#circumstances allow) so that's really good! but the waiting.

[some-pers0n]

Every once in a while I think about the ship I've been obsessed over for close to two years now and feel like I'm ascending to another plane of reality. Like sometimes you just encounter a ship that hits every single mark and is perfect in every regard and you're left stunned how something like that can even exist

[b-blushes]

you know when you're in da overwhelm zone due to Circumstances that you don't really have power over. well it's really hard to deescalate from that i am finding!

HOWEVER i am attempting:

FACING THE THINGS because the longer they loom. the longer they are looming for.

regular breaks from Addressing Everything

regular snacks/meals/drinks

prioritising

postponing stuff that can be left until later (But watch out!)

doing other things in advance that are easy to do now (such as stockpiling meals ready for feeling more ill)

asking for help where i can

[cipheramnesia]

One funny piece of media criticism floating around Tumblr dot hellsite dot com is talking about making movies that are just fun, The Mummy with Brendan Frasier being a premiere example. Generally the way it goes is, "they don't have to be good, just fun." Thing is, making a fun movie like The Mummy is a lot of work. Exciting adventure stories don't just happen by accident, and part of the immense skill of such movies is making it all look easy.

I'm sometimes taken off guard by a movie that's better than expected - usually because they seem low budget and the summary sounds boring. Sometimes it's because it looks like another boring and cliche action movie. Plenty of those exist too, it's not like thousands of creators are falling ass backwards into brilliant filmmaking, Venom is an outlier. But it's really common to experience the surprise of audiences about some kind of big dumb action movie, and I think that's because so many action movies are big and dumb, few people understand that good action movies are smart.

You know what's good about the Mummy? Why it's good? Because it's a movie that knows every genre cliche the audience is waiting for, and chooses its moments to break those cliches with great care for maximum impact. It's good because it's direction knows how to build up great tension with the plot, through foreshadowing, through audience awareness, through genre standards. And the release is beautifully controlled. The "wrong side of the river" line is funny under any circumstances but it drops as a capstone on a very intense escape scene which makes it KILL, every time. When John Hannah's character turns out to be, against all the pre-loaded genre expectations and foreshadowing, actually a generally honest stand up guy, it's so much fun! Not by accident though. It's on purpose. It's a big dumb action movie but it's a big dumb action movie made by people who are very very good at making big dumb action movies.

That's really the thing of it all. There's now a hundred MCU movies that just turned The Mummy into a formula, they've carved out all the one liners and twists and turns mechanically, but they're not big dumb movies, because they're not allowed to be made with the kind of adoration of the genre that you get in smaller films, films that aren't locked into a three year product rollout plan. But you can still get big exciting movies if you look around for em. They didn't go away, they just got pushed out to the edge.

But I gotta beg again - take the time to recognize that when those movies that seem made without a thought or a care somehow manage to hit with you, give you a great big grin and a sense of excitement, remember that's not an accident or luck, someone probably plotted that out and made it fun on purpose, with care.

[salemlunaa]

"OH WELL, IM NOT GONNA BE HERE FOR LONG, IM GONNA SHIFT ANYWAY" girl...

let's break down why this mindset, although very common, isn't super healthy...

I saw a post earlier where op talks about how they are un phased about all the bad things happening to them because they "won't be here for much longer”, which is so real and it honestly made me laugh so hard but, i must admit, this way of thinking can also have an unhealthy side.

I, personally, have also been victim to this mindset, and honestly i can tell you nothing good comes from thinking like this. You experience something bad, hurtful, embarrassing, slightly traumatic (which, bear in mind, you wouldn't have experienced if you hadn't procrastinated and tapped in to the void) and you tell yourself "it's okay, i'm not here for long anyway", you abandon responsibilities (that, again, wouldn't be your responsibility if you would ve stayed disciplined and tapped in) and you tell yourself "it's fine, i'm gonna shift anyway" "i'm probably gonna get into the void tonight so it doesn't matter"

NO NO and NO

of course it's good to have the mindset of knowing, knowing that it's your last day here and knowing that the void is the only outcome for you, because that type of thinking is what allows you to shift consciousness and tap in to the void, but a lot of you say that shit without even properly applying your knowledge, a lot of you are gonna remain sounding like broken records, repeating this shit for years, i swear it will be 2028 and yall will still be saying "it's okay i won't be here for long", "im gonna shift anyway"

don't wait for shit to hit the fan for you to get serious about your desires, don't wait for your circumstances to get horrible for you to finally fix up and actually do something. If you really knew you were a god, you wouldn't be here reading this, you would be as pretty as you wanna be, and as rich and happy as you wanna be enjoying your dream life. Don't fall into a comfortable routine with your current reality, (which is really just your old story) because it's not worth it. I even see you guys making and scripting for a "better current reality" (another excuse to remain comfortable with procrastination), when you could have your DREAM life, you guys get swept up in your old story, just because it can be "alright" sometimes. And then when something bad happens, you repeat the same phrase "oh well, i'm gonna shift anyway", and then when things go back to being "alright", you get comfortable again, further procrastinating, when you could have ANYTHING. Who cares about your "alright", "mediocre" reality when you could have the best and more!!

like girl, don't stay comfortable until you're forced to get uncomfortable with a negative change in circumstances. You should be determined to shift consciousness ALL THE TIME, not just when things get tough or responsibilities pile up. Because again, if you had that consistent mindset you wouldn't be here.

get uncomfortable with what you have to achieve what you want, so that all you want becomes all you have

GET UNCOMFORTABLE NOW SO YOU CAN LIVE COMFORTABLY FOR ETERNITY, DONT WAIT FOR SHIT TO HIT THE FAN ᥫ᭡💋

[ohwowimlonley]

ohhhh free use with poly!marauders would be something like the boys making it hard for reader to do watch a movie because they keep using her holes and passing her around. imagine the boys sitting in one couch and the reader is seated in remus' dick, waiting for him to cum until she is passed to the other boys 😵‍💫

Changed this a tiny bit to fit a bit better but here :) (btw its roommates!marauders)

Cw for free use/advanced consent

-

You’re alone in your room, curled up in the corner of your bed, blanket covering your thighs as you finally start watching you’re favourite movie. It’s the middle of the day, so you’re the only one at home while the boys are out at work. See, you and your roommates had come to an agreement; they would go out to work and pay the rent and bills and buy groceries (and occasionally gifts for you), allowing you to spend your days as you please. In return, they ask for only one thing: your advanced consent.

Now, let’s not get silly here, you can always tell the boys no at any time, and they constantly remind you of that fact. All the agreement means is that they don’t have to ask you, and sometimes they pull you away from what you’re doing when they really need you. There are also a few rules in place. For example, you shouldn’t wear panties around the house (that is, excluding extenuating circumstances), and you shouldn’t touch yourself before asking for their help first.

Just as the plot starts to get good, your bedroom door creeks open. You jump, not expecting anyone to be home for at least and hour and a half, but relax when you see it’s only Remus. Once he determines you’re not in the middle of something vital, he pushes the rest of the way into your room. He doesn’t say a word to you just yet, just pulls his tshirt over his head and works on unzipping his jeans, pulling out his cock from his boxers and tugging on it.

“Rem! You’re home early,” you grin up at him, not bothering to ask him why, it doesn’t matter so long as he’s home. He makes a noncommital ‘hmph’ sound as he clambers up next to you, grasping at your him and turning you onto your stomach, letting your shirt rise up and expose your pussy to the room, still puffy from James using it this morning.

“Shush,” he grunts, but he doesn’t really mean it. He just wants to get inside you as quickly as he can, “boys’ll be home soon, wanna have you first,”

You go to respond, but Remus interrupts your train of thought by letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips onto the folds of your pussy and follows it with scraping his fingers through the stickiness. He wastes no time at all before slipping his cock into you, not going slow like he usually does to let you get used to his size.

You whine loudly at the burn his cock leaves you with, and while he doesn’t slow down he does set a soothing hand on the small of your back and bends over yiu to press a kiss to the bcak of your neck as he starts up his fast pace. It doesn’t take long for you to get used to the stretch, and you let your mouth drop open in a long, continuous moan.

You lose yourself in the sensations, almost forgetting about the movie still playing in the background as your roommate manhandles you all over your bed, using his full strength to let out his frustration on you. Remus hears the soft click of the front door opening, but you don’t, so you let out a confused whine when he pulls out of you.

“Shh, sweetheart,” he soothes, seating himself at the head of your bed and pulling you over his thighs, slipping himself back into you, “boys’re home, gotta make sure they don’t take my girl, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t, what with Remus slipping his fingers against your poor, aching clit. The door to your room is already wide open, so James and Sirius can see the two of you as soon as they get to the upstairs landing. James clears his throat and you whip your head around to see your two other roommates standing side by side, watching you take Remus’ cock. You make eye contact with Sirius, and he rolls his eyes playfully.

“Told you he’d get home first,” he jabs his elbow into James’ rib before taking his hand and sitting on the end of your bed with the other boy in tow.

“Your fault really, Pads,” he points out, then smiles up at you, shrugging his shoulders, “the boys were arguing this morning about who got to have you first when we got home,”

“I was gonna share with Jamesie here, but Moony’s a stinkin cheater,” the boy in question doesn’t pay them any attention, just renews his grip on your hips and brings them down to meet his own thrusts.

“Rem!” You protest, turning back towards him and putting your palms on his chest to keep your balance. You can feel him throbbing inside you, a telltale sign that he’s close, and thank goodness for that because you’re getting there too, and on days where they pass you back and forth like this, it’s best if you cum as little as possible in the beginning.

“Who’s it gonna be next, love?” James is always more careful with you, his voice always questioning, never demanding. This by no means indicates that he isn’t just as desperate as you. In fact, on days where it’s all three boys, theres never a time where he isn’t practically forcing his cock into you.

There’s no opportunity for you to even try to answer his question, because Remus is anchoring you to him and spurting his cum deep inside you.

Sirius goes to tug you from Remus’ lap, but he locks his arms around your back and prevents you from moving even an inch further away from him. Sirius and James let out grumbles of displeasure.

“Rem, honey, share,” you remind him. When he eventually lets you go, James gets to you first, “can I face this way? I wanna watch my movie,”

All three boys chuckle amoungst themselves, and silently vow to make it as difficult as possible for you to watch your movie.

[snoopyhq]

Jealous viktor + reader 🙏

˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ so with my best, my very best, i set you free

(i love laufey 🗣️ her cover of "i wish you love" with the icelandic orchestra? 2:49 of heaven)

type: viktor x reader

summary: headcanons and a drabble of jealous viktor. headcanons are pre-relationship, the drabble is the established relationship ✪ ꨄ︎

word count: 2415

a/n: OMG FIRST ASK I'M SO HONORED I'M SO EXCITED YIPPEE !!! will be working on the others whenever i have the time, but TRUST i am plotting and scheming <3 any other askers, feel free to drop by! i hope i did your request justice, dear anon.

It was unfair to you, and to him, in his most miserable moments of pure self-pity

Viktor envied those who were healthy. He wished he wasn't born with the circumstances he was dealt. He would trade anything to spend one day with a respiratory system that didn't choke him from the inside out every time he took a breath

He was jealous of you, initially, when you first met

You seemed to have it so easy

Easy laughter, easy conversation, easy friends. You had an established life, you were loved, and you held yourself together with such ease that he sometimes wonders how much you're really holding back

He feels bad for assuming you were dealing with awful problems. But it was very likely. I mean, who was truly that... happy? Well off? At ease with themself and their role in the world? He was probably projecting

And then you somehow, by all the miracles a human could possibly be granted, managed to worm your way into his life and secure yourself there too

Viktor vehemently rejected you at first. He was much like a stray cat. You just gotta continuously give them love on their own terms, and often times, it was slow, and that concept applied to Viktor too

It started with small things. Brief greetings where you called him by name

"Good morning, Viktor."

"Nice to see you here today, Viktor."

"Viktor, you have a good night ok? Get home safe."

Including him in conversations. Commentary about how you two just happened to be in the same place at the same time. The library, a cafe, randomly in the middle of a bustling street

You always had that breezy way of acknowledging things. What a nice coincidence. It was all genuine

You were pleased to be surprised by his presence

Wordlessly holding the door for him, even if you really didn't have to wait. But it was never a big deal, so

He pushed it away. Brushed it off, and tried to forget about it, but those little moments kept circling through his mind like an irritating tape he couldn't dislodge from the disc player, and turning the TV off wasn't doing shit when those scenes were basically burned onto the screen

Like the natural progression of the lunar cycle, Viktor found himself unconsciously expecting you in his life

He can't remember a time when you weren't

Your greetings, your little gestures of kindness, that skill of small talk that meant so, so much to him were cherished like an altar of worship

While he was in no way, shape, or form completely opening himself up to befriending any more people, he began to feel much more natural with you and others you gave your time to

Which brought him to his current bit of emotional turbulence

That prickling in his chest whenever he saw you with other people, giving them your precious words and quality time? Yeah, he shouldn't be feeling this

You were allowed to have other friends! You had people in your life before him, and it doesn't mean you consider him any less just because you spent a moment or two with someone else!

He would tighten his grip on his cane, those mantras feverishly chanting in his mind as he walked in circles, attempting to reign his emotions into a more rational state

He had no right to feel jealous like this, but he couldn't help it

Jayce was his only real companion before, and now that he was a council member, he had less time for Viktor. He had the city to nurture and shape, a big responsibility. The loneliness of the lab was barely a noticeable shift from before

Now, you arrived as if by careless chance, giving him another glimpse, another hit of company, and it was maddeningly cruel to have those doses be in such short time frames

He was given what he needed and wanted, but never fully

Accepting that reality was going to be harder than accepting you truly wishing to be around him, in all his sardonic glory, his blunt nature that had most other people walking away. Just not you

To grapple with this selfish desire was humiliating

He was fully aware of how innately human it all was. If only it were easier. Someday.

