#drives me crazy this one... how does he work???????

[apollabarnes]

part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // part nine // part ten // part eleven // part twelve // part thirteen // part fourteen // part fifteen // part sixteen

getting out of his own clothes is harder because evan doesn't let go of tommy. he keeps his fingers wrapped tight around his wrist and tommy is pretty sure he'll have bruises in the shape of evan's fingerprints tomorrow. evan only moves when all tommy has left to do is get the sweater off his arm, but his free hand is already firmly on tommy's hip before he does.

tommy realizes he's humming fall out boy and stops himself. lets evan tug until he has to climb under the covers or fall over, doesn't ask if he's sure. tommy can't stand to see his expression crumple again, is scared that if he asks evan will realize he doesn't actually want tommy to stick around. more than that, he wants to stay. wants to spend his day off ferrying evan between the hospital and anywhere else he needs to go.

"tommy," evan mumbles, face mashed up against his neck.

"yeah, evan," tommy whispers, exhaling shakily. "what do you need?"

"tell me something you told athena," evan asks, breath hot against his collarbone. he hums and tommy knows he's close to falling asleep.

he picks something he won't mind repeating in the morning. evan falls asleep before tommy finishes telling him about the designated hitter rant and how pitchers should only have one job.

tommy stares at evan's ceiling and tries not to think about all the ways today could have gone worse. hen's punctured lung could have not reinflated. howie could have died before they flew the cure back. any of them could have died in the explosion. they could have run out of air. ravi could have bled into his brain when he collapsed. bobby could have— tommy presses the hand evan isn't holding onto like a lifeline against his eyes and breathes. evan could have been inside. their job is incredible and tommy loves every minute of it but every so often a call comes along that terrifies him down to his very atoms.

tommy wakes up to his phone vibrating on the bedside table. "'lo?" he keeps his voice as low as possible.

"i reached out to the 133 and harbor — we're keeping the 118 a shift staffed with our own guys until everyone is back in fighting shape."

"morning, sal."

"the one and only. sorry to call so early, i just got off shift. figured you'd be the one to pass on the good news. you at the hospital?"

"uh-uh. drove evan home."

"no shit." most people smile over the phone. sal smirks. "we're talking about that later."

"goodbye sal," tommy sighs, hanging up and checking the time. they can sleep for a bit. he texts athena, lets her know that three stations are sending over coverage until everyone is out of the hospital and approved to work again. bobby's probably trying to schedule everything from his hospital bed and driving her crazy. hopefully bobby can relax now that he knows it's been taken care of, and that should help athena resist the urge to kill him herself.

she texts back to ask if tommy's coming to the hospital.

tommy stares at the phone for a long moment, wondering if this is a trap. he's pretty sure sal doesn't have her number. finally texts her that he has a feeling evan will want to be there as soon as visiting hours start so yeah, they'll be there early. do they need tommy and evan to grab anything from their place?

there's a lull before athena replies and tommy braces himself.

may's planning to drop their bags off after breakfast. tommy wonders about their lives. he's got his own bag stashed in the front hall at home, is pretty sure most first responders do. knows evan's was in his bedroom closet at the loft. he might have moved it.

he likes the message and puts his phone back down, hoping to try and get some sleep. tommy doesn't remember falling asleep and he slept like it — he feels brittle and sore, aching down to the marrow of his bones.

athena waits long enough that tommy's nearly asleep and hoping that she missed the implications of driving in with evan before she sends a text that's just a long line of laughing emojis.

[ghoul-slime]

Veiled

Wrote a little follow-up to this fic (originally prompted by @carnivore-voyeur ) because I CANNOT stop thinking about Dew in the veil.

Pairing: Aether/Dew Rating: Explicit Words: 1272 Tags: blowjobs, anal sex, religious kink, uniform kink, feminization, dirty talk, roleplay

Read it here or over on Ao3

The first thing Dew does is drop to his knees between Aether’s splayed thighs and look up at him through long, blonde lashes. The way the veil frames his face is perfect, the dark fabric contrasting beautifully against the pale skin of Dew’s cheeks, framing those high cheekbones and sharp jawline.

But Aether only gets to admire his face for a moment before Dew wraps his pretty lips around his tip and sinks down, taking him into his hot mouth and deepthroating him in one smooth, perfect motion. Aether leans back and watches Dew bob up and down his shaft - the way he can only see the top of the ghoul's veiled head is delicious. Dew is almost totally obscured by the fabric and somehow it heightens the sensation of that hot little mouth wrapped tight around him, the way he takes him down his throat so easily and swallows.

Aether leans back and lets Dew work for a while before he chances a touch. Reaches out and smooths his palm across the top of the veil, light as a feather. He fully expects Dew to pull off and bat his hand away, to scold him for touching, but Dew just hums around him and sinks down deeper, until Aether feels the tip of his cock bump the back of Dew’s throat. 

Dew holds him there and swallows. Works his throat until Aether is moaning, head tipped back and jaw slack. He sucks him until he’s about to bust, Aether gripping the top of the veil harder than he means to, crumpling that soft, pristine satin between his calloused fingers as Dew sucks the life out of him, completely undeterred.

Aether cums with a groan, shoots his load into Dew’s hot, waiting mouth - who swallows without hesitation. Dew pulls off just as Aether starts to go oversensitive, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, another smug little grin pulling at his spit and cum shiny lips. 

Evidently Aether got a little bit too handsy, because now the veil sits slightly askew, mussed just enough that a few strands of blonde hair are starting to peek out of the edges. 

The image is enough to get Aether’s cock twitching with interest again.

Later, when Aether has Dew pressed face first into the mattress, spread out in front of him on his hands and knees, he tells him just how pretty he looks in that veil.

“Oh aren’t you just so good for me,” Aether coos sweetly as he rails Dew into the bed with swift, strong strokes. Hard enough that he can see the fabric of the veil jump with each thrust.

“Like a good nun in her proper little habit,” Aether adds, tightening his grip on Dew’s sharp hip bones. “Just the perfect picture of modesty, aren’t you? Pious little thing.”

Dew plays along, nods his head and gives Aether cute little whimper and a high-pitched whined out please. He grips the sheet with his claws and does his best to spread his thighs just a bit wider, arches his back the way he knows drives Aether crazy.

Aether reaches between them, rubs the pad of his thumb around Dew’s wet rim, stretched tight and pink around his cock.

“What would your Holy Father think of you now, Sister?” Aether growls out. “Nothing modest or virtuous about the way your tight little cunt is swallowing me up. Do you think he’d call you unfit to wear that holy habit of yours?”

Dew murmurs something in response, words muffled by his face pressed into the sheets so Aether can’t quite hear him.

“A what?” Aether pauses mid-stroke, halfway pulled out, dropping the fantasy talk with a puzzled look on his face.

“It’s a wimple,” Dew reiterates, turning his head to the side so Aether can hear him properly. “S’not a habit. The costumers get annoyed with us when we call them habits,” Dew explains, doing his best to wriggle his hips back onto Aether’s cock with an irritated little huff.

Aether goes silent, unsure how to respond.

“Ok, fine,” Dew capitulates with a snort. “You can call it a habit if you want. Since that gets you off…. Pervert.”

Aether just grins and smacks Dew hard across the ass. He presses in deep, fucks into him with a renewed, brutal pace. Until he’s knocking the little ghoul forward with every sharp thrust of his hips, the hot slap of skin against skin ringing out in time with every bounce of that veil. Every thrust sends it more askew, more blonde hair falling out, sweaty and tangled from being covered for so long.

“Gonna fuck the piety out of you, Sister,” Aether grunts digging his claws into the meat of Dew’s asscheeks, sweat pouring down his temples in rivulets. “Gonna fuck you so good it’ll change you. Make everybody know you don’t belong wearing that habit.”

“Please,” Dew gasps out, as high-pitched and feminine as he can manage. Playing his part perfectly yet again.

“Defile me. Make me yours. Let me pledge my vows to you instead of Him.”

