatures, from both the Justice League and the remains of Ra's empire, with Tam and Pru keeping him up to date on significant happenings respectively.

Meanwhile Dick has been worrying about Tim, which is only amplified when Bruce comes back and Tim doesn't, when Bruce asks about him and Dick doesn't have an answer, when Kon and Bart return with grandiose tales of the future to no best friend to tell them to.

Bruce starts searching for Tim during his recovery and Cassie catches Kon and Bart up to everything that happened between their deaths and Tim's disappearance.

They notice she's holding back on telling them something and she reluctantly shares how she caught him trying to clone Kon. Kon, overwhelmed and disturbed by the news, leaves them to process by himself. When he's calmed down and rationalised that he doesn't have the whole story, since Tim isn't here to tell it, he goes to the lab to look for... anything, really. A notebook, a diary, something that can tell him what Tim was thinking.

He finds the lab empty, all notes and cloning equipment destroyed. But on the computer he finds evidence that Tim was here after he disappeared, and that the cloning was successful.

So Kon is sure that Tim is out there, that he's with a child and that he went of his own accord. Where would Tim go, avoiding everyone that would search for him? That could be anywhere!

But does the child, his child, change his decision making? Kon can think of one place, far enough to not raise unwelcome memories of what he's leaving behind, sentimental enough to want to introduce his child to and secret enough that only one other living person knows about it. Or no other, considering that Tim was gone before he could find out that Kon's alive from anyone in the community and the news isn't public yet.

Kon flies to the home Tim had shown him once and finds it lived in. Toys and food and clothes and pictures all over the place. But no Tim and no baby. So Kon waits.

Tim comes back a few hours later, child in tow, from visiting his great aunt and uncle who he has started visiting regularly to learn about his family's history and share about his and his mother's lives in America. They're slowly starting to not need his cousins to translate anymore as Tim is learning enough Filipino to make up for their limited English.

The sight that greets Tim when he rounds corner is Kon tracing the pictures that Tim has taken and hung up since moving here.

Tim bursts into tears as he sees Kon, who himself startles, at Tim's entrance. They have a long, tearful reunion before Kon asks about the kid and Tim explains everything.

In the end Kon isn't happy about what happened but he sees the difference in how Clark and Luthor treat him to how Tim loves the child. He sees how Tim regrets hurting Kon with his actions and how what he did was not out of greed but out of grief.

Kon visits often after that, getting introduced to Tim's extended family and Tam and Pru. He eventually brings up letting other people know and Tim's apprehensive but lets Kon bring Bart the next time. Bart who is ecstatic at being an uncle and will definitely spoil the kid rotten. Together they manage to convince Tim to give telling other people a try, not necessarily about the kid or his location but at least that he's alive.

So Tim starts video calls with Bruce and Dick and Cassie, telling them that he's fine but that he won't come home, talking about what happened and how each of them hurt because of it. Eventually he'll let Kon take him for a visit in person. Eventually he'll tell them about his son, scared and hopeful, and they'll tell him that they'd love to meet him. Eventually he introduces them and watches everyone coo and baby talk to him.

Eventually Tim's anxiety about seeing them will turn into excitement and his son will grow up knowing his family in the Philippines and his family in America.

[insomniactic-daydream]

Breaking Point- Bakugo x Reader

Bakugo x Support Course Shoto's Twin Sister Reader (Part 6)

<- Previous (Part 5)

Summary: ANGST. Bakugo and Y/n get into fight, and Shoto and Y/n have a forgiveful talk.

This is more written from Shoto's perspective.

*Little Heartstopper reference*

Shoto can't remember when Y/n and Bakugo became Y/n & Bakugo. But Bakugo was there when his selfishly enraged self couldn't. So, in Shoto's book, Bakugo was alright.

The first time he saw Bakugo and Y/n interact was when the blonde scolded her for throwing the 1st challenge race at the sports festival.

Even after she made a big impression with her gear, she stopped right before the finish line. Making an even bigger impression on support companies for letting others have their moment.

Shoto never really looked to see who she'd talked to, afterall he wasn't on good terms with his twin, so he knew not to dwell into her life. So he was a bit puzzled seeing you together. You looked so relaxed, so free.

Both born from the same star, yet he thought you shined so much brighter. Instead of obeying the path Endeavor wanted, you made your own. While he took the road of driven resentment. Only recently did he start to feel bad for getting upset at you using your quirk and loving dad.

The more Shoto saw you and Bakugo, whether in the halls, at lunch, or chatting in the support classroom, the more envious he felt. He wanted to talk to you like that too, but you always seemed a shoulder's length away.

It wasn't until Bakugo got kidnapped where Shoto really saw you for the first time. Your hair turned red with anger, pushing Shoto to tell you what the hell happened at camp. For the first time, he felt scared you were going to break.

You ended up coming along to the rescue mission. Despite the group's protest, a quick threat to burn them alive shut them up enough to convince them you'll keep up. No wonder you're Bakugo's closest friend.

That day, you guys genuinely got closer; you even shared a laugh as you ridiculed his disguise. In the end, he was kinda glad Bakugo got kidnapped cause at least he had a minute with you. He was even more glad to see you around the dorms after the move. But then again, it was always for Bakugo, but you'd occasionally walk up to talk to him.

Then the license exams came, which he and Bakugo failed. The same day, you showed up to the dorms scouring for the news, which ultimately ended in a fight between Bakugo and you. Wounds were definitely opened for both of you.

"You don't get it, Y/n! You wasted your potential the second you decided you wanted to be tech support! Dont give me pity for shit you can't begin to understand!" Bakugo screams but then freezes as if he knew the words he spilled weren't true; not for him and certainly not to you.

But it was too late; lines were crossed.

"Well, luckily, I don't need your reassurance. I know what I'm doing is not wasted.

Remember, I'm the one that spilled my sweat, brains, and time just so you can go play hero.

News flash, heroes that seek for glory almost inevitably end up mistreating the ones around them, most definitely civilians. That's why you failed. No one to blame but your selfish ego, Katsuki.

You want to be a showboat hero? Fine. But don't EVER disrespect the people who helped you along the way." Y/n spat back, making sure she dug the knife as deep as he did.

And like that, he was gone. He stomps echoing the hallway, leaving you in the common room with your brother.

"Y/n?" Shoto asked a little concerned after witnessing the whole thing. Luckily, most of his classmates were off to bed from exhaustion and didn't witness the fight.

If they did hear it, they sure as hell won't ask; Bakugo is very sensitive at the moment.

"I'm alright, Shoto. Did you pass your exams?" You ask dull tone face, now wearing the same stoic face you use at home.

"No."

"Oh. Are you okay?" You asked with your concerned attention turned to him instead of the situation with the blonde. Selfless even when you're hurting, too.

"Not entirely, but no worries. I'll manage." He said in a defeated tone. He wondered if you would've excelled far better than him. He sure you would've been more selfless than the way he acted.

"Y/n, I'd like to apologize." He blurts out almost desperate to get off his chest. Your eyes widen in surprise of his outburst. You struggle to get words out.

"You didn't deserve how I treated you when we were younger. I'm sorry for my actions, I was in a place of anger and resentment, not even towards you, but I'm actively trying to get out of it." He says, bowing his head down.

"Shoto, it's okay I-"

"No, it's not. You're too kind. To Fuyumi, Natsuo, Me, and even Bakugo just now. We've all wronged you, and yet you don't push us away. You have every right to be angry. So please be angry for once." He says, almost raising his voice. Only when looking up at you does he stop.

Your hair is now white tufts popping out against the black, icicles forming around your eyes and in your hair. He's only seen this once, and it when you begged dad not to be a hero. You looked so much like Touya then.

"I can never be angry at any of you. I defend myself, sure, but it always ends up making me feel worse about the situation.

"I can't." You say.

I love you guys, so much. But I know that who I am, the version of myself I'm most content with... just doesn't fit into the picture." You say with a sad smile, making Shoto sick to his stomach.

"I'm sorry we've made you feel like you can't be yourself. I've seen the way you act around Bakugo when you think others aren't looking.

Or how lucky your friends are to see you laughing, almost seeing your hair turn to your red from how comfortable you are. I want that for you.

Please, be yourself when you're with me. And I'll make sure others don't treat you any differently. I'm sure the others feel the same, though." He says, pouring out his observations of you at school.

"You think so?" you, the strong appearance you've held on to for so long finally broke open, revealing the same little girl that just wanted her family to love her.

"You can send us all to the earth's core your quirk if I'm wrong." He says. You let out a weak but genuine laugh.

"Pft, that's funny. I didn't know you could joke like that Shoto"

"What joke?"

(Part 7) -> (Not up yet silly :3)

😀 Hi...

So I did a thing... sorry bout that.

In my defense, this had to happen. I'm trying not to make this too long of a story. (For mostly my attention span)

Don't worry, they'll make up, this is a love story. 💜

Tag List 💜: @queenriki7 @bumblebeebutter @mochimommy2002 @s3mis3m1 @your-mum3000 @juniper-july19 @finalgirlflunkie @sara4uuu @michiviv @romantasynerd05 @attackonnat @chirokookie @captainshindo @bodieohbo @junehasnotbeenfound @njyhjtjb

Want to join the Tag List? -> Click Here!

(Yall look at this Tag List 🥹 Ty yall for supporting the story!🫶💜)

[cheriladycl01]

The Rookie Prodigy - Carlos Sainz x Driver! Reader Part 6

Plot: You are a rookie coming into the 2022 season of Formula One into Alfa Romeo with team member Zhou Guanyu, being in a mid tier team can you help them rise up the ranks. What pressures occur for the only rookies within the 2022 line up!

'Where is Y/N Y/L/N' was the talk of the paddock on the coastline of Miami after you missed media day on Thursday. Zhou was there alone trying his best to make funny content but clearly the lack of you there was affecting him.

The presenters for Sky Sports also could tell there was a lack of you in the paddock. Obviously it was still loud thanks to Lando and those kinds of energies.

But where it was media day people didn't think too much of it, maybe you slept in and was too embarrassed to rock up late, or maybe you missed your Wednesday flight ... or maybe you'd been asked by your PR team not to show up because of everything with you and Lewis in the media right now.

There was a lot of noise around Lewis and you. A lot of it wasn't kind either, the worst being that people assumed you slept your way into your seat as the only woman in F1. This started a spiral of hate towards you, people had somehow doxed you and death threats had been sent to your home and you couldn't even log into your socials because it was so bad.

When you didn't arrive for the first free practice that's when more attention was brought to your absence.

"Have you guys seen Y/N?" Carlos asks the little group he was stood with, concerned he hadn't seen you.

"No, she wasn't here yesterday for media day and she didn't come out in FP1, her side of the garage was actually so slow and empty. Their main focus was on getting Zhou out!" Lando admitted having seen with his own eyes what your absence had done to the team.

"As a rookie it's risky missing free practice, maybe they'll announce a replacement for her tonight?" Charles offers sipping on his drink that he'd taken with him from their hospitality.

"I can't believe it, I wonder what's going on!" Daniel nods, wondering why the paddock princess wasn't here.

Things got stranger when you also didn't turn up for FP2 on the same day.

You also weren't there the next morning and everyone was thinking Alpha Romeo were going to have their first DNS of the season where you still weren't around.

It was around 20 minutes until qualifying was supposed to start when someone noticed your paddock pass had been scanned in. They sent someone from the FIA to search and see if it was a mistake or if you had in fact come in.

By the time someone reached the garage to ask you were already in your car waiting to come out for qualifying. You were nervous as hell, you'd missed out on all the free practices and never driven the Miami circuit.

You drove out and ended Q3 in P14, one away from the cut off and it was on a lap where you'd only just managed to get passed the flag in time to get that vital last lap in. Zhou despite having been around the whole weekend and participating in all the free practice sessions didn't have as great a run as you coming P17 and being eliminated for Q2.

Come Q2 and the commentators were in shock with how quickly you were coming to grips with the track. You were only a few tenths of a second off Lando's time coming in P6, a drastic change from your previous result.

You stayed sat in the car in Q3, everyone in the garage knew you didn't really want to talk right now. So it was only you engineer talking to you every now and then telling you stats and times.

Q3 again was pretty good and you were managing to start P5. And considering the week you've had you felt really good about that result.

The rest of the weekend just had awkward vibes, you could tell in your post race interviews how much you didn't want to be there.

"Y/N, it's great to see you back around here and what a great result for you despite being absent for all your free practice sessions!" the interviewer says and you just nod, it wasn't a question. It was a statement so you didn't have to answer.

"How do you feel about that result?" they ask.

"Yeah, good. I think I got as much as I could out the car as I could!" you reply and the interviewer sighs knowing this would be a hard interviewer seeing as this was the first time they were experiencing icy and cold Y/N.

You ended up the interviews quickly, your PR apologizing to the last few saying you wouldn't be doing any more of them.

You went back to the hotel exhausted, just wanting to sleep and get this weekend over.

Twitter was going crazy over how you had been acting in your interviews, your fans specifically were really concerned and of course because it was brought up online all the other drivers saw their reactions and had to go look for themselves.

The ones who hadn't really interacted with you just put it down to an off day, which did happen with drivers particularly rookies who were being too hard on themselves which wasn't uncommon in the newbies.

But for those who did know you and had made the effort to welcome you to the sport, like Zhou, like Carlos, like Lewis, like Charles and Lando and George and Alex ...

They all could tell something was seriously wrong, but it seemed impossible for anyone to get hold of you.

Even the next day on race day, you showed up in the paddock for the national anthem of America, and were ushered straight to your car by your PR team, all the other drivers sharing a look of confusion.

You looked so exhausted and worn out, but they didn't know why.

The race wasnt good, as well as being tired from a severe lack of sleep, there was also your mental state affecting your drive. So you went from P5 down to P7, still in the points but it just didn't really feel ... good enough and you went back to the hotel disappointed.

Your PR team had refused you do any media after the shit show you caused with your bluntness yesterday and thoughts it's best to send you on your way to Switzerland to sort everything out that had been happening and get ready for Spain.

"Charles, she wont answer me..." Carlos had complained to Charles worried about the young driver.

"I don't know Carlos, we're all routing for her and hoping she's okay but maybe she just needs some time alone because of all the pressure. She the first in years to be here, as a woman you know... i cant imagine the pressure she's been feeling" Charles explains with a sigh.

"Mmmmm Toto have you heard anything about Y/N... she's well I don't think she's okay!" Lewis asked his boss in the Mercedes garage.

"Mmmm nothing, but i'll reach into my contacts. I knew her since she was 13 because she was the frist female Mercedes Development Driver/ Young Driver we sponsored. It's a shame really she isn't driving for one of our teams" Toto sighs, knowing Lewis wanted answers starting to tap away on his phone.

