#everyone was just supposed to Know where the line was and there would be no feedback by which we might adjust our behavior along the way

[mixingandmelting]

Grocery Shopping

Summary: he goes grocery shopping with you for the first time

A/N: Damian's a little shorter considering his age and it would become a whole fic on it's own to talk what would happen with him 😂

Dick:

It’ll be fine, he said. Things will still go well, he said. He tried everything with you, keeping your hands in his, linking arms, keeping you between the cart and himself.  No matter what you both did, without fail, he ends up getting separated from you, quite tragically he might add. Now look at him, benched on one of the benches in the middle of the store in the result of getting lost who-knows-how-many-times from searching for you in the sea of people (all puns intended). 

Okay, so maybe he should’ve listened to you about never going to the store on the last day of sales. And all the other rules he had brushed off when you told him. However, he didn’t think the store would be  this  jammed packed with people treating it as a battle ground. There’s not a single villain in sight. No signs of foul play. Yet there’s civilians elbowing each other, fighting with their lives on the line.

“Is this, you know, normal???” 

“What do you mean? Have you ever shopped for groceries before?” 

He lets out a puff of air in frustration. This was supposed to be a couple’s date. One of those cozy-esque ones where he gets to spend more time with you in a normal setting. 

But It’s okay. He’s okay. You’ll be back soon and he’ll at least get to cuddle with you when waiting at the line that snakes from one to another corner of the store. Right? So let’s just hope no else finds out about this.

Cue his phone vibrating. Please don’t be what he thinks it is. Please don’t be what he think it is. He opens the text. 

… Dammit all. 

Of course it’s Tim asking if the person on the bench was him. Who else would attach a low res picture that’s obviously from the security camera ? In the group chat of all places too. Slowly he places his phone in his lap and rests his head on the cart. Never is he ever going to ignore those rules again. 

Jason:

He utterly underestimated the whole thing. He has to physically push and shove through people to take a step forward with a cart. He keeps having mini-heart attacks the second the warmth of your hands around his arm disappears from the fear of losing you, only for you to reappear next him with food and toiletries. At least he doesn’t have to worry about people putting their hands and taking stuff from the two of you as everyone so far quickly got second thoughts as soon as they took a glance at him. 

But the worst part wasn’t this. Rather-

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, pal!”

He leans over the handle, groaning as he rubs his face with his hands. Ugh. Just how many times does this make? Standing back up, he turns around and throws the same glare he’s already given to the five other guys he accidentally bumped shoulders with. And like them, this guy too flinches as he crane his head up from Jason towering over him. Then comes the stuttering “my bad” before booking it with his girl in tow. Tt. Pathetic. 

In his head, he realizes two things: one, you’re always right, and two, never suggest grocery shopping on a weekend afternoon. It explains why you were so irritated when he did and now? He’s going to lose it if anything, ANYTHING, happens at the cashier line (he saw how long it was when entering the store. It’s going to be at least an hour of waiting to even get close to the front). 

“Jason! Hurry up!”

Snapping his head towards the direction of your voice and he has so many questions. Since when did you grab the rest of the groceries? How did you get the other end of the store that quickly? 

With that, he sighs and quickly heads towards you, worried your arms might fall off or you getting hurt in general from how you’re trying to hold everything without dropping a single item. 

Tim:

He’s educated. He’s done his research on grocery shopping and knows the rules and what's in each aisle. So trust him to choose a time where it’s not too early and there aren't a lot of people, in hopes he could fulfill the couple’s goal of having wholesome bonding moments. But of course, putting what’s theoretical into real practice comes with a challenge. 

“Why is the cheese in the meat section?”

“Who places cereal next to the chips?”

“Is it even legal to have soda in the alcohol aisle???” 

This was not what was written on the blueprints. Breakfast aisle is meant to have breakfast foods, snacks aisle having the chips, and for fuck sake, is cheese not dairy? He was already concerned about how easily he cracked through security and accessed the blueprints. Now he’s wondering how in the world this store is functioning at all. There’s nothing special they’re selling nor are the prices cheaper. He genuinely can’t see why this place ranks so high in Gotham among the other grocery stores. 

The only reason for him to stay somewhat sane is your presence. Sticking right next to him where shoulders continually brush against each other whenever you two walk and sometimes placing a hand over his to placate him whenever he’s getting close. He appreciates it at the same time not whenever he catches you turning your head away from him. The tips of his ears burn but at least you’re trying stifle your laughter. 

“Come on, we’re almost done.” 

With a thud, his eyes widen when he recognizes the familiar logo on the case you dropped into the cart. Eyes going back between you and the case, he tears up as he finds out you’re the one that’s been restocking his energy drink with his favorite brand and flavor. He proceeds to nuzzle his cheek against your shoulder, thinking grocery shopping wasn’t so bad after all. 

Duke:

Many in the family other than Alfred don't understand nor appreciate the art of grocery shopping. But him? He knows the rules. Don’t get groceries on a weekend. Buy them in the morning rather than the afternoon. Fresh produce last, boxed and canned food first. Like please, he’s done it so many times that it’s a walk in a park. He even knows the go-to brands and their knockoffs if the store runs out of the former.

Shopping with you, there’s no hesitation when he turns the cart, heading towards the direction of the next destination for the next thing on the list. He weaves through the few people in the store while keeping your hand between his and the cart’s handle. At some point, joining you in inspecting and picking out which of the packaged food and produce to get. 

“Did you get the Spaghetti?” 

“Yeah, but you cool if we get this brand? It practically tastes the same as the other one and it’s buy-one-get-one free.” 

From how everything’s going with a breeze, he does all sorts of couple’s shopping shenanigans with you. Pushing you on the cart with your arms out like Superman, racing you to the end of the aisle. The only “problem” he would say the two of you are having at the moment are over snacks and soda. It started out with him preferring double-stuffed Oreos while you insisted Thin-Mints were better. Then the classic Pepsi vs Coca-Cola. 

“Tell me, are you going to eat my fruit snacks?” 

You’re holding a box of fruit snacks and shaking them in the air, waiting for him to give you the actual answer. So far, he’s been exercising his rights to remain silent by keeping his head turned away from you, shuffling side to side. And it’s helping him win, snorting when you huff and dramatically roll your eyes in annoyance before tossing them into the cart. Nice.

Damian: 

Everyone always assumes he doesn’t understand nor know what grocery shopping is. Oh, but how wrong they are. Grocery shopping with him could easily equate to being on a mission. He goes to your place and wakes you up at 7:17 AM on a Wednesday morning, demanding you get ready to go out while ignoring all your questions and protests about being woken up at an ungodly hour, on a day-off from school nonetheless. It’s as if he’s done grocery shopping his whole life, getting nit-picky over the quality of the fruit and vegetables while checking expiration dates on the back of the box of tea before placing them into the cart. 

It seems as if he’s being inconsiderate, expecting you to keep up with him while he’s trying to get done as efficiently as he can. In reality, he’s only trying to impress you with his vast knowledge and skills. Think of it as talking to someone who can identify fake versus real Prada bags. He’s dropping hints on how to tell if the eggs are fresh or not based on the shells, which bag of onions are the oldest. Comes off pretentious however, all with good intentions. Well, and also to impress you in his skills of knowing how to shop for groceries. But that's meh. 

Don’t think he isn’t noticing you sneaking things into the cart. He’s simply choosing to turn a blind eye to it, though his heart string twings when he recognizes half of them are his favorites. When you come back from who knows where, he grabs your hand and keeps it in his hand without a word, earning a grin from you while his cheeks turn dusty pink.

[fawnhart]

drew begs bambi to forgive him ! ˚ ᡣ𐭩. 𖥔 ๋࣭

They had just wrapped filming her final season on Outer Banks. The whole time, Bambi acted as if she wasn’t hurting inside and nailed every single take flawlessly. Drew, on the other hand, was a mess and everyone knew it.

He kept messing up his lines, forgetting his call times, and dozing off between takes. In a way, Bambi felt bad for him. But he had no right to her sympathy, at least not at the moment

Now, both back in New York, Drew for a photoshoot and Bambi back in her elementl she couldn’t help but look at him with disgust and anger.

How dare he show up?!

It was one of those nights where everything was happening all at once and nothing at all. Drew stood at Bambi’s townhome door, soaked from the rain, his hands trembling, his chest tight. His mullet was a mess, not giving a damn if paparazzi caught him. He just wanted her to listen. She stood there, arms crossed as her eyes burned with anger, hurt, maybe a little curiosity, but mostly just tired.

she had every right to be

“Please, Bambi. Please, let me in. I can’t” He cut himself off, his voice breaking just a little, the words too heavy in his chest. He couldn’t keep pretending to be fine. Not anymore.

She didn’t move, arms crossed, standing her ground. She was beautiful like that, even if her face was streaked with tears, even if her lip trembled slightly.

“You can’t just come in here after everything, Drew.” Her voice was quieter than he expected, but sharper. It made his heart twist “You think you can just say sorry and it all goes away!?”

“I’ve been a mess without you, baby. I’ve screwed everything up,” he said, his words coming out in a rush “I was… I was just scared. Scared of you and your reputation, of what people would say about us. i-” His voice cracked, and he quickly cleared his throat, trying to hold it together “I thought if I distanced myself, it would protect you.”

Bambi’s expression softened, just a little, but not enough for him to get comfortable. She was still holding that distance “You pushed me away because of what other people might think?” Her voice wavered just slightly on the word might. “And that’s supposed to be for my own good?”

He dropped his head, his eyes stinging “I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I was..no, I am an idiot.

She didn’t say anything, but her gaze never wavered. After a long silence, she sighed, her breath shaky “And then there’s your friend” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

The words hit him like a punch in the stomach. He didn’t need to ask which friend she meant. That girl. The one who had spent more time telling Drew what a mess he was for being with her than actually being his “friend”. Drew had started to feel that insidious doubt creeping in, her words twisting around in his head like vines.

“She told you I wasn’t good enough, didn’t she?” Bambi asked, and there was a bitter edge to her voice.

“i-I didn’t believe her, baby,” Drew said quickly, his hands shaking again. He took a step forward, desperate “I never believed her. I-look, I shouldn’t have listened to her at all. I was so caught up in my own shit, and-”

“And what!? You let her tell you who I am!? Who we are!? But you were perfectly fine having sex with me?, right” she said feeling utterly and totally used

He swallowed hard, a heavy knot in his throat “I should’ve told her to back the fuck off. I should’ve told you sooner. I should’ve never let her put those thoughts in my mind. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

The air in the apartment felt thick, too heavy to breathe. He finally dropped to his knees, his face flushed with the weight of it all “I love you, Bambi. Please... don’t shut me out. I need you. I can’t fix this without you.”

Her eyes flickered with pain as she stared down at him, her arms still crossed, but now her lips were pressed tightly together as she fought back more tears. She couldn’t let him see her break just yet. Not like this. Not when she was still trying to figure out whether or not she could believe him.

“You really hurt me, Drew. You have no idea how much.” Her voice cracked as she spoke, and she turned away, wiping at her eyes. She moved slowly, the silence between them stretching like a thin wire.

Drew stayed kneeling, helpless. “Please, Bambi. I’ll do anything. Just tell me what I need to do.”

She turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but steady. “You have to prove it. You have to show me you’re not just talking. Words don’t mean anything anymore.” She paused, her gaze hardening. “And you need to cut her off. She’s clearly got it out for me, and for us, and you can’t keep her around if you want to make this right.”

He nodded immediately “I swear I will. I’ll cut her off. I’ll do anything. Just... please don’t leave me.” His voice was raw, the last of his pride crumbling.

Bambi stared at him for a long moment, and then she sighed “Fine,” she said quietly “But I’m not forgiving you tonight. I need to think about it.”

Drew’s heart sank, but he nodded, trying to be understanding, even if every fiber of him wanted to scream.

“Get up, you’re embarrassing me” He stood up slowly, and she led him into her townhome, but not without a sharp glance over her shoulder as she said, “And you’re sleeping outside tonight, With my cat.”

Drew blinked, startled. “What?”

“I’m serious. Outside. With Ms. Mocha. You can sleep on the balcony.” Her tone was final, but there was a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she walked past him into the closet, grabbing a blanket and tossing it in his direction.

Drew was about to protest, but the look on her face stopped him. The soft, determined way she held herself now was a reminder of why he loved her in the first place, because she never made anything easy for him. She knew her worth, even if he had forgotten for a while.

