#but i wanted her to have the choice thing

[pacofprunes]

SQUID GAME CHARACTERS KINKS HEADCANONS

CONTAINS — namgyu x reader, thanos x reader, daeho x reader, semi x reader, myungi x reader

WARNINGS — (fem reader) 18+ content minors dni

masterlist

NAMGYU / PLAYER 124 — dacryphilia, hand over your mouth

dacryphilia — loves the sight of your tears from how well he’s pleasing you. he definitely teases you and will make fun of you for it, but he loves it, don’t worry. after the first time he makes you cry, he decides that anytime you two have sex, he has to make you cry. sometimes he’s a little rougher to obtain this. weather that be by pinching your nipples or biting your neck a little too hard, it doesn’t matter, he has to see those pretty tears.

the sight of his hand over your mouth also just gets him going. it makes him feel like he’s got some sort of power over you and he’s living for it. you just look so pretty as your tears slide over his palm, he can’t help himself.

THANOS / PLAYER 230 / CHOI SU-BONG — chemsex

not really an actual term, but hes a druggie and what’s better than doing drugs while having sex with you? and i don’t just mean popping a quick pill in his mouth, nah. doing lines of coke all over you. snorting that shit off your neck, off your tits, off your ass, everywhere. loves blowing the smoke from his fruity vape right onto your clit and if he’s got a condom on, he’ll lay down on his side and have you snort a line of coke right off of his dick. it’s certainly not safe, but if he’s super high out of his mind, he’s just gonna let you snort the coke off of his dick raw. no condom. loves the feeling of your nose rubbing lightly against his dick and the feeling of the air from your nose. got him cumming without really even touching him that much.

for sure takes a hit of his vape before going into kiss you and then blowing it all into your mouth.

“you’re thanos’s girl, yeah? hah, got two of my favorite things together. drugs and your pretty pretty pussy.”

KANG DAEHO — sitophilia, cockwarming

sitophilia — not into all foods, more specifically, whip cream. god, licking it off your perky nipples and licking it off right above your clit and then dragging his tongue down all the way through your folds? he’s already cumming. which on another note, he loves eating you out. might accidentally overstimulate you if he gets super into it.

he also lovessss cockwarming. just pushing into you, bottoming out completely and being cuddled up close to you, your bodies warmth being shared between each other makes his cock twitch. he loves feeling your warm walls melt and tighten around him every so often. everytime you move to get comfortable, you run the risk of him cumming after only a few seconds. the whole situation gets him painfully hard. there’s times where he can fall asleep with you like that. there’s even been times where you’ll straddle his lap, keeping his dick warm while you two sit in a chair at your dinner table and you’re sitting on his lap and you feed each other. everytime you two laugh at a joke or the goofiness of the situation, it’s causes him to thrust up in you or you to bounce on him, immediately causing him to grip onto your waist and press his forehead to your chest as he takes choked up shaky breaths trying to compose himself. sometimes he can last a long time just staying still, content with letting you just cockwarm him. and other times? he’s a begging mess and just can’t hold on any longer.

“baby, i don’t think i can stay still much longer. let me move, please?”

SE-MI / PLAYER 380 — manhandling, orgasm denial, overstimulation, voyeurism

she likes knowing that your pleasure is in her hands. if you want to cum, it’s not your choice, it’s hers. loves pulling her tongue away from your clit right when she can tell you’re about to squirt all over her face. loves seeing you beg for her to let you cum, and eventually she’ll give in. if she’s feeling a little mean, after she finally lets you cum, she’ll keep her tongue attached to your pussy. she’ll keep on sucking it over and over and she won’t stop until you’re crying out.

“what? i thought you said you wanted to cum, baby.”

voyeurism— sometimes when she pulls away when you were oh so close to cumming, she has you make yourself finish. she watches you finger yourself and rub circles into your clit while listening to your sweet moans. she loves it when you can’t do it yourself and you have to beg her to help you.

she also loves manhandling you. doesn’t have to be extreme either. just holding you down by your hips or her putting you into any position she desires gets her going. she just loves knowing she has all the power and the control over you.

MYUNGI / PLAYER 333 / MG COIN ★ — rough sex, vanilla

i don’t think he’s into anything too crazy. i think he’s going to have very calm more organized and kept together thrusts while he has a nice grip on your hips, but then there’s other times where he’s in a shitty mood or just feeling different and his thrusts are a lot sloppier and a lot harder. his grip on your hips is tighter, almost digging his fingers into you. i also think hes into quickies as well. maybe not so much into them, but he does have quickies quite often with you. sometimes he has fun with it, sometimes it’s just because he has to get his dick wet. i think he’s generally a more tame guy, but that doesn’t make the sex with him bad at all. he knows what he’s doing, and he’s the best at it.

[navybrat817]

Cooking Together

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky asks you to cook a meal with him.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, longing, pining, canon divergent neighbor AU, flirting of sorts, mention of HYDRA, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for @stellar-solar-flare’s Starry Winter Sky Event! I went with cooking together and Neighbor AU as a small expansion of this nonsense. February has had some lingering January energy, and I hope you enjoy what I was able to write! ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If you asked Bucky if he thought he was a good cook, he’d say he was decent. He retained some of what his mom taught him many years ago and he carefully followed recipes once he was completely free of HYDRA. It was admittedly a bit of a rough go at first. Being able to choose what he could eat was a foreign concept after he didn't have the choice for so long. It got better each day. Every single meal he got to reclaim a piece of himself by making the choice of what he did and didn’t want.

Until today, he always cooked alone.

“Thanks for inviting me over,�� you smiled, graciously accepting the apron he handed you.

Bucky had moved into the building a few months ago and you lived across the hall. As far as neighbors went, you were the best. Since day one, you always greeted him with a smile and a kind word. You never played your music too loud or disturbed anyone. Alpine adored you, which told him everything he needed to know since she was the best judge of character. And you never once objected to looking out for her when he had to leave for a mission.

Out of paranoia, he left harmless little “traps” to see if you'd snoop through anything the very first time you went over. Nothing that would hurt you or draw your attention, of course, but something that would let him know if anyone tampered with anything. You didn't. You were a genuinely good and respectful person, and that made him trust you more.

“Thanks for accepting the invitation. And allow me,” he offered, stepping behind you to help you tie it. His fingers lingered on the fabric and he took the moment to inhale your sweet scent before he stepped away. He didn't want to be a creep. “And it’s the least I could do since you offered to watch Alpine. Again.”

“I love watching her. She’s wonderful.”

The photos you sent were something he always looked forward to when he was away. Some of the captions you added made him laugh and smile. His favorite was a selfie you took with Alpine’s cheek against yours. He saved it as “my girls”, which you weren’t aware of.

Because you technically weren’t his girl.

“Well, she adores you,” Bucky smiled. He adored you, too. It stunned him when he found out you were single, and he was selfishly thankful for that. 

“I’ll have to get her another toy,” you said, your lips curling in a small smile. “If that’s okay with you.”

He laughed, a warm and easy sound. “Between the two of us, she’s spoiled rotten and she wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He never expected to be a cat dad, but life surprised him. In fact, it also surprised him that Alpine wasn’t camping out nearby or brushing against one of your legs. She was a smart cat and likely somehow sensed that he wanted alone time with you.

“Well, she deserves it,” you winked before things went quiet.

One of the nice things about hanging out with you was that he didn't mind any bouts of silence. They didn’t feel awkward or tense. In those quiet moments and stolen glances he felt like he had the best conversations with you. He was happy and felt safe being in the same space as you.

“You know,” Bucky began as he set the ingredients on the counter. He lucked out by having a decent sized kitchen since he took up a lot of space. “If I was a better neighbor, I would've just cooked a meal for you while you relaxed.”

It felt romantic for the two of you to cook together, but you weren't together and now he felt like an idiot. A gentleman would've made you a meal and pampered you. Or take you out for a nice meal. He hadn’t dressed up, opting for his jeans and a trademark Henley while you wore a sundress that had his mind racing with both sweet and filthy images. He didn't have flowers for you either.

His “game”, as Sam would say, was rusty.

“You're a great neighbor, Bucky. The best neighbor I’ve had,” you defended. He tried to be a good neighbor and person. A minor way to make up for some of his forced wrongdoings. “And cooking something together is fun! We could even try something at my place next week if you'd like.”

Bucky almost knocked the salt over, his eyes wide. “Really?” You were inviting him over to do this again?

“Yeah, really,” you replied, taking a moment to scan the simple recipe in the cookbook. You always had the cutest expression when you concentrated on something, and he didn’t want to choose something too difficult for the first meal. “We can take turns picking things out to try and trade off cooking at your place and mine. You can even bring Alpine over if you want.”

He suddenly had the image of you in his arms, dancing around the kitchen as you both waited for a meal in the oven to cook. Soft music, low lighting, his hands on your hips, and a tender smile on your face. Stealing a gentle kiss and keeping his eyes open only for a moment so he could see for himself that it wasn't a dream.

“Yeah,” he breathed, pulling his hair back in a ponytail and washing his hands to distract himself from his thoughts. “I’d really like that.”

“Great,” you exhaled. His heart beat faster when he caught you staring. He liked to pretend the look in your eyes was longing. “Sorry. You just…” you cleared your throat and gestured to his head. “You have really nice hair.”

The compliment had his heart racing even faster. “I have nice hair?” he asked. Your fingers would feel amazing in his hair.

You ducked your head for a moment before you met his gaze with a soft smile. “Yeah, you do.”

“Thanks,” he smiled back, his shoulder brushing yours when he stood beside you. Electricity lightly cracked between you. Did you feel it, too? “Um, I peeled the carrots before you got here. Would you like to cut them?”

“Oh, I think you’re better with a knife than I am,” you giggled.

He puffed his chest out and twirled the knife he selected in his hand without thinking about it. Part of him was showing off because, well, he wanted you to stare again. “How about I help you?”

“Help me? How?” you asked.

“Here.” He placed the knife in your hand and stood behind you once he had the carrots on the cutting board. “I’m going to preface this by saying I’m far from an expert, but I usually cut them into decent sized pieces before I dice them.”

“I trust your judgement,” you said, glancing over your shoulder. Your faces were close enough that he could kiss you if he leaned in a fraction. But he didn’t. He wouldn’t take what you didn’t offer.

Carefully placing his hands over yours once you faced forward, he felt that electricity crackle again as he helped guide you. He angled his hips so he didn’t press against you, but still stayed close. “See? You’re a natural,” he whispered against your ear when you made the first cut through the vegetable.

He heard the hitch in your breath and how your blood rushed faster in your veins. He felt your skin warm under his touch as you cut the next piece. He also caught the slight tremble that went through your frame when his grip tightened, but he didn’t sense any fear. He hadn't detected any sort of fear or disgust since he came into your life.

But what he sensed in this very moment was excitement.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you whispered back. The way you spoke his name was breathy, beautiful, and he longed to hear that again. “You’re a great teacher.”

“I’m not,” he said, thankful your back was to him so you wouldn’t see the pink that tinted his cheeks. “But I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you are,” you stated, tempting him to turn your head toward him to kiss you. If he did that and you stabbed him, he wouldn’t blame you or hold it against you. “And Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“I really am glad you invited me over,” you said.

He stopped himself from putting his face in the crook of your neck. “I am, too,” he said, smiling to himself as he helped you finish up. “And now that you’ve mastered the carrots, we can chop the onions.”

“Onions? Oh, no,” you groaned playfully.

As the sound of both of you laughing a second later filled the room, Bucky was glad he went with his gut and asked for you two to cook together.

And maybe before the night was over, he’d ask you out on a date and prove to himself that his game wasn't completely hopeless.

I wonder just how he'll ask you out! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[kashverse]

OMG imagine Babykuna tries to mimic her dad's tattoos with a marker when it's dress like your favorite hero day at school, or something like that lol or her just pulling a prank of dadkuna

when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. when life gives the sukuna household a permanent marker, you make an emergency dermatologist appointment.

it was six in the morning. sukuna, still groggy from sleep, barely cracked open an eye when he felt something small and warm crawl onto the bed beside him.

“papa.”

he grunted.