At those words Aether tenses, pulls out with a groan and jacks himself off furiously over Dew’s ass until he’s cumming, shooting across Dew’s arched back, painting the expanse of his skin with ropes of glistening white. Strokes himself until every last drop has decorated Dew’s pretty, flushed backside.

When Aether opens his eyes, he realizes his mistake immediately.

“Fuck, Aether, you did not,” Dew pants out, voice hoarse from exertion. Aether’s silence is enough to tip Dew off immediately. 

“Uh oh,” Aether offers, unhelpfully.

Dew just tips his head down into the pillows and sighs. He shouldn’t be mad, it’s his own fault, really.

“Uhh, it’s only a couple spots,” Aether speaks up again. “Barely noticeable I swear! Plus, I’m sure it’ll wash right out…”

“Aeth, it’s silk,” Dew sighs. “I don’t think you can wash cum stains out of silk…”

Dew sits up and pulls the veil off to inspect it, blonde hair tumbling out, sweaty and matted to his forehead and the back of his neck.

Aether bites his lip at the debauched sight before him. Best not to press his luck, as desperate as he is to pounce on the little ghoul sitting in front of him.

He makes it up to him later by laying him down and eating him out, takes his time licking Dew out nice and clean before swallowing down his hard little cock until he shoots down his throat.

And to his credit, he makes a valiant effort to clean the veil as best as he can while Dew snores softly away in bed.

Two weeks later and Aether finally sees the first of the tour photos start to come back in. Dew’s up front as always, commanding the audience with guitar in hand. He’s adorned with a top hat, just a little bit too big for his head, much to Aether’s eternal disappointment. They may have ruined the veil, received a stern talking to from Copia and Papa V, and Aether may have also found himself doing double duty in the infirmary and as the abbey seamstress’ assistant as penance. But when he thinks back to that perfect image of Dew on his hands and knees and panting, wearing nothing but that pretty veil, that soft, black fabric painted white with Aether’s release, he can’t help but feel like he made all the right decisions.

Besides, Aether thinks with a grin, cheeks heating up and cock chubbing up in his pants yet again, in the end they got to keep the veil for themselves. 

[the-pallid-king]

The weight of this damn ring. It takes every ounce of self control he has not to fidget with it while he's trying to get answers from Urahara. After all of this, when he finally finds Ichigo, he might just kill him himself for the stunt he pulled. For wrecking his party, the relationship he's been working on, talking about forgiveness, the ring. Leaving. Again. That last part is what hurts the most. He doesn't care about the party or the video or his boyfriend or the fucking ring.

Something unpleasant must make it to his face, despite his efforts, because he's being watched, analyzed. Not clinically, rather with a slyness that makes Shiro think this man knows too much about everything. He doesn't like it. He doesn't like any of this.

"Just give me a name, goddammit, or a location. Anything." Does it sound like he's begging or is it just him? He pulls out the wad of cash and starts flipping bills. "Well? How much counting you gonna make me do?"

Is he looking at the ring? No, that's crazy. He's probably looking at the fat stack of cash in Shiro's hands, which was the whole point of bringing it. Why would he be looking at a ring? Even if he was, there's no way he'd know it came from Ichigo. It could have come from anyone. Shiro could be a married man, he could marry anyone.

But this guy isn't really looking for money and Shiro already knew that before he started flashing it around, he just doesn't know how to handle a situation in which he doesn't have all the power, or at least enough leverage to fake it.

His phone goes off in his pocket, a call, not a text. He ignores it. The caller hangs up after a few rings, but immediately calls back. Scowling, Shiro yanks it out and answers with a snapped, "What?" But as he listens, one brow goes up and he looks over at Urahara. "Human trafficking. Hm." There it is. A very slight shift in Urahara's expression, or attention, or the way he carries himself; Shiro's not quite sure, but he feels it. His guy tells him about the cleaned up leftovers of a nasty crime scene. Missing bodies, bullet holes too fresh to have already been there. He hangs up. "Nasty bunch to be sending one guy after." He's making an assumption, but what he knows of the other members of this crew is that they like explosives, and there were no explosions noted.

This whole thing twists a knife in his chest. Ichigo came to him asking forgiveness, asking for his time, gave him the ring, because he was planning to die.

The selfish fucking asshole.

Not on Shiro's goddamn watch.

"Let's have a conversation before I lose it and start makin' more bodies."

So they have a conversation that ends with Shiro driving his now armored -he learns his lessons the hard way, but he does learn them- SUV through the wall of a warehouse on terf that is definitely not his own because he doesn't do subtle.

Word gets around fast that Shiro's looking for someone. The biggest drug lord in the country doesn't just start making calls without it getting noticed. He doesn't even know the guy's name but he knows what kind of work he does and he knows people who know people.

After spending what felt like an eternity digging through Ichigo's apartment looking for any clues about where he might have gone, he's pacing the hallway in a lap that begins in the kitchen, drinking Ichigo's liquor stash. He has a glass in one hand, his phone in the other, back and forth, back and forth, like someone in a cage. During one of his phone calls, his contact mentions Urahara's name and Shiro nearly spills his drink, he raises it so fast in eagerness about finally hearing what he wants to hear. "Ah! That's the fucker. Find him for me."

And suddenly there's a name going around, not just word.

No doubt Urahara hears he's being sought out before Shiro manages to track him down, because he doesn't seem surprised, just mildly amused, when Shiro shows up on his doorstep.

Shiro's been thinking about how to approach this guy for hours by now, but the moment he's face to face with him, all professionalism leaves. "Where the hell's Ichigo? Who did you send him after?" No preamble, no introduction. Expecting to have to buy this information, he has more cash on him than any sane person would carry around. If that fails, he's willing to fight for it. He might be a prissy rich bitch these days but he's as scrappy as ever and always needs a good, violent outlet. He wants Ichigo back and he'll have him one way or another.

[ghnosis]

i asked my homie to help me suss out the influences in SKELETA

when i first listened to SKELETA I heard a lot of Def Leppard, a little bit of Rush (I see you Marks of the Evil One) and a lot of Iron Maiden again and I thought I was going crazy and only knew 3 bands in the world.

so I asked my homie who plays the kind of doofus ass metal Tobias Forge listens to (affectionate) to help me corroborate and this is what he sent back (under the cut).**

**Doofus Metal missed the Rush but I asked Drummer Bestie, who loves Rush to an almost unhealthy degree and *he* said "I DEFINITELY think ol’ Toby was listening to 2112/Farewell To Kings-era Rush with Marks of the Evil One, you absoLUTELY called that one!!"

Peacefield

Opening very imogen heap (very cool)

First verse very 80 glam

prechorus is very journey (triumph)

Chorus similar

post-chorus very iron maiden harmonic themes

2nd verse has the driving frontman heavy Judas priest style

prechorus still very triumph, the tagline pushing major is very uplifting

Chorus similar to prechorus

bridge is very eurometal, "odd" (read as: not boring and generic) vocal lines

outro is almost very Def Leppard-ish

Lachryma

Opening is very 90s sludge thrash

Prechorus is very priest

chorus very gothic def leppard

this riff is insane, almost proto-megadeth circa Peace Sells

"and I cannot hide" is such an interesting cadence, it communicates a cool vibe before the chorus

post-chorus is very iron maiden, especially him bringing the harmonies up (iron maiden doesn't usually cadence on emotive lines so it's a bit more refreshing lol)

Satanized

Verse is extremely 80s power metal but with interesting vocal lines (no shade to 80s power metal)

Chorus is very Blind Guardian/Gamma ray (depending on how old you are)

IS THIS LATIN IN MY POWER METAL

2nd Verse feels so uplifting and hits that 80s power metal vibe so good

these "Save Me"s hit real good

This solo is a Glenn Tipton solo if he could play guitar

The thematics feel very Judas Priest, but they're more accessible (said with love, The Ripper sometimes turns people away)

Guiding Lights

This is so incredibly Manowar power metal but nobody has said "Abs" or "sword" yet so we're in uncharted territory

Super ballady solo rips, I am a huge simp for ballads, especially when they're doing the "I'm a soldier on the path to my death" lament style

De Profundis Borealis

Intro is very proggy, the guitar players really have a good ear for weird cool riffs

Verse seems like peak Ghost, I'd basically call this their "style" they should be remembered for, like the slightly uncomfortable enigmatic dissident vocalist over very "pump your fist" riffing, so it makes you very motivated but you're being motivated under the guise of a concerning dark leader (?)