He grabbed the blanket, muttering, “I’m an idiot.”

Her lips quirked up at that, just a little. “Yeah. You are. But you’re still my idiot.” She softened then, her voice growing quieter. “you have to prove you deserve to be with me. Because I can’t go back to being second place.”

Drew nodded, his chest tight. “I swear I will. I swear.” He hesitated then added “can I atleast sleep on the couch?” he said with a weak smile

Bambi rolled her eyes, but it was playful now, the tension easing just enough for her to offer him a tiny truce. “Fine. I haven’t burned your clothes yet, consider yourself lucky.” She said heading to her room to grab some of his pajamas he had left there several times

He laughed softly, grateful for the small weird victory. He knew it was far from over, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

“missed you Mocha” he whispered as he curled up on her soft pink couch, Ms. Mocha curled up next to him with an irritated meow, Drew stared at the night sky view from her townhome, wondering how he could have been so fucking stupid. But maybe, he had a chance to make it right.

© 𝐅𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐓, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

[spread-the-influence]

I know its never gonna happen ever not ever, and that you only got the ragatha brainworms, but its been stuck in my brain since the jax murder.

if ragatha hadn’t been virus’ed, yet somehow still got to the point where jax says “to have a friend” (unlikely), would jax have actually opened up, or just shuttered himself as soon as the concept of being open sets back in? Could he have improved had he not been ganked?

forgive me for the essay below . ragatha may be rotting my brain but i still have elaborate thoughts on the other characters , even if i don't go to the levels of insanity i go for ragatha .

jax , to me , is a deeply lonely and miserable person , and i will say here that the line was kind of more ' a person that'll see and understand me ' . my interpretation of jax is not as charitable as most interpretations of him i've seen , though — he's not a jerk with a heart of gold or is secretly protecting everybody . he's just someone with a very destructive coping mechanism that harms everybody and himself .

he doesn't really see the cast as People , he sees them as Characters . a Cast in the big theater stage that is the circus . he prefers to do what's not boring by going off-script . this means making a mess out of the stage set , bothering the characters , and doing what he's Not supposed to do . it's entertaining ! it distracts him from how ... he's stuck in this stage forever . if he goes with the script , that fact would weigh on him . it's better that he does Not think about that . everyone would be surprised by how quickly that would make him lose his mind .

but it isn't fulfilling . it's a Distraction , an Avoidance . it's something that he does to Not confront his issues . my interpretation of jax at least puts up an emotional wall not Just because he doesn't want people to see his vulnerable side ( i like to think that the one thing he hates is being Wronged , and there's a certain level of suspicion that someone in the cast would do it if he lowers his guard ) but because he thinks there's No reason to put it down .

jax , like a lot of people , craves a community . he wants to be Wanted and Loved . but it's hard for him to get both of those things when these people are just ... Not real to him . what he wants most is That realness . he wants to know that in this big stage he's stuck in , there's someone else who is just as lost as him . someone that also isn't playing by the script . someone that's not a Character .

... and ragatha really doesn't fit those , as much as i'd hate to admit it . she is a Character . she plays the role of the optimistic and caring ragdoll . she is Far from fitting the image of a real person in jax's eyes . that conversation would naturally end in jax realizing he's opening up and shutting himself off — most likely Even more than he already does . basically he wouldn't improve ... with ragatha .

if there's someone that might fit the above paragraph , it's either pomni or zooble . i feel like these two would have better chances of making jax slowly open up with that kind of conversation , since they're both the most grounded and Real people in the circus .

i do not think that it would make jax instantly accept into the community of the circus — years of bad habits are Not easy to drop — but it'll be like a hand being extended to him . he sees that there's a world beyond the stage , and he takes it . and that's a lot more fulfilling than distracting himself .

lord i feel like this post is a contender enough to warrant a second ESSAY WARNING tag but yeah , jaxxle thoughts ! he's not in my top three favorites ( those respectively go to caine and zooble ) but i still find him interesting to think about .

[resident-idiot-simp]

What if MacTavish time traveled back after he died at the end of MW3

Ft: @azilver

(x)

Az:

mactavish fades away with prices voice in his ear and thinks its about time only to come to at his desk with a concerned riley looming over him calling "captain? captain???"

mactavish rights himself and dismisses the lieutenant but its on auto, looking around at the office he hasn't seen in, what? a year? more? he vaguely recalls the paperwork about chemo requesting leave but .... pushing up from the desk he heads outside, stride purposeful even if he can't think of a destination. he remembers the pain, rubbing at where the wound had burst open as he landed, the dull throb of a phantom knife separating his flesh. familiar voices call out greeting and acknowledgements, he feels like choking seeing his men jog past. dead. they were all dead.

Me:

MacTavish just roams aimlessly. He remembers this is before everything went wrong before the start of the end.

Before Makarov started causing issues at least noticeably. World war 3 hadn't started yet and General Shepherd....General Shepherd.

Could he even stop it from starting? No, he couldn't he knows he can't. But he could stop the war sooner. He knows where Makarov will be knows what has to get done.

He's a step ahead but... Shepherd how the hell does he deal with Shepherd? He can't kill him not right now he become haunted immediately.

He would have to play along... maybe send out separate secret operations. Shit where was his journal. He patted himself down And grabbed the small book.

It was covered in blood....his blood...

Az:

alt

he doesn't believe in any supernatural shit, he can't, getting your hopes up in their line of work is never a good idea. but he can try.

he needs to find his place in time and so he heads for his room, digs until he finds his latest notebook and reads. he's back farther than he thought. price isn't back yet, that a month or 2 out still. sheppards still sniffing around, playing them like fiddles.

not for long. he has until the rescue mission to untangle this shit as much as he can. he can't think about price right now, not with the realisations he'd come to after the bastard had let sheppard take his boys from him. had ushered in the war they'd bled and sacrificed for so long to keep at bay.

he needs a fucking smoke.

heading outside he fishes in his pockets for his pack. oh, he's on his last cigar and ain't that a big pointed ironic finger from the universe?

"yeah, yeah, i get ye." he mutters and crushes it under foot.

"sir?" riley sidles up, a predators grace shifting in that odd edginess he always had when alone with mactavish outside of missions. well, he supposes it would be odd to se him talking to himself and destroying a good cigar.

"was damp." he spits, watching from the side as riley leans against the wall next to him. "spot me a fag, lieutenant."

he hears the smirk in the man's voice even as he passes him the cigarette, slipping out another for himself, "only if'n ye spot me a light, sir"

Me:

You KNOW his personality must take a 180. Like it's whole new person or alternatively just different enough to be off-putting.

He has changed a lot over the course of the war and all the losses seem to pile on.

He will stare at his team sometimes like his seeing ghosts. He will turn around and treat them tougher then every before so this time maybe, hopefully they won't be unprepared

You know it's like pulling teeth for MacTavish to go along with Shepherd. Everyone else is super confused because what the hell changed in such a short period of time

Az:

he takes to digging, burning the late night oil in a way that has even the likes of the worst insomniacs of base weary. he needs proof, something tangible to show his men. he knows they trust him, more than the past-future shows/ed they should and he can't just make them go on faith.

as a captain he can't ignore his duties, thankfully he has a damned good memory and what he forgot he has in his notebook. the few ops they're sent on go off without a hitch - if maybe the men start whispering about the captains near psychic ability to just know he ignores it. instead what little time he can spare is spent with his boys.

where before he would watch from the sidelines for the most part he now steps in. he spars and backchats and touches. its confusing and unnerving somehow ...but also appreciated. maybe it just bonding or just maybe how he'd pulled away in the last few years as sheppard wound his way closer into the 141.

soap was always one of them but along the way the captain had taken over more and more. and for all he's pushing them harder and harder they notice the captain is more prone to risks. they see him staring off too often to dismiss it. they know somethings changed and like good soldiers they read their captain and start preparing.

Me:

Riley gets particular snoopy one day and manages to snag the journal. MacTavish kept that thing safe like it was his own child so seeing it covered in blood was alarming.

He worried over what had happened. Opening it there wasn't anything note worthy but the more pages he flipped the weirder it got.

There were things that hadn't happened yet events, betrayals, death, The more Riley read the more he needed answers.

Then his and Roach's death...

He just stared uncomprehending way because what? Shepherd? Sure he'd never really trusted the man but...to kill them?

Then the hunt... Then the blood... Then The last edition that wasn't the neat and purposeful writing of MacTavish...

Az:

it makes sense for all that it doesn't.

out of them all riley was the one who always watched mactavish, was always looking at the man. so he'd seen those little moments, the quickly shuttered pained swallows watching his men, the pure hate that sliced through his eyes the moment sheppard turned around. the little things like stepping between roach and a fire, putting off a mission an hour just to get that much more gear stowed.

and the thing that pushed riley past the edge of his respect for the man, just enough that he allowed himself to snoop: mactavish flirted back.

Me:

He's not a man that would normally go into people's business that's not his own. But he was genuinely worried about Tav and the man was going along with the flirting and stuff. He knew they were close probably closer than anyone else on the team.

That was his job after all he was the Captain's right hand. But what if instead of snooping (this just hit me) he had seen the journal somewhere it shouldn't be and wanted to bring it back to him

Az:

riley's not stupid. he knew mactavish let them, let him, get away with much more than any other CO would. he'd never given a shit about who was fucking who, hell, worm had admitted to the captain walking in on he and meat and just told them to get their reports on his desk before lights out. the captain seemed to be of the opinion that nothing mattered except their abilities in the field, pushing himself same as them.

and riley had pushed back on occasion. being the man's 2nd gave him leeway sure but even then the first time he'd found a proposition slipping out in response to the man sighing in exhaustion he'd fully believed he was about to be murdered. what he hadn't expected was a snort and "fuck off, riley"

it had become a thing he did, so much so that the rest of the unit openly placed bets on if the cap would ever give the man what he wanted. and good god was mactavish what riley wanted. he'd fucked around enough to know who was game and how to get what he wanted. for a while he'd thought mactavish was ace except roach came in one morning and told them all how he'd seen the man take home some girl from the bar the night before. so straight, which sucked but didn't stop him pushing. then a few of them were at a bar a few miles from base and he'd gone for a leak only to see his captain walk out of a stall adjusting his belt, 3 seconds later followed a pretty boy wiping at his mouth.

Me:

Riley has been extatic to know he had a chance and if Tav really didn't want it. Well the man was more than capable of getting him to stop.

The fact MacTavish allowed it in of itself was damn near the equivalents of permission. He let them do as they pleased for the most part sure.

But he was not beyond jumping down someone's throat if they annoyed him too much. People just understood You could do what you wanted but If it was something you couldn't... Well you would find out.

The captain was brutal there was no denying that. He expected perfection and would settle for nothing less and it seemed if only gotten worse his standards raising in the past few weeks. This seems to be the answer for it but wtf did it mean.

It made sense and fit perfectly sure but It was bat shit insane. Riley prided himself in nothing was too far-fetched but this? This pushed the limit for him.

He didn't mention it as he handed the journal back. He didn't mention it to anyone else either. He just continued doing what he always did. Being a nuisance in flirting with the captain

Az:

"if you insist on using that mouth of yours for something other than shutting up, be at my bunk at lights out and i'll use it for you"

mactavish walks away and silence follows. not one of them can believe what they just heard. they all look at each other over lunch in shock. not once in the years the unit has existed has the captain ever responded to a come on and never to riley. everyone to a man knew the lieutenant was gagging for it, would have been the man's personal fluffer at the barest crook of a finger. and yet...

"ok, what the fuck was that riley?"

"what?" the manc is still reeling and under other circumstances maybe they'd let him get away with it.

peasant comes up and places a restraining hand on his shoulder, archer and worm not a step behind. the rest of the unit move the make sure they're alone, pushing out the few straggling outsiders. whatever the fuck is going on is for the 141's ears only.

"riley, cap's been acting different for the last few weeks, we all know it." toad stares him down as the rest nod in agreement. "feels like a storm's coming and no one but him sees it."

Me:

Riley is still shell shocked "What?" He repeated because SURELY that hadn't just happened.

"Something is up " Meat agreed and Riley wasn't having it. "No no no go back did he just....is he serious?" Riley sounded excited.

"Yes and that's half the issue. What the fuck has changed so much?" Chemo answered easily

Riley wasn't listening he had tuned them out. They were onto something sure and he definitely had a piece to that puzzle.