“papa. wake up.”

he grunted harder. but then, he opened his eyes, and nearly died on the spot.

because staring back at him, grinning like she just made a breakthrough in modern art, was babykuna.

with thick, uneven, horrifically wobbly black lines drawn all over her tiny face, mimicking his own tattoos.

oh. oh, no.

sukuna bolted upright so fast the bed creaked. "the hell did you do to your face?!" babykuna beamed with pride. “i wanted to look like you!”

sukuna’s soul left his body. because this was no washable marker. oh, no. this was the big leagues. the forever ink. he snatched the marker from beside her.

"where did you even—" he stared at it. PERMANENT MARKER was boldly printed on the side. he nearly threw it out the damn window.

"who gave you this?!"

babykuna, sensing danger, pointed at mr. pickles. the maine coon, sitting innocently at the foot of the bed, blinked. sukuna nearly combusted.

but before he could launch into a fatherly lecture about why tattooing your face with an office supply is a very bad idea, you groaned and rolled over, finally waking up. "why the are you yelling this early—"

then, you saw.

there was silence. long, painful silence. then—

you wheezed.

"OH MY GOD—" you threw your head back in laughter. "she looks like a criminal sketch!"

babykuna giggled, delighted. sukuna scowled.

"it's not funny!"

"she looks like a bootleg version of you, this is the funniest thing i've ever seen."

"SHE LOOKS LIKE A TAX FRAUD SUSPECT."

but the real horror came twenty minutes later when you realized that even after three rounds of scrubbing, coconut oil, baby wipes, and the sacrifice of one of sukuna’s expensive skincare products, the marker wasn’t coming off.

so now, an hour later, here you were, in a dermatologist’s office, with babykuna swinging her little legs from the examination chair, sukuna sitting next to her with his face buried in his hands, and the dermatologist trying very hard not to laugh as he examined your child’s very bold life choices.

"so." the doctor cleared his throat. "permanent marker, huh?"

you, exhausted: "yes."

sukuna, defeated: "yes."

babykuna, proudly: "YES!"

the doctor nodded solemnly. "have you tried… rubbing alcohol?"

"DO YOU THINK WE’RE IDIOTS?"

you kicked sukuna’s ankle. the doctor bit his lip, clearly enjoying this.

“well.” he examined babykuna’s bold new look. “good news is, it’ll fade. bad news is… it’ll take a while.”

sukuna groaned. babykuna, still swinging her legs, just grinned.

"do i look cool?"

you held back a snort. sukuna, however, did not. he turned to her, dead serious.

"no. you look like an off-brand action figure."

babykuna gasped. mr. pickles, sitting in his carrier by the chair, just blinked in amusement.

and thus began the longest two weeks of your life.

[liabugs]

how do you think the boys would be with an mc who's like deathly scared of sex, like she wants it but is so terribly frightened of it :( like she can cuddle and kiss them but she gets scared when things get sexual :(

I have so many asks in my inbox but this one caught my eye :3

This took kinda a dark turn in zayne's + Caleb's so tw for dubcon/noncon, not proof read

CW: fam!reader (she/her pronouns used) male masturbation, making out, pantie stealing (?) baby trapping, use if 'gege' (Caleb's) let me know if I missed any 🩷

Dividers by @/v6que and @/anitalenia!!

Xavier — ୨୧

Xavier would never force you into doing anything that you're not comfortable with. He wouldn't be pushy at all. When you're ready, he's ready. But that doesn't mean he doesn't get blue balls when you make out with him :(

Your lips moving perfectly against his, his tongue caressing yours... His hands on your hips.. But it's all gone when he starts to lose his resolve and grinds his hips against yours. You pull away, Xavier mentally cursing himself for getting ahead of himself and ruining the moment.

So when he leaves your place somewhere around 10:30 pm after finishing a movie, the moment he steps into his apartment he rushes to his room to relieve himself.

He thinks about how your cunt would feel wrapped around his length, so warm and tight. Pumping his cock in his fist, pre cum seeping from his slit. He can't help but cum moaning your name.

Rafayel — ୨୧

Rafayel can be needier than most, but he always puts your comfort before his. He loves you to the point where just having your presence around him is enough to satisfy him.

So the first time you get intimate with him is very cute! Playfulness and teasing all around. Rafayel takes a more wholesome approach to things, making sure to praise you the way you deserve.

Feather light kisses, giggling and other wholesome things to lighten up the mood. Because there's one thing Rafayel doesn't want you feeling when being intimate with him, that being scared.

Zayne — ୨୧

Zayne is totally fine with you not being comfortable being intimate with him. He's a busy guy, so chased kiesses and cute dates work fine. At least that's what you see on the outside.

On the inside, he is raging with sexual frustration. He does a good job of hiding it though, taking cold showers to get rid of his sexual tension. It gets to a point where cold showers aren't cutting it anymore.

And before he knows it, he's using the spare key to you apartment. He's going through your underwear drawer, he tries to rationalize his actions. But the way you cute black lace panties feel around his cock overpowers any sanity he has left.

And if you found out? Could you really blame him? You make it hard not to loose control of his usually composed demeanor.

Sylus — ୨୧

Sylus is nothing if not patent. The time will come when you will get over your fears, the time will come when you crave him in every way he craves you.

And when that time comes, you will share the same longing Sylus has felt for lifetimes. Sylus is nothing if not gentle. Slow, soft and sensual. His hands moving all over your body, his lips fitting perfectly with yours.

He loves the way you look at him, unsure, hesitant... He loves when your face contorts in pleasure, when you realize that there was nothing to be fearful of. He loves when you depend on him for pleasure, because he's the only one you can make you feel good.

He's the only one who can make you see stars when you give him your everything.

Caleb — ୨୧

Caleb knows your scared, it's okay, he only wants the best for you. And the best thing for you is to go dumb on his cock and take his seed. Let him knock you up, he knows it's scary. But when he fucks his baby into you, everything will be okay, you'll be safe.

He'll make sure of it, you trust him right? His pipsqueak trusts her gege to make the right choice for her? Ssh ssh it's okay I know baby, just take it... Just focus on how good it feels. As he pumps his hot load into you, tears streaming down your face.

He would kiss your tears away and tell you how good you were for him, he would apologize for hurting you... He was just doing what's in your best interest, you can forgive him right?

[gf2bellamy]

Hi!!

I’m back with another request because I loved the last one (thank you btw)

Essentially Reader and Spencer are in a secret relationship due to the fact they both work for the BAU. However, someone in the BAU (I don’t really mind who) notices that Spencer starts doing things for Reader that he didn’t do before (carrying around her favourite candies or helping her with her go bag). That person proceeds to try and get a confession out of the two of them/ confront them

hopefully that makes sense, and I apologize if it doesn’t.

Thanks!! 🫶🏻

-B

observation — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: nothing i think ? a/n: hii B !! thank you for your request <33 I had so much fun writing this i love penelope so much

“Thank you,” you said with a warm smile as you took the coffee from Spencer’s outstretched hand, fingers brushing briefly against his. He had remembered exactly how you liked it, down to the smallest detail, just as he always did. Your gaze flickered down to the other item in his grasp—a familiar, perfectly frosted donut from your favorite bakery. You accepted it with a grateful hum.

“You’re an angel,” you sighed contentedly, sinking your teeth into the soft pastry.

He didn’t say anything at first, just offered you that small, knowing smile, the one that made your chest feel a little lighter. His hazel eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary before he gave a slight nod and turned back toward his desk. 

Across the bullpen, Penelope Garcia perched on the edge of Derek Morgan’s desk, idly twirling a pen between her fingers.

She hadn’t been paying much attention at first—her mind had been occupied with whatever conversation she and Derek had been having—but something about the moment between you and Spencer made her pause. 

It wasn’t unusual for Spencer to do kind things for you; in fact, it had almost become routine. But there was something different this time. Something in the way he looked at you, the way your eyes met his in that brief exchange.

It was subtle—maybe too subtle for most people to notice—but Penelope was observant. And she knew a meaningful glance when she saw one. 

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head slightly, watching as Spencer settled back at his desk, his posture a little too relaxed, his focus not entirely on the file in front of him. Then she looked back at you—still happily munching on your donut, a barely-there smile lingering on your lips. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Penelope’s eyes widened slightly as realization dawned, but just as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she shook her head, pushing it aside. Maybe she was imagining things. Maybe she was reading too much into it. 

Still… she made a mental note to keep an eye on the two of you.

Just in case. 

For now, she turned back to Derek, who was watching her with an amused smirk. 

“Something on your mind, Baby Girl?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Penelope pursed her lips, stealing one last glance at you and Spencer before turning back to Derek with a dramatic sigh. 

“Oh, nothing,” she mused. “Just… observing.” 

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s never just ‘nothing’ with you.” 

Penelope only smirked in response, filing her suspicions away for later. 

The next time Penelope’s curiosity was piqued was when the entire BAU team was making their way to the jet. It wasn’t often that she had to join them on cases, but when her technical expertise was needed in the field, she had no choice but to trade her cozy tech lair for the fast-paced world of profiling. 

As she strolled alongside Derek, chattering about the latest tech upgrades she wanted for her office, something caught her attention. 

Spencer. 

More specifically, Spencer carrying your go-bag. 

Her eyebrows lifted as she watched him adjust the strap over his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. You walked beside him, laughing softly at something he had said. He was smiling, too—not the awkward, barely-there smile ,but the warm, comfortable kind. 

Huh. 

Penelope’s eyes narrowed slightly behind her glasses. Her eyes were locked on the two of you as you boarded the jet.

And that’s when she nearly lost it. 

Because, oh. Oh. 

You sat down next to Spencer—nothing unusual about that—but the way you did it made her jaw nearly hit the floor. 

Legs touching. No space. At all. 

Not even the usual “oh, it’s a tight fit” kind of situation—there was plenty of room on the jet. But you? You had chosen to sit so close that if one of you so much as moved an inch, you'd basically be in each other’s laps. 

Penelope turned her head slowly, as if to make sure she wasn’t the only one seeing this. But the rest of the team didn’t seem to think anything of it. Emily was already flipping through the case file, Rossi was drinking his coffee, and Hotch, well—Hotch probably knew but was choosing not to acknowledge it. 

She turned back just in time to see Spencer shift slightly, angling his body toward you as he mumbled something. You responded with a soft chuckle, nudging his arm playfully. 

That was it. 

That was the moment Penelope Garcia officially entered investigation mode. 

“Oh, this is interesting,” she murmured to herself, a slow grin spreading across her face. 

Derek, who had been about to sit down, paused mid-motion. “What’s interesting?” 

Penelope shook her head, plastering on her most innocent expression. “Oh, nothing at all, my delicious chocolate thunder,” she cooed, reaching over to pat his cheek. 

Derek rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I know that look, sweetheart. Spill.” 

But Penelope just hummed, settling into her seat with a knowing smirk. 

Oh, she was going to figure this out. 

And when she did? 

Oh, you and Spencer were never going to hear the end of it. 

The next time something happened was a couple days later.

Penelope had seen a lot of things in her time at the BAU—gruesome crime scenes, mind-bending mysteries, and things that made her want to bleach her brain—but this? 

This was something else entirely. 

She had suspicions, of course. She wasn’t the team’s resident gossip queen for nothing. She noticed the little things—the way Spencer always seemed to hover a little too close to you and the way you looked at him like he personally hung the stars.

But this? This was undeniable. 

Garcia had just stepped out of her office, stretching after a long day of staring at computer screens, when she spotted you and Spencer waiting by the elevator. At first, she didn’t think much of it—just two coworkers leaving at the same time. Normal. Totally fine. 

And then she saw it. 

Spencer’s hand. 

On your lower back. 

The casual intimacy of it made her stop in her tracks.

And just when she thought she couldn’t possibly be more stunned—he leaned in and kissed your temple. 

Kissed. Your. Temple. 

Before she could even react, the elevator doors slid open, and you both stepped inside, completely oblivious to the fact that Penelope Garcia had just witnessed the biggest secret of the year. 

She stood frozen in the hallway, her mouth slightly open, her mind racing. 

No. No, no, no. She had to be hallucinating. Maybe she had spent too much time staring at screens and was now seeing things. Maybe someone had slipped something into her coffee. 