You knew these people cared about you, but right now... what you were dealing with and experiencing, you didn't want to drag any of them into.

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

[diamondheartyux]

Pennywise

  "Legend has it he likes to be crammed into any tight, wet hole he can find." 

DK x xreader

Genre: Horror, Smut 18 + MDNI

Word count: 5.8K

Warnings: Clowns, aggression, dub\con-ish, this is pretty tame compared to the others BUT if I have missed anything please let me know.

Welcome to part one of Killer Climaxes! 👻

Peep the playlist here

In a small town in Seoul, rumors swirl about Dokyeom: a clown obsessed, sex crazed weirdo who hangs out in the town's sewer systems. He was Seoul's own little Pennywise except he didn't crave your life, just your orgasms. It was also believed that once he got his hands on you, you were never the same, your body morphing, turning you into a certified nympho as the desperate craving for more was all but unbearable. The only problem is he doesn't double tap, so the town is left with a hoard of mindless zombies walking around in search of their next lay that could come close enough to satisfying them. 

People always say there are pieces of truth in legends but you can't seem to find any in this. A whole town of lust driven citizens? A grown man who roams sewers dressed as a clown? No sane person would do these things. It was absurd not to mention the fact that you were absolutely terrified of clowns. You scoff, one headphone in blasting your favorite playlist, as you quickly crumble the newsletter in your hand. Your footsteps echo on the wet pavement, the chilly autumn air hanging with the remnants of the storm having just passed through. The leaves rustle in the trees lining the street, the air around them dancing in shades of yellow, orange, and red. A breeze blows softly, whispering to your skin as it coaxes goosebumps to the top. You pull your cardigan tighter around you as your feet pad over piles of fallen leaves with a satisfying crunch. 

The sun was hidden behind the looming gray clouds, dimming the bright rays to a muted light around you. It was almost dusk, that time between early afternoon and nightfall when the street lights would turn themselves on at the first hint of dimness. You take in a deep breath, savoring the smells of damp and decay surrounding you and the scent sends waves of peace to your brain and through your body. It really was the most wonderful time of the year. You tread softly, in no hurry to get home as you travel the familiar path from college to your house. You zone out, your feet carrying you off muscle memory, as you nod your head to the music blasting in one ear. This road was empty, as it always was. That's why you chose it. No cars, no bikes, and most importantly: no people to bother you as you decompress from the day full of academics. 

Humming softly, you skip a little as you lose yourself to your music pumping loudly in your ear, your arms swinging and your shoes stomping on piles of wet leaves. Your body moves to the beat, shimmying in time with the tempo. Your mind is lost within you, the rhythm in your ears is just the escape you need after today. The town was buzzing for Halloween as it quickly approached, every corner boasting of witches, vampires, and clowns. All make believe creatures merely brought to life by childlike wonder, things you didn't understand the fascination with. 

You pass a storm drain and roll your eyes before tossing the balled up newsletter in your hand at it as you pass. You watch it as it disappears, hitting the concrete on the inside with a small noise and you smirk proudly. It was a perfect shot which is a lot because your aim was terrible. You turn back to the empty road before you with a smile on your face, amping the volume on your phone up. And you almost miss it. 

You weren't sure what you heard at first. A rustling so soft, it sounded like a background noise in your song. You pause the music, still strolling, and listen. When you don't hear anything you unpause it then rewind, listening for the odd sound again. Concentrating on the notes and rhythm in your earbud, you finally hear it again yet this time, it's in a different spot in the song. You stop, your mind on alert now as you turn to survey around you. Your eyes laser in on everything, searching for anything or anyone around you. 

You turn slowly to your right after sweeping the left and that's when you see it. Your eyes widen as you stop mid turn, your shoulder angled towards the storm drain you just passed. There, about half a meter from the drain was the newsletter you threw inside. Your brain is buzzing, busy sending out signals of danger through you yet your body remains frozen in disbelief. Against better judgment, you bring your body to face the drain. Your head tilts curiously as you study the paper ball in the street. Your eyes dart from the drain to the paper and back. You knew you had thrown it into the drain. Hadn't you? No, you saw it go in. It was the perfect shot, wasn't it? You lift your foot the slightest bit much to your brain's disappointment, and you push yourself forward, taking a timid yet cautious step. 

You make your way back to the paper, one small, scared step at a time. You try to come up with reasons for what happened yet none of them make sense. You stop, bending down slowly to grab the paper as you approach it and that's when you hear it. A sound so soft you almost missed it. You squat down, peering into the sewer when you hear it again: a whimper. It’s childlike in nature and a panic begins to bloom in your chest. Was there a child in there? How long had they been in there? Were they stuck?

“Hello?” you call timidly, your voice soft but loud enough to bounce off the concrete of the drain. You gasp lightly when a small, timid voice returns your greeting. 

“H-h-help me.” it says softly, the high pitch whine of a scared, small child ringing in your ears, sending alarm bells through your entire body for the wrong reasons. You lean forward some, placing your hand on the slick pavement to balance yourself as you try to peer into the drain. 

“I’m stuck. Please help me. I’m so scared. It’s so dark here. I want my mom.” the voice says to you, a hushed sniffle paired with a choked sob following its last words. Your heart pounds, shattering and the sirens of your brain are silenced by the overwhelming need to help this poor scared child. You lean forward more, your face now mere centimeters from the opening. You tilt your head side to side as you survey the blackness that presents itself over the lip of the entrance. You pull your foot forward to walk yourself in your crouched position, the sound of your sneakers dragging across the pavement feel louder than they should be but still bounce off your ears despite the frenzied pumping of your heart. 

“Give me your hand. Let me see if I can pull you out and then we’ll find your mom, okay? Can you reach the top?” you ask tenderly as you continue to move your face closer. Your arm comes out hesitantly, hovering just in front of your chest as you wait to see little fingers breach the darkness in front of you.

Small sniffles echo quietly in the inky dark space and you sit frozen, eyes trained to it. 

“I’m reaching as far as I can. Can you see my fingers?” 

You tilt your head curiously, concluding that the child was too short to be seen over the edge so you lean forwards more, one knee coming to almost touch the ground as your hands rests on either side of you for balance. You bring your face to the storm drain, eyes straining to see the outline of small, chubby, childfingers. When you see nothing, you feel a mixture of frustration and concern. You squint before you call back out. 

“I can’t see you.” You reply but then you see pale white fingers slowly come from the void of the drain as they snake up into the air before coming down one by one to grip the lip deliberately. You tilt your head in confusion. The fingers are long and slender. And pale. They very much do not look like children’s fingers unless maybe it was the way the shadows cast in there. Maybe it was optical, something your brain couldn’t understand due to the vast varying degrees of dark and light. You watch, holding in a breath while leaning closer subconsciously before you hear the voice again.

“Can you see me now?” it asks in response, the childlike falsetto distorting with every syllable.. You lean forward a bit more out of curiosity, eyes squinting as you try to see when suddenly a face appears, popping up quickly. You gasp, startled and fall backwards as an eerie giggle floats across the space between you. It takes a moment for you to register that you were looking at a clown. His face was painted a ghostly white and it cracked along the lines in his forehead to settle into the wrinkles of his skin. His yellow eyes gleamed manically, the red lines running through them in consistency with the curve of his cheek stopped at the end of his lips before outlining them in the same deep red that lines his face and the top of his nose. A ruffled, dirty white collar framed his neck, resting under his chin. His hairline was pushed back, his red hair barely visible in the shadows.   

A scream dies in your throat as terror strikes you, coursing heatedly through your veins. Adrenaline responds immediately and you can feel your muscles trembling at the sight. A clown. A fucking clown. You’re frozen, deer eyed as you watch this creepy clown, his long white fingers lifting as more malicious laughter breezes off his lips. His hand begins to slowly climb out of the shadows, reaching at snail’s pace towards your ankles. Your hands ache from leaning back on them and your chest heaves as panic threatens to shut your entire system down. 

His fingers creep closer to your feet and you stare, helplessly frozen as they uncurl before stretching slowly in an attempt to wrap around your ankle. In that moment, your brain finally switches back on and you instinctively shuffle backwards in a desperate attempt to put space between you and him before curling your feet closer to you. Tears fall down your cheeks, your vision blurry with them as you scramble to get away. Your eyes refuse to leave his terrifying face, the sadistic smile curving his lips upwards and exposing his teeth, etch itself in your memory. You finally manage to pry your watery vision from the terror in front of you as you twist to the side, trying to push yourself up to stand and run. That’s when you feel it. 

His fingers wrap around your ankle and terror buzzes through you once again. Your heart pounds rapidly against your ribcage, as if screaming to get away. You turn your head to look back over your shoulder, both hands flat against the damp street under you before you kick your leg as you try to shake him off.. His hand grips tighter and his grin grows wider, exposing more of his pink gums.

He tugs at your foot, pulling you closer to the drain and to the darkness inside it. You kick harder and more frantically this time while sobs begin to erupt from your chest. He pulls you quicker and your flailing slows down to a stop. You try to grasp the ground as you inch closer to him, your nails cracking and breaking against the pavement before they begin to bleed. Your fingertips ache and, despite the failed efforts, you continue to claw in hopes to get away. You dig your hands tighter against the concrete as his giggles dance up your body and hover in your ears. Your vision is cluttered with tears despite the stream of them cascading down to drop from your chin.

In spite of your efforts, you can feel him pulling you closer, your legs bending as they crest the lip of the drain and dangle in the darkness inside it. Your arms ache and your fingers throb, the tips raw from your pointless struggling. You sniffle as your attempts to free yourself dwindle. Your body slides deeper into the storm drain, your legs dangling aimlessly as your waist finally crests the lip. He tugs you more with his slender fingers wrapped around your ankle almost painfully.You all but give up, allowing him to drag you further into his makeshift lair when suddenly you stop moving. He yanks your ankle to pull you down but you don’t move. Your upper body from the waist up remains on the outside, your hips too thick to snake into the bend of the drain. You wince as he continues to tug on your leg. Your hands return to trying to grip the road as you attempt to pull yourself out. Your legs flail frantically, hoping to take this opportunity to escape.    

A sigh of frustration permeates the air as he finally stops pulling your leg. You kick your legs continuously as you try to shimmy your way back out when suddenly a sting radiates across your backside. You jump slightly at the sudden, unexpected motion. Just how hard did he slap you for it to sting through your jeans? You continue to work to free yourself when another sting radiates through your bottom half. Your attempts falter as your body and your brain begin to work on different levels. Your brain tries to process what's happening while your body,...well your body doesn't seem to understand. The dull ache left in the wake of his hand spreads through you and your body is responding in all the wrong ways. A craving starts to wake, yawning as it rises slowly in your core so when his hand connects with your ass again, you almost moan involuntarily. 

Your brain bounces everywhere. You should be trying to get away, not all but anxiously waiting for the next touch. It had been a while since someone had made you feel good and the fact that his face was hidden almost made it bearable. But he was still some weirdo dressed as a clown and you should definitely get away, shouldn’t you? You reach a hand out in front of you and put pressure on your fingers as they grasp the pavement the best they can when his fingers begin to trail the inside of your legs. You pause as they work up from your calves at a tantalizingly slow pace. The tips of his fingers barely press against your pants as they tickle and tease on their ascension. You bring your bottom lip into your mouth, gnawing it as you anticipate the touch you knew was coming. He stalled, stopping to draw lazy circles in the middle of your inner thigh and you sigh before shifting in an attempt to move his hand where you want it.  

A chuckle creeps up before his fingers continue their journey, grazing teasingly over the crotch of your jeans. You shift, pushing yourself backwards against the touch. His hand slips up towards your stomach, his fingers curling to cup you before they rub small circles against the fabric. You stifle a groan, the touch not nearly enough friction through the thick fabric of your jeans. 

His hand disappears quicker than it appeared and you almost whine in protest before you feel his hand snaking between you and the wall you were dangling against. His other hand remains on your ankle, the grip loosening slightly as his fingers work to unbutton your jeans. He slides the zipper down slowly before pushing the fabric down as best he can with one hand. You shift slightly, instinctively trying to roll yourself against his hand to no avail. He continues to push your jeans down to your knees before he brings his hand back between your legs. His fingers slip over you, sliding skillfully between your folds. He runs them back and forth lazily before bringing his fingertips to your clit. You moan quietly as the motions send tiny jolts of pleasure through you. 

His hand around your ankle loosens more as he rubs you at a teasingly slow pace, his hand still cupped as it hovers over your ankle while he waits to see if you try to escape again. You barely feel him remove his hand, your mind focused on how you could get more pleasure from his digits to even bother with trying to run even if you had. Another soft chuckle vibrates the air before you feel his opposite hand come to caress your exposed ass. You groan at the touch, pushing your hips into his hand for more friction. He pops your ass lightly as you do and you whine. The slap wasn't enough to sting but enough for you to get the point that he was in control here, not you. The teasing was frustrating despite how little of it had been given. You were already desperate for release before this and he was making it worse by drawing it out. 

He runs his hand over the curve of your ass, gripping your cheek gingerly as he tugs it towards him to expose you some. You gasp softly before a low moan quickly escapes your mouth, billowing over your lips as you wait for what you expect to come. His fingers dip slowly, tauntingly as they casually glide down the curve of your ass and dip between your legs. You shift in an attempt to open your legs up more to allow him in which causes him to chuckle again at your eagerness. His skinny fingers stop to tease your now dripping entrance. You moan as the fingers circling your clit pick up their pace ever so slightly before he slips a finger inside you. You push your hips backwards to meet him as he sinks his digit deeper in. He starts out slowly, pulling his finger almost all the way out before pushing it back in to curl repeatedly in search of your sweet spot. You shiver slightly with every stroke as it warms the embers burning in your stomach. 

His fingers work you in a rhythm, picking up in pace gradually. He slips a second finger into you and you groan, your aching fingers digging into the pavement again as your pleasure threatens to coil tight enough to snap. Your body acts on its own accord, pushing and rolling your hips between each hand faster and faster as you match his pace. He pumps in and out quickly, always making sure to stroke the sensitive spot buried in you. Your lip aches from biting back the sounds that brewed in your throat and finally, you press your forehead on the wet ground as the dam holding them back breaks. Your moans carry, vibrating along your skin to carry down to his ears. His fingers pick up, circling faster and pumping harder. The tension now festering inside was growing too fast, it was uncontrollable and finally, it broke loose. Your body shudders and you clenched around his fingers, his ministrations sending you right over the edge without a second glance. You moan into the concrete as pleasure crashes into you. His fingers don’t relent, still pumping in and out of you as he coaxes your orgasm on. 