That however was a later issue, right now? Now he had been offered to fallow though on the flirting.

( az: riley, horny and about to combust: "let me go! i need to get to him!"

the rest of the unit, holding him down: "no, tell us what's going on!"

Me: Riley has answers but is overwhelmed with the horny

Az: the man who thought he'd been made immune to torture is about to learn

Me: The 141: What the fuck is going on?? Surely Riley knows I mean he's around the man more than the rest of us combined

*Cut to Riley who is throthing at the mouth*)

Me:

"RILEY!" Worm shouts at him and Riley turns to snarl at him. "You are around him all the time you're his right had you have to know something. Is it confidential just give us something to work with." Worm begged

Riley groaned in annoyance, "I don't know shit. He hasn't told me anything but...yeah it's not right I *know* that."

Riley wouldn't bring up the journal even though he's sure it is the key to all of this. He shouldn't have seen it in the first place, it wasn't his place to talk about it.

"You don't know anything?" Archer asked dubiously and we'll ge kind of did. He had looked into what McTavish was diving into.

It was files on Shepherd he was looking for dirt. He knew something was wrong there even if he couldn't have concrete proof, even if he didn't bring up the journal.

"I'm not sure what exactly but he's digging for something on Shepherd." Riley answered with a sigh.

"Shepherd? Why Shepherd?" Rook asked and Riley weighed his options.

"I'm not completely sure, but I think he's onto something. I don't talk about before..but Shepherd owns me. Sure I'm here but he could pull me away just as easy. He's always been off he'd use me to do a dirty jobs stuff we can't have on the books." A breath.

"He's not a good man and if MacTavish thinks something's off to the point where he needs to look into it. Well I'd say he's onto something." Riley finishes with a shrug

Az:

and it's not like he'd be sad to get out of sheppards leash. not even if it meant a new one in mactavish's hands.

the world tip and he finds himself on the floor before he knows it. a weight settles on his back even as he manages to flip onto his back. roach is sitting on him and signing rapidly. you should have told us before! we've been freaking out for weeks!

it's probably a sign of how they're all on edge that riley doesn't even try and dislodge the man, instead he tries to reassure him, them. "roach, man, you know how the cap is. he wouldn't want us getting involved especially with how dangerous sheppard is."

peasant squats down beside them and flicks riley's forhead. "oi! none of that, ya hear? we're all 141, that includes you and the cap."

meat picks roach up off of him and tosses him over his shoulder as peasant gives him a hand up, "now, this is what we're gonna do: tonight you give the captain what he deserves and we'll get into his shit. if you do your job well enough he'll be too relaxed to be pissed at us and maybe even enough to let us help"

Me:

Riley has never agreed to something faster in his life. Not like he needs insensitive to put in his best effort.

He ends up in the Captain's quarters and it's without a question the best sex of Riley's life. He's used like a toy and he couldn't be happier.

He knows when he wakes up he'll be useless for the day but it's a sacrifice that has to be made. Besides if The captain gets mad about it well it's his fault.

Riley didn't expect as much passion as he got he was blindsided by the desperation the man showed. It was so unlike him but fuck it was hot.

Sure enough he woke up and he was as sore as he had been after his first hell week. To his surprise Tav was still asleep curled around him.

Riley wouldn't complain and couldn't even if he wanted too. Luckily for him it didn't take long for the other man to wake up.

He stirred as be buried his face further into Riley's hair. "Good morning Johnny." Riley chirped and Tav slapped a hand on his mouth.

"Fuckin told ye no ta call me that." He slurred out voice deep and gravely accent thicker then Riley has ever heard it. It made him melt a little

Az:

he'd happily lie there for the rest of his life, feeling the hollow ache in his ass and light stinging heat from the bites and bruises littered across his skin, even the tacky feeling of drying cum can't ruin the afterglow. he feels ridiculous. he feels fucking giddy.

"missed you" he'd miss it if mactavish's mouth wasn't right by his ear and it's said so quietly, almost a mumble. it's ice water. he twists to look at him but the other man is still more asleep than awake.

I missed you

the caps notebook. it described all their deaths, riley and roach's in particular. that had been months of entries before the last one and next to it had been a short list of dates: one about the time mactavish had started acting off, the next coming up in the next week or so. 3 others following, the last a little after that last entry underlined in red.

Me:

Riley had no reason to believe what he saw in the notebook. Hell it could be delusions cased by the last of sleep the man had be getting.

But Tavs soft 'I missed you' is all it took to convince him it was all real. Was that pathetic and probably his own hopes speaking? Probably but this had become proof for him.

Maybe by the time the others had an idea what was going on it would be answered. At least he could hope because things weren't right.

By the time they both got showed (another round in there) and dressed the team was waiting for them.

In Roach's hand was the journal and Riley locked eyes with him. He saw the same apprehension and horror.

MacTavish just froze up before growling and ripping it out of his hand. Roach didn't even try to hold on to it.

"WHAT THE FACK IS THIS?!" Tav demanded and Riley realizes he may have possibly fucked up.

"You're not acting like yourself we got worried so we did some snooping." Chemo said easily and there was definitely a vain popping out of the Captain's neck.

"I can have you all fired for this!' MacTavish roars but not one of them believe he'll do that for a moment. "Sure but then how will you kill Shepherd and Makarov?" Archer asked.

MacTavish came up short. "What?" He asked confused.

"How will you stop WW3 Without us?" Archer asked smugly. MacTavish looks she'll shocked. Riley's missing something but it seems that they're getting somewhere.

"You believe everything you saw and read?" He asked and the others just nodded in agreement. It wouldn't be something MacTavish would lie about they all knew that.

Az:

"why?"

"Why what?" toad asks

"why do you belive any of that?" Mactavish spits, pointing at the book and it really shouldn;t surprise anyone he's defensive. if even half of what's in there is true then Johnny's been very alone for a long time.

"Sir," chemo starts but how do they explain it?

because we believe you roach says and yes it is that simple.

"it makes sense" meat adds

peasant shrugs, "we know you, sir, you don't do anything for no reason. a few weeks ago you started acting ...off. you're our captain. it was like you'd been turned up to 100!"

there are murmers from the men and comments about the little things but it comes down to the fact that the 141 operates on a very simple and very straightforward mentality: look to the captain

Me:

MacTavish thinks he might cry. He isn't sure how to deal with this overwhelming support. He was so used to being pushed aside and ignored and it hurt. He forgot that this team was based off of.

Trust.

He pulls them into a long abandoned confidence room that promised pricey and showed exactly what he had figured out so far.

The room looks like a mess stuff everywhere. There was paper tacked to walls scribbles on the table. It looked like What people imagined conspiracy theorists did in their free time.

He explained everything and what he had proof of and what he didn't. Strings of evidence and spots where he just couldn't find anything even though he knew how it happened.

It was a week later on the exact specified time when they recovered Price.

No one was sure how to proceed with this and MacTavish was in shambles.

"I should kill him." MacTavish had announced to them all later that night.

"If you do that how do you explain it the way?" Riley asked honestly keen on getting rid of the men but still he had to point out the obvious.

'Doctors already took a look at him It can't be passed off his injuries. If you killed him it would be an assassination someone on base would have had to do it. You can't hide that It would be investigated.' Roach pointed out.

"They have bigger fish to fry than whoever killed Price." MacTavish reasoned.

"Yeah because they wouldn't care about a man who was being held specifically by Makarov." Chemo daid sarcastically.

MacTavish groaned

Zombie hummed, "Let us handle it, sir, best if you aren't involved. From what you've said he'll try and dig in with you so you'd be one of the first questioned."

the men agree even if they don't like it. mactavish didn't hold back when he told them about price and how the man got into his head, pulled him along like a trained dog. and gods did riley not want the man near his captain.

he'd been the one to drag johnny to bed, make sure he ate, keep him on track now that the rest of the men were on board. and maybe there was a part of him that wanted as much of the man as he could have just in case....

the other's were supportive, of course, but they'd agreed to let him handle the more personal aspects to getting their captain through this hell. they helped manage the brass and the other soldiers, handed over their meals and wrote up paperwork that didn;t need more than the cap's signature. rook and zach, the most personable of them, made friends with some of sheppards men and kept a more trained eye on them. robot and red exercised their tech skill and bugged the system. everyone had their ears to the ground but they knew they were running out of time.

so it's no surprise when they're in the hidden office, trying to work out what the hell they can do when mactavish slips in and thunks down on a chair. he looks exhausted.

riley's up and fixing him a coffee without a thought, the others going quiet as the man leans back, eyes closed.

"sir?"

he sighs. "ah cannae do it. if price says another thin' aboot us ah'm gonnae shoot 'im."

it's not secret that soon as the man was let out of medical he'd been on mactavish like tik on a curdog. riley had been hard pressed not to punch the man when he'd given the lieutenant a nasty look seeing him lean in against his captain. "here, Tav"

"Thanks, Si" he groaned, taking a big swallow not caring at the heat. eventually he shrugs, "maybe ah could get price and sheppard to kill each other"

Me:

The room paused at that

The batshit idea was.... Well not as insane as it was intended to be

MacTavish looked up at the silence. "That's a good idea isn't it?" He asked the room at large.

Affirmatives rang around the room and he groaned. "Shit we've been trying to make this more complicated than it had to be haven't we?" He asked and another round of agreements sounded.

"How do we get this to happen? Have him overhear us? Act like it's a secret and drop hints? Leave my office door open with all the information layed out for him to find?" He asked the team.

"Why not all of it sir?" Riley asked his eyes crinkling as a smirk presumably crawled across his face.

They deemed it 'mouse trap' even though which was the mouse in this situation was unclear. They started small with cutting off conversations about it when Price appeared. Then to hiding files when he entered a room.

It progressed to vague explanations that made no sense and finally to the office door being left slightly open one night.

The next morning Price was gone

Az:

roach definately suggests just asking price to deliver something to sheppard just for it to go boom

Me:

They wait impatiently for the news to ring one way or the other. Either way it can't be a loss they know that for sure

Az:

the only reason they veto is because of collateral

the brass are in an uproar but since the 141 have no idea where he went there' not much they can do.

what they do know is where makarov will be in a few days time so they plan for him instead. sheppard need to be in washington that week so it's easy enough to fly under his radar. a little hacking here, some misplace paperwork there, and they're a week earlier than the bastards expect. it's too risky to have men on site when makarov gets there, instead mactavish has them place enough explosvies to level a small town and then they wait.

from a very distant vantage point they confirm makarov has exited his chopper and walked inside. they wait 5 minutes and then blow it sky high. nothing is left, from the parking area to the sewers, it's all slag and detritus.

Me:

The aftermath is mayhem But MacTavish refuses to let them leave until they can confirm he is in fact dead.

It doesn't take much convincing as they get out the dogs and have them search for anyone living as well as pulling out the other stops just in case.

Everything comes up negative. And they all sigh a breath of relief

[ultimateplaylistmaker]

Got a tag on my post about how Makoto becoming principal in dr3 is in character that argues that while it is in character, it’s not in character for the themes of the franchise as a whole and is a rather surface read of the ideas. This rubs me the wrong way as first of all Kodaka was involved, he was the supervisor of the project, Makoto becoming principal would have fallen under his decision. As well as the fact it carries onto v3 so dismissing it as a failure to understand the themes is just incorrect. Kodaka knows his themes for his own series.

Danganronpa always has had a theme of circular violence, trauma repeats when one doesn’t take the time to truly heal for it. Whether it be Mondo killing Chihiro, the Warriors of Hope’s everything, the constant use of amnesia as a plot point, the final chapter twist of v3. The circular nature of unhealed trauma and despair is very much a theme. Not repeating cycles is something portrayed as not easy and taking a lot of strength even back in the first game, it’s not easy to end the killing game, to finally truly bow away from the game and it’s sadism and find a new path.

The recreation of Hope’s Peak falls fully in line with the themes of abuse, manipulation, and dependency around Hope’s Peak we see time and time again in the story, the fact that it isn’t so easily stamped out, was always present. Future Foundation’s focus on talent is even shown in goodbye despair emails we see and how they treated the remnants before they realized they were remnants. The lack of respect for Makoto is also shown in said emails. Nothing about future foundation we really learn in dr3 goes against this.

If anything Hope’s Peak staying gone would have been a bigger betrayal of the themes of how structural injustice is a constant problem. See everything about Ishimaru’s FTEs and his hatred of the word genius and the idea of talent. While some of Hope’s Peaks actions get criticized, the characters struggle to see the full picture of the school itself being an issue because everyone trusted and loved the school.