But no. This was real. 

Her hands flew to her mouth, suppressing the squeal threatening to burst out of her. 

“Oh. My. God,” she whispered to herself, eyes wide with a mix of shock and happiness. 

The entire night, Penelope tossed and turned in bed, her mind racing with one singular thought—How did you and Spencer hide this for so long? 

She prided herself on knowing everything about her team. Not just their work habits, but their favorite coffee orders, their comfort movies, even the ridiculous little quirks that made them who they were.

But somehow, somehow, she had completely missed the fact that Spencer Reid had been in a secret relationship with you—for who knows how long. 

It was unacceptable. 

So, instead of getting a good night’s sleep, she lay awake, replaying every interaction, every inside joke, every moment she had brushed off as just “friendship.”

And now? Now it all made sense. 

By the time morning came, she had given up entirely on rest and got to work earlier than anyone—which, for her, was unheard of. 

Hotch had to do a double-take when he walked into the bullpen, his brows lifting slightly at the sight of Garcia standing there, arms crossed, foot tapping impatiently against the floor. 

He debated asking. 

Then decided, Nope. Not his business. 

With a subtle shake of his head, he continued toward his office. 

Garcia, meanwhile, was waiting like a hunter tracking its prey. She was ready. The moment you and Spencer stepped foot into the bullpen, looking far too relaxed for people harboring a massive secret, she pounced. 

“Finally!” she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the quiet morning air. 

Both you and Spencer froze mid-step, your expressions instantly shifting into matching looks of confusion. 

“Uh… good morning to you too, Pen?” you said hesitantly, giving her a small smile. 

You walked toward your desk—right across from Spencer’s—placing your bag down and shrugging off your jacket. But before you could settle in, Penelope cut in with a pointed, “You two. We need to have a talk.” 

Spencer blinked. “About what?” 

She scoffed, throwing her arms up. “Oh, don’t play dumb with me, Doctor Reid.” She turned to you. “And you! I expect this kind of top-secret, under-the-radar stealth mode from him, but you? I thought we were closer than that!” 

You blinked, completely lost. “Penelope, we have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Penelope scoffed again, crossing her arms as she glared at the two of you. “I’m so mad at you,” she huffed. 

“Why?” Spencer asked immediately, concern lacing his voice. His brows furrowed as he glanced between you and Garcia.

Penelope’s glare deepened. “Why? Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you two have been sneaking around behind my back for—who knows how long?! And I had to find out on my own?” 

You felt heat creep up your neck. “We weren’t sneaking—” 

“Oh, please,” she cut you off, waving her hand. “I saw him kiss your temple last night at the elevator! I’ve seen the way you two look at each other, all googly-eyed and disgustingly adorable—and yet, nobody told me? Your best friend?” 

You and Spencer exchanged a look, and even without speaking, you knew you were both thinking the same thing. 

Busted. 

You sighed, rubbing your arm. “Okay, yeah… we’re together.” 

Penelope gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. “I knew it!” 

Spencer cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with all the attention. “But—Garcia, please don’t tell anyone,” he said quickly, adjusting his bag strap. 

Garcia’s mouth fell open in offense. “Excuse me?” 

“Please,” you added, stepping forward with a pleading look. “We just… we wanted to keep it private for now. It’s not that we didn’t want to tell you, we just—we weren’t ready for everyone to know yet.” 

Penelope stared at you both for a long moment, lips pursed, clearly debating whether to accept this explanation or not. 

Then, finally, with a dramatic sigh, she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I won’t tell anyone.” 

Spencer let out a relieved breath, and you smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” 

“But,” she added sharply, pointing a finger between the two of you, “I expect to be the first one to know when you are ready to go public. I want details, I want stories, I want all the romantic fluff I was robbed of for—how long?” 

You bit your lip. “…Almost a year.” 

Her jaw dropped. “A Year?!” 

You winced. “Uh… surprise?” 

Garcia groaned, throwing her head back. “I cannot believe I missed an entire year of cuteness. This is a disaster.” 

Spencer shifted awkwardly. “Well, statistically speaking, keeping a secret this long in a workplace environment is actually quite rare—” 

“Oh, don’t you dare start throwing statistics at me, Doctor Love,” Garcia interrupted, narrowing her eyes. Then, her face softened as she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh, you two are so lucky I love you.” 

You grinned. “We really are.” 

Garcia huffed but smiled anyway. “Now go, before I change my mind and announce it to everyone.” 

You and Spencer didn’t need to be told twice. With one last grateful look at her, you turned to head toward your desks, your shoulders brushing as you walked. 

Garcia watched you go, shaking her head with an affectionate smile.

[gold-onthe-inside]

a pearl

who? spencer reid (post-prison) x fem!reader based on: a pearl by mitski (and also pearl diver also by mitski) written for: @mggslover's event lyrics: “You’re growing tired of me. You love me so hard and I still can’t sleep/Sorry, I can’t take your touch. It’s not that I don’t want you.” word count: 0.9k content warnings: mentions cat adams, reference to addiction/drugs & sobriety

He stared at the flickering flame in the living room, knowing he’s left your sleeping frame upstairs, and rubbed the sobriety chip between his thumb and forefinger, and he remembers the moment he had fallen in love with your smile, a warm saccharine thing that had brightened your whole face when he tried to pull a coin from behind your ear, but it hadn’t worked, only for you to find it in your pockets. He hasn’t made you smile like that in a while. Not in 3 months, 20 days, and 14 hours. Not since Cat Adams had made it her mission to ruin his life, and yours along with him. This year had just been the tip of a long-building iceberg of issues that you kept having to put up with because of him.

And sure, things were okay now. His mom was in a good home in DC, always a call and a drive away. They had gotten his murder conviction overturned. He was supposed to be safe. Then why did he feel this uneasy all the time?

He’s so lost in himself, the firelight reflecting in his soft and worried hazel eyes, that he doesn’t hear you coming down the stairs, doesn’t see the cute donut pyjamas that usually make his heart melt, and physically flinches when you touch his shoulder, the chip in his hand falling to the floor. “Sorry,” you said instantly, “I didn’t mean to… You just weren’t in bed, I wanted to make sure you were—”

“I’m fine,” he said, a little too sharply, and usually, you’re better at controlling your expressions, but it’s 2 in the morning and you’re tired, so the concern is visible on your sleepy face.

“Honey, you don’t seem fine,” you said softly, approaching him like he was a skittish horse.

He let out a breath, bending down to pick up the sobriety token, while you wait and watch him straighten. “Can we not do this right now?” he asked, sounding tired, and he can see your concern deepen, adding another wrinkle to your brow, the corners of your lips turning down. He can see the battle that rages inside you every day, every time he acts like this — do you confront him? Do you put your foot down like you had all those years ago when he was coming to work while in withdrawal? What would it take for you to finally retaliate?

“Okay,” you said, in your gentle but firm way, looking at him evenly. “Two choices. We sit here and talk, or you come back upstairs with me and get some sleep. Either way, I’m not going back up without you.” Your arms come up to cross against your chest in what you think is a firm, decisive position to take, but Spencer’s sorely tempted to smile at you, and then his heart sinks all over again. It must have come up on his face because your arms start to fall and you walked over to pull him to sit next to you on the couch. “Sweetheart, will you please just tell me what’s going on with you?” you asked, and you think your heart might crawl out of your throat when Spencer pulled his hands away from yours.

“It’s nothing,” he said, and you can see his body closing off, all your work to bring him out of his shell, to coax him into the sunlight, vanishing like smoke. “Everything’s, you know, it’s fine. The team’s fine, my mom’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Which means it’s only a matter of time before things aren’t fine again,” you said, tilting your head to meet his eyes. “Right?” You’d be a liar if you said you hadn’t felt it too — the panic in the middle of the night when he’s not there, the reminder you have to give yourself that he’s not in prison anymore, that he’s safe.

“I’m so tired,” he told you, his eyes falling to your hands, where you were gripping each other for fear of reaching out to him again. He was tired of waiting to get the phone call saying his mom was gone. Tired of the nightmares. Tired of feeling afraid in a house that was supposed to be his refuge.

“Sweetheart, you can’t rest when your body still thinks it’s on the run,” you told him gently.

“Then how do I get it to stop?” he asked you, a hint of desperation rising into his throat, causing his words come out more broken and shaky than he meant for them to, and it just made his chest ache more.

You leaned closer, pressing your forehead against his and cupping his cheek, feeling the light stubble on his jaw. "Stay here," you whispered. "In this moment. You and me. Nothing else."

“In this moment,” he echoed, his voice soft and quiet, barely more than a whisper. “You and me, and nothing else.” A hint of a smile spread across his lips, and you pressed a butterfly kiss to the corner before laying your head on his shoulder while he slid his arms around your waist. You don’t move, just eventually shift so you can both lay on the couch, the fire dying out into embers as he finally fell asleep to the rise and fall of your chest.

[kerosene-in-a-blender]

I'm thinking again about how Bells Hells repeatedly insisted they had "no choice" but to release Predathos in the finale, when they very much did have a choice even as they felt it was the best of a series of bad options. They might not have liked the choice, but they did choose to go into the Hallowed Cage instead of doing something else. And the thing is, this refusal of their own agency is something they've done the whole time. One of their most aggravating traits as an adventuring party has been repeatedly asking everyone they come across (gods, world leaders, Predathos itself) what they want as a way to avoid choosing what to do for themselves, to the point that the Raven Queen eventually calls them out on it.

And the fact that the larger political and theological implications of the finale were carried out largely without Bells Hells only further highlights their lack of acknowledged agency. It was in conversations between Vax and Morrighan and Deanna with their respective deities that the implications of the gods becoming mortal where dealt with and the question of whether saving them was worth it was answered (yes they were worth saving, because everyone is). The logistics of what to do with the Ruidians who want to live on Exandria and the establishment of diplomatic relations with the moon were settled by Vox Machina and the Mighty Nein, with Bells Hells taking pretty much no part. Bells Hells lack of involvement in either of these series of conversations makes it feel like these events occurred outside of them despite being spurred entirely by their actions and choices.

But what really makes this stick out to me, is that I've written about characters who actively defer their own agency to external forces before in regards to Moc Weepe and Jonas Spahr of Midst. But where I think both of their arcs work and Bells Hells falls flat is the narrative of Midst acknowledges their deferral of agency and directly grapples with it. Learning to acknowledge that he is making choices and those choice have consequences that he needs to take responsibility for is a key component of Spahr's character arc, which climaxes with him finally making a decisive choice for himself. Weepe in contrast continues to deny his own agency even in the face of the woman he loves begging him to take some accountability (on her deathbed no less!) and this ultimately leads him to his ruin. Whereas with Bells Hells everything worked out just fine in the end despite all their waffling and refusal of responsibility without any consequences that would make them take a good long look at what they did, or bite them for choices they refuse to acknowledge that they made.

[kiragecko]

I decided to do this for the Batfamily. (Preboot version, because I disagree with DC's modern decisions.)

If the Batfam were queer, how would they talk about it?

Dick - awkward and tentative. No clue when he picked up the terminology he's using, but it's probably pretty general/balanced¹. He's not going to be using microlabels, but may have done a reasonable amount of research on whatever term he's accepted. Possibly the most ashamed out of everyone? Look, people haven't been very gentle with him about his romantic, sexual, or personal choices. And he's internalized that. I could see him EVENTUALLY being comfortably open about his identity, but that would be a long journey.

Babs - only talks to romantic partners, if she can help it. Clinical. Probably also prickly. Maybe dismissive. More focused on how it will affect their relationship than on how it affects her, or on specific terms. But also the most likely to explain the split attraction model, or pull up a graph? Possibly she'd shift tactics based on what her partner was comfortable with. Probably it would be to tactics her partner was LESS comfortable with? Babs, make things easier for yourself!

Jason - What flavour of fanon are we using here? Or canon? Using slurs that the people he grew up used for themselves could be accurate. Reading up on all the latest terminology so he can support the street kids seems in character for some versions. (He sounds like he's reading from a brochure, but like he's a counsellor reading from a brochure for your benefit!) Not having thought about it at all because he's been 'somewhat' distracted for most of his life seems VERY likely! Jason contains multitudes.