Pretty banger chorus, hard to tease out an influence

Post-chorus feels like it could be iron maiden but they're a bit more interesting than the normal 16th note grind of your typical maiden, almost seems closer to Super NES boss battle music than maiden

Cenotaph

This guitar tone is such an enigma to me with how well it works but if I just focus on it my brain explodes.

This gothic billy joel verse is killing it

This verse is very early priest, very NWOBHM especially if they open up the chorus to be very Definitely Hetero(tm)

in the heat of the MOEMEANT

This solo section is pure European power metal, Sonata Arctica big vibes (or maybe bodom? I feel like they never have the emotive qualities this does)

big chorus feels great, and the vocal riffing after feels great

Missillia Armori

Intro is very Rock of Ages def leppard but using interesting notes and diction

Chorus feels big time Iron maiden but without the incel edge on their early albums

This bridge fucks

The solos on this album rip wtf(1)

Marks Of the Evil One

This one I'm having a hard time placing. It feels like peak Ghost, between both the verses and

the chorus, this is exactly what I'd say future bands will pull influence when I say "these guys

wrote a Ghost song"

Chorus rips

awesome drop into the solo, also see: (1)the solos on this album fucking rip wtf

DID HE JUST SAY "FUCKIN"

Umbra (what a fucking cool name would be a shame if some nobody band wanted to use this name for a song ;_;)

Intro is neo-horror Journey/Triumph (Triumph is better)

Okay hold on what's going on

I have no words for influences on this one, it's so sick

chorus fucking rips. These dudes are so good at writing big choruses it's becoming uncanny

trying to disentangle what's going on in these verses, it's got such a great upbeat 80s power metal beat plus a chuggy 90s midtempo thrash guitar but the cowbell keeps scrambling my brain and his verse is just so mismatched that it creates a tangible feeling of discomfort in me but that meshes with the song perfectly

oh shit we playing 16th notes, and this 70s acid rock middle section is wild cause those 70s players could never touch these solos lol (no disrespect Iron Butterfly)

I am feeling very uncomfortable but that is the intention

Aw fuck yeah, this is the release I needed. if he drops out the instruments under IN THE TEMPLE OF THE- I'm gonna blam

I KNEW I was gonna blam

on first listen, this one is my favorite by a huge margin

Excelsis

This is very Judas Preist meets The Beatles, but honestly Tobias has such a unique voice that he kinda slays it outside of those two

OH MAN IT'S ANOTHER POWER METAL BALLAD HELLLLLLLL YEAH

This terrifying sing-song verse cap is giving me tummy feelings

Great 2nd verse, the dancing organ in the background adds a WILD tambre that undermines the JP/Beatles vibe

chorus rips, adding that verse cap ("you will too") does such a good job at making it uncomfortable

really good last song on the album, feels great to be left on this when the CD ends

CONCLUSION:

This was my basic knee-jerk referential ideas on “This sounds similar to X’s style” but I really can’t underline enough that most of the time I’m comparing them to Triumph or Def Leppard, it’s REALLY hard to disambiguate because they’re so unique compared to both those bands AND it’s hard to say that Triumph and Def Leppard can take claim to “Arena Rock” sound- meaning like the Rock of Ages vibe that the main drive is “This is played in a big arena full of people” because (afaik, no qualifications) Ghost’s whole thing is the idea of the “Megachurch Vibe” being like the penultimate arena rock sound, they differentiate themselves from those “roots” (if they would even agree that’s their influence) because there is simply a psychology to the “Arena Rock” feel that a ton of big bands have figured out, and it’s kinda core to Ghost’s identity (imo) while I think their writing identity is definitely more of Mark of the Evil One, because I would say that checks all the boxes for Ghost’s style, so much so that I had a hard time even figuring out how to categorize their influences on that, “it just sounds like Ghost”

[genoskissors]

The Hundred Line: Last Defense Academy - First Ending Thoughts

I won’t be saying my thoughts on each ending, but since the first ending is the same, I might as well. I also want to talk a lot, specifically about the characters, because they are what make the story for me.

Major Spoilers for the first 100 days!!!

I've already seen some criticism for characters, but I am filled with love and joy, so the majority of my commentary will be positive. I will say that overall, this game was insanely fun. Each battle had a different aspect to it and there were so many twists and turns. Didn’t proof read, so sorry for any mistakes.

Darumi Amemiya (飴宮 怠美)

I really liked her at the beginning and was sad when she became so depressed later in the story. She seems a bit too attached to the killing game idea but I was kinda hoping she’d develop a different idea. I also wish she had more serious moments, like Genocide Jack did, but that’s okay. Even if the fighting was for fun in her case, it still made her feel like a reliable person in my eyes.

Great for battle and has both fun animations and combat voice lines. I’ve said this before, but she also looks a million times better in her battle armor rather than her regular outfit. It just looks so much better with her hair colors.

Eito Aotsuki (蒼月 衛人)

I’m pretty observant, I could tell he was going to have some sort of twist, yet still found myself surprised at his weapon hitting the capsule. I did really enjoy his innocent facade and am kinda sad his true nature is so twisted. I thought it was interesting how they’ve never heard of the moon, but “tsuki” means moon. I’ve seen people compare him to Nagito but I honestly see them as complete opposites. Also, he looked good with his hair back.

He’s decently fun to play and does good damage. Even though he loses energy after one turn like everyone else, save Tsubasa, I often used him repeatedly for nearby enemies. He gets the job done quick and easy.

Gaku Maruko (丸子 楽)

I really ended up liking him. I had my doubts due to his personality, but as he was more fleshed out, he grew on me. Especially with the backstory, the idea of loving people even when you feel like they don’t care about you is so sad. Having to work every day and never reap any benefit sounds miserable, I can’t even hate him. I still wouldn’t exactly call him a “mood maker” though. He has his moments.

Very good for when there are a ton of enemies, because then he can deal with the 1 HP ones easily. I didn’t use him as much as I think I could have, looking back, he’s a great character.

Hiruko Shizuhara (雫原 比留子)

Ugh, I am so sad our time with her was so short. I really thought she’d be leading us to the end. When the group discovered her corpse, I genuinely had to put my switch down and just sigh. They didn’t even need to say anything, just seeing the glasses made me realize. She was cold and ruthless, but I could see a side of her warming up to the others, I do think she would’ve been a good leader after some more time.

In the little time we got with her, she was my favorite. Her damage is great, and I know that’s the whole point, but still. The only downside was she could only attack one at a time, but I understand everyone needs some limits on their abilities.

Ima Tsukumo (九十九 今馬)

Absolutely love his character development. I never disliked him from the start, but he grew to be one of my favorites. The implications at his past are also heart breaking. Kako is all he has and he’ll do anything to protect her. I was so happy when they joined battle together. He went through a lot, straight up getting a new body Nekomaru style. When he still ended up dying I knew Kako was going to go crazy. Also how did he drive the bus as Sirei?

He was fun to play but unfortunately did not get much time with him as he joined late and when he came back he couldn’t even fight. Still was good in that little bit of time he had.

Kako Tsukumo (九十九 過子)

If you asked me who would be my favorite before I played the game, never in a million years would I guess Kako. But, here we are. Her development is amazing and I really felt her pain. When she said her and Ima had promised to die together, but then they promised to keep living without each other, my heart broke. Kodaka said they’d be even more controversial after release, so I thought it might get very incestuous, but that was not the case. At least in the first route, the twins relationship progression was very wholesome yet sad. I love how Ima means present, Kako means past, and she can see the future.

She was good it battle, especially the hellfire move. Some enemies reflect damage if you are nearby, so long distance characters are very useful. I would not say she’s a need in battle, but fun to have nevertheless.