Things get shoved onto Junko, or dismissed as a personal issue of one group or person and not an inborn issue because Hope’s Peak has always kept at least the image of perfection and privilege to the world, and after another killing game, where he almost lost Kirigiri, almost killed himself, and had to witness nearly everyone else in future foundation die, raw and guilty snd unhealed, it makes full sense for the themes of the story that he gravitates back towards Hope’s Peak, the source of it all, and rebuilds it, starting the cycle up again because he was never allowed to heal from it and thus familiar and stable.

In DR3 we learn fully well just how unhealed Makoto is, he’s a very haunted person constantly being pushed to extremes for survival and constantly as all times being reminded of how he’s supposed to be the Hope. Him recreating the school of his trauma is extremely in line with how the circular violence is shown to us. Especially if we take in v3s story and show how it resulted in yet another killing game farther down the line, with Makoto being placed in the same position Jin was in the videos, asking his students to leave everyone and everything they ever knew forever for the chance of survival and hope for everyone through the arc, with them too going through the same kind of memory erasure as Makoto did when they find out it was never that simple and death was already inside. I am aware the it’s all fiction makes this kinda confusing but I’m focusing more on the story tsumugi was telling before it fully broke down and how it relates into danganronpa’s themes

Makoto’s optimism is a point of contrast to the darkness that both shows why he could become Hope but why he also fails to grasp how fucked up everything was from the start. It’s to be taken side by side with the truth of the school from the audience, purposeful contrast, not a denial of the darkness. He is the innocent bystander, the fool card, he simply does not see, and in turn, cannot call out what is hiding in plain sight

Dr3 just has more focus on Hope’s Peak to the audience. The cruelty of the system and the fact Makoto rebuilds it are taken side by side in DR3, but whenever Makoto is in scenes or Hope’s Peak, he’s sheltered, his eyes turned away from the darkness. Even when others attempt to force him to see, his luck or someone else swoops in to protect him from it. Makoto is actively protected by the plot from being allowed to see the themes of cruelty and hate that permeates the system. He is very much kept purposefully blind by the story, because his thematic role is as an embodiment of Hope’s Peak, not an opponent of it.

He’s the golden boy, the shining example, the propaganda piece. His role in the narrative is to not challenge Hope’s Peak, but be the representative of everything Hope’s Peak is supposed to be but never really is. He is the onlooker who sees the gold and sparkle and shine and doesn’t see the bodies behind the curtain, the average joe success story of the lucky draw. He is what’s good about the system, because there is some good in it. The talent system can uplift those in poverty, it can give resources and respect to those who genuinely can use those to do good in the world. Everything good about the talent system is reflected in Makoto to some degree. He uplifts, he gives resources, he protects, he speaks of a better world, he wants to use talent and hope as a force to give people strength and something they can stabilize on /rally around. Makoto is the good of Hope’s Peak.

Makoto recreating the school was practically destined to happen for Makoto with how heavily his Hope talent gets tied up in the school. Makoto never has a reason to question Talent outside of thinking Luck is kinda lame, he has no reason to not try and bring Hope back through what he sees as the symbol of hope.

While Izuru talks to Komaeda about how he was taught and the audience learns that, it’s not information Makoto gets, I’m pretty sure Makoto doesn’t even know the extent of Izuru’s everything until Junko tells him. Makoto simply is in too privileged a position with an inability to be allowed to process his trauma healthily or seek outside voices to his echo chamber, something likely intentional to the themes of the corruption of the idea of Hope, Makoto is pretty intentionally never ever put into a position where he rejects Hope’s Peak or is allowed to actually examine what Hope means because people keep trying to use or kill him, often at the same time.

It’s thematic irony, not a failure to understand the themes. Hope’s Peak cannot be uprooted by someone who was kept away from its darkness. Makoto drinks the kool aid too hard to be the destruction of talent. To him, it simply is how the world works, and he never has a reason to doubt that. Again, how he interacts with Ishimaru in his FTEs. Especially with how Makoto’s response to insecurity and trauma is deeply avoidant, looking Hope’s Peak in the eye and calling it out for what it’s done simply isn’t in his nature. If he has a problem, he will simply throw himself into a project to not think about it.

Makoto and his group of survivors never could have been the ones to challenge Hope’s Peak, too ingrained, too benefited by the status quo, too martyred and traumatized, too sheltered from the darkness, too lacking perspective and options, too deep to question if talent is truly an inherent thing. It would break the story if someone like Togami suddenly was like “actually talent bad.” It’s just not a group built for that part of the story

Calling out an ingrained structural issue with society is very very different then calling out a blackened in a class trial. As one takes deep contemplation and reflection to understand how you and everyone around you is subtly impacted and influenced, the other is a situation where you can ignore yourself and throw yourself into it without letting yourself remember the stakes.

Shuichi was a much better fit for rejecting hopes peak by the end of v3. He was someone burned by his talent so heavily, who seemed to genuinely view his talent as making his life worse. Who watched as talent was never fully a positive thing for anyone around him. Like just Maki’s existence with such a fucked up talent of forced cult assassin makes his group be prime to point out the flaws of the system and reject it. Shuichi was never sheltered, even when he really should have been. Shuichi was primed to see nothing but the darkness destroying him, with his character arc being about finding his ability to still keep moving despite that darkness and fight against the idea that the darkness was his fault or inherent, and instead fight for the right for no one to ever go through it again.

[aidontdraw]

Bro. For. REAL.

I think about this so much. There is so much interesting political world building going on that's never addressed directly. The Sand Village definitely becomes an vassle state to the Leaf Village post Konoha Crush. Point blank. That's obviously what's going on.

Sunagakure never financially recovers. We know this from Gaara's Novel and the filler episodes in Boruto. The novel tells us directly that they don't get paid for the Fourth Ninja War. In the filler episode of Boruto were told by citizens around Suna that people are still recovering from the war that happened 15 years ago.

I mention this a lot. I'm suprised Suna is even standing in Boruto.

Sunagakure is financially reliant on Konoha. This greenhouse exist in the Rivers Country(I have a whole rant on this), and was a gift from Konoha. Idk why they are doing flowers, it's supposed to be farm land... But whatever.

We are told that Konoha has too much work post Konoha Crush, because of all the murder that happened. There's essentially too many contracts and too few qualified Ninja to fulfill these contracts. It's why during the Sasuke Rescue Arc they had to send a bunch of Genin and one newly made chunin to rescue Sasuke. So we are told that because of the Sand Siblings assistance in this mission, it created an alliance with Konoha in Suna.

I've said this several times, if any one died on that mission, the entire series changes. Everyone on that mission is related to or the heir of an important Clan in Konoha. So by saving their lives the Sand Siblings forged a very important relationship with Konoha.

Konoha still has this problem where they have too many missions and not enough people to fill them... Suna has a problem of too many people and not enough missions. So this is where the formal alliance takes place. We can safely assume that Konoha has lessened in taking Sunagakures missions. Mostly because they physically can't sustain overworking their work force for a prolonged period. So it's an easy treaty item to add.

(This alliance is further cemented with the marriage of Sunas Princess Temari, and (future Hokage) Shikamaru. Because the position of Kazekage is an inherited title, Shikadai is in line to inherit it. He has a legitimate right to claim that title right now in Boruto with both Gaara and Shinki out of commission btw.)

---

Sunagakure citizens have mixed feelings about this alliance. We can see that in the Gaara rescue arc, where Granny Chiyo is very opposed to the alliance. It takes Naruto and the gang saving their Kazekage for this alliance to gain more favor in Suna.

There are still attempts on Gaaras life in the future(novel). Which does extend from his past, but also the political unrest of them never fully recovering from the war.

---

Now it's time to look at this on the international political stage.

First let's look at the chunin exam. Suna is the only Village from the Five Great Villages at Konoha's Chunin Exam. Which is odd and means we can assume means the other villages don't fuck with Konoha like that. It establishes early on that Suna and Konoha have always had frienemy vibes.

I've talked about this before, but having any alliance on the international level is important. Especially if they were to ever meet up in a Gokage Summit. Which is why why Konoha would benifit more from keeping Suna it's own Village rather than taking over completely.

Now the greatest thing about Orochimarus terrioist attack, Konoha Crush, for Suna. Is that outside of Gaara, Suna wasn't involved with it. Suna held back their troops, and Gaara was just supposed to go on a rampage. They intentionally set it up this way incase Orochimaru betrayed them. Another thing that works in their favor, his siblings were trying to take Gaara away from the action. Then we have Naruto keeping him away from the action. Orochimaru also killed the Kazekage. So for all intents and purposes, from an outside perspective, it looks like the Sound attacked both Konoha and Suna (and Gaara just had a really bad day, which given his history of attacking his own village like that is believable).

Then Suna gets a child Kage with Gaara. He's anywhere from 13-15 when he takes the position of a Kage. Probably closer to 13, because Suna can't be with out a Kage for too long. As soon as he takes over he starts adopting Konoha Ideals. This is also post retrvial arc, so we can assume their treaty involves them getting left over missions from Konoha. Which looks sus af from an out side perspective. It looks like an indirect take over, and hoenstly it functions like one.

Konoha then saves Gaara, making him the only jinchūriki who survived an Akatsuki attack. But again looks sus AF. We know from the Gokage Summit, and lack of jinchūriki, villages don't help eachother out like that. So it can very easily look like Tsunade wants to keep the child leader on the throne to maintain a relationship that benifits Konoha.

Then we got the Gokage Summit, where Gaara is Dick Riding Naruto so hard it's embarrassing. Honestly he, and Suna, is lucky Danzo was in charge at that moment and making such a fool of himself. Because if it were both Gaara and Tsunade advocating for Naruto's saftey at that moment before the attack, it would look so sus.

Then we have Gaaras little speach to the troops where he bassicly is singing Naruto's praise, but is also publicly aligning Suna with Konoha.

Then we have Boruto where he gives Konoha Shukaku. Obviously it's for his protection blahblahblah. From an outside perspective he's giving another nation control over Sunas biggest power source.

Gaara is so dickmatized by Naruto that it is politically irresponsible. Like even his adopted son has to be like, "stand up dad."

rereading naruto and it's wild how the sand's worldbuilding disintegrates the MOMENT shippuden starts.

In Part 1, the village was peaceful. The Wind Daimyo was using that as an excuse to cut the Sand's funding and also to hire the Leaf, who could now afford to charge lower prices, instead. In Shippuden the Sand has made peace with the Leaf and furthered its alliances... but ALSO solved its economic problems somehow? It's never explained how they did it IIRC.

Also the Sand basically looks like the Leaf's vassal this arc. They solved their troop strength problems too, but only by just adopting the Leaf's training methods which were apparently way better than theirs. They need Jiraiya to tell them about the Akatsuki even though their most famous criminal is a member, and they immediately agreed to enter an emergency just because Jiraiya-sama (they literally call him that) said so. Once Gaara is beaten, they're powerless to even inconvenience Sasori and Deidara. The only people who do anything are Leaf ninja and one retired woman who clearly only took the case out of personal interest, and the Leaf were there because the Sand gave up tracking the Akatsuki and called for help the moment Kankuro got beat. Sakura easily makes an antidote for Sasori's poison after less than three years of medic training when the best medics in the village couldn't do anything.

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[ineffablefool]

How the hell is all this acrylic paint that I bought for a class I signed up for in 2004 (not a typo) still wet?

[synonymroll648]

absolutely evil fic idea! sophitz soulmates au where post-war they reconcile but also find out that fitz won't make it to 100 due to the severity of his shadowflux echoes and the reason sophie kept surviving seemingly impossible odds was because the black swan 'accidentally' made her immortal.

to make things extra cruel: consider how fitz canonically counts on having thousands of years ahead of him to build himself a future he enjoys, and how sophie canonically struggles w/ the idea of living forever due to her human upbringing (plus the canon-compliant possibility of her hearing ten bajillion tales growing up of how immortality is a curse) :D

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[nereidprinc3ss]

diva

in which flirty!reader shows up to work in a bad mood and it’s spencer’s job to deal with her attitude. not that he minds. (bandages universe)

fluff warnings/tags: fem!reader, mentions of reader coming to work from a casual hookup, flirting, lots of teasing, the BAU being silly geese bc this is before all the trauma, insecurities about reader's job performance, spencer wants to be a cyborg, borderline cuddling hehehe a/n: nanana diva is a female version of a hustler (bandages!reader theme song) no but really i just missed them so much lowkey always accepting requests for these two!! I hope you guys likeeee bc i loveee them and also this was based on a request so i hope u see this LOL

As soon as Hotch calls wheels up in thirty you’re slumping forward, resting your head on folded arms. The to-go cup on the round table in front of you has long been emptied but you look at it longingly anyway. 