Tim - avoiding this conversation at all costs. Refuses to use labels. Might describe his experience, awkwardly, if he needed to, but would get distressed if you tried to give it a name. He might be able to accept BEING some flavour of queer, but openly talking about it in ways people can use against him? That might affect social standing and job opportunities? That might disappoint authority figures? No. Most likely to use a fake identity to explore. Has almost certainly done all the research, KNOWS current terminology, and will use it for other people. Just don't suggest he applies it to himself.

Steph - Would probably get extremely attached to language when first accepting it. Maybe to the point of policing things a bit. Because she's defensive and has spent her whole life being policed and judged! MIGHT sound like she was reading out of a college brochure. Possibly DID read it out of a college brochure!

Cass - summarizes complex topics into a 2 or 3 word sentence, and if you aren't following along, that's on YOU. Might like listening to someone else explain their extremely nuanced identity. Might be impatient. It's a toss-up, depending on how obvious she thinks things are, how much you seem to be overcomplicating it, and how much she's picking up from HOW you're saying it. I hope she figures herself out before she learns TOO much terminology, because later Cass respected words a bit too highly, and I want her to be able to understand the fluidity of self without thinking it NEEDS boxes.

Damian - okay, preteen Damian doesn't WANT to know about any of this, thank you. Many preteens do! Damian does not. Damian wants to join in on every rape and hate crime investigation, and also thinks kissing is gross. Wrangling and protecting Damian is a challenge. Older Damian would probably use microlabels, if any applied. (And he felt safe saying anything.) Accuracy is always to be desired! Also, they fit his worldview of exceptionality and isolation.

Duke - I think he'd be pretty comfortable with general, broadly understood, terminology. But he might struggle if that stuff didn't fit. Feeling compelled to explain the nuances of self seems like something he'd find really uncomfortable? So I can see him casually talking about himself if it was easy to talk about, but struggling to be open otherwise. Also, he might get pretty stuck on not being SURE about his identity. How can he talk about it if he might be wrong?? (Tim and Dick might struggle in a similar way, but it would be less obvious because of their other issues.)

Bruce - Extremely likely to used old-fashioned or clinical language, especially if it lets him sound like he's reading out of a psychology text-book. Most likely to accept the language without internalizing the identity. (It might be accurate, but that doesn't mean he needs to ACT on it.) Also most likely to have accept-ED some term 25 years ago and then just never brought it up again or acknowledged it in any way.

Alfred - wouldn't talk about it at all. Relationships are private. If it was important to do so, would use euphemisms like 'close to', 'cared for', 'did a small amount of exploration', etc.

-

¹ I kind of think of modern queer identities coming in 3 broad categories:

general - uses language like 'queer', 'LGBT', 'nonbinary' - commonly understood umbrella terms. Prioritizes fluidity of identity and connection with community over precise description

balanced - prioritizes connection with people of similar experiences, uses broad subcategories like 'gay', and 'trans', or combines broad terms together to suggest more precision, like 'nonbinary lesbian'.

microlabels - breaks down identities into more precise subsets like 'greyace', 'fem-aligned androgyne', 'genderfae', etc. Precise understanding of self prioritized over other people's understanding or connection.

'Microlabels' as shorthand is often used to mock people, so I thought it helpful to explain where I'm coming from.

he would not fucking say that but it’s he would not fucking talk about his queer identity like he was reading out of a college campus lgbt center brochure

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (7)

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: grumpy Bucky, mistaken identity, kinda fake dating trope, violence, Walker hate, fluff, mentions of being cruel to animals (no description), idiots in love

How to cure a grump (6)

How to cure a grump masterlist

Walking next to Bucky, you try not to show your irritation. He insisted on driving to town to go figure skating with you. You don’t know why yet.

“That’s a nice little town,” he says while looking around the area. “So, this Walker guy was your fiancé?”

“Can you just not?” You huff. The first moment he gets you alone, Bucky must hit you where it still hurts. “I get it. You had to play nice guy all day, and now you want to do what. Tell me Walker could do better than me?”

“What?”

“I already know that, okay,” you sniff. “He knows it too. No wonder he left me for my former best friend. There’s no need to make me feel even worse. I lost my fiancé, my best friend, and my business not so long ago. Now I lost my job and had no other choice than to admit I didn’t make it in the big bad town.”

“Whoa, doll!” Bucky shows his palms and shakes his head. “I didn’t speak about the asshole to tell you he could do better. I wanted to tell you that you can do so much better. He’s a piece of shit, and his face is ugly.”

“I don’t want to talk about him anymore. He’s in the past.” You wipe your eyes with your gloved hand. “Whatever you want to do tonight, you’re free to do it. I can just tell my mom we got into a fight or something.”

“Hey,” Bucky huffs. “Your mom loves me. And who’s going to hate on Walker if I’m not around?” Bucky grins because he made you laugh. “You know, according to rumors, a new guy in town spread, he’s got a tiny dick too.”

“Let me guess.” You furrow your brows. “It was a guy dressed in all black and with a cocky attitude. You know, the kind of man having it all. Minus manners.”

“Right when I thought we were getting along better,” Bucky laughs before he suddenly wraps one arm around your shoulders. “Play along.” He kisses your cheek and murmurs your ex-fiancé’s name.

“This must be fate,” John says while watching Bucky kiss your cheek. He squares his jaw as you instinctively lean into Bucky’s embrace. “How are the odds?”

“Not very high. Only if you are stalking your ex-fiancee and her new boyfriend,” Bucky laughs, but his voice sounds not amused at all. “If you’d excuse us now, we have better people to meet.”

“Do you think you’re better than me?” Walker accuses. He steps closer to you and Bucky, sizing your former boss up. “Your polished shoes and neatly styled hair don’t make you the better man, buddy.”

Bucky’s features darken before he says, “I’m not your buddy. You are the one not getting the hint. Y/N and I wanted to have a moment alone as a pair. But no. You had to come over and act as if you were not the man cheating on her with her best friend. You’re not even close to being a man.”

“Bucky, don’t,” you whisper. “He’s not worth it. Let’s just go and continue our conversation from earlier. I meant it.”

It’s no use. Bucky is unstoppable if someone pisses him off.

“Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?” He laughs in Walker’s face. “A little boy who threw away the best thing ever happening to him. A beautiful, smart, sweet, and damn sexy woman.”

“Only because she lets you fuck her doesn’t mean you’re better than me!” Walker won’t give in. Not when people stop skating to watch your way, nor when his girlfriend tries to stop him.

“That’s exactly what it means,” you finally found your voice. “He’s a better man in any way. He loves me better. He’s doing business better. He’s fucking me better. And his dick is out of this world.”

“You vicious bitch!” Walker steps toward you and Bucky, eyes trained on Bucky’s arm around your shoulders. He can’t take another scratch to his already bruised ego.

“Says the man with a tiny dick.” You wiggle your pinkie in front of Walker’s face. “I can’t believe I let you poke me with that thing.”

Walker huffs and puffs. He’s about to slap your face, but Bucky is quick to step in front of you. Your former boss takes the slap like a champ. He laughs before slamming his right fist into Walker’s face.

Your ex-fiancé stumbles backward. He staggers as he touches his bruised chin. “If you want to at least walk away with what’s left of your ego, leave and never dare to even look my girl’s way.” Bucky takes one step toward Walker.

“Bucky,” you whisper and tug at his arm. “Let’s just go. I think he got the message. Walker was never the smartest.”

“You’re lucky the lady doesn’t want me to beat you into a pulp,” Bucky growls before turning around to wrap his arm around your shoulders. He guides you away from Walker and into the next side street.

“What has gotten into you?” You mutter. “What if that idiot sues you, huh? Did you think about it before punching him for me?”

Bucky grins.

“What is so funny? You’ve got a fucking ton of money. If he hires a lawyer, he could ruin your reputation and—” You can’t end your speech. Bucky presses you against the brick wall behind you to kiss you again, almost desperate to taste you.

Your hands are in his hair, and his arms wrap around your waistline. He moans against you, close to losing himself in the kiss, as a loud meow stops you from doing something stupid.

“What was that?” You pant, your lips tingling from the kiss.

“I—I don’t know,” he says and steps away. Bucky runs his fingers through his strands, messing his neatly styled hair up. “I just…I…”

“I mean the noise, idiot,” you are quick to reply. There’s another meow, catching your attention.

“I heard that too,” Bucky licks his lips. Again, he doesn’t know what came over him. All the fighting over you with Walker turned him into a caveman.

“There!” You say as the meowing gets louder. "I think it's coming out of the dumpster!"

You try to open the dumpster, but Bucky is faster. He opens the dumpster and looks inside. “What the—” He curses as he fishes something out of it. “What kind of person throws a kitten into a dumpster?”

“Oh my…” You coo, seeing the tiny white kitten in Bucky’s hands. “Give the little one to me.”

“No.” Bucky opens his coat to press the kitten to his warm chest. “Who did this to you?” He looks at the tiny creature looking up at him and smiles. “You’re safe now. No one is ever going to hurt you again.”

Watching Bucky talk to the cat, you wonder again. How can he be the same man firing you not days ago?

Tags in reblog.

[wingedhallows]

— PRIDE AND SELF-SABOTAGING —

♡ CHAPTER ONE ♡ — ₊˚⊹♡ PAIRING ; 1.5k words vi!basketball jockey x reader!ballerina — ₊˚⊹♡ SYNOPSIS There was something there—something unspoken, something undeniable. But in one careless moment, it all fell apart. Words were said, pride got in the way, and now she’s left with nothing but regret. She wants to fix it. She has to. Now, Vi is determined to fix what she broke. She’ll do anything—everything—to prove she didn’t mean it. But pride is a stubborn thing, and second chances don’t come easy. Can she turn the tide before it’s too late? Or has she already lost what she never had the courage to claim?

♡ navigation ♡

¸.*☆*.¸ CHAPTER INDEX ¸.*☆*.¸

— ₊˚⊹♡ TAG, YOU'RE IT

let me know below or send me a message and i'll add you to the taglist! :)

It’s nearly eight by the time you finally trudge into your dorm, limbs aching and feet screaming in protest. Ballet practice had dragged on forever, each repetition chipping away at your already dwindling energy. You barely have the strength to drop your gym bag by the door, let alone deal with anything else. Your bed is still a tangled mess from this morning—an inviting sight, whispering promises of rest.

The door swings open behind you before you even have a chance to collapse.

“There you are! I have the dress you’ve been eyeing.”

Margot’s voice is as bright as ever, cutting through your exhaustion like a knife. You let out a long sigh, already cursing your past self for ever agreeing to that damn frat party. The idea of squeezing into some overpriced, barely-there dress and subjecting yourself to a room full of sweaty, drunken people sounds about as appealing as running another hour of drills. Your unmade bed is calling your name, and yet—

“Don’t give me that face. You promised.” Margot flops onto your bed with a smug grin, completely unbothered by the mess. She places the sleek black dress beside your gym bag, fingers smoothing over the fabric like it’s some kind of sacred offering.

“Shut it.” You mutter, grabbing the dress with wary fingers, holding it up as if it might bite. Your brows knit together. “Why is it so damn short?”

Margot gasps, placing a hand over her heart like you’ve mortally offended her. “My love, my light—just put the damn dress on.” Her voice drips with amusement, and for a brief moment, you consider using the dress to strangle her.

Instead, you exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Let me take a shower first, you gremlin.” With a sigh, you toss the dress back onto the bed and grab a fresh set of underwear.

Margot waves a dismissive hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll just watch Love Island in the meantime.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smirk that tugs at your lips. With that, you disappear into the bathroom, already savoring the thought of hot water washing away the exhaustion of the day.

Something tells you you’re going to need it—because whatever’s waiting for you at that party? It’s bound to be a disaster.

By the time you, Margot, and Flint arrive at the party, the night air has turned bitterly cold. The kind of cold that bites at your exposed skin and makes you question every life choice that led you here—especially the one where you let Margot convince you that a jacket was “so unnecessary.”