Kurara Oosuzuki (大鈴木 くらら)

She came on very strong at the beginning and I was worried that I would find her annoying, but I did not! I really enjoyed her character and her soft spot for Nozomi. Her real face is cute too, but I honestly like the tomato mask. Perhaps I’ve just grown use to it. I did enjoy her dynamic with Kyoshika, it reminds me of Hiyoko and Mikan but if Mikan was more assertive. I also love how the tomato changes with her expressions.

I’ll be completely honest, I did not care for her combat. She is useful in building barriers, but it kinda loses meaning when everyone can build when and Shouma can straight up be one. I did like how she repairs the barrier if attacking an enemy nearby.

Kyoshika Magadori (凶鳥 狂死香)

I love her! She’s stupid and funny and great. I really enjoyed her voice actor as well. I love how she just. Cannot read the room. I really would like to learn more about why her name is so violent, but perhaps I must wait a while longer. Also her voice lines during combat are stuck in my head and have been all day. “This is my true power!” “Nin nin!” “You’ve left yourself open!” “I’m burnt out!” Great stuff.

Without a doubt, my favorite in terms of combat. She is such a fun character to use and does great damage. I often took her out on explorations because of that. I already knew I was going to like her but her attack really sealed the deal.

Moko Mojiro (喪白 もこ)

Okay so… I don’t really have anything to say here. We barely saw the real her and couldn’t even fight with her. I do like her based on Nozomi’s word, but when it comes to forming my own opinion, there’s not much to work with. I didn’t really find her wrestling stories in the cafeteria engaging. Idk, sorry Moko fans.

Nozomi Kirifuji (霧藤 希)

THE BABYYYY. It’s common for characters that are liked by everyone to be hated, but I genuinely just could not imagine hating her. Even Kurara loves her. It’s well deserved, she’s wonderful. The twist made me so sad, I didn’t want to make her cry!!! Her death was awful and knowing it could’ve been stopped made it so much worse. I will save you in my next route, I promise!

Next to Kyoshika in favorite for combat. I pretty much never used her for direct combat, but her healing is a lifesaver. When she died I thought I was screwed for upcoming battles. I really like hearing everyone’s thanks after being healed, it’s sweet.

Shouma Ginzaki (銀崎 晶馬)

Shouma, I am sorry for doubting you. He was annoying at first, constantly being a pessimist in ways that didn’t even lighten the mood. When he finally agreed to battle, he grew on me so much more. He maintained his low self esteem but still became a part of the team and used his weakness of being bad with fighting as a strength, being a shield. His stupid hat has also grown on me as well.

Not much to say in terms of combat, he kinda just stands there, but was definitely useful when a lot of enemies are nearby and you need to keep someone with low health alive. His voice lines are also great during battle, even if they are sometimes sad.

Takemaru Yakushiji (厄師寺 猛丸)

Another character I must apologize to for doubting. He had that whole dynamic with Hiruko going but later in the story he shows he misses her and that was a really strong moment for him. Again, when Takumi brought up going back in time, I thought I would dislike Takemaru for being so aggressive, but he ended up accepting it. His “punishments” for Ima and Kako were also a good moment. I do like him.

This is the kind of character I’m looking for. Attacking all around is great, despite the low amount of damage, it’s still good when the enemies have low health. I do wish he kept the shades on when he was on his motorcycle.

Takumi Sumino (澄野 拓海)

Incredible strong protagonist in terms of character. Like he might actually be one of my favorite Kodaka protagonists. I love how he didn’t follow the usual “I’m just a normal guy” trope and actually saw his own strengths and used them. His loyalty to Karua is also very strong. He isn’t outright about his feelings until later, but even if they never were romantic, they were still incredibly powerful. He’s a great character.

He looks cool in every combat scene. I really loved when his sword turned blue because it still matched his color palette, at least his eyes. Very helpful in defeating groups since he can just go row by row. Even though it’s nothing crazy, he’s still fun.

Tsubasa Kawana (川奈 つばさ)

I love her very much. A total cutie patootie. I really enjoy the moments when she gets really excited. I was very happy at how Takumi accommodated her issue with throwing up. She helped the team a lot with everything mechanical, a lot of things would have been impossible with out her. She didn’t end up being my favorite like I thought, but is still very high on my list.

Even though she doesn’t do much damage, the fact she can do continuous attacks without loosing any distance is great, even if i do end up spending a lot of AP on it. Either way, I really enjoyed having her in battle, her voice lines were cute as well.

Yugamu Omokage (面影 歪)

One of my favorites but I fear I projected Genocide Jack onto him a lot. I just really like her, sorry not sorry. Either way I still ended up liking him, despite his oddities. He also came in clutch multiple times, so I think he needs more love for that. Love his voice actor, especially during combat, he sounded great. I thought it was funny how Takemaru called him pretty boy, because this boy is ugly, sorry. Still like him.

Despite my love for him, I didn’t really get much out of using him in battle. Yes, he makes the enemies bleed, but I’m a bit busy to keep track of that, sorry Yugamu.

Sirei and Nigou (ＳＩＲＥＩ) & (ＮＩＧＯＵ)

Can’t say much for these two as neither got much screen time, like surprisingly low. Due to the announcements it felt like Sirei was there every step of the way. Still, I can’t say much on them, but I definitely did not hate them.

This will likely be my last THL post for a while, I want to get back to Danganronpa and also get through more endings. I might do a similar style post with Danganronpa characters, but I’m not sure yet.

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Yeah this guy again sure

[bittsandpieces]

.

[shinjaeha]

that charging gel ep making me feel even more insane with gelboys theories bc i had a feeling that things were gonna head in this direction but baabin having his own secret twitter account where he tweets all about his crush on fourmod...oh sweetie... 😭

and now bua knowing the extent of how deep baabin's crush on fourmod goes too (and how its been years)?? baabin's told him, he's seen all the tweets, knows baabin left a blackpink concert where he had the chance to see his BIAS for fourmod...he's the only person in baabin's life that knows all of this about him. the only person that baabin can confide in about his feelings for fourmod, and he's actively reaching out to him trying to comfort him (in that bua way of his)...which will only bring them closer together...oh, this mess really is just starting 👀

bua continues to be the most interesting character to me bc he's still so mysterious (NEED his ep so we can get more insight into his mind and feelings). but i'm already so, so intrigued by his dynamic with baabin...and their tweets have made me even more so. from what we've seen so far, bua seems very upfront and direct about his feelings. baabin, on the other hand, keeps his cards close to his chest. he's got a private twitter where he fanboys over fourmod, a secret fourmod folder for their line conversations, he secretly travels to the station even though he lives close to school just so he can spend more time on the bts with fourmod...but no one knows about any of this but him. bua is the only person that he's been honest to about everything, and bua's encouragement and motivation is also the reason that baabin almost ended up confessing to fourmod. the way they're basically polar opposites when it comes to how they deal with their feelings makes them and their potential friendship/relationship so fascinating to me. esp if bua ends up becoming a shoulder that baabin can lean on (and rant to). honestly, the next ep can't come fast enough!!

[tackminyard]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[mistyechoes]

uh sorry for posting weirdly it will regrettably happen again

[arminsumi]

Betting your girl's mouth on a basketball game was crazy — and Suguru was all for it.

After taking a loss that may or may not have been deliberate, jock!Suguru wears a dirty grin on his face while watching you suck his best friends virgin cock like a good girl, loving the nasty wet noises you make while slurping up and down nerd!Satoru's pulsing shaft, slowly stroking himself to the sight of you on your knees, making cock disappear in your mouth like magic.