Morgan chuckles, slapping his folder down on the table next to you. “Aw, look at that. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.”

“It’s Sunday,” you groan. “It’s seven in the morning. Excuse me for not being ready to carpe the diem.”

“It’s just carpe diem,” Spencer interjects, standing and slipping his file into his bag. You sit up and give him the most indignant look you can manage, though it’s hard when you’re this tired and he’s that cute. Slacks. Sweater vest. Button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. An enviable waist. 

“Whose side are you on?”

He frowns, brushing a tuft of shining-clean brown hair out of his eyes. 

“If I was on anyone’s side other than my own it would cease to be their side. We’re all always on our own sides.”

“No, you’re on my side. Defend me.”

His brows only dart up and he looks back down to his bag. It’s a look you know well. Don’t get me involved. 

Morgan spins in his chair to face you, one elbow resting on the table. 

“I’m just saying, if this is your Sunday morning, I’d love to see your Saturday night, little miss forty five minutes late.”

“You heard Hotch say he called me half an hour earlier than everyone else. It was technically fifteen,” you frown. “And I… was at church.”

Rossi gestures at you with his coffee cup. “You step foot in a church, your shoes are going to start smoking.”

Your jaw drops. 

“Wow. I thought old people were supposed to be sweet. Come on, Spencer.”

Spencer knows better than to put up a fight as you get up and grab him by the hand not holding onto your cup and folder, dragging him to the bullpen to sit at your desk until the team is ready to go. 

He stands in front of you, hands in pockets, as you plop into your own chair. “I… can’t tell if you’re actually mad.”

“I am. At you. For not being on my side.”

Spencer sets his bag down and leans against the adjacent desk, arms folded. You stopped caring a long time ago if he’d notice you ogling the long, lithe lines of him. Maybe you never really cared, if you’re being honest with yourself. He’s a little harder to scandalize these days, anyway. But you’ll never stop trying. 

He bites his lip thoughtfully. 

“If you’re mad at me, why am I the one you dragged down here?”

“I’m not taking questions, Reid.”

He hisses. “Ouch. Reid.”

“Mhm. That’s how mad I am.”

“Okay, grouchy. Do you want a refill?”

You borderline pout, continuously perplexed by his kindness in the face of your insolence, but holding out your hollow cup for him anyway as you slouch lower in your seat. 

“Don’t call me grouchy.”

“Then don’t call me Reid,” he says, taking your cup as he passes, and you think you sense the faintest wash of amusement coloring his tone. 

The jet doesn’t do much to put pep in your step. 

“Aberdeen,” Morgan muses, letting his file closed on his lap. “Isn’t that where, uh, Kurt Cobain grew up?”

Spencer sits down in the chair next to you, setting the day’s third cup of coffee in front of you on the small table. “It is. It’s also where Washington’s first suspected serial killer William Gohl resided.”

“First of many,” Rossi amends. Reid nods. 

“In the US, Washington State comes in fifth place in terms of serial killers per capita. Some blame a widespread vitamin D deficiency. Just under eight hours of sunlight in the winter, the least in the contiguous United States.”

Emily gives an abhorrent rendition of a famous Nirvana riff, imitating a twangy electric guitar, before gesturing to your boss. “Hotch, you’re from Seattle. Did you ever get into Nirvana? The whole grunge scene?”

Hotch lowers his folder, giving her an unimpressed look. “Did you?”

While the exchange is amusing, the coffee is not perking you up and you’d like to be slightly less upright, if possible. You bump Spencer’s knee with your own, and he looks over at you obediently. 

“What’s up?”

“I wanna move to the couch.”

He nods and gets right back up. When you pass, and he doesn’t immediately follow, you turn around. Maybe the lack of sleep has rendered you unable to hide your look of contempt as he tries to sit back down. 

“What are you doing?”

Morgan snorts. “Uh oh. Lapdog almost forgot his training.”

“I am not a lapdog,” Spencer defends, giving Morgan a harsh look of his own, before following you, much to the amusement of the rest of the BAU. 

“Don’t listen to them,” you mutter as you step aside to let him pass. 

He settles into the corner of the couch. “I almost never do.” When you cozy up next to him, he seems surprised. “Um, hi?”

“I’m cold. You’re warm.”

“This is… unprofessional.”

You roll your eyes even though he can’t see. “Oh my god. They don’t care.”

That’s enough to shut him up. Eventually he relaxes, and though he doesn’t put his arm around you (they remain crossed in front of him) he doesn’t seem too distraught over the way you’re leaning against him, head on his shoulder. The sky is a soft grey where you can see it through the little rectangles lining the far wall, like a pale tea with plenty of milk. 

“What’s up with you, anyway?” He asks eventually, gingerly, and though he’s bold to ask it you know the last thing he means to do is offend. Luckily for him, he’s your soft spot. You let your eyes flutter shut against the boxes of diffuse light. 

“Tired.”

“I know that. You’ve had three cups of coffee and you’re still about to fall asleep.”

“Well… that’s all it was.”

“Mhm.”

“God, you’re—” you lift your head, about to give him a good old fashioned verbal lashing, but he’s so sweet looking, and he’s so kind to you even when he’s not, that you deflate—all your air coming out on a sigh as you settle back against him. “I… was… not home, when Hotch called me.”

“Yeah, you said you were at church?” He sounds utterly bewildered. Your heart melts, and you can’t hide the fondness seeping from every pore as you look up at him through your lashes. He really is so beautiful. 

“That was a joke, Spence. I was with a friend.”

His brows knit and a faint blush tinges his cheeks. 

“Oh. I knew that.”

And he really is getting better at detecting your brand of sarcasm. One day you doubt you’ll be able to pull any over on him, and he’ll stop being so adorable and bashful and embarrassed and sweet all the time. You don't relish the thought.

“What were you doing this morning?” You ask, in a bid to quell the very embarrassment you covet, because you’re not actually a demon, despite what Rossi had implied earlier. 

“Sleeping.”

You hum. Imagine taking his hand. Don’t really take it. 

“Me ’nd you should hang out outside of work more often.”

“Like… in the mornings?”

“Uh, probably not,” you laugh, your own face heating at the implication he’s only sort of and undoubtedly accidentally making. “I mean—we could. We could have breakfast sometimes.”

“I like breakfast,” he muses. “I know a couple of good spots. I can show you when we get back. There are these ube pancakes that are like bright purple on the inside. Have you had ube? I think you’d like them. The pancakes and the tuber. They’re the same color as your laptop case.”

You giggle, too tired for anything more dignified and too charmed for anything less authentic. Spencer has a moment of apparent self-awareness and after a second chuckles along with you, and like 99% of your moments with him, it’s a nice one. 

It slowly fades, and you sigh. 

“We’d probably get called in right in the middle of breakfast.”

“It’s always a possibility,” Spencer agrees, and you feel him nod. He smells really nice—clean and sort of cedar-y. Warm. 

“You ever think about how we’re just… robot arms to do the bidding of the federal government? We’re not even people. We’re cyborgs.”

“I’d love to be a cyborg.”

“But then you wouldn’t be so warm and comfy.”

“If I were a cyborg I could install a heating element. I’d still be warm. I don’t know about comfy. Maybe if I kept the biomechatronics to one side of my torso.”

“You’d install a heating element just for me? So we could keep cuddling?”

He clears his throat. You smile to yourself. 

“Why are we cyborgs, exactly?”

“Because we don’t get personal lives. The job comes first. I could be doing anything. I could be in the middle of eating bright purple pancakes with my good friend and colleague Spencer Reid and it doesn’t matter. If we get called in we have to leave.”

“If we were in the middle of breakfast, we could just… take our food to go and finish it at our desks.”

“Well—I guess it would be different if it was us, but with my other friends… it’s kind of a bummer, sometimes.”

You’re thinking about the friend you left this morning. Nobody you’re particularly invested in, but you wonder if that friend is still asleep in bed—and you realize you don’t much care. You’re glad to be here, and not there. 

“I think if the job didn’t feel worth it to you, you would’ve left by now. But you haven’t. You can complain all you want, but you show up every day.”

You scoff. 

“Fifteen to 45 minutes late, depending on how you look at it.”

“That is… atypical. You’re usually on time.”

“Usually…” you repeat darkly. A moment passes. An uncomfortable insecurity begins to bloom and ache like a rotting tooth. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Do you think…” you falter, unused to this kind of vulnerability. A cloud swallows the jet and the cabin darkens into a place for secrets. “Do you think I’m worth the trouble?”

You know Spencer senses the unease like a sheepdog can sense a storm from the way he perks up next to you. He’s always been like that—incredibly attuned to the moods of others. You hope he doesn’t think profiling is just another of many learned skills. It’s a genuine talent, a sort of savantism in its own right. You can’t imagine him doing anything else as passionately as he does his job. Sometimes it almost makes you insecure. 

“What trouble?”

“Like… Hotch having to call me half an hour earlier than he calls the rest of the team. Or you, accepting my constant teasing. I know I’m—I can be kind of a diva. I don’t always really feel as professional as you guys. Or… qualified, maybe.”

You can imagine the way he’d narrow his eyes as he thinks this over, though you’d still like to see it for yourself—but you keep your head on his shoulder. In a way, he’s already getting a closer look at you than you usually grant to anyone. 

“I think… you’re good at your job. And you care more than you’d like to admit. That thing you do—where you sometimes show up a few minutes late, or you piss Rossi off on purpose, or you flirt with Hotch—I think… we all have things like that. We all self-sabotage, because it’s a really hard job, and I think we all wonder if we’re really qualified for it, or deserve to be in these positions, or if we even want the responsibility of trying to save people’s lives. But you’re a genuinely good person and a gifted profiler. And everyone else knows it, too.”

The deep thrum of the jet’s engine blurs the rest of the team’s incomprehensible chatting and the pounding of your heart into one big muddied streak of paint. Hopefully Spencer can’t feel the heat of your cheek through his shirtsleeve. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

A moment passes. 

It’s a relief when Spencer’s anxiety comes bubbling up before your own can. “Sorry, was that too much?”

“No,” you hurry, “no, it was—no. That was really really nice of you to say. Thank you, Spencer.”

He relaxes. “Well… it’s all true.”

How could anyone ever deserve him? How does anyone get lucky enough to know a man like Spencer Reid?

When you burst through the other side of the cloud, the sun has come out. It burns away the milky early morning fog and makes your eyes ache just enough to finally wake you up. You blink and stretch against him like a cat. 

“Spence?”

“Hm?”

“I just want to clarify… I don’t flirt with Hotch. I flirt with you.”

[scorpiosbite]

the first time drew saw actress!reader.

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── when drew was forced by madelyn to come watch this new show with her and the rest of the cast he didn’t expect to have his heart captured by the mesmerising woman on the screen.

𝜗𝜚 pairing: actress!reader x drew starkey

author’s note: this takes place in 2023 during the filming of obx 4 which is when game of thrones started airing in my timeline also actress!reader is anywhere between 19-22 years old.

drew was sprawled across the couch in his hotel room, aimlessly scrolling. after a long day of filming under the hot and heavy sun of morocco, he had no intention of doing anything that required effort. his plan was to simply scroll until his eyes got heavy and he knocked out, but knowing his insomnia that wouldn’t be until the early hours of the morning.

glancing at the time displayed on his phone ten pm it read, he let out a heavy sigh, though his body ached with exhaustion, his mind would not shut off. but before he could put down his phone and try to force himself to sleep, a knock sounded on the door “yeah?”

“drew! its maddie.”

“maddie?” he spoke softly, what’s she doing up at this time. usually she was asleep the moment she got back to the hotel. “come in, its open.”

she came tumbling through the door, coming to a stop in front of the couch where he laid. drew couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched her. “what’s up?”

“drew! you gotta come watch this new show with us!” her hands were placed on her hips as she looked down at him.

drew sighed, a noise of exhaustion. “i can’t be fucked getting up, cline.” her face scrunched up, ready to dispute him.