The house is alive with noise and movement. Music booms from inside, rattling the walls, and the wide-open door spills golden light onto the porch, where groups of people linger, red solo cups in hand, laughter and cigarette smoke curling into the night. You hesitate for a fraction of a second, seriously considering turning around and walking right back to the warmth of your dorm. But Margot’s grip on your wrist is vice-like, and you swear she’d dislocate your shoulder before letting you escape.

“I can already taste the cider,” Flint grins, brushing a strand of auburn hair from his face as he strides ahead, leading the three of you inside.

Margot wasn’t lying about the temperature—it’s suffocatingly hot. The air is thick with body heat, cheap cologne, and the unmistakable scent of spiked punch. The house itself is barebones, exactly what you’d expect from the basketball team’s party pad: a battered leather couch shoved against the back wall, a TV teetering precariously on an ancient stand, and an assortment of mismatched furniture that looks like it was either stolen or salvaged from the side of the road.

Margot wastes no time pulling you through the crowd, her greetings blending into the music as she waves at nearly everyone she passes. Flint does the same, flashing grins and tossing casual nods like he’s in his element. You, on the other hand, are starting to wonder just how much time these two spend with the basketball team.

Before you can even think about hunting down a drink—some liquid courage to make this night bearable—a muscular arm snakes around your shoulders. The scent of sharp cologne hits you before you even see her.

Abby.

“There’s my favorite ballerina,” she says, her voice rich with amusement as she presses a cold bottle of beer into your hand.

You offer a small smile, taking it without protest. You know how this goes—she’ll remember in about twenty minutes that you don’t actually like beer and take it back, but for now, it’s easier to just hold it.

“Come on, you gotta meet some people.” Abby doesn’t wait for a response before tugging you along, effortlessly sweeping Margot and Flint into her orbit as well.

She leads you toward the couch, where familiar faces come into view. Ellie—a close friend of Abby’s, someone you get along with well enough. Ekko—a mutual acquaintance, though the specifics blur in your mind. But then—

Your breath catches for just a second.

She’s there.

Perched on the couch like she owns the place, her signature confidence practically radiating from her posture. Legs spread wide, a silent declaration of presence, of dominance—like she has something to prove.

Violet.

Your throat tightens as Abby practically shoves you into an armchair, directly across from Vi. The room feels stifling now, thick with the scent of alcohol and weed, the air buzzing with laughter and conversation, but all of it fades into the background the moment Abby starts her introductions.

She gestures around with that smug grin of hers, name-dropping people you already know—Ellie, Dina—but then, with a teasing glint in her eye, she nods toward her.

“And that’s the star of the show, Violet, but don’t call her that.”

Your stomach clenches as your gaze flickers to Vi, and—oh.

She’s looking at you. Not just looking, devouring.

Lidded eyes, heavy from booze and whatever else is floating through this party, trace over you like she’s committing you to memory. And when her tongue flicks out to drag slowly across her lower lip, your breath stutters. Your pulse is a traitor, hammering wildly in your chest.

And Vi? Vi is trying so damn hard to play it cool.

Relax. Don’t be weird. Just—act normal.

She rakes a hand through her short pink hair, willing her heart to calm the fuck down, but—gods, you’re so fucking pretty.

“Nice to meet you,” Vi says, her voice low and smooth, the kind of rich, golden tone that makes something in your stomach twist.

Shit.

“Likewise.” Your own voice comes out softer than you’d like, barely above a breath. You internally curse yourself for sounding so meek.

A lazy grin pulls at Vi’s lips, and she looks away just long enough to take a slow sip from her cup—like she’s giving you a moment to catch your breath, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. And goddamn, does she.

"A pretty bird, mh?” Abby grins, her voice lilting with amusement, and your fingers tighten around the bottle in your hand. Suddenly, beer doesn’t seem so bad. You take a sip, hoping the alcohol will dull the way your heart is slamming against your ribs.

Vi lets out a low chuckle, slow and deliberate, and nods. “Pretty indeed.”

You swear you might combust on the spot.

“Interested?” Abby nudges Vi, her grin widening.

Vi scoffs, but her heart lurches violently in her chest. Fuck Abby. Fuck her teasing. And fuck the way you’re looking at her right now—like you’re actually waiting for her response, like the answer matters.

Her pride flares up. Her stupid, self-sabotaging brain jumps in before she can stop it. And before she can even think—

“Nope. Not my type.”

The words slip out, sharp and cold. The moment they leave her mouth, panic slams into her like a freight train.

What the fuck did she just say?

Your stomach drops. The sharp sting of humiliation settles deep in your chest, twisting tight like a blade.

She said it so easily. So carelessly. Like you weren’t sitting right there.

Vi swallows hard, but it’s too late to take it back. The damage is done.

And then she sees it—sees the way your eyes flicker away from hers, the way your fingers clench around the neck of the bottle like you’re grounding yourself against the sting.

Fuck.

She fucked up.

And judging by the way your expression hardens ever so slightly, the way you shut yourself off in an instant—Vi knows she might not get another chance to fix it.

The conversation grinds to a halt, the weight of Vi’s words settling over you like a lead blanket. Your stomach twists, heat creeping up your neck, burning with the kind of humiliation that makes your skin feel too tight. You force down another sip of beer, but it does nothing to drown out the sting, the way the rejection rings in your ears, sharp and merciless.

You flick your gaze to Margot—please. A silent, desperate plea to leave, to run, to just get the fuck out of here before the lump in your throat gives you away.

Fuck Abby. Fuck this party. And most of all—fuck Vi.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ TAGLIST *ੈ✩‧₊˚

( @foralltheprettygirls ; @sawaagyapong ; @jivimatcha ; @majuia ; @uhmidkmuch ; @savedforlaterr ; @baylegend6 ; @elle-girlylesbian @dazevi )

[d-z20]

For Your Own Good (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're on your third all-nighter in a row and your girlfriend is not having it. She tries to ask nicely but you are a stubborn so-and-so who's stressing about deadlines so she resorts to other methods

- OR -

Agatha helps you unwind in the best way she knows: by fucking you until you're too exhausted to move

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, top Agatha, bottom masc reader, 'good boy' used for reader, praise, established dynamic, fingering (R recv), oral (R recv), mattress grinding/humping, subtle sub/dom themes

Words: 2.9k

A/N: Finally written a fic with an explicitly masc reader getting called a good boy :D I had imagined a masc Agatha too but it can be interpreted in anyway requested fic

AO3 | Masterlist

The glow of the laptop screen casts sharp shadows across your cluttered desk, highlighting the deep furrow between your brows. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, the rhythmic tapping the only sound in the dimly lit apartment. Scattered notes, half-drunk cups of coffee, and a plate with an untouched sandwich bear witness to the relentless battle you're waging against your coursework. You barely blink, eyes scanning over dense paragraphs, lips pressing into a thin line of determination.

Agatha stands in the doorway, arms folded across her chest, weight shifted lazily to one side. Her jaw tenses as she watches you, concern etched into the hard lines of her face. She’s let this go on long enough—one all-nighter was bad enough, but three in a row? That’s a disaster waiting to happen. She exhales sharply through her nose before pushing off the frame and stepping forward, boots scuffing against the hardwood.

“Sweetheart,” her voice cuts through the thick silence, warm but edged with authority. “What the hell are you still doing up?”

You don’t so much as glance up. “Just finishing one last section,” you mutter, tapping a few more keys. “I’m almost done, I swear.”

Agatha rolls her eyes, knowing damn well you’ve said the same thing yesterday. With slow, deliberate steps, she comes up behind you, hands settling on your tense shoulders. You flinch at first, as if you’d forgotten she was even there, before sighing under the pressure of her firm grip.

“You said that last night,” she reminds you, kneading at the knots in your muscles. “And the night before that. Baby, you’re running on fumes.”

Your posture stiffens. “I can handle it.”

“Come on, darling,” she coaxes, dipping her head slightly, her voice warm but insistent. “You’re not going to learn anything if your brain’s fried.”

“I said I can handle it. I’m fine.” The words come out clipped, your fingers still moving over the keyboard with stubborn determination.

“That so?” Her thumbs press in deeper, a calculated move that has you biting back a groan. “Because it looks to me like you’re about to pass out face-first into that damn keyboard.”

Your jaw tightens, fingers still moving, unwilling to relent. Agatha lets out a slow breath through her nose, reeling in her patience. The soft approach isn’t cutting it.

She bends down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Come to bed,” she coaxes, voice dropping lower, smooth and persuasive. “You can use me as a pillow. I’ll even let you steal the covers.”

You swallow, hesitating just for a second before shaking your head. “Can’t. The deadline’s too close.”

A muscle in Agatha’s jaw ticks. Alright. You want to be difficult? She can handle that.

Straightening, she moves in front of you, planting her hands on the desk and leaning forward just enough that you have no choice but to meet her gaze. “I don’t like repeating myself.” Her voice drops an octave, that commanding edge slipping in. “You need sleep.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, tipping your head back. “What are you gonna do, carry me off to bed?”

“If I have to.” A slow smirk creeps onto her lips, and something dark flickers in her eyes, something that sends a sharp jolt through your already exhausted body.

Your scoff holds no real weight. “You wouldn’t.”

Agatha arches a brow. “Try me.”

Before you can form a retort, she swoops in, one arm hooking under your knees while the other slides around your back, lifting you clean off the chair in one swift motion. Your body is cradled effortlessly against her chest, your legs bent over the crook of her arm. A startled noise tears from your throat, hands instinctively gripping her shoulders.

“Agatha! Put me down—”

“Nope.” She adjusts her hold with practiced ease, shifting your weight so that one arm slides fully beneath your thighs while the other moves up to support the middle of your back, pressing you snug against her torso. Your head naturally rests near the curve of her shoulder, her grip firm and unyielding. “You had your chance to walk, gorgeous.”

Your pulse jumps as she carries you down the hall, her strength effortless, her scent wrapping around you—oud, cedar, and something undeniably Agatha. You squirm, trying to protest, but the tightening of her grip warns you that resistance is pointless. Then, just as you think about trying again, her lips graze your ear, her voice dipping into something low and honeyed.

“Be a good boy for me, sweetheart.”

A shiver runs down your spine, and whatever fight was left in you fizzles out instantly.

The bedroom door nudges open with a soft creak; she deposits you onto the bed, pressing you down with the weight of her body before you can even think about running.

“You think I’m gonna let you run yourself into the ground over some assignment?” Her hand slides up your chest, fingers tracing the sharp lines of your collarbone, down to where your heartbeat thrums wildly beneath her palm. “Nuhuh, darling. That’s not happening.”

You gulp, suddenly very aware of how effortlessly Agatha is pinning you down. “I—”

“Shh.” She leans in, her lips ghosting over yours. “I’m gonna have to tire you out myself since you clearly don’t know when to stop.”

The sharp hitch in your breath doesn’t go unnoticed. Agatha smirks against your skin, her knee pressing between your thighs, pinning you down with effortless strength. Her weight is solid, grounding, leaving you nowhere to escape—not that you would, even if you could. She knows it too, sees it in the way your fingers twitch against her shoulders, your body tensing, fighting a battle between resistance and surrender. She leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear as her voice drops, dark and knowing.

“Be a good boy for me,” she purrs, letting the heat of her words settle over your skin. “And let me take care of you.”

Agatha’s presence looms over you, her lips ghosting over your neck, a slow, tantalising trail of heat that sends shivers down your spine. Teeth graze your skin, the pressure sharp enough to make you gasp, but she only smiles against your throat, clearly enjoying the effect she has on you. 

A shudder rolls through you, sharp and betraying. You hate how easily she reads you, how easily she knows exactly what buttons to press and exactly how to unravel you, no matter how stubborn you try to be. Her hands slide down your sides with slow deliberation, fingertips teasing over the fabric of your shirt before slipping beneath, warm against your skin. Her touch is confident, making it clear that in this moment, you belong entirely to her.

You shift beneath her, but Agatha doesn’t budge. If anything, her grip tightens. “You have to fight me on everything, don’t you?” She muses, dragging her lips along your jaw, nipping at the delicate skin just below it.

The words hit you like a challenge, a dare that ignites something dark inside you. You try to squirm, to break free, but her grip tightens again, one hand now pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your torso with deliberate slowness. Every inch of you is her playground, and she knows it. 