And Satoru — the poor boy — is losing his mind because he's never felt a woman's lips around his dummy big cock before. He used to tell you that sex is beneath him — now he's throwing his head back, gritting his pearly whites, curling his toes and biting his bottom lip 'till it's all red, totally surrendering to your little mouth — it's just so funny to you, 'cause he's been the know-it-all bastard telling you "... you're just Suguru's slut. If you paid as much attention in class as you did to my best friend's dick, maybe you'd amount to something. Do you even remember what we learned yesterday? Exactly. But I do — that's why I'm the top student and you're just — "

Bla bla bla... Satoru's now showing you how much precum his dummy big cock leaks — it's a sticky mess oozing out of his tip all over your quivering tongue. You looked up at him and winked, and he seethed inside because god he's hated you for so long but now your lips are wrapped around his cock and your mouth is taking him to heaven.

He's whining, biting into his fist, knees all wobbly. the texture of your tongue drives him nuts — then it clicks. oh, this is why my best friend is obsessed with his girlfriend. This is why he can't shut up and stop oversharing his sex life with me.

'Cause heaven really does exist on her tongue.

"fuck, slow down..." Satoru tries to ease his cock out your mouth, feeling his orgasm threatening to erupt at any moment.

But Suguru pushes you back down on his cock, filling your cheeks again, "nah, keep going baby, he's gonna cum — aren't you Satoru? You're gonna cum in my girl's mouth, huh? Come on, big boy, I know how long you've wanted this. Fill this little slut's mouth with your cum."

Those taunting words push him over the edge. His heavy balls tighten up as he feels you suckling his swollen head, and then white ropes come bursting out.

"Ahh—gh! Fuck... nn!"

Satoru's legs give out and he moans like you've never heard a man moan before, releasing all the cum he's worked up for you like he's been waiting years to do this. Actually, he has been waiting years — waiting patiently to find an opportunity to make your jaw ache and eyes well up with tears.

"Baby, you gonna swallow my best friend's cum f'me?" Suguru encourages, stroking his cock lazily against your cheek now.

He watches you compliantly swallow Satoru's seed, and Satoru twitches at the sight.

Huffing, Satoru comes down from his high and brushes his white wispy bangs out of his eyes. He's glaring down at your mouth.

"... still fucking hate you... " Satoru mutters to you in a voice still shaky with the after-effects of his orgasm.

"I still hate you, too." you smile back at him.

His heart flutters and bottom lip twitches. He can't stop staring at your lips, your eyes, your hips, your thighs.

"Ah, Satoru, quit your act — you're the one who proposed this idea in the first place."

You went red in the face. It was Satoru's idea? The mister goody-two-shoes, know-it-all, all A+++ report cards, 'sex is beneath me' Satoru?

"Huh? I thought this was your idea..." but before you can express your surprise you're already feeling Suguru nudge his cockhead against your lips.

"Sh sh, now it's my turn, baby. Open wide."

[urbanfiltered]

:)

[eraserbread]

you love your husband, nanami, he loves you more.

he tells you so everyday. when he wakes up next to you, in the shower you share before work, over his morning coffee, as he’s fixing his tie, and as soon as his left foot leaves the front door. he makes sure you know you’re loved.

because, love is all he ever wants from you, too.

it’s hard being the only one of his colleagues that have a pretty little home to drag to every night, fitted with a pretty little housewife who’d polish his shoes if he asked. the only thing is, he’d never ask. you’re far too pretty and perfect to be on your knees in vain. and, if you are, it’s with him buried to the hilt.

the first thing he tells you when he walks in from work is, of course, “darling, i love you.”

you would smile bashfully and love him back with a kiss on the cheek.

then, he’d carry you to the bedroom and bury you full of his cock. all eight-something inches like it was nothing. and, it was nothing for you. he fucks you like this every night.

tonight, though, was different. there was a certain vigor behind his tight hips — a tension between his shoulders as he held you face down, ass up. his large hands swallow your waist whole, and he’s actually vocal tonight.

his grunts are mean and loud and so delicious. he’s combing out your name through them, telling you how perfect and spongy your insides are. how he wants to bury a baby inside of you and how marriage was never enough for him. being inside you wasn’t enough. he needed you. just you.

fuck, fuck, fuck he was going crazy.

“nana…nanami,” you moan obscenely, cursing when his cock hits that perfect left angle. drool drips from your lips into your once pristine bed and only one round in, you can tell you’re fucked. he’d need at least two rounds before his tension dissipated into exhaustion and he can go to sleep.

“talk to me, what’s wrong?” you manage between each thrust, biting your lip and pressing your forehead to the pillow.

“it’s two hours past my contract time.” he answers in thick, staccato bursts, driving his hips impossibly deeper every time you scoot away from him. “two hours that could have been spent with…” he stops himself, swallowing a gob of want so he can think straight.

he’s taking you so passionately, that his fingertips bloom red against your flesh.

“mphh, kentooo,”

“you know how pissed it makes me when they steal my time from you?”

“tell me, kento.”

“makes me want to say fuck the humans. fuck the righteousness of it all. makes me goddamn sick.”

nanami doesn’t cuss much, but when he does it shocks and dirties you. however, it’s so fucking attractive. you love watching your wound-tight husband come undone with one glance at you.

“love when you lie and tell me everything’s gonna be okay.” he mutters, suddenly soft. his lips are at the base of your neck as he leans over you. rutting hips and soft breaths back the moment, but all you can focus on is him. the soft beat of his heart and the stiffness of his muscles.

if he knows you’re lying, it’s okay. why should you stop now?

“i wanna save you.” you cry, carried by the sound of his lips all over your neck and back. it’s so sweet you could die. “i can be whatever you need me to be, just let me save you.”

“god. you’re perfect. i love you, you’re so perfect.” with his lips on your neck, you finally cum, and you two have it down to a science, now. his thrusts become sloppy, and that’s your sign to finally unravel.

he turns your head with two fingers pressed to your chin, kissing you as he carries you through your orgasm. it’s only when he knows you’re satisfied, that he bites your lip and finishes deep inside of you.

“darling, my darling. ‘m yours.”

[cameronsbabydoll]

ex!husband!rafe when he finds out you had another guy over while your son was there

divider is from @princessbrunette

wc: 947 — a/n: sorta a new layout

you hear the knock at your door late at night, sharp and deliberate. you already know who it is before you open it.

rafe stands in the doorway, jaw clenched, eyes dark with something between anger and possession. he’s still dressed from work—white button-down undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up, rolex catching in the dim porch light. he looks every bit the man you once loved, the man you once shared a life with. the man you thought you had finally left behind.

but you didn’t. not really.

“you wanna tell me why my son is talking about some man in my house?” his voice is low, biting, laced with an authority he has no right to wield over you anymore.

your stomach knots. “rafe—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, stepping inside, closing the door behind him like he still owns the place. like he still owns you. “who the fuck was he?”

you exhale sharply. “it’s none of your business.”

“the fuck it isn’t,” rafe scoffs. “some guy plays house around my kid, and i’m just supposed to sit back and take it?” he steps closer, eyes locking onto yours. “you still belong to me.”

you shake your head, voice firm. “no, rafe. that’s not how this works anymore.”

his hand grips your chin, tilting your face up to meet his, forcing you to hold his gaze. his touch isn’t rough, but it isn’t gentle either. “does he take care of you? huh? what does he make? forty, fifty grand a year?” he laughs, shaking his head. “you slumming it now? is that what you want our son to see?”

your jaw tightens. “i don’t want our son to be like you.”

that makes him pause. his grip tightens just slightly, enough to make your breath hitch.

“like me?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “entitled? condescending?” his lips curl into something dark, something cruel. “or just a man who gets what he wants?”

you glare at him, trying to pull back, but he doesn’t let you.

“you forget your place,” rafe murmurs, voice like a promise. he leans in, his breath hot against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. always have been. always will be.”

your body betrays you, shivering at the claim, at the truth laced within it.

his lips brush against your cheek as he whispers, “you can let him pretend all you want. but we both know—no one else will ever be me.”

you press your hands against his chest, pushing him back with more force this time. “stop, rafe.” your voice wavers, not as firm as you want it to be.

he lets you push him—barely—but he doesn’t step back. he lingers, watching you with something knowing in his eyes, something that says he sees right through you.