Your body quivers slightly as you buck softly through each wave. His hand falls from your clit before his fingers slip out, leaving an emptiness in their wake. You groan and wiggle again, still wanting more despite having just gotten off. You hear his mouth pop, as if he had been sucking on his fingers before he chuckles again and you have to stifle a moan at the thought of him licking you from his fingers and enjoying it. You lift your head up, your breathing rapid as your brain tries to settle and unscramble when you feel yourself slip a little. You grip the road again to keep yourself where you are to no avail. You squeak out a small yelp and squeeze your eyes shut as your body slips more, sinking into the sewer. You brace yourself for the impact you were so sure you’d feel and when it doesn’t come, you open your eyes. 

It was dim, the soft light from the drain barely illuminating anything. Your pants were still bunched around your knees but with them were hands. You raise your eyes and turn your head and find those yellow eyes staring back at you. They gleaned but this time with lust instead of malice. His hands held your hips and he pressed his fingers into your skin lightly. You shut your eyes quickly, the sight of him sending terror to override the high you were still riding. His fingers danced against your skin causing it to prickle underneath his touch. Your body, despite better sense, ignited again as he ran his hand up your body to caress your waist. He turned you around to press his back against you and you could feel the outline of his arousal as it pressed into your bare ass. You moan quietly as his hands continue their journey, fingertips trailing as they come to cup your breasts. 

Your hand reaches back to rub against him as he paws your chest through your shirt, stopping to slip his hands under your sweater then your bra to caress your bare skin. His fingers graze over your nipples, flicking across them teasingly before he rolls them between his thumb and pointer finger. He tugs them gently and you gasp, your hand gripping his erection through his costume as you try to stroke him. You keep your eyes shut as he walks the two of you forward before coaxing you to bend. He lifts your hand from his crotch and places it against the cool, curved wall. A breath puffs from your lips at the crisp feeling against your skin, the chill a deep contrast to the heat blazing under your skin. His hands disappear from under your sweater and you hear the sound of his clothing rustling. In seconds, the hands have reappeared followed by the warmth of his skin as he grips your hips to pull you against him. 

You moan softly at the feeling of his bare erection pressing against the skin of your ass and you push yourself back towards him. He lifts his hands, one coming to spread your ass cheeks apart and the other to guide himself to your entrance. You arch your back as you offer yourself up to him and he takes the invitation, swiftly pushing himself into you. He curses lightly at the feel of you, your warmth and wetness eagerly swallowing him. His cock fills you with a fullness you hadn’t ever experienced before. You moan at the feeling of being stretched this way as he pushes into more and more. Your chest heaves as your breathing rises with every inch he buries inside you before you feel his hips against your skin again.

You hang your head, your hands resting firmly on the wall as he pulls back to slide out of you almost completely. You moan softly as he pushes himself back into you swiftly, setting the pace of the movements to follow. He starts to thrust into you fast, rocking your body with every pump. His fingers dig into the skin of your hips roughly as he pulls you to him with every forward thrust he makes. He grunts softly as you moan loudly, the sound reverberating off the walls around you. He thrusts faster, each one a little more aggressive than the last when a hand sides off your hips to caress up your back, over the base of your neck, and into your hair. His body leans over yours and you moan again as he pushes deeper into you while he fists your hair tightly. He tugs it roughly one time and you wince before he tugs again to pull your body flush with his, your back against his chest. 

You gasp and groan as your hands whip around to grip against his hips, legs, whatever you could find and his pumps into you hard and fast. His free hand comes to rest under your sweater, his bare hand holding you as it rests on your stomach. He tugs your hair again to pull your head back before he presses his lips into the crook of your neck. He pounds into you over and over while his lips glide over your neck, stopping only to allow his teeth a chance to graze the sensitive spot below your ear. His groans bounce between his lips and your ear and fuels the fire blazing dangerously in your core. You dig your nails into his skin when his hand slips from your stomach and his fingertips find your clit again. 

He rubs it almost furiously without bearing down painfully as he pumps faster into you. You rest your head against his chest, his hands still wrapped into your hair. The dam holding your sounds from earlier was all but shattered and the sounds of your moans mix with flesh colliding in the chilly, murky tunnel around you as they echo around you. You yelp as he pulls your hair harshly before letting it go, pushing your head forward as he does. He quickly forces you to lean back over and his hands find your hips again. He digs his fingers in painfully as he pulls out of you before slamming back inside roughly. The flames of your desire dance wildly with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to combustion as he fucks you harshly. You hold yourself up on the wall as your body bounces violently in rhythm with his strokes. 

He grunts and groans in time with each one before finally the fire inside explodes. You cry out as your body convulses under him. His strokes hold pace as you clench around him, having missed the edge of your pleasure before being completely catapulted into the blaze instead. He draws it out but never lets up, his skin slapping against yours as layer after layer of desire burns through your cells. When the embers finally die, you lift your head up and let it loll back as he carries on, chasing his high. You rock back and forth in time with his body, more sounds pouring from his lips before finally he pulls out of you suddenly. The absence hardly has time to be felt before he’s spinning you around and pushing you to your knees. 

You don’t have time to think much less try to disobey before he shoves his cock into your mouth. You moan softly at the taste of you melting onto your tongue before he rocks himself against your mouth and shoves himself all the way in. You gag as he hits the back of your throat but it doesn’t stop him. He continues his chase. His fingers tangle into your hair as he guides your head back and forth to match the pace of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. He growls before he smashes himself against the back of your throat once more. His hands hold you flush with his hips and his cock twitches as you gag around it. Tears form immediately in your eyes as you feel a warmth spurt against your raw throat. He rocks against your mouth as he chases his orgasm, making sure to coax out every drop of his release as he can as you swallow instinctively.  

When he pulls out, you gasp for air and the tears pooling in your eyes creep down your cheek slowly. You cough, leaning over slightly. You only take your eyes off him for a minute but when you lean back up merely seconds later, he is gone. You rest a hand on your chest as you wait for your body and breathing to return to their normal, calm state. You turn your head side to side as you search for him but it's empty around you. You stand up and pull your jeans up to refasten them and readjust your clothing. You run your fingers through your hair in an attempt to comb it slightly before you turn to take in the area around you. You look up at the opening of the drain and know there was no way you would be able to get out of there that way. You turn to your left and begin to walk cautiously, your body on alert in the near darkness as you wait for him to pop out at you from the darkness somewhere. 

You walk for what feels like forever before you see small beams of light cascading from the ceiling up ahead. As you get closer, a ladder comes into view. You climb up, rung by rung, stopping to press up against the heavy cover closing the path into the sewer above you. You let it crack lightly and listen before pushing it up and over. You pull yourself out onto a deserted road before standing and replacing the manhole cover. You brush yourself off and take in the area around you before recognizing where you were. When you get home, you go straight to the shower to wash off your circus sewer romp in hopes to help calm your body down. You climb into bed after and pull the covers to your chin only to be haunted by the memories of your afternoon. His face flashes through your mind, those yellow eyes boring into you. Tingles dance across your skin, teasing your arousal until you can’t take it anymore. You work yourself quickly, desperate for sleep but he was even there. 

You dreamed about him, about the way he felt inside you. You heard the noises he made and felt his hands against you all over again. You awoke the next morning just as flustered as you were when you went to sleep. And it stayed this way. Every day and every night you were haunted by the memories of him and nothing was as satisfying as the way he slammed into you. Clowns no longer scared you after that. You watched them too closely now, hoping maybe one of them was him. You knew the rumors said he never hit it twice but you were desperate and only he could fill you the way you ached for. Every giggle that floated mysteriously across the air set your body and heart off. Every drain you passed, you stared at too long, hoping whatever you tossed inside would appear back on the street again after you passed. 

You groaned softly, remembering when merely days ago you were scoffing at the unreal accusations of how half the town were brain dead, having been fucked into an addiction only to now find yourself in the same position.                  

[breakyourrxles]

❥between two breaths (m) | 𝟙𝟚

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

↳ When two conversations come to pass, you find yourself in the precarious situation of navigating both:

One, an inkling of something you'd expected.

And two, the uncomfortable truths of the situation you have wrapped yourself in.

kim sunwoo x fem!reader (side lee juyeon x reader) — idol!sunwoo, fan/trainee!reader. forced proximity, forbidden love, friends to lovers, angst, slow burn, idolverse-typical themes regarding; dating, image, public perception, etc. happy ending, plot-heavy!! reader thinks she's nonchalant about it but she rly isn't. smut. [6,4k wc ongoing] cws: heavy themes of wanting-but-can't-having, mild jealousy, explicit sexual content, a little alcohol consumption, dancing on the edge of career suicide, poor decision making because of The Wanting.

❥ masterlist | ao3

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief at his own words and then says, "And even still, even knowing this, I still do it. I still choose you every time."

September rolls around and marks the fact that your debut anniversary is just around the corner, but with so much on your mind you find little time to enjoy the success of that.

Days after your meeting with your manager, word begins to spread amongst the members about the impending comeback. Woori breaks the finality of it to the team in a group text message, but appears to know just as little about the details of it as you do. The meeting is set for tomorrow, and though you want to be excited about that fact, it is just another thing that remains hampered by the invisible elephant in the room.

You've still not managed to reach Sunwoo, but you do know that he is home now.

It's unlike him to not bother with hounding you, tracking you down and sending a wave of messages about any such thing. The kind of guy who repeats texts back-to-back despite not receiving a response, the kind of guy who always has something to say and may resort to ridiculous threats should you not reply in a reasonable timeframe as decided by him.

But now, there is silence, and you can't help but wonder if the meeting with his manager has anything to do with it.

Stuffed into a tiny corner table inside of the cafe, you idly scroll through your phone and pick at a sandwich that's sat in front of you.

You don't look at the articles. They exist and you know that and you find little need to continue to check on them. Whether more come in or they all disappear, it's of no consequence to you. All that can happen now is that the conversations that need to take place, do. One of them being a very uncomfortable conversation with the man that you can't seem to get sat down for it.

The bread is a little stale, and as it crumbles down to the plate your eyes follow the journey. That is, until your attention is driven to the body that's standing in front of you.

"Hi."

Without asking, Sunwoo slots himself into a chair that's shoved between a wall and a trash can, hardly enough room to even pull it out. He makes something of a ruckus about the whole thing, though it's of no fault of his own, but it does draw a bit more attention to the two of you than you'd really like to have. All things considered.

With a low, quiet voice you say, "Is this a good idea right now?"

"Well, I'm a bit wrapped up lately, if you haven't noticed! I don't have a lot of time to talk."

The inflection on the last word implies far more than conversing might normally entail.

Thankfully, the table immediately beside you is empty, though the one after that is full with company staff members who do not directly work with either of your groups. It's as good as it's going to get, you figure, though the most important topic at hand is going to have to wait until a far more opportune and private time.

Your eyes break away from him, and looking back down at your lackluster sandwich you say, "Now who isn't answering their messages?"

"I know, I'm sorry." Sunwoo immediately relents to it and accepts his wrongdoing in a way that comes as a little bit of a surprise to you. He exhales a heavy sigh, slumps into the chair and says, "It's been rough. I've been non stop hopping flights, attending events, shaking hands… I barely even know what time it is on any given day with the amount of jetlag I've been dealing with."

"Yeah, I know. Just sort of a bad time to start ghosting, you know?"

Sunwoo's eyebrows furrow just a bit, he seems genuinely shocked by the message hidden behind the actual words. "You think I'm…?"

A small smile creeps in, and glancing up at him briefly you say, "No, but sometimes. Maybe."

He shoots forward, arms against the table and leaned far too closely towards you for what's comfortable given your location. Sunwoo's eyes are judgingly narrow and soft curls curtain over them like usual, and despite his pleasant appearance, he is obviously far from pleased by what you've just said.

"Me?" he whispers, "You think me of all people is going to ghost? Guy who constantly injects soulmate romance anime directly into my bloodstream like it's the only thing that sustains me. You think I'm not about this life for real? I'll stand on this table and tell everyone what we've been up to right now!"

Groaning, you say, "Please don't do that, and besides, based on what the gossip sites have been saying I don't think you really need to. I'm sure you've heard."

Sunwoo sits back into his previous lazy position but this time crosses his arms over his chest, petulant and disgruntled. "Yeah, loved having that sit down with my manager at two in the morning in fucking France."

"What'd he say?"

"He shook me down for about an hour about whether or not I have a girlfriend." Sunwoo rolls his eyes. "And when I wouldn't say that I do—because I don't, though of no fault of my own—he kind of gave up and just told me to get my shit together or things were gonna get ugly. Whatever that means. What'd your manager say?"

"Somewhat the same," you admit. "Though he erred more on the side of not being all that interested in whether or not I'm involved." Looking up at Sunwoo, you give him a small smile and say, "He did tell me to pass along the fact that you need to get it together, though."

"Crazy that they immediately put the target on your back," Sunwoo says, exasperated by it all. "Why does no one believe I know other women? This is nuts! I know other women!"

Shrugging, you say, "On the bright side, no one online seems all that convinced of it. No names, no guesses. So really, this has nothing to do with me!"

Sunwoo's eyes shift past you and towards the table of people seated just nearby, and obviously forgoing the thing that he actually wishes to say, he instead relents to the surroundings and only says, "Yeah, I guess it doesn't." His attention then falls to the picked apart sandwich at your hand, and with clear intent to change the subject he asks, "Are you going to eat that?"

"No," you say, sliding the plate over to him. "I wouldn't really suggest you do, either."

"I don't even care at this point. I've been so busy I've hardly had time for a proper meal in weeks. Speaking of…" Sunwoo says, trailing off but leaving time to take a hard-fought bite out of the stale bread. "I did a really interesting photoshoot in Japan with this up and coming photographer, I don't know when the pictures are gonna come out, but they look amazing. Don't be jealous when all my fans start swooning over me again, okay?"

"I've long since been out of the swooning life. They can swoon as much as they like, that's the point, isn't it?"

He grins just slightly, a sort of devilish sparkle sitting in his eye as he does so and then says, "No, not entirely, anyway."

Growing tired of his antics, you opt to change the subject. "Tell me more about this photographer, you seem fond of him."

"Her," Sunwoo corrects, "and yeah, she was amazing. We talked a lot in between rolls and I guess she doesn't do a lot of idol work but really wanted to shoot me. Can you believe it? This face always coming in clutch when I need it to."

He waves a hand around his face and pouts his lips to drive home the point, but you give him little more than a tired roll of your eyes in response.

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Somewhere that isn't here, bothering me before I have to get to work?"