She tilts her head, watching the way your breath stutters, the way your pupils dilate under the weight of her stare. Her fingers trace over your stomach, dipping lower, teasing—not giving you what you need just yet, just showing you she could if she wanted to. She takes her time, revelling in the way your resolve starts to crack, in the way your body slowly starts to melt into her.

“Always so damn stubborn,” she teases, dragging her lips lower to your collarbone. “But you’re mine tonight, aren’t you? Just putty in my hands.”

Your lips part, a protest forming, but before you can get a word out, she presses forward, stealing the breath from your lungs with a kiss that leaves no room for argument. It’s deep, slow, utterly consuming. Her teeth catch your bottom lip, tugging at it, before she soothes it with her tongue. You feel yourself sinking, your fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, desperate for something to hold onto as she takes you apart piece by piece.

She pulls back to lock eyes with you before whispering, “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

Her voice is thick with satisfaction, her hands mapping out every inch of you like she’s memorising the way you react. Her touch is firm and possessive, and the praise spills effortlessly from her lips between heated kisses.

“Such a pretty boy for me.” 

A slow drag of her nails down your stomach.

“So good for me when you finally stop fighting.” 

A kiss against your collarbone, followed by the sharp bite of her teeth.

“You’re driving me insane,” you mutter, your voice hoarse with frustration and need. 

You try to move your hips, but her grip only tightens, her body pressing against yours with unyielding strength. She can feel the tension in your muscles, your desperation, and she smirks, knowing she has you exactly where she wants you.

“Look at you,” she taunts, her voice a smooth drawl full of wicked amusement. “So desperate to finally unwind.”

Her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, a teasing brush of knuckles against sensitive skin. She doesn’t rush. She savours, lets the anticipation build, enjoys the way your breath stutters, the way your hips twitch ever so slightly as if trying to chase the contact you need her to give.

“Patience,” she chides, her lips ghosting over your jaw, the heat of her breath sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”

She slides her hand further down, fingers curling between your thighs, stroking slow, measured circles over your clit that make your entire body tense with aching need. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she chuckles, low and knowing.

“Yes,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “That’s it. Let me hear you.”

You can’t help but gasp; your body already thrumming with anticipation, but Agatha still isn’t in a hurry. She takes her time, working you over with practiced precision, each touch calculated to make you melt further beneath her. 

Her fingers trail lower, teasing at your entrance, her gaze fixed intently on every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. The moment your eyes flutter shut, a frustrated moan slipping past your lips, she finally pushes in, finding that perfect spot that has you unraveling beneath her, your sounds spilling freely for her to drink in.

Your hands claw at her shoulders, your nails biting into muscle as your breath stutters into something helpless, something raw. But she just smiles wickedly against your throat, dragging her teeth along your pulse before sucking a bruise into your skin, marking you as hers.

As she guides you closer to the edge, her lips find yours in a kiss that’s both soft and demanding, a tantalising mix of tenderness and raw hunger. She swallows your moan, her tongue sweeping into your mouth, claiming you completely, and you can feel the vibration of her growl against your lips.

The moment you think you can’t take it anymore, she pulls back to admire her handiwork. Your chest rises and falls in ragged breaths, skin flushed, pupils blown wide with desire. Agatha’s gaze darkens, drinking in the sight of you unravelled beneath her.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” she breathes, voice husky, laced with hunger.

Agatha toys with the hem of your shirt before slipping beneath the fabric. Her touch is slow, feeling every inch of newly exposed skin as she inches it upward. Her nails scratch lightly over your stomach, making you shudder. The grin tugging at her lips is unmistakable—she’s enjoying this, watching you squirm beneath her, utterly at her mercy.

“I want to see you,” she coaxes, voice thick with authority and something that makes your breath catch. When you don’t resist, she peels your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before making quick work of your pants. Every inch of bare skin is met with the heat of her gaze, the weight of her presence pressing heavier onto your body.

“So, so beautiful.” It’s almost like she’s talking to herself, fingers skimming over your thigh before tracing back up, ghosting over your ribs. You shiver, anticipation coiling tight in your stomach as her lips follow, leaving a searing path along your shoulder and down your chest, lingering over every spot that makes you gasp.

She takes her time, lips and teeth teasing, coaxing you further under her control before her mouth moves lower, settling between your thighs. With you now bare beneath her, she’s on you in a matter of seconds, her breath fanning against sensitive skin. Agatha’s grip tightens on your hips as she presses you down, pinning you beneath her as she drags her tongue over your clit, her pace torturously slow. As she does, you feel the subtle press of her own hips against the mattress, a slow grind of her own need that sends a wave of heat through you, intensifying the sensation of her every movement.

Your hands tangle in her hair, fingers tightening instinctively as a filthy moan rips from your throat. Your hips jerk, seeking more, but Agatha keeps you firmly in place, her grip on your thighs unyielding. She chuckles against your skin, the vibration sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you, making your breath stutter. As she continues to rock her hips against the bed, her own rhythm starting to match the teasing pace she’s setting on you, the heat between you both begins to build, a tension that fills the room.

Then, just as the tension coils impossibly tight inside you, her fingers join the fray—slipping into you with a slow, calculated precision that leaves you trembling. She moves in sync with her mouth, a dizzying rhythm that pulls you under, drowning you in sensation. The contrast has you whimpering, your body caught between the edge of bliss and the unbearable ache of wanting more. As she grinds herself deeper into the mattress, the added pressure of her movement pushes her closer to the edge, and you can feel it in the urgency of her touch.

“Fuck you taste so good,” she groans, the heat of her breath making you shudder. “I want to feel you cum on my tongue.”

Her words are both a command and a promise, and you can do nothing but obey. She doesn’t let up, doesn’t falter, working you with a patience that borders on cruel, unravelling you inch by inch. Every stroke, every flick of her tongue is purposeful, drawing you closer, coaxing you to the brink until the pressure inside you turns unbearable. Your body tightens, muscles clenching around her as your breath turns ragged, the pleasure cresting into something all-consuming. With every motion of her hips against the bed, she pulls herself closer to her own release, her movements becoming more urgent and intense.

And then she pushes you over.

Your orgasm slams into you, overwhelming and unrelenting, pleasure rippling through every nerve like a live wire. A choked cry tumbles from your lips as your back arches, your entire body shuddering beneath her hold. Agatha doesn’t stop—she rides out every wave with you, her hands firm on your hips, her tongue still teasing, still claiming, as she continues to grind into the mattress, using the friction to chase her own climax. The intensity of her rhythm keeps you spiralling, dragging out every second of pleasure until you’re boneless beneath her, pleasure spilling over in thick, breathless aftershocks.

She finally eases, her pace slowing, her touch turning soft as she presses one last, lingering kiss to your trembling skin. She doesn’t move right away; instead, staying close, her palm smoothing over your thigh in slow, lazy circles, grounding you in the aftermath.

“Tired now?” She teases, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw.

You try to mumble a retort, something snarky, but the words barely form before she hushes you with another kiss, softer this time, slower.

“That’s what I thought.”

She shifts, manoeuvring you effortlessly until you’re curled against her, her arm slung over your waist, keeping you close. You don’t fight it. Instead, you relax into her warmth, your fingers lazily gripping at her shirt, keeping her exactly where she is.

Agatha smooths a hand over your hair, thumb tracing lazy circles against your temple. “I better not catch you pulling another all-nighter,” she hums, voice low and firm.

Half asleep, you mumble. “I mean, if this is the punishment for it...”

Agatha chuckles, shaking her head. “Brat.” But she pulls you closer anyway, making sure you don’t slip away to start working again.

She lets out a quiet sigh, content, pressing a kiss to your forehead as her fingers card gently through your hair. “That’s better,” she surrates, her voice softer now, threaded with something fond. “You’re not allowed to work yourself sick, y’hear me?”

A sleepy hum is your only answer, your body pliant and spent against hers. A satisfied smirk tugs at her lips as she holds you tighter, her grip firm and possessive.

“There we go; that’s my good boy,” she whispers, a note of pride slipping into her voice.

You sigh, half-asleep but content, and Agatha lets her own eyes drift shut, knowing damn well she won’t be letting you pull another all-nighter anytime soon.

-----

taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 @sweetmidnights @6stolenangel9 @jujuu23 @juls-stark

[andromeda-collective]

i have multiple and im going to mention all of them but im starting with THIS FUCKER HERE (blade from honkai star rail) AND I HAVE A VERY STUPID REASON FOR IT

there was an minigame thing with a character named march 7th (dont ask) and there were little events you could encounter throughout it and one of them was that you had to choose between a red and blue pill (or the third option of giving a nonanswer) and since my choice didnt matter at all i went with the red pill because i know that the matrix is a transfem allegory and i also hc march as transfem but then another character made a little comment that blade would ALSO pick the red pill which completely makes sense for his character but since i was still on the transfem allegory mindset i had the thought of "wait does this make blade transfem??" so shes transfem to me now 👍

estrogen would NOT save her. not even REMOTELY. he's a suicidal immortal who physically cannot die because of a ritual his old friend-with-romantic-implications tried who he now wants dead more than anything else. hes basically possessed by evil plants that revive him every time he dies and he goes fucking feral. hes a mass murderer with a bounty of over 8 billion. nothing can save him. but transitioning might make her miserable life slightly more manageable? plus i mean.. throwing your old name away and being a new person? obviously a metaphor for being trans /j

boothill! this is slightly for shipping reasons (turning a het ship wlw for funzies) but mostly projecting my gender-nonconforming transness onto the only southern disabled character i know of. are we different kinds of southern? yes. are we different kinds of disabled? also yes. do i care? absolutely not. (also because butch southern women make the world go round)

also sampo because the idea that this fuck is a cisgender ANYTHING is laughable. this is a nonbinary transfem boymoding for shits and giggles who randomly switches to the girl voice when talking to someone JUST to fuck with them because nobody else would believe them and the person would think theyre losing it. typical masked fool stuff. gaslight gatekeep girlboss.

and then from genshin impact: zhongli. who has CANONICALLY used shapeshifting to become a woman. and has likely done so on more than one occasion. this guy is CANONICALLY GENDERFLUID WHETHER PEOPLE LIKE IT OR NOT. and you can obviously be genderfluid and transfem at the same time so why the hell not :D

most other characters i hc as transfem i dont have much of a reason for, but im gonna list them anyways cause hell yeah

argenti (hsr) - she can have a little estrogen as a treat

dr. ratio (hsr) - no reason i just think it could work

sunday (hsr) - something something religious-trauma-and-giving-into-what-you-once-believed-to-be-sinful

diluc (genshin) - fanfiction on ao3 changed my brain chemistry

kazuha (genshin) - also no reason i just think it fits

sebastian solace (a game on roblox called pressure) - im gonna be honest with you op, i just like putting this fucker in situations. and i would love to see the struggle of medically transitioning when you've been forcibly had your body and dna altered to the point of no longer being human. even ignoring for a few seconds the thought that maybe hrt wouldnt have the same effect (or any effect at all) due to the experiments, how could you will yourself to alter yourself medically in any way after the horrific trauma you've experienced? its between fucking with your already fucked up body or having the dysphoria kill you from the inside out. i am rotating her in my mind even harder now.

p.ai.nter (from same game) on the other hand? a lot simpler. make the ai with guns a girl. also just a funny idea: you know that "put eyelashes on it to make it obvious that its a girl" thing? yeah. painter doing that.

^ TELL ME SHE WOULDNT.

i would apologize for the essay but you did say i was legally required to share so this is your fault /lh

anyways i hope you enjoyed the women

If you see this post you’re legally required to tell me at least one trans woman headcanons you have for a canonically male character, I never get to see transfem headcanons like that, give me them, and for equality of my own please know estrogen could have saved Insector Haga and Dinosaur Ryuzaki I will not elaborate, also Yuya.

[gnohomotho]

HEAR ME OUT

This request that i have is so cheesy but sounds so good in my mind, forgive me 😭😫

Junho and reader doing like a private first impression thing like u know where the bride and groom are standing back to back and then they turn around. And like Junho is mesmerised has tears is his eyes

Like i literally only have the most cheesy and romantic ideas in my mind i CANNOT help it

Btw love your works 😜😚😚😚❤️❤️

I did my best, Anon, your message truly made my day. ♥ :D I hope I didn't overdo it, then again, cheese is my livelihood. Sorry for any oddities or spelling mistakes, I'm a bit in the trenches today. :c

It's a bit longer with some wedding dress backstory and getting ready, but I think the good part is there. :3 I hope you enjoy! ♥♥♥

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.