“drew you have to! the last episode of season one just came out and i watched the first episode when it aired and it was so good that i stopped watching so that we could binge it all when the season finished!”

recognition sparked on his face. “wait is this game of thrones? i remember you saying how good the first episode was, like two months ago.”

madelyn’s face grew excited at the fact that he remembered. “yeah! please please, you have to come watch it, jd, bailey, chase, laci, rudy and austin are already in my room waiting.”

drew mulled over the idea for a moment. either he could rot in his room until his call time tomorrow or hang out with his friends and possibly watch a good show, if maddie’s high praise was anything to go by.

“yeah, alright let’s go.” he stood up from the couch, stretching his arms and grabbing his phone to follow maddie, who was already halfway out the door, unable to wait any longer.

when they arrived at her room, the first episode was already lined up on the screen, the hbo logo blaring in the dark room. drew greeted everyone and then took a seat on the spare love seat by the window. “you guys get forced too?” he questioned.

“yup.” jd breathed out. “nah i’ve been wanting to watch this, i remember hearing about it when they started filming, it’s supposed to be like super graphic and vulgar.” madison commented. “shit, really? i know nothing about this show, other than the fact that cline can’t shut up about it.” austin added. chuckles sounded across the room, and madelyn yelled from the kitchen where the popcorn she was making turned in the microwave. “y’all are about to thank me!”

drew simply sat in silence, with the amount maddie was praising this show, his skepticism grew, no way this show was that good. someone pressed play as soon as madelyn was seated, he didn’t see who. the intro song of the show blasted through the room and drew settled back into his seat.

“yo, pass me the popcorn?” chase rolled up the bag and chucked it across the room from where he was sat, drew caught it with ease.

he couldn’t lie, the show was good, fifteen minutes in and he was hooked. and just when he thought that it couldn’t get better, you came on the screen.

“holy fuck who is that?” jd’s voice rang out, but drew felt as though his voice came from somewhere far away. he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. “she’s beautiful right?” madelyn sighed out. mummers of agreement sounded from the people sitting in the room. “her name’s y/n y/l/n.”

“y/n” drew repeated to himself softly, almost as he was testing the feel of your name in his mouth. rolling the syllables on his tongue, in that moment he decided that no other word would ever compare to the way your name felt on his lips.

dressed in a flowing dress with daring cuts exposing your seemingly soft skin, he wondered what would it feel like if he ran his palms along the smooth expansion. your hair sliver, long and loose to play visenya targaryen, the last targaryen, the daughter of rhaegar targaryen and elia martell. drew felt as though no one had ever looked more stunning in the history of the world.

“drew? you all good man?” someone asked, he didn’t know who, he couldn’t hear or think of anything beyond you and the performance you were giving. “i think starkey’s got a crush.” rudy sang out, and the rest laughed. but drew couldn’t care less, too busy watching you.

they watched two more episodes and as the third episode came to an end drew finally broke out of his trance. while the rest occasionally made comments during the show drew could not tear himself away from the screen, afraid that if he looked away he would miss you.

“i gotta hand it to you, cline, i’m hooked. that shit was amazing!” carlacia grinned. “i fucking told you guys!” she retorted back. “but aside from that, starkey? what did you think?” she smirked at him.

“yeah, that was good.” drew’s body tingling “that’s it? just good? you don’t wanna talk about the moon eyes you were making every time visenya came on screen?” drew cheeks tinged pink. “yeah, she’s pretty.” “aye, shot your shot man, she’s so fine.” madison teased.

as drew made his way back to his room he looked at the time, two am, damn he didn’t even realise time had passed that quick. sliding into his bed after taking a quick shower, he couldn’t help himself but run a quick search of you on google. “fuck.” the soft curse slipping from his lips, just when he thought you couldn’t get hotter, he saw pictures of you, not in costume, naturally a brunette, he was so fucked. fuck it, he quickly searched up your name on instagram.

you were laying in bed scrolling through instagram when a notification popped up.

drewstarkey started following you. follow back?

first one, do you like it? if you do i’ll keep writing. reblogs and comments are welcome and appreciated.

[melminli]

Love To Dream

summary - there was this one girl that thanos really wanted, though, she didn't really want to have anything to do with him. unfortunately, that made him want her even more.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 1.5k

contains: modern au, mention of drugs, enemies to lovers vibes ig, crack, yearning

a/n: i don't even know what this is tbh but I felt like we all deserved some laughs ;)

Life was good - life was really fucking good, Thanos thought to himself as he winked charmingly at a group of hot girls. They had been looking in his direction for a while now while giggling, clearly interested in him. He continued to watch them as he sipped his drink, the club music pumping through his veins like adrenaline. Thanos's eyes darkened as the girls continued to cast lustful glances in his direction - he knew he could easily get more than one of them into bed tonight and why wouldn't he? It hadn't been long since his last performance on stage, reminding everyone present once again of his legendary status in this club.

However, his attention was focused somewhere entirely else after the most breathtaking person ever decided to walk past him. The pick-up lines he had been thinking of for the group, vanished from his mind after this angel showed up in front of him since the other girls could barely compare. The whole thing looked like something out of a scene from a Kdrama because time seemed to pass in slow motion and your hair was swinging in the air like that of a princess - which would have been the perfect time for some product placement because it just looked so damn soft.

Thanos had his mouth wide open in shock and put a hand over his heart to check if it was still beating while his eyes never left your figure. You - who was leaning prettily against the bar right next to him as you ordered something from the bartender.

“Hey.” he finally recovered from the moment and casually moved towards you. “I'd introduce myself, but I assume you already know me.” he talked to you with his flirty face as soon as you looked up at him.

You smiled shyly. “Yeah, I watched your performance,” you answered him and seemed quite grateful that he was speaking to you right now. “You were pretty good.” you giggled slightly as you complimented him.

“Yeah, that's just how I am.” he sighed as he looked around the room as if it was a burden for him to have to live with all the recognition. His eyes met yours again and he tried to impress you by unpacking a few bars while emphasizing them with the movements of his hands. “Girl, I know you and I are meant to be because after I looked at your pretty face everything stopped being. If only you saw what I can see, you'll understand why I want you so desperately.” he rapped to you, stealing the last line from some One Direction song, but you didn't need to know that.

You shyly put your hands in front of your face to hide your smile. “Oh my god, that was so incredibly sexy, I'm so horny for you right now.” the words came out of your mouth and made Thanos screw up his face weirdly for a second.

Because first of all, those vulgar words didn't match your innocent demeanor in the slightest - and secondly, you said exactly what Thanos had imagined you would say - it was actually a bit creepy since you literally said it word for word. Thanos hardly thought that he could foresee the future all of a sudden or that you could maybe read minds, though he decided to ignore the whole thing as soon as you started touching his chest softly with your hands. He wanted you so bad.

“You don't even know what you're doing to me right now,” he whispered to you while you felt him so sensually and he was about to kiss you, hadn't you stopped his lips with your hand as you laughed into his face. “I think you should wake up now. Otherwise, the pink elephant will keep handing out balloons to people.” You told him, pointing behind him to where the bar was supposed to be.

“Hah?” he asked you confused and turned around while continuing to hold you in his arms, but all he saw were a few dogs breakdancing - and that was nothing out of the ordinary. He continued to look at the scene with a grin, even though some inner voice inside him was stressing out about kissing you immediately as if he was running out of time. He finally turned back to you and was about to continue when he suddenly heard a man speak. “You really should wake up man.” Nam-gyu's voice told him and Thanos only caught himself almost kissing him after he took a closer look. He just pushed him away from him in disgust and then -

Thanos woke up from his sleep, bathed in sweat, when he saw your face in his field of vision. “Finally, you're sleeping like a dead man. There's some guy at the door who wants to talk to you,” you told him as he sat up tiredly while slowly recovering from his strange dream.

That's right. You weren't just some hot girl he met at the club, you were his fucking roommate. Thanos discreetly pushed more blanket over his lap as he tried to shoo you away from his room with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, yeah - I'll be right there, just - give me a moment,” he said without looking you in the face.

You just sighed slightly and complied with his request, though not without letting him know how unhappy you were. “I told you to stop giving our address to these dealers. I don't like it when they show up here,” you grumbled under your breath before dashing out and closing the door behind you.

After that, Thanos let out a very heavy sigh and stroked his face aggressively. “Now she's showing up in my dreams, too? Fucking great.” he grumbled to himself and got up from the bed to put on some decent clothes. His eyes met his own reflection as he pulled a shirt over his head. “Get a grip man, what's wrong with you?” he asked himself as he grimaced in annoyance. “You're Thanos the destroyer, not some kind of -”

“Stop taking so long and come here already!” your voice suddenly shouted, coming through his door slightly muffled.

He looked even more annoyed at that and made his way to the living room while shouting back at you. “I'm fucking on it, alright!” and it only took a few loud steps from him to your front door for him to yank it open to fix the damn problem. He looked at his friend, completely bothered by his presence. “What do you want?” he asked him and was kinda glad that it at least wasn't Nam-gyu because he just really didn't want to see his face at the moment and probably for a little while.

“Hello, to you, too.” the man in front of him greeted him, already used to his weird mood swings. “I just wanted to do you a favor by bringing you some of the pills you wanted because last time you almost beat me up when I didn't have them with me,” he explained, holding the bag, which Thanos grabbed instantly before inspecting it more closely. “Don't act like you didn't deserve it, I paid you the money in advance, man. Of course, I was angry,” he complained again and would probably have beaten him up for real right now if he had ruined his morning over something completely unnecessary. However, he would still have to make sure that something like this didn't happen again so that you didn't have another reason to kick him out of the apartment.

“You know, maybe this was meant to be. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been greeted by an absolute hottie today,” he said happily as he stood there, still interested. “Is she your cousin or something? Do you want to introduce me to her?” he asked and was quite confident in the way he acted, but Thanos just looked at him emotionlessly for a few seconds until he slammed the door in his face.

"Okay, he's gone now!" he exclaimed, bored, and made his way into the kitchen, where you were sitting with a cup of coffee or something while scrolling on your phone. "Don't open the door for that guy if he shows up again," he said, grabbing a cold Sprite from the fridge. You just looked at him with a displeased look. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'll make sure that he and no one else shows up after today. But, I'm just saying that in case it still somehow happens."

Thanos then opened the can and drank from it while he continued to watch your face from the side. Eventually, he sat down next to you, although, to his dissatisfaction, that didn't seem to get your attention. "Hey, you want to go on a date?" He asked, and you weren't sure how many times he asked you that by now. You kept scrolling on Instagram. "You know my answer to that."

Thanos continued to grin hopefully. "Yes?" he asked and then watched you disappear out of the kitchen with your cup of coffee in your hand - probably to your room. "You should be glad that I'm even asking you! Other girls would die for..." he muffled towards the end before he stopped talking entirely once he realized that you weren't giving him a reaction.

Maybe, I should just go back to sleep, he thought to himself dejectedly, unable to believe that he had actually better chances with you in dreams with pink elephants and breakdancing dogs.

[mv1simp]

Slow Down♥️

Max Verstappen x Driver!Reader (SocialMedia!AU)

I’m so down if you’re ready, I’ll show you if you let me, girl (she said fuck me like I’m famous, I said okay)

You and Max Verstappen are very well known in the media, for having one of the most volatile rivalries in the sporting world. But Ferrari’s Princess and Redbull’s Mad Max send shockwaves through the paddock when your PR teams confirm you’re officially dating. The public have a hard time believing it…until your sex tape gets leaked on Twitter a month later. Social Media!AU

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, trying my hand at a SM! AU for the first time!!, dom! Max and switch! Reader, size kink, sexism, max being a feminist king

Everyone always said there was a thin line between love and hate. Frankly, you find it to be sexist bullshit, rolling your eyes everytime some interviewer or your friends or trainer would make some sly comment about so what’s going on between you and Max, with a suggestive wiggle of their eyebrows. Nothing, just him trying to run me off the track repeatedly and giving me 4 bruised ribs in Singapore when he clipped me illegally, you say with an annoyed tone. You know that if you were a man, and not the first female driver in decades in F1, you wouldn’t be getting randomly shippedwith all the drivers. And for gods sake, Verstappen off all people was the most laughable idea. The man was either being a violent menace on the track or an immature twelve year old off it, you think vehemently. You two had stayed well out of each others way in your Haas seat last year, with you leading the mid pack in the suboptimal car but Max remaining well out of reach at the front of the pack. But this year, you’d earned yourself a Ferrari seat and were ecstatic to finally be able to compete for a WDC.