“you don’t get to do this,” you say, voice quieter now. “we’re done.”

he hums, like he’s considering your words. then he smirks, that same infuriating, arrogant smirk that used to drive you crazy. “and yet… i’m still here. in your house. late at night.” his voice dips, low and dangerous. “like always.”

you swallow hard, refusing to let him pull you back in. “because you forced your way in.”

his fingers trail up your arm, slow and deliberate. “and you haven’t made me leave.”

you jerk away from his touch, breath unsteady. “i don’t want you here, rafe.”

he lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “that’s cute, baby. real fucking cute.” his expression darkens. “you think i’m gonna just sit back while you play house with some nobody? while my son—my fucking son—is around some piece of shit you brought home?”

your jaw tightens. “he’s a good man.”

rafe’s hand snaps out, gripping your chin again, firmer this time. “he’s not me.”

you glare at him, but the intensity in his gaze makes your stomach twist.

his thumb drags across your lower lip, slow and possessive. “tell me something, sweetheart.” he leans in, his voice barely above a whisper. “does he even know what to do with you?”

your breath catches. “rafe—”

his lips brush against your ear. “does he know how to handle you? how to make you beg?”

you push against his chest again, but this time he doesn’t move.

he chuckles, dark and satisfied. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

your hands tremble as you shove harder. “i don’t want this! i don’t want you!”

he catches your wrist, holding it against his chest. “liar.”

you shake your head, tears burning your eyes. “you don’t own me.”

rafe exhales, shaking his head like you’re saying something ridiculous. then his hand moves to your jaw, tilting your head up until you have no choice but to look at him.

“you really think you can change what you are?” his voice is softer now, but no less dangerous. “what we are?”

your breath is shallow, and your pulse is erratic.

his thumb strokes your cheek, almost gentle. “you’re mine. you always will be. no one else will ever touch you the way i do.”

you hate the way your body reacts to him. hate the way his words sink into your skin like they belong there.

he watches you, eyes flickering with something dark and triumphant. “so go ahead, baby. let him pretend he has a chance.” his lips hover over yours, teasing. “we both know where you’ll end up.”

your voice is barely a whisper. “rafe…”

he smiles, pressing one last lingering kiss to your jaw before finally—finally—pulling away.

“for now,” he murmurs. then he turns, walking to the door like he owns the place.

like he still owns you.

and maybe, just maybe… he does.

[luveline]

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Spencer calls you drunk and in need of rescue. You confess a few secrets to him while he won’t remember them (or so you think). 3k, fem

cw drunk!spencer, mentioned past drug use, confident/bombshell!reader, flirting, spencer getting some well deserved comfort, a handful of his drunken compliments, insecurity, intense mutual pining

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re blissfully sleeping in the arms of a REM cycle when your phone rings. It pulls you by the chest, a punch of shock and expectancy at once. It’ll be someone calling you into work, Hotch himself if you’re lucky. 

You search blindly for your phone. If you’re even luckier, it’ll be a wrong number. Your fingers curl around the little body of your phone and you bring it to your ear without checking the number, frazzled. “Hello?” you ask hoarsely. 

Total quiet. 

“Hello?” You pull the screen away. The caller reads: SPENCER. You pull it back rather than hang up. “Hey, Spencer. Are you there?” 

“Hello.” He laughs. “Hello, are you there?” 

“I’m here, Spencer, where are you?” 

“That’s an interesting question, actually, and I’m sure there’s a great answer, but…” 

“But what?” You sit up quickly, your throat aching with sleep. Your room is black as coal pitch. “Spencer, what time is it, my love?” 

“You shouldn’t call me stuff like that.” 

“Stop being weird and tell me where you are.” 

He laughs like a hyena. You can see it in your mind, his smile and all his pearly perfect teeth. You love it when he smiles like that and he rarely ever does. “I’m somewhere and I need your help getting home!” he says with another funny laugh. 

“Are you alright? You sound…” He sounds inebriated. 

Spencer struggled with his drug problem for so long before you found out. You just hadn’t been around enough, and when you were he’d gotten good at hiding it. You can still remember how furious you’d been with everyone, including him, because you could’ve helped, would’ve done anything to support him through it. If he’s hurting now and hasn’t told you, you love him, but you’ll be insanely angry. 

“Spencer?” you ask quietly. 

“I went for drinks with a girl but she didn’t like me and I may have drowned my sorrows too much,” he admits. “Um. Did you know gin is very strong?” 

“Aw, baby. You’re cheating on me?” 

“I’m afraid so,” he says, and hiccups. 

“Where are you?” 

After some hassle wherein you persuade Spencer to give the phone to someone else in the bar for a slightly less drunk interrogation, you dress and gather your bearings for the drive. You zip a hoodie up over your pyjamas, stuff your feet into some old converse, and set out into the dark to find him. 

He calls you again as you’re parking. “Hello,” he says as soon as you answered. “I need you to come and get me.” 

Spencer called you twice to save him. Even if he doesn’t remember, he’s called you to come and get him when he knows he needs help, and that realisation is hard to ignore. “Spencer, I’m two minutes away, I’m parking. You’re still where you were?” 

“Where was I?” 

“At the bar, sweetheart. Are you still there?” It’s scarily dark out and you didn’t grab any sort of defensive measure before you came, which you regret now, climbing out of your car to walk the dimly lit road. The bar glows like a beacon to be followed. 

“Still where?” 

“Did you hit your head?” 

“Not to my knowledge. Though I’m not sure I have much right now. I feel like I’m forgetting everything I’ve ever read, and I’ve read a lot. You know I can read about eighty average length novels in one hour on an e-reader? The buttons make it faster.” 

“You haven’t told me that before.” You shiver against the nighttime winds, footsteps heavy on the grey sidewalk. 

“I’m trying to be more conversational. Emily says it’s not working.” 

“You’re conversational. Isn’t the only condition of being conversational to prompt a conversation? We’re always talking.” 

“…What?” 

You laugh like crazy. “Spencer, you don’t need to change the way you talk.” 

“I annoy people.” 

“You don’t annoy me.” 

You approach the door of the bar, a ramshackle sheet of plywood over what looks to be a glass door. The bar building seems in similar dessaray, with modern features wrecked by scratches and smashed panes. It’s a real dive. Spencer couldn’t have meant to come here. 

You war with both hands to open the door and find yourself faced with a long and empty corridor leading to another door. Worried you’re going to get kidnapped, you bring the phone back to your ear, Spencer’s chatting an immediate greeting. “…telling me I’m doing something wrong without telling me what it is, it’s impossible.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, can you come to the door?” 

“I don’t think I have control of my legs,” he says without inflection. 

“It’s definitely the building with the smashed door?” 

“Yesssss. Are you here?” he asks excitedly. 

“I better not get murdered, Spencer Reid.” 

“Am I in trouble?” 

“How are you even keeping the phone to your ear right now?” 

“I’m on speaker phone. Milly showed me how to do it. Say hi, Milly.” 

“Hi Milly,” a new voice says. 

You rub your eyes with one hand and square your shoulders, prepared to defend yourself if the creepy door leads to a creepier room. 

Spencer is immediately visible from the get go. You open the door on to a rather cosy looking bar, which you’re thinking might be the whole point; wretched exterior, secret attraction. Warm orange light ebbs into the space from sconces and a faux fireplace, while a wrestling match playing from the small TV behind the bar casts brighter light down onto Spencer’s shoulders. He looks out of place, dressed in a white oxford shirt and a suit jacket, his tie loosened and hanging from either side of his neck, compared to the lingering patrons who sit dotted around the room in booths and on barstools. One such patron sits in a plaid shirt and a trucker hat, her hair to her back, thick and dark. 

You hang up the call and put your phone in your pocket. Spencer gasps like he’s been smacked and picks his own phone up from the bar, clicking at buttons with clumsy fingers. “No,” he hums sadly. 

“Spencer,” you say, not wanting to disturb the people spending their sorry-looking night here. “Spencer. Hey, Spence!” 

His phone tips between his fingers. The woman you assume to be Milly catches it and offers it back without looking too far from her beer. 