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The Moment I Saw You

Pairing: Jun-ho x almostwife!fem!reader Summary: And you thought the dress shopping would be hard. The first impression you wished to give your husband-to-be went differently than expected, and you are swimming in a sea of love and bliss. Warnings: Remember that one modded Skyrim playthrough where the player accidentally glitched the cheese-wheel summoning spell and drowned the whole town in cheese? Well, that's what's happening here, but worse. Fluff! Fluff! More fluff! Word count: 2.7k

Everything should have been perfect.

You were picking the dress, and it was taking long. You were standing in the bridal shop, unable to choose, tired, wanting to go home. The person looking back at you in the mirror didn’t look like a bride to you. Even though everything was in place, it felt…wrong. Fake, somehow. Ill-fitting. The shop assistant was very kind, you thought her patient – but even she could see you were not exactly the glowing bride-to-be she was used to. Nor anything like the shiny photographs littered across the front desk.  

Your close friend was there with you, trying her best, you could hear her rummaging through the dresses again, muttering – “puffy sleeves, prom dress, no, no, no, form fitting…” She had the fervour of a very hungry owl searching for that one mouse that got away. “Dumb…long…short…dear god do people actually wear this…oooh, shiny…no…hmmm…” She was already buckling under the weight of all the new ones she picked out for you.

“Hey, Y/N, are you sure you don’t like this one?” She held up a gorgeous gown, white as snow, silk, smooth, reflecting light with a soft plunge of a neckline, and a revealed back. The skirt fell in a mermaid style, you could look like a gorgeous datura flower at the bottom.

“No, no, I’m not sure…not…” You think of yourself in the dress and frown. Your husband to be…Your Jun-ho…should he see you like this? He should see the most beautiful version of you on such a day – and yet you felt more like he was going to run away the moment he laid eyes you.

“Please? How about this one?” Your friend holds up her second choice. The dress is half lace, intricately woven with flowers and soft curling patterns, with off-the-shoulder milky sleeves, a lovely bodice and a small ribbon on the back. The veil would hide more of you, you think. But still. You eye the skirt, its velvety material falling almost straight down. You know you’d be leaving nothing to the imagination and wonder, what if this is all a mistake? What if he made a gigantic mistake, from the very first moment he met you? The first date? The first touch? What if you’ve been unknowingly deceiving him, and now he’ll see you for what you are, what you look like, inside and out? You can’t hide in white.

Your friend walks up to you and gently takes your hand to help you off the platform. She guides you away from the mirrors. As she walks you to the changing room, she is slowly stroking your hand, noticing you are beginning to resemble a vibrating ball of nerves.

“Y/N, if you keep frowning like that, I’m pretty sure you’ll have to pay for extra retouching of all the new wrinkles.” She tried to joke but immediately noticed that it was neither the time nor place and changed her demeanour. You sit, feeling the small bench weigh down with you as she does too, and gently hold your stomach as you speak. You’re unsure which one of you will get the hint first, but you’re pushing it out into the back of your mind as far as you can.

“I just…” You try to speak but the words come out all wrong. “I don’t think he’ll…he’ll be so disappointed.” You sigh and trace both hands down your face to calm down and wipe the stress away, but it clings to every molecule of your skin. “Jun-ho isn’t the type to…” No, all wrong. “It’s not the dresses, it’s me.” Gosh darn it, the tears begin to form. “It’s just me.”

“Hey, hey…darling…” your friend begins stroking the back of your hand as she holds your palm. She is warm and reassuring, but you struggle to believe her.

“It’s ok. It’s ok to be nervous. But you’re beautiful, no matter the dress. To be honest,” she looks around with added drama, as if feigning trying not to be heard, “I don’t think any of the dresses could do you justice and you should just walk out there stark naked if you want them to see how gorgeous you are,” she laughs and squeezes your hand, you look up and let yourself rest with her reassuring, peaceful smile that reaches her lowered eyes now directly resting on you. Although you’re not hugging, you feel held.

Her eyes move to your hand resting on your stomach and you could swear you saw a glint sparkle in their corner and her lashes seem to fall far slower as she blinks, but says nothing. She is so very thoughtful, you think.

“Look, if I know anything about Jun-ho, which isn’t much” she continues, “that man is head over heels for you and the moment you said “yes” I don’t think he’s heard any other words of any language since.”

You let out a small chuckle through another tear. She continues, knowing she’s on a the right path, knuckle punching every guard on the proverbial way.

“I know you’ve walked past this shop year after year, before any of this, and I know you loved the dresses for their beauty, their, elegance, their promise. Y/N, you told me yourself, what was it…winter…”

“Winter dresses,” you chime in quietly. Barely a whisper. Breathing in, you try to remember those cold walks.

“I walked past, and I tried to look at the winter dresses when I knew the shop was closed. The ones with those gorgeous, long skirts, heavy velvety fabric where they met the skin, forming an A shape towards the waist.” You didn’t tell her that you liked both their protectiveness and the fact that if you decided to dramatically fall into a dark body of water, their puffiness and beauty would truly make the moment worth it. You continued after another less shaky but still reserved breath: “Hugged it and up there, the white enveloping the chest – perhaps with lace across the collarbones, but skin hidden, just a touch away…” you let yourself sink into the memory, far before you met Jun-ho, your husband to be. “With that veil that resembled a winter cape from a Russian fairytale.”

“There’s my little Vasilisa,” your friend laughed and stood up. “I’ll be right back, no eloping!”

You sat there, hand still resting on your belly, worried, excited, feeling as if you’re living someone else’s life. Thinking of what Jun-ho must be doing and feeling. Feeling worse and worse, as if you don’t deserve this life.

You quickly pull out your phone to check the time and melt. You have no idea how Jun-ho's timing is always so perfect, but only a minute or two ago, the words:

"Hey, sweet [diminutive version of Y/N], are you ok? Sorry, just wanted to check on you. I hope the dresses are treating you well! Tell [friend] to look after my wife!” light up your screen.

Another message lit up immediately after: “*wife-to-be, I just can’t stop saying it, sorry! I love you, Y/N.”

The smile that spreads from the corner of your mouth and butterflies that saunter from your stomach almost pushed all the anxiety off a cliff. But it still clung to the edge.

Your friend waltzed in and to your utter disbelief, she held up the perfect dress.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The click of your pearl-white heels was the only thing to be heard across the grass. You focused on their soft step and keeping your balance. Your heart was fluttering out of its chest, your stomach was doing its best to leave the building in excitement, in fear, in anticipation – the train of your dress followed you with a soft sliding murmur and the skirt gently touched each flower on the way. You were so glad he chose to do it this way, away from others. Flowers, a shield of wise oak trees. Bird chatter, a gentle breeze on your flushed cheeks, that’s all you truly needed. That, and him.

“I want to be the only one to see you, Y/N. The only one to witness the first sight of my wife.”

The sweetheart neckline clung to your collarbones, the off-the-shoulder fabric neatly stacked in on itself was cuddling your back and shoulders, light and nearly translucent. It rested on your skin as a light lover’s touch. The beautiful, laced veil, floating with you as well as behind you was hiding, yet still accentuating your shining hair with small white flowers nestled between locks. It fell periodically across your back and your shoulders, resting on your collarbones with each step. The heavy fabric of the dress which clung to your waist and fell once more felt cool and warm at the same time, giving you an air of ethereal slow motion. You looked like you belonged in a winter forest. A vision of indescribable, untouchable beauty. The wind gently played with your hair, as if longing to caress you as much as the man in front of you.

As you walked, the form of your husband-to-be materialised in front of you, facing the other way. Although there were many other features around, each quite beautiful, you had no eyes for them. Slowly, meticulously, as if not to scare him, you walked up the small hill towards him and lingered behind him. He hasn’t seen you, but he knows you’re there – his back is giving away the quickness of his breathing and his attempts to steady it down. Please breathe, my love…” Your thoughts leave their nerves at bay and soften into nothing but care and love for him. Finally, as lightly as a feather, you rest your back against his, feeling his breath quicken once more and his entire form tense and release, as if wishing to melt into you.

Jun-ho almost hesitates, but slowly, in what is trying to be a level manner, speaks.

“On the count of three, Y/N?”

You breathe out a tiny chuckle. Ever the pragmatic yet meticulous man.

“One…” you say almost in unison.

Your breath quickens, your heart is racing ten miles a minute, the dress seems to be tighter and tighter and the birds louder and louder yet so far away.

“Two…” he says alone and you whisper with him, mind turning to mushy cotton but enveloped in such a warm feeling of bliss.

Jun-ho takes in a last, heavy breath and as he lets it out…

“Three.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

You turn around in unison and both stand frozen in the moment.

Your eyes meet.

Jun-ho stands utterly transfixed, trying to take you in, all of you, in your entirety at once. But his eyes cannot contain you, so he keeps glitching, his hands that he wished to extend to you the moment you turned, are shivering and tense.

His soft gaze tries to dart and look at you from a different side, angle, but he cannot. You’re…you’re a vision that he cannot and will not disentangle from.

As his eyes are trying to take in every inch of you and warming his heart with every molecule he manages to snatch from the photons reflecting your form, his heart is firmly on its way out of his chest.

You hear nothing but your breath now, you’re looking up into his eyes, inches away from his face, which is frozen and beginning to tear at itself. As if a mask was cracking in nothing but a barrage of indescribable beauty and feeling.

Jun-ho slowly lifts a shivering hand to his mouth and rests it across his face, fingers almost up to his eyes, as if shielding both you and him from the raw, sheer affection that has swept him off his feet – and you, you are both the waves he’s drowning in and the only lifeboat on the sea.

“Y/N…” he barely chokes out in a whisper.

“Y/N…you…you look...” his hand is joined by his other, slowly laying each palm and finger against themselves under his lips. Jun-ho doesn’t know why he cannot control his expression, a wide smile is fighting to be seen, his eyes and heart are tearing at him in springs of bliss and absolute adoration as he wishes to scoop you up to him and melt into you, squeeze you so tight you won’t know where you stop and he begins.

But you are…untouchable as this vision before him. As he steadies himself, he tries to breathe, getting a breath caught in his throat. He finally looks away and you worry, worry your worst fears came true. Worry that the girl sitting in the bridal shop holding her stomach was correct.

But on second look, he is…oh gosh…” The mixture of worry and unexpected relief, bundled up in nothing but affection and deep care threaten to drive you to both laugh and tear up.

“Jun-ho…!” A hushed whisper from your tender lips brings him back to you, turning his head slowly back. He meets your gaze with reserved fear, one eye – look away – second eye – look away – both – remain with you. You see now, with warmth growing in your chest and flutters dancing across your skin, why he was shielding his mouth, then face, then needing to look away entirely. You take both his hands into yours, caressing each finger lovingly as you lower them down to your waist. You envelop his hands, still caressing each knuckle with the ball of your thumb.

“Jun-ho, my love…” you say slowly, levelly, in a low whisper. “My sweet love…it’s alright.”

Jun-ho cannot help it, the sides of his eyes are fully sparkling now. Your eyes are fully transfixed on his own and guide his gaze into you, and he smiles that wide smile you have grown to love so dearly. Jun-ho’s eyes are now fully glistening like still lakes under a full moon.

“I cannot believe you’re here. I---I---cannot believe…it’s…you…with me…My…My…”

Jun-ho cannot speak further but you feel the hands in your tender embrace reciprocate a grip far more secure and loving than you could ever wish for. As protective as it was reassuring. Jun-ho always held you as if you could slip away at any moment, but so tenderly that should you do so, you’d be protected and enveloped in loving warmth to the very end.

“Your wife. My darling. My husband.” Your face softened as you let the words slide across your lips and into the chasm between you, creating the gentlest of bridges.

“My---wife…” Jun-ho lets out an untangled breath of relief, the full smile finally taking over his face. Sparkles turning to tears fall at the same moment, as if a weight both descended from and knocked the air out of him in a single moment.