For now, he would wait and bask in all the attention and friendship you offered him so willingly

You stood in front of your mirror, going over your carefully put together look one last time. You wanted to look good, and having the outfit fall into place like how you planned it in your head always gave you an extra boost of happiness before you left the house. Straightening the collar of your top one last time, you were finally satisfied.

Viktor was waiting for you in the living room. He stood up when you finally appeared, greeting you with a kiss to your cheek and a murmured "You look enchanting, as always."

You laughed and hugged him.

"And you're dashing, as per usual."

With your arm linked through his, the two of you went on your way. He had planned the date tonight. The winding route led to the sparkling, five-tiered fountain that marked the center of the shopping fair. The flowing water sparkled and danced beneath the fairy lights strung through the evergreens surrounding the space, and orchestral music floated up from where the quintet performed.

You two often went here after a long, stressful week, dining at one of the outdoor tables and idly chatting before hitting a couple stores. Most of the time, it would be the bookshop, the local woodcarver, and then the bakery. You had made it a tradition to buy one another a sweet treat, and it was always a delight to see if your guesses of enjoyment would be met or not.

There was certainly not a lack of other people around you, many of whom were also hand in hand. The center was a popular spot for local students and couples to unwind and spend time together.

When you both had your fill of sights and perusing your respective comforts, you made your way back to the fountain. The musicians had struck up a lively waltz, and many were dancing along now. Both of you shared a look, and moved to join in, albeit towards the edge of the crowds.

Dancing with Viktor was one of your favorite activities. He moved with such assuredness and care for your space, making him all the more captivating in his graces. The respectful placement of his hand on your waist, never going too far and risking your discomfort in public, and never straying away lest he appeared bored, Viktor made sure you were his priority.

After the song concluded, you spun Viktor around slowly to the rhythm of the music drawing to a close, dipping him into a kiss during the final note.

His cheeks were slightly flushed, both from the exertion and from your affection.

"I'm going to grab a drink. We can head home after, if you'd like," you told him, head leaning on his shoulder as he walked with you back up the steps.

"That's perfectly fine. I can hold your bag while you do that."

Oh, Viktor. Ever the gentleman.

You went inside the establishment, and ordered yourself a shirley temple with sweet cream, fully planning to share with him. You knew he had a penchant for the more saccharine in terms of taste. While you waited to order, another patron joined you after placing their order.

"Busy place tonight, isn't it?" they commented.

You turned your attention to them, surprised a stranger was making conversation with you, but you didn't mind. All harmless small talk, after all. You would be leaving soon anyways when your order was finished, so why not pass the time with pleasantries?

"It's one of the most popular cafes around here," you replied. "Friday nights always means live music, so people love to flock here. I should know. I frequent here often." you finished with a smile, and received one in return.

They continued engaging you in conversation, and you soon realized it was taking a bit for your drink. A shirley temple wasn't complicated, and you were worried something was wrong. Maybe they were short-staffed tonight? Did an accident occur in the back?

"Are you worried about your drink?"

"No, not really. More so the workers here," you were honest. Some of them were fellow students you see at the academy, and others knew you as a regular, and you had grown quite fond of the staff as they were of you.

"That's a surprise. You're very sweet."

Their order quickly arrived, and they bid you farewell before departing into the night. You walked up to the counter, asking if everyone was ok. The barista reassured you, saying it was only going to take a little while, and that everything is alright now. Relieved, you went back to your perch.

Outside, Viktor was waiting anxiously. This was taking a lot longer than he had anticipated.

When someone emerged from the cafe, he was tempted to get up and ask them if they'd seen you in there.

Yes, my partner. About this tall, very beautiful eyes, a smile you can't miss. Have you seen...?

God. He was contemplating approaching a stranger just to inquire about you. Luckily (or was it?) for him, they must've sensed him sneaking glances at the cafe and at them, because they approached him cheerily.

"You look a little lost. Need some help?" they asked.

"Oh, it's alright. I'm just waiting for someone."

At that, they perked up.

"It wouldn't happen to be someone wearing the same colored blouse as your vest would it?"

Yes. It was. He confirmed it.

"That's perfect actually! I was just talking to them, and since you know them, do you think they would be interested in exchanging contact information with me? They were quite lovely company, and I wouldn't mind getting to know them better."

Viktor could feel his heart drop and the temperature in his soul rise several degrees. What was going on? Where were you? What had happened in those minutes that you were gone?

"I will... ask them," he attempted to keep his tone even. "Mind giving me your contact information to pass along?"

The stranger happily handed Viktor a piece of paper, their messy scrawl sending a sting of irritation through him. That penmanship was not worthy of you, and would certainly not compare to the intricate scripting of his own handwritten notes and letters to you.

When you finally rejoined him, you could tell immediately something was off. You questioned him about it, and he huffed, telling you not to worry about it as you walked home. He didn't even pay any mind to the bag that hung on your arm, too caught up in his insecurities and worries.

That stranger was so much like you. So approachable. Good conversationalist. He couldn't help but imagine a scenario of you two getting along a little too well, and that made something deep inside him hurt. Clearly, he wasn't as good as keeping his thoughts off his face as he believed, or you had simply gotten better at understanding him, because you promptly asked him again.

"Come on, Viktor. Talk to me. What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours?"

"If you knew the full extent of what I'm thinking of, you wouldn't be so quick to call my mind beautiful," he grumbled tersely.

"You can't judge my reaction for me. Spill."

He bit the inside of his cheek. Finally, he confessed. It felt like ripping out stitches from his tongue.

"... someone at the coffee shop. They asked me if I knew you, and then asked if you would be interested in their contact information."

At that, you raised an incredulous eyebrow. Ah. You were blissfully oblivious of the jarring events.

"Viktor, I promise nothing is wrong. We were both waiting for our drinks, and they happened to be making small talk with me. That's all. I love you with my whole heart, and no one else can ever--will not ever--compare."

His heart fluttered. He knew that was the realistic truth, but it was nice to hear reassurance from you anyways.

"You mean it?" he asked.

"I mean it," you said sincerely.

Setting your bags and drink on the nearby bench, you swept him into your arms and twirled him around beneath the streetlight's warm glow.

"I love you," you declared, hands holding his face tightly. Your thumb brushed against the beauty mark above his lip. "And if you ever need reminders of that, you tell me immediately. I will literally drop everything and make sure your doubt disappears completely for as long as I can hold it back."

He gazed into your eyes, his own now slightly misted. Their glossiness reflected warmth and adoration as he took in your face. Seeing the conviction there did something to him. He didn't know what, but he found himself giving in to the urge to just close the distance and kiss you right then and there, open street be damned.

It began to snow. He only realized when he parted from you, the taste of your chapstick still lingering. He looked up, watching the delicate flakes be illuminated by the warm, golden glow. If there was a visualization for the love he felt, it would be that he decided. It all just built and built from all the little things, and filled him with such life it almost hurt.

"We should go home," he whispered, looking back at you.

"Oh yeah, we should. I was going to tell you!" you gasped, running back for your drink and the bag. "They gave me extra cakes and rolls. The last ones of the specialty desserts before their next seasonal delights, so we can share them." you beamed.

"Really? That's quite generous of them."

He wasn't surprised. You were just so damn lovable. He would give you all the baked goods you desired and more, if only for another smile from you directed at him. His fingers intertwined with yours, fondness consuming him as you chatted about the different flavors of the desserts, which ones you were most excited about, and which ones you think he'd like.

He had to agree with your assessments. A dark chocolate and orange mousse did sound quite appealing for him. He already knew he'd let you have the last bite, regardless.

"Oh, and Viktor?"

"Hmm?"

"You can throw away the contact. I don't need it."

I already have you.

[pathologicalreid]

the angel of the bottomless pit | s.r.

in which you cope with Spencer's mortality after he's shot in the neck

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: takes place during the events of 9x23 "angels" and 9x24 "demons", shooting, hospitals, mortality, allusions to Spencer's addiction, jareau!reader, nausea, concussion, refusal of medical treatment word count: 4.55k a/n: a reader insert for my favorite cm finale <3 happy day seven of my migraine

You took a deep breath, standing in a group outside of the restaurant in Briscoe County, the team tried to figure out how to set up a line of communication with Preacher Mills when the first shots were fired.

The blue glow of the police cars provided the only light, and you didn’t see the body coming until it had already flown into you. Someone called your name—JJ—but you couldn’t turn to look at her. You toppled backward, so disoriented from the impact that you couldn’t catch yourself, leaving your head to fly into the passenger door of a car, knocking you out cold.

You came to in the ambulance, just barely enough to feel a searing pain on the back of your head, the kind that made your stomach churn with even the slightest movement. Your eyes opened to nothing more than slits, trying to keep a majority of the light from burning your retinas while you searched for a familiar face. Finally, you caught sight of your sister, hovering over you in the ambulance and tenderly smoothing your hair back.

Parting your lips, you wanted to tell her that your head hurt, but as you allowed time for your eyes to focus, you noticed the way her brows pinched together, the way she looked when she was worried.

Begrudgingly, your nurse had provided you with the proper paperwork for you to leave the hospital room. She tried to insist that you needed to lay down and rest, but you didn’t believe yourself to be physically capable of resting, not after your sister talked to you when you woke up.

Spencer had been shot before, but you’d needed to threaten your sister in order to get her to divulge the gravity of the situation to you. He’d been shot in the neck, and from what you could ascertain, it didn’t look good.

You couldn’t let yourself be stuck in a hospital bed while Spencer was on an operating table, so you flashed your credentials at the nurse and convinced her to bring you the AMA paperwork. JJ left your patient bag with you, so you opted to change into your slightly bloodied clothes and scour the floor for your sister.

It didn’t take long for you to find Blake, and where she was, the rest of the team couldn’t be far behind.

JJ didn’t seem to notice you as she walked into the waiting room, blonde ponytail swinging with purpose as she held her hands out. You couldn’t hear the exchange between the two agents, but you took a few more apprehensive steps and listened to JJ sigh, “Spence would’ve read like two books by now. Or three.”

You chucked softly at the remark, only for the lighthearted joke to fall through when Blake shook her head, “it should’ve been me.”

Spencer and Alex had always had a pseudo-familial relationship with each other, with her acting as a surrogate mother, filling in emotional gaps that his mother had never been able to occupy, let it be because of her schizophrenia or the natural separation that Spencer’s intelligence placed between him and the general population. He’d never really had that before.

Keeping your distance, you watched Blake struggle with the circumstances of the evening, and you held your breath as your sister commiserated, “Or me. Or any of us,” she offered, resting her elbows on her knees.

“No,” Blake said, looking up at your sister with an unreadable expression, “he pushed me out of the way.” Your chest tightened, you weren’t entirely sure if it was the head injury or Blakes revelation that was causing your nausea, “If he doesn’t make it…”

JJ’s head snapped up, “He’ll make it.” You agreed with her sentiments—you had to.

Blake nodded in understanding, comprehending your sister’s need to look on the bright side of the situation, “He has to.” Disbelief was plain on her face, “He’s just—he’s too young.”

“Yeah,” JJ continued, “There’s still things for him to do.” She ran her palms along her jean-covered thighs, and you pulled away from the wall, convincing yourself that now was the best time for you to approach them again. That is, until your sister spoke again, “You know, he wants kids… Can you imagine Spence as a dad?”

Your movements faltered. You could. You thought of Spencer as a dad more often than you cared to admit. Imagining him waltzing around the living room with your son on his hip, humming along to Bob Dylan. Wondering what it would be like to find him with his glasses perched on his nose, reading to your daughter, who would be falling asleep in his lap. You weren’t alone with those thoughts though, sometimes when it was just the two of you, curled up in the darkness of your bedroom together, you pitched potential baby names for a child who had yet to be conceived.

“That’d be the luckiest kid in the world,” Blake said, sniffling slightly as her head tilted at just the right angle and her eyes locked with yours.

JJ nodded slowly, “No doubt,” she spoke as you approached, still oblivious to your presence.

You walked over to them, taking as deep of a breath as you physically could before calling for your sister, “J,” you said, bowing your head to avoid looking directly at the fluorescent lights.

Your shoes tapped lightly on the linoleum floor as your sister stood to greet you, “Ducky?” She said, confusion seeping into her tone, “What happened? What did the doctor say?”

Keeping your head tilted down, you waved off her concern, “I signed AMA papers. Have you heard anything?” You bulldozed right through your sister’s worry, returning to what really mattered—Spencer.

JJ shook her head solemnly, “No, he’s still in surgery.” She sighed, knowing she was giving out disappointing news, “You should still be under observation, come here,�� she cupped your chin and studied your eyes, “Sit down.”

You sat in the chair that she had previously inhabited, your cheeks warming as your older sister placed an FBI jacket around your shoulders like you were a kid who had run into the snow without a second thought. She had a certain way of caring for you, her little sister, without making you feel infantilized.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor caught her attention, Penelope leaned forward to embrace your sister, “You made it.”

“Yeah,” Garcia said as if there was nowhere else she’d be, “We’re not the only one that’s connected, and he knows somebody with a plane.” She gestured back to Matt Cruz, who greeted you with a small wave, “How is he?”

Your heart panged at her question, she’d likely hopped on a plane immediately and come to see Spencer, just to find he was still in surgery. You pulled your feet up on the chair, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your chin on a kneecap. There was a very good possibility that you’d be leaving Texas without Spencer at your side, and it sounded like a fate worse than death. Losing him caused you physical pain when you even considered the odds. Being shot in the neck seemed like a concrete death sentence.

An unfamiliar person caught your attention, and you looked up at him in hopes that he had news about your boyfriend, only to be disappointed when he spoke, “You all can see Agent Morgan now.”

Then you felt guilty for being disappointed, Derek had been shot, and you were disappointed that he was well enough to be seen, just because Spencer wasn’t. JJ set a gentle hand on your shoulder, sensing your unease.

Everyone assumed you’d stay and wait, and when JJ checked to see if Blake was going too, Alex shook her head and gestured to the surrounding waiting area, “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to stay here.”

JJ raised her eyebrows and pointed at the both of you, “The second you hear anything, call me.”