"Yes, but you were throwing a tantrum in my messages so I figured I should probably stop by. Oh, how the tables have turned!"

You throw your napkin at him, and he scrambles to his feet just as quickly. "I'll find you later," he says, and you don't like the hint of nefariousness that hangs alongside the threat.

The day is upon you, and the members of MVNE all sit scattered around the elongated table with messy hair and lazy sweatshirts as a staff member from the company goes over the up and coming plans for a fairly hurried comeback schedule.

Normally, music video filming might already be completed. Instead, the following days will involve long hours spent in a salon chair, numerous fittings for attire, and a gauntlet of choreography and line learning; not to mention the studio time necessary for actually recording the song.

You like the demo, and it doesn't sound particularly difficult as far as delivery might be concerned. Recording should be smooth and probably the least time-intensive of all of the tasks required. The woman standing at the front pointing at individual aspects of her Powerpoint presentation insists that it won't be demanding, but really, you can't imagine her to be much of a judge of that.

At one point in the meeting, Woori's eyes find yours, and a quick roll of them commiserates your feelings.

In times like this, you can't help but wonder why the preparation for this is only starting now. MVNE have been busy, but not so much so that there would have been no way to get the wheels in motion long before now. The Boyz comeback has only just ended, and the understanding of not wanting overlap is not lost on you, but that doesn't mean that there had been no reason not to begin recording, filming or choreography learning in the meantime.

It is mildly annoying, a feeling that sits heavy in your chest amongst all of the other ones. A plethora of displeasure. So many options that you can choose from inside of you to ruminate on at any given moment; comeback plans, poor company management, articles online, and amidst all of that—Sunwoo, in general.

To say you feel insecure about where you stand with him would not be an understatement, and while your short conversation with him in the cafe has done its best at staving off those unfortunate thoughts, it cannot possibly be enough. You remain unsure of what the two of you are, and more than that, unsure if you truly wish to delve into an actual discussion about it, either.

Partaking in the perks of a relationship without actually calling it as much won't save you from the hammer of judgment in the public eye should all of this go awry, but for reasons unbeknownst to you, you cling to the idea of it as if it might.

As the meeting comes to a close, agitation has drifted up and taken hold. You do as you're meant to; smile, thank everyone, play the part of an idol who is forever thankful and indebted to the people who have sacrificed so much so that you and the other girls could be here today. It's all a farce; avaricious shareholders sitting at the top to throw money and ideas down the ladder for the smaller, lesser people to bend backwards into forming to fruition. A fact you have always known, and on the worse days such as this, one that makes the smile formed on your lips just a bit more forced than before.

It sounds dramatic when you recount it to yourself; really, you're just having a bad day.

Nara notices your scowl once you all shuffle out of the room and back down the hall. Separate schedules await all of the members, but for you is the promise of a couple of free hours until the late afternoon. Choreography is set to begin as soon as possible, and you're already dreading whatever it is that is awaiting you in that place.

"Do you want to get something to eat downstairs?" she asks, but you're quick to shake your head with plans already made in the back of your mind.

"I'm gonna take a walk, I think. Get some fresh air before this disaster of the next couple of months starts."

She accepts it without pushback—expected from her—and heads off to the next thing that sits upon her plate. You try not to let your thoughts take you to a darker place as you make your way down to the lobby and onto the street, because ideally, you would like to actually enjoy the reprieve that your little, secret coffee shop typically has to offer you.

You take one last inhale of fresh air from the outdoors before stepping inside. The little bell up top jingles, but what awaits you there is something you are not expecting.

People…?

The girl behind the counter looks up and then gasps, wholly unexpecting you at this hour. It's only then that you realize that you don't come here during usual operating hours, that of course it is likely for other patrons to be inside, and that your being here at all could pose an incredibly difficult situation for the people meant to be running it smoothly.

She whips around and dashes over to you, takes you by the arm, and begins ushering you towards the back. Apologies drop from you without more thought accompanying them, but she doesn't seem upset by your being here. 

Eyes from the people seated inside seem less interested in who you are, and more intrigued by the sudden bustle of her shoving you away from them. It all happens so fast; past the counter, beyond the small door that leads to the bathroom, quickly brought past piled boxes and broken chairs that sit piled against a wall and only barely kept out of sight with a hung, purple sheet.

Before you can gather your bearings you are brought around another corner into another small room with a tiny window near the ceiling and a single, tiny table. Seated there is none other than Juyeon.

He looks up at you with a smile already pulling at his cheeks, seemingly amused by a scene that he hasn't even had the luxury of watching play out. "You came in through the normal entrance."

"I didn't know there was another option."

"It's business hours, you're an idol, you can't just waltz into any ol' place anymore. Sit."

The girl hurriedly locates another chair and sets it up at the opposite end of the table, though it is so small that it hardly feels any different from the exact place that he is seated. You exhale heavily, the messiness of the day wears on you in ways that you know are evident to anyone that sees you, and Juyeon is nothing if not perceptive.

"Long day?" he asks.

Your face falls into your hands. "We have a comeback in two months."

"Ah. Yeah, we know that one." Juyeon slowly shoves his cup of coffee towards you and bumps your arm with it so as to alert you to its presence and then he says, "I take it you just got out of your meeting then."

"Everything happens so much."

"And it's going to continue to, so you're just going to have to get used to that." His hand finds your wrist and gently tugs one of your hands away from your face, forcing eye contact between you. "I heard about the other stuff."

You groan through a "yeah."

"I'd love to be able to tell you it's going to get better, and in a lot of ways, it will. It's going to take time, though. The early years are the worst. If you can get through this, you can get through anything."

The girl returns with a cup of coffee and a sandwich of your own. You thank her, and as she leaves, the door to the room is surprisingly slid shut.

This sound makes you alert, and you twist back to confirm the fact. Once you come to fully understand that you are now sharing a private space with this man, you slowly turn back to look at his softly grinning face.

"It's not often that we get to enjoy time like this," he says. "Idols in general, I mean. Just a sectioned off, secluded space to simply be ourselves, and with the company of others who share the burden."

"I try to avoid being alone with any men at this stage in my life, for obvious reasons."

Sitting back, Juyeon shrugs and brings his mug to his lips. The sip he intends to take is paused, and before he does he says, "That's probably for the best, as you've seen, but…" He drinks his coffee, narrow, dark eyes never leaving you for so much as a second and continues with, "Not everyone is as reckless, you know."

With your heart beginning to race, you make an attempt to talk down what you feel might be beginning to form in front of you. Your time spent with Juyeon over the months is something that you have very much come to enjoy; a friendship, a comradery that you don't have with any of the other members of his team, and that feels good to have with someone inside of the idol space, but not amongst your own members, either. Someone who understands, someone who has shared parts of themselves with you, and that has allowed you to do much of the same unto him. You've been so caught up in a whirlwind of something that lately, you don't think you even really understand. Now, you sit and wonder, have you missed this all along? 

Has the way Juyeon looks at you right now, always been the way that he has looked at you?

With a trembling hand, you take a sip from your drink and go to set the mug back down against the saucer, but with your attention still fully grasped by Juyeon, your aim is off; the bottom of it finds the small spoon setting against the porcelain, and it falls to the cement floor deafeningly loud to your sensitive and highly-alert senses.

"Fuck!" It's the first thing that comes to mind, and you wholeheartedly mean it as you scramble to the ground. You can hear Juyeon chuckling under his breath at the exclamation, and as you finally locate the wayward silverware your head juts up to find his face only mere inches from your own.

You hadn't noticed him drop down in an effort to aid your search, and now that the two of you are here together beneath this cramped table space, it feels as though the entire world stops.

His eyes drop down to your lips, your breath catches in your chest and you hold it there remaining perfectly still. Memory recalls your first photoshoot together and that moment in which he had done much of the same; his hand on your leg, the smell of his cologne, the very first time you had allowed yourself to really, truly see him.

"Talking like that is going to get you some online articles of your own," he says, voice low and tone heavy in a way that is felt right down to your bones. Slowly, the distance between your faces begins to close. You remain statuesque as it does, resigning yourself to this, allowing it. Maybe even…

"Sunwoo and I…"

It all but falls out of you. Some inkling of a truth that you've not admitted to anyone, that has never left the confines of closed spaces and secret affairs shared only between the two of you. You recognize it for precisely what it is: something that needs to be done, an honesty that needs to be expressed with urgency, and while the guilt of having done so is of no surprise to you, what does come as a surprise is the tinge of regret that prickles at your skin.

Juyeon stops, pulls away slightly and with wide eyes of genuine stun he says, "Oh, I didn't know you were dating."

With the stupid spoon in hand, you finally climb back into your chair and once seated back into some sort of relative order, Juyeon awkwardly glances around a bit and adds: "For once he didn't say anything about it."

You slowly close your eyes and contemplate what would have to happen for this day to get any worse.

"I wouldn't say that we're dating."

He cocks his head quizzically. "Sleeping together…?"

"I wouldn't say that, either."

"Sounds complicated in exactly the sort of ways I might expect from Sunwoo," Juyeon says, and you're charmed by his ability to quickly brush off the messy happenings of only moments prior. "Then the gossip sites are right. They didn't allude to you, so I presume there's no concern of the two of you being spotted out together?"

It all sounds so juvenile when you are forced to put it into a verbalized perspective. You take another clumsy sip of your coffee and say, "No, we don't really… go out."

Juyeon laughs at that. Full and hearty, and it does little to quell the humiliation already rushing through your veins.

"You don't go out, but you're not sleeping together, either." He leans back and crosses his arms, less judging, and far more amused. You're not sure which you might prefer. "I hate to say it, but this is just so incredibly him. Sunwoo really never is going to beat the loser loverboy allegations."

Flustered, you feel driven to right some sort of incomprehensible wrong that you're not even sure is being spoken of. "I mean, it's not like we're not…"

"Oh, I'm sure, but he's just not the kind of guy that's going to rush to it," Juyeon says. "He has all these romanticized ideas about life, love… sex. I'm sure you've noticed."

The crushing realization that you're talking about not fucking Sunwoo with Juyeon suddenly becomes dizzyingly apparent,  and your palms find your face once more.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about it," he adds, "I had my suspicions."

"I'm not embarrassed!" you say, though that's an obvious lie and you make quick work of trying to amend it. "It's not that. Neither of us have told anyone about this, and now all these articles are coming out and we have to have meetings with our managers about them and deal with the thinly veiled threats that come along with them. He's never around, he's too busy; now with my own comeback around the corner I'm going to be too busy, and it just sort of feels like—"

"What's the point?" he interjects.

"Yeah," you say through a sigh. Admittedly, it feels freeing to be able to talk about it with someone that you know is safe to do so with, and so, you continue. "Sunwoo has all these ideas—like you said—and sometimes it feels a little bit like none of it is really grounded in reality. I'd like to be all-in with him, I'd love to be able to meet him there, but sometimes it feels like I'm the only one out of the two of us that's willing to take the rose-colored glasses off and look at this with any level of realism."

Juyeon listens to your words and for a moment, sits with you in silence as the aftermath of your truth washes over the both of you. He offers a small, understanding nod that, for once, gives you the kind of comfort that you've long since been seeking when it comes to all of this: that someone gets where it is that you're coming from. That your apprehensions are not unfounded, and that the worry you carry is very much grounded and real.

Then he leans forward, hands folded against the table and says, "Do you want me to be honest with you?"

The question feels daunting in ways you couldn't have anticipated, and though you strongly feel the urgency of something that you do not want to hear sitting on the other side, you muster up the courage and tell him "yes."

"The worst thing that can happen is that the company catches wind of this before anyone else does," he says, voice soft and quiet despite your privacy. "I know that sounds backwards, how could it be worse than the public finding out? But I promise you, once they get a hold of it then they'll be able to spin any kind of narrative they want, and there's no telling what that could be. Media play against you, media play against him, they might even want to force you into admitting the truth despite it not even really being the case. Whatever they think works best and easiest for them is what they're going to do, and absolutely no consideration for either of you will be taken into account."

The thought of it sends chills down your spine.

"Honestly? You'd be better off just hard-launching on social media," he adds.

"Are you insane!?"

Juyeon laughs at the outburst. "I'm not saying you should do that, I'm saying it'd probably be better than whatever they could cook up. None of us want to think about it for obvious reasons, but those people don't care about us. That's just how it is. The point I'm trying to make is: this isn't sustainable as it's currently going. Sunwoo is about as hard to see through as a window pane, he's already slipping up enough for his fans to notice. Won't be long until one of you gets caught out in public with the wrong hoodie on because they got swapped on the bedroom floor."

Another groan escapes you. Indeed, you did not want to hear this level of truth-telling.

"I like to think I'm a little bit smarter than that one, at least."

Eyes on you firmly, Juyeon raises a pointed eyebrow and says, "I am not concerned about you."

"Alright, then I have to ask," you say, melting down into your uncomfortable wooden chair, "If you were in this situation, what would you do?"

"I want to be clear that I never would be in this situation, for starters." 

You do not appreciate his comical prowess at this given moment.

"But…" he says, carrying on, "If I was, and this wasn't just some fleeting, fun moment in both of our lives that neither of us genuinely see a future in, then we'd just have to sit down and have a very serious talk about it. Lay everything out on the table; your feelings, what both of you want out of this, how to move forward in a way that doesn't jeopardize both of your careers. It's not going to be fun, and both of you are going to have to give up a lot and choose not to do certain things that you probably really want to do. Secret meetings at restaurants or trips to places together; that's all a thing of the past now, it was the moment you signed that contract and then stepped out onto that debut stage."

The weight of a reality that you've already known feels suffocating now, more than ever. You have no words to give to him right then, only a thin, tight smile that you hope gets across your thankfulness.

"I know you know all of this," Juyeon adds, "Now you're going to have to remind him before the company does."

It's daunting, and your swift trip to the bathroom afterwards is less because of the coffee consumed, and far more to expel the contents of your stomach; truth and all.

There are no sick days in the life of an idol, and today more than ever you are made painfully aware of that fact.

Your stomach still twists with the reminder of a conversation prior, but there is choreography to learn and a comeback looming in the near horizon that tells you that you are not afforded the common luxury of sitting at home and feeling sorry for yourself. No one cares that you're not feeling up to it, and your job is to shut up and make everyone believe that you are.

The elevator doors open, and the cleaning staff must have just had their way with it because it reeks of products and sanitation. This scent is nothing new to you, though it is one that you have long since become accustomed to in a way that you almost don't even notice these days. It serves as another reminder of why you are here and what is expected of you; to be perfect, to rise to everyone's expectations at all times, and if you can't, then you better pretend that you can.

Or else.