“You’re…you’re so beautiful. My love. My everything. You are…you are everything.” He’s still smiling as the small specks run down his cheeks. “I love you, Y/N. I love you. I’m so glad. So glad. So happy. I don’t know how to---can I…can I touch you?”

As the lightly shivering voice in contrast to his imposing, beautiful form reached your ears, you lightly caressed his cheek, and he leaned into your palm immediately.

“Of course, Jun-ho.”

Without a second to spare, he lovingly, gently, as lightly as he could in his given disposition, cupped your face and gave you the longest, most tender of kisses. Slowly his hands trailed to your waist, brushing, as if making sure you weren’t going to disappear or turn into a beautiful dream.

Finally, Jun-ho everso carefully took you in fully. Without warning but still tenderly, Jun-ho lifted you up to him, as if you and your dress were as light as the breeze playing with your hair. In one movement he twirled around with you, letting your dress get caught in the moment and carried by motion, his gorgeous wife, his Y/N, nought but his – giggling in his arms, a vision of angelic beauty in his embrace – and he caught himself laughing with you, in nothing but pure bliss. As he let you down just as gently, his touch lingered – he didn’t want to let you go for one second.

Squeezing his hand, you nudged your face closer to his, beckoning without words; he covered the remaining distance.

You felt his lips brush against your own – top, then bottom, then both – before resting on yours fully. Tenderly. Reservedly. Lovingly. You placed a soft kiss where they lingered and Jun-ho finally let himself melt into you fully, kissing you as if you harboured the last bastion of oxygen in the depths of the ocean, as if you were the only thing on this Earth that he wanted, needed, yearned and lived for.    

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

[i-am-countess-olivia]

This isn't some novel thought, but for me Fitzier begins in ep2, when Silna's father is brought onto Erebus

(a long-ish, GIF-heavy scene breakdown follows)

I won't cover the violations of Silna's beliefs, feelings and bodily autonomy which happen in these moments - they are of course terrible and very important. Instead, I want to focus on how the scene kicks off a new dynamic between Francis and James, how it lays a foundation for their subsequent closeness and how it changes our view of who James might be as a person.

Let’s begin.

Sir John and James arrive in the sick bay to join Stanley and Goodsir. Stanley says: "nope, not touching this one". Goodsir asks for leave to save the shaman's life. Franklin, already looking deeply disturbed by what's happening, hesitantly agrees.

Francis arrives. The operating table divides him from Franklin, Stanley and James — he is literally not on their side. All three men glare up at him as one: How is this maudlin MF going to make this horrible situation worse for us?

But while the three of them just stand there, Francis puts himself in charge. With a bit of help from McDonald, he takes hold of a distraught Silna and tries to explain what is happening, who they are, that they're not trying to do harm. It is in this moment that James becomes the only one on the opposite side of the table to step forward (to help Francis control the situation or at least to do something). He looks compelled to action but cannot act.

Okay... so here we see that maybe this guy isn't just Franklin's poodle (we saw a bit of that earlier in the episode - more on that later).

Meanwhile Franklin, as soon as Francis takes control, BUGGERS OFF. Of course this can be justified by him already having given his orders and no longer needing to be involved, but we know that a) he sneaks off when the situation is clearly fraught and Francis is clearly better suited to handle it, knowing Inuktitut among other things and b) he actually ends up hiding out in his cabin, freaking out while listening to the howls of the dying man. This is too strange, too awful for him. Not to mention: oh god, I'm stuck in the ice, I've just lost a lieutenant, I keep losing men, what are they going to think of me?

While Sir John is off having a lil meltdown.... James' eyes are firmly on Francis.

We don't even see him acknowledge his captain's departure.

But why is James there? The obvious answer is: to report back to Sir John, to make sure things don't get weird and that Francis doesn't do anything stupid on THEIR ship. After all, let's remember the last scene before this one where James is focused on Francis:

Here he was describing Francis as if he's got him pegged: he's a disappointed man, Sir John, he was no one's first choice etc etc.

I know what he is. Do you now, James?

(interesting framing the above scene, btw - James standing, active, Sir John focused on his creature comfort, the pipe, and questioning himself. James speaking in firm tones to his commander: "I will not allow..." — James is literally being reframed as a leader.)

Anyway, back to where we were.

While Goodsir sets about trying to remove the shot, we get a little glimpse of James: he looks frozen, uneasy, swaying in to stare at the wound (Oh Tobias, the actor that you are). Can we say flashbacks to the Chinese sniper? This must be seriously triggering for him. Something is shifting.

(Another aside: James is standing next to Stanley, the man who dug out the shot when he was hit by the sniper. That same man is now refusing to help. Hm.)

Next, Goodsir says: I can't save this man. Here something important happens: James and Francis share a look.

This is Francis, for the first time, acknowledging not just James still being in the bay at all — but that the two of them are in this moment together! Francis' eyes saying to James: I'm about to tell this woman her father is going to die and James acknowledging in return how awful that is. He presses his mouth, drops his eyes.

The little flash of connection doesn't last. When Silna starts to plead with her dying father, James once again reaches out across the table to Francis: what is she saying? But it's maybe too pushy, too "I need to be told what's going on" so Francis ignores him and it's McDonald who answers.

Next, Silna launches herself at her dying father. Here, once again, James tries to take an active role, to "help" by following Francis' cues on what to do.

James has been watching, learning, asking questions and now looks desperate to be part of the solution to this awful situation: to be in this with Francis. Look how similar their gestures are, how James looks to Francis for direction.

---

STOP - DOOM HAMMER TIME

The VERY first scene in which Francis and James become partners, take action together to keep something from happening, they effectively set in motion one of the biggest causes of their doom: Silna's father doesn't die as he should, Tuunbaq is not bound to anyone. Oh man. That's a whole other essay.

---

(Back to the scene....)

While they're wrestling with Silna, James, clearly emotional and upset by what is taking place, reaches out again, perhaps this time more sincerely: Look at me, Francis, I'm trying to help, at least tell me what's happening? This time Francis acknowledges him — actually SPEAKS to him for the first time.

In response, James looks particularly vulnerable and distraught.

Silna's father dies. We see how different James' reaction is to Francis'. Poor James. Maybe he wants a little bit more from Francis in that moment, one more shared look. Francis doesn't give it to him.

Aaaaaand here we are, it's almost over. Franklin swans in, the really bad, bloody stuff having already been dealt with. He re-asserts his command by giving an order to James to escort Silna off the ship. James… doesn't exactly spring into action. In fact, he doesn't even acknowledge the order verbally, unlike Stanley. What's going on in his head? What does he think about Francis in that moment?

Anyway, let's wrap up.

So much of this scene is about the shift in James’ perception of Francis. He suddenly sees a man who is hands-on, who can take charge, who doesn't walk away from a terrible and unusual situation, even when it's clear there's no good outcome. And of course he knows Sir John skipped off at first opportunity.

Francis, meanwhile, only briefly appears to acknowledge James —but only as far as we can see. Francis of course knows that James was there, that he stayed behind, that he tried to help, that he tried to understand.

This knowledge and this changed dynamic become apparent immediately, in the very next scene.

LOOK HOW THEY ARE FRAMED!!!

Sir John is already receding into the background. James and Francis sit — still opposite sides of a table but in essentially the same pose. They are partners, mirrors, leaning into each other. The few glances here, small as they are, are NOT at Sir John, but between James and Francis.

Anyway, here you go, that's me done. I fucking love this show.

[sokkastyles]

Do you think some parts of the world would have been unhappy in Aang's decision to spare Ozai? That people would be so bitter - this madman gets to live, while their friends and loved ones died? Why is that? Oh - because the Avatar didn't want to compromise his own morals, to kill someone? Tough, it's a war. People die.

The thing I don't like about the way the show frames it is that the narrative doesn't really give Aang a choice, either.

I think people who frame this as Aang respecting Air Nomad culture are trying to give the show too much credit, because the show doesn't act like Aang gets to choose a moral high ground, they act like he has no choice. Aang seems to believe that the only way he can honor his Air Nomad heritage is by not killing, and...what about all the Air Nomads who didn't have that luxury? What about Gyatso, who was faced with the choice of kill or die, and killed, and died?

I think a lot of people would see Aang's choice as a slap in the face. Every person who had to do things they considered against their personal morals to survive. People like Jet who sincerely wished to stop leading a violent life, but couldn't, because that life was chosen for him the moment his parents were murdered. People like Hakoda who felt deeply ashamed of having to leave his own children to go to war. Are these people just inherently less moral or more bloodthirsty than Aang? No, they simply didn't have the power Aang had at his disposal that allowed him to avoid the kind of violent lives that many people, children included, were forced to lead during the war.

That's also why the "Aang reminds Katara/Zuko that they are kids" thing annoys me. What Aang does is remind them that HE has the luxury of thinking of himself as a kid while they don't. The reason Katara hadn't been penguin sledding in so long isn't because she's a buzzkill who hates fun or she "forgot" that she's a kid, it's because she was forced into a role where she had to take care of her family in her mother's absence, and that doesn't go away with the introduction of another kid she has to parent. As for Zuko, that "well you're just a teenager" line is funny and it's easy to think of Zuko as someone who takes himself too seriously (and part of why it's funny is that teenagers in general do view themselves as so much older than younger children), but Zuko was kicked out of his home at thirteen and expected to be fighting a fully-realized adult Avatar. Even when he was Aang's age, he never had the luxury of thinking of himself that way. You can see this also in the way Zuko interacts with adults early in the series, notably Zhao and his crew. He is desperate to be seen as a hardened adult because he has had to act like one to survive.

These people don't act this way because they've lost their morals or sense of fun or because they don't value peace enough. They act this way because this is what they were forced to do to survive. I think people would rightly be offended by the idea that wanting to see Ozai dead for his crimes makes them just as violent as a genocidal tyrant, and they would be right to feel resentful that Ozai gets to live when he was responsible for so much violence. This is also why Zuko tells Ozai that he's lucky that Aang spared his life. Because in the end, Aang has NO moral obligation to spare Ozai whatsoever, not because of his culture or any reason. Pacifism has never meant that you aren't allowed to use necessary force to stop violence from happening. And anyone who uses the argument that Aang has to spare Ozai because of his culture or that this is his only way to honor his people is LYING.

[nattinekomaid]

As someone who has been pedo jacketed because of poor word choice when describing my intellectually disabled partner; who after it was shown that “his partner self asserts she is 12-14 mentally (at age 26), and neither of us were aware that medically speaking that phrasing should be phased out when possible” still was told by some people “this person is creepy and shouldn’t be here”. Who had her whole blog scrutinized and her identity questioned because he has posted about interests in exploring detransition and forced masculinity from an empowering perspective, because she was branded as “probably creepy” to the point it shut down a whole server for trans people by people who found my very presense to be a threat, most specifically because there are minors in the space.

STOP FUCKING TRYING TO FIND THE “REAL” PEDOS BY FINDING QUEER PEOPLE YOU DON’T LIKE.

And sure, I’ll admit, my blog is not a great place for most minors, (It isn’t as cleaned up as I meant it to be, but the intent is that because this isn’t a sexual blog it is rated R and intended for anyone to view under their own personal discretion. I do this to not gate keep important things I say that I needed to hear when I was a minor) and that maybe I shouldn’t have screenshotted posts from it and posted it on a mixed server with teens an adults. But I was not “funneling children to my adult blog” as it felt like the implication was. I just was showing stuff I posted that was important and appropriate.

People lost a space because of people rooting me out as one of the dangerous queers; that despite the obvious fact that the moderation recognized I was not a threat, the people who wanted to see me as a threat instead tried to burn the server down and take as many people out of what was a safe space as possible.

LGBT people, I need you to know that any “pedophile execution bill” passed in the US is meant to put you, personally, to death. When the right says “groomer,” they’re talking about you. When they say “predator,” they’re talking about you. When they say “pedophile,” they’re talking about you. Any actual child sex abusers who are convicted and executed would be, to them, a happy accident, a cherry on top of a law that’s meant to exterminate anyone who deviates from the cisgender, heterosexual norm.