“Hey,” Garcia said, kind eyes looking between you and Blake, “I’ll be right back.”

They left you and Alex behind, if someone came out and had news about Spencer, you didn’t want to have to hear it secondhand. Comfortingly, she reached out, set a hand on your shoulder, and squeezed, “How’s your head?”

The double meaning of her question didn’t pass you by even in your concussed state, you sniffled miserably, “Busy.” You let your eyes fall shut, taking a deep breath as she moved to rub small circles on your upper back.

She accepted your answer for what it was, recognizing the fact that your ability to analyze your own emotions was stunted, and understandably so. Blake didn’t push when you quieted down, focusing on keeping your nausea at bay while she waited next to you.

“Agents,” an unfamiliar voice greeted, your eyes opened, and your head snapped up—too fast—and stars danced in your vision as you looked at the doctor in front of you.

Blake took over for you, managing the questions and enabling you to be quiet, you lowered your gaze, staring at the doctor’s sensible shoes as they interrupted the patterns in the linoleum. “How is he?”

“Incredibly lucky,” the doctor answered, and you were going to throw up. “Two millimeters to the right and the bullet would have torn through the carotid artery. It nicked some smaller vessels, but we’ve stopped the bleeding,” you wanted him to stop talking. “You can see him now.”

Spencer hated hospitals; you knew that well enough. He’d expressed his thoughts on hospitals rather emphatically a few weeks ago, and you shuddered at the memory of what you now referred to as The Rabies Case.

He was surrounded. You were perched on a chair next to his hospital bed, facing the marred side of his neck, all of the gore disguised behind a stack of bandages. Blake was across from you, sitting a little further from the bed while Penelope arranged figurines that she’d grabbed from your apartment before catching her flight here.

Maneuvering Spencer’s hand so that it rested in yours, you watched his chest rise and fall with steady breaths, reminding yourself that he was alive while his vital monitor beeped with each beat of his heart. You were worried about what would happen when he woke up, for a while, he’d be fine, but once his anesthesia fully wore off, he’d be in a world of pain.

You added your other hand to the pile, warming his cold fingers as Penelope continued her setup, “It’ll be so great if he wakes up… and this is the first thing he sees.”

Blake smiled fondly at the display on Spencer’s hospital tray, “Yeah, the good doctor will always make him smile.” She was resting her head in her hand, keeping her chin up while she kept an eye on him and, inadvertently, you.

Penelope laughed nervously, “It would be really weird if he wakes up and we’re all just ooh staring at him. So, I’m gonna go stand over here,” she announced, walking over to the window and glancing out of it. Her resolve fell through quickly, turning her head so she could keep an eye on him, even from a distance.

You squeezed his hand, slightly leaning over the bed in order to sweep a few stray hairs from his forehead, freezing when you saw his irises move beneath his eyelids, but sitting back down when he didn’t stir further.

“How’s your head?” Blake asked, minding her volume as she sat back in her chair.

Humming, you laid your head down on Spencer’s bed and closed your eyes, blocking out the fluorescent hospital lights and brushing your thumb over his knuckles, “Fine.”

You rested your chin in one hand, leaving your elbow propped up on the bed while your free hand remained in Spencer’s. Except now, he was holding it back, your fingers intertwined while he spoke with Alex, “When this comes off, I’m gonna look just like Boris Karloff.”

Blake smiled in response, a similar look reflected on your own face, “Yeah, a little green makeup and you’ll have the best Halloween costume ever.”

Your imagination got away from you for just a moment, thinking about Spencer and his proposed Frankenstein costume while he shut his eyes. Looking back at him when everyone went too long without speaking, “Are you okay?” You asked, squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to encourage communication.

“Everybody’s fine,” Blake assured him, “Don’t worry.”

Spencer shook his head almost imperceptibly, “I’m not.”

Tilting your head to the side, you watched him carefully as he kept his eyes closed, probably trying to keep the light from his eyes. “You’ve got that furrowed brow,” Blake observed, cueing you to reach forward and swipe your thumb over the crease on his forehead as if you could dismiss his concerns with just one motion.

He never really answered, interrupted by Garcia returning to the hospital room with a tray in hand, “Hey, hey, hey, look who’s still awake.” She placed the tray in front of Spencer, pushing the figurines out of the way, “Can you tell her she can go now, please?”

Smiling softly at Blake, Spencer’s head bobbed, “I’m okay Alex, go help the team,” he told her, his voice still hoarse from the breathing tube he’d had during surgery. It didn’t seem like he was in a lot of pain yet, but you were keeping a keen eye on him.

“Alright,” Blake said, smiling at the three of you, “I’m out of here.” She placed a hand on the side rail of the hospital bed, “I’m glad you’re awake.”

Spencer tipped his head back, resting it on the pillows that you’d tried to fluff up for him, “Thank you,” he said, watching her leave, returning to the case.

You’d offered your help to Hotch, but you’d done so by jumping up from your chair and almost keeling over in the process, so he told you to stick around here and help Garcia when you could. “Okay,” Garcia took hold of her phone that had previously been resting in the crook of her neck, “Juice, broth, or Jell-O?”

His eyes widened in faux excitement, “Jell-O, my favorite,” he said, reaching out for the spoon and container of orange gelatin, pushing the cup of juice in your direction as he did.

Monitoring his movements, you confirmed your suspicions when you noticed his right eye twitch. He was in pain, and he was putting on a brave face for the two of you. Your head was moving in the direction of a dull throb as opposed to a piercing pain. You knew you couldn’t take his pain away, but you could humor his attempt to take care of you.

Quietly, you took the cup of apple juice in your hands and slowly sipped at it, feeling victorious when Spencer beamed at you.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but, sure enough, at some point you had set your head down on the edge of Spencer’s bed and let your eyes fall shut. It wasn’t a particularly restful sleep, but you were woken up to the sound of a door clicking shut. Lifting your head, you cringed at the stars that danced in your vision.

“Okay,” she said to someone over the phone, seemingly out of breath. “I did that, now what?”

Frowning, you watched as her brown eyes danced around the hospital room, “Penny?” You minded your volume, not wanting to wake Spencer unless it was absolutely necessary, “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer your question, eyes locking onto something in the room, “Yes, yes,” she spoke into the phone. “I can do that; I can do that.” Her lips parted in what seemed like surprise, “That is not gonna be easy.”

You cocked your head at her curiously, meaning to walk over to her, but refraining from doing so. You didn’t want to untangle your hand from Spencer’s.

“Oh my god, what?” You were beginning to tire of the one-sided phone conversation, “Okay.”

She hung up the phone and met your gaze, “We have to get him out of here.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, “Uh, have you lost your mind? No.” You were not going to take your boyfriend—who had just been shot in the neck—out of his hospital bed and, presumably, into the wheelchair that Garcia was unfolding.

Quickly, she gives you the reader’s digest version of what’s going on, assuring you that this wouldn’t be the plan unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sighing, you turned your head to Spencer, sleeping peacefully as you squeezed his hand and set your free palm on his shoulder, “Hey, baby,” you whispered, not wanting to startle him. “Spence,” you said gently, watching his eyebrows furrow as you carefully woke him up.

You felt awful, he’d just gone back to sleep after getting his post-op antibiotics, and here you were, waking him up again because the person who shot him in the neck wanted to finish what he’d started. He moved slowly, and you didn’t have the heart to rush him even while there was someone looking to kill him.

Penelope took control, starting to wheel Spencer out while he rubbed at the base of his neck, she stood in the doorway, staring at the fire alarm on the wall and likely calculating how many karma points she’d lose from pulling it.

Sighing, you reached behind her and pulled the alarm yourself, flinching at the loud noise that came as a result. “Fuck,” You cursed, a wave of nausea rolling through you as you set a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, using her as a guide while she wheeled Spencer toward the elevator.

At least once you were outside it was darker, the warm Texas night surrounded the three of you as you watched the hospital personnel frantically try to get everyone to safety. You glanced around at other patients, wheeling their IVs around, worry flooded your chest until you made a full turn, face to face with Spencer again. He was safe.

You crouched down and rested your head on his blanket-covered lap, “Does your head hurt?” He asked you, a hand moving to settle on your shoulder. Normally, he’d smooth down the hair on the back of your head, but he refrained from touching the tender area.

Humming a confirmation, you smiled to yourself as Spencer moved his hands to either side of your head, acting as blinders to prevent any light from bothering your eyes. The two of you made quite a pair, you were sure of it.

Penelope was nervously tapping her heels on the cement, and even though it irritated your headache, you didn’t ask her to stop. The team had an understanding of Garcia, right now she was in a gray area. She didn’t usually travel, and she was worried about Spencer, so you let her tap her heels.

You lost track of how long you were stuck squatting outside of the hospital before the firefighters called the all-clear, allowing people to filter back through the hallways. You lagged behind Penelope as she pushed Spencer through the hospital, “You okay?” She asked him, peeling back the covers of his hospital bed.

“I’m just really tired,” he said, climbing into the bed and smiling at you as you took a seat on the cushioned seat on the other side of the room. You fluffed up a spare pillow and rested your head on it, your eyes hooded with sleep, but you kept them open to watch Spencer settle.

She nodded, helping him pull the covers back over himself, “Of course you are. You need to get some sleep…” her voice trailed off as a nurse entered the room. “Oh, but how can you sleep? ‘Cause you’re in a hospital where people are always poking you.” Penelope watches the nurse with intense curiosity, “He had his meds an hour ago.”

The nurse didn’t falter, “Yeah, post-op antibiotics.”

Poor Spencer just wanted to sleep, but now you were on high alert, slowly getting up from your perch as Penelope said exactly what you were thinking, “Yeah, he had those too.”

You remembered when they came in to do it because you checked the bottle over to make sure Spencer wouldn’t have an allergic reaction to the medication, he turned his head, wincing as his neck rotated, “Which ones? Carbenicillin?” Your stomach lurched, “No, that’s not right. I have a severe reaction to beta lactams. I can’t have that.”

Begrudgingly, the nurse flipped open Spencer’s chart and looked over it, “That’s not in your chart.”

Once the nurse put the syringe in Spencer’s IV, you trudged over to the hospital bed to assess the situation, “What are you doing?” Spencer asked, pulling out his IV before smacking the syringe from the nurse’s hand for good measure.

It wasn’t until the nurse bent over to grab the syringe that you saw it, a gun tucked into the waistband of his scrubs. Shit, where was your gun?

“Garcia, he has a gun,” Spencer said, leaning back into the pillows as Penelope produced Spencer’s revolver from his patient bag.

Her hands trembled as she held the gun out, and instinctively, you took the gun from her hands and fired the shot, your head immediately dropping to the sheets of the bed as a high-pitched squeal flooded your senses. “Oh my god, I’m gonna throw up,” you groaned, picking a spot to stare at in hopes that the world would stop spinning.

You felt someone’s hands on yours as they removed the gun from your hands, people were running into the room, likely to provide medical care to the man you had just shot. “My ears don’t pop for like a week after I fly,” Penelope started to ramble. “If this is like that, that’s gonna drive me bonkers. Am I yelling? Because it feels like I might be yelling.”

“Yes,” you answered her question, she was yelling, and it wasn’t helping the ringing in your ears, which left Spencer to console her.

She took a deep breath and set a hand on your back, “Okay. You’re okay. It’s okay.”

The jet was crowded enough without you taking up another seat. Instead, you opted to sit next to Spencer, taking a spot on the floor as he slept. You wanted to keep an eye on him, the soft whistles from his nose as he exhaled brought you immense comfort. Your eyes followed Penelope as she looked around for somewhere to sit.

JJ walked out of the galley, stopping next to you to hand you a water bottle and smooth your hair back. She smiled at you before making her way back to her seat.

You turned your attention back to Spencer, leaning the side of your head against the wall and reaching out to tuck his blanket around him.

Blake had offered to drive the two of you home, allowing you to take the back seat of the car, using the surrounding seats to block the streetlights from your view. The car was completely silent the entire way to the district, and you don’t get home until it’s pitch-black outside, the warm lamplight reflecting off of puddles from the spring rain.

You’d excused yourself to retreat into the bedroom, leaving the two of them in the living room. Something had been bothering Blake, and you wanted to give them time to talk, coming back after you heard the front door close.

Returning to the living room, you found Spencer standing by the window, likely watching Alex catch a cab. You timidly put your hands behind your back, “Hey,” you said softly, getting his attention.

Spencer turned around, smiling softly as his brown eyes studied you, now in your pajamas, standing in front of him, “Hi, lovely.” He stepped over to you, “How are you feeling?”

The flight had done terrible things to your head, the changes in pressure resulting in you hurling into the jet bathroom. You hummed, wrapping your arms around his torso, “Just… don’t make any sudden movements,” you said softly, practically melting into him as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “How’s your neck?”

“Fine, a bit stiff” he answered, blatantly lying to you. For tonight, you’d allow it. Tomorrow, you’d get on him about how he actually felt. He herded you to bed, giving you a place to lay down as he peeled off his own clothes, refraining from taking off his undershirt and choosing to sleep in it.

Your chest ached as you shifted to rest your head on his chest, reveling in the closeness that you felt to him, your ulterior motive being an insatiable need to hear his heart beating. It wasn’t enough for you to hear his breathing or the warmth of his body beneath you, you needed to hear the blood pump through him.

This time last night, you had no idea if you’d ever be able to talk to him again, which you suppose explained the next words that come out of your mouth, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he answered softly, his fingertips tracing shapes along your spine as his breathing slowed and he relaxed into the mattress.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you take a deep breath, “I want to go first.”

Spencer’s movements faltered, his palm flattening against your upper back, “What are you talking about?”

Tears pricked your eyes, and you found yourself grateful for the pain medication your sister had you take just in case. “You’re not allowed to die before me, Spencer. I want to go first.”

“Come here,” He said, pulling you up slightly on the bed and wrapping his arms firmly around you.