“Hey,” you say gently, crossing a wide empty space to meet him. The room itself is shaped like a horseshoe, the bar taking up a surprising amount in the centre, and booths and tables placed around it. Spencer’s off of his barstool as you approach, eyes like puppy dog’s, arms extended. “You okay?” you ask. 

You can feel eyes on you both from every angle, but it doesn’t matter, not when Spencer’s falling into your arms (or on to them —he’s surprisingly tall when you aren’t wearing heels). “You alright?” you ask again. 

“You don’t have to be worried, I’m fine.” 

He’s less coordinated in real life than he’d sounded over the phone, his slurring unmissable, his hands like jumping fish as he tries to hug you. It’s weird and straining to take his weight but you do it without complaint. He smells the same, at least, only his cedary cologne is sharpened by the tang of gin on his breath. 

“Thank god you’re here,” he whispers. 

“Why?” you ask, pulling away to check for danger. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, handsome,” you say, genuine but laying it on thick simultaneously as you ease his head back to cup his cheek. You can’t help yourself. He’s the prettiest man you’ve ever met, and it gets worse every year. 

He frowns at you deeply. “I don’t like first dates.” 

“Then don’t go on them,” you suggest, “you don’t need to until you’re ready.” 

“I’m ready for love,” he says. You pull your lips into a flattened line, unsure of what to say, how to explain that it’s waiting for him, but his chin dips towards his neck and his eyes lock onto your face. “You’re not wearing makeup. God, you’re so pretty.” 

You flinch away from him. “Fuck, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry! It’s not that you don’t look pretty with makeup, but I never see you without it!” 

You’d forgotten you weren’t wearing any. Makeup isn’t a shield, exactly, but you like putting your best foot forward, so to speak. You’ve no clue what you look like tonight, hadn’t managed to look in the mirror, you’d been focused on getting to Spencer before he got lost. You can imagine the puffiness.

Spencer touches your cheek. You let him turn you mostly because he’s surprised you, his eyes roving up and down your face with a fawning curiosity. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that already, but people don’t tell you enough,” he says, his hand falling from your cheek. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, “let’s get you home.” 

You thank Milly for her help and grab Spencer’s bag from the floor to hang on your shoulder. You’d make a joke about how heavy it was if you didn’t think he’d take it from you, and, considering how drunk he is, topple over from the imbalance it provides. His shirt is clammy where you push your hand through his arm to link them, his footsteps wobbly. 

“I didn’t want to go on a date,” he says. 

“Then why did you go?” you ask, helping him over the door jam into the long hallway. 

“I don’t want to be alone forever.” 

“Spencer, you won’t be.” It doesn’t feel like the best time to bring up how much you like him. You’re sure he thinks you’re kidding, doesn’t everybody? Don’t torture him, they say. Don’t toy with him. Every time you flirt with him the team acts like you can’t mean it, and for a while it worked for you; you weren’t in love with Spencer. You weren’t playing with his feelings, but you didn’t love him, and then you joined the team and got to know him, watched him fluster at every comment you made or under any soft looking and realised you could love him. It was easy to fall for him. You liked doing it. But now he’s determined to write your affection off as a joke and going on dates? 

In the morning, when he’s sober, you’ll have to tell him how you feel. Or you could let him find someone more like him… ugh. It’s such a mess. 

You grapple with the size of your feelings for him as he hums and laughs his way down the hall to the glass door. On the street, he squints and straightens his back, fighting to regain his arm from your hold to cover your shoulder instead. “It’s cold,” he says in surprise. “You okay?” 

“I’m fine, I got my jacket. It’s a short walk, come on.”

His arm stops acting as protection and starts to use you for support. “I didn’t mean to drink so much.” 

“Drowning your sorrows is always a terrible idea because it tends to work,” you lament, less scared of the dark with him at your hip, though what protection he might offer is negated by the alcohol. 

“She kind of looked like you.” 

You squeeze your eyes together quickly. “Oh.” 

“I didn’t know she was going to. But she didn’t– she didn’t– it’s hard to talk. She didn’t listen like you do,” he says, lightly slurring, “she just stared at me like everyone used to in high school. Like she could tell there’s something wrong with me.” 

“Spencer, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“I know,” he says. 

“Do you?” 

“Yes.” He frowns. “No, I don’t know. I don’t feel like there’s something wrong with me,” —his voice turns to a nearly indistinguishable mumble— “but everyone else always does.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you.” 

“Is that why you make all your jokes?” 

“What jokes, babe?” 

“Like that! Like babe. It’s funny ‘cos you’d never date me.” 

You’d slow if he weren’t already walking at a snail's pace. “That’s not true. Let’s talk about it in the morning, okay?” 

“I won’t remember to ask you in the morning.” 

“Spencer, you remember everything.” 

He drags his feet. “I wish I wasn’t so weird,” he whines. It’s playful at the forefront but desperate otherwise, and it gives you pause. “I wish I was normal, and you could like me normal.” 

You look down at your hands, panicking, a flash of Is this a good idea? like an alarm in your head as you turn on the sidewalk to face him. He’s looking at you like he’s begging you to disagree with him. 

You’re happy to. 

“Spencer, I like you like this,” you insist loudly. His eyes and all his sweet lashes track the movement of your hand as you touch your chest, and your neck. “You’re not normal, I’m not normal. Do you know how many times I’ve been rejected? Just for being me? I’m too bossy, too outspoken, too– too high maintenance. I've had friends with good intentions tell me I need to lower my standards, need to relax, because otherwise I’m going to end up alone for the rest of my life. I feel alone all the time.”

“But you’re perfect,” he says, puzzled. 

“To you. And you’re perfect to me.” Your hand crawls to the base of your throat. “So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. You think I’d come and get anybody else in the middle of the night dressed like this?” you ask him, gesturing to your ratty pyjamas and your dingy converse. 

“You look so cute,” he says mournfully. 

You roll your eyes. He’s too wasted for this conversation. “Come on, sweetheart. You can think about this too much in the morning. Let’s just get home in one piece.” Physically and emotionally. 

“Can I come home with you?” he asks. 

That had always been the plan. “Ask me nicely and I’ll consider it on the way.” 

— — 

Spencer shuts his eyes, hands itching to clap over his ears as you scratch the head of a spatula across your frying pan. “Is three eggs too many? People usually have two but that’s never enough for me.” 

“I think…” Oh my god the metal screeching is so loud. “You should have as many as you want. You know your body. There’s this study on intuitive eating…” I'm too hungover for this. “Three eggs is better than two.” 

“So you want three?” 

He cannot eat right now. “Yes. Please.” 

Spencer’s half sick with dehydration and half grief. He stayed at your house last night and he was too drunk to be nosy. He slept in your bed. He slept in your bed. He woke up to you at your vanity doing your hair, the nutty smell of hair oil mixed with the heat of the hair tool on high and realised with a start that he’d missed something he thought about all the time. 

You’d tipped your head back to smile at him. “There’s my boy. Sweet dreams?” 

He didn’t dream, but if he had, it would’ve been another agonising wish where you were his girlfriend, or his wife, or just there looking at him with love. He wakes up feeling sick because it isn’t true. And now you’re making him breakfast, humming a tune under your breath, sourdough sizzling under the grill and a shoddily blended avocado sitting in the bowl in front of him. 

You asked him for one thing. He picks up the fork and starts to mash the avocado again. He can’t fight the foreignness of sitting in your kitchen, a gap in his memory. 

He knows he told you about his date, how she looked like you, how she didn’t seem to like him much, but he’s struggling to collect the finer details. Why had you picked him up? He must’ve called you, but you could’ve said no. He remembers thinking you looked beautiful, but he always thinks that. 

The avocado is making him feel sick. 

“Here,” you say, sliding a plate of toast in front of him. “Do you want butter?” 

“I think I'm gonna throw up.” 

“You’re okay.”

“I can’t believe how I acted,” he says, pressing his palms to the hollows of his eyes. 