That was, until you and Max Verstappen suddenly started to keep getting caught in each others crosshairs. What started as polite indifference between two coworkers blew up into a PR frenzy, with you and Max completing for the top step in the podium every race weekend. He thought you a reckless driver, getting lucky in a rocket ship this year and trying to sink her claws into something she can’t handle. You thought him over arrogant, a man who couldn’t handle losing to a girl, his fragile ego unable to handle losing a 4th WDC to a Ferrari driver who was only in her second F1 season.

And then, two months out from the end of the season, everything changed between you and Max. On a night out in Monaco with your friends, celebrating being home from triple headers, you’d had the unfortunate experience of being cornered by some drunk, sexist creep who thought he was entitled to touch you. He’d been stronger than you expected, pinning you in a dark alleyway and you just when you starting to freak out, Max of all people practically threw the guy off you. He’d angrily spat at the drunk to pick on someone his own size or he’d break his jaw next time, before leading you to his car with a gentle hand. Normally, you found Max’s far larger frame to be annoying, another way for him to intimidate you when he glared downwards. But that night you couldn’t help but be grateful for the muscular, tall man and his attentive blue eyes as you willingly follow him with wide, doe eyes.

The ride home had been silent, you nervously clutching the large sleeves of the hoodie Max had given you from his backseat. And when you’d thanked him for his help, saying you appreciate him looking out for you even though he hated you, he looked at you with genuine surprise. I don’t hate you, he’d said. Well, I suppose we have had our differences on the track. You snickered at this, muttering that’s one way of putting it. Max chuckled, making you peer at him curiously as you’d never heard him do that in your presence. He was actually very handsome, you noted, without an angry scowl on his face or that Redbull helmet covering him. Then you tell your tipsy brain to shut up because where the hell had that thought suddenly come from?!

But really, I think you’re a pretty amazing girl off the track, Max continued. It must be hard being the only female driver, but you always have something good to say to the dumb interview questions you get. And I’m not going to stand by and let any woman be felt up by some creep. Even if it’s the Princess of Ferrari, he adds with a smirk. You rolled your eyes at this, stepping out of his car as you reach your apartment. And when you offer him his hoodie back, he tells you to keep it. You can use it to stay warm at the next race - it’s Brazil, very rainy. Did I mention I’m called the rainmaster, incidentally? You burst out laughing at his lack of subtlety, and he smiles at having distracted you, making the scared look in your pretty doe eyes from earlier disappear. Fuck off, Verstappen, you giggle, and for once your words have no real bite.

By the time your second F1 season is over, and you’re receiving your trophy for the world championship at the Prizegiving Gala, the first female to do so, you and Max Verstappen have became good friends. Maybe something more, from all the time you’ve started spending together off the track gaming, playing padel, and going out drinking. You were far too afraid to ever say something to him, knowing the media response to the first female driver dating a fellow driver would be absolutely brutal. Besides, you had no idea if Max remotely felt the same way about you - his type seemed to be pretty models, not aggressive drivers who spent half her time plotting his downfall.

You’re surprised when he finds you at the after party, late into the night, where everyone is too plastered to note that the fallen Redbull champion is taking the winning Ferrari Princess to a private level on the yacht. If you think I’m going to apologise for breaking your winning streak, you can try again, you announce dramatically as you grin at him, 5 drinks in and pink lips loosened, letting him know you were jesting. Wouldn’t have it any other way, Princess, Max hums, coming to stand so close to you that your heart rate quickens when you feel warmth radiating from the taller, muscular driver. Besides, I’ll be taking the cup next year, anyways. Enjoy the high while you can, he says in his Dutch accent, all cocky.

You let out an outraged gasp at this, forgetting how close you two already are as you step towards him, accusing hand pressed against his firm chest. But before you can say anything, Max’s gorgeous blue eyes drop down to where your manicured nails are touching his pecs. And then he looks down further, to where your plush tits have pressed up against his abs, your cute red corset minidress pushing your cleavage up temptingly. There’s no mistaking the dark desire that swirls in his intense gaze as he looks back into your wide doe eyes. And then he’s leaning in, finally, you think, and then your brain wakes up and you remember who’s in front of you. We can’t, Max, you say breathlessly, dazed by how attractive he looks when turned on. Why not, the Dutchman demands, cocky as usual. You don’t want this, Princess? His large hand brushed your jaw, tilting your face upwards when you try to look away. Your breath hitched from the contact, and you’re sure he can feel how fast your carotid pulse is beating. It’s-it’s not that I don’t want to, you say with a blush, making a pleased smirk appear on Max’s lips. But I’m the only female driver on the grid, the public would tear me apart if they found out I hooked up with another driver on the grid-

Fuck what anyone else thinks, Max says passionately, the familiar spark of defiance in his eyes. I know the fallout from something like this would be much harder for you as a woman than me, and I waited till after the championship fight finished. No one can contest you didn’t win the cup with your own sheer skill. But now that it’s finished, I can’t hold back anymore. Your jaw drops from Max’s heated confession, never having guessed the handsome blonde would reciprocate your buried romantic feelings. And I don’t mean some one night stand or summer fling, he continued boldly. I want to be your boyfriend, I want you all to myself properly.

You must have had too many G&Ts, you hear yourself say distantly, cause you’re not even a little bit cute and shy like you normally are off the track, Verstappen. He smiles gently, knowing you were using humour to deflect from the swirling emotions within you. Maybe, he murmurs, bending down to rest his forehead against yours. Or maybe you look so fucking gorgeous in this red dress I knew I couldn’t hide how I feel anymore. When he feels your hand graze his chest, pulling him just a bit closer, he knows what you want. Pressing the gentlest of kisses to your glossed lips, he pulls back to make sure you still wanted more.

But he didn’t need to have any doubts, because you’re staring up at him sultrily, desire having darkened your own wide, doe eyes. This time you’re pulling him back onto your lips, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders so that there’s not even a millimetre of space between you too. He groans against you as the months of tension come to a head, the two of you languidly exploring each others’ mouths with your tongues.

Even if you’d woken up the next morning regretting your decision, there was no way you could turn down Max’s offer of a relationship. Because even if you had still hated him, the sex that night on the yacht has been so incredibly mind blowing, by far the best orgasm you had ever experienced, that you knew you’d never meet anyone who could fuck you so perfectly again. So you hesitantly said yes, let’s try this for real, Max over a late hungover brunch the next morning. The rest had been history - the two of you had spent the last 7 months in a secret relationship, not wanting the chaos of the media to ruin your relationship before it could even start properly. Max has proven time and time again you’d made the right decision saying yes, being the perfect boyfriend, dedicated to all your needs and wants, spoiling you endlessly and making you laugh whenever you had a bad day.

Sometimes things were hard, of course. Like when you two had tensions during a race, your private relationship doing nothing to dampen the competitive spirit you both shared. But you’d both make up after, whether it be with a long debrief and strategy talk on how to avoid an incident next time - or your personal favourite, some angry make up sex. Like you’d suspected, Max was an absolute sex god and you two enjoyed a very healthy sex life, exploring each others kinky preferences. So when you’d have to be away from each other for long periods, busy with planning and meetings at your separate team bases, your boyfriend came up with a solution once the nudes and phone sex didn’t quite hit the same.

Filming yourselves during sex seemed like a certain recipe for disaster, given how famous the two of you are and the consequences of anything got leaked. But the temptation was too great as weeks drag on without the touch of your boyfriend - so you agreed, just this once, to try it out.

Well, that had certainly been the plan. But the video had been so so nice to watch again and again anytime your pussy ached for Max that you can’t resist making more. And then last month when your teams had finally given the okay for an official announcement on your relationship, and the media response had overall been surprisingly positive, you two get too comfortable and Max accidentally sent the video over DM to you, instead of the encrypted chat you normally use.

And that was when shit hit the fan.

No, Max, go away, I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to see anyone ever again! The blonde Dutchman sighs he leans his head against the closed bathroom door with a worried expression on his face. You’ve locked yourself in his Monaco penthouse’s bathroom for the past 4 hours, not coming out despite how much he’s pleaded. Please, schatje, he tries again. I know it’s bad, but we’ll get through it together. Twitter had already banned any links of the video and both your PR teams are doing damage control and so many of the grid drivers and journalists were calling out the website that had leaked the tape. Please, I just want to see you, you can’t be locked in there forever and reading all the stuff online alone.

When you don’t reply, only sniffling through the door, he sighs again and slides down the door, making himself comfortable. A few minutes later he hears the door unlock and your red, crying face peeking through. Oh, schatje, he croons soothingly as you drop down into his arms and bury your face in his thick neck. He rubs soothing circles along your back as you sniffle that Everyone’s saying such horrible things, Maxie. How am I going to face going on the paddock ever again?

He reassures you firmly that you two would go hand in hand, united on the paddock with your heads held high, because you’ve done nothing wrong. He’d been doing the media game a lot longer than you and knew this scandal, like everything else, would get blown over with time. After your quiet sobs settle with his comforting words and tight hug, you pull back to look at him and apologise for shutting yourself away and not checking in on him. It’s your leaked tape too, you say anxiously. How are you feeling about it, baby?

He eases your concern again, telling you honestly that in the grand scheme of things, although it was a little mortifying he’s had worse in the media. Besides, it’s gonna be satisfying to crush whichever little fucker leaked the vid, he says vehemently. Any anyone who’s saying any bullshit sexist comments about you sleeping your way into F1 or anything is getting hit with a defamation lawsuit from legal, he declares, making your heart swell from his protectiveness. You still aren’t convinced, though. Are you sure, Max? I remember in that particular video, you can’t see much of my body but there’s definitely a lot of shots of your…

Dick? Your boyfriend finishes with a deadpan expression, That’s fine. Besides, I’ve nothing to be embarrassed about. You know the hashtag Verstappen’s third leg is trending on Twitter now? You giggle at his nonchalance, making Max smile at seeing you cheered up. You’ve finally having processed what happened enough to maybe see a bit of humour in it. True, I suppose it could have been worse, you muse. The Las Vegas video could have been the leaked one. Imagine how batshit the fans would have gotten if they saw the handcuffs were for you, not me. Max laughs genuinely, blue eyes looking fondly at your mischievous expression. The familiar Ferrari fire he adored was back in your own pretty doe eyes.

Or worse, the Barcelona one, you tease as you lead him to the kitchen to start making dinner. Scrolling through hundreds of posts and spiralling was calorie consuming work. I think Twitter would have shut down if they found out Max Verstappen likes being called daddy in the bedroom.

Your boyfriend’s face goes adorably pink as he stammers at your unexpected roast. Hey-hey now, schat, that was just one time okay? You’d just accidentally said it and it caught me off guard-

You grin playfully, giving him a kiss on the cheek because he looked too cute to resist. Sure, baby, so off guard you lasted 5 seconds after that. His face goes even pinker, reaching the tips of his ears now as he shyly looks away. For all his fierceness on the track, you loved how sweet the Dutch Lion was off it. Giggling, you put him out of his misery by handing him a knife and tell him to get to work chopping the tomatoes. You knew no matter what came your way, you would be fine with Max by your side.

—————————————————————————

A/N: okkk so what did u guys think at my first attempt at a social media AU ahaha. You know I love to yap I fear I included too many Twitter screenshots, I ALWAYS GET CARRIED AWAY. Anyway this was super fun pulled me right out of my writers block!!! Hope u enjoy xx

[starcurtain]

Teyvat's "Most Down Bad" Award Goes to Alhaitham for a Second Year Running

Seeing everyone making fun of Alhaitham for his "stalkerish" tendencies in this event is funny, because I feel like a lot of people missed that "Be literally everywhere Kaveh is" has been Alhaitham's MO from the day Kaveh appeared in the game.

From only grabbing his house keys after Kaveh returned from the desert (he couldn't have had both sets of keys at the end of the Archon Quest unless he went home and got Kaveh's copy) to ditching conversations to get back to his house only after Kaveh came home, to showing up without any warning or explanation in Kaveh's hangout with some ridiculous excuse about hearing his voice through noise-cancelling headphones... Refusing to offer any help in the Temple of Silence story quest other than staying in the library with Kaveh...

Since when does Alhaitham willingly cover anyone else's duties?