Realistically, you knew there was an unfathomable level of unpredictability when it came to human mortality, especially in your line of work, but you couldn’t stop yourself from remembering how horrified you had been when you woke up and JJ told you Spencer was in surgery. You couldn’t stop yourself from recognizing the fact that a world without Spencer Reid was not a world you wanted to be in.

Your thoughts were in hyperdrive, being steered by emotions that you had kept bottled for the last twenty-four hours, and Spencer recognized that. “No one’s dying, honey,” he said, rubbing your back soothingly as tears leaked from your eyes, dripping onto the cotton of his t-shirt.

“Spence,” you whispered, a weak scold. He had almost died. There was no getting around that.

He shushed you, “I know,” he murmured, “I know, but we’re fine.” He took a few, slow breaths, hoping you would follow along. “You can go first, if that’s what you want,” he acquiesced, “but not for a long time, okay?”

Nodding slowly, you moved your head to rest your chin on his chest, “Okay,” you breathed, watching his expression in the curtain-diffused moonlight.

“We still have things to do,” he reminded you, reminiscent of the conversation you’d walked in on JJ and Blake having at the hospital.

He was right.

[prettiedup]

gojo and fucking his babygirl till she cant walk since she keeps stomping off when she has an attitude

satoru has noticed that you’ve changed. while you’re still his sweet girl, your attitude has gotten worse and worse. it really only comes out when he says something that you hadn't anticipated on hearing. 

after a long exhausting day of being the school’s golden boy and being recorded and having to talk rehearsed lines (‘perks’ of the gojo family funding a sufficient amount towards the school) it was all over. much to his luck, the frat house was completely void when he finally came home一well almost. you were sitting on the L shaped couch, waiting for him like an obedient puppy. he does little to hide his smile when he sees you jump to your feet once you realize he’s home. 

“hi, toru!” you’re smiling so hard and your arms are wrapping around him before he has the chance to fully respond.

“hey, babygirl.” he allows you to hug him. he pats the top of your head while basking in how comforting the interaction feels. “how’d you get here?” he asks. he remembers vividly dropping you off at your section of your dorm two nights ago.

“suguru dropped me off.” the smile quickly washes off of his face. a displeased scowl substitutes the once there smile. 

“i thought i told you to stay away from him?” not only did he tell you to stay away from suguru, but sukuna, choso, and mahito too. it’s not like he didn’t trust you, it’s them who he didn’t trust. innocent, naive, good girls; you’re their type. they would possibly do you even worse than how satoru treats you, and he knows that. that’s why he strives so hard to keep you separated from his friend group.

“he came up t’me, toru.” you explain. “‘nd i told him that i wanted t’see you ‘nd he told me that you were busy but he could drop me off here ‘nd i wait in your room until you came back.” 

even though your explanation seems logical and realistic, he still didn’t want the two of you to interact. no matter the circumstances. he lets out a frustrated groan. he’s too tired to lecture you. he’ll talk your words with a  grain of salt this time. 

“c’mon, baby. ‘m tired.” even with the two of you traveling a short distance upstairs and into his room, you still hold his hand. he doesn’t fight you on it, opting to allow you to do whatever keeps you satisfied.

you sit happily on the edge of the bed while satoru begins stripping out of his clothes. you’re shameless as you take peeks at his body, when did his little shy girl grow so confident?

“uhmm toru, while we were in the car suguru told me about the party that’s happening this saturday.” you comment. your words are hesitant as you bring up the new topic.

“yeah, ryomen is throwin’ it this time.” he nods his head mindlessly. he’s pulling out clothes through his drawers, searching for his plaid pajama pants that aren't folded and tucked in its usual spot.

“he invited me to go.” you squeak out.

satoru chuckles at your admission. “‘m gonna be busy this weekend, so..” he trails off.

“who’s gonna take me to the party then?” you ask in worry.

“no one. ‘cus you’re not going.” satoru pauses his rummaging to look at you. the expression on your face is almost comical. a mixture of shock and confusion is displayed.

“uh-huh, toru. i already told him i’d come.” you say in retaliation.

satoru makes a mental note to address suguru inviting you places without his agreement. usually, satoru usually doesn’t care when suguru offers to the girls he sleeps with, but you’re different.

"you're not going."

“...yes i am.” 

“no you’re not.” satoru replies, sarcasm is etched into his tone and he’s looking at you as if you have three heads.

“why not?!” your voice is rising and you jump up from your spot on his bed. you look up at him with a frown as you question him.

“cause ‘m not gonna be there.” he says it as though it is the clearest thing in the world.

“why does that matter, toru? i can handle goin’ alone.” you’re now defensive and upset. satoru can tell from your tone that you’re about to throw a tantrum and can only sigh as he prepares for the inevitable. 

“‘m not allowin’ you to go to a party thrown by sukuna alone.” he contradicts. 

“toruuuu.” you whine. “you’re being unfair!”

“am i?” he laughs.

you huff and whine some more. satoru ignores your whines, continuing to scavenge for his pants. the pile of clothes on the floor is growing increasingly larger and his drawers are growing bare.

“where the fuck is it?” he says aloud, his eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. 

you stop whining once you realize he’s ignoring you. frustration grows throughout your body as you look up at him with a scowl. you had grown used to satoru caving in quickly and to see him withstanding your antics absolutely enraged you.

“you’re so一stupid! i hate you!” you scream. you stomp towards the closed bedroom door while continuing to utter insults at him. 

there goes the new attitude, the loud yelling, the stomping, the insults. you’ve only done it twice before and satoru has had to put you in your place both times, this time is no different.

before you could even twist the knob, you feel a strong hand grasp the back of your neck. a sharp breath manages to escape your throat when you’re suddenly yanked backwards. it feels like your world is spinning when your back suddenly hits the mattress. 

satoru is quick to climb on top of you, his legs slot on either side of your body. 

there are angry tears pouring from your fierce eyes that soften up once you see the stern expression on his face. 

“t-to-”

“shut up.” he’s pulling your dress up to your stomach and shuffling to move to the side of you. he forces your legs open, his crystal blue eyes take notice of the way your panties hug your pussy. he could see a small wet spot seeping through your panties. he roughly yanks your panties down to your  ankles.

“t-toruuu..” you mewl. you know whats about to happen next and you try to brace yourself. 

the wind is almost knocked out of your chest when you feel his rough palm slap down onto your pussy. you flinch and kick your legs out of reflex. you squirm to move away from him which only makes him use his other hand to grab you by your throat. 

“fuckin’. rude. girl.” with every word, he’s slapping your pussy. loud screams escape out of your mouth, you try to shut your legs so that he couldn’t have any more access, satoru huffs out a breath and forcefully opens your legs back up. 

“stop.” his voice is deepened and the solidity is hard to disobey.

you could do nothing but lay there and take the slappings. every time his hand would strike down onto your pussy you would flinch and let out a weak moan. 

“of course you’d start moanin’.” he tuts. he moves from his position and stands at the edge of the bed. he grips your panties that are hanging loosely around your ankles and throws them elsewhere on the bed. he grabs you by your thighs and scoots you until your ass is hanging off the edge.

“i was jus mad, daddy, i didn’t mean anything i said.” you sniffle as you watch his cockhead rub against the entrance of your throbbing pussy.

“jus’ mad, huh?” he mumbles. he rubs his through your wetness for a few moments before sliding inside of you. on a regular day, he would’ve prepped you and made sure you were prepared enough for him to sink his lengthy cock into you. but its hard to be kind to you when you act like such a fucking brat.

“mhmm, d-daddy. was jus’ mad.” there are still tears lingering in your eyes that satoru ignores. “i don’t hate you, daddy.” you add on.

“‘s too late to apologize, babygirl. you know what happens when you act up like that.” 

you bite down on your lip while looking at him with a look of confliction. “‘m sorry.” you whimper. “are you一really mad at me or just a little?” 

“absolutely pissed, babygirl.” he says before snaking his hand back to your neck. he slams your head down onto the mattress and squeezes. 

his hips snaps into you, your wetness is already getting all over his cock and heavy balls <3. from his slapping, you feel sensitive, way more than usual. loud struggling mewls escape from your mouth as his hips speed up.

he keeps his hand around your neck but stops squeezing once his other hand goes to cover both your mouth and nose. “you’ve said enough today, babydoll. shut. the. fuck. up.” with every word, he grinds his cock deeper into your pussy. 

“rude little girl. gonna show you what happens t’girls who piss their daddy off.” he promises.

[lightseoul]

Hello! For your event can i get #11 ?

hello, sure! this took quite a while for me to get around to doing, but i hope the wait was worth it <3 thank you for playing!

(this is lightseoul’s 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i’ll whip something up!)

warnings. minors dni, please!

11. "IS THAT MY SHIRT?" (1.4k)

under other circumstances, today would’ve been filed under the non-descript mornings with which you start your unremarkable days.

the sun is barely peeking through the curtains, the temperature is not too cold but not too hot, and you’re buried in freshly washed bedding that smells divine.

and so it’s not really your fault for thinking for a modicum of a second that today was just like any other day.

if it weren’t for the muscled arm slung across your bare waist.

you’re yanked from your half-asleep stupor the second you see it, and you jolt in shock before you can stop yourself. the man beside you, thankfully, doesn’t stir awake.

with wide eyes, you chance a glance at the decidedly naked person next to you (if your sense of touch wasn’t betraying you), and the sight that greets you nearly makes you faint.

because what the fuck are you doing in bed—naked—with the bakugou katsuki?

suddenly the areas where your skin meets his are becoming way too hot, and you’re hit with the visceral urge to get away from the man.

and so as discreetly and quietly as you can, you lift the arm that’s wrapped around your midriff, but freeze when his grip tightens and he shifts every so minutely. sneaking a peek again, now at his face, you study the man with caution as his eyebrows furrow for a beat before they relax along with the rest of his features.

you don’t allow yourself to revel in how peaceful he looks, or dwell on the fact that you may have just fucked this man last night, choosing to try again and wrestle yourself out of his hold. to your relief, he doesn’t resist, even in slumber, and you’re able to slide out of the bed with minimal noise and motion, thanks to his firm, exquisite mattress.

you wonder how firm it proved to be last night…

you mentally slap yourself.

now is not the time to be horny.

it instantly dawns on you how naked you are, standing in this man’s bedroom fully bare, and so you scan the room for any sign of your undergarments and clothing. it doesn’t take you a while to spot your panties, and then your bra a few seconds later—both of which are notably plain and not at all sexy. you try to fight the cringe as you shimmy into them—obviously, you didn’t anticipate getting any action yesterday—eyes darting across the area in search of your shirt. they finally land on the black article that’s unceremoniously sprawled across near the foot of the bed, and you waste no time putting it on.

and as you find your trousers and squeeze yourself into them, you let your brain wander to what got you here in the first place.

you remember being strung along by your girlfriends into that exclusive bar that’s said to be frequented by many pro-heroes. you don’t know how your designated planner friend managed to get you guys entry, but you didn’t question it, choosing to just enjoy the atmosphere and drink good booze with good company.

in fact, you may have drunk too much good booze because your memory drifts in and out a few hours into settling into a booth in the bar. you recall one friend pointing to a group of three men who looked suspiciously like pro-heroes cellophane, red riot, and dynamight, as well as you laughing at how it couldn’t be.

you wince at the memory of said friend, who knows about the big, fat, embarrassing crush you have on the ash-blonde hero, dragging you to where they sat and introducing yourselves to the men.

at that point, you were tipsy and bordering on drunk, and dead convinced that they were just wannabes who wanted to look like their hero idols. but the guy with the crimson eyes that were notably boring into you looked too much like bakugou that you threw all caution to the wind and just went along with it, too curious about the person in front of you.

but now, as you stand smack dab in the middle of this pristine bedroom that can only belong to a very highly-paid, famously all-might-loving hero, you’re flooded by a wave of dizzying nausea.

dizzying nausea that doubles up when your eyes catch the ridiculously sculpted arms of the man who’s still lying on his stomach, seemingly fast asleep.

you can relive and fact-check your fantasies later, when you’re alone and in the safety of your much more modest apartment unit, but not now.

and so with a slightly heavy heart, you turn around and silently twist the knob, ready to tiptoe the hell out of his room with your purse in tow.

but all hopes of making a quiet exit get thrown out of his bougie-ass windows when the door fucking creaks so loud, that you don’t have to look behind you to know that the man just shot awake.

you stand there, frozen with your back turned against him, for what feels like forever, before ultimately deciding that you can’t just walk out the door now like nothing happened lest you come off as a fucking lunatic.

and so with a deep inhale, you steel yourself for the incoming shitshow, and turn.

you try not to stare at his crazy, stupid, built torso or his beautiful face that’s looking all too stunned as you awkwardly gesture to the door.

“you ought to lubricate this door of yours,” you quip, capping it with a laugh, although it comes out stilted.

and when he doesn’t say anything, “…sorry i woke you up.”

that must’ve been enough to sober him up, because he finally speaks up. “shit—no, i—”

he cuts himself off as he scrambles to get up, and you turn around just in time to not see his dick dangle as he searched for his boxers. you hear rustling and things being turned upside down as you wait for him to get dressed.

“just a sec,” he calls out, before: “have you seen my—is that my shirt?”

before you can think better against it, you whip around to look at where he’s gesturing, only to be met with him, now in his boxer shorts, staring straight at you.

“wha—?”

you look down to where his gaze is fixed, and sure enough, the shirt you’re wearing is decisively not yours.

“fuck—” you start, flaming in embarrassment, “i’m sorry, i thought it was mine. i—let me just—” you trail off just as your eyes land on another black shirt near your feet, and you’re about to scoop it up and turn and hurriedly strip off his shirt when he speaks up.

“no, it’s okay.” you freeze, bent over and hand just barely having grasped the shirt off the floor. and when he doesn’t say anything, you slowly straighten up, fighting to maintain eye contact.

he’s scowling now.

“you don’t have to scurry like a fucking rat, dumbass,” he spits, although there’s not much bite to it. he’s looking a tad bit embarrassed, too. hesitating for a second, he diverts his gaze, before: “can’t i at least cook you breakfast?”

you pick up your jaw that just dropped to the floor as fast as you can. “you—you mean you don’t want me to leave just yet?”

at that, he scoffs. “what do you take me for, a fuckboy?”

he says it so incredulously you almost snort. instead, you cock your head a bit to the right, not entirely able to deny your impressions of him.