You press the button for the twelfth floor, light-headed and uncomfortable. Now is your last chance to shake all of this off and walk into that room with your best face on and the capacity to learn.

After three floors, the elevator stops, the doors slide open, and your stomach fucking drops.

"Sunwoo."

He is delighted to see you, and you wish that you could match his enthusiasm. Perhaps in any other circumstance, during any other day you would, but with the events regarding your comeback, regarding Juyeon, regarding him only just having happened, the best you can give him is an awkward smile as he enters along with you.

And he wastes no time closing the distance between your bodies.

Your hands fly up and force space, lightly pushing him away from you as you insist that he doesn't do this.

"I've missed you," he says, and you are so weak to him by now that your efforts to keep him at bay quickly fall flat. Sunwoo's hands slip under the hem of your shirt and fingertips press into the skin of your waist as he draws you closer towards him. "I want to see you, I have to leave again soon, but before I do…"

Just as your back finds the wall of the elevator, his lips press against yours. Your breath leaves you, all of the fight you had just had dissipates in that very moment. How do you find the strength to turn away something that ultimately, you desperately desire?

Palms pressed against his chest and once used to push him away now curl into the cloth beneath them to hold him in place. Sunwoo's mouth slips down from yours to travel the line of your jaw and subsequently along the column of your throat. You've been here so many times before that it comes as second nature for your head to fall back and allow him to have his taste. Warm breath wafts over damp patches of skin where his tongue has just been, your eyes flutter open as the elevator continues to slowly travel towards its destination; and then, you spot it. The camera hanging in the corner, placed to watch for any misdoings.

Your blood runs cold, all of those feelings of horror, and fright, and anger rush through your body once more and you shove him away with all of your might. Sunwoo stumbles back, shocked and confused by the sudden turn of events, and you nod up towards the recording device that clearly, he has not been made aware of through the numerous years prior.

"Oh, they don't check that thing unless something happens," he reasons, "Ya know, like if someone got, I don't know, killed or whatever, then they check the footage. I promise they're not scouring hours of footage to see if their talent is making out in the elevator."

His nonchalant attitude about the entire thing only serves to anger you more, and with a plethora of things you want to say, you have to steady yourself and think through the options as to not land a far more hurtful blow than what is deserved. The truth of the matter, however, is that you are hurting. You have been hurting under the tremendous weight of a situation that only you seem to be bothered to care about even half as much as it is deserving of, and now that the final straw has broken the camel's back, you can't help but unleash it and force him to share that pain.

With trembling breath, you shake your head and say, "You can't keep doing this. You're going to destroy everything, you're going to ruin both of our lives." Your voice shakes as you speak your truth, the unbearable agony of all of this finally spilling out of you, tears beginning to well up in your eyes. "You're so fucking reckless. Do you even care if anything happens? Maybe you can handle the blowback of something like this coming out, but I can't. Do you even think about that, or is all you think about just whatever you want in one, single moment?"

Sunwoo stares back at you with a dumbfounded sort of expression, but you're not finished.

"You're gone all the time, you don't even answer me when I try to get a hold of you, when I try to have a very serious discussion about what is already beginning to happen to us. You're so fucking immature! You can't just disappear and then show back up like nothing has even happened, continue to act like this like nobody is ever watching. Sunwoo, they are watching! And guess what? They fucking know." 

"I said I was sorry," he mumbles out, barely audible.

The lashing of your words is visible on his form. Sunwoo stands in front of you with a fallen face that no longer shows any signs of the jovial, bright-eyed idol that you've always known and adored. What stands before you now is a man that is faced with the mounting consequences of his actions—actions he has not fully considered as they have taken place—and the aching understanding that he has, in fact, been wrong.

"But…" he says, and that singular word sends piques the anxiety already coursing through you.

"You think you're the only one that stands to lose everything from this?" Sunwoo's arms dangle lifeless at his sides as he watches you, his expression a somewhat indiscernible mix of thoughts and feelings that he never quite has been able to fully conceal. One of many you are able to pick out, however, is woundedness.

"You think this won't ruin my career if it were to get out? You don't think that's something I think about and grapple with every single day? I make a choice every time we see each other, and I'm forced to decide if this—what we're doing—is worth it to me. You think I'm not thinking about it, I have to think about it. It's all I think about every second of every day."

He brings a hand up and drags it through the air as if to highlight a line of invisible text standing between you. "'Senior idol grooming fans, predatory behavior, power imbalance fully acted upon,' that's what the headlines will read. You think that's something I can recover from? Something I just brush off and don't have the mind to consider? Have you considered it recently? Because you used to, at least."

"Then why are you so reckless about it?" you ask, pleading for his understanding. "The fans have noticed, people have noticed. Now that the idea is out there they're going to continue watching and looking for the signs, and it's only a matter of time until one of us slips up, we can't keep—"

"I want to see you!" Sunwoo snaps. "You're terrified! You want this but you're unwilling to take the leap, unwilling to take any steps that make this safe because you're afraid if you do, then that's going to make it too real. It's like… you think that if you're a bystander in all of this—if I'm the one that takes all the leads in it—then you'll have enough plausible deniability to escape the wrath of public perception when it inevitably does break. Does that not sound like you're perfectly happy to let me take the fall for this?" He laughs under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief at his own words and then says, "And even still, even knowing this, I still do it. I still choose you every time."

Sunwoo's honestly hits you hard, and though you part your lips in hopes of issuing a reply, all that rips from you is a terrible, gut-wrenching sob.

"Honestly, what else do you want me to do? We can put the ball in your court and we both know where that will lead. If that's what you want, then you should just say it." His voice shakes at the tail end of the sentence, and you can't bear to look at him for fear of what you might find. "We don't have to do this, we can call it quits right now and I'll deal with that. But…" Finally, you force yourself to look up at him. This isn't what you wanted, this is so far from what you wanted. Sunwoo shakes his head gently, as if he is as much in disbelief of this outcome as you are and finally he finishes it by saying, "How long do you expect me to pretend that I don't lo—" Ding!

The elevator stops, the doors fly open, and there stands Serri, Kaia and Miyoung.

Sunwoo turns to look at them, and you meet their awed stares at the scene that they have just stumbled upon. Not a single word is spoken for what feels like a lifetime to you, the seconds ticking by like hours as silence fills the space. All you can hear is the pounding of your heart in your own ears, that is, until Sunwoo exhales a heavy sigh and fully turns to face the three of them.

"Listen to me very carefully," he starts, with a firmness to his voice that you've never quite heard before. "As your senior, this moment right here? This never happened. Are we clear?"

All three of them nod slowly.

"Great." It's far from great, and the sarcasm dripping from Sunwoo's utterance of it makes that incredibly clear. He turns back to look at you as you quickly try to wipe your face and make yourself presentable even though the damage has already been done. He sighs again and simply says, "I'll leave first."

And leave first, he does.

[elizamgarts]

⚠️Rant incoming ⚠️

I know this isn't my usual posts but recently I believe it has to be said.

This mostly applies to tik Tok but still it needs to be said in the fandom as a whole.

I understand She ra is a female driven show, it's meant for the girls. I fully understand that and makes sense why most of the girls get the spotlight. But that doesn't excuse blatant dismissal to other characters.

Even in the show there's a very clear favoritism and it's heavily in your face it's honestly crazy.

If you haven't guessed I'm talking about Catra. The fandom and show babies and favors her over even the title character, in a way fine but the fans treat her like she is a baby who needs protection but at the same time is a badass lesbian bitch who can overtake anyone.

So which is it? A baby kitten? Or badass lesbian? You can't have both.

Catra stans really make me wanna pull my hair out from how delusional and annoying they can be. Especially when they despise one character for understandable reasons.

Like yes I get it, Hordak done a lot of terrible shit, he's my favorite character but I do not excuse his behavior for what he did to Etheria.

I'm fully onboard with him serving his time to make up what he did and rebuild what he destroyed.

But Catra? Where's her punishment? Where's her due justice for her crimes?

The show never mentions it. The fans gloss over it cause she's Adora "girlfriend" now she serves no punishment she's a sad kitten.

No.

Absolutely not, I'm sorry but the favoritism is absolutely insane, Catra has hurt far more people personally than Hordak, Catra should equally be held accountable for her actions.

But she isn't. She never is, and the bullshit redemption she had is so ass it's insane the show got away with it.

She never changed, she only says she's working on her anger but she never does. The show refuses to let her be accountable for her actions.

What's to enjoy with her character?

She abused everyone, she gets praised cans called a badass by being abelist to Hordak in the one scene she "takes over the horde"

Let's not forget her sending Entrapta to her death pretty much when she shipped her to beast Island fully knowing nobody comes back from that place.

She killed Glimmer's mother by being the one responsible for pulling the lever.

Let's not forget her years and years of abuse on Adora yet the show forced them together because 'hot lesbians"

All of this, all of the people Catra hurt and she never gets held accountable, what does she get? She gets to join the best friend squad and did absolutely nothing to earn it while Entrapta who's worked her ass off to change and be better never once is officially part?.

The favoritism is crazy.

Why is Catra Trauma taken absolutely seriously and demands to be respected yet everyone else's Truama doesn't't exist?

How is that fair?

And I only post this because recently I guess I hold deep rooted disdain for Characters character because she reminds me far too much of my mother.

My mother was physically and mentally and emotionally abusive, she use to hit me if I made a mistake yell and blame me for something I have no control over, gets upset if I don't do things her way. Or if she doesn't get her way she gets upset and makes me feel like shit for not wanting to do something or for how I feel.

Then manipulates me by showing love and affection only to act the absolute same, nothing changes, I have to work to make her happy when it shouldn't be that way.

All of this is very similar to Catra, she manipulates others into getting what she wants, she abused others physically and emotionally.

She acts victim when things don't go her way.

Her character hits far to close to home for me and it makes me resent and hate her character because I sympathize far more to those she hurt over her. Because she shouldn't be getting away with this. She should work to actually change not say she changed.

I love her design, she has a great design and I still love to draw her but her character?

Her "redemption"

It's so horrible and so terrible I cannot find any liking to the character.

I know this rant is all over the place but it's something I needed to address. And it's something the fans need to understand, I don't hate Catdora because I'm homophobic, I don't want Catra to die or any shit like that. I just want a fleshed out character that gets a better redemption and other characters to get equal attention as her. But all I can settle for is fics.

I do hope Catra stans understand this. But this is why I absolutely hate Catra.

Keep in mind I don't wanna do these rants a lot on my page, I'm a artist page not a rant page but I needed to get this off my chest.

[transformation4life]

Daddy Growth

"Become a real Daddy in minutes with Daddy Growth! Buy NOW!"

Those were the words that brought Dean to his local supermarket. Dean had been trying to bulk up for ages, but just couldn't no matter how hard he tried. The 22 year old was fresh out of college taking freelancing work in art and making it by but just barely. Dean was desperate for any quick solution to his muscle building problem and this product promised fast results he couldn't have driven faster to the supermarket than he already did.

"Is that all?" The cashier said to Dean as he put the bottle on the conveyor belt"

"Yea- WOAH!" Dean was shocked to see that the cashier was JACKED.

"Notice the guns? Pretty weird for someone like me to be working here yeah?" The cashier spoke with his deep voice

"Y-Yea.. a little... And how come they let you wear no shirt!" Dean was getting a little bit flustered as his attraction to guys was starting to show.

"Oh believe me, after this stuff came out dress codes got REAL lenient," He points at the bottle of Daddy Growth

"Wow... I didn't even really notice..." Dean twiddled with his thumbs.

"Don't worry about it, bud. Say... random question but are you a parent?"

"W-Wha? No... I'm only 22!" Dean was shocked to get asked that by a random person let alone a buff one.

"I see... yea good luck with that. Here's your bottle. Have a great day!" The man said with a wink giving Dean shivers.

Dean arrived home shortly after with the bottle in hand a little shaken by the whole experience, but was still determined this bottle will be the solution to all his problems. Dean carefully inspected the bottle instructions: Step 1: Open Bottle

Step 2: Drink bottle all at once

Step 3: Enjoy The Muscle!

Warning:sideeffectsmayincluderapidagingrealitychangingsuddenlybecomingaparentofabodybuildingsonlocationchangeandrealitychange

"Seems simple enough. I can't understand the warning though... Oh well!" Dean popped the bottle open and drank the whole thing in one chug.

"Damn... that was actually pretty refreshing... so now what..." Dean pranced around the room expecting something to happen but a couple minutes pass and nothing did.

"Is this a scam? Did i just spend 20 dollars on a drink? Hell why do I always fall for these kind of thi-" A jolt hit Dean as he clenched his head in pain.

Dean's body began to sweat at a rapid rate as his body began to grow. First to grow was his chest as they ballooned up into two massive clashing meat mounds with sweat adorning their surface. Next to change was Dean's stomach as a sexy set of abs popped in with the sweat making them glisten. Soon after Dean's arms became behemoths in size both having large biceps and triceps and... veins with an accompanying back widening and shoulders prop up! That marked the end of Dean's button up as a loud *rip* led the shirt to fall to the floor. As the shirt fell it was beginning to change. The buttons fell off as the sleeves rescinded and the shirts blue became a white with a black rim until it was the perfect bodybuilder tank top. Letter by letter the words "Better Bodies Gym Issues" appeared with the change finished right as it reached Dean's feet.

The top of Dean's body had their fun so it was the lower half was ready to grow with the thighs as thick as chickens and godlike status were already forming on his legs. Dean's feet growing by a couple inches whole too good thing he wasn't wearing any shoes. Unlike his shirt dean's bottoms held on pretty tightly before becoming elastic and breathable shorts as a direct cut sliced his pants right above his now thick knees as the rough material became more free. The leftover material wrapped around his feet becoming a nice pair of blue and black shoes with the laces tied tightly. Everything about Dean had changed besides his head, but not for long.

The main change began as Dean's body began to age. Wrinkles forming in the face and general gruffness that definitely didn't suit the 22 year old as he became someone in their late 40's as derek gained some stubble and his hair flattened and became slicked to the side with some gray hairs here and there as well. Dean couldn't speak through the whole ordeal as the pain in his body was too much, but it was finally over... right? WRONG

Dean's room morphed into a busy gym in a flash as the pain subsided little by little. Dean was able to snap back to reality as he now realized he wasn't in his room anymore and he was sweating like a bullet... on a workout bench? Dean couldn't even speak as a gold necklace with a cross wrapped itself around Dean's thick neck signifying the end of the changes.

"W-What... happened... to..." Dean couldn't process what just happened. How did he get at the gym and why did he feel sweaty.

Just then he felt something move. It was his new pecs... bouncing.