You turn off the hob. Fat bubbles and pops until it’s cooled. The clock on the wall by the refrigerator ticks incessantly. His slept-in shirt feels too tight despite the undone button. 

“Hey…” You round the island but don’t touch him, your voice gentle. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He drags his hands down his face. “I can barely remember what I said.” 

“You were really nice to me… told me I looked pretty without my makeup, n’ that I was perfect. You were really nice.” 

Your tone is off. No flirtatiousness, no endless confidence, you sound wistful, like you’re glad he said it. You take the bowl of avocado he’s made a mess with and put it aside with the toast, resting your arm on the counter, and leaning into his space. “Spencer, last night? You didn’t do anything to be embarrassed of. You were nice, and kind. You tried to open the car door for me and you almost lost your eye, but you were fine. You don’t have anything to be worried about, really.”

“But it’s you.” 

“Gonna touch your hair,” you say, giving him enough time to move away as you reach out and rake back his fringe. His heart leaps into his mouth. “You said something last night like that, you know? Do you remember that? You said if you were normal.” You grace the skin beside his eye with the tip of your thumb, your perfume floating his way as you move. “And I said–”

“I’m not normal,” he says, remembering now. 

You’re not normal, I’m not normal, you’d said.

But you’re perfect, he’d said. 

To you. And you’re perfect to me.

“Right. We’re not normal, Spencer Reid, so forget that girl. She didn’t deserve you anyways,” you say. 

You draw a short, silken line down his cheek with the side of your pinky. To be touched so lightly has his stomach in knots —he’s not shocked by the swiftness with which your affection can make a bad situation good again. 

You turn away. “Now we should eat before everything goes cold.” 

He watches your shoulders move, and he remembers one last detail. So don’t say you’re weird like it’s ugly, honey. And don’t think I don’t like you, ‘cos I do. 

The way you’d said it… you couldn’t really mean…

“How’s your appetite? Still feeling sick?” you ask. 

Spencer smiles to himself, the ghost of your touch glowing warm on his cheek. “I’m feeling a lot better, actually.” 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading!!! please like/reblog or comment if you enjoyed, i appreciate anything and it always inspires me to write more<3!! my requests are pretty much always open for bombshell!reader (even though this one strays a bit from their usual story haha) so if you wanna see more let me know❤️

[yanderedrabbles]

Cheat on me please

How to safely rid yourself of a yandere

There's no easy way to get rid of him. He's too obsessive. Too controlling. Too bloody single minded.

You tried talking through it and he just scoffed and said you were being silly. That you were just too hormonal and would calm down in a few days.

You tried going no contact and he showed up at your door. Hammered at it until the neighbours called the cops and they dragged him away.

You tried being nice about it and all he did was grab your wrist so hard it bruised. His eyes like chips of stone when he said he didn't want to hear it.

You weren't breaking up with him. You had no reason to.

And the worst part? He was right. You don't have a reason.

On paper, he's the perfect man. Attentive. Generous. Handsome. He buys you gifts, he lavishes you with attention, he's funny and charming around your friends.

And he scares you.

Not because of anything he's done. (Perfect guy, remember?) But some instinct deep inside you tells you to be careful around him.

This one's a predator, he's got claws and fangs, he'll fill you with venom and never let go, some ancient part of you insists.

But try explaining that to him. He's so mindlessly logical. He's not going to leave you because of a silly gut feeling. Come on baby, what sort of shitty boyfriend would do that?

And that's why you're down to half thought out, borderline silly plans to get rid of him. Get your hot friend to sleep with him. Catch them in the act. Throw a tantrum and finally get to break up with him.

You can't try and excuse cheating. It's abhorrent. And his logical side will surely see that, right?

One little hitch though. He's actually loyal to a fault.

Part of you finds it hard to believe. Is he really turning down your absolute bombshell of a friend? The girl all your exes were just a bit in love with?

Maybe he's just being cautious. Maybe he isn't lonely and needy enough to risk it.

So you up the stakes. Decide to avoid fucking him as much as possible. And oh boy, does it drive him crazy. He gets irritable and needy and somehow even more horny the longer your dry spell lasts.

And you know that you almost have him. He's just a man, no matter how logical he pretends to be.

You pick a fight over nothing. Blow it all out of proportion and storm out to stay with your parents for a while.

Piss him off just enough that a revenge fuck seems like a great idea.

He ends up drinking at a shitty dive bar and oh what a coincidence, your gorgeous seductress friend just happens to turn up. The last text she sends you makes it seem like she's finally hooked him and you hurry over to her apartment, feeling just a little giddy. Your plan actually worked! You feel like a goddamn genius.

And sure enough, his car is parked at her front door.

For a second, you feel a little hurt. Yes, this is the outcome you wanted. Yes, you deliberately manipulated him to get to this point. But it still feels like betrayal.

When you make it to her door, it's oddly silent for a supposed drunken hookup. But you're too geared up to notice it.

She left her door unlocked like you agreed and you tiptoe inside, your heart going a mile a minute. Her bedroom door is cracked just a little and a shaft of light cuts through the dark of the hallway.

You swing the door open with a crash, getting to ready to cuss him out.

And you freeze.

There's no guilty couple leaping away from each other, no smell of sweat and cum, no illicit rendezvous.

Instead your friend is tied to a chair, her mouth taped shut with silvery duct tape and her mascara running in black streaks down her cheeks. Her eyes lock onto yours and she tries to scream something through the tape.

The door clicks shut behind you.

You turn slowly. Like putting it off will make the situation less horrible, less like a dissociative dream.

Your boyfriend looks ragged. His eyes are blood shot and his hair is an unruly mess.

But the worst part is the way he smiles at you. Paternal, almost. Like he's caught you doing something naughty but he's willing to overlook it.

"Come on baby, you didn't think I'd actually cheat on you, did ya?"

His voice is condescending, but under the surface you can hear a cold, terrifying anger.

You swallow. Those same instincts that warned you about him are screaming now.

"What the hell is going on?" You demand, trying to sound angry instead of just afraid.

He steps toward you and it takes everything in you to not step away. He picks up a piece of your hair and rubs it between his fingers. Proprietary, possessive.

"What's going on? You should know babe. You're the one who tried to set me up... As though that skank over there ever stood a chance."

He tsks. "I knew something was wrong the second you stopped sleeping with me."

He leans forward and whispers in your ear, his breath ghosting across your neck.

"I fuck you too good for you to give it up so easy."

You jerk away from him, your eyes burning like you're about to cry. How did this go so wrong?

"Are you insane? Untie her right now! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

He backhands you right across the face.

He's never hit you before and the shock is almost worse than the pain. You stumble, clutching your cheek. Your face feels numb at first and then a sharp, fiery pain blooms across your cheek.

He grabs your collar and shoves you toward the bed.

"Oh baby, you're lucky I love you." His bared teeth catch the light and he looks more wolf than man.

The edge of the mattress digs into your thighs and you fall backward. You're still reeling and he has you pinned under him before you can find the strength to scramble away.

"Thought about killing her, y'know. What kind of whore goes after her best friend's man? You deserve better than that."

His grip is unyielding. A part of you always knew he was strong, but until now you didn't realise how big the gap between you actually was. His knee is between your legs and he brings it up to press against your crotch.

"But then a light bulb must have went off. And I decided to see how things played out."

He laughs and there's nothing warm or welcoming in it at all.

"All I had to do was squeeze her throat a little and..." He grabs your throat and thightens his grip until you see stars. "And she was just fallin' all over herself to tell me about your little plan."

He let's go and pats your cheek with rough little smacks. "It was cute, baby. Really was. But fucking stupid."

He leans down and kisses you. His lips are rough and he bites your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang of it makes you gag.

Your instincts were right. He's dangerous and you never should have tempted this monstrous part of him.

He tastes like cheap whiskey and you struggle to pull away. Your chest heaves and no matter how you buck and twist under him, he still keeps you pinned.

When he pulls away, something in your expression must please him because he hums and tilts your chin up. "But it's okay baby. We'll work through this."

He reaches down and tugs at your belt. "And I know exactly where to start."