“seriously?” he splutters for a beat, before sighing in resignation. shaking his head, he finally shifts to meet your eyes and regard you, the switch in the air to that of palpable seriousness so potent.

“i don’t normally do this,” he states, gaze remaining fixed on yours, as if he’s trying to communicate the rest with just his eyes.

you don’t have to ask him what ‘this’ means.

and so you reply just as honestly. “me, neither.”

neither of you says anything for a brief moment, the revelations from both of you taking up the small space between.

“so,” bakugou breaks the silence eventually, “breakfast?”

[satorusugurugurl]

heya! I have a req - imagine Gojo tears up when yn kisses his forehead. he’s never felt so vulnerable 🫠

take care :)

Rest

Summary: After a long day of being Gojo Satoru— the strongest sorcerer of the modern age, your boyfriend gets to come home to your loving embrace.

Characters: Gojo Satoru x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: sweet flufffy goodness, mentions of sleep deprivation, stress, overworking, but overall it’s really sweet!

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: Nonnie thank you for your request! I had so much fun writing this, Gojo deserves so much better! 💚💚💚

It was late, two thirty in the morning, to be exact, when the door to the bedroom finally creaked open. You stirred, wincing at the stiffness in your neck as you sat up, the book you read lying against your chest. But your neck didn't matter, not when Satoru was wincing as he slipped his shirt off and placed it in the hamper. His blindfold hand was loosely wrapped around his neck, giving you a perfect view of his dark circles.

“Toru?” You hesitantly asked, drawing his attention towards the bed.

Though you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, he smiled a little on the side but still smiled for you. “Hey, Sweetpea, I didn't wake you, did I?” He walked towards the edge of the bed, kissing your cheek.

“No, I had a stiff neck, so that woke me up.”

Cerulean eyes darted towards the book that was still resting on your chest. “I told you you didn’t have to wait up for me. Just because I had to work late doesn’t mean you have to deprive yourself of sleep.” Even when he was talking, you could hear the exhaustion in his voice.

Being the strongest sorcerer of the modern age was a curse in itself. Satoru was constantly on the move. Whether yanked away for missions or meetings with the higher-ups, he rarely had a break. Time for himself was a rarity. You hated seeing him so drained. Even if you confronted him about it, he would deny it. Putting on some arrogant, cocky attitude that he was the strongest and handling some extra meetings or taking on a few more missions wasn’t going to hurt him.

Your boyfriend could put on that kind of act for himself, his students, or even the higher-ups themselves. You knew he was tired, though. He could deny your accusations all he wanted. You, however, were fortunate enough to know him better than he knew himself. That facade was see-through when it came to you looking at him.

You wanted to tell him it was okay to be tired and set some time aside for himself. Deep down, you knew if you were to bring that up, Gojo would try to ensure you that everything was peachy. So, given the circumstances, you did the one thing you were able to do.

You would support him, be there for him when he needed to vent, and help him out as much as you could or as much as he would allow you to do.

“I was just reading; my book got really good. I just dozed off.”

“Mmm, you should put the book down and get some sleep.” Long ivory fingers caressed your cheek. “I don’t want you having a crooked neck because you were up reading your smut.”

“Leave my books out of this~” Satoru snickered, rolling his eyes as he pulled back, unbuckling his belt. “Go take a shower, then get your ass in bed.”

Satoru gave you a dorky salute as he headed into the bathroom, removing the rest of his clothing as he walked. You knew he was exhausted from the shower he took. Enough to wash the white tufts of hair and wash his body thoroughly. When he finished his shower, his mind was fuzzy with sleep deprivation. Finishing getting ready for bed was a blur, but he found himself climbing the sheets next to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his head against your breasts.

Your warmth and the smell of you relaxed every muscle in his body as he rested his body weight against you. Satoru was so tired. He needed to think about going on vacation sometime soon. Getting away from the bustling life he was living sounded like a dream. One where you would join him, and the two of you would stay in bed, talking, watching movies, and enjoying each other‘s company for hours.

Thoughts of that had him snuggling his face further into your soft breasts. You could see the dark circles under his eyes from where you were propped up. Your poor boyfriend was being tugged in every way possible, which would take a toll on anybody. Just because he was the strongest didn’t mean everyone had a right to take advantage of him and use him as a weapon.

Gojo Satoru was human, and he deserved some praise and recognition. Normally, he provided that recognition for himself, occasionally giving himself a literal pat on the back. But it was nice to hear it from someone else, too. He deserved the world—nothing but happiness.

Sensing your body's tension, Satoru turned his head to look up at you. As he did, his soft white bangs moved with each turn of his head. You reached out, brushing some strands away, only stopping to push them back as if he were wearing his blindfold. His eyes glanced to where your hand was pushing up his hair, cerulean eyes almost crossing to get a glimpse.

No words needed to be said. You gave him the faintest smile before pressing your lips against his forehead. As your lips pulled away his skin, you could feel the tension in his body; fearing you may have crossed the line, you quickly pulled back, looking down at your chest with tears staining the thin fabric of your top.

“Toru?” Your voice was soft as if your words themselves would shatter him.

“W-What was that?”

“A forehead. a kiss, a little token of my appreciation for all your hard work.” You weren’t sure what to expect—maybe a thank you or a smile in return. What you met with instead was tears in his eyes. Tears that made the blue of his Iris stand out even more.”Toru! Baby, what’s the matter?”

“I just—that was different.”

Growing up as the strongest and as an only child had been rough. It didn’t matter that he was filthy rich. The staff at the house was constantly on him. His parents rarely came to see him or talk to him. Gojo was alone most of the time, and he found many of his favorite memories from that time when he snuck out of the estate and went exploring Tokyo, being held like this and having kisses planted against his forehead with something he had never experienced with anyone, even his mother.

And he liked it. Scratch that he loved it. Being able to rest in your arms to have you petting his head, and playing with his hair always had him relaxing. This was how he liked to spend his rare moments at home with you. To be in your arms, to have your fingers running through his soft hair, and to have your lips pressing against his forehead made everything he did worth it. He put so much time and effort into helping the next generation of sorcerers, trying to make this world a place he wanted to live in. The hours of the hard work he put in was worth it.

At the end of the day, he got to come home to you.

You were one of the only people who treated him like a human being rather than some tool to be used. So, after a long day of being pulled around, told what to do, and scolded, this was precisely what he needed. Gojo’s mind, body, and soul knew that, and they all worked against him and caused tears to well up in his eyes to make him feel vulnerable. Thiswas a feeling he somewhat liked as long as it was with you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. I hope I didn’t insult you or make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I like it. I like it a lot, Sweetheart.” He slowly shut his eyes, his full white eyelashes resting against his cheek as he exhaled through his nose. “Could you do it again?”

Hearing him a king for you to kiss his forehead again had your heart swelling with a certain pride as you hummed happily, pressing your lips against his forehead while your nails gently scratched at his scalp. “Thank you for all of your hard work, Toru.” Your voice was angelic, easing Satoru further into the mattress as his body relaxed more, his mind slowly turning off. “Thank you for everything you do.” He hummed softly in response as he slowly began drifting to sleep, tears welling at the corners of his eyes before slowly streaming down his cheek.

Seeing the tears slowly sliding down his slightly flushed cheek had you abandoning one of your hands on the top of his head, your thumb quickly brushing the stray away. Once you were sure that the tears would stop flowing, your hands slowly drifted back up to the top of his head, continuing to scratch lazily at it as you shut your eyes, yawning, as Satoru hugged you tight, wrapping his arms around you not letting you out of his grasp. It was such a comforting and warm hug that left you feeling safe even when he fell asleep. Your nerves melted like snow on a spring day.

“I love you so much,” Satoru mumbled against your chest. Any other thoughts failed to reach his mouth; he began to breathe much deeper, falling into REM sleep.

But he didn’t have to say anything else. You simply priced one last very long kiss against the center of his forehead. When you finally managed to pull away, you found yourself cradling his head to your chest, allowing him to listen to your heartbeat because he fell asleep.

“I love you too, Toru.”

Yeah, all of his hard work was definitely worth coming home to this.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3 @wil10wthetree

[viscerealista]

This year I'm applying* for uni for #GOOD and for #REAL right (as I've also applied* in other years before, but it was just for #SHITS and #GIGGLES) (* brazilposting, which means "to apply" here is to take an exam that happens every year at the end of the year that serves to connect and enroll people [if you get a grade good enough for that] to most public&federal universities; but people usually also take separate exams for state schools, since they usually hold a separate exam.) so this year I'm doing the general standardized exam (for federal; this is also the only exam I have taken before) & another exam for my state's statual university, right. The standardized exam only has one phase that is the same for everyone taking it, but the state exam has two; the first phase is the same for everyone (I've taken it already and passed) but the second one is specific to the major you want (I'm going for a letters degree [literature linguistics translation etc] in portuguese & spanish, which means my second phase will consist of a Portuguese & literature exam, a foreign language [english, spanish or french] exam and an essay) Right. And I've never studied spanish before in my life but I imagined that'd be fine and wouldn't really matter, as they say in the official notice that the only language you're expected to know when starting a specific major is english, and silly me supposed I could still choose english as my foreign language for the exam (Since knowing spanish beforehand is ACCORDING TO THEM not required) . But i'm doing my registration for the second phase right now and guess what I just found 😀😀😀😀😀😀

ummmmmmm guys... I just found the smallest little obstacle in my life

[hypnagogics]

heh.. okay, so you asked for different.. rubs hands together villaniously as i materialize from the bottomless shadows..

sub!vampire!ellie biting/bloodsucking denial.. reminding her how much of a good girl she needs to be even when your wrist is practically just brushing past her lips to cradle her face.. or when the weakest bead of blood is pricked from your finger.. flaunting it.. teasing.. goddess bless throw in whatever else you see fit freakmaster

TEMPTATION WAITS

before you read! ▪︎ my masterlist ☆: co-president...this is absolutely divine...shoulda seen the way i dropped everything for this im literally #TWEAKING. new fav thing i've ever written methinks. title song. (vibes aren't there but the title was too good.) ps: if you spot any typos i wrote this with one hand. KIDDING...or am i? divider creds—cafekitsune. ◇: not outright smut, but still suggestive!! and nsfw is described. fluffy end bc i think she earned it, lore sprinkled in because why nawt it's interesting, finger sucking (e! receiving), this is maybe a lil ooc idrc, she's described as looking quite ill in her vampiric form + begs like her century long life depends on it fr, (but also has a bit of an attitude, it issss ellie after all), mean!r, talk of blood/previous bite wounds. ++ 3.3k wc. doesn't need to be that long but atp? take it or leave it LOLL. filing under "oneshots" bc it's way more than usual reqs hehe.

“Please, baby. Just one taste. I'll do anything.” Desperate, shaky pleas spilled from Ellie, her voice noticeably tired from the effort. She's been at this for what felt like forever now, and you were getting tired of ignoring her. Or rather, a little bored.

She was kneeling on the wooden floor by your bed, fisting the creased sheets, trying to capture your attention. The shimmering moonlight was dancing on her features as if it was a sparkle of fireflies, making her oddly colored eyes appear to glow, and highlighting her sickly appearance.

In her vampiric form, her skin was tinted a ghostly—even chalky—white, barely a smidgen of blush dancing on the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes shifted from their original grassy green to a peculiar duochrome blend of emerald and ruby. She really looked unwell, but you knew it was merely a product of circumstance, her gloomy fate.

Ellie donned somber dark circles around her eyes, her lips withered, pale, and thin as a piece of tissue paper. Just behind them though, rested two deadly weapons of her very own—sizeable, razor-sharp, gleaming ivory canines reflecting the scarce lighting as if they were made of mirrored glass.

For the first time tonight, you met her gaze, assuming an unbreakable poker face. Her keen sight could pick out the most subtle of twitches, so you learned to defeat that. The moment you met her line of sight she perked up, her eyes widening in glee, you had finally acknowledged her existence after so long.

Scooting forward you placed yourself right in front of her still kneeling form, sitting so she was in between your legs, but she wasn't allowed to touch you until you said so. What torture.

She began again, “Can I do something to make you change your mind? I'll do anything. Anything in the world. I'll make you feel re-really good, and then I won't ask again…ever even, if that's what you want. Just please let me…I'm so thirsty.” She was rambling a million miles a minute, slurring her words and cutting herself off with hiccups, stuttering like was having a nervous breakdown.

Her chest heaving up and down was visible to you despite the dim surroundings, and you could just make out her facial expression—a pained grimace, as if she was experiencing all of humanity's greatest suffering. When you didn't reply but stayed observing her blankly, she sighed and hung her head in shame, you almost felt bad. Almost.

You extend a hand, twirling a strand of her hair—previously silky and vibrant, now as lifeless and dull as charred hay—and you feel her relax under your touch. You continue raking your fingers through her locks, scratching her scalp with your nails, and you hear her exhale forcefully. She's likely overwhelmed by your scent—it's invigorating, fresh, and full of life.

“Have you been good?” You pipe up with a voice colder than ice, softly caressing the flesh of her tense cheek, and letting your fingertips travel to the underside of her chin. You gently tilt her head up, noticing the way her eyelids flutter to a close. She's soaking up the heat radiating off of you, making sure to feel the sensations of your skin brush against hers as much as she can, commit them to memory for when she's apart from you.

Her lips part, allowing for hushed, woeful whimpers to pour out, and she instinctively bites her bottom lip to quiet herself. Only she forgets about the powerful daggers in her mouth, and almost pierces right through her own skin.

Taking notice, you tut at her, warning clicks of your tongue bouncing off the room’s walls, contrasting the dead of night’s eerie silence. Tsk, tsk, tsk. You push the pad of your thumb down on the plush of her lip, angling her jaw side to side, examining those killer gnashers she's got.