Dean looked down to see his new BIG and MEATY body in complete dumbfoundery. The drink actually worked. He became a "daddy"! Dean immediately stood up and flexed to the nearby mirror.

Dean looked great and he KNEW it. He did every bodybuilder thing under the book. Flexing, pec bouncing, and touching his muscles. the works and Dean loved every second of it. He felt like a new man!

The fun had to end though when someone walked up to Dean with a look that definitely wasn't friendly.

"Dean. What are you doing here?" It was a sterner older man not dissimilar to one Dean met at the store.

Dean wasn't sure what to say and just looked at the guy and spoke nothing.

"That's all you got to say to me? Your SON has been looking for you!" Wait... Son? Dean didn't have a son, let alone sex! How did he-

"Not to be rude sir, but I don't have a son I just drank this potion and-"

"Don't sir me, young man! I am your TRAINER. Now take off your tank top that shit is too sweaty to show your son!"

Dean not wanting to be rude to his "Trainer" reluctantly removed the tank top in order to satisfy him.

"Now put this on!" The trainer holding a tank with the word Evogen surrounded by stars.

Dean put it on and when he put it on he felt... comfortable in it. Almost like he's been wearing it for the past ten years. Like he...

Suddenly a whole slew of memories came flooding into Dean. Firstly being the 20+ years of life now under his belt, his years bodybuilding, and of course his son. Daniel. Dean always loved how the rascal took after him ever since he was young.

"Wait... no I don't-" Dean fought against the memories but when he saw the spitting image of his son in his mind dancing just like how Dean remembered he would, he felt at ease he somehow helped brought someone into this world.

Xander was a lot like his father. A bodybuilder and knew when to have fun. Dean was proud of him more than any father could ask for.

"Feel better now?" The trainer he now remembered as his longtime friend Ron.

"I'd say... yeah," Dean giving his pecs a firm lift.

And right on cue came Dean's just as big son.

"Hey pops," Xander was sweating from presumably a workout.

"Son! Good to see you! How's... Maria?" Dean randomly blurted out the name, but somehow knew it was related to his son.

"Oh, she's doing great! I'm so glad you were so accepting me being straight dad, you know how you can be sometimes?

"Know how I can be sometimes? What do you mean oh son of mine?" Dean said in a cocky manner before getting into a dance.

"That's what I mean dad! Anyways... ready to workout?" Dean almost already forgot he was supposed to be working out with his son.

Wait... what just happened? How did this all happen? Dean didn't realize that none of this was normal. First he become buff and older and not to mention has a child??? That's not normal in the slightest. Even with the new memories he still he had his old ones, the ones where he was skinny and scrawny and lived in a shoddy apartment, but he also had the memories of his kid and living in a big house. The mix of memories was getting to his head, and yet when he saw his new life and now body... he was fine with this. All this. He's never been a parent, but it won't hurt to try! And this BIG body is a huge bonus Dean can't complain at all. Now the real question is who did he fu-

"Dad? You good? We should head to the machines!" Xander looking at his father with confusion

"Oh! Sorry my boy, just lost in thought. Let's get to work!" Derek gave a confident flex to his son.

"Well I'll see you two later. Have fun!" Ron promptly left to help out other bodybuilders.

This new life was gonna be a bit hard for Dean to adjust to and Dean knew that and his old life was over but he was ready to start anew in exchange for this sexy body.

And so the new Dean waddled his way to the workout machines with his new son and looked as hot as hell doing it. He was a real Daddy now!

[lost-in-fandoms]

Winter Warmers Day 29: Somnophilia. Max/GP. About 900 words.

When Max wakes up it's still dark outside.

The time projected on the wall by GP's alarm, some old thing Max had teased him about several times, says 5:12 am, which means Max went to bed more or less four hours ago.

He would very much like to go back to sleep, but he feels restless, a gnawing pit in his gut telling him he needs something, echoed by his half-hard dick, demanding attention.

They've been so busy lately, with the end of the season first, then the team commitments, then holidays with their families, that Max doesn't really remember the last time they were able to fuck properly. All they had been managing was hurried orgasms, half bitten moans muffled by hands.

And now they're finally back in their bed, it's 5 am and Max wants.

If he was reasonable, he would go to the bathroom, take care of it, and then come back to bed. But he doesn't want to come on his own, with his own hand, and he doesn't want to get up, out of the warmth of the blankets, GP's steady breathing beside him.

Quietly, so slowly he's barely moving, not wanting to disturb GP, Max reaches for the lube in the drawer, kicking off his underwear.

He doesn't want to wake up GP. They had come home late, after GP had driven them through the holiday traffic for the whole way, and it feels better like this, the thrill of something they had only got to do a few times, the last one months ago.

He takes his time with himself, keeping his eyes closed, moving languidly under the blankets, fingers reaching inside himself in careful strokes. He almost feels half-asleep himself, thoughts syrupy slow, breathing deep, almost matching GP's.

When he gets up to three fingers, after what feels like ages, the squelch of the lube the only noise in the room, he reaches for the bedside table again, groping around for the dildo he knows is there.

He lubes it up carefully, then sighs once he gets it inside him. It's his favorite one, almost the same length and width as GP's own dick, opening him up perfectly. He doesn't want any resistance when he finally gets to the real thing.

It's easier to move the dildo than his own fingers, and he can't help the soft sounds that escape his mouth every time he brushes it against his prostate, every time it drags perfectly all the way in.

He brings himself almost to the edge, the muscles in his abdomen tightening with pleasure, his thighs trembling, his dick now fully hard slippery with precome. And then he drops the dildo on the bedside table, already knowing GP will complain about the lube being smeared everywhere, and reaches for GP.

He gets his underwear halfway off when GP stirs, groaning and shifting, making Max freeze.

"Max?" he slurs, voice still raspy with sleep.

"Hi," Max murmurs, pressing forward to place a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Go back to sleep."

GP makes a questioning sound, then another when he moves again and seems to notice his underwear, down to his calves.

"Sleep," Max says again, cutting off whatever GP was going to say.

For a moment, he thinks GP will argue with it, or will stop him, but all the other does is fully kick off his underwear, before turning back to his previous position, lying on his side, and sighing.

"Be good," he whispers, patting Max's side with a heavy hand.

Max doesn't reply, but breathes out slowly, forcing himself to ignore the way his hole is clenching around nothing, achingly empty.

He doesn't know how long it takes for GP to fall asleep again, but it feels like forever. And then he lets out a little snore, and Max smiles.

He grabs the lube again, pouring some in his hand to gently warm it up, before grabbing for GP's now naked dick.

It's mostly soft, but it doesn't matter, not when Max so desperately needs him inside.

GP groans softly as Max spreads the lube, but he doesn't move, and then Max doesn't listen anymore, because he's busy guiding his dick inside him, pressing back until his ass fits snugly against GP's hips, sighing at the feeling of being finally full.

He gives himself a second, just to enjoy the feeling, before he starts rotating his hips slowly, grinding against GP, feeling him grow harder inside him. It's heady, to be able to do this, to be able to use GP like this, to be able to take his pleasure without even waking him up.

Everything feels like molasses again, the dark room blanketed in sleep, silence broken only by Max's stuttering breaths and the sound of the lube between their bodies.

His orgasm grows slowly too, filling him with shivery warmth, until he's coming in his own hand, sparks bursting on his closed eyelids.

When his heartbeat slows down, he brings the movement of his hips to a stop, cleaning his dirty hand on the sheet (yet another thing GP will complain about).

GP is still hard inside him, and it feels good, to still be filled, pleasure tiptoeing on the verge of overstimulation.

He falls back to sleep like that, limbs heavy and satisfied, GP's chest against his back, smiling at the thought of being fucked awake, the sweetest good morning.

[according2thelore]

i love the es/ls verse SO MUCCCHHHH!!! sam’s self-hatred towards his younger self in that last one is just - mwah! chef’s kiss! he’s so jealous of him and he also believes that that kid doesn’t deserve dean!! meanwhile younger sam hates older sam for what he’s become, but he’s jealous, too. ah!! amazing!

and dean not understanding and getting angry with sam’s self hatred is so wonderful. it’s like one if their key issues, but now it’s not a theoretical issue, it’s A Guy. and his name is 23y/o Sam Winchester.

you’re sooo amazing. love this so much. would love to see more if you’ve got it - the deans not understanding the sams’ negative feelings towards each other, and getting protective over it

hello, anon!

you get it: "it’s like one if their key issues, but now it’s not a theoretical issue, it’s A Guy. and his name is 23y/o Sam Winchester." HAHAHAHA you nailed it!

thank you so much!!! that means a lot--mwah mwah! <3

i always have more of it, lol!

~~~

"hey."

sam looks up sharply, startled. dean--his dean, young dean--is standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom in the bunker. his arms are crossed, and he looks peeved. he leans against the doorway, and he crosses his ankles in a practiced show of nonchalance.

"you don't need to talk to him like that." dean says, jaw ticking. sam snorts derisively, turning back around. he continues folding the shirt in his hand, and smacks it to his bed with enough force that it comes unfolded again.

sam doesn't reach for it again, just grabbing another.

"yeah. great. thanks dean." sam says. he's exhausted. anger--his old friend--rises up in him, but he can't even be bothered to put the energy in to stoke it.

after he confronted older sam in the kitchen, older dean's words pierced deep. i'm disappointed in you. sam feels like a chastened child. he is, in a way.

"what's that supposed to mean?" dean asks, stepping into the room. sam can feel him get closer. hates it. he folds his shirt faster, and doesn't look up at him.

"you took his side. i knew you would." sam spits the words like the poison they are. of course dean would pick the sam that doesn't fight with him, that doesn't want anything else.

dean stops, somewhere behind him, and sam hates that he can feel his brother without seeing him--a skill he had gotten on his knees and thanked god for when he was younger.

"okay what's with this--" dean fumbles for words. "this 'side' thing? it's just one side."

"no." sam finally whirls on him, dropping the shirt onto the bed. "it's not."

"sam." dean's brow is furrowed, and his voice is firm. "you need to back off. he's trying. he's been super cool with us staying here and--"

sam scoffs.

"spare me your hard-on." he spits. dean's eyebrows raise, and heat starts spotting his cheeks. sam wants to take him to the ground, until the reason dean's cheeks are pink are sam's hands, sam.

"that! what the fuck is that? back off!" dean shouts, and his hands ball at his sides. he doesn't deny it.

"back off? back off?" sam is incandescent with rage, his earlier apathy lighting aflame like dry tinder. "am i suddenly an asshole for not wanting to be here? for wanting to get home? i though that's what we wanted."

"it is--you know it is!"

"do i? do i fucking really?" sam gets in dean's face, shoves him back a step. "you're practically salivating whenever he walks into a room, you take his side in everything, you act like he's mother fucking teresa--"

dean's cheeks keep rising in colour, but his face is drawn into a furious scowl. he shoves sam back. sam's skin screams, buzzes, where dean touches it.

"he's you!"

"no, he's not!" sam shoves him back.

"sam." dean looks at him like he's crazy. sam feels like he is crazy, that this whole thing has driven him completely mad. "he is. he literally is. you're dogging on my little brother."

sam blinks hard, trying to fight off the sudden, blinding bite of tears.

"fuck you." sam spits. fuck dean for saying that like it's nothing. for claiming him like it's nothing. my little brother. dean only has one little brother.

"i'm--" sam starts, but cuts himself off because his voice is humiliatingly high. dean's face changes, irritation slipping into incredulity. sam wants him to stop thinking immediately. "stop that."

"are you--" dean's face splits into a grin.

"shut up, i swear to god--" sam begs, sitting down on his bed heavily and covering his eyes with his hands.

"you're jealous! or something! you're weird!" dean crows, and sam pitches to the side as dean's weight slams down onto the bed next to him.

sam moves his hands. dean is sitting on the side of his bed, tilted towards him and looking down at him. sam scowls.

he knows their MO is mockery and sarcasm, but for one fucking second, he just wants his brother to take him seriously. to take his side.

"i will take you down." sam threatens lowly, and throws an arm over his face. he waits for a beat, hoping dean will go away.

"sam." dean's voice is disappointingly close. "sammy, look at me."

sam is so shocked that dean has given him his name back that he moves his arm away. he sits up on his elbows. dean looks surprisingly somber, as he says:

"i'm not built to look at people be mean to 'sam.'" dean puts air quotes around his name. sam snorts, but dean just raises his eyebrows. "i'm not. i am hardwired to want to fuck up sammy's bullies. kinda my whole thing."

he's smiling a little at the end. sam softens. just a bit. he's not used to dean wanting to protect other people. he's not used to becoming a second priority in dean's life, in dean choosing a third party over sam's opinion, not since dad died.

"are you...are you calling me a bully?" sam asks, half-amused, half-irritated. dean rolls his eyes, but looks frustrated, like he can't even tell what he means.

"i'm saying. i...don't know. i'm kinda...protective over the guy. he's a sammy." dean shrugs. sam tilts his head, thinking.

"so you're saying if i get him to be a dick to me, you'll suplex him over a table?"

"oh yeah. i'll get a stepladder to reach him and everything." dean assures. sam snorts.

they sit in silence for a second, dean looking down at sam's face, and sam looking up at the ceiling, to give dean the chance to look. in a few minutes, it'll be sam's turn to look at dean while dean looks away.

a thought occurs to sam, though, and he looks over. dean obediently looks away, though there's a frown tugging at the edge of his lip, like he's annoyed his time was cut short.

"i'm not promising anything until you promise to be nice to big dean." sam says, and dean makes a disapproving, alarmed noise. he looks back at sam, eyes wide.

"that old fart? that's totally different. he's a dick. sammy's actually great and brilliant and nice and huge, so." dean tilts his chin up, like he's made a point. sam's chest seizes briefly around the impression of something--unused to and displeased with hearing dean praise someone else like this.

"hey!" sam says sharply, holding up an accusing finger. "dean's not that bad."

"hypocrite." "hypocrite." they say at once, dean's lower tone layering underneath sam's.

they blink at each other.

and--for the first time in too damn long--two brothers dissolve in, frankly, giggles. sam slumps forward into dean's arm, and dean scrubs a hand through his hair.

~~~

"he's trying his best." dean mutters into sammy's bare shoulder. sammy closes his eyes, enjoying the feeling of dean's chapped lip on his skin.

their younger selves were probably hashing it out, too, a wing away.

sammy turns around in dean's arms, and sam nudges his way under dean's chin. dean lifts his head obediently, and sam exhales against dean's bare chest. he wishes he were still small enough to fit here completely.

even his younger self couldn't do this, anymore.