But this trend of "Be everywhere Kaveh is" didn't start when they were adults. It was already in place when they were still Akademiya students--and it's a trend that didn't end even when they had their fight.

Even when they weren't speaking, Alhaitham dogged Kaveh's every step through published responses to Kaveh's research articles in academic journals. He insisted on keeping a line of communication between himself and Kaveh open, even if the only way to do that was through very public ideological clashes. Pulling Kaveh's pigtails to get his attention lolol. It's implied that, for at least the few years between their fight and Kaveh moving in, this was the only communication between them--Alhaitham's refusal to allow their connection to entirely fade away. (And the fact that this is revealed in Kaveh's character stories--through his precious journal that records the moments of his life that had the most impact on him--shows just how deeply he values the fact that Alhaitham didn't give up.)

Another relevant side note: Alhaitham never asked Kaveh to give up his half of their house. Knowing half of it belonged to Kaveh, knowing that Kaveh may one day want to reclaim his part of it, knowing that it was listed as theirs, Alhaitham moved into the house and made zero effort to change its ownership. He was completely fine with living in "his and Kaveh's house." The stories suggest it was only months later (or even longer) that Kaveh even noticed he had the house, and he transferred away ownership of his portion without Alhaitham ever asking him (or even seemingly wanting him) to do so.

Please, let that sink in. Alhaitham actively left his grandmother's (presumably comfortable) house to move into "his and Kaveh's house," with no apparent explanation for why, and after doing so, he made no attempt to change that "his and Kaveh's" label. He moved into the house with no promise that Kaveh wouldn't show up on the doorstep the very next day and move in too. It almost feels like another deliberate provocation--I've moved into our house, are you going to come stop me? LBR, if Alhaitham had had his way, Kaveh would have been living there with him from Day 1...

There's also the fact that Kaveh literally can't write on a single message board anywhere in the entire nation of Sumeru without Alhaitham hunting his messages down and responding to them (which absolutely no one else does, by the way).

"NUH-UH!" "UH-HUH." "NUH-UH!"

Alhaitham's own character stories tell us explicitly that one of Alhaitham's defining character traits is "He is never where you need him to be," yet somehow...

Shot, and chaser:

Any time Kaveh is in the slightest bit of need or danger or just wants Alhaitham near, Alhaitham is "coincidentally" exactly where Kaveh needs him to be, whenever Kaveh needs him to be there.

Alhaitham didn't just "happen" to run into Kaveh in Port Ormos, an entirely different city from where he was supposed to be working. He didn't just "happen" to read the same terrible book as Kaveh when we know he otherwise would not waste a moment of his time on poorly-written literature...

He didn't just "happen" to appear when Kaveh was upset and needed a distraction in the House of Daena during Kaveh's hangout. He didn't just "happen" to be sitting around waiting when Kaveh needed answers after the Archon Quest. He didn't just "happen" to find Kaveh's academic publications and every single message board posting and respond to them at length and in public.

Which is exactly what Kaveh's mother told Kaveh he needed.

What level of down bad is "Abusing your powers as an Akademiya employee to keep tabs on your crush's library loans"? Just asking for a friend.

The only person for whom Alhaitham just "happens" to be available is Kaveh, over and over and over again--because he is very deliberately making himself a constant presence in Kaveh's life.

(Like, out of all things, I think people really underestimate the devs deliberately paralleling the romantic relationship between Kaveh's mother and father with Kaveh and Alhaitham's relationship. If you want to point to one thing that says "These two characters are intentionally queer-coded," it doesn't get any more obvious than this.)

Alhaitham, are you not embarrassed to be this transparent??? 🫣

[gold-onthe-inside]

Request (slightly nsfw): Spencer comes into work and doesn’t info dump in the briefing. The team questions him and turns out he cut his tongue on his gf’s piercing.

tongue-tied

who? spencer reid x bau!reader (no use of y/n, called cupcake by morgan) content warnings: a little making out and a little foreplay, doesn't really get past that word count: 1.6k songs: say when by the fray a/n: i really struggled balacing the line between banter and bullying for derek and spencer, but consider it early seasons where derek doesn't know where to draw the line <3

They weren't even supposed to be working today, but it's not like crises come scheduled, and who was to blame Spencer for starting his Saturday morning with a little enthusiasm?

He liked taking his time with his girlfriend (a fact that still felt unreal to him, the word itself felt so strange in his mouth), kissing every inch of her. She was like poetry. Everything about her drew Spencer to her. He took her all in - every breath, every movement, the way she arched up into him. His girlfriend. He still wasn’t entirely used to the concept, but that was what he enjoyed about this slow Saturday morning. He had time to memorise every inch, his fingers gently tracing over her skin.

His mouth trailed up to her ear, feeling her shiver, and then a jolt of pain stabbed through his tongue, catching on the back of her piercing. He let out a slight hiss, drawing back. “Ah…” Spencer’s hand lifted, gently dabbing at his tongue, the pain spreading across his mouth.

"What happened?" you asked, looking at him, concerned, tucking strands of hair behind your ear.

“Your earrings…” Spencer ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth, his face twisting at the lingering sting.

You tutted, sitting up. "Show me."

Spencer obeyed, opening his mouth and sticking out his tongue to show her. A small bead of blood pooled in the centre, a testament to the tiny yet rather painful wound.

"Hold on, I probably have some glycerin somewhere," you said, shifting off his lap and towards her wardrobe, rummaging through a drawer.

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow at her, slightly amused despite his uncomfortable injury. “What kind of person just has glycerin laying around?”

"The kind who eats pizza too quickly when it's hot," you replied, returning with a small bottle and a cotton bud. "Open up."

Spencer’s mouth curled up in a smile, which was quickly interrupted by a brief wince as she used the soaked cotton bud to apply the glycerin. “Well, at least it’ll taste good this way…” he teased, poking his tongue back out.

You chuckled as you dabbed at the cut, and their phones rang simultaneously, making your shoulders sag.  "With that kind of unity, it must be Hotch."

Spencer grumbled slightly, reluctantly leaving the bed to reach for his phone on the nightstand. “I was hoping for a quiet Saturday…” he mumbled, lifting his phone. Sure enough, Hotch’s name was on the caller ID.

"Ha, no such thing," you scoffed, grabbing your own phone and answering JJ as you grabbed an outfit from your closet.

Talking hurts. In fact, everything that hits his tongue sends a sliver of sharp pain, and so he's uncharacteristically short with everyone, which raises more than a few eyebrows in the briefing.

"No statistic on that to bring up?" Emily asked, her smile teasing and even Derek's got a laugh that he's masking.

"Didn't seem relevant," he said quickly, withholding a wince, and it was like you could sense the danger of getting caught when you brought up a question to Rossi to bring attention back to the case. If only that had gotten the them off his back.

Derek cornered him in the kitchenette, smirking as he sauntered over. "What was that in there? Cat got your tongue?"

On another day, he would have launched into a story of how the phrase originated from the cat o' nine tails, and so saying it meant that you had been flogged into submission, or from the Middle Ages where it was believed that witches would allegedly steal tongues and it transferred onto the black cats that accompanied them as familiars, or that ancient Egyptians who worshipped cats would punish liars and blasphemers by feeding their tongues to cats. Instead, all he said was, "Just didn't feel like it," and continued stirring his coffee.

Derek immediately noticed the lack of a long-winded, completely off-topic, but fascinating rant. And that caught his attention. It was even more suspicious when he couldn’t even look him in the eye, instead keeping his gaze firmly on the coffee maker.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Derek pressed, moving so that he was standing just behind Reid. Derek knew from experience that, if you wanted to prevent him from making a run for it, you had to block his path before he thought to try and escape.

"This kind of behaviour is exactly what gets you in trouble with HR," Spencer pointed out, then winced, his tongue flaring with pain.

Derek’s eyes narrowed as he observed Reid’s face, noting the subtle wince. Something was definitely up. “What’s wrong with your mouth?” he asked bluntly, his eyes now drifting over his face as if they would somehow be able to glean some sort of answer from his expression.

"Nothing," he replied, his voice hitting a higher pitch, a flush colouring his cheeks.

He’s lying. “Bullshit,” Derek said bluntly, his arms folded. “Every time you open your mouth, you wince. So just tell me. What happened?”

"I just burnt my tongue, that's all," he mumbled, hoping Derek would leave it.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief. It seemed like a flimsy explanation, and he wasn’t going to let this go. Spencer was hiding something. “You burnt your tongue? How?”

"O-On coffee, I forgot it was hot," he said. God, he should be better at lying than this.

Derek’s frown deepened at his answer. “And you’re sure that’s it? No other reason why your tongue would hurt when you talk?”

"What other reason would there be?" Spencer asked, sipping stale coffee.

Now they were getting somewhere. Derek couldn’t help but notice that his cheeks had turned a light shade of pink. “That’s what I’m asking you, pretty boy,” Derek said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What's it matter to you anyway?" Spencer asked, trying to make his escape.

Derek moved to block his path once again, his eyes watching his friend closely. Something wasn’t right here. “It matters because you’re hurt,” Derek pointed out. “So, just be honest and tell me the truth. What really happened to your tongue?”

Spencer groaned. "I... cut it this morning..." he said, halting and hesitating.

Derek’s eyes narrowed once again at his words, instantly sceptical of his answer. “You cut your tongue?” he repeated, his tone clearly indicating that he didn’t believe him. “And how exactly did you do that?”

"Morgan," he pleaded, protesting.

Derek’s eyes remained locked, searching Spencer’s face for any hint of dishonesty or a lie. “I want the truth, Reid. How did you cut your tongue?”

Spencer's entire neck had become flushed now. "On a piercing," he muttered quietly.

Ah. Derek’s eyes grew a fraction wider, his arms now dropping to his sides as everything clicked into place. That’s why he’d been trying to avoid talking this whole time. “A piercing…” he repeated, a smirk beginning to edge onto his face. “Specifically, whose piercing?”

"Does it matter?" Spencer asked, trying to escape him again and Derek blocked him too easily.

Derek’s smirk widened as he watched Reid begin to squirm under his gaze, and it was clear that he had hit the target.

“Yeah, it does. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so reluctant to tell me, pretty boy.” A thought suddenly occurred to him, and Derek’s smirk curled into a grin as he studied Spencer for a long, calculated moment. “Wait a goddamn minute. Is this Cupcake's doing?”

"No!" he squeaked.

Derek’s grin widened at his reaction, which immediately told him that he was correct. Bingo. “Oh god, it is…” he said, his tone a mixture of delight and disbelief. “It was her piercing, wasn’t it?”

"What! I never said that!" Spencer cried and his obvious fluster told Derek all he needed to know - he’d hit the mark.

“You didn’t have to say it. You just confirmed it,” Derek drawled. “You can’t hide anything from me, pretty boy. And that means you were with her this morning -” He leaned in, his grin widening a fraction more. “- weren’t you?”

"I- You can't prove anything!"

“Oh, this is priceless…” Derek was clearly enjoying this, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he watched Spencer begin to panic.  “So, let me get this right: you were with your girlfriend this morning - on your day off - and, somewhere along the line, you cut your tongue on her earrings.”

"You don't know it's her," Spencer tried to bluff.

“Dude, you’re blushing like a schoolboy,” Derek pointed. “And you’re being so damn defensive. Put two and two together, genius. I’m not judging, Reid, just wondering - how exactly did you slice your tongue on her earring, anyway?”

"How do you think?" Spencer muttered.

Derek smirked, his eyebrows lifting. “You’re telling me that you were making out with your new girlfriend, and you accidentally cut your tongue on her piercings?”

"I'm not telling you anything!"

Derek’s smirk just grew wider, as he could practically see the thoughts swirling through Spencer’s mind. He absolutely loved getting to him like this. “You could have just told me that it was from making out with your girlfriend, pretty boy. I’m not gonna make fun of you for that. Although, I’m impressed that you somehow managed to cut your tongue in the process…”

Spencer groaned, lowering his head in shame.

Derek chuckled in delight, thoroughly enjoying watching Spencer getting all worked up.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, man,” he said, a wide grin on his face. “As long as it was a good time, a few marks here and there are worth it.”

"Can I go now?" Spencer asked, mortified.

“Yeah yeah, alright,” Derek said, still chuckling to himself as he backed off, allowing Spencer to leave. “Have fun with your girlfriend,” he teased, his tone laced with playful innuendo, watching Spencer scurry off back to his desk.