“You could hurt yourself with these y'know, be careful.” Her eyelids flicker open, she's staring up at you with the biggest doe eyes she could muster, somehow all while maintaining such a strong glare you feel as if she's trying to challenge you.

“I'll decide if you can have some, as long as you're good, and you let me have some fun first. Alright?” You explain in a neutral tone, earning a cute “mhm” of confirmation from the undead being before you. “Good girl.”

You slowly slip your thumb into her mouth, avoiding her fangs at all costs, and you let her wrap her slippery tongue around your digit, watching how her cheeks hollow and her eyes roll ever so slightly while she sucks, moaning as she takes in your taste—nothing more than just skin.

You chuckle at her desperation, revel in the power dynamic you have created. “Mmm, you taste so good, so sweet.” She mumbles, swirling her tongue around your thumb, coating the entirety of it in her spit. You allow it for now, but soon enough, to no surprise, she slyly tries to shift to the side in preparation to slice you and get her treat.

You sharply retract your hands from her, removing your finger from her mouth with a pop, disappointed by her greed, her audacity. She turns to the side and pouts, huffing and rolling her eyes with more attitude than a moody teen. “What did I say?” You calmly hiss at her. She whispers, almost inaudibly, “Sorry…taste so good, can't help m’self.” Her voice wavered, and the moonlight illuminated the faintest tinge of red across her features, it was nearly invisible.

But you could tell exactly what was up. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, grunting with laughable, pitiful attempts to rub her thighs together, fingers toying with the cloth of her pants, putting her frustration on full display. You looked at her struggle, unable to contain your grin.

It was a different kind of high, seeing such a feared and fabled beast kneel before you in such a pathetic manner, but it turned you on like nothing else. It was also evident she enjoyed it as well, no matter how much she didn't want you to be aware of the fact. The extent to which she worships you and handles your body, the way she was willing to beg and let you order her around showed just how much you meant to her—it was beautiful in its own way, how devoted she was to you. You were her person.

The fact she couldn't stifle her desire anymore after all this time suggested a shift in the atmosphere of your wicked games, the tension in the air was getting impossibly thicker, and you were loving every second of it.

Ellie, you've got a short memory.” You tease, then gesture to the gauze wrapped around your forearm, protecting two puncture wounds left by none other than her just the previous night. She looks at it and cocks an eyebrow, grouching, “Yeah, I see that, what about it?” The husky edge to her voice had returned, the defiant attitude you loved to crack was back in full force.

“Hundreds of years old, you even have memories of wars, and you can't remember what happened, like, 24 hours ago? Wow…” Your voice is so patronizing, it's unpleasant and abrasive on the ears, even your own. She shrugs her shoulders, still kneeling on the cold, hard ground at your mercy. “Well let's have a refresher then, shall we?” Tearing the tan-colored bandage apart with a single rip, you reveal the puncture marks—they were still wet and irritated, the wounds reopening immediately at the slightest movement.

Ellie whines like an animal, a crude “ahh”, and she starts pleading harder than ever. “Please, baby, my pretty, my angel, please, please, pleasepleaseplease, just lemme have a drop, just one. That's all, I swear.” Her gaze darkens exponentially, if you didn't know her it would instill fear in your heart, but luckily you were well aware of all her tricks. She snarls, “Fuck you. I'm literally on my fucking knees right now. Why are you doing this?” Her voice breaks angrily, wobbling with great lust and need—the need to have you, the need to drink you and fondle you and taste you in all senses of the word, and at this point she didn't seem to care about preserving a morsel of her dignity, she was simply so drunk on you, you couldn't believe.

You reiterate the previously established explanation, “We have an agreement that says you're allowed to take my blood once a month, so you can have some more each time. Rather than taking a little bit but more often, you requested this yourself. And you already drank lots yesterday. Does that not ring a bell?”

She groans, a gravelly, guttural sound that had you coming back to your senses and realizing, this was technically, a monster who you loved so dearly.

It led you to wonder—to her kind, what was so special about the liquid coursing through your veins?

When you split your lip open as a kid, clumsily tumbling face-first onto the asphalt, or bit your tongue while eating something stubborn, the strange, metallic taste was purely disgusting. It had a certain heaviness to it, both physically with the way it sat in your mouth, but also mentally. Like a subconscious awareness you were not meant to consume it like she does, but to spit it out the millisecond it made contact with your taste buds. There were times where the thought made you queasy, the measly knowledge of just how much of this fluid was inside you, keeping you alive.

But to her, it was a completely different story. She lapped it up with such fervor, such thirst you've never seen before. A sloppy frenzy like there wasn't a single thing more delightfully flavorful.

Her teeth penetrating all the way through your epidermis, dermis, and hypodermis, and straight through the vein wall was a feeling you're likely never going to get used to. It stung, it really did, and you were quick to get all woozy from the blood volume loss, but Ellie knew your limits—even though hers were not even close. Her thirst was insatiable.

The intimacy of the act was a whole separate topic to think about too. It was such an erotic experience, and when probed about it she argues it's better than sex, somehow. When she drinks from you, Ellie is really messy with it, you noticed. Blood dribbles down her chin and stains her lips as if it's a designer lip oil, the distinct deep maroon color sometimes appearing clownish and too intense against her fair complexion.

She was really handsy as well, and you weren't sure if it was purposeful, but you didn't care to ask because you didn't really mind in the first place. It felt nice. Her muscular hands tend to trace your waist as she's suckling, hovering by your ass, and traveling north to knead the supple tissue of your breasts.

And how could you forget about the sheer proximity of it all, even when having sex normally, it didn't feel nearly as intimate or vulnerable as this. Her body would be tightly curled around yours, she couldn't bear to have one meager square inch of her not touching you.

When she drank from your neck, it was bordering on heavenly, you had to be honest with yourself. There was something about the combination of the light headed, dizzying feeling it brought you, her closeness, the licking sensations, and the hungry sounds she produced that all together mixed to form nothing short of a mind blowing, intoxicating concoction.

When you both were feeling it, she'd be able to draw breathy moans to fall from your lips, and would giggle into your skin before sucking harder, leaving bruised marks surrounding the punctures. You read in some folklore that vampires carried a sort of aphrodisiac in their fangs, or was it their saliva? Again, you didn't really know all the details, but the sessions made you both yearn for each other in a way that felt taboo to discuss—midnight feedings often turning into animalistic fucking, sometimes even simultaneously.

Like having Ellie latched onto the side of your neck while she grinds her dripping pussy onto yours, her pleasureful mewls filling your ears, or having her hold your wrist to her mouth while her other hand is pleasuring you into oblivion, prodding against your spongy walls, making your head spin.

The time you spent lost in thought, she had broken the rule of not touching you unless you said so, but all she had done was rest her head on your knee, zoning out, sulking like an injured puppy. Unfortunately for her, you weren't done torturing her just yet. You didn't move her off of you, she was just laying there, grumbling curses under her breath, saying how mean you were, how much she despised you and everything you stood for, although both of you knew the truth—she had said herself, “I've never tasted blood like yours,” and you felt intrinsically bound to her on a subconscious level, these were mere amusements you indulged in, that ended up beneficial for both.

She got her delicious elixir of life, at the cost of you having your way with her for a bit. You hear her sniffle, the little defenseless sound of defeat was able to break your act.

You resume stroking her hair, and she wraps trembling arms around your thigh. “Hmm?” You coo, putting on a sweet facade. “Don't talk to me like that, c'mon man.” She wails, the attempts to regain control over her voice proving unsuccessful.

You took your nails to the newly formed raspberry scabs on top of your bite wounds and picked them off, and she lunges to grab your arm with inhuman reflexes, but once again you emerge on top, having spent so much time memorizing every last one of her behavioral patterns, so much so you knew exactly how she was going to attempt catching you and moved out the way without thinking about it.

“Too slow, you've gotten predictable.” You ridicule her, embellishing your voice with the most fake, sickly sweet tone you could just to irritate her as much as you possibly could. Ellie lays her head on your thigh, sighing. It's like she's given everything up. Her own patience was running out, potentially entering unpredictable territory now.

You squeeze the sides of the hole in your skin to coax a bubble of bright red blood to ooze out, marveling, “It's such a nice color, I see why you like it so much.” You talk to her coolly, ignoring her tearful, yet terrifyingly rage-filled glares, her massive fangs bared as if you were a prey animal she caught herself and was preparing to rip apart.

“Want a taste, Ellie? Have you earned it?” You think out loud, comically tapping your chin to exaggerate the brainstorming act. “Whatever, it's not like I have anything left to say to you.” She sounded heartbroken, you've never seen someone have such sorrow, the sheer misery behind her eyes actually caught you off guard.

"Okay I think you have earned it, just need you to say one more thing.” She nods, a little too quickly, rushing to catch any tears that were planning an escape route down the sides of her pretty face. You cradle her cheek, brushing your thumb against her skin, “Aw, baby, don't cry.” This time however, your tone is sincere.

She doesn't wait for your request, and starts all over again, this is getting old. “I promise everything. I'll make you feel so good, I'll give you whatever you want, please …you're too sweet.” She huffs, “Well, except when you're not.”

She continues mumbling, burying her face in the meat of your thigh, occasionally stopping to lovingly peck where she was laying, quiet smooching sounds. That really melted your heart, you were ready to give her what she needs after so much cruelty. This went on much longer than you had planned, but you were having fun with it. So you decided to abandon whatever you would ask of her. But could anyone blame you?

She slowly reaches for your wounded arm, gauging your reactions, like in the situation you were planning to do something to prevent her, but you come up with a better idea. “I'll do you one even better, Els.” The grin that envelops her face could light up a thousand suns, and melt the coldest of souls. Make vampire hunters quit their careers even, that's how adorable she could be, on the occasion.

You lean back to take your shirt off in one swift motion, and lay back on the edge of the bed, tilting your neck to give her access to the sweet pulsating spot, finding the droplet of drool that falls from her agape mouth utterly hilarious. “Go ahead, I've had my fun.” She hesitates. “But our agreement, I don't wanna hurt you.” “Ellie it's fine, unless you don't want t-” “No I do I do, oh thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you so muchhhh.”

Her gratitude is silly, she's straddling you and kissing all over your neck, face, and collarbones with such care, and you inhale sharply once you feel the familiar sensation of her teeth piercing your sensitive skin.

She has one hand on the nape of your neck, holding you close to her so you couldn't move away, and the other one finds your fingers to intertwine with hers, loud gulping noises filling the room as she messily laps up all that flows from you.

Her bony hips are sat atop your pelvis, and soon enough you feel her start absentmindedly rocking back and forth on you, your breath hitching. You hold her waist to ground yourself, and aid her. She's whispering, mostly to herself, “Fuck that's so fucking good, needed this so bad, need you, fuck- shit. Ah, yes.”

The vertiginous feeling swirls in your head and you feel yourself fading, your grip on her sides loosening, but you don't feel one single ounce of panic, because you know she's got you. No matter what, until the end of time. Or at the very least, until the final bells tolled and you were lowered to your eternal resting place six feet underground.

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[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Prologue

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

The cupcake is smashed. Pink icing and gaudy star-shaped sprinkles coat the interior of the box, and the pastry itself has devolved into crumbs. You just stare at it. It had cost you seventeen dollars. It was expensive, yeah. But you’d spent the last three months walking past it every morning and afternoon in the bougie cafe’s windows. You’d waited. You’d wanted.

And it was destroyed. Completely. The perfect swirl of the buttercream was no more. The single, delicate flower made of frosting had lost half it’s petals. You weren’t sure how you could eat it. The wrapping had been warped, but maybe a tea spoon would work?

You let your head fall into your hands, a sob wracking your shoulders. And then less than a second later you swallow down the feeling, and stride over to your shitty apartment’s tiny kitchen. You grab a lighter, a plastic wine glass and the bottle of white wine Molly had given you earlier today. You hadn’t told her what happened yet, but she could tell something had. She’d gave you the wine, a hug, and the promise to always be by your side.

Despite today’s circumstances, despite this week’s circumstances, despite this decade’s circumstances, you were going to have a good birthday getting black-out drunk.

You weren’t going to let yourself sink into one of your funks. Even if it was the worst day of the year by far. Even if it was the second worst birthday of your life.

You just don’t. It’s not allowed.

Your phone rings. Sliding it out of your pocket, you stare blankly at the name on the screen. Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

Malcom. One of George’s friends. You reject the call, block the number, and slide your phone back in your pocket. See? Dealing with things like an adult. Not throwing a temper tantrum, not crying, not… well, destroying your life in an epic meltdown. You’d had a few of those. Still, despite your obvious erraticness, you hadn’t been fired this year. Yay!

You told yourself you were getting better, even as the universe seemingly conspired against your happiness. You were kind of convinced it was.

Turning, you play with the cap on the wine, walking over to your old ratty couch and falling into it. The beast groans at the contact, but you pay it no mind. The thing was probably older than you, and you were celebrating your twenty-first today.

You were an orphan in Gotham, it was not your first time drinking. Molly had dragged you to so many awful parties over the years. But this wine was probably the fanciest you’d ever been given. Scratch that, definitely was. You pour yourself a glass, stick the birthday candle half-hazardly into the largest chunk of cupcake, and grab the remote.

The only true comfort you can get on this day. A woman, a reporter. She speaks, but you can’t really hear what she’s saying. You chug down a glass of the wine, apologising in your head to Molly, and then pour yourself another.

It takes a few minutes, but your muscles relax, and her words tune into focus.

“Today’s memorial, is once again sponsored by the Wayne foundation.”

Yeah, because they’re the only charity organisation in the city. The family of billionaires were debatably the only good ones in existance. Debtable because you weren’t sure if they were good enough themselves. As an orphan who’d known the cruelty of the system yourself, you were a mix of bitter and grateful towards them. Sure, they’d been the only thing that kept you out of true poverty. You were still an awful bitch about it.