"i know." sam says, finally. he doesn't have to ask "i think...i think i hate him."

dean's arms seize around sam's shoulders.

"no, you don't. he's a kid. a baby."

my kid. my baby. dean's words don't say. sam hears them. he hates them. that's why he hates this kid. among many reasons. he's so blindly arrogant, so violent, so harsh. so fucking prideful. head full of his own words and heart full of fire. and dean looks at him like he looks at sammy.

"no, i don't." sammy acquiesces. and he doesn't. "resent" is probably a better word.

dean reads his silences so well that he starts petting through sam's hair. it should feel infantilizing, but it doesn't. sam sighs. he's an adult. and in a second, he'll pull away and deal with this like a regular person.

"do you miss him?" sam asks, after a long pause. him. sam. the sam i used to be. the sam that sits a dozen rooms over, talking to his own brother.

"i'll always miss you." dean says. "all versions of my pain in the ass are my pains in the ass."

sam snorts, but it's half-hearted, quiet.

there are worse things, sam supposes, than being loved to the point of absurdity. to the point of forgiveness. to the point of dean loving all versions of him, all the time.

"as long as i'm your favourite." sam murmurs. dean noses along his hairline, breathes deep in sam's hair. sammy knows dean isn't good at saying it out loud. but the soft lips at his temple are answer enough for him. dean's horrifyingly sappy when he's quiet.