You always had been the jealous type. The other kids who got better backpacks or toys or whatever had you seething with fury. The multitude of orphans Bruce Wayne risen out of poverty were not safe from your envy. It didn’t matter if you were… Well, a little bit, just a teeny-tiny-tiddly-little bit… obsessed. Obsessed with them. Kind of manic about it, actually.

You were working on it. Today was a bad day, and you were a little too raw. So, like every little dumb animal on the planet, you went straight to your creature comforts. You pretended you were a roman eating and drinking on their chaise lounge, watching their magnificent entertainment.

Delusional. Your sofa was falling apart at the seems, your cupcake was debris and your entertainment was a memorial service. Wine was good, though.

Gotta focus on the good parts.

You watch the TV screen, the reporter’s voice drifting in and out of focus. There was a family photo of the Waynes and their family friends, all in perfect suits and dresses and pearls and fancy watches. You’d bet that those little accessories were worth more than a year of your rent.

And you lived in fucking Gotham, both the most expensive city to live in, and the worst at the same time. A miracle, truly.

Anyway, they were all stunningly beautiful, even some of the guys. God knows how much the internet went on about Richard Grayson’s long eyelashes. You’d always been enamored with Dick’s good looks. Even Damian Wayne who had only turned nineteen a few months ago and was three years younger than you was already being fawned over by the tabloids.

Gotham’s newest young rich bachelor. Bitterly envious, that was you. You didn’t like that emotion, though, so you turned your attention to others. Namely, delusion.

You let yourself get swept up in daydreams. Of having a rich family, of one so close knit as the Wayne’s. Of having a handsome, loving, kind partner. You don’t let yourself dream about your real family, of a George that was faithful.

You just don’t.

Maybe someone like Tim Drake. Loyal, everyone who knew him described him as loyal. His romances with Bernard Dowd and Stephanie Brown were famous. There were hundreds of papparazzi photos of him with big bundles of roses and a sweet look on his face. You thought someone like Tim Drake would probably be like one of the heroes in your romance novels. Something silly like a meet cute in an airport, or maybe a bookstore or a cafe. He was pretty famous in Gotham’s niche hipster coffee scene, right?

Yeah, you could see it now. Some dumb but cute scene where you get confused and accidentally take his order. You get the same drink, and bond over your shared love of caramel syrup. Like he didn’t live on the opposite side of the city from you, and you probably couldn’t afford whatever fancy shit he drunk. Italian coffee beans versus… well, you didn’t actually know what you bought. You knew it didn’t taste very good, but it was dirt cheap.

What were you doing? Ah, yes, silly daydreams about romance.

But even as you think of Tim, Dick Grayson was so pretty, and he’d had his fair share of partners too. Someone with such an angelic face had to have a personality to match, and the media agreed. Of course you didn’t really know what he was like, this was all just fantasy. Other than numerous tabloid interviews and television, which suggested he had a kind heart and a love for bad jokes you truly knew nothing about the guy. Still, he’d be the golden retriever trope, you think. Or the knight in shining armor, saving his heroine from one of the many disaster’s plaguing Gotham and confessing his love in one big final act. His meet cute would be the airplane one. The blue of his eyes, it makes you think of the sky. You’d take his seat, but he’d be super sweet about it. Like he didn’t have a private jet, and would never be caught on economy.

You think Damian Wayne could play a good romance lead as well. From what you’d seen, he seemed to have a terrible personality, which was perfect for any modern romance. A classic enemies to lovers, with some bickering. Maybe he’d have secretly loved her the entire time, and maybe there’d be a good grovel at the end. So, appreciating his character, he’d have to have a meet ugly. Probably get stuck in an elevator with him or something, and he’d get to display his keen intellect and argumentative nature.

You swirl your wine, nodding your head. Brilliant ideas today, you should talk to Molly more. She’d definitely appreciate your wisdom. She wanted to be a screen writer one day, and all this would be very helpful. She was going to college for it. You couldn’t afford college.

Maybe you were drunk. Maybe you were a genius. It was hard to tell, so you take another sip. That’ll help you figure things out.

“As always, the Wayne families’ faces are morose as they celebrate the late Jason Todd.”

And as always, you felt an odd connection with the dead man. Your lives had both technically ended the same day, in the same grand calamity. Sure, you were still technically alive. Kicking about. But everyone you loved dying in one fell swoop, right in front of your eyes? You felt more like a ghost these days.

Weren’t you supposed to be fighting those sorts of thoughts off? Whatever, it was too much effort anyway.

Your slight obsession with the Wayne family had been initially started by Jason Todd. You hadn’t been thinking about him as much recently with George in your life, but he swung right back into place as soon as George left your life. Like a magnet, or more likely, a compulsion.

But now you were brought right back to the morning after. Seeing the entire city grieving the day after you’d lost your family, your first thought had been ‘Good, I’m not the only one,’ and then you’d stopped being an idiot and realised the city was mourning Jason Todd, heir to the Wayne name. Sure, there’d been hundreds of others who’d died, but that was Gotham. Your family had gotten a plaque filled with tens of other forgotten names, Jason had gotten framed photos hung around the city.

Today, his photo was once again surrounded by thousands of bouquets. Peonies, roses, daffodils, lillies, a rainbow of petals that almost covered his memorial stone. It reminded you of your sad-ass cupcake. When the camera zoomed out, you could see your smaller set of poseys against one of the thirty towering monuments, the tiny names crammed into the rock. Your families name was on line fifty-two, near the bottom. You could only afford the flowers once a year, but you visited once a week at least.

There were other flowers. Other offerings. Other candles. Jason’s dwarfed them all.

You sometimes couldn’t tell if you hated the dead man or were hopelessly in love with him. Obviously it didn’t matter. Even when he was alive he was out of both your league and your tax bracket.

Still, you were absolutely certain of it, Jason Todd would beat up George Lancaster. So fucking bad. To a bloody pulp. He’d be eager to do it, as well. You could hum and haw about how you thought violence was bad but he’d see right to the core of you.

The part of you that wanted George Lancaster to suffer. And he’d do it with a kiss and a promise that he’d make it slow. He’d save you from all your monsters, and he’d do it eagerly. And that was the fantasy of it all, wasn’t it?

You lift your glass, in celebration of your dead parasocial imaginary boyfriend. You hoped he wouldn’t be jealous of your new living parasocial imaginary boyfriends. Hiccuping out a laugh, you swallow down another gulp.

And even then, of course you wanted Bruce Wayne as a father. As someone who has seen the worst of the world, and would protect you from it. As someone who would wipe away the tears, who would save you from your own self. And you wanted Cassandra as a sister, someone to groan over guys with and steal clothes off. You wanted the close relationships they shared with Barbara Gordon and Stephanie Brown, with Duke who’d only recently come into their fold. You even wanted their dog you’d seen in photos, the cat that Damian posted on his instagram, the fucking cow they kept for god knows reason inside the estate. You wanted everything, every part of their lives. You were a jealous person, but more than that, you were a greedy person.

You glance at the clock.

11:57.

You shakily open the candle packet, picking a green one out. That had been Sam’s last favourite colour, but he switched them so often it was hard to remember. You stab it into the pink frosting. Julie always chose pink for her cake. Chasey loved flowers, particularly poseys. The flowers had looked like posesys before they’d been crushed.

You light the candle. It’s tiny flame flickers in the dark room, the warm light overpowered by the cool from the television. You peek back over to the clock.

11:58.

And Mum always made her wish at midnight, because she believed that was when it was most likely to come true.

What would you wish for? You never did, because you never knew what you wanted to wish for. Everything you wanted, everything you could’ve wanted, was gone. It couldn’t come back, it was impossible.

11:59.

You look at the TV, at the blinding forms of the Wayne family. Of their graveyard, with the manor in the background. It’s as impossible as everything else. But that’s what they represent for you, isn’t it?

Something hopeful. Something impossible.

You wanted impossible.

12:00.

You lean over the messy cupcake, and blow the candle out. It disappears in one blow, and you sink back into the couch. You take a few crumbs from the cupcake and sneak them past your lips. In your drunkenness, you probably get more on the couch than in your mouth.

You let your eyes flutter shut, and because only you can, you give yourself the comfort of lies. You imagine loving embraces, whispered platitudes. You imagine that today was a good day, that you’d find yourself tomorrow happy. That you wouldn’t wake up with a hangover, that you wouldn’t have a shitty job, an evil ex, and mountains of debt.

That you’d have people who loved you, who could ease the pain.

And you don’t even care who they are.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[ruinofchimera]

Lily Evans was far from a white knight in shining armor in the confrontations between James & Co. and Severus. And if you want to talk about her toxic friendship with Snape, don’t try to erase her contribution to the equation.

Apparently, her close friend is lifted upside down by a spell that causes his robes to fall and expose his underwear. As he helplessly struggles, flailing to free himself, a crowd gathers to watch the spectacle. His wand is out of reach, and he is being mocked and threatened. Of course, as a true friend, she finds this picture amusing enough that she has to hold back her laughter. You know, absolutely reasonable behavior for someone who cares for you deeply. Moreover, imagine if Remus were in a similar situation—no doubt his friends' first reaction would be to laugh, or perhaps yell at his bullies to put him down. With his wand in hand, James Potter would stand by and wait for his friend to be released.

Definitely a turning point in Lily and Severus's friendship. Though Severus's behavior was heavily dictated by a strong sense of hurt after such a public humiliation and violation of his privacy, as you all say, these circumstances justify nothing when it comes to throwing those kinds of insults. Fine.

Oh, but what explains her response, then? Was she hurt too? Humiliated? If you’re saying that the mental state after such a traumatic experience as the one James inflicted upon Severus shouldn’t have affected his words, what justifies Lily’s behavior? What made such a saintly person as she join in the ridicule of her so-called friend in an instant? Not only did she join in by calling him the insulting nickname used by his abusers, but she also added another mockery of Severus to the rotten pile as if it weren’t enough already. And I want to remind you once again that Lily lost control of her emotions before she had even gone through half the humiliation that Snape had endured, for the record.

Thus, it appears that there is a precedent of hypocrisy here. Why do you make this situation appear as a one-sided insult (Severus is the big bad wolf and Lily is the victim) rather than a mutual emotional outburst? Why is Lily allowed to feel hurt but Snape isn’t, though Severus’s emotional damage is at least double? Fine. Let’s move on to the approach both of them took in their apologies.

So, apparently, Severus felt guilty after committing such an atrocity as calling Lily a Mudblood. He made a sincere attempt to apologize. Lily didn’t feel guilty for her contribution to his public humiliation; she was sure the only villain here was Severus.

Lily had every right imaginable to reject his attempts to make amends, but the thing is, Severus reconsidered his behavior—she never did. Moreover, she expressed absolute skepticism about his redemption. Should I even mention that she later started dating his bully? The one who never even tried to apologise for his assaults on Snape?

Somehow, she believed in James's redemption even without him admitting his wrongs. Let it be. That’s not the main point of discussion. What I really struggle to understand is how, given all these circumstances, Lily becomes a cheered, glorious friend, and Severus is commonly believed to be the villain in their dynamic.

Did I overlook something? Prove me wrong, if you please. Open my eyes to where exactly Lily is a saint or martyr. Where is she even a good friend in the first place? I’m all ears.

[wososcripts]

Face to Face (IV)

Fridolina Rolfö x reader

Summary: An attempt to make amends.

A/N: we're nearing the end!! not sure how I feel about this part... hopefully it's okay

Word Count: 3k

Warnings ⚠️: none?

PREVIOUS PART

The next few days followed in a similar manner. Alexia brought you to the pitch even though you couldn't play, and you sat there for a few hours until they were done. Occasionally Jona would come over to see you, or Olga would stop by with food. Ana Maria even drove over from Madrid to see you and take you out for the day. But mostly you slept, listened to podcasts, and thought about what the hell you were going to do about Frido.

She still hadn't spoken to you and the team was starting to notice. It's not like the two of you were very close before (at least publicly) but now it was a conscious avoidance. The rest of the girls often kept you company when they could on breaks or in between drills.

It was only after five days, on Friday afternoon, that she approached you.

“Hi…” Frido said softly.

You looked up at her from where you sat on the pitch. You had been doing light stretches on your calves, still not allowed to do anything strenuous until next week.

“Hi, Frido.” You said plainly.

You tried not to react emotionally despite the fact that this was the first time she was speaking to you since the incident. She hadn’t even called to say she was sorry. It all seemed to confirm she really didn’t give a damn about you—didn’t have the courtesy to treat you like a stranger even.

“How are you feeling?”

Her careful, soft tone enraged you.

“Not so good, actually. My head fucking hurts, I’m sick of sitting here while the rest of you play. And I’d really rather be doing anything than talking to you.”

You felt bad the second you said it. Not because she didn’t deserve it, but because this wasn’t you. You were better than that.

“Sorry, I just really would like to be left alone, Frido. Please, just leave me be. Leave me alone.”

Frido’s eyes shot towards the ground as she blinked furiously.

“Okay.”

She turned away and walked back to the field, joining Alexia and Ingrid as they talked about something. Part of you felt bad for rejecting her so quickly, but another part of you felt enraged that she had the nerve to wait this long.

Ingrid looked over at you and then back at Frido curiously.

"What did you want to say to her?" She asked in Norwegian, knowing Frido would understand.

"I don't know… just wanted to check in on how she's doing so far."

Before Ingrid could reply again, Alexia butted in.

"You need to tell her you're sorry as soon as possible."

"I just tried—clearly she isn't too keen on having me around, is she?" Frido snapped back.

The three of them stood in shock for a second, surprised at Frido’s temper. Usually she was level headed and understanding.

Alexia sighed and clapped her on the shoulder.

"Keep trying."

With that she was off to change and shower, giving Ingrid a small smile as she left.

"Frido," Ingrid rubbed her arm to catch her attention. "Why don't we go get a drink tonight and catch up? It's been a long time since we went out, just us."

Frido contemplated it momentarily, not stupid enough to miss that Ingrid clearly wanted to talk about her mood. If she accepted, she was also accepting the fact that she had to open up to her best friend sooner or later.

"All right."

-

"I don't know what to do," Frido complained, tossing back the last dregs of her beer.

Ingrid sat across from her, her own beer nearly untouched. They were sat out on the balcony of some restaurant nursing the end of the night. They hadn't met, just the two of them, in a while, Frido realized. She wished it was under better circumstances.

"Can I be honest?" Ingrid asked.

Frido nodded. She expected no less from the Norwegian—though she was incredibly kind, it wasn't common for them to sugar coat things.

"You've got to go up to her and apologize. Sincerely. One on one. And you can't be sure she's going to forgive you."

Frido knew Ingrid was talking about apologizing for more than the tackle. She wasn't privy to exactly what happened between the two of you—even in your anger you hadn't told your teammates what was going on—but it was clear something unhealthy had been a staple between the two of you.

"Mapí showed me the video. I didn't want to see it at first, you know how I am with that stuff, so worried always that it'll be one of us. But I finally saw it." Ingrid met her eyes. "The way she went down, the way you hit her, she could've been hurt much worse than she is. And you just got up and left, didn't even check on her."

There was a hint of disdain in Ingrid’s voice that inspired nausea in Frido.

"Had that been any player in a match against Barcelona, imagine how any one of us would've reacted."

Frido knew, if she had seen someone do to you what she had done herself, it would've boiled her blood. To see you lying there unmoving, would've had any player on that field aching, because you were wonderful. You didn't cause fights, you forgave people, you smiled at the opposition after each game, you spent as much time as possible with the fans. And Frido had somehow broken that, gotten you to yell and scream and cry.

"We were together." She whispered, not meeting Ingrid’s eyes. "Well, not really. We were sleeping together, I was at her place most days a week."

The waitress came by, and Frido ordered a glass of wine. She needed a bit more courage to fully get this out in the open.

"I didn't want commitment. I'm not… I didn't know how to be open about that with anyone. I was ashamed of it—she knew. She could sense it." Frido gripped the stem of her wine glass and took a sip. "She hated breaks because she knew I wouldn't talk to her until I was back in Barcelona. Right before I went back to Sweden for camp… we had a huge fight. She said she couldn't take it anymore, that I made her feel like a whore, that I tossed her aside whenever I didn't want her. And I said I didn't care."

Ingrid was silent.

"I didn't expect her to kick me out. Or to refuse to speak to me. I thought we'd fall back together, we always did. But it was different this time. And I hated it. I hated it so much it made my head spin."

Ingrid put a hand over Frido’s where it rested on the table.

"Frido, I love you. You're my best friend, okay?"

Frido nodded, wiping at a tear that was beginning to fall.

"You've got to make this right. Good people do shitty things. Really shitty things sometimes. But sometimes they're also forgiven, in time. And if you want anything with her, even friendship, you've got to apologize and explain yourself."

Frido nodded, meeting Ingrid’s eyes finally.

-

That night Frido found it difficult to get to sleep.

There wasn't any good reason for it: she had worked hard in practice all day and her body was exhausted. Her bed was comfortable, her apartment quiet. But it was empty. She had realized that she hadn't spent a week straight sleeping in her apartment for months. At least once a week she was with you, always.

But now you weren't speaking to her. You looked at her during practice, then avoided her at all costs. She hadn't even tried texting you, worried she would find her number blocked.

She contemplated calling someone to keep her company, though who would be up at one in the morning?

Eventually she fell asleep after tossing and turning for what felt like hours. She slipped away into unconsciousness, allowing her body to relax into the mattress.

Her mind, however, had different plans.

In her dreams she was in the hospital, unable to get to you. She stood at the door to your room, peering in through a small glass window. The rest of the girls were inside, holding your hand and stroking your skin as you laid in the hospital bed. Your eyes were open but you hardly moved. All she knew with certainty was that you did not want to see her. You wanted her gone. You've ruined my life, she heard you say, though your lips didn't move.

Another time you had simply disappeared. Her fault. You had moved far away, far from Barcelona, and far from her. You were happier somewhere else, with different people.

Once more you hated her. Refused to speak.

When she woke it was to a dark room and a sick feeling in her stomach. She was lonely. She wanted you next to her in bed. She wanted to see you smile and hear you laugh. She wanted to see you play great football and jump into her arms after a goal. And it terrified her to think she wouldn't get any of that again.

How was it that she could've treated you so horribly? It confused her, as if it had been someone else. How had she let her fear control her like that? And most importantly, how had she put your feelings aside so callously?

If she was going to fix anything she would need to apologize. Apologize for it all. Ingrid was right. She hadn't been there for your recovery and now it was all she wanted. The guilt of it all threatened to choke her. She thought of how scared you must've been lying on the field in pain.

Though it was only 4:30 in the morning Frido got out of bed and went to the bathroom to start a scalding hot shower. She needed a plan for how to fix things between you two.

-

It began that morning. Alexia brought you to practice. You were still living with her for the time being, until you were one hundred percent cleared. You didn't mind it, in fact it was nice to get so much time with Alexia when she was normally busy.

You walked into the locker room, so pleased to be getting into your kit for the first time in a week and a half. Even if it was just for physio work, at least you were in the uniform once more.

Unexpectedly, sitting in your locker was a small stuffed cow with a card and one of your favorite protein bars propped against it. You picked up the plushie, pressing it to your face and enjoying the softness. You were a bit of a child when it came to stuffed animals: you loved them.

The card was written in very familiar handwriting, and your heart jumped into your throat.

This made me think of you. I'd really like to apologize after practice today. Perhaps we can grab a coffee?

- Fridolina

The message was a bit stilted, but you could practically hear Frido’s hesitation on the page. She was nervous.

Just then the blonde came into the locker room to grab something from her bag. She glanced at you quickly, not sure as to your reaction.

"Frido," you called softly. You hadn't decided until that moment to try and forgive her, "I'll see you after practice."

Frido seemed shocked, but quickly her mouth transformed into a wide smile.

Practice seemed to fly by now that you were allowed to do something. The physio workers had you weight training and doing yoga to try and work your muscles that were tight from the pain you had been in. You felt like you were making progress, finally, after more than a week of sitting around.

-

The car ride with Frido was quiet. You sat in the front seat, fiddling with your fingers and checking your phone as she drove. She had music playing softly, some indie band you didn't know. It was bordering on awkward, though not quite there. You simply didn't know what to say.

Once Frido was pulling off the street to parallel park you spoke.

"I don't think I've been here before."

"I just found it a little while ago when I was wandering around desperately in need of some coffee."

The shop was cute. The outside was painted in chipping yellow paint and the shutters were open. There were a few tables outside, an eclectic set of guests seated at them. There was an old man reading the paper, a student on her laptop, and a mother with her baby. The smell of baked goods wafted from the entrance.

"The muffins are fantastic, if you want one." Frido offered cautiously.

You nodded and gestured for her to enter first.

You decided on a chai and a cinnamon muffin which did look incredible, you had to admit. When you were about to pull out your card to pay you felt a hand on your arm.

"I'll pay, please."

You allowed it, understanding that this was all part of Frido trying to ask for forgiveness. You were willing to see this to the end. It shamed you to admit but you had missed her deeply. It felt good to be near her, to smell her perfume and anticipate her ticks that you knew so well. What made you stay was the possibility that she had missed you too.

Frido carried your drinks and food to the table you picked. It was still warm enough to sit outside even with the sun setting. You tapped your foot and ate your muffin slowly, waiting on her to say something. You didn't want to speak first, but it seemed as though you might have to.

"So…" you started, trailing off to try and prompt Frido.

"I wanted to apologize. Really apologize."

You sat quietly.

"Just for the concussion you gave me?"

Frido hesitated.

"I'm still figuring things out—it's all jumbled up in my head. I was talking to Ingrid the other day and she made me realize I had to set things straight."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"I'm not explaining this well—I wanted to apologize for hurting you. And I want us to be on better terms. I wish we could start over."

"That's it?"

Your chest squeezed painfully. You thought this was the chance you had to deal with the horrible ending to your relationship, but Frido seemed to have no interest in unpacking it. You couldn't help the way your anger flared in response to the hurt you felt.

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'm not exactly okay, Frido." You started to stand up. "I think it's better if I left. There's no hard feelings over the concussion, I knew it was an accident. Let's just forget about all of it."

Frido stood up quickly, reaching out to grab your elbow.

"Can I drive you back?"

You shook your head.

"I'd really rather walk. It isn't far to Alexia's."

Frido looked for a second like she would push further, but then she deflated and nodded.

"See you at practice, Frido. Thank you for the coffee."

-

You couldn't help the tears that fell down your face as you walked down the streets of Barcelona. Deciding to forget the whole thing was worse than being angry about it—at least then you got some acknowledgment. Now you felt as though Frido was telling you she just wanted to smooth things over and make nice. She wanted it to be as if this thing between you never existed—all the pain and attraction gone in one fell swoop. You wanted to scream.

How were you meant to play with someone who you had so much conflict with? Surely Alexia or Jona would begin to notice sooner or later. You knew it would affect the team chemistry. The thought just made you more upset.

The tears in your eyes began to fall faster. Not only was your relationship (whatever messy bleeding thing it had been) ruined, but there was a potential for it to impact your job, your team too. What would you do then? If it came down to you or Frido you couldn't imagine Barça picking you.

Alexia noticed you were crying the second she saw you, even though you tried to hide it.

"What's wrong?" She fretted, pulling you close to her. "What happened? I thought you were with Frido this afternoon? Why did she not drop you off?"

You just shook your head, burying it in your captain's sweater. She wrapped her arms around you, quietly shushing you.

"Come, let's sit down."

You felt like a child being led to the couch and leaning in Alexia's embrace. Deep breaths eventually calmed you down so you could speak.

"I'm sorry Ale, I shouldn't be coming here like this."

Alexia shook her head.

"Nonsense. Tell me what happened. Was it Fridolina?"

"It's my own fault, I let it get like this."

"Let what get like this? The accident?"

You shook your head.

"Not the accident. Frido and I have a…we have our difficulties."

Alexia looked at you, surprised.

"Really?"

"I don't think I can tell you…you're her captain I don't want to let it affect the team."

Alexia took your hand.

"I can separate work and personal life. I'm your friend too, and it seems like you need one."

"We were seeing each other, kind of. In secret." You sighed. "We weren't exclusive, she just wanted some fun I think. I didn't."

You felt defeated. There wasn't much more to do. You just had to accept your fate.

Alexia looked at you for a moment in disbelief. She had had no idea.

"You and Frido?"

"It was a mistake."

[yandere-sins]

shyly requesting a Yandere Jiyan x reader where both are in a arranged marriage and reader thinking that Jiyan does not want to be in this arrangement much like her tries her darn hardest to break off the engagement. from showing that she is very feisty and high maintenance to pointing out that they would not match personality wise. Even hinting that no offspring would ever be had since he always seems to be on the field working.

Thank you for requesting a very good boi ♥♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

♡ The first time you mention how awful and loveless this marriage will be, something inside him dies. Jiyan feels you slipping, distancing yourself, and although he knows you two are not in an ideal position where you'd marry him out of love and affection, his beliefs are shattered. You don't know how hard he worked on arranging this marriage or how much he paid to keep the reasons and unsettling doings hidden from you. Of course, you'd need time to warm up to the idea. But saying it is him who doesn't want it is completely tearing him and his efforts apart.

♡ Panic rises as you threaten to slip from his grasp, your refusal so harsh and to the point that it's like daggers into his heart. Nevertheless, he puts on a brave face just for you. A kind smile to cover the pain, and Jiyan gulps down the hurt. He can't close his eyes from reality—not when the reality is so beautiful since it's you, standing before him. He assures you that he'll do his utmost best to be the husband you deserve, even if the circumstances are... "unfortunate". Jiyan doesn't miss the way you flinch when he agrees with you, realizing too late that this only fuels your fire. You are not exactly begging, but pointing out the incompatible things about you two doesn't really help straying him from this path. In fact, he finds your feistiness and eagerness to be quite endearing, even though the topic is very serious.

♡ No matter what, you are already his. The marriage contract is signed, and in one more ceremony, you'll have no more excuses to make. For a while, Jiyan simply dissociates as you provide him with good and bad reasoning as to why you two would never work. It's unlike him to space out, but he can't help himself. His goals are finally in reach, and despite your doubts, he isn't concerned at all about having an arranged marriage with you. Instead, he thinks of your wedding gown, eating cake, and thanking all the guests attending the wedding. You, smiling and tearing up at the altar. Him, swaying you over the dancefloor. The honeymoon. The wedding night.

♡ "There won't be any intimacy." That does tear him out of his thoughts. He questions out loud why you'd think that, making you flustered with how straightforward he is about this intimate topic. You lower your voice as you explain that his work is important and exhausting, and with the marriage completely loveless, you are not going to wait up for him every night. Jiyan grows silent as you explain, not even having considered needing to be away from you for a prolonged time. It was true that he had to attend a lot of missions and important work obligations lately, which also prolonged your engagement. But with this point, you were actually right.

♡ "No can do," he concedes, nodding. "I'll have to step back from work a little."

♡ "Why would you do that?!" you question him, exasperated about how he didn't seem to share your concerns. This isn't the man you know who works harder than anyone else, and it's crazy how he could simply state he'd just drop some of his workload for you. Even like this, pouting and stressed, Jiyan has to hold back from not kissing you right then and there. You are adorable, no matter your emotional state, and he can't wait to see all the faces you make over the day. Faces only he gets to see, as your husband.

♡ "I can't allow my wife to be lonely," is his simple answer, knowingly lying through his teeth. Of course, it's not as easy as that. As much as he wishes to spend all his time with you, Jiyan feels dutybound, and there is no throwing away all his hard work if he wants to give you the life you deserve by his side. However, everything comes at a cost, and you are his well-deserved prize after all these years of looking out for other people. And if some words will finally make you his, he's not above lying to you, even if it hurts him. Even if it hurts you once you find out, he lied to you all along. But by then, it will already be too late. By then, you'll belong wholly and entirely to Jiyan and he doesn't plan to give you a way out even then.