you're always my favourite.

~~~

thank you for your patience, anon! i hope you enjoyed!!!! life kinda came at me w a baseball bat, so i'm sorry it took so long to respond! i hope you see this :)

-lizzy

[morganski-19]

For any of my buddie shippers or gay eddie truthers who feels like episode 5 is a massive blow, it's not over yet. I think that we've really been harping on episode 6 being the big coming out getting together scene, and that has let us fall into false hope. And I honestly have had the stance that buddie, if it does happen this season, will be in the latter half of the season.

This is not a story that should be rushed. Oliver talks about how he wants Buck to have a slow burn. Eddie needs time to figure out himself, and deal with his trauma. That can't happen in the first six episode where three of them are just the opening emergency. It just wouldn't make narrative sense.

Let's remember the three act structure that is so prevalent in a lot of media. Because I am terrible at explaining things, I’ve put in a picture.

This season has 18 episodes, so we are very much still in the set up stage of this season. I think that since most of the plot points from season 7 are wrapped up except for Eddie and Christopher's, it is a good bet that their story line will be driven in this narrative.

I think the inciting incident was that scene with Weston's dad in episode 4. It shows how Eddie feels about this situation more, and can bring out a lot of growth and movement as he tries to get Chris back.

Episode 6 would be 1/3 of the way through the season, and considering it is a direct parallel to eddie begins, I am considering that plot point 1.

Now here is where the speculation really starts. The mid point would be the episode before the winter break, and I think that will involve Eddie going to El Paso and getting Chris back.

Therefore, the rising action for this would be Eddie working through his own issues. Learning how to love himself, and starting his path to discovery. However, I honestly don't see him figuring it all out before Chris comes home.

No matter how this storyline will play out, Chris will be mad at Eddie the whole season. Their resolution will not happen until the end, after the climax.

I think the climax will be Eddie figuring out he is gay, and coming out to his son. Then, the two of them figuring out what that means for the both of them. Eddie grappling with how he can be gay and still have loved Shannon in the past. And Chris dealing with how his dad dated all of these woman for his betterment. Also dealing with the fact that his parents were not in love the way he thought they were.

Buddie, if it happens this season, will be part of the denouement. Because, while all of this is happening with Eddie and Chris, Buck will have his own storyline. One that will be very in line with Eddie's, because of how involved he is in the Diaz's life.

I think that, even if Buck and Tommy don't break up in episode 6 like I hope, their relationship won't last. Putting my hopes for Buddie aside, they are simply just not compatible as a couple. Buck will realize this on his own, whether that be his plot point one, or the climax of his story. It would then, allow for Buck to truly understand his feelings for Eddie, and give the audience that longing that a slow burn needs.

Because although us Buddie fans consider their relationship as a slow burn, the general public might not. They need to create that longing for all audiences, and not just us.

It is also good to mention that there is no Buddie without Chris. It almost wouldn't make sense to have Buddie happen without Chris in the picture.

[variety-fangirl]

Based off this ask:

Yours / Jimmy Keene x fem!reader:

Summary: inspo above ^ You and Jimmy had met in highschool, been friends for many years and dated not long after. Everything was perfect and he'd proposed after three years together. Was being the key here, because you hadn't expected to be engaged for a year and planning your wedding, only to find out you were 16 weeks pregnant with Jimmy's baby and him being arrested not long after before you had a chance to tell him. And if that wasn't bad enough, he pushes you away whilst in prison.

Warnings: angst which turns into fluff, happy ending. Not much (swearing, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of breast feeding, and general stresses of being a single mother semi-alone.)

Aurthor's Note: I'm back my loves! God has it been long overdue and how I have missed writing! College had been extremely busy and took up so much of my time, writing essays 3-5 times a week with little free time genuinely took all the joy out of wanting to write in my free time (when normally I always look forward to it and can't wait for the weekend to come so I can write). Months of non-stop work and a lack of free time made things so hard and I didn't want to do anything really. But! Now that college is finished, I am hoping to now return :D Yay! How I have missed it and you guys. Thank you to those who have been paitient, I know it sucks. Thank you for requesting, I do apologise that this took so long but I hope you read it and enjoy it all the same! As always, thank you guys for reading! It means the world to me, and I hope you guys enjoy! I have some exciting writing coming up! Liking, reblogging, and commenting really helps me out.

Plus note- I had started this earlier but I become quite unwell :( so it took me longer to get this done than before.

Word count: 2.7k

You had always thought your life was relatively normal. You had a lovely home, friends, a family, a fiance, etc... Nothing out of the ordinary, the same as most had. That was until your whole world got wiped out from under you, twofold. They always told you marriage was the hard part, that that would be where you had to put work in, but they failed to mention what could happen before that. The part no one had seen coming. That day in the courthouse, when Jimmy had reassured you all would be well and he wouldn't be gone long, he hadn't counted for the hard part either.

10 years.

10 fucking years he had been sentenced to. 10 years you would have to be without him and raising your baby alone. Not only would you lose him but your child would too, without ever even knowing him.

Even with him leaving for that long, you wouldn't move on or be with another. Jimmy was and is your everything, your soulmate and the one you were meant to be with. Granted, when you'd talked about and planned your future together over the years, you'd envisioned it side by side in your loving home. Not with him spending the next decade in prison, away from you and your baby.

When you'd heard those words come out of the judge's mouth and witnessed as the blood drained from Jimmy's face, the once smug and confident look wiping off his face instantly, you broke. If you hadn't already been sitting, you'd have collapsed under the shock and destruction that took over you like a boulder. Jimmy screamed your name as he'd been dragged away kicking and yelling, the tears pouring down your face as you desperately attempted to catch your breath. You couldn't, no matter how hard you'd tried, you were having a panic attack in the courthouse.

Jimmy's father had led you into the cool fresh air and held your hair back as you'd heaved and vomited all over the floor. He'd rubbed your back and said soothing, comforting, kind words to try and calm you down. Jimmy had driven you there, so you drove his car back. You all went to Jimmy's father's house to discuss what to do. You devised a plan on how everything would work and how best to support Jimmy through it. You had all cried together, huddled in a pile of supportive comfort to one another. It had helped you all to calm down enough but it didn't lessen or take away the raging knot of sorrow in your chest. The tight pressure that has refused to leave you, even to this day.

You had all agreed to take turns visiting Jimmy and provide him with anything he needed to make the difficult transition easier. But, to your absolute horror, Jimmy refused any of you to see him whilst in prison. You hadn't spoken to him, only heard the words from his father. He only spoke to his father on the phone. He allowed his father to visit him once in the beginning, in which he'd written you a letter for his father to give you.

The letter had been simple, straightforward and had left no room for argument. He had simply stated that he didn't want to keep you waiting so he was letting you go, that putting you through ten years of waiting was cruel and that he would always love you.

He'd left you. After everything, he had left you before you could tell him you were pregnant with his child.

You'd wanted to tell him so badly, but he wouldn't allow you to. You refused to have his father tell the father of your child and fiance that he was having a baby with the woman he was trying to push away. So, you'd tried to write him letters. Five in fact. Telling him about the baby and the fact that you wouldn't let him do this but he wouldn't accept them. He either kept them unopened or threw them away. You'd asked his father but he said he hadn't opened them and wouldn't.

You had told his father and stepmother the news, wanting to share it with someone and they had been so happy for you. They begged to tell him but understood that when you refused, it was something you wanted to share with him. So, you'd kept writing him letters with details about your pregnancy, provided pictures of your sonograms, and chatted about baby names. Hoping that one day he would open them and contact you on the number you provided.

But the call never came.

Your due date approached and arrived, and you gave birth to a beautiful and healthy baby boy. He was a mirror of Jimmy, a spit of his father in every way. He was beautiful. Jimmy's parents had been there to support you every step of the way, and you'd stayed with them for the first three months after you'd given birth. You had struggled desperately on your own and hadn't coped with the loneliness, so they had offered you to stay with them for as long as you needed. And honestly, they had loved it anyway.

Being a single mother over the coming months alone had been an adjustment period and a difficult one at that. You hadn't thought months and months ago when you'd found out you were pregnant, that you would have been doing it by yourself. You had always envisioned that when the time came, you would be doing it together. With Jimmy, your beloved, by your side. And yet here you were with a toddler, raising him by yourself.

You'd been angry in the beginning with Jimmy, wishing he hadn't been so stupid but it quickly had turned into anguish and sadness. Night after night as your baby slept beside you, you'd wonder how he was doing in prison. Wondering how he was managing, hoping he wasn't hurt or being hurt by others. You knew Jimmy was more than capable and could take care of himself, but that didn't mean that you didn't still worry for his safety and wellbeing.

You looked down at your son and wondered how different things would have been had Jimmy been by your side raising your son together. How sad you felt for the small things Jimmy had already missed. Your pregnancy and the bonding, the birth of his son and being by your side to support you inside of his parents, the first night home, the first feed, the first bath, etc... All the little things that bonded you to your baby and the precious memories those hold.

Throughout the months you had shown your baby boy pictures of his father and chatted to him about stories of Jimmy, even though you knew he didn't fully comprehend or understand what you were saying, you still felt it was important. You repeated 'da da' to the photos of Jimmy, trying to help your son associate his father with the photo, so he would know who he was. Eventually, he started babbling 'da da' at the photo on his own as the months went on. It made you smile bittersweetly that he seemed to recognise him in some ways at least.

A few weeks after your son had turned eleven months, you found out from Jimmy's father that he would be released from prison due to a secret deal he'd made with investigators for information about a serial killer's victims, in which the serial killer was in the prison with Jimmy. To say you were shocked was an understatement. Not only did you still not come to the acceptance that Jimmy would be gone for ten years, but you now had to accept and wrap your head around that he would be released a week from now. Just before your son turned 1 year old.

You had instantly burst into tears. Tears of confusion, relief, happiness, and worry. Jimmy had rejected you in more ways than one. He rejected you as his partner and took the option of choice away from you, as a way of trying to protect you but in doing so had hurt you more. He rejected the promise he had made to you, in which you would be together until you both died. He rejected your son, without even knowing him or the fact he was doing it because he refused to even give you the respect of speaking to you. And he rejected you and your feelings. He pushed you and your baby away.

You had asked his father to pick Jimmy up on the day of his release, for both obvious and selfish reasons, and asked that he prepare Jimmy for things to be different when he arrives home. But not to mention your son, you would do that. You had also asked his father to tell Jimmy that you were still at your home and wanted to talk when he arrived. He said he would get Jimmy to text you from his phone when they were close, so to give you enough time to prepare for his arrival.

You prepared some tea for yourself to calm down, fed your son and changed him, cleaned a little and waited anxiously for the text. You had stared furiously at your phone for that text. You'd distracted yourself by telling your adorable son that his father was coming home, hoping your baby would calm you down enough. You wondered if he would recognise him when he came through the door. And, how Jimmy would react when he sees the mini version of him.

Twenty minutes later, Jimmy and his father are outside your home, slowly making their way inside. You had chosen to stand in the hall, facing the door with your son in your arms, waiting patiently but anxiously for them to walk through the door. You had let them know to knock and then walk inside on their own accord.

The door opened slowly, so agonisingly slow and quietly, that you could hear and feel your heartbeat around you. Your breathing laboured in anxiety and stress. But the second you laid eyes on Jimmy, it felt like your world was complete. The man you love was standing in front of you in the open doorway once more with a look of utter shock on his face. He was looking at you and it felt like time stopped for a moment. You both stared wide-eyed at one another, not uttering a word.

That was until your son squealed in annoyance that no one was paying attention to him. He fussed to be put down, putting up a fight against you, so you put him down to do as he pleased. What you didn't expect though, was for your son to crawl over to Jimmy babbling 'dadada' over and over, until he was at Jimmy's feet. He squealed in happiness as he raised his arms and did grabby hands towards Jimmy, indicating he wanted to be picked up.

Jimmy looked at you as if asking for permission. You nodded and watched as Jimmy picked him up. Your son squealed whilst continuing to babble about 'dadada' as he grabbed Jimmy's face. You finally decide to speak, to break the awkward silence from everyone. "Jimmy, meet your son Tyler. Tyler sweetie, meet your daddy." You sweetly cooed the end to your son, introducing the two. Jimmy looked at your son in awe as he gently ran a finger down his cute chubby cheek.

"Baby? How? I have so many questions." Jimmy questions in both shock and awe, smiling when Tyler babbles nonsense at him and happily waves his arms about. You smiled at the scene in front of you and nodded, "I showed him pictures of you and said 'da da' at it. To help him recognise you. Granted I didn't know you would be released so soon and didn't expect him to pick it up so soon. But I'm glad he seems to recognise you. Shall we sit so I can explain?"

You invite them both in, watching with amusement and melting inside as Jimmy carefully watches his every step, looking downward as he moves into the living room with you. James stepped back, "I'll leave you pair to talk, I'll come by later sweetheart." You nodded appreciatively and hugged him before joining Jimmy.

You sit down with Jimmy on the couch, sitting Tyler on your lap as you face Jimmy. It was dinner time, so you pulled out your breast to feed Tyler. "Oh shit! I'll look away..." Jimmy coughed and turned away quickly as you situated Tyler comfortably to eat. You giggled to yourself, "C'mon Jim. It's nothing you haven't seen before. Besides, technically we didn't break up, so..." You cleared your throat uncomfortably, and Jimmy turned to look at you with a confused expression.

You decided to just get on with explaining, to make things more clearer for him. "I was already pregnant before you got arrested but I only found out a week before. I had missed my period and decided to just take a test to be sure and found out. I was going to tell you but then everything turned into chaos and you shut me out. I wrote you letters, so many letters Jim, explaining that we were expecting and for you to please call me or let me visit, but you never replied..." You took a deep breath, looking away for a moment.

"But I never stopped writing them. I put important stuff in there FIY, if you want to be caught up properly." You looked down and stroked your son's cheek as you spoke the next part, it hurt too much to say whilst looking at Jimmy. "I wanted to be there for you, you know? To support you through it and introduce you to our child but you refused to even speak to me. Like, what the fuck Jim? A letter?! I had no choice but to tell you about my pregnancy through letters because you gave me no other choice but you wouldn't even give me the decency of trying to break up with me in person?" You tried to stay calm to not disturb Tyler but you were hurt and raised your voice slightly.

You lifted your head to look at Jimmy when you heard him groan, "Shit, I'm so fucking sorry y/n. I fucked everything so badly with you and our child." Jimmy placed his head in his hands, "Wait, you said 'trying to break up'?" He lifted his head in question with tears in his eyes, pulling at your heartstrings. You nodded, "I did." He looked at you with such lost confusion that you rolled your eyes, "What? You thought I was going to let you break up with me from prison through a letter? Absolutely not."

"So... We are still technically together then?" He questions with a hopeful look, his eyes wide. You smile, "technically yes, but we aren't just going to go back to normal. If you still want this, us, then you'll have to make it up to me for your stupidity." Jimmy nods happily with a smile before looking down at your son. "I'll make it up to you, both of you. I promise."

Jimmy already looked besotted with Tyler, "he's a spit of you, isn't he?" You question with a smile. Jimmy nods, "a proper mini-me." He whispers as he places his finger between Tyler's, and grins proudly when Tyler grips them back. You smile down at the pair, feeling overwhelmed and happy.

Twenty minutes later, Tyler is fed and down for a nap in your arms happily. Jimmy is sitting beside you on the couch reading each of the letters you sent him from the beginng, saying he didn't want to waste any time and be caught up with everything he missed so he could adjust to being home and a father. You nodded and just simply watched, answering any questions he had or commenting on certain parts for further clarity. All while you had your head on his shoulder.

After much inner turmoil and encouragement from you, Jimmy placed his arm around your shoulder and hugged you and your son whilst reading. Eventually, his parents came by to see you all, to which you were all overcome with emotions and cried together whilst laughing at how ridiculous you all looked. Jimmy refused to move from either of your or Tyler's sides the whole time. And for the first time in almost a year, you finally felt content and not alone.

[stoned-frog]

Structure of the undertale multiverse -reimagined

The whole multiverse consists of two "planes of existence" let's call it, one are all the AUs and the other are the places in between or places that can't be called AUs (omega timeline, doodle sphere ect)

For the sake of convenience (and the fact I don't have a better name) I'll just call the first one "AU space" or just "AUs" and the other "the multiverse"

What I imagine are multiversal locations that provide necessities for travelers that aren't from any AU or places where people from different AUs can meet. Pharmacies, a mall, park, libraries, cafes. The omega timeline has most things found in these multiversal locations but it's not as big as it would be needed and is specifically a place for refugees to have a place in the multiverse. Also not everyone is let in the OT

And that brings me to my next point. Some of these locations or shops swore to be indifferent to multiversal conflict, as long as no one is harmed. So if someone like Error randomly showed up to one of these and had some gold he could just buy some chocolate and leave. As long as he's not a threat (at the moment) he's treated as a regular customer.

In my silly "dadmare" type au he's actually a regular in a pharmacy like that to get meds for the gang and himself. He has scheduled meetings with the shop owners to pick up whatever it was he needed, pay and leave.

And if you're wondering how he even has money, answer me, how are vampires rich?

These shops aren't popular for obvious reasons but many travellers decide to shop there too because there's less people and high security, whereas in the multiversal mall things can get very chaotic.

Also I'm not sure about that part yet but I think there aren't many places like that, like there's just one mall, 2 pharmacies, some smaller shops and a couple independent cafes. There isn't really a need for more, everyone can just teleport there via OT-like doors (maybe not doors in particular but some type of fast travel that takes you there) so distance is never a problem.

Teleportation, another thing I developed while thinking about my multiverse concept. Only few people can teleport between AUs or places in the multiverse and these categorise into two types of teleportation, just a type of magic one possesses like Ink with his teleportation through liquids or the apple twins with their emotion driven powers to guide them to an AU.

The second one is the learned way. It requires learning to open an AU's "menu" which is like reading into its code. In the AU's code there are coordinates, each with a unique set that basically takes you to that AU. Using a magical artefact or a tool specifically tweaked for teleportation every person with access to coordinates can freely teleport. It's quite a hassle so not many want to learn it and acquire the tools and skills necessary, also it's not like you can just buy an artefact-

Now that we have teleportation covered, we can come back to multiversal locations. These have coordinates too but they are way more complicated and sometimes contain cyphers needed to be translated or symbols that aren't in AU coordinates, which can be convenient because it provides extra security. A good example is the doodle sphere, AU hub, the easiest place to travel to AU space, the closest thing Ink has to home. The only person that knows how to translate doodle sphere's cypher is Ink, he shared the translation with trusted friends and teammates but only he really knows how to do it.

I won't get into the topic of "hackers" or others that can cheat the code but Error is one of them, he basically breaks through the code like a wrecking ball

As a finishing touch, that actually should be somewhere higher in this because it's quite important and a fun concept (that actually my friend introduced me to but now I think our ideas might differ so it's ok right?)

AU library, another thing floating in the multiverse, just as protected as doodle sphere, it's a temple of sorts. A library filled with books for every AU that has ever existed, an infinite stretch of stairs and bookshelves that is very easy to get lost in if you don't know what you're doing. It's widely known as a place you just don't even try to go to, if not out of respect as it's treated as a temple, then out of fear of getting lost. The funny part is, it's not even protected by anyone in particular, at least not anymore, it's not like someone even goes there....... right?

Yea my Nightmare hid there before finding his beloved abandoned castle. But that's for another time because GOD THIS IS ALREADY SO LONG and I don't wanna bring any character headcanons, at least not major ones, I only use certain characters to present my concept better, like with the shops.

@openeta @st4rsh1v3rrrs @solful-sideblog here ya go pookies

[mxlfoydraco]

I swear I liked a drarry reclist from you for this, but now I can't find it :x do you have any recs for drarry fics where Draco has muggle friends or embraces a more muggle lifestyle? Bonus points if Draco is gay in them because it pulls me out of the story if he has a single straight man thought....(I mean really....the audacity)

First of all, same. Second, I have a list, Draco in the Muggle World, I'm adding on:

Draco in the Muggle World Pt.2

The Liars Department by DorthyAnn (103k)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

Modern Love by @tackytigerfic (61k)

Harry Potter, of all people, knows that life isn’t always fair. And no one gets to be happy all of the time. But surely there’s something more—something better—than a rubbish Ministry job, and a lonely old house, and that feeling that everyone out there is doing a better job of living than Harry is. And it really doesn’t seem fair that Draco Malfoy is back in Harry’s life, all of a sudden, and even though he’s wandless, and living with Muggles, and making his mother cry with his lifestyle choices, he’s happy. So what’s he doing right, that Harry isn’t? Because things don’t really change, do they? And if Harry can’t be happy, he’ll settle for a good night’s sleep, some posh antiques, and the opportunity to find out what Malfoy has been up to for all these years. And that’s what starts it all.

Knead by @jovialobservationanchor (83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy’s lean arms.

The Man Who Lived by @e-sebastian (253k)

Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.

Set in New York twelve years after the war.

find a new place to be from by @oflights (47k)

Something is wrong with Malfoy Manor, and it’s driven Draco into the Muggle world. Thankfully, Harry is now on the case. A story about houses that haunt you and homes built for two.

you bring me home by @softlystarstruck (35k)

Harry is happy. He has his cat cafe and his hobbies. He has his friends, and Dolly Parton, and a shirt with a cowboy frog on it. It’s all a man needs, really. He doesn’t need to obsess over a magic-less, anxious Draco Malfoy coming into his cafe after disappearing from the wizarding world years ago. He doesn’t. Not even if the cats like Malfoy. Not even if Malfoy is soft, and funny, and a little bit neurotic. No matter how much he wants to obsess.

Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (17k)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn’t leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

Make Yourself by @anyaelizabethfic (103k)

Harry just wants to be safe within the freshly painted walls of Grimmauld Place, with his friends around him. But when he hears Draco Malfoy has been spotted at the local soup kitchen, he can’t help but encourage a different type of stray to come under his roof.

Star Quality by who_la_hoop (118k)

Two years after the war, and Harry’s content with his life. OK, so it’s a little annoying that he keeps winning Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor award, and he’s really not looking forward to the unveiling of an enormous gold statue of himself, but he loves his friends, and he loves being an Auror. And if he yearns for something more, something he can barely bring himself to think about, well, he’ll probably get over it. No one’s happy all the time, are they? But then everything changes, and Harry’s thrown into a new and dazzling world he’s not sure he can actually escape from. And as time goes on, he starts to wonder: does he actually want to?

Rebel, Rebel by @makeitp1nk (28k)

Thirty-six year old Harry Potter is the coolest bloke in muggle Camden Town. That’s right — he’s left the wizarding world behind and has been living his best life ever since. But will one chance encounter with a certain blond from his past change everything? Yeah, probably.

(Un)wanted by @aibidil (36k)

Ginny's pregnant, then she's not and Harry's single. Harry, again with no family, doesn't know what to do with this turn of events, or how to find a new life—post-war, post-Ginny, post-abortion—in which he belongs. He doesn't expect that life to include dancing to the Backstreet Boys with Hermione and Draco Malfoy. A story of finding belonging in the unexpected.

The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy by @magpiefngrl (37k)

Zacharias Smith writes a tell-all about the D.A. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are not happy about it.

Had To Be You by @lettersbyelise (59k)

Draco Malfoy is possibly the last person Harry expects to find at the wheel of a Muggle car, on a beautiful summer day on the road to London. This is the story of how Harry runs into Draco once, twice, three times, and how he doesn’t leave their next meeting to chance. A fic inspired by When Harry Met Sally

Chasing Shadows by @manixzen (93k)

The murder of Lucius Malfoy seems impossible—no cause of death, no traces of spell-work, no potions in his system. The only leads Harry and his partner have are the trail of missing wizards the deeper they go. That and the help of the victim’s estranged son who now spends his time bartending at a queer-friendly Muggle pub. A case fic featuring a closeted Harry Potter, an out-and-proud, tattooed Draco Malfoy, and a murder mystery that seems to lead to more questions than answers.

coffee & communication: a (slow) romance by @softlystarstruck (10k)

Nearly a decade after the war, Draco has made a life for himself in Muggle London, writing romance novels and hanging out with his cat. But when he spills iced coffee all over a gorgeous man who turns out to be Harry Potter, has he tumbled into the start of his own romance without realizing it? And how difficult can it be to talk about desire, anyways? He writes smut for a living. Surely it can't be that difficult.

Meddling, Menswear, and Magic by @writcraft (18k)

Draco Malfoy is working in a job he hates and avoiding the magical world entirely, but he really is fine. When a bequest from Severus Snape brings Draco back to a much-changed magical world, he must find his place within it and navigate his growing attraction to Harry Potter in the process.

Way Down We Go by @xiaq (109k)

The war was over. Or at least that’s what the papers said. They’d been saying it, for months, as if people needed reminding. Maybe they did.

In which Harry and Draco both run away from their pasts and conveniently choose to hide in the same tiny American town. It’s super.

100 Beats per Minute by @oknowkiss (13k)

When Draco left the Magical World behind at nineteen, he didn't expect the cusp of thirty would find him comfortable and secure, with a stable life and a successful career as a sex columnist. Stable, that is, until he meets the subject of his newest column -- a stranger calling himself James, who has dragged them both to Ibiza on a sex quest of epic proportions -- and everything Draco ever knew turns upside down all over again.

Prats, Parcels, and Parseltongue by @ronbinary (10k)

Harry is the Muggle world's first snake-only veterinarian. Life is good, and calm, for once. Until Draco Malfoy shows up with a snake. And then another. And then he won't stop coming in.

Full by @orange-peony (16k)

The door opens and the bell goes ding. Draco’s eyes immediately fly to the entrance of his bookshop, his heart beating madly in the hope that it’s him.

The Year of Non-Magical Thinking by @whiskyandwildflowers (13k)

"I don't know what I'm going to do, Potter. I'll think of something. So will you. But this is my journey to self-actualization," Draco managed to smirk. "You can fuck off and get your own."

In the Shape of Things to Come by @academicdisasterfic (15k)

Existential angst and chronic boredom are plaguing Harry Potter in his cushy post-war life. However, a chance encounter with a tattooed, pierced, disgruntled Draco Malfoy in the middle of Muggle Camden seems to spark something in Harry again—and he never could stay away from Malfoy. Ft. assorted methods of body modification, eclectic but loving friends, a wide variety of grunge music, long tube rides, and a whole lot of trans love.

When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way To Burn) by @femmequixotic (22k)

A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.

Enjoy the Silence by @shealwaysreads (3k)

Draco stops speaking, gets some tattoos, and discovers that Harry’s happy to be quiet with him.

There's No Espresso in Azkaban by @sassy-cissa (7k)

When Harry finds Draco working in a Starbucks, he finds coffee has suddenly become more interesting.

Let Rainwater Wash Away by @carpemermaidtales (6k)

Harry really needed to learn the importance of carrying an umbrella. Or, maybe he didn’t, since not carrying one led him to stumble upon Draco Malfoy’s antique shop while seeking shelter from a thunderstorm.

Google drive link for all Gallaplacidia fics by @geesenoises

Exposure by GallaPlacidia (26k)

When Seamus uncovers Draco Malfoy’s camboy profile, he, Harry and Ron decide to anonymously book a private show so as to humiliate him later. Fascinated by Draco’s confidence, Harry keeps booking private shows under the disguise…

Can I Tell You Something by GallaPlacidia (33k)

It's not a party unless Draco Malfoy is there. He's so fun! So wild! So crazy! So many drugs! So many drugs. Too many drugs? Harry's starting to think it's probably a lot too many drugs. This is not a drug addiction recovery fic, although there is a drug addiction recovery. Feat. character development through wide-eyed MDMA trips and Draco Malfoy finding peace as a burlesque dancer.